#so happy i finally drew all four of them. ive been meaning to for YEARS

[liontamarin]

they are like if a girl group was actually a high school baseball team not entirely all girls and also autistic

[franeridart]

Anon said: Would you draw SukuFushi? (Sukuna x Fushiguro)

maybe? *thinking face* if I ever got an idea for it, why not. I find sukuna’s obsession with fushiguro entertaining so I don’t count fanarts for it as impossible haha

Anon said: I looked and I couldn't find if you've answered this already, so apologies if you did, but how do you draw your faces? I always struggle with face shape and yours are always super good with really expressive features! Anyway, thanks so much I love your art <3

HMMMMMMMM how do I do that indeed, the basics are honestly what you’d find on any basic tutorial about drawing a face (circle, cross in the middle of it, build the face around that - I really still can’t avoid that step and probably never will). As for the expressions, to be honest with you my way of going about them is thinking them up in emoji/kaomoji form first and then go from there. Emojis and kaomojis have to simplify expressions to the max since it’s such a simple format, right? But they’re still super expressive and convey exactly what they’re trying to say with one single glance, so using them as some kind of reference sheet has helped me a lot in figuring out what’s essential to express what I’m trying to say - still working on it though! I’m rarely satisfied with my expressions, they really do make or break a drawing don’t they............ you never stop learning, I guess!

Anon said:  Ahhhhhhh I just spent like hrs scrolling thru ur oc tag and they’re all amazing I love them so much but I keep confusing the everloving SHIT out of myself cuz I too have a child who is Leo and he’s literally so different from ur Leo lol. Anyway tho ur art is amazing and it honestly just makes me so happy so ty and hope have a good day!!

OHHHHHHHHHHHH MY LEO! It’d been forever since I’ve last drawn him, I kind of miss him............... glad you like my stuff, by the way! Especially about you liking my ocs, that means the world to me!

Anon said: hi there !!! i was wondering if i had ur permission to ur ur itafushi art in one of my edits ! i wanted to be sure before using it <3 total respect if its a no !! thankyouuuu

Sorry but I’d prefer if you didn’t do that!

Anon said:THERES A OCTOPATH TRAVELER LIGHT NOVEL AND ITS SO COOL BUT ITS ONLY IN JAPANEESE ! ;^;There's four stories with centered around pairs of characters and alfion is one of them !Idk if itll be transleted but i hope itll be cuz it sound awesome

OH I KNOW!!!!!!! I saw the art for the alfion one a while back, it looks so soft!!!! ;;;;; 8path is kinda niche as a game though, so who knows.............. let’s cross our fingers!!

Anon said:  hello, i am here to recc Skeletons by New Years Day because i think it might fit a few of your ships<3

Thanks anon now I’m emo ;;;;;

Anon said: bakubro gives the best hugs. kirishima is the only one who knows this. everyone is absolutely incredulous when the question "who gives the best hugs" goes around and kirishima answers bakugo. (bakugo thinks kirishima is the best but he benefits from kirishima bodily hugging him and he's biased)

Definitely!! He’s strong and warm after all, bet hugging him would feel the best.... the only one who shall ever know is kiri though, as I bet his hugs are only that nice when he really likes the person he’s hugging hahaha

Anon said: Hi! Just wanted to say that I absolutely love your JJK art! The colors and style are absolutely stunning.

Thank you so much!!!!!!! I feel like I’m mostly drawing for myself lately ngl hahaha so knowing you like it means a lot!!

Anon said: Hi!! This isn't a request I just really like your art! I found you from Pinterest on a kiribaku thing you drew! Your art is so cool! I wish I could draw like that!!! I'll keep looking for new art you've made :D

Aw pinterest.......................... glad you could find your way back here though!! And thank you!!

Anon said: This happened a while ago, but i wanted to say it anyway. I remember when I started watching jujutsu kaisen and I was looking for content arter finishing the first 10 episodes in less than a day and I found your first jujutsu kaisen post (it was posted that dame day) and i was like ???? One of my favorite artists got into jk at the same time than me!!! I just thought it was a neat coincedence to share! I really love your art too, you're amazing!! Happy New Year!!

It’s!!!!!!!!!!!! a pretty dang neat coincidence for me too, since it’s always nice to know at least some of my followers are still into the stuff I make hahahaha

Anon said: i think a lot abt ur art and how ive been seeing u since middle school and now im graduating highschool and we're still in the same fandoms, i hope this doesnt make u feel old but rather VERY cherished qwq

No anon this makes me feel amazing you’ve been around so long!!!!!!! I can’t believe you’re still here with my thank you so much for that!!!!!! I think I���m gonna cry a little here.......... ;;;

Anon said: Hi! I love your art so much!! 🥰 Have you read a KiriBaku fic called The Pit??

Probably not, haven’t been reading krbk fics in a while by now! I’ll add it to my for-later list, thank you so much for the rec!!

Anon said: can u believe that (sans sero) the entire bakusquad can be put into some form of punk/goth fashion? the realization was a galaxy brain moment for me. also realizing that tokoyami, kirishima, and tamaki are all varying levels of goth/emo (some more concerning than others)

Sero’s the hippie friend every punk friend group needs, he balances things out and that’s why he’s very cherished and necessary!!!!

Anon said: your bakugo drawings convinced me to finally start stretching my ears and tbh i'm extremely excited (i've had off and on thoughts of stretching my ears (again) before this so it's not as impulsive as it sounds haha)

Anon that’s so cool!!!!!!! I love gauges so much.....................glad I could give you the last push for it!!

Anon said: uhhhh, i love the style of that top left goge drawing dude!!

THANK YOU I LOVE DRAWING IN THAT STYLE THIS ASK MEANS THE UNIVERSE TO ME

Anon said: i sent the dragon!kiri and bakugo tug-of-waring over a piece of meat and honestly your response is exactly what i thought

Great minds!!!!!!! hahaha

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today IV

A/N: Funnily enough, I was really struggling with what to write in this chapter. Then, it hit me, and... it got long enough I decided to make it into two separate chapters. Finally getting some more plot building here, and this little feast arc will be wrapped up next week! Until then, I hope you enjoy! Skål!

Summary:  When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

---

True to his word, Alfred had a feast called to be hosted for Aethelind’s guests, and they were rather stunned to hear about the feast being held in their honor. They also were sure this was Aethelind’s work, a show of good faith and good things to come. And Ubbe certainly had no plans of turning down free food.

Sounds of celebration poured out of the feasting hall, and Aethelind grinned widely as she sat, quietly talking with Torvi. The feast was in full swing by now, Vikings socializing with Saxons, something that brought peace to the Princess’s soul as she watched the crowd. Her eyes had focused on Lagertha, speaking in an almost conspiratorial way to the Bishop Heahmund. She smirked slightly, and then returned her attention to the woman at her side.

“And… you are one of these shieldmaidens, yes?” she was asking the older blonde, and Torvi smiled and nodded.

“I am,” she confirmed. “Though, I wasn’t always.” When Aethelind turned a curious gaze to her, she decided to elaborate. “My second husband tried to make me kill Björn.” The Princess’s eyes widened drastically at that, and Torvi chuckled. “I didn’t, obviously. Instead, I killed my husband. That led to me joining the raid on Paris, and… Lagertha trained me from there.”

“You killed your husband?” Aethelind questioned, as if that were the only thing that had caught her attention.

“My second husband,” Torvi confirmed. “Erlendur. He was the son of King Horik, who-”

"Who once helped King Ragnar raid Wessex,” Aethelind finished, and chuckled. “I had no idea you were no stranger to being married to royalty, before Ubbe.”

Torvi laughed softly at what Aethelind said, and said, “Oh, I have always been married to royalty. First, Jarl Borg, then Erlendur, Björn, and now Ubbe.”

Aethelind gaped in a way she knew her mother would have scolded her for, and asked, “Four husbands? Torvi!” This led the Viking woman to giggle, and she put her hand on Aethelind’s hand familiarly.

“Two of them died,” she defended. “Björn is the only one that… we simply did not work.”

“‘Two of them died’,” Aethelind repeated playfully. “I was under the impression you just confessed to the murder of one?”

Torvi nodded, still laughing, and answered, “Yes, but that does mean he died.”

Aethelind gave a small shake of her head, and kept giggling at what Torvi had said. “You are too much,” she teased. As the two began to regain theirselves, Aethelind asked her, “Now, what exactly is a Jarl? Is that… sort of similar to a Lord?”

“Essentially,” Torvi answered her. She began to explain the hierarchy of the Viking royalty, and as she did so, Ubbe found himself chuckling and watching the pair.

Alfred looked up from his meal as he heard this, and tilted his head slightly. “What is it?” he questioned. No one had said anything to Ubbe, so he wasn’t quite sure what the Viking was laughing at.

“Your sister and my wife,” he answered Alfred. “It seems they are getting along very well. I cannot be sure what they are talking about, but they keep laughing together.”

Alfred’s eyes turned from his plate to his sister and Torvi, who were now laughing once again, and he made a slightly considering face. “I suppose I cannot be… too surprised by this. I have always found her to be more similar to our biological father than I am.”

“Your biological father?” Ubbe asked, looking to Alfred.

“Yes, the priest, Athelstan.”

Ubbe’s eyes lit up with recognition at the name, his brows lifting slightly. “Athelstan?” he said, looking back to Aethelind again. “I didn’t know you were his children. I knew him in my youth.” A small chuckle, and he added, “I led the search for the man who killed him, on my father’s orders.”

Now it was Alfred’s turn to look slightly stunned, and he even blinked a few times as he processed this. “You- you were not very young when he died then, were you?” he asked.

“No,” Ubbe confirmed. “No more than… eight winters could have passed, since my birth. But when Floki ran, it would have been about ten.”

“My grandfather sent me to Rome at three years old,” Alfred commented. “It looks as if we were both doing things we might have been… more prepared for at an older age, during our youth.”

“Apparently so,” Ubbe agreed. “Though, I would be lying if I said I was unprepared for such a task at that age. Viking children are prepared for much more than it seems your children are.”

Alfred sighed and shook his head a little. “I wish I could argue that, but I was being taught things in books at ten years old, while you were leading searches for an escaped criminal at that age.” He looked to Aethelind, and smiled a little. “My sister might have been happier to grow up in your world, I think.”

“How so?” Ubbe asked curiously. His eyes turned to Aethelind, who had moved from Torvi to speak to his brother, Björn. He seemed to be quite amused with her, leaning against the wall and watching her animated expressions. Ubbe smirked a little.

“Look at her and your brother,” Alfred pointed out. “Doesn’t she already seem happier, with you all here?”

Ubbe shrugged, even though the thoughts of what had been said of her and Ivar circulated through his mind. “I wouldn’t know.”

The sound of her laughter reached them at their table, and Ubbe noticed the way Alfred smiled. He couldn’t be sure if Alfred was happy to see his sister with the oldest Ragnarsson, or concerned.

“No, you can’t mean that,” she was currently saying to him. “Not one wound? Nowhere? Not even a scratch?”

“Nothing indeed,” Björn confirmed for her. “It is why I am called ‘Ironside’.”

“So explain to me then, how your brothers are Ragnarssons, but you are Ironside? Should they not instead call you Björn Ragnarsson, the Ironsided?”

This caused Björn to chuckle slightly. Her confusion was somehow very endearing, the way her voice shifted and brows drew together as she tried to figure out the name worked. The Viking chose not to let her suffer with that confusion for too long, and clarified, “I am called Ironside, just as my father was called Ragnar Lothbrok.”

“So, your name was never Björn Ragnarsson?” she questioned, and he nodded.

“It was.”

Her lips pressed together in a frustrated way, and her expression fell flat. He chuckled again. “Now you’re teasing me,” she insisted.

“I am not teasing!” Björn said defensively, even lifting his hands as if in surrender. “It is the truth! I am Björn Ironside, and also Björn Ragnarsson. An earned name can become how you are known, instead of the name you were given at your birth. It is the beginning of your own legacy. I am set apart as my own man by this name, and not simply part of my father’s legacy.”

She couldn’t help herself in saying, “And so, Ivar the Boneless…?”

Björn was clearly not quite sure how to react to this. Of course, he knew what her question was- was that name some part of a legacy he had already made for himself? Or, was it a title given to him simply because his legs did not work? But at the same time, it was a subtle way of asking about him, seeing what he had been up to. If nothing else, it confirmed for Björn that the Princess still cared for the man.

“He was first called that because of his legs,” he ended up explaining. “But now, he has turned that name he was given into a name which… he hopes will be remembered for ages to come. It has become his legacy, and likely, it will be a powerful one at that.”

"But not more powerful than ‘Ironside’,” Aethelind teased, and Björn cracked a grin.

"I should hope not,” he agreed. She giggled lightly at that, and smiled up at him.

“Then make it so, Björn Ironside. If it is what you wish. You seem to be a great man. I don’t doubt you can do what you set your face toward. Though, I still wish there were more I could do to help you in this battle.”

Björn looked at her curiously, tilting his head and pressing his lips tightly together. “Why are you so interested in turning against Ivar?” he asked her. “He was your friend in childhood. Why turn against him now? We cannot have become better friends to you now than he was to you then?”

Aethelind sighed, and leaned against the wall as she considered what he said. “In truth?” she questioned, looking to him with the silent question of if she could speak freely to him or not. He nodded. “I am not interested in turning on him. A peaceful resolution is what I am interested in, where there can be peace among your family again. He may have been my childhood friend, Björn, but he was your brother.” Her hand rested against his arm, and he found her eyes to be perfectly sincere when they met his.

Alfred choked on his drink as he and Ubbe saw the interaction between their siblings.

“All I want,” she continued, though they could not hear her, “is to see your family reconciled.”

“Even if that means standing against Ivar?” he questioned.

“I hope it does not come to that.”

Her mind was working quickly, trying to come up with some way she could make sure it didn’t, near ready to pray for a solution, when Björn spoke again. “If it were possible to speak to Ivar, then I would…” The Viking paused, unsure of what to add to his statement, before shaking his head. “He cannot be reasoned with. Speaking to him would do no good.”

Björn, try as he might, could not have foreseen the response Aethelind would have to his words. He believed it was a worthless cause, talking to Ivar, but to her, he’d provided exactly the thought she’d needed. “Unless the wrong person has been trying all along,” she said, a thoughtful look entering her eye.

“The wrong person?” Björn asked. “How could… who else is there to try?”

When she grinned at him, his eyes widened, and brows creased in shock. “No. You cannot mean…?”

"I do,” she confirmed. “Send me to speak with your brother. Maybe he’ll believe I would still be on his side, and he’ll trust me and my judgement. After all, you and Ubbe spoke as if he were still fond of me. Is that true or isn’t it?”

“By his standards, it is true, but if he would listen to reason, he would have already heard it. His desire to rule Kattegat is not only because he wishes to be King, but because he wants revenge on my mother. Do you not remember-”

“I do,” Aethelind interrupted. “But we are taught against such pursuits here. Surely, I could convince him to let it go? I know the good that comes from forgiveness. I can show him.”

Björn would have scoffed, had he not cared if he offended the Princess. “You would have to convince your brother to send you,” he reminded her. “Without his permission, you will not make it beyond the docks. If he asks me what I believe, then I will not voice my support in this endeavor. You are safe here, Princess. You should remain here.”

Aethelind gave a slight huff, and her hand dropped as she moved to cross her arms. “Then I’ll talk to the rest of your party. Surely one of you will support me.” She thought perhaps Torvi would, maybe Lagertha. If she could get two supporters out of the Vikings, then maybe her brother would listen. And if Lagertha agreed, then she could likely gain Heahmund’s support as well.

The Princess wasn’t blind. She could see easily through the way the two looked at each other, spoke in their hushed tones. And… Well, Heahmund was no longer a Bishop, she figured. With that the case, then he was free to love Lagertha. She couldn’t fault him for finding happiness in a romantic love, when his ability to find it in giving spiritual love to the kingdom of Wessex had been taken. Not by any fault of his, of course, but he had been gone. They’d needed a new Bishop.

Well, Aethelind decided that had all worked out the way it was meant.

She turned to find any one of the Vikings who would be available, and soon noticed her brother talking to a beautiful young woman with long, dark hair and fair skin. His betrothed, then, Princess Elsewith. This meant Ubbe was no longer in conversation with the young King, and so Aethelind soon found he was talking to Torvi. Perfect. She began her walk toward the couple, a warm smile on her face as she approached.

“How are you two enjoying the feast?” she greeted, and Torvi smiled brightly in response.

“It is wonderful,” she answered. “Ubbe and I were just saying how excellent the food is.”

“Yes, we are very impressed with… whoever prepared all this,” Ubbe agreed. “It was done well.”

“Good,” Aethelind said, nodding slightly. “Perhaps the two of you would like to join me for a drink? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“With us?” Ubbe questioned. “Very well.”

Torvi and Ubbe followed Aethelind as she went toward one of the tables, finding a pitcher of wine and filling their three goblets. Ubbe noted with interest how she didn’t call for a servant to refill their cups, simply doing so herself. Was that common in England? he wondered.

Once they all had some wine, Aethelind led them over to a place they could sit alone, comfortably, and discuss what she’d wanted to. Torvi and Ubbe watched her expectantly, and she smiled. “I have had a thought,” she began. “A plan, perhaps, that may help your plight in Kattegat.”

Ubbe’s brows lifted as he heard this, and Torvi’s eyes widened. “A plan?” he asked. “What sort of plan?”

“None of you want to fight Ivar, and he’s your brother anyhow, it wouldn’t be right,” Aethelind began. “So… someone needs to talk to him. I have it from Björn that this has been tried, that he cannot be reasoned with, but I wonder… Would he listen to someone who wasn’t one of you? Someone who has no stake in this except perhaps bias toward him, even?”

“What are you suggesting?” Torvi asked skeptically. She was beginning to suspect where Aethelind was going with this, and the idea was unsettling to her already.

“I am suggesting… an old childhood friend,” Aethelind replied with a small, playful smirk. “Someone he continued to think of even once he was home.”

"No.” Ubbe’s response was nearly shocking to Aethelind, but she still turned to look at the son of Ragnar. “No, you also have it from all of us that Ivar has changed drastically since he was young.”

“Do we ever change?” Aethelind questioned. “Or do we just think we do?” Ubbe and Torvi looked at her with slight confusion on their faces, unsure now of what she meant by that. But, before they could ask for clarification, she gave it. “You, Ubbe, said that, ‘he is buried beneath years of anger, and pain, and hatred,’ didn’t you? If he really is still there? If that’s true, then why shouldn’t I try and… bring that back out? You told me he was always cruel, but if that were true, then why would he have behaved so… differently with me? Doesn’t it make sense that, if he wasn’t then, he may not be now?”

“You are putting a lot into these uncertainties,” Ubbe said. “You have no way of knowing if Ivar will be cruel to you if you go to Kattegat. If he is, then the worst-case scenario is that he would kill you. Best is that he simply will not listen, and turns you away. And if he is not cruel, there is still no guarantee he will listen to you. Your life is too great a risk to base off nothing more than a ‘what-if’, Princess.”

"I agree with my husband,” Torvi said. “We cannot risk you. If I knew better that you could defend yourself, then perhaps… But for now? I’m sorry, but we just… we don’t have enough information, and Ivar has always been unpredictable as it is.”

“Then it stands to reason that he might just listen after all.”

Torvi and Ubbe were getting rather tired of being so bewildered by her all the time. What could she mean now?

“You predict that at best, he won’t listen, and at worst, he would kill me. But… he is unpredictable, you say. So it stands to reason that he would again be unpredictable, and at worst, listen to me. At best, he may agree to find peace. And Torvi, if you trained me… I could defend myself, and the worst-case would be far less likely to actually be a threat.”

Ubbe looked to Torvi, his brows creasing thoughtfully as he watched his wife carefully consider Aethelind’s words. Her argument did make sense, in a rather twisted up sort of way. She didn’t want to say it, but the logic rather reminded her of Ivar himself. It sounded like exactly how he’d have sold one of his daft plans- the sort that tended to work, she thought begrudgingly- to his brothers. Perhaps this English Princess had the exact same sort of mad genius that Ivar did. If that were so…

“Very well,” she said, with a sigh. “With your King’s permission, and the agreement of the rest of us, and satisfaction that you can defend yourself… I will agree.”

Ubbe’s eyes widened. He’d had a similar train of thought to hers, concerning how Aethelind had defended her argument, but to hear Torvi agree…

“And I suppose I will support my wife,” he said. The words seemed to surprise him, even as they left his mouth. “Her terms seem… reasonable.”

Aethelind grinned happily at their agreement to her plan. “Excellent,” she said. “Björn has already spoken his disapproval of this plan, but I think if I can convince your Queen, the Bishop- who I suppose will agree with her- and my brother, especially with these terms, then he might come around.”

Torvi grimaced at hearing Björn was already against the idea. “Well… That, or we may have to go with the majority,” she conceded.

“Is he that stubborn?” Aethelind asked with a soft chuckle, and Torvi nodded in a slow way that agreed enthusiastically. “Well, a majority will do, then. Excuse me, I have to find Queen Lagertha and speak with her about this, before Björn does and convinces her against it.”

She glanced out into the people, and found Björn speaking with Elsewith and Alfred, now. The sight made her grimace. “Hopefully, he wouldn’t speak of this in front of my brother’s intended…”

“I doubt it,” Ubbe assured her. “It is too private a thing for him to share with any who are uninvolved. If she weren’t there, he might tell your brother, but… He won’t say anything with her there, I don’t imagine.”

Aethelind let out a small breath of relief, and nodded, smiling once more. “Thank you,” she said. “Well, pardon me, and enjoy the feast, and I cannot thank you enough for discussing this with me.” She briefly kissed Torvi on the cheek, a show of her gratitude for the new ideas concerning her plan. And then, she walked away, leaving a wide eyed Torvi and Ubbe- neither of whom had expected that- behind.

Now, she approached Lagertha and Bishop Heahmund, who were still in deep conversation, which made her hesitant to interrupt. But the matter was important, and she figured both Heahmund and Lagertha would be involved, and therefore, Björn likely would feel comfortable speaking to them both on the subject. She needed to get their approval before he gained their dissent.

As she approached, Lagertha offered her a kind smile, and stepped back just a bit from Heahmund. The Princess held back a knowing smirk.

“Queen Lagertha,” she greeted, giving a small curtsy to the shieldmaiden, and turned to Heahmund. “Your Grace. How is the feast treating you both? Well, I hope?”

“Very well,” Lagertha answered. “We could not be more grateful for your hospitality and generosity.”

“You are most welcome to it, Your Highness,” she said with a smile. “We’re happy to have you here. And Bishop Heahmund, it is a joy to see you returned in good health, by God’s good grace.” She put a hand on his arm, a small sign of sincerity.

“Thank you, Princess,” he replied with a smile. “I can only think it must be your prayers, and the prayers of your people, which moved Him to spare me.” Aethelind grinned, and nodded slightly.

“It must have been,” she agreed. “And we thank Him for it. And for your health as well, Queen Lagertha.” She turned to her, and mirrored the placement of her right hand on Heahmund with her left on Lagertha. “You have been through quite an ordeal. It is good to see you have survived, and survived well, it seems.”

“Thank you,” she said. “The gods have certainly been merciful. It is said that I and my allies have lost their favor, but… We are alive, and with good allies. I cannot believe it is so.”

Aethelind smiled, and nodded to that. “Neither can I,” she agreed. “And, on that front, I have had an idea that I have discussed with Prince Ubbe and his wife, Torvi. One that- with mild alteration- they have come to support. It is a plan to begin working toward the restoration of Kattegat to you.”

Lagertha’s eyes widened and her brows lifted in shock. “You have come up with a plan?” she questioned. “A plan to take Kattegat back?” She hadn’t expected the girl to have any military expertise, and yet she found the fact she did to be something of a comfort. Militarily experienced women were rare in England, and so it was calming to her to discover that Aethelind was one such woman.

“Yes,” the Princess confirmed. “This is still contingent on two circumstances, of course, and those circumstances are that Torvi train me to defend myself. Though, thinking now, I can’t help but think you would also be an excellent asset in this, if my grandfather’s stories held any truth- and I fully believe they do. And, that I have majority approval from yourselves, and my brother.”

Lagertha’s brows now drew together suspiciously. What could Aethelind be thinking that would require her and Torvi to train her..? “And what is this plan of yours, Princess?” she asked.

“With training and approval, I would like to go to Kattegat, and meet with Ivar, myself.”

Now Lagertha’s eyes widened, but it was Heahmund who spoke. “You cannot mean this, Princess,” he said. “I have worked at this man’s side… He is ruthless, and wicked, and he will-”

"-Not harm me, I don’t expect,” Aethelind interrupted. “Would you agree that Ivar is unpredictable, Bishop Heahmund?”

Lagertha watched Heahmund as he seemed to be given pause by Aethelind’s question, his eyes focusing on some invisible place, and his mouth hanging slightly open. He blinked a few times, then closed his mouth, and nodded. “I would, Your Highness,” he finally agreed.

“Then if it is predictable that, at best, he might simply not hear me out, and at worst, he may try to kill me- an option made less likely by Torvi and, should she agree, Lagertha’s training- then the unpredictable option would be that he, at worst, will not hear me, and at best, listens. And if he is unpredictable as you say…”

“Then he may hear you out,” Lagertha finished.

“Exactly.”

Heahmund gave a short laugh, one that held no mirth, but that Lagertha recognized as realization. He was coming to agree with Aethelind already. “That’s just mad enough that… with him, it might work,” he said.

“Then you will support me?” Aethelind questioned, her eyes hopeful. He nodded.

