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polymusepotion · 1 year ago

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caroline.

She finds herself standing there, still in some strange state of shock, for several moments after the reverberating slam of the door has faded. And really, it shouldn’t get to her. It was her move. She started it. He just…finished it. Davina. Fucking Davina. Okay, sure, she’ll admit that playing the Damon card was a low blow. But it’s not like he really counts as an ex. If she really wanted to go for the jugular, she’d have invited Tyler. ( Ignoring, of course, the fact that Tyler’s long since moved on and away and is somewhere settled with Liv being crazy about her and probably punching out their 8th kid. ) Damon doesn’t mean anything because he’s Damon. But Davina…

Long before she and Kol got together, she knew the Mikaelsons. Or at least knew of the Mikaelsons. They had their run-ins. Flirtations. Annoyances. And somewhere in the middle of all of that she knows Davina. Sharp tongue. Sharp wit. Brilliant and beautiful and the kind of girl who stands on her own two feet and would never, not in a million years, wilt to the power of a Mikaelson. Somewhere, the annoying, prying voice in the back of her head needles her telling her that that’s the kind of girl he wants. And then the rest of the thoughts trickle in. It wasn’t long after Davina that they started dating. And isn’t that the thing that guys do? Go for the blonde as the rebound from the pretty, homely brunette? She’s just the idiot that fell for him. That envisioned happily ever after with him. That wanted to marry him.

The kitchen is her first victim. Followed by the living room. Their bedroom. But the bathroom is where she vents out most of her agitation. ❝ We should invite them all, Caroline — ❞ Her imitation of his accent is only slightly better than the rest. And she’s had plenty of practice over the past few hours, scrubbing every inch of their small house clean. Her muscles ache. Her chest feels tight. She’s listened to every nauseatingly uppity pop song on her spotify playlist and now she’s resorted to the nauseatingly uppity pop songs of the past several years instead. ❝ We’ll invite the whole fucking brood, how about it Caroline? Lovely. Perfect. It’s every girls fucking dream — ❞

She doesn’t hear him come in. Doesn’t hear the small clatter of keys over the pounding rhythm of Britney in her ears. Just continues her furious scrubbing on the miniscule hint of remaining grime in the corner of the bathroom. By the time she turns enough to see his silhouette standing in the door, she can’t remember how long she’s been rambling. Instantly, her hands jerk up to pull the earbuds from her ears, blue eyes wide as she stares up at him. ❝ What? ❞ It comes out sounding too snippy. Too short. And it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? This is — even as much as she hates to admit it — the person she loves most in the world. The person who was supposed to love her most. This is the part where they’re supposed to kiss and make up. And yet she’s armed for another fight.

Swallowing, her hand lifts to flick a limp curl away from her forehead, shoulders softening as she looks up at him. Her gaze flits over him, brow knitting in the slightest bit of concern ( maybe worry? ) looking for the signs that every girl instinctively knows to look for. Rumpled clothes. Messy hair. Lipstick stains. He looks a little wild, sure. More relaxed, maybe. But not like that. It’