“I will,” he said. “My vote… hasn’t been asked for, but I will offer my support in any way I can.”

Aethelind smiled a little, and gave his arm a grateful squeeze. “You know Alfred has always appreciated your council, Bishop Heahmund,” she assured him. “It may just be your voice that convinces him.”

“If your voice cannot, then I doubt any can. Especially considering I doubt your mother will support this.”

The Princess grimaced slightly. “No… I don’t think she will,” she agreed. “But I will have the support of each Viking- save for Björn, I imagine, and hopefully… including yourself, Your Highness.” She turned back to Lagertha briefly as she said this, before returning her attention to Heahmund. “If I can gain Alfred’s approval of this plan, as I gained his approval in allowing me to open my villa to our guests, then… She won’t like it, but I will journey to Kattegat without her permission. I would simply like to have her blessing, is all.”

“You go for a righteous cause, Princess,” Heahmund said. “We will do all we can to ensure you go with the blessing of God.” He didn’t say it explicitly, but she could tell what he meant.

The approval and blessing of her mother, Queen Judith, would mean little, if the Lord Himself were on her side.

“I believe you are right, Your Grace,” she said with a warm smile. “Thank you.” Aethelind took a deep breath, and turned her attentions once more to Lagertha. “And… that leaves you, before I attempt to sway Björn once more, and then my brother. Will you support me, and this plan?”

Lagertha sighed softly, looking into Aethelind’s young face. The Princess was clearly less experienced with war than the Viking had believed at first. She was speaking of going to talk to one of the most dangerous men in their world, a man who Lagertha knew would have little interest in peace. If Aethelind was going to sway him, she would have to do something powerful in order to do so. Something… very clever. She’d have to gain his full trust before even mentioning peace to him. But, this plan, though only the bare bones of it were had at the moment… could perhaps be made into something that would work. She nodded.

“I will want a stronger plan,” she said, “and a new vote when the time comes to send you, so we all are assured that you are as ready as you can be, but… For what you have now, I will support you. And, I will help train you, if you receive your brother’s approval. With myself, Heahmund, Torvi, and Ubbe… This does give you majority from us, so that and your training is settled.”

“Yes,” Aethelind agreed, and grinned. “Thank you for your support, both of you.” She moved so she could speak more directly to both the Queen and the Bishop at once. “I do wish to have Björn’s support in this venture, so I will give him the updated plan, before I speak with my brother about it. Though, I will do so with or without Björn’s approval. Torvi has insinuated that he may be very difficult to convince, so… I don’t hold out too much hope.”

“My son is fond of a good plan, one he believes will work,” Lagertha said. “And, I believe he will see how like Ivar you think.” Aethelind’s eyes widened. “That, in and of itself, has increased my confidence.”

“Might I ask why that is?” Aethelind asked curiously. “Don’t you think that may make Ivar keen to what I’m attempting to do?”

“On the contrary,” Lagertha countered. “It means it may work exactly as we hope it will on him.”

A smile split Aethelind’s face, and she nodded. “Then I hope and pray it will, Your Highness.” She turned to Heahmund, and with a slightly less enthusiastic expression, added, “We all must.”

“And we all will,” he assured her. “But you have business, now. Go to Björn and your brother, convince them as you have us and the others. Then, we’ll see about training you.”

Aethelind’s smile returned in full force, and she nodded eagerly. “Thank you, Bishop Heahmund, I will.” She gave both their arms a small squeeze, and then said, “Enjoy the feast,” before turning and walking away.

“What do you think?” Lagertha asked Heahmund, stepping back in with a look of concern on her face as she watched the Princess go.

Heahmund sighed as he considered carefully his words, also watching Aethelind’s retreating figure. “Her plan is a good one,” he said slowly. “But if it is approved…” He sighed, and gave a small shake of his head. “I will pray to God daily for her safety, and her survival.”

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[angelruel]

vintage pt.2

      summary: the reader gets into an accident which causes her to lose her memory. as Ruel begins to rebuild their relationship and recall the good memories between them, some bad ones are restored as well and might threaten their future. 

masterlist

Word Count: 4.4 k (kind of long, oops)

       “Soooo what’s my favorite color?”

       “Easy. Blue,” he retorted while reaching over to fill in a space on the tic tac toe board that Y/N had drawn on her empty lap desk. He was the x’s and she played the o’s. It was a bit difficult for Ruel to pretend to not know all of her tricks she played in this game, but he was a very convincing loser. She had also taken the opportunity of his return to test him on some trivia of her personal likes and dislikes. 

       “Okay, here’s a good one,” she said as she filled the left hand corner on the board with a perfect circle. Ruel learned a long time ago that her strategy was to fill two corners and the center spot of the board in order to have an upper hand on winning. He watched her play the same way over again. Ruel admired her predictability and he almost felt confident enough that her tic tac toe skills returning would somehow correlate to her feelings for him to return as well.

       “Well finally a good one. Lay it on me.” He gave her his signature soft smile that he always grants her when he’s being his sweetest version of a boyfriend.

       “What’s my favorite song? Or, at least one of my favorite songs.”

       Ruel scrunches up his nose in thought, “hmmm. I’m gonna need a little more context, bub.”

       “Okay so maybe my favorite song I like to hear on a road trip. Something that gets me energized.” Ruel found it funny that she was reaching for more and more clues to jog her memory. They both knew that couldn’t she remember the last road trip she’d been on, or any of them for that matter. He was proud that she was at least in a more positive mood about not remembering things. 

       “Wait a Minute! by Willow Smith. There’s one.”

       Y/N’s happy expression dropped to a confused one. 

       “Huh? I don’t listen to Willow Smith.”

       They both just sat there for a while. There was still an apparent wall that Y/N had built up to secure herself from being hurt by Ruel since she barely knew him. 

       But the truth was that she barely knew herself.

       “Well, I guess I did listen to her music,” she dropped her head down. “I guess I just can’t remember it.” 

       Ruel used the sleeve of his sweater to wipe off the marker drawings on Y/N’s desk tray so that he could lean over it to hold her hands.

       “Hey, how about we do something else? I brought back some stuff like you asked me for.” She looked up and gave him a soft smile when he let go of her hands to grab a blue shoebox from the floor.

       “Oh, you brought gifts! Yay!” she exclaimed while clapping her dainty hands over and over. He sat the box in front of her lap on the hospital tray and she stared at it for a minute. One of the things she did remember was that blue was her favorite color. And after having a few conversations with Ruel, she discovered that his was brown. So, she assumed that the color of the box was a little nod to her. She thought that was really sweet.

       “You can go ahead,” he encouraged her. “If you have any questions, just ask.”

       She hesitated to lift the flimsy lid from the top. Partly because she was afraid that seeing the contents wouldn’t help jog her memories at all, and also because she was still pretty weak from the constant dosage of pain meds she’d grown accustomed to. 

       The first things to come out of the box were some polaroids and a bunch of little papers she grabbed that were grouped together. One of the polaroids showed a group photo in front of a campfire with little writing at the bottom that said ‘new years 2020.’ There were some post-it notes with little messages written on them in pencil. They were fading but Y/N could still make out what they said. It was a girl’s handwriting, and there was a little drawing of a pond? Or maybe a lake. 

i drew you a pond since you wanna act like a silly goose all the time. bitch.

               -y/n

       There was another one filled with words instead of a cute drawing, and she assumed this one was a serious matter.

hi, love. i left to go watch the sunrise with coco around 4 am-ish. you probably would’ve wanted to join us, but you look so peaceful when you’re sleeping. and coco said that you’ve been smothering me lately and encouraged me to sneak out. anyways, i’ll probably be back before you see this, but just in case i’m not, don’t call the cops. okay that’s all. in case i never return, i love you. 

                -y/n (under the heavy influence of stella)

       Ruel chimed in to explain. “Yeah, you used to leave me little notes like that sometimes instead of texting like a normal person.” 

       “And you kept them?”

       “Of course I did. I’m not a monster.” He joked and she playfully hit his chest with the stack of notes. Ruel scooted his chair closer to the side of Y/N’s bed and leaned in. “Lets see what else we got in here.”

       There were movie tickets, receipts from restaurants, and even old wristbands from festivals. 

       “Is this what you meant when you said I grow attached to material things?” She laughed on the outside but in reality, Y/N was so infatuated in the idea that a boy would keep a box of things that reminded him of her and their relationship. 

       “Ha yeah, I guess it kind of rubbed off on me after a while.” Ruel reached his hand into the box as well and pulled out a little beaded bracelet. It had a simple pattern of ocean blue and brown wooden beads. He played with it in between his fingers.

       “I remember this. Your cousin made it for us when you brought me to Thanksgiving. She kept running back and forth asking us what our favorite colors were. It was so cute. And she said we had to share it,” he reminisced. 

       He gave her the bracelet which she carefully placed on the wrist that wasn’t connected to an IV. There were mostly pictures in the box. Pictures of Y/N and Ruel in different settings: kissing, posing next to venue signs with his name on it, cooking, etc. She picked up one of the pictures and examined it carefully. 

       “I remember this,” she said in a nonchalant matter. Ruel looked up at her, then back at the picture in her hand.

       “You do?” 

       “Yeah, I remember that whole trip. That was a fun trip. Hmm.” She hummed to herself in bliss with a grin on her face. 

       “Tell me about it,” he grinned back at her. “What do you remember?” She looked down for a while. It was almost like the times they spent together were in secret, and too precious to share with anyone else. She felt a deep connection to someone-whoever it was to make her feel such strong emotions in just the echos of the times they spent together. Y/N began longing for the person who made her experience this type of fondness. The person she was looking for was right in front of her. Why was she holding back?

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       “Okay, how do I say this,” Y/N’s hand snaked up to her head to rake through her hair as she paced in deep thought. She took in a deep breath and turned around to look at him sitting in the hospital chair across the room.

       “I-I want this to be special. I mean, you’ve been so patient and considerate with me. You haven’t tried to rush me into anything at all. But I see the way you look when you think I’m not paying attention. You’re hurting, and I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to finally give in. Well not, finally give in, but. You know, you know what I’m trying to say right?” She used every ounce of energy she had to walk across the room to face him. She picked him up and brought his face close to hers. 

       “I’m trying to tell you that I love you,” she whispered and smiled softly. Before she could say anything else, Y/N heard the doorknob rattle in desperation to open it. 

       She quickly threw the teddy bear back into the chair and tried to pretend that she was doing anything else. 

       Ruel leaned into the door frame and struggled to keep his balance as he carried a Taco Bell bag and two drinks in his hands. 

       “Oh, let me help you with that,” Y/N rushed over to him to grab the drinks and his eyes grew in shock.

       “Well, it’s nice to see you up and moving so much. The doctor was right, you really have been getting stronger every day.” Y/N smiled up at him with pride as they both settled the food onto her desk. “So, have you heard anything yet?” 

       “Anything about what,” Y/N mumbled in between taking bites of her soft taco. She knew exactly what he was referring to, though.

       “Oh, you know. Like when are you gonna get out of this place? I mean, with the way you’re up and walking now,” he brought his free hand up to rest on the back of her neck as he examined her face with concerned eyes. “It’s been, what, four weeks now? They said four to six weeks, but by the looks of it, you’re healing up really well. You’ve done so good lately.”

       She mouthed ‘thank you’ and gave him another wide smile. Y/N was happy that he was proud of her progress. He played a big part of her growth, though. Through the discomfort and the multiple procedures she had to undergo, Ruel was always there at the side of her bed to rely on. Whether she was up at 4 am crying because she couldn’t remember the names of her dogs or freaking out in excitement after being able to stand up on her own, he was there for it all.

       And as her strength developed each day, so did her trust and love for him. She assumed that it wasn’t the same as their previous relationship, but it was more than enough to keep them happy. He would always tell her that he loved her, but she didn’t say it back. He told her it was fine, that he knew she didn’t really know who he was and he wouldn’t hold it against her. But in return, he needed for her to accept that he still loved her as much as he did before the accident and to be okay with him loving her even if it meant that she couldn’t love him equally back for a while. 

       But after spending so much time with him, Ruel was hardly a stranger to Y/N anymore. He was a friend, a very understanding and attractive friend. She couldn’t ignore the burning sensation she felt deep in her stomach when he would cuddle up close to her on the bed during their movie nights. She couldn’t ignore the desire or the comfort she felt for him any time that he was around (which was very often because Ruel was always around). He told her that he would wait for her, that she should take her time to decide if she wanted to continue their relationship whenever she was ready. He told her that she’d just gone through a major trauma and that she needed to focus on getting better. He said he would wait for her, but a part of her feared that he was only saying this to make her feel better. She feared that he had already accepted that they were just friends, that maybe he’d already began a new romance with some skinny long-haired girl in Sydney and he was just waiting for Y/N to get her strength back so that he could go home to her. 

       “Okay, well I have to tell you something,” she finally came out with. Ruel sat up straight in his chair to give her his full attention. His eyes were fixated on her face and his hands rested in his lap. She found herself lost in thought trying to remember what she wanted to tell him but she couldn’t focus on anything but his beauty. 

       “Did they already tell you whether you’re going home or not?” he laughed a little as he went to grab his drink off of the desk. “Did I miss it when I went to get lunch?” He used the side of his jeans to wipe the water that got on his hand from the cup. His huge hand. The same huge hand that he then used to move the long strands of hair out of his face. He’d previously told her that she did not like the long hair look on him and always encouraged him to get haircuts and shave. In the moment, Y/N couldn’t figure out why the hell anyone would ever encourage him to change his appearance when he looked like that. The long hair and mustache gave him a much more mature look in comparison to the old pictures and videos she would look at of him. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to cut the hair that she so desperately wanted to run her fingers through. She quickly snapped out of it and shut her eyes so she couldn’t look at the beautiful boy in front of her.

       “I really do have to tell you something,” she started and stopped because she was nervous. With her eyes still closed, she felt Ruel’s hand grab hers.

       “What’s going on, why are you acting so weird?” he let out a nervous laugh and Y/N realized that he was probably feeling the same anxiety as her in the moment. She knew that someone had to be the confident one in this scenario, and she decided that it would be her. She took one last deep breath and let go of it.

       “Do you remember what I told you when I first told you I loved you?”

       “Yes,” he laughed again, “Do you want me to tell you the story again?” She nodded quickly in a child-like manner and looked at him in adoration.

       “It was a little after a month of us dating and I’d just taken you home after we went out driving and just hanging out. I was almost back in the car when I saw you run out of the house, barefoot, yelling at me to wait.” Y/N laughed a little and felt the tension between the two of them begin to melt away. 

       “And then what did I do?”

       “You went into this whole speech about how you felt and how you were very scared to be vulnerable because you were afraid of being hurt. And then you said something that I’d never forget,” he looked up at the ceiling as if the answers were written on the tiles, “you told me that the fear you felt only grew as you fell more in love with me. You said you thought that it would never go away, but you didn’t want it to stop you from embracing the happiness you felt when you were with me. And then you told me you loved me, and that you were scared of me. You said that I made you wanna jump into the fear rather than run away from it. You said you knew that you loved me as soon as you felt scared. Because you knew you had found something worth cherishing. And if it ever went away, you didn’t think you’d survive it.” He looked down. After saying all of that, it still seemed like there was something he was missing. He looked as if he didn’t manage to not break her heart. He was scared too.

       “Ruel?” Y/N let her hands relax and gripped onto his tighter. 

       “Yeah?”

       “I’m scared.” She began to fiddle with his long digits and almost felt hesitation to do anything next.

       “What are you afraid of-” he began, but was interrupted by the connection of her lips onto his. He freed his hand and rose it up to the back of her neck so he could deepen the kiss. They kissed again, and again. They kissed until their faces were red and she broke away for a moment to catch her breath. She smiled at him and he looked back at her in disbelief. 

       “I love you. I really do, Ruel. And I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long but I don’t want to be just friends. I want you in my life like you used to be,” her eyes dropped to her lap and her expression changed, “before everything got so fucked up.”

       He grabbed her face again and began to pepper it with kisses. At this point, Ruel was halfway onto her bed. She brought up her dainty hands to cup his face and she gently pulled away again. Ruel hitched a rushed breath out as he pouted in confusion as to why she pulled away. 

       “Oh yeah, I’m going home today.” She smiled with her teeth and he laughed in pure bliss before grabbing her face again.

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       The boxes piled in the middle of the living room all started to disappear one by one. Y/N watched in awe as Ruel picked up every box and placed it in its proper area. Her legs swung back and forth in boredom while she waited on top of the kitchen counter where Ruel had placed her since she refused to wear shoes on the trip to her apartment.

       “You’re such a good slave,” she told him in a sweet tone as her eyes followed him across the area. He shook his head, barely giving her an ounce of the attention she practically begged for, and continued moving things around. 

        “Honey are you sure you’re gonna be okay on your own like this? You can stay back home a little longer if you’d like,” Y/N’s mother remarked. She looked at her daughter with concern.

        “I’m not alone, I have Ruel. And besides, I’ve already left the nest once before. I should be fine.”

        “Well I guess I’ll be on my way home now. Call me if you need anything. Anything.” Y/N pecked a kiss on her cheek and guided her mom outside.

        By the time she got back into the apartment, the living room was clear of boxes and she moved down the hall in search of her boyfriend. She found Ruel in her bedroom on the edge of the bed hunched over his phone. 

        “What’s so interesting?” She sat down beside him and rested her chin on his shoulder. Once she realized what he was watching, she pulled out one of his airpods so she could listen in. It was from her Youtube channel she started a few months ago. She had faint memories of vlogging herself doing normal things like grocery shopping or going to her brother’s football games. She’d only looked at a few of her storytime videos, including the one where she details how she met Ruel. This was a video she hadn’t seen before, though. It was of her and Ruel together in some resort. It looked like they were on vacation and he explained to her that they were in Amsterdam for some music festival and had decided to make an entire trip out of it since it was so close to their anniversary. They’d coordinated matching outfits for the first weekend and were posing in front of the bathroom mirror together like lovesick idiots.

        “Damn, I’m so jealous of us.”

        Ruel let out a low chuckle at her and skipped through the parts she’d recorded of his performance.

        “Yeah, most people are.” He fast forwarded to a portion of the video after they returned to the hotel. Ruel was in the shower and Y/N was laying on the bed, recently showered, detailing all of the ways she was proud of her boyfriend. He laughed when she poked fun of how he forgot his own lyrics on stage.

        “Well that was almost cute,” he added and locked the phone.

        “Hey, it’s still pretty cute,” she laughed, “You can’t be mad at me for telling the truth, babe.”

        “Babe, huh?” he questioned as he turned to face her.

        “What, is that weird? Or too soon? I mean, you call me ‘bubs’ and ‘love’ all the time,” she looked down and played with the details of her jeans.

        “It’s adorable. I love it. And I love you,” he reassured her as he cupped her face and pulled it in for a puffy kiss. She kissed him back, this time with more dominance. Y/N kissed Ruel like there was a pot of gold hidden somewhere in his mouth that she was determined to get.

        Ruel matched her energy right away. He kissed her back and gripped the back of her neck to guide her face closer into his. They adorned each other with open mouths and full hearts. As they continued, Y/N felt the urge to go further and further with him, exploring his body and getting to know him on a more intimate level. They were so good at making out, it seemed like they’d done it a thousand times before. It felt like she was kissing a lover from a different lifetime, like she’d replayed scenarios over and over which all ended with her loving him. She couldn’t remember ever doing this with him before, but her body remembered. Everything with Ruel came with such ease. Every time he touched her body, she was overcome with euphoria and only craved more. She craved being closer to him, kissing him deeper.

        “Mmm, take this off please,” she tugged on his shirt and he quickly pulled it off before resuming his actions. Y/N felt herself falling into an intoxicated state as she moaned against his mouth. He responded to her by wrapping his hand around her thigh and pulling it closer against him. They both began to move in sync with each other, both giving and taking as their bodies danced a routine they knew too well. Y/N was so distracted by Ruel that she didn’t even hear her mother walk back in through the front door. She only whined when he pulled his face away from hers.

        “Why’dyoustop,” she breathed out. She was out of breath and watched him with puppy dog eyes as he stood up.

        “Your mom is back,” he stated flatly. He was clearly out of breath too and he was trying to calm himself down so he could see what was going on in the front.

       “...so?” she gave him a blank stare and patted on his side of the bed to join her again, “she can let herself out.”

       “Don’t worry, bubs. We’ve got time,” he chuckled to himself and pulled his shirt back on over his head. Y/N sighed and jumped from her side of the bed to join Ruel in the living room.

       “I’m sorry, hun. I forgot the most important box: your things from the hospital.” Y/N’s mother placed a small box on the counter and tapped the top of it lightly, “This is what you had on you when the crash happened. There’s not much in there, just the clothes you were wearing, your wallet, your phone,”

       “My phone?” Her eyes perked up. So did Ruel’s. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. I bet there’s a bunch of clues in there to help jog my memory,” she picked up the box and skipped down the hallway to drop it off. 

       “I’m pretty sure it’s dead, so you’ll have to find a charger for it. You probably have the same kind.” Her mom gestured towards Ruel, who looked like he’d just seen a ghost. His eyes were fixated in thought, emotionless and dazed in a trance.

        “Huh? Oh yeah, probably. Sure.” He snapped out of his guilty state quickly and turned to see Y/N coming back from her bedroom.       

        “Was that it, Mom? Cause we were just about to go out and get some food before it gets dark.” They both said goodbye and hugged Y/N’s mother. Once the door was shut behind her, Y/N grabbed Ruel’s hand with a quickness. His worries were suddenly gone as she led him down the hall. 

        It wasn’t long before they’d continued right where they left off. Y/N was still indulging herself in him and embracing the comfort she felt in his arms. She gripped the fabric of his shirt into her fists to deepen the kiss and felt the vibration from his mouth into hers as he let out muffled moans. With each kiss, she found herself thinking about all of the things she couldn’t wait to do with him before another thought popped into her mind and snapped her out of the daydream. She pulled away from him and turned her head towards the box.

        “I’ve been wondering what was left on my phone,” she gestured to the dresser. “I need to plug it up so I can see what was going on before I lost my memory. It would be cool to see who I last talked to right before my life was ruined, right?” She laughed and began to sit up. Ruel grabbed her hand and lightly pulled it so she could come back down to him.

        “I thought you wanted to do this, yeah? I mean hey, this is our first official night together alone. We can look into the phone later, right?”

        Y/N nodded and laid back down next to him. “Hmmm, you’re right. This first, phone later,” she declared before connecting their lips once more. As Ruel rolled his lanky body on top of hers, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder why Ruel was so against her looking at her phone. Was there a dirty secret in there that he didn’t want her to find? She dismissed her paranoid thoughts and continued.

a/n: okay, so that’s that on that. ugh what is on that phone that he doesn’t want her to see???? i hope this makes sense, i’ve reread it so many times and it seems like crap but i’m still going to post it. thank you for the support of my page, and please send me asks with what fics you would like to see next ;)

[ghost-ghost-baby]

Scales pt. 2 (yan!bakusquad fantasy au)

Ive worked on this so long I hate it,,,,,,,

Requests: open

Kirishima had left you alone to dress, and you saw this as your opportunity. If you could just get away you could figure this all out. The clothes you tossed on barely registered as you eyed the weapons laying around, opting for a sword, and a small dagger you could hide. Easy. Now you just had to get out of here, far away where Kirishima couldn’t find you. You were halfway out the tent before he was there, eyes burning despite the smile on his face.

“What’re you doing, Y/n?” He stepped closer and you were frozen, lips pulled back in a snarl.

“You can’t keep me here.”

“Why not? You don’t have any family, or friends. I love you, I’ll keep you safe. We’re bonded.” His tone was light, loving even, and you couldn’t deny he was right. That didn’t mean you had to be happy about it.

“And you haven’t even met the others yet, you’ll love them so much!”

“W-What… others?”

“Denki, and Mina, and Hanta, and Katsuki! We’re all bonded too!”

Oh gods, you were going to kill him. So what if he was a dragon? He wasn’t going to kill you.

“Uh huh, okay, sure lemme just-” You raised your hands, purely intending to do your best to smite him, but he was faster. Kirishima was a fucking dragon, of course he was faster what had you been- why were you pressed against his chest? You kept getting distracted. Kirishima’s hand was on the back of your neck, as soon as you tried to pull away fingers were rubbing the base of your skull and you were melting.

“What the fuck was that?” You mumbled, as soon as you were focused enough to speak. That bastard had done… something! As soon as he’d rubbed your neck you’d just, you’d just been gone. You hadn’t been able to focus, or move, you were just dazed and cuddling with Kiri had felt so good.

“Side effect of the bond! It just helps calm you down!” Kirishima was cheerful as always, and it made you want to punch him.

“Hanta and Katsuki are off doing business or something, but you’ll love Denki and Mina! They’re in our group tent!” The redhead was babbling on, carrying you towards, excuse your language, an absolutely huge fucking tent. “You’ll get the hang of everything soon enough, but we have individual tents throughout the village, and this group tent that we spend most of our time in!” He pushed open the- the flap? Door? Fuck if you knew, and the first thing you registered was how nice it was. It was decked out with plush pillows, furs, blankets, food was in one of the corners, vanity items in another. How on earth did they have all this? The second thing you registered was the people. A boy with eyes as gold as the other dragon. Oh god, he was one as well, wasn’t he? The girl next to him had pink hair, which wasn’t as unusual as her eyes and skin. It was a light pink all over.

“I- what?” Your voice drew their attention, and they were bounding over to you, smiles almost blinding.

“Mina’s actually a fae, and Denki was the other dragon you saw!”

You knew that name was familiar.

“Are they part of your harem too?” Your words made Denki laugh and Kirishima blush, Mina was grinning from ear to ear. You hadn’t meant to say that, way to make an impression.

“Oh they’re funny Kiri!” Mina stepped forward, taking you from the redhead with surprising ease. How strong was she? It was all you could think about as you leant on her, your head was still too fuzzy to focus.

“Where did Kirishima go?” You asked sometime later, coddled up in the furs with Denki and Mina. They really hadn’t given you a choice. You’d been too out of it hen they were talking earlier, you’d completely missed it.

“He went to help Katsuki and Hanta!” Mina replied, eyes trained on the sparkles she’d been playing with.

“You should really call him Eijiro, or Kiri. You don’t wanna see him upset.” Denki blinked up at you from where he’d lazily cuddled into your side, arm thrown over you.

“Take Denki’s word for it, if you upset Kiri then Katsuki will come down on you with everything he has, and you don’t want that.” Mina’s sparkles were gone now, and you had to admit you missed them.

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” You found yourself agreeing, lured in by the drowsy happiness that seemed to float around them. You’d wanted to be happy your whole life.

You turned over to Mina, only mildly surprised to see her staring right back.

“So how’d you all…” You trailed off, unsure of how to get the words out. “All get… together?”

“Oh, it’s a pretty long story, but I’ll do my best to sum it up!” Mina let her hand drop down, brows furrowed as she tried to think, and you were far too aware of Denki’s hand rubbing over the curve of your hip.

“Well, Kiri saved Katsuki when they were teenagers, they’ve been glued together ever since. I was next, I ran into them after there had been an… attack… The details are kinda fuzzy, I just remember being so drawn to them. Then we met Denki, and Hanta, they’d been together for a couple years. And now we have you u! So that completes the relationship!”

“What do you mean complete the-”

“Bonds are only six people of course! Some people only have three or four, but six is the most common with dragons!”

You felt dizzy, you honestly thought you’d die rescuing Kiri, you really hadn’t… planned what would happen after.

“Uh huh, okay, sure…” You didn’t even know what to think, this felt far too comfortable to be normal, you were usually so tense around other people. Maybe a nap would help? Denki had already dozed off on the other side, surely it would be okay if you joined him?

“C’mon Mina, please! I haven’t seen Denki in ages! And I wanna meet Y/n!” That voice was new, and you were still waking up. You’d somehow turned in your sleep, head tucked under Denki’s chin and his arm still over you. If that wasn’t enough to make you blush, the fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt definitely did.

“Shh, let them sleep Hanta!”

“No!”

" Ugh. How far are Katsuki and Ei?”

“I flew faster than them but they shouldn’t be long. I was excited to see everyone.” Hanta, you guessed, whined, stepping closer to where you were still pretending to sleep.

“Stop whining and come here, we’re already awake. You guys are loud.” Denki’s mumble gave you a heart attack, your whole body jolting and your face going bright red.

“Denki, you scared them!” Mina was kneeling next to you, pulling you into her lap before you could protest. “Humans aren’t like us, you have to be careful!” She scolded as she ran her fingers through your hair, and you were surprised to see that Denki was nodding.

“You’re a real cutie, huh?” Hanta knelt down next to you, hand brushing over your cheek, “And so soft!”

They were crazy, you’d saved a crazy ass dragon and now you were part of his crazy harem. Still… you couldn’t really… do anything about it, could you? Everyone had been… more than nice so far, nicer than anyone ever had been.

“Y/n is so cute Hanta! They cuddled up to me while they were asleep and made the cutest noises!” Denki had crawled over to Hanta’s side, nuzzling under his arm and staring at you with so much intensity you couldn’t help but hide your face in Mina’s hair. She smelt like strawberries and cream, and you found yourself inhaling like your life depended on it. It was almost addictive.

“We’re back!” Eijiro’s voice made you turn, warmth blooming in your chest and only growing stronger when the redhead scooped you up into a hug. Your arms wrapped around his neck, perfectly content to let him hold you.

“Aaaaawwwww Red! You didn’t hold back, huh?” Mina invited herself into the hug, shortly followed by the others. Wow, it was gonna take a while to get used to that.

“Let me see them.” A gruff voice interrupted the hug, everyone springing back and leaving you cradled in Eijiro's arms without any other protection from the newcomer. A squeak left you as you were passed over, feet touching the ground despite who you assumed was Katsuki still holding you up and supporting you. You didn’t want to look up, eyes fixed on the floor.

“You don’t have to be that scared, you reek.” Fingers gripped your jaw, forcing your face up so you had no choice but to look into red eyes. They looked feral, but fuck he was so pretty.

“I’m uh… not… scared…?” Your brain was short circuiting, hands falling limp to your side, everything finally catching up to you.

“Huh, what a liar.” His sneer didn’t have any venom behind it, “They’re still weak, get them to bed. You know what humans are like.”

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Family and Fantasy

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Y/N finally gets the life she’s been dreaming of with the man she’s in love with but it’s not all it appears. 

Warnings: Supernatural typical violence, bad writing as always

____________________________________________

The sun shone brightly on your face, warming your skin, as you leaned against the warm sun-heated Impala. A light breeze rustled through the leaves of the forest that surrounded the clearing you were in and across the field of mixed weeds and flowers. Dean always insisted they were weeds at least; you thought that it was all beautiful. 

A large smile spread across your face as you heard the squealing laughter of your three year old son, Marcus, “Daddy stop!” He giggled, Dean chasing him in small circles with a big grin. You watched the two of them run around in the middle of the empty dirt road in front of your home.

“I’m gonna get you!” Dean said, closing in on the little boy, snatching him up in his arms and swinging him around. Laughter filled the air as Dean tossed him in the air and and ran up to you. “Now let’s get Mommy!” 

You put your arms up, jokingly shielding yourself as Dean and Marcus came running towards you, Marcus’s hands outstretched. His bright green eyes - his father’s eyes - sparkled with glee. Marcus squealed excitedly. “No!!!” You teased. Suddenly, Dean thrust Marcus into your open arms, “throwing” him at you. 

“Got you!” Marcus giggled, throwing his slightly chubby arms around your neck. Dean came up besides you, wrapping his arms around your body and squeezing you and your son into his arms. He kissed the top of your head and you snuggled into his neck, taking in everything. The feeling of his skin against yours, the scent of him and his cologne on his shirt, the slight scratch of his ever-so-slightly scruffy face on your cheek as he nuzzled against you, the squirming of your son as he vied for your attention over Dean. Most importantly, you looked up at Dean and you saw him smile. He actually smiled with genuine happiness and contentment. 

You looked up lovingly at him and watched his gaze scan across the scene in front of him: from the luscious green forest around a field mixed with grass and flowers to the dirt road that doubled as your driveway to the large dirt driveway that led to your home then back to your son, who there was no denying was his just by looks. Finally, his gaze drifted down, beautiful green eyes meeting yours as he kissed you gently, “I love you.” 

______________

Dean rushed into the motel room excitedly, setting the bags of take-out on the half-broken table. It was a good night. It was his night to take the bed instead of the floor and he had just gotten back from getting a double bacon cheeseburger. What wasn’t to love? “I HAVE PROVIDED!” He announced, throwing his arms in the air triumphantly for doing a basic human task like getting food.

He reached into the large brown paper bag, pulling out his burger before looking pu and noticing that nobody was getting their food. “Don’t all get up at once.” He commented sarcastically, looking at Sam, Cas, Jack, and… oh. That’s what was off. “Where’s Y/N?” 

Sam leaned back from his laptop, “Y/N’s not back yet.” 

“What do you mean Y/N isn’t back yet?” He asked. 

“I mean she isn't back. She left this morning to go check in on the girl we wanted to talk to about the potential case here but she never came back. She stopped responding to my text messages five hours ago. She won’t answer her phone.” 

“Maybe her phone died?” Dean suggested, trying to push aside the panic that was rising in his chest. 

Cas shrugged, “That’s what we assumed too but she’s been gone for almost twelve hours. Even if her phone did die, she should have been back by now or at least told us she went to go do other things. It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night. And nothing in this town is open past eight as far as I can tell.” 

Dean thought for a second, “Okay… so what do we do? Where do we start? What do we know?” He rambled. 

“I’m not sure,” Jack started, “But she went to interview someone who knew the vic right? Maybe we should go talk to the girl she interviewed? See if she knows anything?” 

Cas nodded, “That would be a good place to start.”

Before Cas even finished agreeing, Dean had the keys pulled out of his pocket and was heading towards the door, “Alright, let’s go.” 

__________________

“Excuse me boys but what exactly do you think you’re doing?” You questioned, hands on your hips, as you watched your three year old sitting on the granite kitchen counter next to your husband, both of them looking like a deer in headlights. Marcus quickly ripped his hand out of the pack of cookies he and Dean were sneaking into while Dean continued to look at you, mid-bite into his chocolate chip cookie. They knew they were caught. “I just got back from the store to make dinner! It is not time for cookies!” You exclaimed, not actually mad, just irritated at Dean for spoiling your son’s appetite. It was hard enough getting him to eat his veggies sometimes. 

“Daddy! Mommy’s home!” Marcus very obviously scream whispered, panicking. 

Dean leaned over, “Yeah, thanks buddy.” You cocked an eyebrow at him. After a second, Dean stood a little straighter, looking at you defiantly and finishing biting into the cookie. 

“Dean Winchester! Don’t make me fight you!” You threatened, reaching over to pick Marcus up off the counter. 

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Dean asked with a smirk and cheesy eyebrow wiggle. 

Your eyes widened as you cleared your throat, motioning to the toddler in your arms. 

Your husband rolled his eyes, “Awe c’mon, he’s three. He doesn’t know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes back at him, setting Marcus down. 

After watching him run into the other room, Dean moved a little closer to you, grabbing your waist and leaning close to you, his scruffiness scratching seductively up your neck, making your knees weak. “So… maybe we can get him to bed early tonight and we can make that a promise?” 

______________________

“Hello, Miss. Peyton Wilson?” Sam started, the girl nodding in response, “I’m agent Cole and this is my partner agent Wanek,” He gestured to Dean, “Another agent came by this morning to speak with you about your brother’s death, correct?” 

Peyton looked as if she’d been crying for days, her eyes puffy and hair messy, “I already talked to the police. But no, nobody from the FBI came by.” 

“No?” Sam asked, fear flashing in his chest, “Okay, well I’m sorry for bothering you so late. We’ll be back tomorrow at a more reasonable time to speak with you about the incident. Have a good night.” 

“So she never made it here?” Dean thought out loud as they walked towards the impala where Jack and Cas were. 

From the back, Cas said, concerned, “Then she’s been missing for longer than we thought.” 

“So where do we start then?” Dean asked, needing something productive to be said. He felt like they weren’t getting anywhere. 

In the backseat, a thought occurred to Jack, “What if whatever we’re hunting here got Y/N too?” 

Dean groaned, “Then we better find whatever it is fast. We don’t even know for sure what we’re hunting. But whatever it is, it’s not good and she probably doesn’t have much time.” 

“Three known victims so far, all completely drained of blood. So we’re down to… what? A vamp or a djinn?” Sam thought through before sighing, “Either way, it’s not good.” 

“And where’s the nest then?” Cas asked. 

Out across the dark, rainy street, what looked like a teenage girl walking down the sidewalk caught Sam’s attention. She walked straight ahead, shielding herself from the rain by pulling her coat over her head. Sam watched, noticing that she kept glancing behind her nervously. “Hey, guys…” Sam mentioned, drawing everyone’s attention to the young girl who was quickly looking more and more scared. The girl completely stopped, looking around and taking out her earbuds when suddenly a man appeared out of the bushes next to her. Within less than a second, his eyes glowed a bright blue, illuminating his heavily tattooed body, and he snatched her into the bushes, the both of them disappearing silently. 

All four of the men jumped out of the car, rushing towards where the girl and djinn just stood. “I guess we know which one it is now.” As they approached where they were, they couldn’t find where they went. Dean rustled the leaves around, trying to figure out where the djinn could have possibly taken the girl. That’s when he saw the opening behind the bush. 

“Right here guys!” He announced, ripping away the branches and diving straight into the tunnel, gun drawn. It was dark and entirely concrete, walls, floor, ceiling, and all. Water leaked from cracks in the ceiling, small weeds peeping through the seams between slabs on cement. The tunnel itself only went about fifteen feet in before opening into a medium sized room lit only by the sporadic, nearly-burnt out candle. 

Dean cautiously scanned the room, nodding his head silently to let the other three men know it was clear. They all entered, guns readied. Broken furniture littered the room except for the occasional mostly intact couch or table. The men spread around the room, each looking in different areas for either the man or the girl he took or (preferably) you. 

Jack followed along one wall, seeing a hallway that led off to the right. He rounded the corner, gasping when he saw the scene in front of him. Across the room, he saw a row of people strung up by rope around their wrists, feet barely touching the floor (not that it mattered considering they hung limp and unconscious anyways.) There were three people in total: one older gentleman, a younger man- the one who’s disappearance drew you all to the town in the first place, and you. Each of you were hooked up to an IV system, deep red blood flowing from your arms into a bag that hung next to each of your bodies.  “Dean! Sam! Cas!” Jack yelled, alerting the others. 

______________________________

You couldn’t help the slight quiver in your legs or the flutter in your chest as Dean’s lips dipped below your jaw and just behind your ear, knowing every spot on your body that made you weak. His rough hands gently crept under your shirt, calloused fingers resting on your soft skin, as he pinned your body between his hips and the granite kitchen counter. You tilted your head, giving him better access to exactly where you wanted him. A whimper escaped your lips as he sank his teeth into your delicate skin before soothing over it with his tongue. 

“Do you realize how beautiful you are?” He asked, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes with all the love and adoration that they held five years ago when you first fell in love. 

Gosh, the way this man made you feel. He had the power to make you feel like the strongest most badass woman in the world but he could also make you feel like the most beautiful, loved person on the planet. 

“Do you realize how much I love you?” You responded, hoping your eyes conveyed the exact same message his did. Before he could respond, you pulled him close to you, hand resting on his neck before craning your mouth back up to meet his in a fiery kiss. Dean’s large hands trailed down from your hips to your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter. He quickly closed the gap between you, hips coming flush with you. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips as you pulled him impossibly closer, earning a grunt from Dean as the bulge in his jeans rubbed against your clothed core. 

Your lips still crashed passionately as his hand snaked around your lower back and he leaned forward, catching you off guard as you suddenly found yourself leaning back. Before you could lie all the way down, your hands shot out in panic, trying to catch yourself in a momentary panic despite the fact that Dean had you supported the whole time. In your panic, you accidentally knocked a small pile of books off the counter and they came crashing to the ground with a loud thud. 

You and Dean both froze, listening for Marcus to see if he woke up. After it was decided it was safe, you giggled at your mishap. Dean looked down at you and poked your sides in humorous aggression, “Gotta be quiet princess or you’ll wake him up! It’s already been so long.” He growled the last part, diving back into your neck, trailing hot kisses down into your cleavage and across your breasts, pulling your tank top down further to expose your supple skin. His teeth grazed over the tender flesh pulling a whimper from your lips. 

“You sound so sweet princess.” Ohhh that nickname. It really did things to you. His hands came up to massage your breasts , pulling your shirt and bra down, completely exposing you, and you found yourself arching your back into his rough palms. “You have no idea how badly I’ve missed this.” He groaned in your ear, grinding his hips into your heat and you could feel everything. 

“I’m pretty sure I have an idea.” You teased, your words broken by breathy moans. Slowly, he moved his left hand from your breast and down to your heat, massaging you through your shorts. 

“Oh Dean-” You moaned in ecstasy. 

_______________________________

“Dean…” You groaned quietly. 

“I’m here! I’m here Y/N. C’mon wake up.” Dean told you, panicked, as he and Sam ran over to you. Dean checked your pulse while Sam whipped out his knife and began sawing through the ropes that held you up. It didn’t take long to cut all the rope and your weight crashed into Dean’s arms. He gently lied you on the ground, kneeling over you. 

“He’s dead. Is she okay?” Cas asked, looking over from his own work of cutting down the elderly gentleman. 

“She’s alive.” Dean announced, “C’mon Y/N, wake up!” He shook you slightly. Gosh, you were so pale and your skin was cold and clammy. Your lips were chapped and he could’ve sworn they were almost purple. His eyes trailed down to where the IV was and he quickly removed the tape, gently removing the catheter from your arm, blood squirting down your arm from the lack of pressure. “Jack! Help!” 

Jack quickly ran over to you and swiped his hand over your body. His eyes glowed bright amber and a warm energy flowed from his hands into your body, stopping the bleeding in your arm and trailing up. As he worked his way up, you slowly regained some color and your breathing became more regular. 

Before he could finish though, Sam yelled, grunting as he was tackled to the ground by a man. Jack stopped and stood quickly, his attention turning to Sam who was being attacked by the same man that had taken the girl earlier that night. The man choked Sam, his hands gripping tightly around his throat. “Jack-” He choked out, hands trying to pry the man’s grip off. As Sam met his eyes though he noticed them glow bright blue and saw the tattoos all over his body do the same and Sam knew right away what he was dealing with. 

With a flick of his wrist, the man was thrown off Sam by some invisible force and sent crashing into the cement walls. Sam rolled over, gasping and coughing loudly, managing to croak out, “It’s a djinn!” 

The tattooed monster didn’t stay down for long though and before the boys knew it, he was back up. The djinn rushed towards Castiel, who turned soon enough to take a blunt tackle to the chest. He found himself pinned against the wall. Cas struggled hard against the pressure but the djinn wasn’t budging. Again, he glowed bright blue and brought his fingers up to Castiel’s forehead. When he did, Cas’s eyes glowed as well and he stared off as if he were in a trance. 

Before the djinn’s magic was completely though, Sam rushed up from behind, running him through with the angel blade. His blue glow flickered before completely dimming and he crashed to the ground. Cas fell as well but quickly regained consciousness, the djinn’s magic having not worked entirely. 

“Jack!” Dean hissed, snapping a distracted Jack back to his previous job of healing you.

“Right!” Jack knelt back down next to you and ran his hands over your still body. Slowly, you began moving again, even if only a little. 

Suddenly, your eyes shot open as you gasped and sat up, nearly knocking Dean’s head with yours. You leaned back against your hands as you gasped, looking around at your surroundings.

How the hell did you get here? What happened? Where were you? Two seconds ago you were in your very happy home, doing very very pleasant things with your husband when suddenly you were jolted to wherever the hell this was. You really thought you were done with all that hunter stuff… 

“Y/N?!” A familiar voice gasped, “You’re okay! We’ve got you!” 

You looked over to see Dean crouching next to you but this wasn’t your Dean. This was the Dean you’d first started dating back when you were hunters. “What’s going on?” You asked, looking around frantically. Dean, Cas, Sam, and Jack all stood around you with worried looks on their faces. 

“You were taken by a djinn,” Cas explained, turning to the boys, “Her confusion is probably caused by suddenly being jerked from whatever fantasy he had her in.” 

Fantasy. That was just a fantasy? “It all felt so real.” You sighed sadly to yourself. You wanted that to be real so badly.

Dean took your hand gently, “Believe me, I know. I’ve been zapped in by one of those suckers too.” 

“Let’s get her back to the hotel.” Sam suggested. 

Everyone nodded in agreement and Dean reached down to help you up. The second his skin touched yours, your heart sped up and you gasped, still feeling hot from his touch in your dream. Dean noticed and looked at you with a concerned expression, “You okay?” 

You nodded hurriedly, avoiding eye contact with him. It was all too weird. You’d been in love with the man for months and you finally had everything you’d dreamed of. You’d been with him in ways you could only imagine being with him in real life and now it was as if none of it had happened. Because none of it had. 

“I can do it.” You stated, pushing yourself up with wobbly arms. They were still sore despite the fact that your wounds had been healed.

Together, the five of you made your way out of the room you were in, along with the girl they’d saved. Once outside, you made quick work of making the scene look like a typical kidnapping-murder. Dean called it in to the police that you’d all been working with as FBI and told them that you’d found the victims. 

As soon as all of that was done, you’d gotten in the Impala and made your way back to the motel. Everyone noticed you were uncharacteristically quiet but chose not to push it. They had no clue what hallucination you were stuck in. 

But Jack, of course, with his child-like naivety and thirst for learning looked at you innocently in the backseat, “So you were stuck in a dream?” He asked. 

You nodded, trying to hide the sadness, “Apparently so.” 

“And he was feeding off of your blood while keeping you trapped in a dream?” He pressed, innocent curiosity all over his face. 

“Yes, Jack.” You stated simply, really not wanting to explain all of this right now. It wasn’t as if you’d just been strung up and drained of your blood all day or anything. 

He shifted in his seat to look at you, “So what did you dream about?” 

You stopped, unsure what to say. Silently, you looked up to the front seat to look at Dean, hoping with every fiber of your being that maybe that dream was some premonition, “It actually wasn’t bad,” You explained with a small smile, “It was everything I’ve wanted my life to be for a long time.” 

“Doesn’t sound like a bad way to die,” Jack commented, “Y’know, stuck in a perfect dream world where you can’t feel yourself slowly being murdered.” 

You cringed a little at the way he explained it, especially since he did it with his boy-like smile. “I guess you’re right, Jack.” You chuckled. 

“Well now that you saw your perfect life, maybe you can work on making it real!” He chirped excitedly. 

Again, your eyes found their attention on Dean and the way the moonlight and headlights highlighted his features in the night and the way he occasionally peeked back at you to make sure you were okay. How could a girl not fall for him? “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” You said with a smile. Maybe he was. 

[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice...well, he'd probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak breathed out a slow sigh of relief when the burn of dark eco finally worked its way out of his system. He rubbed his temples in a vain hope to push back the throbbing migraine the shift back gave him, and straightened his back slowly. He could hear his spine pop, and in a way the sound felt like music to his ears. Jak twitched his neck from side to side, and tried to return his focus to the world around him. 

“JAK! LOOK OUT!” Daxter screeched. Jak jerked his head up in time to see the remains of Kor begin to crash down into the ground. The head of the metal head queen bashed right into the active rift ring. Jak cursed. He twisted around to dodge and saw the kid, free of the bubble Kor put him in. 

“Precursors!” Jak hissed between his teeth. He dove for the kid and the stone, and then rolled them both out of the way. The body crashed down scant inches from Jak’s back and knocked the stone from his hand. It bounced and came to a stop a few feet away; dust and metal head remains, practically showered Jak in dirt and grime when the body fell. When the destruction stopped Jak pushed himself upward. He looked down at the kid, who stared back with wide eyes.

“You okay?” Jak rasped, ears slanted in concern. The kid nodded quickly and gave Jak a thumbs up. Jak sighed. “Oh thank the precursors.”

“Yeah, let’s thank the guys who got us in this situation in the first place,” Daxter grumbled. He wriggled his way out from under Jak’s leg. “Yes, let’s thank them. Let’s not worry about Daxter who just got squished by your big ass. You ain’t light you know! And I’m small!”

Jak chuckled. “Sorry Dax. You okay?”

Daxter shot Jak a grin back and waved his hand tiredly. “Nah, I’m good. Let’s just not do that again.”

Jak nodded once. He stood to his feet and dusted off his knees, then reached down to help the kid up and check him over. He couldn’t find any wounds, no scrapes. It honestly looked like Kor didn’t bother to hurt the child given everything, but Jak decided not to look a gift yakow in the mouth. Instead he just smiled, a sort of half quirk of his lips, and rubbed at the kids head.

“Glad you were out for most of that,” Jak murmured. “Pretty scary stuff there.”

The kid nodded, and then looked over to the stone. Jak turned to help out Daxter. He checked over his friend—even if Daxter said that nothing broke Jak needed to be certain. It didn’t help that, despite a year of having Daxter on his shoulder, Jak still worried the dark eco aura he gave out and how it might affect the teen-turned-ottsel.

“I’m fine, Jak. Quit ya fussin’,” Daxter grumbled. He shoved Jak’s hand off of his head and scampered up Jak’s leg with practiced ease. Jak sighed in relief.

“Good,” the teen mumbled.

“’Sides, I’m the hero, remember?” Daxter cheered, and Jak’s lips quirked back up.

“That you are, Dax,” Jak agreed.

Neither teen noticed the kid toddle on over to the Precursor stone at first, not until little hands touched the crystalline shape and a flash of light swallowed the world. Jak paused. His breath hitched; the light felt warm and safe and a part of him hadn’t realized that warm and safe weren’t things he’d felt anymore. At first he closed his eyes, fought back the feeling of tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Then the light left, along with it the feeling, and Jak found himself hollow, drawn out and carved thin. His throat felt dry, and he opened his eyes to find the source of the distburance—

The rest of whatever breath Jak had left him in a rush of, “Oh man…a Precursor,” spoke so faint that Daxter alone probably heard what he said. The kid backed up, stared at the glowing, tall elfin being. Jak quickly wrapped a hand around the child’s shoulder to steady him. Both stared in awe at the creature with identical looks. Even Daxter found himself struck oddly silent.

The Precursor tilted its head. There weren’t eyes, but it glowed like a miniature sun of pure eco. A second’s pause settled between the four before it even started to speak. It’s ‘voice’ reminded Jak of the Oracle in the water slums, of the idols back before the invasion that he’d romped around with, with Daxter. It sounded rough, but understanding. Cryptic, but clear. Jak couldn’t breathe.

“It is finished…” the Precursor rumbled, and Jak swallowed heavily through his dry throat. “Our ancient enemy is no more.” Kor, the thing meant Kor. Precursors Jak felt a bit faint at the thought. He’d finished an ancient war; not once, in all this time, Jak thought about the fact that the war with the metal heads went on for far longer than Haven’s history. He ducked his head and pressed his lips.

He’d ended a war.

“Take hope brave one!” the Precursor continued and Jak’s brow furrowed. “The terrible darkness inside you is now balanced by a glorious light.” At the word ‘darkness’ Jak snapped his head up. As the Precursor continued he felt himself pale. A light? No, within him Jak felt no light. Dark eco; all the remained, even now—the things that the Baron did to him. The pain. The suffering. His limbs burned with the substance faintly even in his day to day life. Jak breathed out slowly. The Precursor; it was wrong.

For a moment Jak got the feeling that the Precursor frowned at him, like it sensed his thoughts and was disappointed. It felt like all of the beings hard work, all of its guidance over the years—the years in Sandover and then the year here of fighting and bleeding and hard work—meant nothing if Jak didn’t listen. Jak licked his lips, opened his mouth to apologize, but the being shook its head.

“We will meet again,” it promised. The words rang almost ominously in the air before it turned and flew straight into the rift gate.

From his shoulder Daxter hunkered down. His ears shifted flat and he glanced to Jak. “Weeeeell…” he dragged out slowly. “That happened.”

Jak nodded, gaze focused on the ring, eyes wide. He didn’t notice when Brutter’s lurker balloon landed down with Keira, Samos, and Samos. The rift rider thankfully remained intact during the journey, and when Jak did notice—after a yell of, “Jak!” from Keira—he felt thankful that the thing survived at all. Thankful, and sad.

He glanced down to the kid.

“Jak, we haven’t much time!” Keira said quickly. She moved into his space and Jak frowned. He glanced from her to the ring and noticed how little of it seemed left. No, there really wasn’t any time left, was there? “I’ve set the coordinates back to our village. Let’s go home, everyone!”

Jak didn’t want to burst Keira’s bubble. A part of him longed for it, longed for the beach of Sandover and the simplicity of life—longed for what had been and not what was now. He couldn’t have it though. Not anymore. Not after everything that he’d done, seen, faced. Jak looked down at his hands, and then at the kid who looked back up at him.

Could he condemn a child to the future that awaited him? Could he give the boy a scant few years of happiness, knowing that when he was fourteen he’d come here, to this hell and suffer at the hands of those who should have known better? To face Erol and Praxis and to become a killer and a monster? Jak closed his eyes, he breathed out slowly.

“Keira…” he said, voice soft. The roughness of it eased away as he thought. “We are home.”

‘Dax, this…horrible place. It’s…our world!’

Jak grimaced and then slipped past Keira before she could say anything more. He tuned out Samos arguing with himself and instead helped the Kid hop up onto the platform that held the rift rider. He gave the boy a small, almost sad smile.

“You stay safe when you’re there, okay?” Jak murmured. “Remember to protect this scrawny little blabber mouth that you’ll meet. You’ll know him when you see him, and he’ll need you as much as you’ll need him.” The kid nodded his head, face set into serious lines that Jak himself wore.

“Hey!” Daxter whined and when Jak arched an eyebrow in his direction he mumbled petulantly, “’m not scrawny.”

“Sure you aren’t, Dax,” Jak chuckled softly. His ears twitched as he noted that the conversation between the two Samos’ almost grew to a close, especially when Keira started to chime in entirely confused about the situation. He glanced to Daxter, who gave a short nod, and then the ottsel darted off to help continue to distract the three just long enough that Jak could finish his goodbye.

Jak’s attention drew back to his younger self when he heard a snap of the cord from around the kid’s neck. The kid held out the seal to Jak, eyes wide and face stern. Jak stared down at it. This, this was his. This was something that was a sign of who he was, that he was the heir to this city. Jak swallowed. Did he want it? Did he want that responsibility?

No. No, it wasn’t fair to take it. Jak closed his eyes and swallowed resolutely. He reached out and curled the child’s fingers back around the seal. He shook his head softly and opened his eyes. The kid looked up at him, confused.

“It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

The kid stared down at the amulet, and then back up at Jak. He nodded resolutely and tucked it under his overalls. Jak smiled, and then blinked.

“Oh! Right, and stay away from any whumpbee nests on your ninth birthday,” Jak added quickly.

“Yeah! That wasn’t fun!” Daxter chimed in. He jumped back up onto Jak’s shoulder.

“And whose fault was it that we even got in that mess in the first place?” Jak shot back, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well I don’t know why ya lookin at me like that,” Daxter replied absentmindedly, but Jak could read the faint hint of nervousness in his best friends face.

“Sure you don’t,” Jak chuckled.

“Now boys! Enough yammering! My younger self has to get going before it’s too late!” Samos interrupted, ambling over to whack both Jak and Daxter over the heads with his stick. Jak jerked and rubbed at the spot with a scowl. Apparently not even saving the world, again, got him free from getting whacked over the head by Samos.

Jak backed away from the rift rider and gave a nod to the small kid, who nodded back before he climbed up onto the seat, the younger Samos already settled down. Jak watched them leave, a small part of him sad. He knew what future awaited the child, and a part of him wished he just stopped this before it even began.

“It’s funny,” Samos murmured from next to Jak, “but he won’t remember any of it.”

Jak glanced to Samos out of the corner of his eye. “No…” he mumbled. “I remember the light.”

Maybe he would remember more than just that. Jak hoped so.

It’d been a while before Jak exhaustedly got back to Haven. Exiting the nest had to take time; Jak and Daxter needed to protect Keira, Brutter, and Samos on their way out. Metal heads, even without Kor, were still a vicious threat and attacked on sight; although now they were uncoordinated. They had to rest frequently, curled up in hidden alcoves once they were free of the dank, twisted caverns that Kor built up. Samos hadn’t aged well and if Jak knew anything he knew that he couldn’t push Samos. Besides, Keira would have his head if he even tried.

Most nights, as they worked themselves back within communications range, Jak spent awake with Daxter snoozing away in his lap. His morph gun rested against his shoulder within easy reach just in case any metal heads surfaced while Brutter, Samos, Keira, and Daxter slept. He spent those hours with his eyes focused out on the world, watching, and his fingers gently carding through Daxter’s fur. The few times where he did sleep, he only did so when he felt assured in their safety. Even then Jak didn’t sleep for long, only an hour or two before he went back to his watch.

When they reached Mar’s gun Jak paused for rest. Daxter pulled out Ashelin’s communicator and tried to hail the Underground, tried to hail Ashelin, anyone. They were met with static and silence and a part of Jak worried that the metal heads inside Haven had taken over. Without Kor they weren’t organized, but there still remained a veritable hoard within the city when Jak left. Lips pressed thin, feeling the despondency of his companions, Jak decided they should press onward. They air train had dropped him off a ways away and maybe they’d be able to contact someone there, or even better maybe someone already sent it on ahead to await their return.

They found the site empty, no air train, nothing but torn up ground and metal heads. Jak made quick work of the beasts and focused on the others. He built up a basecamp against the craggy rock, double checked their rations with Daxter, and set up a round where everyone would give a go at the communicator in hour intervals. They just had to wait, Jak thought. Someone would come for them. The fact that Samos agreed with him at least rallied Keira to his side. Brutter didn’t doubt him one bit, and Daxter—Daxter rambled in the way he did when worried.

It took three days more before communications came back. Three days of hardly sleeping, three days spent checking the perimeter Jak set up and rationing off the rations he had with him. By the time three days passed everyone, even Samos, began to feel like they’d been abandoned. Then the communicator, for the first time, gave something other than static.

“Jak? Jak can you read me?” Ashelin’s voice came through. It crackled and popped and some of the words were dropped, but the basics of what she asked where clear.

Jak snapped up the communicator from Keira, whose turn it was to try and get into contact, and responded. “Ashelin. What the hell is going on?”

“The communications tower was hit sometime after you went into the nest,” Ashelin said through broken static. “We couldn’t be sure you were alive until we got it back up. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah,” Jak mumbled. “Kor’s dead.”

For a moment there remained silence, and then suddenly instead of Ashelin it was Torn. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” Jak growled out. “I have his head if you want proof.”

“…no, I’ll trust your word on this. It explains the sudden erratic behavior of the mess in the city.” There was a pause where Jak breathed out a sigh of relief. “How are you holding up?”

“Low on rations,” Jak said. “We’ve also got Keira, Samos, and Brutter here.”

“The Shadow’s with you!?”

Jak paused. He’d almost forgotten that Samos, the younger Samos, was the mysterious ‘Shadow’ that lead the Underground.

“Er, yeah,” Jak mumbled. “I thought you knew?”

“No! We’d been searching for him for days. For Mar’s sake, what was he thinking?!”

Before Jak could even answer Samos grabbed the communicator out of his hand and decided to voice his own response, words filled with the condescension Jak and Daxter were so familiar with.

“I was thinking that I had important matters to take care of once Kor was dead! Matters that could only be handled in the nest!” Samos ground out. “Matters such as specifically ensuring that young Jak got to a place of safety so that he could grow up to eventually save this city!”

“Jak’s there with you,” Torn said, voice pitched low. Jak winced. “What in Mar’s name are you talking about?”

“Are you that blind, Commander?” Samos grumbled. “Even I noticed the similarities when I first saw them together!”

“You did?!” Jak blurted out suddenly. “You never thought to tell me?”

“I knew you’d learn the truth if you just opened your eyes,” Samos grumbled back. “But of course you’d forget what I told you. In one ear and out the other, never listening to your elders!”

Jak scrubbed a hand through his hair and growled back, “Well telling me ‘find yourself, Jak!’ was extremely cryptic given the circumstances.”

“It was perfectly clear!” Samos defended.

“Perfectly clear my a—”

Ashelin, at some point, apparently got hold of the communicator again because her voice wafted over sharp and clear, interrupting Jak before he could even finish the sentence. “Explain. Now.”

“Jak is the heir to the city,” Samos said bluntly. “The child we protected was sent to the past to keep him safe from his enemies. He grows up to be the,” here Samos harrumphed out of annoyance, “hero to save Haven from Kor and the metal heads.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then, “Can you prove it?”

“Of course! Jak has the seal to the House of Mar, don’t you Jak?” Samos turned and peered at Jak determinedly. Jak looked away. “Don’t you, Jak?”

Well, shit. Jak hated that voice. Jak hated when Samos used that voice. He winced, and for a moment questioned his own decision to let the kid keep the only thing that was truly his. Maybe it’d been selfish of him, but Jak always wished he had something from his family, something from before living with his ‘uncle’ in Sandover.

“Answer me, boy!” Samos barked out and Jak winced again.

“I…don’t have it,” Jak mumbled. “Must’ve lost it back in Sandover.”

Or, more likely, he never had it in the first place. Jak didn’t tell Samos that, though. Let the old man think he hadn’t, possibly, changed a bit of history on a selfish whim.

Samos, predictably, exploded. “You what?!”

Jak curled in on himself, ears falling back as he let the admonishments wash over him with a grimace on his face. Disappointing Samos had always settled wrong with him, and even know he didn’t like the lecture and the berating that he received. Perhaps he’d never get used to constantly screwing up in the old Sage’s eyes. As Samos continued, Daxter quickly rose to Jak’s defense and suddenly there was a cacophony of noise loud enough to burn his ears. Jak clamped a hand over them in an attempt to drown out the sound, especially as Ashelin and Torn joined in on the conversation.

It was Keira who put a stop to everything. She whistled loudly, loud enough to pierce Jak’s ears and leave them ringing. He almost couldn’t make out what she said, but he followed the flow of the conversation well enough.

“Even if Jak doesn’t have this seal thingy that doesn’t mean he isn’t the…heir…to the city,” Keira said, and she stumbled over the words enough that Jak remembered she hadn’t known who the kid was to the Underground. Despite all the times that Jak had dragged him over to her garage to hide out from KG patrols when he was babysitting not once had he told her about the boy being a, well, a prince.

Fuck. Didn’t that mean Jak was a prince, too? His head hurt from just thinking about it, already with the pounding migraine that threatened to put him flat on his ass from all the yelling earlier. Exhaustion, too, wanted to overtake him. He drowned out the rest of the conversation and settled himself against a wall. He curled down and dug his fingers into his hair, ears pressed back and down. He didn’t want to be the heir to the city. He didn’t want the responsibility. If people knew, if anyone but the Underground knew—Jak feared the consequences. He feared being put into power, being forced to have the lives of thousands on his hands, forced to command people who had so easily before broken, tortured, changed him.

Somehow, through all the arguing and fighting and Keira calming down risen tempers Samos squirreled out of Ashelin and Torn the promise of an air train to come pick them up. At some point Daxter wound his way around Jak’s neck and began soothingly running clawed small fingers through his hair. Keira carefully got Jak up and lead him towards the air train when it arrived, shushed her father, and amidst it all Brutter remained blissfully silent.

At some point, during the ride, Jak passed out.

It was weird to see the city so cheerful when all Jak remembered of it was the oppression and darkness. Heads were down and people shuffled about quickly, determined to get through their business and then return home, out of the watchful eyes of the KG. They kept quiet aside from the sound of zoomers and the KG talking of their radios, or the Baron’s propaganda commentary, the city had always been eerily quiet.

Now, though, it bustled. People cheered and moved freely. They embraced and laughed. They mourned through parties, rejoiced at the end of a war that had spanned centuries. They praised Praxis, Ashelin specifically as the Baron’s death and his crimes had been reported shortly after the clean up—and Jak felt like it’d been a kick to the teeth to find out it’d been a full week and a half before they’d even been thought of and rescued.

Tess had at some point gotten Ashelin to give her the Hip Hog, and then she’d promptly handed it over to Daxter. They’d conspired for a day or two and then the Hip Hog debuted as the Naughty Ottsel with a loud, cheerful celebration of the end of a year of hell. Jak let himself relax, let himself revel in being surrounded by friends and comrades. He tried not to think about his position, his status in regards to the city despite that it followed him around like a lurker shark biding its time for its prey.

As Jak moved back indoors, settled down with Sig and Daxter—Keira and Samos wandered off to another section of the bar with Keira eagerly discussing what she was going to do now that they were going to live in Haven permanently—and Tess brought them a round of drinks. Daxter and Sig started off right away with Daxter telling the epic story of how they defeated Kor for Sig. Each dramatic wave of the ottsel’s hand and each exaggeration of the story brought a smile to Jak’s face as he carefully nursed the drink in front of him.

Jak never drank before. The entire thing felt like a novelty and a taboo all at once. The alcohol burned, but it burned pleasantly unlike the burn of eco that shifted around under his skin and through his muscles. Jak said nothing but Haven hurt. Breathing pained him, the air stagnant and corrupted, touch by the dark eco that the city used as a power source without abandon. Drinking water often burned down his throat, and even spending hours fighting despite that his muscles protested, that his heart and the beat of his own blood felt like fire, took its toll eventually.

The alcohol, amazingly enough, washed away a bit of the pain. It left behind a dull sensation of warmth that Jak sorely missed, but it didn’t fill the empty feeling that burrowed deep in his chest. Still the feeling was pleasant, and a reprieve from the pain. For the first time in a long time Jak felt himself truly relax. He leaned against Sig, let himself just let go of everything. His worries washed away in a pleasant buzz and hum of Daxter’s voice and the warmth of Sig’s skin.

Luck reared its ugly head quickly enough when Ashelin picked her way gingerly over to Jak who dozed lightly against Sig. He felt his job was done, he was done. Ashelin felt otherwise.

“Jak,” Ashelin said carefully. “May I speak with you? In private.”

Jak blinked, and quite suddenly everything came rushing back. He tensed, pulled himself from Sig, and turned to face Ashelin. The pleasant hum of the alcohol beneath his skin kept him at least lightly relaxed, but the realization, the knowledge of what Ashelin probably wanted to speak about, now hovered back into his conscious though.

Daxter, at the table, fell silent. Sig looked at him in concern.

“Now, Jak,” Ashelin said softly. “Please.”

Jak swallowed heavily, nodded once, and got up from the booth.

“You okay, cherry?” Sig asked.

“Want me to come with you?” Daxter perked up, ready to clamber onto Jak’s shoulder. Jak shook his head towards Daxter and told Sig he was fine. Silently he followed Ashelin towards the back. He wasn’t surprised to see Torn there as well, leaned against a table, arms crossed, face set into a scowl.

Jak scrubbed at his face tiredly. The pleasantness of the alcohol left his system in a rush. He held up a hand to stop either of them from talking for a moment. Jak needed to get his bearings straight, his thoughts in order. Show no weakness, show none of the signs that you are afraid. Jak grit his teeth.

“Would you like to sit?” Ashelin asked. She took a seat herself up on the table, legs crossed.

“I’ll stand,” Jak said back and focused his gaze onto the two of them. “What is it.”

Torn huffed. “What is it, he says,” the Commander grumbled. “We need to figure out what to do with this mess.” Torn waved one hand, gesturing at the metaphorical mess he spoke about. “Without the kid the Underground’s claims of being fighting for the people suddenly become the talk of traitors. The kid was the lynch pin, Jak. With him we could be seen as people trying to take back the city.”

“Weren’t you?” Jak shot back, brow furrowed.

“Of course we damn well were!” Torn snapped and slammed his fist down onto the table. “Without a real source of backing though we’re nothing but a bunch of traitors, fighting against Baron Praxis! Even with Ashelin’s support—” Torn cut himself off with a curse.

“What Torn is trying to say,” Ashelin continued, voice even and calm, “is that to the council and nobility I’m not a known ally of the Underground, and they’re quite aware that I’ve been ignorant of the majority of my father’s crimes. Even if I vouch for the Underground the majority will only see the harm they’ve done. Without the heir to the throne they’re nothing more than traitors, and more than a few would be all too happy to pin the blame of the metal head invasion on the Underground’s shoulders. They don’t have a legitimate claim to force change.”

Jak scowled. “But they helped this city!” He waved his hand out, exploding suddenly with anger. “They did what Praxis didn’t. They fought against the metal heads and kept people safe!”

Torn sighed. “It won’t matter. We’re still traitors in their eyes. The most we can hope for is banishment to the wastes and a slow death, the least would be a quick death.”

Jak clenched his fists and grit his teeth. He wanted to say that such a thing wasn’t fair, but he remembered this was Haven. This was Hell. Of course it wouldn’t be fair, of course nothing would be fair here. All those people, everyone in the Underground—Torn, Tess, Samos….Jak breathed out explosively and ran his hands through his hair. He slumped down on himself.

“What can we do?” he asked plaintively, and for all the world he actually looked sixteen, bordering on seventeen. He looked like a lost and confused kid. He didn’t notice when Torn swallowed heavily, or how Ashelin stared at him with wide eyes like they both suddenly saw something that neither expected to see.

For a moment nobody said anything, and then Ashelin spoke up firmly, “We just have to prove you’re the heir to the city.”

Torn twisted, his eyes snapped open wide as Jak’s head jerked up.

“Ashelin you can’t be serious!” Torn growled out. “Anything we do to actually provide irrefutable proof would mean reinstating the—”

Ashelin held up her hand and cut Torn off. “I know what it means, Commander, and if that’s what it takes…” she breathed out slowly. “Perhaps, in the end, it is for the best.”

Jak’s gaze danced between them, lips pressed thin. What would come would come, Jak figured. Right now he had to keep his friends safe, he had to keep the heroes safe, the innocents, and all the people who only wanted to do right by Haven. Jak straightened out, squared his shoulders, and nodded once.

“What do I have to do,” Jak asked, and that was the end of that.

[mimik-u]

Flower Child (Chapter 12): Monday

AO3

i.

Monday morning found Yellow Diamond in her study, watching nothing as dawn slowly drew itself around her like a pinkish cape. The shadows under her eyes pooled in the soft light, and the crow’s feet edging them became stark, black, defined. (God, when was the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep? When was the last time she hadn’t stayed awake—fighting and chasing away and courting sordid demons? When was the last time she’d seen a proper bed?) Even still, she was already impeccably dressed for it to not even be seven yet. Her golden hair was swept upwards in a coiffure sharp enough to cut yourself on, and she wore a black suit in the matter-of-fact way that the sky wore the sun. Her heels were perfectly practical (thank you very much), her face meticulously painted on.

Put together but not quite, she stared at nothing.

Maybe the wall.

Maybe the minuscule crack in the door.

And could not bring herself to think about the three meetings she had today, so consumed by the thought of Blue.

Blue was getting out today.

She would assume the stage.

She would get into a town car and not go to the cemetery where their dead daughter lay.

The world would spin on, and for once—for the first time in four years—her wife would spin with it.

It made Yellow so damn happy.

And it made her so damn sad at the same time.

Blue was moving… not on, never on… but forward.

And it wouldn’t be because of Yellow.

She took an impulsive drag of her coffee and half-hoped it would scald her.

(She hadn’t been enough. They hadn’t been.)

When the analog clock on the wall unwillingly dragged her into the next minute, the CEO finally slid her golden gaze from the door to the intercom panel propped next to her lamp. She pressed one of the buttons, eliciting a crackling noise at first, before the line was abruptly snagged by a voice that was equal parts panic and equal parts sleep: “Yes, Mrs. Diamond?!”

“Did I wake you?” Of course, Yellow knew that she had, but she at least had enough courtesy to feign otherwise.

“No, ma’am!” Poppy gamely lied. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to do a favor for me,” she said, biting her lip. She could have added please to let the maid know that she was serious, but reticence was this particular woman’s both strength and weakness.

“Anything, Mrs. Diamond!”

“You can knock that off now. We’ve already established who I am.”

“Of course, Mrs—” Poppy caught herself with a little squeak. “O-of course.”

Yellow sighed—quite dramatically in proportion to the circumstances really—but pressed on anyway. “I need you to call up to the flower shop and send an arrangement to someone in Empire City Hospital. I’ll leave my credit card on the desk.”

It wasn’t a particularly unusual request. Yellow was sending flowers and champagne bottles to business associates all the time. Even through the staticky transmission, she could hear Poppy scribbling these directions down on paper.

The scratching stopped. “And whom shall I direct the flowers to, ma’am?”

She inhaled sharply.

Oh, hell and shit.

She only knew the kid’s name and approximate age (older than five but certainly younger than twenty).

“His name is Steven,” she sniffed haughtily (to disguise her ignorance, of course). “Young boy. You should be able to locate him.”

“A-ah, yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Yellow leaned back in her chair and looked quite pleased with herself until she just as suddenly didn’t; with a sudden thought, her dark brow depressed into a frown over her eyes. (When was the last time that her mouth and eyes and chest unbent in a smile? When was the last time worry didn’t transform her entire physiognomy, didn’t make her appear ten years older—ten years more grim and demanding and cold?)

“And, Poppy?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Make it anonymous.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

ii.

Monday morning found Poppy on the verge of hysterics as she called three different extensions in Empire City Hospital trying to inquire after a sick boy named Steven.

No, she didn’t know his last name!

No, she couldn’t tell you a room number!

No, she most certainly was not pranking them!

Gah!

iii.

Monday morning found Priyanka Maheswaran nursing her third tumbler of coffee as she surveyed Steven’s guardians from over its rim. In Room 11037, they stood in the empty space where Steven’s bed had once been. The technicians had just taken him down for a couple of scans for UNOS, but even though the five adults in the room objectively knew that, the absence of the boy unnerved the air. Abandoned wires spilled across the scorchingly white floor. The heart monitor on the wall was a flat black, leering at them with its emptiness.

Pearl’s hair seemed to be positively standing on edge.

They were all in shambles—each of them, in their own ways.

The doctor gathered herself into some semblance of professionalism and half-wondered if such posturing was but an exercise in pointlessness. Surely, these people could see through the cracks, the holes in her carefully constructed facade.

Surely, they knew that she cared.

“I’m going to be blunt with you—”

Amethyst cut across her with a wry smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “You always are, Dr. M.”

“True,” Priyanka conceded with a sigh, “and so I see no reason to be anything else with you all.”

She was as sharp as one of her surgical instruments and equally as direct.

Greg’s eyes bore her down, were haunting in their worn sockets.

It was his damn child.

It’d once been his damn girlfriend.

(At the funeral, he pressed Steven against his chest and wept in place of a eulogy.)

“Even with dialysis,” she said, clutching her cup like it was a lifeline, “and even with the extra support we’re giving him here in the hospital, we’re still racing against the clock. His heart is working harder to compensate his kidneys, and his lungs are working harder to compensate his heart.”

He was dying.

That was the cold and hard truth.

Priyanka did not say it, for she didn’t need to—the unspoken words landed in the room anyway, striking precisely, like bullets, the carnage written all over their faces. Pearl’s hands on her stomach were gored with it. There was a third eye on Garnet’s head where her troubled brow met in the middle.

(At the funeral, Pearl had to be lightly pulled away from the casket. She stared at nothing. She said nothing. She stared at Rose.)

(At the funeral, people whispered that Garnet was callous for looking so stoic, so put together, so tearless. They didn’t notice her hands, how they trembled by her sides.)

“Ya gotta say something, Doc,” Amethyst said when the silence got to be too much, when the room started to feel too empty. The air around her was frenetic, charged. She looked liable to be both the predator and the prey trapped in a corner. “That’s what’s wrong. Now what’s the solution?”

(At the funeral, Amethyst cried openly, viscerally, and yet, still found the strength to pull Pearl away from the casket, to squeeze Garnet’s hand, to hold Steven when Greg had to bury his face in his hands.)

(At the funeral, Priyanka made herself notice all of these little things, forced herself to carve them into her memory, one scalpel incision at a time, as both a punishment and a reminder. Somehow, someway, she could have done better, could have been better. Moving forward, she would, dammit. She would never attend another funeral like this.)

“The solution, of course,” she sighed, “is a viable kidney, and I know you don’t want to hear that. I know that it’s the same thing I said last time and the time before that, but dammit, that’s what it’s going to take.” 

If anger seared the edge of this proclamation, it was not an anger intended for the broken people standing across from her. It was for the woefully inadequate transplant system where eighteen people across the world died every day because they couldn’t get the organ they so desperately needed. It was for the unfair fact that neither Greg nor Amethyst nor Garnet nor Pearl were matches for the boy they would all give their lives to protect. No hesitation. No blinking. It was for the incredulous idea—ludicrous, absurd, preposterous!—that even if they did find a kidney, that this family wouldn’t have the means to pay for it because health care was so screwed up in this damn country.

If Priyanka was angry, it was for the utter insanity of it all.

The madness.

There was no rationality in a fourteen-year old dying.

“It’s so perverse,” Pearl whispered into the silence, “that we’re here again.”

It was a familiar stage, a familiar scene.

Just someone else in the bed that had once contained a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile—a brilliant, compassionate heart.

Garnet looked away, clenched her fists by her sides.

“It has to end differently, though,” Greg said, a plea in his voice and his eyes. It was scratched across his entire body. It was a scar. “I… I can’t… do that again. I can’t lose him.”

It was wonder that he didn’t shatter where he stood, that they all didn’t. Amethyst reached up and placed a hand on his back.

(This was a familiar image, too.)

(Hell, it was a memory—simply transplanted into the here and now.)

“Greg… all of you—” She began and abruptly stopped. Priyanka Maheswaran was as sharp as one of her surgical instruments and equally as direct, but for once in her life, she didn’t want to be. She wanted to tell this family that their kid was going to make it, that they’d find him a kidney, that the surgery would go well, that love and joy and peace would win at the end of the damn day. She wanted to give them hope; she desperately wanted a modicum of the sensation for herself.

But what could she say?

What could she possibly fucking say?

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice cracking, “but this is all I have.”

iv.

Monday morning found Connie Maheswaran unfolded across the backseat of her dad’s cruiser, scrolling through another medical journal, only occasionally stopping to jot down notes in a tab-marked, dog-eared, well-worn, well-loved composition book. When he wasn’t pretending to be interested in his heretofore very boring stakeout, her father’s wire-rimmed glasses peered at her from the rearview mirror.

“You’re sure looking studious for it to be a sunny day in July,” he quipped lightly. Some old alternative band warbled through his ancient cassette deck as he said it, lending him an inadvertent lyricalness. Connie, penciling down donor qualifications in her neat handwriting, mmm’d in distracted reply.

“Oh, I get it,” he shrugged playfully, feigning hurt. “You’re busy. Alas, I’d forgotten the singleminded passions of youth so removed am I by the passage of time. Woe unto me!”

“You’re such a dork, Dad.”

Donors must have a compatible blood type with the patient.

“Oh?” He raised a bushy eyebrow in the mirror. “Is that a polysyllabic response I hear?”

Donors must be in good physical and mental health before consenting to the surgery.

A master of irony, Connie sparred back with a nice and succinct, “Yep.”

Donors must be at least eighteen-years old to qualify for surgery.

These six words were logical, reasonable, were only to be expected—and yet, ice dropped through the twelve-year old’s stomach anyway; a burning sensation pricked the corners of her eyes. She wiped at these feelings furiously, scrubbed them away with the back of her hand.

“Touché,” her dad sighed.

v.

Monday morning found Pearl dragging her feet against the wooden deck, her overnight bag dripping carelessly from her shoulder, a world and a boy and a boy who was her world pressing against the column of her spine. Her fingers shook as they fumbled first with her keys and then with the handle of the screen door. 

The hot, July sun taunted her pale neck one last time before she finally escaped into the dark house… only to be immediately swallowed by its emptiness.

God, it was desolate.

So wrong and so vile.

Gray light wept onto the wooden floors.

To her left, there was no Steven in a bed that was left unmade from the last night he’d slept in it. M.C. Bear Bear dangled halfway off the mattress, deserted and derelict without the boy who brought him to life with a smile and a laugh.

To her right, the reading nook in the corner of the room almost looked untouched, betrayed only by a slight crookedness skewing one of the cushions. Steven had knelt there, and Steven had fallen, and now Steven wouldn’t be leaving the hospital for a very long time if… if… if?

(If ever again.)

The dull thud of his fall echoed in her head.

It dropped into the pit of her stomach and ruined her.

(“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran had said, and Priyanka Maheswaran never said sorry, "but this is all I have.”)

Pearl clutched her rumpled shirt and tried not to shatter as she limped further into the living room, where a lump on the couch caught the corner of her eye. 

The lump, of course, was Peridot, wrapped in a blanket and snoring slightly. Without her glasses on, she looked particularly young—vulnerable. (Though, ferocious as she was, she’d claw someone’s eyes out before ever acquiescing to such gooey epithets.) 

Pearl didn’t necessarily want to wake her, but she didn’t want to leave her on the hard couch either, so in the end, she approached quietly and skimmed her knuckles lightly against the girl’s exposed shoulder.

Emerald eyes flew open with a jolt.

A startled cat tore from under the blanket and streaked out of the room.

“Nyeh!” 

“Sorry,” Pearl apologized as Peridot scrambled to find her bearings and her glasses and a little shred of dignity, too. Once her frames were adjusted on her pointed nose, she looked positively scandalized—which was fair, of course. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here. I’m going to nap for a few hours before my shift, so you’re welcome to go home for a bit or crash in a bed if you’d like.”

But scandal turned into realization turned into somberness in the other’s face.

Pearl found that she wasn’t ready to face it; her duffel bag slipped slightly on her shoulder.

“Where’s Lapis?” She tried quickly, but Peridot was quicker—intuitive and stubborn, a deadly combination.

“Swim practice. Never mind her.” Peridot waved a flippant hand. “How’s Steven?”

She knew the litany of lies by heart now.

He’s fine.

He’s stable.

He’s resting.

He’s fine.

And she tried to summon one on her lips for Peridot—she tried so damn hard to stay together—but how could she?

How could she fucking do it?

“… Pearl?”

"Peridot, I... I—" Tears leaked from her eyes.

And dripped down her beaky nose.

And splattered her sweater with their ruin.

Something was building in her stomach, in her chest, in the column of her throat.

And she tried splaying her fingers across her mouth, tried damming up the carnage, but—

"Pearl!"

—she was falling apart.

Or she'd already done so.

And this was just the explicit proof:

Pearl collapsed to her knees and wept.

vi.

Monday morning found Greg Universe on his metaphorical knees. He was desperation reconciled, a man not really sitting on a bench, so much as he was a man being supported by one. A phone was in his hand; there was an exhaustion on his shoulders.

“Ya could have called me sooner, y’know,” Greg’s cousin said on the other end of the line. There wasn’t admonition in the sentence, just resignation.

And concern.

And grief.

Andy had just met Steven a couple of months ago, but like all people who came into his son’s orbit, found it impossible not to love him, not to care. Andy had taken him up in his old plane and shown him the stars, and Steven had shown that cantankerous old coot that he didn’t have to roam the world looking for home.

Greg spidered his hand across his forehead and looked down at the concrete between his feet—the minuscule cracks in the pavement, the imperfect rubble. He burned all over; he wanted to burn the world to the ground; he wished the ground would swallow him whole; his son was sick.

“I didn’t want to face it, Andy,” he whispered, his voice strained tight, on the verge of breaking. “I’ve already lost Rose… I didn’t… I couldn’t—”

But his cousin took pity on him and quickly cut him off. “—I know, kiddo… I know. Listen, I’ll go get tested and get back to ya, okay?”

“Okay.” He closed his sagging eyes. “Thanks.”

“Tell Champ that I’m gonna bring him something cool the next time I fly down there.” Andy’s thick Jersey accent was slung with emotion (or whiskey one), all the hard consonants broken and slurred. “Ya got that, ya bald bastard?”

Greg chuckled lifelessly. “Yeah, I hear you loud and clear.”

“Good man,” and the phone clicked off just as warm hand landed quietly on his shoulder, drawing him back from the darkness. Of course, it was Garnet, who had been his companion in exhausting their contact lists and asking friends and family to get tested. Of course, it was Garnet who always knew exactly what he needed in the moment that he did.

She was steady like that, dependable.

Somehow, he found it in himself to wonder who was the same for her? Who was steady? Who was dependable? Who was the shoulder she leaned upon, if she needed to lean at all?

She’d always been so self-sufficient, so contained and in control.

Or was it Steven?

The possibility hit him suddenly, like a train.

(He thought on it; he chewed; he concluded: it was probably Steven.)

“You can’t beat yourself up, Greg,” she murmured. Sunlight glinted across her sunglasses, eradicating even the suggestion of her eyes beneath them. “We didn’t think we’d be here this fast. We thought we’d have more…”

“…time,” he finished quietly and choked a little at the end.

(“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran had said. He then waited for the blow, and she promptly delivered. “But this is all I have.”)

There wasn’t any more time.

There was only waiting and hoping and waiting and hoping and—

They’d been waiting and hoping for eight months now.

Garnet’s fingernails dug into his shirt.

“S’not that I want to be hard on myself,” he mumbled, swiping clumsily at his snotting nose. “It’s just that I feel like I’m failing my kid, y’know? He’s in there fighting for his life, and I… I can’t do anything about it!”

The concrete mocked him with its gray, blank face; he wished it would rise up from the ground and strike him; he’d give anything if it would clock him cold; he deserved it; or maybe he didn’t; maybe everything was all screwed up, and he just didn’t really want to feel a damn thing—for hours at a time, for days.

“But, Greg,” Garnet whispered, her voice tight around the edges, her grip on him tighter. “Look at you. Look at that phone in your hand. We’ve been calling people all morning. We’ve been fighting for him for months.” She almost sounded angry, which was a rarity in and of itself for this particular woman who so masterfully boxed all of her emotions down and away. “That isn’t nothing.”

But then, suddenly, without warning, further complicating everything he knew about her, Garnet balled her free hand into a fist and knocked it hard against the bench. Her knuckles came back imprinted with the striations in the wood.

“It can’t be nothing,” she growled. “All of this can’t be for nothing. He can’t just—” But she stopped short, apparently choked, and Greg closed his eyes again.

Steven could just die, and that would be that.

It would be their entire world.

It would all be for nothing.

The sun was so damn bright today; it burned, and it burned, and it burned.

vi.

Monday found Amethyst teetering beneath a hella big flower arrangement as she stumbled into Room 11037.

God, the container was almost as huge as her head and just as full of crap—which was to say, beautiful sunflowers whose golden petals unfurled symmetrically around dark anthers. The strain of carrying it reddened her fingers as she did well to deposit it on the moveable tray Steven ordinarily used as a table when he ate.

(Not that he did eat.)

(Not really.)

The thud of the vase hitting the table jolted Steven from what had been a half-lidded gaze to a well-alert panic.

“Wha—?”

“Sorry, Steven,” she apologized, still panting from the exertion. She then leaned against the foot of his bed, wrapping one of her newly sore arms against the frame. “Didn’t mean for that to be so loud. Stupid thing was just so heavy.”

Encumbered as he was by wires, he couldn’t really move his head to take a closer look at the arrangement, but all the same, panic softened in his eyes—became appreciation and awe in a blink.

It hurt Amethyst to look at him.

(She would never look away.)

“Ohmygosh!” he croaked in one impressive breath. “These are so pretty. Who sent them?”

“Beats me,” Amethyst shrugged, quite unfortunately exacerbating the soreness in her shoulders. “Nurse said that your secret admirer wanted to stay anonymous.”

“Aw,” he grinned, “I have a secret admirer?”

“Ahahaha, somethin’ like that. Could it be the old lady?” Not that anyone was asking, but she thought it was quite admirable of herself to show restraint enough not to go with a more colorful moniker. “She’s rich enough to send something as fancy-schmancy as this.”

Steven thought on it for a moment—lifted his dark eyes towards the ceiling and hummed tentatively. The fluorescents overhead crowned his black hair with a harsh halo and illuminated the deep grooves beneath his eyes, the hollows in his face, the yellowish pallor of his skin.

Jaundice was setting in, making a fine mockery of his youth.

(God, would it hurt to just look away just once?)

“Truuuuuue,” he eventually conceded, “but I don’t know why she just wouldn’t bring them with her.”

Oh, yeah.

That was something that was happening.

It was a hella good thing Pearl was working today.

“Oh, yeah. She’s coming later, isn’t she?”

“Yup. Two o’clock.” Amethyst glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall—it was nearly one—and then turned back to him, a small frown puckering at her lips.

“That isn’t a long time from now.”

“And?”

“And, buddy, my pal, my friend,” Amethyst smiled bitterly, “I hope you know what you’re gonna say to her because you look like shit.”

“Rude!” He stuck his tongue out and approximated some semblance of a faux offended expression, but his brow furrowed above his bruised eyes all the same.

These past three days had done their number on Steven, and he was a far cry from the boy who bounced in the elevator ride up to Blue Diamond’s opulent penthouse suite, and he was absolutely the ghost of the kid he was eight months ago.

(He used to pounce on Amethyst’s back and demand that she fake wrestle with him.)

(He used to play on the beach for hours.)

(He’d been so vibrant and alive and present and capable, and God, how was it even fair that he wasn’t anymore?)

“Just tellin’ the truth,” Amethyst sighed. “I dunno much about her, but going off the bathrobe and smudged mascara alone, I wouldn’t guess that she’s got a strong constitution.”

Steven batted back with a worldweary sigh of his own.

“I know,” he murmured, “but, also, like, I dunno, Amethyst—I think strength for her might just be wandering around in a bathrobe, you know?” On top of his blankets, he softly skimmed his thumb across the knuckles of his other hand, careful to avoid all of the intravenous lines. “Honestly, I think… she might struggle with even that.”

The translation was clear in his face: Blue Diamond struggled to even be.

At that very moment, Amethyst was simultaneously irritated and sympathetic, understanding and unkind. She began to pick viciously at one of the loose threads in Steven’s blanket; her long bangs fell unceremoniously over her right eye.

“If that’s true, then she might break just seeing you, Steven.”

He thought on this, too, closing his eyes and settling his thumb across the ridges of his knuckles.

She hated when he did this.

Hated how still he looked.

(And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself look away.)

“Maybe”—he opened his eyes—“but maybe not… I want to help her, Amethyst. I think she needs it.”

You're the one who needs help, she wanted to say.

(He looked so sincere as he said it, so kind and warm and believing in the idea that a broken, old lady could be saved by his smile alone.)

You don’t owe a damn thing to this lady.

(He didn't owe a damn thing to all of the other people he'd helped, but he still did it anyway.)

Take care of yourself.

(What more could he do?)

Fight for yourself.

(What more could any of them do?)

For me.

(I can't lose you, buddy.)

For us.

(We'd be lost.)

But those options would fundamentally be unSteven, and it was so Steven to be so damn selfless, to extend a flower to a grieving woman in a cemetery, a hand and his stupidly big heart to what was clearly a person in need.

“Yeah,” she finally said, her voice thick with emotion, “I gotcha.”

On that tray that he used but didn’t use because he couldn’t hold down solid food anymore, a flower head leaned towards Steven, as though it was itching to say hello.

vii.

Monday found Blue Diamond standing at the threshold of the exit (and the beginning), her long hand pale against the handle that she had been gripping for hours now—weeks, months, years.

(It’d been minutes, but time swallowed her up and spit her out back again. She was here in her penthouse suite preparing to visit a boy in the hospital; she was in that fatal night from all those many years ago, screaming.)

She was coming, Steven Universe.

Her silvery hair swept down her back in its signature braid; a dress, not a bathrobe, unfolded down her curvy frame. 

In just a moment or hours from now—weeks, months, maybe years—she would walk out of the door.

(It would be a few minutes; it’d be a near panic attack; it would be bravery.)

She was coming.

[jarmes]

Birdcage Chapter IV

Masterpost -  Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Downswing, or: the wager that should not have been taken

Cross and Firebrand led us into the castle throne room, a large open hall filled with golden pillars and crystal chandeliers. Hanging from the walls were paintings of long-dead royals. A scarlet carpet led to a staircase at the end of the room. Atop the stairs sat a golden throne, and atop the throne sat his majesty, King Tasciovanus von Cieleta. We bowed as soon as we saw him.

The King was an old man, a descendant of a vampire slayer who save the Kingdom of Cieleta. He wore a white tunic and a maroon cape. A golden crown sat atop his head and a rapier hung at his side. And yet, he didn’t look intimidating. He was thin, his clothes hanging loose around his frail body. His hair had long since begun to fall out and wrinkles from years of worry covered his face. And his eyes, his eyes were empty.

“It is my honor to welcome you to this prestigious organization,” he wheezed. “For years, the Knights of Cieleta have protected my family and my people.”

He lifted himself from the throne and hobbled over to us, drawing his rapier and placing it on the woman with a mohawk’s shoulder. He asked for her name, asked her why she joined the Knights, and assigned her to Squad IV. He repeated this process with the other two recruits, placing both of them in Squad III. Then he came to me.

“What is your name?” he asked while placing his rapier on my shoulder.

“Ernest, your majesty,” I said. “Ernest James Zuckerman.”

“Zuckerman,” he repeated. “Why have you decided to become a knight, Zuckerman?”

“I want to be a hero, like my grandfather before me. I want to fight evil and protect the innocent. I want to give hope to the hopeless.”

A slight smile formed on his face. “I am happy to hear that, Ernest,” he said. “Now then, what should we do with you? Squads II and VIII are both in need of swordsman such as yourself.”

I attempted to hide my frown, but the King saw it anyway. “No, that wouldn’t be right, would it?” he said. “I think I’ll place you on Squad V.”

The king returned to his throne. “The fate of my kingdom is in your hands now,” he said.

After handing the other recruits over to their respective Captains, Cross took me to Squad V’s barracks, a room full of trunks and bunk beds built located in the palace gate. A dozen knights hung out around the room, chatting, sleeping, or playing card games with one another. Of the twelve knights, I knew only one: an archer by the name of MacDonald who sat alone in a bunk reading a book.

Cross cleared his throat and his men came to attention. “I’d like to introduce you to our newest recruit, Private Ernest Zuckerman,” he said. “He’ll be working with us for the foreseeable future.”

One of the Knights, a guy in his twenties with a scraggly beard wearing a red bandana, came up to me and offered his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Connors,” he said as I shook his hand. “I’m Calvin’s second in command.”

“I have a meeting I need to attend,” Cross said. “Connors, would you mind introducing Zuckerman to the others?”

“I’d be happy to, sir.”

Connors places his arm around my shoulder and led me through the barracks, pointing at people and calling out their names. “That’s Mathews, he’s our monster expert. Over there are Rayburn and Grant, they handle equipment. Carlisle and Hendorf are our resident mages, Kaplan’s our medic, and Marple, Mallory, Rizzo, Harper, MacDonald, and myself all handle combat. Got it?” he said in the span of five seconds.

I meekly nodded my head. “Great!” he said as he led me over to a card table covered in coins. “Up for a little card game?”

“What game?”

“Ever played Black Aces?”

I shook my head as he pulled a deck of playing cards out from under his bandana. Connors shuffled the cards and spread them facedown on the table. “Rules are simple,” he said. “We take turns drawing cards. The last card you draw determines how many your opponent draws during their next turn. Face cards are worth ten, and we go until one of us draws an ace.”

“What happens then?”

“That’s when things get interesting. If it’s an ace of hearts or diamonds, you win. If its an ace of spades or clubs, you lose.”

“So it’s just a game of luck?”

“Is that a problem? At the end of the day, life is nothing more than a game of luck. If I’m going to be fighting alongside you, I’d like to know if you’re lucky enough to be trusted.”

Connors grabbed a single card from the table and showed it to me. It was the three of clubs. “Draw three, Zuckerman.”

I pulled three cards from the table, the eight of spades, nine of clubs, and five of diamonds in that order. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Not bad,” Connors said as he drew another card.

Connors stared at it for a moment before placing it face up in front of me. “Ace of clubs,” he said. “Lucky you.”

A few of the other squad members cheered and patted me on the back. Some of them poked Connors in the ribs and made fun of him for losing to the new guy. Connors rolled his eyes. “Beginner’s luck,” he said. “I’ll bet anything he’d lose if we went again.”

“I don’t know about that, I’ve always been pretty lucky,” I said. “Why don’t we go again and see which of us is right?”

Connors raised an eyebrow before smiling. “Okay, but if we’re going to go again we should make it interesting and actually wager something,” he said while shoving all of the coins on the table into a neat pile. “When you came in, we were playing cards and I’d just earned a neat sum of money. If I pick up the next black ace, you can have all of the coins on the table. Of course, you’ll have to put up your own wager.”

“I don’t have anything valuable on me.”

“Sure you do. That armor’s covered in mud, but I can see that it’s made of some pretty nice metal.”

“This armor is a family heirloom, I can’t give it to you.”

“Then lend it to me. If you lose, you give me your armor for a week. That’s a fair wager, considering how much money I’ve got on the table. Besides, you’ve always been pretty lucky, right?”

Connors shuffled the deck and spread it back out on the table. I drew a single card, the king of clubs. “That means you draw ten, right?” I said with a smirk.

In an instant, Connors swiped ten cards from the table. He held them between his fingers, showing them off to the room. None of them were aces. “Draw two, Ernest,” he whispered.

I drew a three and an eight. Before I could say anything Connors grabbed his eight cards. He slammed them down on the table. No aces. The final card was a jack. I drew my ten cards, one at a time, my heart pounding in my chest. The other squad members had long since gone silent, entranced by the game. Finally, I drew my final card. It, like each of the cards that came before it, was not an ace.

Connors drew six card, I drew four cards, and Connors drew seven cards. Still, an ace did not appear. Four cards remained on the table. Each of which, by process of elimination, was an ace. “Would you look at that?” Connors said, a bead a sweat dripping down from his bandana. “You’ve actually been getting pretty lucky with your draws.”

“There are two red aces left and two black ones left. That means, regardless of what happens, this will determine who wins.”

I gulped and hovered my hand on one of the cards. Then Connors smiled. It happened in only a fraction of a second, but I saw it. A smile from someone who shouldn’t have known what was on the other side of the card. I moved my hand to the side and picked a different card.

It was the ace of spades. Connors let out a deep breath. “That was close, wasn't it?” he said while pushing the cards into a neat pile.

“Yeah, it was,” I muttered.

A few minutes later I found myself sitting on a blanket free bunk, shivering in my underwear while Connors tried on my armor. MacDonald was still on his bed, reading his book. He glanced at me and sighed before tossing me a blanket.

“Thank you,” I said.

“The chattering of your teeth was distracting,” he said before returning to his book.

I looked over at the other knights. They were testing my armor by hitting Connors in the chest with various weapons. “You know they were hazing you, right?” MacDonald said without moving his eyes from his book.

“What?”

“Black aces, it’s a game Connors uses to mess with new recruits. It isn’t the type of game you can actually win.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you examine the deck before Connors shuffled it?”

“No.”

“If you did, you would have probably noticed something strange.”

“What?”

“The fact that there are two cards missing.”

I thought back to the second game. Specifically, I thought about the amount of cards that each of us had drawn. MacDonald was right, there had only been fifty cards instead of the standard fifty-two.

“The ace of hearts and ace of diamonds are missing from that deck,” MacDonald said. “Because of that fact, it is impossible for you to draw a winning card.”

“I could have still won if Connors grabbed one of the black aces.”

“Do you really think he would have done that?”

I thought back to the end of the game, at the slight smile Connors had made when I hovered over the cards. He knew which cards were black aces.

“He put a special mark on the black aces, small enough that you wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t looking for it,” MacDonald said. “That way, he can make sure he doesn’t eliminate himself when there’s money on the line. Plus, it allows him to fake a loss when he’s introducing the game to sucker you into playing.”

“So I was doomed from the start?”

“Don’t take it personally, Connors does it to all of the new recruits. If it makes you feel better, you came pretty close to messing up his plan. If you’d drawn one of the two cards that wasn’t an ace, you wouldn’t have won, but you would’ve made him own up to his bullshit. How’d you pull that off, anyway?”

“I got lucky,” I said while rubbing my head.

Captain Cross came back not long after. Glancing at me, he sighed. “I don’t even want to know,” he said.

“Do you have a mission for us, sir?” Connors asked.

“Yes, I do. According to the Temple, a large amount of monsters have appeared in the catacombs beneath the city. Squad V has been tasked with clearing them out. Unfortunately, I have meetings to attend all day, so we will be unable to head out until tomorrow morning.”

“We can handle it without you,” Connors said with a smile. “Besides, we’ve got the new guy to fill in for you.”

“I was hoping to give Ernest a few weeks of training before sending him out in the field.”

“I can handle it, sir,” I said while jumping to my feet. “I’ve been training for ten years. I���m more than ready.”

Cross glanced around the room. “Well, if you think you can handle this, I see no reason to stand in your way,” he said.

I borrowed a leather tunic from one of the other squad members and set out on my first mission. We left the palace and traveled through the streets of the Capital. It was a sunny day and the city was bustling with people working and walking about. We received smiles and waves as we passed through the crowds on our way to the Temple.

“There’re miles of tunnels beneath the city,” Connors said as we walked. “Natural caves, sewers, storm drains, military bunkers, burial crypts, that kind of thing. An interconnected maze of abandoned garbage beneath the city. With the exception of the passageway to the crypts in the Temple basement, all of it’s been closed off. The thing is, these tunnels are monster breeding grounds, so we have to go in and clean them out every once in a while.”

The Temple stood on the western side of the city. It was a beautiful old building, with marble pillars and stained glass covered spires. Seven stone statues stood in front of the church, effigies of the seven deities who created the world. A statue of the holy mother, the patron of Cieleta, stood taller than the others. I bowed my head and whispered a quick prayer as I walked past it.

Grandfather took me to the Temple throughout my youth. By the time I joined the Knights, I knew each of the clerics by name. The head priestess, Sister Nancy, was a close friend of my grandfather. She greeted me with a hug as soon as I entered the temple. “Congratulations on becoming a knight, Ernest. I’m so proud of you,” she said.

“Thank you, Sister Nancy,” I wheezed. “Would you mind hugging a little less tightly?”

Sister Nancy led us to the Temple’s basement, a dark room filled with old books. A large iron gate split the room in half. A staircase leading into the crypts sat on the other side of the gate. “Good luck,” Sister Nancy said as we descended into the catacombs.

I was put in charge of carrying the torch as we traveled through the catacombs. The dim glow of showed me an endless room filled with stone coffins. “The crypts can be a little scary for new recruits,” Connors said. “Don’t worry, the people in those boxes are going to stay dead. Probably.”

Connors led us to a small hole on one of the crypt’s walls. “This leads out of the crypts and into the catacombs proper,” he said.

As I passed through the hole, I finally saw the walls of the crypt. They were covered in skulls. I screamed and dropped the torch. “The walls!” I shouted. “They’re, they’re-”

“They’re covered in bones, we know,” Connors said. “Not an architecture choice I’m especially fond of, if I’m going to be honest.”

Connors reached down and grabbed the still lit torch. He leaned in and punched me in the stomach. “Don’t drop the torch again, okay?” he said.

I followed the others through the hole into a tunnel with a circular brick ceiling. A thirty-foot wide, fast flowing river ran through the tunnel, with eight-foot wide concrete walkways on either side. The tunnel stretched as far in both directions. “What is this place?” I asked.

“It’s an underground river the Knights converted into a storm drain,” Connors said.

A bat flew out of the darkness, charging at Connors. Without flinching, he drew a pair of playing cards from his bandana and threw them at the bat. The cards pierced the bat’s wings, sending it crashing down in front of him. Connors grabbed a hatchet from his belt and swung it on the bait, cutting off its head.

I leaned in and looked at the bat, and noticed that it had two pointy horns protruding from its head and a single red eye in the center of its forehead. A few seconds after Connors decapitated it, its body turned to dust. “That, new guy, is what we call a monster,” Connors said. “Keep your eyes open or they’ll get you.”

Connors held his arm out and the playing cards flew back to his hand. I heard a growling coming from farther down the tunnel. I held the torch in front of me and shined its light on a large wolf with glowing red eyes and tangled black fur. I drew my sword as the wolf jumped at me. Before I could strike it, an arrow flew by my head and hit the wolf in the eyes. It crashed down next to me and howled in pain. I stabbed it in the stomach and it turned to dust.

“You got one, new guy!” Connors said while patting me on the back.

I looked over my shoulder and saw MacDonald holding his bow. Without a word, he walked over to the dust pile, grabbed his arrow, and placed it back in his quiver. The squad continued through the tunnel, killing any monsters we came across.

About a mile from where we entered, we came across a side tunnel. We walked through it and came across a circular cistern, with pillars stretching to the ceiling and an ankle deep pool of water. Our feet created ripples that spread through the water. As we reached an archway on the other end the cistern, Connors raised his hand and signaled for us to stop.

We stopped, but the ripples kept traveling across the surface of the pool. In fact, the seemed to get stronger as time went on. That’s when I heard it, the deep thud of large feet stomping through the tunnel.

I turned around to see a fifteen-foot tall man with green skin, a large belly, and a mouth full of sharp teeth. It held a large club, the size of a tree trunk, in its oversized hand as it slowly walked towards us. “It’s an ogre,” someone whispered.

Connors walked forward. “Stand back, I’ve got this,” he said as he threw his hatchet.

The hatchet curved between the pillars and struck the ogre in the back of the head. Connors smiled. “Bullseye,” he said.

Those were the last words he ever spoke. The ogre, enraged, charged at us and swung its club down at Connors. The force of the blow sent him crashing through one of the stone pillars, landing in the pool of water. His bandana, knocked from his head, fluttered down into a pile of blood and playing cards.

I dropped the torch and ran.

[imagine-loki]

Taming the rage

TITLE: Taming the Rage

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 66

 AUTHOR: lokilover9

Original Imagine: Imagine Odin tells Loki that he has to marry and it’s you. You’ve hated him for years. Every time he sees you in the palace he smirks knowing all the duties you’ll have to perform as his princess, making you cringe. He isn’t exactly fond of you either, but can’t help looking forward to the challenge.

RATING: Teen

While Loki was becoming besties with the floor, Eir had another surprise for Erika. The lab had developed a pill form for the present dose of antidote she was taking and she offered it under one condition. Erika was not to push herself physically simply because she had more freedom to do so and she was to stay with her for another three weeks. Erika assured her Loki wouldn’t allow that and knowing how diligently he’d cared for her, Eir believed it. She’d also known about Lokis plan to propose. Not only was she concerned the next few days of wedding preparations may exhaust Erika, but Frigga had secretly spoken to her. She wouldn’t reveal what, but told Eir the couple needed to be informed of something extremely important after marrying and feared it may cause Erika great stress. Therefore, Eir wanted immediate access to her just in case. Once Erika promised to agree, she removed her IV and Loki came to just as Eir was putting a bandage on Erikas hand.

He stood abruptly and snapped at Eir. 

“What the hell are you doing? She’ll die without that!”

Erika rubbed his arm. “Loki no, it’s alright. Please listen?”

After an explanation, he calmed down and apologized. “Forgive me Eir. I think that may have been one too many unexpected surprises in one day.”

He rubbed his head and Erika chuckled. “Are you alright?”

“I’m a God, I’ll be fine.” Eir was pursing her lips as he glanced back at her. “So she’s really doing that good?”

“Yes, she is.”

He smiled at Erika.“Then I couldn’t be happier.”

“Honestly.” She teased. “You don’t trust Eir by now?” She stepped off the table and took his hand. “Come on daddy. We have news to spread.”

“Daddy? You learned that word from Jane didn’t you? And not until you eat.”

“Fine.” She replied.

Eir smirked as Erika lead him out the door, glancing back with her eyes crossed.

“Valhalla help me if I don’t.”

Upon reaching Thors, all were happy to hear that Saturday was a go and Erika was well enough to be free of her dancing partner. As she and Loki kept smiling however, Jane sensed something was up.

“Okay. What aren’t you guys telling us?”

Loki suddenly held his arms in the air, flexing his muscles all proud. “My boys can swim everyone! They can swim!” He blurted.

Erika slid a hand down her face. “I can’t believe you just said that. Exactly how hard ‘did’ you bump your head?” She glanced at everyone. “We’re having twins.” Then glanced back at Loki. “And how do know they’re boys you dork?”

Loki pointed at Jane while looking at Erika. “Another word you learned from her I gather?”

It finally registered with everyone just as Erika stuck her tongue out at him and Junior started laughing.

“WHAT?” Said Jane, pulling her into a hug. “Well you came back with a bang girl, this is great!”

Frigga smiled and did the same. “Oh my. You’ll need your own nanny now Darling.”

Thor was shaking Lokis hand. “Congratulations. Sleep while you can, you’ll need it.”

Frigga walked over and hugged him. “Leave it up to you.” She teased. “The God of Mischief and what’s this about bumping your head?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “It’s not important.”

“It is funny though.” Said Erika.

He sighed, knowing she was about to explain.

“Someone was a little ‘shocked’ to learn of his ‘double trouble.’”

Thor smirked at him. “Brother, you didn’t.”

Everyone was laughing until Erika suddenly yawned.

“Oh oh, party’s over for you.” Said Loki.

“Alright, but give me a moment?” She turned to Frigga. “May I speak with you alone please?”

They emerged from another room shortly after and once Loki and Erika left, Frigga had an errand to run. Ten minutes later, she was at her seamstresses. “This will be the dress and I’ll bring her around tomorrow.” ~~~~~~ After they arrived in Erikas room, Loki watched as she changed back into one of Eirs gowns.”

“Now who’s ogling who?” She asked.

“Oh? At least, I’m not hiding like a dirty little pervert.”

Her jaw fell open as she climbed onto the bed. “Loki!”

“What? I’ve no problem with your perversions Darling, the kinkier the better. And what were you discussing with Mother?”

“‘My’ perversions? This coming from someone who makes clones of himself and takes joy in them endlessly teasing me while he watches with his dick in his hand? And none of your business by the way. You’ll find out soon enough.”

A devilish smirk spread across his face. “Come now, you loved every minute of it.”

“Okay, I’m going to sleep now.”

When she laid down, Loki leaned to her stomach. “Hello there. Allow me to inform you that you exist because someone forgot her birth control when we went camping.”

Erikas cheeks went scarlet. “How did you know?”

“In a minute, I’m not done speaking with them.”

She rolled her eyes as he continued.

“And instead of opting for a spanking…”

Erika began sliding the pillow from beneath her.

“Your Mother chose kinky sex while I whispered very nasty things to her…”

She attempted a whack, but Loki caught it, pressed it against her boobs and shook them with it.

“Because she’s perverted!”

They laughed as he put it back. “I didn’t figure it out until long after the trip. Is that what you were searching for that morning?”

“Yes.”

Loki kissed her. “I’m very happy you forgot them. Do you realize what it means now that we’ve learned of my ‘double trouble’ today?”

“Triple including me.” She teased. “But what exactly?”

He smiled while caressing her cheek. “That now I’ll have three Angels to love instead of two.” ~~~~~

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Erika took a shower in the morning and Loki was chuckling when she came out.

“What?” She asked.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were doing something else in there by all the sounds you were making. ‘Mmm. Oh this is sooo goood! Ahhh.Yesss!’”

She shook her head. “Very funny. Did you bring me any clothes?”

“Yes, why?”

“I have to be somewhere this morning with my Mother in law.”

“I see. Then I’ll have to find something to occupy my time then.”

Frigga stole Erika away shortly after breakfast and Loki decided he’d go riding. He’d just left his chambers, when running into Volstagg and Hogun on their way to the palace Lounge.

“Have a date with horsey?” Asked Volstagg.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

After asking about Erika and learning of the twins, they convinced him to join them for a celebratory drink. One lead to another while playing darts and they teased him about becoming a Father with her.

“All those years you drove her so crazy and she never killed you? I still can’t believe it.” Said Hogun.

“Neither can I.” Said Loki.

“And now you’re creating more like her.” Teased Volstagg. “Have you lost your fucking mind? We should just dig you a grave and shoot your sorry ass into it now. I guarantee it would be less painful.”

Loki laughed. “You’re probably right.”

Hogun leaned towards Volstagg. “How much do you think he’d pay us not to tell her he said that?”

Loki cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “How easily do you think it would be for me to shoot you both and bury you in that hole before you even drew a weapon?”

Volstagg got the bar servants attention. “Four more doubles please and two go to our Prince.”

Too busy enjoying themselves, none had considered eating, so all three were quite sloshed by early afternoon. Thor was looking for Loki and when hearing some boisterous laughter from the Lounge, decided to investigate.

“Ohh shit.” Said Hogun, gesturing towards the door. “Here cometh thy Kingeth.”

After glancing around to make sure the lounge was empty, he and Volstagg stood together and once Thor was close, knelt before him. “To what do we owe the graciousness of your presence your majesty and God of Electrical Currents?”

Thor looked at the bar servant who gestured towards five empty bottles of whisky. With raised brows, he looked back at the men. “Get up please before I set your arses on fire?”

They clumsily helped each other up.

“Well then.” Said Volstagg to Hogun. “When we were friends, he would have said asses. Remember?”

“Why yes, I do indeed.” Hogun replied. “Perhaps all that goldeth in his crowneth has put a denteth in his head?”

“Perhaps you gentlemen would care to sleepeth things offeth in the dungeons?”

“Oh oh.” Said Volstagg. “It appears we’ve upseteth our Kingeth.”

Thor smirked. “I’m kidding men. Have you seen Loki around?”

“He was her..but then left.” Said Hogun, dismissively waving an arm.

“Her?” Asked Volstagg. “You’re cuteth offeth.”

Thor gave up on them and went to the bar servant. Not only did he learn Loki had left around ten minutes earlier, but that he alone drank almost two bottles.

Frigga was walking Erika back to her room after the seamstresses and a visit with Jane about her bouquet, when they entered to find Loki lying perpendicular across both beds. His arms and head were dangling completely over one side and his long legs the other, while he snored up a storm. Just as Erika raised her brows, Thor entered.

“At least I know where he is now.”

“He’s dressed to go riding. What happened to him?” Asked Frigga.

“He ‘happened’ upon a pair of court jesters.”

Erika chuckled. “I’ll bet I know exactly which ones too.”

Frigga rolled her eyes. “Come on Thor. Help me move him.”

“Awe, let’s leave him. He really needed to have some fun.” Said Erika.

“Come then.” Frigga held out her arm. “Someone we know has the day off today. Let’s pay them a surprise visit shall we?”

Jarles was elated upon opening his door to Erika as were her sisters and all were very ecstatic to learn she was having twins. She and Frigga spent the afternoon and left after dinner.

Loki slept for hours and after looking for Erika at Thors and then her Fathers, suspected she may have gone to their chambers. He entered to find her sleeping on one of the living room couches and questioned Frigga.

“Why is she here?”

“You were hogging both beds Darling.”

“Then why didn’t you wake me?”

“She was happy you’d enjoyed yourself and insisted I didn’t. She asked to come here after dinner and when becoming tired, requested I bring her the blanket from your bed.”

Loki sighed while approaching the couch. “If she wakens here, I’ll never get her back to Eirs.”

“I know.” Said Frigga. “She’d been awake all day though Darling and couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.”

Erika grumbled as he scooped her into his arms, blanket and all. “Loki, nooo.”

“Yes Erika, you’re going.”

He carried her back to Eirs and once placing her in bed, made her look at him. “Why did you have Mother take you back to our chambers?”

“We passed it on the way back from my Fathers.”

“And?”

“I knew you were still sleeping.”

She lowered her head and he lifted her chin. “We both know you could have come back here. Eir would have gladly allowed you to sleep in another room until I awoke, correct?”

She tried looking away again, but he forbid it. “Correct?”

“I really missed it Loki, alright?”

“I see.” Despite her pouting, his tone became a little stern. “Listen to me Erika. I already know how much you miss it, but breaking that promise to Eir, is no different than breaking it to me and I will not allow it. Do you understand?”

Her eyes were sliding shut as she nodded. “I..I’m sorry.”

With her hand now free, they were able to cuddle like they used to and he wedged her up against him like a perfectly fit glove. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have kept you from your bed. Please don’t go back there again without me?”

“K.”

“Good girl, now go to sleep.” ~~~~~~~ Frigga was now residing in Thors old chambers so he and Jane could have their privacy and the next morning, arrived to pick up Erika again.

Loki was confused. “Why will I not see her until tomorrow?”

Erika smirked while Frigga replied.

“You aren’t permitted to until after the ceremony. Eir is staying over night with us, so worry not.”

Loki left with them and after kissing Erika goodbye, had just started down another corridor when Frigga called to him.

“Wherever you’re headed, be certain it’s not to the Lounge with any court jesters?”

“Yes Mother.” He walked away rolling his eyes and a few minutes later, entered Thors chambers. “Ah, brother. Mother has barred me from all entertainment with court jesters. Care to join me in an afternoon of entertainment at a brothel instead?” His brows rose when hearing a voice from another room.

“I heard that! Have you forgotten what a good wallop I pack?”

“Why, hello Jane.” He leaned towards Thor, speaking quieter. “Is her hearing always that good?”

Thor replied just as quietly. “It’s improved since we’ve married, which has benefitted me none. It’s the fate of all husbands.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Said Loki.

“I heard that too boys and can pack more than one wallop!” She opened a door nearby and exited with a rolled up diaper in her hand. “Unless you’d prefer a toxic stink bomb instead?”

Loki laughed as Junior began following her out. “If that’s what lies ahead, I’ll be sure to leave that chore with Erika.”

“Good luck.” Said Thor.

Junior took one look at Loki and ran straight for him. “Okiii!” Once Loki picked him up, he glanced around. “Weeka?”

“She’s at grandma’s house buddy.”

“Which is where I’m heading now and he’s staying here with daddy.” Said Jane.

Thor sighed and when walking away, Loki followed. “The next time you have such intentions, make sure my wife is ‘not’ within earshot? We may stand a better chance of escaping.”

“We could still try after she’s gone. Bring some toys for Junior, slip the Madam some extra funds and she’ll mind him for a bit.”

“Let’s wait until he goes for a nap.” Said Thor. “Then I’ll have a servant mind him.”

“Splendid idea brother.”

Jane still hadn’t moved after giving the diaper to a servant. “I’ll quarter you Thor!”

“Did you hear something Loki?”

“Not a thing, why?”

Just as they entered another room, she shouted down the hall. “I’m telling on you Oki! Erikas wallops are much worse than mine, remember?”

They closed the door and Loki looked at Junior. “She’s going to ruin my honeymoon your Mother.” Junior just giggled. “And don’t you care one bit do you?”

The three ladies spent the morning having manicures and pedicures and after lunch, Erika slept for a while. When she awoke, her father came by and took her for a stroll in the garden. They sat near a bush of pink roses and Jarles smiled.

“They were your Mothers favorite. Do you remember?”

She smiled back. “I do.”

“I still can’t believe I’m going to be a grandfather. With four daughters, I knew it was inevitable, but certainly thought your older sisters would beat you to it.” He looked at her and smirked. “Erika, how did this happen?”

“I’m not discussing that with you Father. We had this talk already.”

Jarles chuckled. “Twins. Leave it up to Loki.”

“Frigga said the same. I don’t think it’s really sunk in for me yet. Maybe as I get bigger.”

“You mean when you look like a boat?”

“Father!”

He laughed. “I used to say that to your Mother. She was always so graceful, yet that flew out the window the bigger she became while pregnant. Especially when trying to get off the couch. ‘Poor ship Asta,’ I’d say. ‘She’s anchored herself again. Can’t seem to unload that final barrel.’”

Erika shook her head. “You’re terrible.”

“While pregnant with you, she called your older sisters her tug boats.”

“Why me?” Asked Erika.

“You weighed the most at birth. I should warn Loki to wear a helmet while you’re in labor. One nine pounder earned me some bald spots. With two, he might be shopping for a toupee.”

Her brows rose. “If each weighs nine pounds by the time my labor starts, he’s going to be minus a lot more than just hair.”

“I’ll warn him to wear crotch armor too then. I walked a little funny for almost as long as your Mother did after you were born.”

Erika laughed. “Mother actually did that to you?”

“Yes and cursed me to Valhalla in the process. Buldurs wife had an eleven pounder a month before your sister was born and suggestion I use it. Helga ended up being the smallest, so your Mother was kind.”

After they laughed together, a moment of silence fell between them before he spoke again.

“I’m very grateful your Mother sent you and our grandchildren back to us. Especially for Loki’s sake. He wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“Thank you Father, I’m grateful she did too. I do know Loki loves me, but I’m sure he would have eventually been alright.”

Jarles shook his head. “No. Even Frigga believed the same. When I first put my trust in your Mothers word through Frigga and finally betrothed you to him, I questioned my own sanity for doing so and prayed one day you’d forgive me. The hurt in your eyes when I walked from Eirs rooms that day ate at me for the longest time.”

“Oh Father, I’m not angry. Learning of Mothers secrets, I realize now the difficult position you were left in.”

“You have no idea.” He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t only ‘our’ relationship that concerned me then, but what kind of life you were about to have betrothed to one who..who’s neck I’d envisioned my hands around on so many occasions.”

He said that with a chuckle and she joined him. “It’s alright. You weren’t alone, remember?”

Jarles took her hand. “I know. Over time, I came to see he felt much for you, yet still doubted if he truly loved you. Then I saw him holding you in the waters and heard his words.”

Erika stared at him. “You heard him?”

“Yes, as did Frigga. He needed a moment so we didn’t disturb him at first. You felt his words in your heart as his love Erika, but I wish you to know my perspective. The way he held you and touched you, the fear, the sadness and the terrible desperation in his expression and voice, reminded me of myself the day I lost your Mother. It almost broke me the way it almost did Loki and I want you to know why.”

Erika developed a lump in her throat as he continued.

“His joy, his light, his happiness, his reason for living and breathing, his ‘heart’ was dying and it was tearing him up inside at the deepest level. That’s when I realized I’d never need to question his love for you again as I know he would have taken your place in a second as I would have for your Mother. You’re a beautiful soul whose made us both proud and been a joy as a daughter and when I give you his hand tomorrow, I’ll know your Mother was right. He will adore you forever Erika and I couldn’t be happier for you.”

By the time Jarles was done, tears were rolling down her cheeks and he hugged her. “Enough of that now my lovely daughter. It’s time for you to be happy.”

“I love you Father.”

“I love you too.” He helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you back now little mama. Frigga will never forgive me if I exhaust you and that’s a wrath I can do without.”

Erika chuckled. “I agree.”

[lightshadowverisimilitude]

K/S Sentinel AU 3/?

Part One, Two

Tarsus IV Agriculture Colony, star date 2245.37

Jim had been on the planet’s surface for less than six hours, and he’d apparently seen all that Tarsus IV had to offer. Which is to say: orange dust, and miles and miles and miles of wheat. He’d ended up staying aboard the USS Brighton for one more night when his uncle didn’t show up to collect him from the shuttle landing zone. Engineer Bartholomew “Call me Lo, aucht, only my granny calls me Bartholomew what’s the matter with you?” Augustine had taken him back up to ship after four hours of waiting because he couldn’t leave a minor all to his lonesome on a strange planet, now could he?

Jim wasn’t supposed to hear Lo arguing with Captain Hathaway that some kind of exception had to be made to that minimum-15 years old rule, someone like Jimmy Kirk Engineering prodigy, an’ I don’ say that lightly, shouldn’t be allowed to wither away on a mudball like Tarsus IV. Of course, Jim had been lying flat on the upper deck at the time, and couldn’t help a rush of hope as Lo made an impassioned argument to file for an exception and keep Jim aboard.

To his everlasting shock, Hathaway had finally admitted that she’d already tried, and not only was Starfleet disinclined to pin an exception on a proven fuckup like Jim Kirk, but his mother wouldn’t agree to it anyways. Jim thought he should be touched that Hathaway and Lo had tried to go to bat for him, but mostly he’d been angry. Story of his goddamned life.

Uncle Joe had finally commed the ship, apparently in a panic over Jim not being at the drop site when he’d arrived almost ten hours late. He claimed that the hovercar had broken down, and they didn’t get comm reception in the canyon, blahblahblah. Lo had shuttled him down with the last of the passengers to disembark, complaining the entire way that he was going to be short-handed, and what in Brigid’s fiery name had Jim done to his coolant system, civilian observer didn’t include meddling with things Lo was going to have to spend half the cruise home just figuring out, thank you very much.

“Didn’t mean to leave you at the station,” Joe said again. He’d already apologized twice, but Jim’s lack of response had apparently not relieved him of enough guilt, so he was taking another stab at it. “It’s exciting, being on a frontier colony, but it has its drawbacks.”

Jim held up his hands and counted off on his fingers, “Poorly designed comm system, no planetary transporters, no civilization of any kind, five years from the next ‘Fleet restock at least, and apparently no environmental controls in the hovercars. But hey, at least you’re not going to run out of wheat or dirt anytime soon.”

Joe made a soft noise against the back of his throat. His hands flexed on the hovercar’s controls. Jim shifted in his seat and pressed against the window, watching miles of green wheat lying down under the wind. Everything smelled like burnt dust, and the sun was slightly larger and slightly brighter than Sol, giving everything a flat, washed out look. The hovercar’s AC wheezed out a tired stream of almost-cool air, and Jim glared at the vents – he was going to have to fix that in a hurry. It was bad enough that he had to spend at least the next three years covered in orange dust, there was no way he was going to do it without working AC.

(read more)

“I know a brand new ag colony isn’t the place a young boy wants to be,” Joe said after a few miles of wheat and dust and wheat and dust. Why the hell they were even using hovercars when the fine dust was just going to clog all the intakes and make them crap out was way beyond Jim. An old-style wheeled vehicle would be better suited. He leaned up in his seat to get a better view of the outside of the vehicle. He could probably retro-fit the chassis.

“I guess life’s been pretty tough for you late, huh? Losing your daddy before you ever knew him.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? I have Frank.”

Joe made another uncomfortable noise. He shifted his bulk in his seat and tugged at the accelerator too hard so they jerked forward before settling into a rattling pace. After a few minutes, he throttled back to something the hovercar was more comfortable with, and the alarming whine of the engine dulled down a hum. Joe scratched at his cheek. Tarsus IV had only been an active colony for five years, but Joe looked like he’d been grown right out of the dirt. His skin was leather hard and deeply tanned until he nearly matched the color of the ground. He had scruffy dark hair cropped close to his head, and great bushy eyebrows. Jim imagined that when he went gray, he’d look like every single stereotype of a Midwestern farmer.

“I know about Frank,” Joe rumbled. “Mira and I invited you out with us for a reason, son. I know you haven’t seen either of us since you were too young to remember, but it didn’t seem like you were… doing well in that house.”

Jim eyed him suspiciously. It sounded like a trick, an opportunity for him to open his big mouth so Joe could call him a liar. Jim wasn’t going to bite. He made a noise himself, a deliberate imitation of Joe’s grunt, and turned back to the window. Joe didn’t say anything else. They’d been driving for over five hours, and still had three more to go. Jim hunched down in his seat and closed his eyes to discourage his uncle from making any more conversation, and tried to sleep. His thoughts strayed back to cramped engineering bay of the USS Brighton, and from there to the ship’s equally cramped bridge.

~*~

If Jim had thought about it at all, he would have expected Mira Kirk to be the same kind of leather-tanned, sturdy, dusty, and careworn as her husband, but she was about as far from Joe Kirk as she could get. Jim was small even for a twelve year old, but Mira had only maybe an inch or two on him. She was carefully pale, the kind of fair skin that needed to be carefully managed even in a city. Her chestnut hair was already starting to gray at the temples, but she had it buzzed even shorter than Joe’s, so it was a little hard to tell.

“We’re happy to have you, Jim,” Mira said, grabbing Jim by his upper arms and squeezing. “You must be roasting up in that leather jacket. Come on, I’ll show you to your room, and let you get a bath. Between the both of you, it looks like you brought half the road home with you. Not you!” she told her husband, holding out one finger – the top of her head barely came up to Joe’s chest. “You go hose off in the garden and dump those pants in the refresher. I can smell that damn hovercar all over you. Why the hell you insist on that silly thing even though it breaks down every other week. I’m surprised you made it there to pick up Jim at all.”

“Almost didn’t,” Joe grunted affably, and then obligingly stepped backwards into the mud room and closed the door behind him.

Jim had no idea what to make of them. He held onto the strap of his backpack to keep his hand busy, but hurried forward to take his suitcase when Mira stooped down to get it. She batted his hand away and pushed him toward the stairs. Despite the colony’s backwards appearance, the house was as modern as anything Jim had seen in Riverside, and definitely newer than the house he’d grown up in. He’d expected to come up the drive and see the same rickety wooden farmhouse, as if it had just been scooped up off the Iowa soil and dragged behind the starship, but it was a sleek, well-designed building of pale plexipaneling with big windows and a solar roof.

“Your room is just there at the end of the hall. Joe and I are down on the bottom floor. I thought you’d prefer your privacy.”

“Harder to sneak out of, more like,” Jim muttered.

“Oh, I wouldn’t think so,” Mira responded, though he hadn’t meant for her to hear. Jim felt his cheeks heat up. “First of all, you could always just take the stairs down to the front door, but if you insist on going down the hard way, there is a tree just outside the window. I imagine you’ll do just fine.” She shouldered past him into the room and set his suitcase down on the floor. “There’s an attached bathroom with a sonic shower and all that fancy jazz. There’s a water shower setting if you prefer, and don’t worry about the water. I know it looks drier than Satan’s left ass cheek out there, but there’s plenty underground, and we have a gray water system of course.”

She put her hands on her hips and surveyed Jim along with his room. “We didn’t know what kind of things you liked, so we left it plain. I’ve been told you’re a handy thing with a computer, so I’m sure you’ll figure out the wall settings, and if you let me know what kind of things you want, I’ll see what I can do about getting them. We’re a little backwater, alright, but we have some of the comforts of home here.”

She dusted her hands off. “Right. I’ll get started on supper, I’m sure you’re hungry. Way I remember it, boys your age are always hungry. Get washed up and settled in, come on down whenever you feel up to it.” She tapped one hand lightly on Jim’s chest on her way out the door, and then waved a hand over the sensor to close it behind her.

Left alone in the wake of whirlwind-Mira, Jim gaped at the door for several seconds before turning a slow circle around the room. It was just a rectangular space with a double bed, a tall dresser, a desk and accompanying chair, and the closet. The wooden floor was covered with a rug in a geometric pattern of blues and browns, and there was a light globe on the bedside table. Jim put his hand on the wall by the window and drew it down toward the floor to dim the window. He dimmed it all the way down to opaque black and then dragged his hand up the other direction, passing through the translucent setting up to luminous opaque white. His crappy bedroom curtains on Earth sure as hell couldn’t block out the light as well as a window in a house in the middle of freaking nowhere.

Jim found a console next to the bed and in a few seconds, he’d changed the walls from blank white a field of stars. They didn’t move exactly right, but he would have time to fix it later. So far the house wasn’t as bad as he was expecting, but it wasn’t like he would have much else to do on planet dirt. If Aunt Mira really didn’t mind him playing the house computer, then he wasn’t going to be quite as bored as he’d thought.

[tessatechaitea]

Dark Days: The Forge #1

Sometimes when I see John Romita Jr. artwork, I think, "What did I ever have against Rob Liefeld?!"

Hawkman's final journal? Hooray! Go to hell, you stupid prick! And I thought these were going to be dark days!

Does anybody else find it weird that Carter Hall records his journal on Swiss cheese? Many years ago (I guess? There's no time stamp on the opening scene!), Carter Hall recorded the crashing of a spaceship on his lunch. But since he didn't know the word "spaceship," he wrote "sign written in metal." That will probably be important later but for now, it's time to move the story into the present. And where better to begin an adventure story than The Bermuda Triangle! Wait. I should rephrase that. "Where better to begin an adventure story in the 1970s than The Bermuda Triangle!" Oh boy! Eight year old me just came in his pants! I mean if that were possible. Nothing but pee would be coming out of there for at least another five years.

You know you can read and reread the data once you get somewhere safe? Or did you not save your data to the cloud? Idiot. You should use both terrestrial and cloud backups!

That scientist sounds like me in high school after first hearing Mr. Crowley: "There's something in the metal!" Batman rescues the scientist whose name is Dr. Madison (MADISOOOOOON!). Batman tells Dr. Madison that the only to safety is back through the volcano. Batman: "The only way out is in!" Dr. Madison: "Does that actually make sense? I don't think that makes sense." Batman: "If we don't go back through the lava, we'll be covered in lava!" Dr. Madison: "Do you ever listen to yourself speak?" Batman: "Outside will also have flying debris! Inside is just, um, you know! Liquid hotness!" Dr. Madison: "You mean lava?" Batman: "If you want to get technical about it! Now get in my Liquid Hotness Proof Bat-mech (trademark and action figure pending!), sit on my lap, and don't ask me if that's a bat-grapple in my pocket or if I'm happy to see you! I'm never happy!"

So they had to go back through the lava to get to the ocean? Batman does know Dr. Madison was standing in front of a window overlooking the water, right? How was just crashing through that not an option? Especially since Batman loves crashing through panes of glass!

Whenever an editor tells Scott Snyder to make something more exciting, he should just say, "Shut. Up!" Aquaman helps with the rescue and then he and Batman get into an argument about who's keeping bigger secrets. Batman probably wins that one because even if Aquaman had some really juicy secrets to tell, I'd never remain interested long enough to hear them. I'm already bored with this paragraph because I had to type "Aquaman" three times. Apparently the Blackhawks have some super secret covert black ops shit going on again. Remember how they returned in All Star Batman? Oh, you got tired of reading that series too? Well, believe me. They returned there. Meanwhile on Mogo, Cornelius the Guardian wants Hal to do something seedy to him.

"Don't tell Guy! I just got him to stop calling me gay!"

Oh sorry. His name is Ganthet. I must be thinking of Roddy McDowall's character from Scavenger Hunt. Speaking of Scavenger Hunt, I caught an episode of Family Ties the other day when some actor walked on and I was all, "Hey! That's short sleeves, checkered shirt, black sneakers!" Plus his son in the episode was Chunk from The Goonies. Should I mark irrelevant passages like these with asterisks?!

Ganthet having once asked Hal to jerk him off is now canon.

Once again, everybody in the universe is gossiping about how Earth is going to destroy the universe. If only the Justice League would stop saving it already! Just let somebody destroy Earth for the greater good, you hypocrites! Ganthet has pinpointed the threat to the universe in the Batcave so Hal Jordan decides to go invade it and not radio Batman saying, "Hey, buddy. I've got a possible issue that maybe you can help out with. Let's meet up in the Batcave." Instead he decides to sneak in and start going through Batman's things. I get it. It's the only way to ensure that a couple of heroes fight so all the fangenders can lose their shit over it. This part was probably Tynion's idea. "Hey! You know what I've read in comic books about five thousand times? That part where two heroes fight over a misunderstanding! Can we add that scene?!" And Scott Snyder snorts and wakes up and is all, "What? Whatever. Just write the script already! If I wanted to write it, I wouldn't have purchased you from your parents!" Anyway, Batman isn't home so Hal has to fight Meadowlark. You know, Not-Robin. Duke!

What is Duke reading to get his Green Lantern information? The Who's Who books from the mid-80s? That's where I get all of my information too!

Is Green Lantern just fucking with Duke or is there something about the yellow flaw that I don't know about? I thought it was completely gone. Is this Snyder and Tynion trying to backdoor the flaw back into the ring but only if the person using the ring is inexperienced and stupid? In the next panel, Hal Jordan says, "It's good to see Batman's still recruiting teenagers." Hey man. You better be careful with statements like that. At least he's not, you know, fucking them. Duke Thomas admits to not having a code name yet. That's adorable. All this fucking time and he still doesn't have one. Why can't Snyder just spit one out already? Waiting to find out his superhero name is like waiting for Sting to come in your mouth. Not that I'd know and not that it was the worst sixteen hours of my life. Meanwhile there's this place called The Campus underneath Philadelphia where The Immortal Men are headquartered. One of them is Immortal Man because of course it is. The other one is a guy in a robe with shaggy eyebrows that might be Carter Hall but I'm hoping is anybody else. Another one of their possible members would have been Elaine Thomas, Duke's mother. But she went crazy from Joker Toxin. They apparently know they need to save the world from something bad that's coming because it's always easier to tell a story about prophecy. It would be too hard to wedge these Immortal Men into the story if they didn't already know some huge Crisis was about to happen. So the guy in the robes isn't Hawkman because Hawkman gets the next scene. He's been having visions during the times between death and reincarnation. Whew! I thought he wouldn't have some secret inside information to get him right into this upcoming Crisis! In his vision, he sees a gigantic Batman statue with lots of people tied to its legs. I guess somebody is going to have to kill Batman before he becomes evil! After that scene, John Romita Jr. takes over on the art. I should probably snort some Ativan before continuing. Mister Terrific is helping Batman with the Mystery of the Dark Days. Hopefully they'll explain it in long, large word balloons that cover up most of the art. Something has been interfering with the harmonic frequencies of Earth-Main-Earth and Earth-2 (which I guess is back to its normal self? Or maybe Mister Terrific just got off before he wound up in that whole World's End mess? For some reason, I can't remember the story well enough to know if Mister Terrific was in any of it. Thank Jesus!) but neither Batman nor Mister Terrific know what's going on yet. To help them figure it out, Batman decides they must let Plastic Man out of his prison cell. They say they agreed to lock him up because he was too powerful but I think they just got sick of his stupid jokes. Back in the Batcave, Duke and Hal are investigating the Mystery of Batman Investigating the Mystery. It all started when somebody said, "That whole electrum in the tooth thing that resurrects the dead Talons is stupid! It's not scientific at all! Who comes up with such dumb shit?! DC Comics sucks!" Then Scott Snyder was all, "Wait! Wait! You haven't heard the whole tale of that! You shouldn't believe everything you see at first sight! You should wait for the second sight! Or maybe the third sight if everybody on Twitter complains about the second sight! But I don't think they will because this is going to be a huge Crisis! You'll love it!" So instead of electrum being in the teeth, Batman found a metal that shared the same energy signature as the helmet of fate, the quintdent of Aquaman, and the bracelets of Diana. To investigate this metallic mystery, Batman created a team that everybody forgot about. Everybody except me, of course!

Halo's costume is terrible. But Geoforce had better stay away from her anyway!

Duke has no idea who the wobbly speech bubble is. But that didn't stop him from saying, "Dick? Is that Dick? You know, Dick Grayson? Nightwing? Is that you?" So the metal is probably Nth Metal which would make it more believable that it was resurrecting the Talons. Because nobody is going to say, "Nth Metal can't do that!" I mean, they might. But they'd be wrong because Nth Metal isn't real and it can do whatever the fuck it needs to do when the writer needs it to do it. Although if it were Dionesium, nobody would say, "Dionesium can't do that!" Because that's exactly what it was made for! It's just that Nth Metal works better, plot-wise. Why would Aquaman's five-pronged trident have Dionesium in it? Deep in Batman's secret Batcave, Duke and Hal come to a door. Apparently the owner of the voice is behind it. I hope it's not The Joker. I hope it's Detective Chimp. I also hope it's revealed before this issue is over! Batman has also been keeping another secret in Superman's fortress. With the help of Mister Miracle, he unlocks the unopenable room it was stored in. It's a big yellow tower that Mister Miracle recognizes but I don't. Maybe it's Qwardian! It could also be something from Final Crisis which I've never read. Or something from an obscure 1967 Batman story. Or maybe it's something that, when it's explicitly named, I'll say, "Oh yeah. Fuck. I totally remember that thing now!" Anyway, I don't think it's important enough to reveal this issue. Because The Joker needs to be revealed in the Hal Jordan scene! Oh look! The Joker was the voice! What a surprise! Surprise! Are you surprised? Oh! You should also keep in mind how there were three Jokers, remember? That was a dumb bit that had to be thrown in so that Batman would say, "Impossible!", when he asked the Moebius Chair what the Joker's name was. Remember how that one guy on Tumblr got all pissy with me when I said they'd never reveal The Joker's name and how could I know that and I don't know what I'm talking about and all that shit? Fucking stupid kid. I didn't even get to say "I told you so!" to that kid when the reveal was that the Chair's answer was that there were three Jokers! Well, I'm doing it now! I fucking told you so, kid! So that's the end of Dark Days: The Forge! Maybe that thing Batman revealed was The Forge. I guess the next stop in this series is the event, Metal. It'll probably be about Dionesium and Nth Metal and how, when combined, everything is destroyed! What will this Crisis be called? Not just Crisis in Dark Days, right? How about Alchemical Crisis on Earths Starring Plastic Man?

[maryeemeeh]

Wolves of Manhattan

Originally posted on fanfiction.net

Summary: He is the rich kid from the Upper East Side with a troubled past and a dysfunctional family. She is from Greenwich Village who is pulled into the world of the rich and famous when her parents receive promotions. When their paths cross, a spark is ignited and the tables are turned when they learn they are far more connected than they thought. AU. 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

CHAPTER ONE

"Luke, don't do this!"

His eyes snapped open as he clenched his bruised fist and stormed out the room, ignoring his friends' pleas to stop. He stumbled outside and watched one of the guys from their high school football team scurried to his red Ford Mustang as quickly as he was able to. With his adrenaline on high, he ran to his car and jumped inside his white BMW i8 sports car and took off chasing after him.

His mind was racing and anger flooded his veins, threatening to cloud his better judgment and making it difficult to concentrate on what he was seeing. He hadn't felt such rage in a very long time, but he was determined he would pay for this; he would make him pay.

He sped down the half empty streets, getting in and out of the freeway, passing cars left and right and inching closer to the Ford Mustang. Anxiety pooled in the pit of his stomach as he pressed his foot harder against the accelerator to make it go a bit faster.

And then suddenly his instincts kicked in at once as he noticed a dog running in the middle of his lane. He gasped in shock, immediately slamming on the brakes and making a sharp turn, avoiding the dog by a thread as he was hurtling towards the fire hydrant, which burst into a stream of water.

And then there was nothing.

No noise.

No feeling.

Only darkness as his consciousness slowly ebbed away.

He moaned as he slowly woke up and found himself squinting under the harsh lighting. His throat was dry and his eyes were thick with sleep. He recognized the smells and the sounds of an IV machine beeping in his ear. When his eyes fluttered, he realized that he wasn't in his room. Instead, he was in the last place he wanted to be.

The hospital.

"Lucas?" He heard a soft feminine voice beside him, "Can you hear me?"

He slowly turned to look at his female companion and weakly smiled, relieved to see a familiar face. "Hey, Maya." He greeted, half-wincing when he became aware of the migraine and the pain in his chest. "What happened?" His voice came out small as every breath he took hurt like hell.

"Well, you crashed into a fire hydrant and the paramedics found you unconscious."

There was a moment of brief silence as his eyes trained on the ceiling in deep thought, trying to recollect everything that happened. "So he managed to get away…again." He shook his head in disbelief. "That jerk." Maya tried not to frown under the disappointment and anger in his voice. "Are you okay though?" He asked, concern feigning in his soft emerald gaze when he looked back at her.

"Yea," she said with a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine."

"He should have not said all those nasty rumors about you." He replied, looking increasingly annoyed. "I promise you, Maya I'll make him pay."

She sighed, brushing her long blonde hair out of her eyes. "Okay, Huckleberry. This needs to stop. You can't fight our battles all the time and have these angry outbursts. It doesn't do you or any of us any good." Lucas averted from her gaze with a slight roll to his eyes. He heard it all before. He's heard it several times for the past year or two and stopped listening at some point. "You could have hurt someone and gotten yourself killed tonight."

"She's right, yah know." Came another worried voice that he recognized to be his best friend's. "You were lucky. No broken bones. Just a few minor cuts and bruises."

Lucas smiled up at him by the time he reached his bedside. "Hey, Zay."

"Hey, man." Zay managed a smile as he placed a hand on his shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

Lucas shrugged and let out a light groan, feeling the pain radiate from his back and down to his legs. "I've been better, bro."

"Well you might feel even worse." Lucas turned to another male voice in the room as he appeared next to Maya.

"Why is that, Farkle?"

"Your mom is on her way."

A heavy sigh escaped from his lips as Lucas closed his eyes, wishing he could just disappear altogether. "Great."

A few days later…

Lucas toyed anxiously with a stray thread of his uniform khaki slacks while he waited outside the Dean's office. After being summoned out of his last class for the day, he had spent ten minutes waiting in the reception with only the constant clacking of computer keys and the ticking of the wall clock to keep him company.

The door opened with a creak, causing Lucas' head to snap up. He furrowed his eyebrows in bewilderment, expecting to be approach by a plump, short middle-aged man with balding grey hair and oversized glasses. But instead he looked up to see someone he never seen before; a slender man who appeared to be in his mid-to-late thirties with short, curly dark brown hair wearing a dark blue plaid shirt underneath a dark grey suit jacket and black pants.

"Ahh, Mr. Friar. Sorry to keep you waiting." He greeted him warmly. "My name is Cory Matthews and I am the new Dean."

Lucas nodded and took the hand offered, shaking it kindly with a greeting. "Hello, Sir."

"Please come inside."

Mr. Matthews led him inside the office, which was in the middle of being refurbished. The walls were empty of portraits, certificates and personal items. The only thing present in the room was a computer and laptop that sits on the mahogany desk with three swivel chairs. By the time he closed the door, Lucas noticed his mother sitting on one of them.

"Mom?"

She looked over her shoulder and gave him a small smile. "Come sit down, sweetheart." She said, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. Lucas reluctantly sat down, his eyes curiously following the Dean as he makes his way over to the desk to sit across from them.

"So what are you doing here, Mom?" He asked, annoyance creeping on the forefront of his tone. "Don't you have a debutante ball to organize or a gala to attend to or something?"

"Don't be rude, Lucas. Mr. Matthews called me over here to discuss your punishment after the stunt you pulled last weekend." She said calmly, earning himself a glare from his mother.

"You know, Mr. Friar I've been going through your files and I'm quite impressed." He said, taking Lucas completely off guard. "You're a 3.5 student athlete, who hasn't missed or was ever late to class. And yet, a good kid like yourself has a history of getting into fights." Mr. Matthews paused, shaking his head. "You're sixteen, Lucas. You have your whole life ahead of you and you're out there getting in trouble. Can't say I'm not disappointed."

Lucas regarded him carefully with an intense stare. "So what is it going to be, sir? Are you going to suspend me?" He challenged. "Expel me? Send me to juvie?"

"Is that what you want, Mr. Friar?"

Lucas shook his head sharply, and for the first time in a long time, he felt vulnerable. Not because he was in trouble, but because he saw something in Mr. Matthews' eyes he never seen before. Instead of the usual look of disappointment and shame Lucas seem to earn from staff that held administrative positions, he saw hope and unwavering faith in his. "No," he finally answered after a long minute of silence.

Mr. Matthews studied him carefully as he leaned back against the chair, absently twirling a pen between his fingers. "I don't know how your previous Dean do things around here, son but I'm taking a rather different approach. Luckily for you the city hasn't press any charges, and I happen to know the chief of police who has agreed to the terms I will present to you for your punishment."

"Alright." Lucas drew in a nervous breath. "Let's hear it."

"Your driver's licensed has been suspended for a year."

"What?!"

"Which means your driving privileges has been temporarily withdrawn until the duration of your suspension is over. If you violate the law and rules of driving again, your license will be revoked." Lucas grumbled something incoherent as Mr. Matthews continued on. "You are banned from participating in any team sports for the rest of the school year, and instead you will be an assistant coach to a local little league baseball team after school."

"Anything else?" Lucas asked. He couldn't decide whether he should be happy or not. He's not getting suspended or going to jail but he has to watch over little kids, let alone teach them how to play.

"Yes, as part of your community service, you will be working four hours a day during the weekends at Topanga's."

Lucas groaned despondently, burying his face in his hands and resting them on his knees. "It's better than jail, sweetie." He heard his mother say as he looked at her and quietly nodded.

"When do I start, sir?"

He had been dreading this moment since he stepped out of the Dean's office yesterday. And so when the day finally arrived, Lucas couldn't believe he was enjoying his time as an assistant coach. Never mind the cold in mid-April or the fact that he was coaching boys who were barely four feet tall. He loved baseball, and there was something about teaching the fundamentals of the sport to the next generation of athletes that he found comforting and rewarding.

He spent the majority of the afternoon shadowing the head coach, observing and taking a mental note of the daily routine that goes on in every practice. At one point, Lucas volunteered to demonstrate the proper way to hold a baseball bat and pitch a baseball using different grips, earning praises and approval from the kids as well as the head couch.

"So do you play a lot?" The head coach asked, joining Lucas on the first row of the bleachers as soon as he had the kids pair up for a round of throw and catch.

"Yea, I'm on the high school baseball team over at Thomas Jefferson Prep." Lucas smiled, but then frowned slightly and looked down. "Well…I was anyway. What about you, Coach?"

"Please, call me Josh. And yes, I play for NYU."

"Nice."

"Last guy I had knew nothing about baseball. Thank God my brother sent you."

"Brother?"

He nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he began leaving his place on the bottom bleachers to return to his kids. "Yep. I believe you know him as Mr. Cory Matthews."

Lucas raised a brow with a thoughtful look on his face. "Huh. You don't say..."

The whistle blew as all the kids surrounded Josh, most of them relieved to have practice come to an end. He talked for a minute when Lucas noticed a crowd of parents waiting behind the fence to pick up their child. "Good practice, boys. I'll see you all here same time tomorrow." He said as the team started to head out. Lucas was about to grab his things from the dugout when he felt someone tug at his blue long-sleeve shirt. He turned around and lowered his gaze at the curly, brown haired boy staring up at him.

"Thanks for the tip, Coach. I had fun."

Lucas smiled. "Anytime."

"Come on, Auggie. Let's go!"

"I'm coming!" The boy exclaimed as Lucas followed the sound of a feminine voice yelling for him. And sure enough, he saw a pretty brunette looking in their direction, waiting from outside the fence. Their eyes met briefly from a distance and he smiled, the smallest smile he could muster, just enough to make sure that she knew he noticed her.

Tumblr: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Fanfiction: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 

[all-stars-have-shadows]

Much may be Forgotten ‘ere the Tide Runs Dry

Ladies and gentlemen, the final chapter. I feel obligated as a writer to thank those of you who have read my work, shared my work, appreciated my work. It’s been fun to write, and I hope it’s been fun to read. Also, sorry/not sorry that this chapter is twice as long as the others; I’ve never been very good at wrapping up, but I like to think I’ve done a pretty decent job. As always, you can find parts one,two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten on my blog using these hyperlinks or by clicking on the “Original Writing” tab at the top of the page.

Sisters Veronica and Kathrine are in England searching for castles while Ver writes her master’s thesis. They’ve stumbled into the undocumented ruins of a castle dungeon. Hopelessly lost, they begin to realise that not only are they trapped, but they may not be alone. As they fight toward escape, they encounter one final challenge to overcome before they have a chance of seeing the sun again, and discover that Mother Nature is no idle force.

Feel free to let me know what you think! I also have quite a collection of research associated with the location and history discussed here, and I am more than happy to answer any questions you have about that. **Please make sure my name goes with all of my writing, this is an original work and all characters and plots are my own creation.**

Tagging @everyjourneylove and @luckynumber1213 as per request. Thank you guys for being such faithful readers, even in spite of my odd hours and sporadic posting schedule. I hope this chapter is the ending you’ve been waiting for.

______________________________________________________________

I was beyond curses at this point. I can’t even begin to describe the despair and panic that flooded through me. By this point, the walkways on either side had narrowed to mere inches, and we were walking in the canal itself, a good five feet below the ground level. If it flooded right now, there was nowhere for us to go.

I grabbed her arm. “We have to move faster." But we couldn't. It was all the two of us could do to keep on our feet. We pressed on, hobbling as quickly as we could. The water continued to rise, covering our knees and reaching our waists with alarming speed. Our waterlogged jeans and sneakers slowed us down even more. We had left our backpacks behind hours ago.

Splash. Ver tripping and was flung headlong into the water. She came up gasping, and I realised it was almost up to her shoulders. I was taller than her; I might be able to keep my head up, but it would cover her completely.

"Your shoes," she said, urgently. "Kick off your shoes. They'll only drag you down when you try to swim." A sudden wave slapped her in the face, leaving her with a mouthful of seawater.

We lived for a long time on the shores of Lake Superior. We used to go boating, fishing, and swimming. Until my cousin Lexi drowned. She was swimming at night on a dare, and a current just dragged her under. I was eight years old at the time, and I was terrified. I swore I'd never get that close to the water again. And so, despite living half my life next to the biggest lake in the country, I never learned to swim.

The water was over my head now. I could feel the current dragging at my shirt and the legs of my jeans. It was disorienting. Something slammed into my knees, and I lost my balance. The last thing I remember is catching a glimpse of light somewhere far ahead.

Air.

For about five seconds, everything was utterly black. Then, with a gasp, I felt air rushing into my lungs. Right that second, I swore off every substance I’d ever taken in my life. I’d have even given up coffee for one more breath of oxygen. I felt gravel digging into my cheek, water lapping gently around my waist. Slowly, painfully, I opened my eyes.

Everything was blurry. I could make out dried stalks of grass and weeds, and vaguely beyond it, water. As my mind began to clear, I could hear the water, too, crashing in the distance. I could also hear…sirens? Somewhere behind me, people were shouting in a faint jumble of voices and words. Someone touched my back.

“She’s awake!” An unfamiliar face peered down at me. “Can you hear me, miss?”

I tried to speak, choked, tried again. I heard him holler for water. A moment later, a plastic cup was pressed against my lips.

“Slowly,” he said, tipping the glass so I could drink. Someone else helped prop me up so I didn’t choke on it. I hadn’t had fresh water for days. “Now. Can you tell me your name? How did you get here?”

“Kathrine,” I rasped. “Kathrine Cutter. We were—my sister.” Panic flooded my brain. “My sister. Where is she—you have to-” I choked on the water I was trying to drink and nearly threw up.

“Already on the way to the hospital,” he answered. “We found her a kilometer further down the coast.”

Strong hands lifted me off the ground, carrying me away from the shore. “We’re going to get you to the hospital,” a woman assured me. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“Wait.” I grabbed her hand. “Wait; you can’t take me just yet. I need to speak to the police.”

“It’s going to be alright.” She said again. “You’ve been through a lot. Just rest for now, let us do our jobs.”

“No!” There was enough force in my voice to make her pause. “I need to speak with an officer. There’s a-there’s a dungeon. A labyrinth. Somewhere below where we’re standing.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure move closer, and made out the shape of a badge. Police, maybe fire department. I turned toward them. “There are…” I started coughing again. The woman at my shoulder cleared her throat impatiently. Slowly, deliberately, I turned to the officer and tried again. “There are smugglers using the tunnels of a medieval dungeon to run drugs out of Liverpool and into Ireland. Heroin, cases of it. We stumbled on two of them by accident and they trapped us in the dungeons. It’s hard to navigate, but I can get you to them. I know where to go. I remember.”

The officer knelt next to me. “Are you sure?” I nodded carefully. “Can you describe it, or them?”

“I can draw you a map. You’ll have to wait for the tide to get in, but I can draw it.”

“Tides’ already running out,” he answered. He turned to someone behind him. “Pencil and paper! Quickly!”

The nurse tried to argue, he insisted they needed it, I shut them both down with a quiet, “If I don’t do this now, I might never remember”. Pencil and paper were retrieved as requested.

And I stopped to think. I knew where we were when we’d fallen in, at least roughly. I pressed my memory for clues, directions, distances. So much of it was just a jumble of turns in the ever-curving tunnels. I started to draw, acutely aware of the number of eyes watching me as I did so. I drew the entrance point, noted that it flooded with the tide. I drew the big room with the EMP device. And then it was like the pencil just took over. Lines appeared on paper, tunnels I barely remembered walking through as my brain assembled the pieces one step at a time. Where I’d fallen in. An estimated distance from there to the oubliette room. I told them about the sobbing mine worker. I don’t know how long I sat, shivering on the road, sketching lines on a now-damp piece of paper.

“That’s it.” I shoved the paper at him. “That’s what I remember. I know it isn’t perfect, but it…it’ll get you there.”

The officer’s eyes widened as he took the proffered paper. “How could you possibly…you were dehydrated and sick, how did you remember…look at this!” he exclaimed to the officer behind him. “Compass points, distances. It’s all in feet and yards but we can…” Whatever else he said to say was lost in the whirl of officers and medical personnel. I was only vaguely aware of being rushed to an ambulance, having an IV inserted in my arm.

It was three days before they let me see my sister. I was kept in intensive care, being treated for hypothermia, dehydration, four broken ribs, and a hairline crack in my skull from being slammed about in the canal. When she finally came to visit me, on crutches and wincing, I was well enough to lean forward and give her a weak, but still heartfelt, hug.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, maneuvering herself gingerly onto the bed. She’d done some nasty damage to one of her ankles in addition to being treated for trauma. But she was out and about, which was more than I could say.

“I’ve been worse,” I answered. She grinned faintly, then looked down at her hands, uncharacteristically shy.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” she burst out. “The dungeon, the travelling, exploring the tunnels…all of that was my fault. And I’m sorry.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “If you really want to apologise, there’s one thing you can do for me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Get your Master’s degree in something else. Contact the school, tell them you’re switching from ‘dark spots of the dark ages’ to biology. Or theatre. Or American lit. Anything that doesn’t require you to travel.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “It’s Medieval History and Lore, Kat,” she said wryly. “But you may have a point—when we get back, I am calling in a very serious meeting with my academic advisor.”

“No more crazy road trips?”

“No more crazy road trips,” she confirmed. She reached out and squeezed my arm. “Though I did do some digging after I booked flights home: did you know they’re working on a new excavation in Egypt? There’s a hidden chamber in King Tut’s tomb that they say might be the burial place of Queen Nefertiti.”

Her face was unreadable, her voice totally deadpan. I gave her a look. “You’re out of your mind.”

She burst out laughing. “Maybe. I mostly just wanted to see what you would do. Although I am serious—archaeologist do think that judging from thermal imaging, there are at least two different tunnels that no one knew about before. For a long time they’ve been speculating on why his tomb is so much smaller, but if there are new tunnels then that means he…”

I let her talk. Ver is never happy unless she has something to obsess about. I was more interested in the first fact she’d dropped: she’d booked flights. We were going home.

As we boarded the airplane a week later, still battered and sore, but ready to go home, I felt a slight shiver run down my spine. We’d had such a hard time explaining to mom what had happened. I certainly couldn’t begin to think of what I was going to tell my friends. I’d spoken with Scotland Yard again, and with an archaeologist who wanted me to help them map out the tunnels more thoroughly, maybe even fly me back for some serious intern work. They, too, were waiting for a reply. But as we taxied down the runway and took to the wide blue sky, I was struck with the thought that maybe I didn’t have to tell anyone anything. No tales of adventure. No tunnel maps, no international visits. Maybe some things truly are better left alone. Deep below the surface, cut off by the tide, maybe some things are meant to be forgotten.

[angelbabymommy]

Where do I begin? How do I tell this story? I guess the only way I know how.

I am 32 years old, I have carried and birthed 5 beautiful babies into this world, children I am thankful for each day, even more so now. Children I am blessed to hug, laugh with, make memories, and love always.

March 7, 2020 I gave birth to my fifth child. My partner and I both agreed we didn’t want another child for some time and I made the decision to use birth control. I was using the Xulane birth control patch. All was well.

In June 2020 I realized I hadn’t started a period. Surely I wasn’t pregnant but just to be safe we took a test, imagine our surprise to see two lines! Wait! What just happened!?!

It was overwhelming. We were scared. But we accepted it. My partner and I were warming up to the idea of another baby to adore. I found a midwife, I found a hospital that would allow me to have the water birth I always dreamed of having. I was going to stay team green and have my partner announce the gender of our baby to me at birth. I also had decided this would be my last baby for good. I began to envision this life with this child. I felt strongly and deeply in my heart it was a little girl. My heart was overjoyed.

July 14, 2020 we had our first ultrasound scan. We measured 6 weeks! Our baby had a heartbeat, 108 bpm. Everything looked normal. They scheduled us for a follow up scan for two weeks later. During those two weeks I experienced some nausea, my tests were still blazing positive. I craved foods and I was tired. But I was happy.

July 31, 2020 I should have been 8 weeks 3 days. We would see an even bigger baby with an even stronger heartbeat! I couldn’t wait, I had looked forward to this day so much. But when we did the scan my heart sunk. I am not an expert by no means but I’ve had enough babies and scans to know what we should have seen and we were not seeing that. The nurse said it was inconclusive. But I knew, I knew it wasn’t inconclusive. I knew my baby was gone. Taken from me. Why? What had I done wrong? I didn’t drink or do drugs. I took my prenatal vitamins every night before bed.

I came out to the car and burst into tears. Barely able to speak. I was a blubbering mess. My boyfriend was in denial. He didn’t want to believe it. He wanted a second opinion. My body didn’t warn me. It gave me no indication that something was wrong. It still believed it was pregnant. Why oh why? By Monday I began spotting pink. I knew my body was finally beginning to realize what had happened, that we lost the baby. It’s funny people say lost the baby, as if I somehow misplaced it. I didn’t lose it. Where did it go?

Tuesday I saw my old OB who had delivered my other babies. She remained optimistic. She drew blood. She wanted to check my hcg count before proceeding. The next day, Wednesday, August 5, 2020 my Dr called. My hcg count was 2500, that’s normal for a 6 week pregnancy. I knew then my baby had stopped developing right after that first scan. My pink spotting was beginning to turn more red and a bit more heavy.

That night around 7 PM I began bleeding uncontrollably. I was getting blood all over myself and my bathroom. My four year old was scared repeatedly asking me if I was okay. I assured him I would be okay. I finished making dinner, feeding my kiddos and bathing everyone and getting them off to bed. At that point I was soaking a pad in less than an hour. I tried to shower, to get blood off me, but blood poured out of me. It was like a scene from a horror film. I began passing clots. Some were as big as my hands. I started feeling weak, dizzy and faint. Any time I stood I would see spots and darkness. I knew this wasn’t normal.

My boyfriend had to leave for work. He works the overnight shift. Fortunately my mom was here. I hadn’t even announced my pregnancy yet but I had the unfortunate experience of having to explain to her what was going on. As I crawled my way out of the shower trying to dress myself with blood still running down my legs, my mom petrified, she called 911.

The ambulance rushed me to the hospital. My blood pressure remained stable. My heart was pounding against my chest, it was in a state of tachycardia. My hemoglobin levels were low at a 10. The nurse assigned to me immediately set up an IV, took blood and urine. The ER doctor said my hcg levels were now at 1700, they were definitely going down. Another ultrasound scan confirmed the pregnancy was no longer viable. At that point the doctor felt comfortable administering me medication to help with the cramping and bleeding.

They did a pelvic exam. The ER doctor gently used a speculum to open me up and used forceps to remove clots, lots of clots. Once he believed he had gotten them all he could get to my ER nurse took wipes and began cleaning my legs and feet for me. My bleeding began to slow down. My heart rate was still high though. Even after IV fluids my hemoglobin levels had gone down another 2 points. They wanted me to stay overnight, they talked about a possible D&C and blood transfusion.

But I couldn’t stay. My boyfriend at work, my grandma refusing to help and my mom having her own health issues (osteoarthritis & fibromyalgia) I had to make it home to my other kids. I sadly had to sign myself out of the hospital against medical advice. At 2 in the morning I waited for my Uber to take me home. I sat in the backseat of someone’s car wearing the pants I came to the hospital in, soaked and stained with blood. Praying that I didn’t bleed on their seat and get charged a cleaning fee.

I made it home. Shortly afterward my four month old awakened, I went to make him a bottle, feeling weak and dizzy again, I sat on my kitchen floor trying to regain my composure and ability to walk and stand. While sitting there, my heart pounding out of my chest and sounds slowly fading out I blacked out and fainted. I awoke after smacking my forehead and elbow into the high chair and my mom jumping up as quickly as I had ever seen her move in months, crying she said “You fell, you passed out.” I laid on the floor crying and telling her I couldn’t finish making the bottle. My mom made it and gave it to my baby for me.

I forced myself to eat and drink water. Still feeling weak I dragged myself to bed and slept. I woke up the next day feeling tired, my body sore, still a little shaky and weak but somehow I survived. I was lucky. I didn’t need the blood transfusion after all. Somehow my body pulled through on its own, maybe with some help from God or my guardian angel.

I called my Dr office and informed them I miscarried. They said they were sorry for my loss. My Dr will do blood draws every week until my hcg levels return to 0. Then they will know my body did the work of emptying the uterus of all the contents of this pregnancy. My body let go, but my heart is another story.

Physically I know I will heal. This physically pain won’t last forever. There will come a day when my bleeding stops all together. My body will feel great. But my heart doesn’t know better. My heart doesn’t want to let go, it wasn’t ready to say goodbye, when we never even got the chance to say hello.

Emotionally I feel like I’m being tortured, I feel like I’m living a nightmare. I don’t know why this happened to me. I will never have answers. I’m angry with God, why would he take my baby from me? I’m angry with my body for failing me. I want my baby back, but I know that won’t ever happen.

Last night I laid on the floor of my bathtub while water streamed down me from the shower head. I wasn’t even interested in showering. It was just somewhere to go to escape. I put on a strong front all day for my mom and kids but in the shower I cry. I allow the grief to wash over me and the water drowns out my tears. Those gut wrenching, soul crushing, tears, the kind that makes your nose snot up and you feel the lump in your throat and you can literally feel your heart breaking. I prayed to God harder than I ever have before. I prayed for strength. I prayed for comfort and peace. I prayed for understanding. I prayed that God mend my broken heart.

It’s a rollercoaster of emotions honestly. I’m terrified of ever becoming pregnant again. What if this happens again? I don’t know if I can bear this pain again. This pain is unbearable. It’s a pain and emptiness I wouldn’t wish even upon my worst enemy. I know if there ever is a next time I will spend that entire pregnancy in fear. Fear of becoming attached and losing another baby. I never thought it would or could happen to me until it did and now here I am. 1 in 4 is not just a statistic. I am that 1 in 4. And it’s truly heartbreaking. My dreams are shattered. This has got to be the most traumatic experience of my life ever.

On the other side never becoming pregnant again envelopes me in fear as well. What if I become infertile after this? What if I’m never able to achieve pregnancy again? I want my rainbow baby someday. I know my heart will never fully heal until I have my rainbow baby nestled safely in my arms. The thing is I don’t know when/if that will ever happen for me. And so I sit and wait in this limbo of emotional turmoil. Even a rainbow baby would never replace this angel baby of mine. I will always hold onto this sadness to some degree. It will never just go away, I will never stop talking about and remembering my baby. There will never be another day I live that I don’t think of my baby and all the what ifs.

I’m triggered by the foods I ate while pregnant. I’m triggered by the births of healthy newborns and others announcing their pregnancies. Why do they get to keep their baby but I didn’t get to keep mine? That sounds selfish. But it feels unfair. It is unfair. Nothing about this is right or okay. I randomly cry throughout the day, silently.

I don’t even know the gender of my baby. I submitted my ultrasound scan to the Ramzi theory group; 3 boy guesses and 2 girl guesses. I will never know until someday I get to meet my baby in Heaven and hold my baby in my arms. I hope my baby is safe and healthy and happy in the arms of Jesus right now. I hope my baby knows I loved them so so much and wanted them more than anything in this world. I would do anything to have you sweet baby with me again.

This is my story. This is miscarriage. This is what it feels like. There is no simple way of explaining it. I’m part of a special group of women that now have their very own and very special angel watching over them. I will never forget you. In my heart you live forever. Until we meet again...

Positive Pregnancy Test: 06/27/2020

First Ultrasound: 07/14/2020 108 bpm 💓

My Due Date: 03/09/2021

My Miscarriage Date: 08/05/2020

It was such a short time with you but I fell in love with you from the very start and I’ll never stop loving you with every beat of my heart.

“An angel opened the book of life and wrote down my baby’s birth. Then whispered softly as she closed the book, Too beautiful for Earth.”

Fly high angel baby 👼 Mommy loves you 💕

[rjhamster]

Overnight those tasks and routines can become the precious little places where joy is birthed. ~ Dawn Barton, Laughing Through the Ugly Cry 

You Get ToDawn Barton, Laughing Through the Ugly-Cry and Finding Unstoppable Joy  

Learning to Treasure What You Didn’t Want 

Now eagerly desire the greater gifts. And yet I will show you the most excellent way. — 1 Corinthians 12:31

A deep breath and a huge, slow eye roll. That was my immediate reaction. A family member had just said to me, “You get to.” This was her attempt at reminding me of the holiest of postures — gratitude — so I’d do something I absolutely did not want to do: clean my child’s vomit off my dress and new suede shoes. I can assure you there was no feeling of gratitude in this moment as I stood covered in vomit at my cousin’s wedding. “Honey, you get to clean that vomit.” You get to. If you’re not familiar with this worldview, it’s an idea espoused by pretty much every pastor, women’s conference speaker, and all-knowing aunt I’ve ever encountered: to truly enjoy life the way God wants us to, we must be grateful 24-7. We should be grateful for the little things, the big things, the smelly things, the happy and the sad — in all things we should be grateful. The truth is this: that annoying family member was right. And I do believe it now. Finding joy in the messy, tedious tasks of our everyday lives is darn near impossible sometimes. Driving the kids to school, going to your job, helping with homework, keeping up with sports, meals, and exercise, feeling miserable about what you just ate, and wearing an underwire bra when all you want to do is let those puppies loose — every single day, life is hard, ladies. I know. The tasks seem never-ending, and it can be so difficult to find joy in the tedium. Until one day, when everything that makes your eyes roll is taken away. Overnight those tasks and routines can become the precious little places where joy is birthed. The struggle quickly becomes the gift. My youngest daughter, Ellason, was four years old when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and Makenzie, my oldest, was married and out of the house, tending to her own family about an hour away. My husband, Craig, was in a dusty tent in the Middle East. It was just Ellason and me at home, with a lot of love and support from family and friends. During the biopsy on my right breast, something went wrong, and they burned the skin, leaving a half-inch, black, circular burn at the incision point. Believe it or not, that burn turned out to be one of the best things to happen to me. That burn became something visible and tangible I could use to explain cancer to a four-year-old little girl. We called it the “booby bug,” and it made sense to her sweet four-year-old mind. The booby bug made mommy sick. Getting rid of the booby bug was a lot harder than I imagined it would be. Chemotherapy was a wild beast, and it kicked my butt. The plan was six rounds of a chemo combination called “red devil” (because one of the drugs was red in color), and I would receive those treatments every two weeks. The next phase was a different type of drug that I would receive weekly for twelve weeks, totaling six months of chemotherapy treatments. My chemo weeks looked a little like this: Day 1: Chemo infusion. A nurse covered in protective gear — large plastic mask and all — inserted IVs into the port in my chest and changed them every hour until my body was filled with what I like to call “the poison drugs.” (Side note: Someone should give you a heads-up that your nurse is going to look like the hazmat dudes in ET when she walks in to give you chemotherapy drugs. That image sort of shakes you up. I mean, if the nurse is covered three ways to Sunday so she won’t touch the drugs, why is it a good idea to put them inside of my body? Food for thought.) The entire process lasted about four hours, and then someone would drive me home. Off to bed I would go, feeling tired but otherwise alive. Day 2: The poison drugs hit. Nausea meds and painkillers were a must, but this wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that I had to go back to the cancer center for a bone marrow stimulant injection that increased my white blood cell count so my body could fight infection. I hated it. Imagine feeling so nauseated, with pain seething through every inch of your body, and knowing you have to go back to get a shot that’ll make you feel substantially worse. From a mental perspective, Day 2 was always the hardest for me. Days 3–4: The crescendo of suffering. The poison drugs battled with my body. They were pure misery. I prayed, cried, and begged for God’s mercy through them. Day 5: A hint of hope. A small flicker of light appeared at the end of the tunnel, and I began to feel a bit of relief from the process. The first five days are followed by nine days of recovery and desperately reaching for normalcy until the cycle ends and I am shoved back to the starting line all over again for the next Day 1. The more rounds of chemo I had, the longer the miserable part of the process would take. The effects of Day 2 would stretch over two or three days. And the effects of Days 3 and 4 — my rock-bottom days — would sometimes last almost a week. The overwhelming pain, nausea, and discomfort were constant, and so were my pleading prayers. But I can’t write honestly about my chemo days without adding this: it was in the agony and sickness that I found God on the most beautiful and intimate level. Nothing has pried open my raw, aching heart like having my body and soul assailed by that disease and its horrific treatment. In the depths of my pain, I came to know Him best. I believe it is often at our most helpless, our most vulnerable, that we are most primed to hear and see Him. Anyway, back to the vomit at my cousin’s wedding. Yes, it all comes full circle. I’m sharing the not-so-pleasant details of my chemo routine to paint a picture of what life was like in that season, but also to give you some background on how I learned to embrace the “you get to” philosophy. While I was undergoing treatment, there was no driving Ella to school, no making her lunches or picking out her clothes. There was no playtime, no homework together, no running and tickling. I wanted to play an active role in my own life, and I couldn’t. Chemo was a prize-fighting boxer, and I was on the ground slamming my hands against the floor to tap out. I wanted to be done; I begged for it to be over. I wanted to be a mom, and I didn’t want to be sick a moment longer. Despite how hard I was fighting, I was still riddled with guilt over the kind of mother I was to Ella. I think women are the only creatures who can be gripping the ring of a toilet in sickness and still feeling guilty that they can’t drive their babies to school. We are crazy, beautiful creatures, aren’t we? As I fought through weeks of chemo, I found moments of joy and laughter with Ella. Not on a playground or in a car drive, but in the sweet, quiet moments lying in my bed with her snuggled next to me, close to my belly and wrapped in my arms. I am not sure if I comforted her more or if she comforted me, but Ellason was my saving grace at the end of each day. When I felt well enough, I would make up stories, starring her as the princess, me as the queen, and daddy as the king. (The queen was always very beautiful, of course.) The stories would change daily, and she loved it. After months of treatment, I remember the day I was finally able to pick up Ellason from school. I was elated that I’d been given a two-week break from chemo, and I finally felt well enough to drive. It was something so small, but it meant so much. When the normal, everyday pieces of life get taken away, you realize they make up a beautiful and wonderful existence. Before cancer, I had taken so much of this for granted; I even thought of some of those activities as the burdens. (What do you mean, you need lunch again? Didn’t we just do that yesterday?) In reality, these mundane activities were the sweet blessings of life. When cancer took away the mundane, I finally understood driving my daughter to school was a gift. Chemo was teaching me how to fight for moments of joy and hope. I was learning to look for them, and I was realizing all those things I resented were actually things I got to do. In fact, I eventually reached a rather revolutionary level of “you get to” mastery. Remember what Days 1 through 5 looked like during my chemo treatments? The beast of chemo was destroying me and my life; I hated the treatments and all that came with them. I hated walking into that cancer center and being poisoned each time. Chemo was the enemy — that is, until I learned my hardest “you get to” lesson. Every time I arrived to get chemo, nurses took my vitals and drew my blood to make sure I was “healthy enough” to be poisoned. My body was weaker each round, and my white blood cell count needed to be more than one thousand. When I walked in for my fourth round of red devil, I was fighting with all that I had — but this time I was also battling a fever. After a few minutes, the nurse walked over and with pity in her eyes said, “I’m so sorry. We can’t give you chemo. Your white count is too low.” My body wouldn’t be able to fight the infection. I actually couldn’t get the thing I hated getting most. This was the beginning of a big mind-shift for me. At first I was a little relieved. They gave me a shot of white blood cell booster, hoping to increase my white count overnight, and sent me home. The next day I arrived, and I was ready. My vitals were taken, blood was drawn, and soon I would be heading back for the red devil. But wait. “Dawn,” the nurse said, “your counts are too low again. I am so sorry. We will try again tomorrow.” The tears fell so fast and so hard and wouldn’t stop for hours. I needed this chemo to fight cancer; I had to have it. How could I want something I so intensely loathed? That’s when I realized: I needed to change the story in my head. Chemo was a gift. I get to get chemo. Chemo gave me the ability to fight cancer and live. It was a gift that generations before me did not have. Three days later I was able to receive my gift again. I would love to tell you that my view on making lunches and driving to school has remained in a place of gratitude, that I do it daily with a skip in my step and joy in my heart, but I would be lying. I am human. I complain. I get overwhelmed and annoyed. I grow tired of driving back and forth to school. I roll my eyes at a busy schedule. I loathe going to the grocery store. But I do have a gift that many don’t. When it all seems like too much, I have the gift of remembering what it felt like to have it all taken away. I remember what it felt like to desperately want to drive a little girl to school and go to a playground with her. I know that feeling, and I am grateful for it. I get to make those lunches. I get to clean her vomit off my shoes. Never in a million years would I have dreamed the diagnosis of cancer was a gift. But I can tell you unequivocally it was. A crazy, wild, precious gift. I got to battle cancer. In that battle I learned to love my family more, and I met God on a whole new level. So whether it’s a life-changing battle or one of those mildly irritating or gross parts of life, they don’t look so bad when that story in your head changes. When you realize that the gifts you’re being given are right there in that unattractive packaging. You get to open them, and you might find out that God designed them just for you — for your good and His glory. Excerpted from Laughing Through the Ugly-Cry and Finding Unstoppable Joy by Dawn Barton, copyright Dawn Barton. * * * Your Turn What do you get to do today? Do you get to work from home? Supervise kids' distance learning? Clean the house? Do the laundry? Deal with frustrating co-workers? Shop for an elderly neighbor? How are the get to’s changing your perspective? Come share with us on our blog. We want to hear from you about what you’re grateful for! ~ Laurie McClure, Faith.Full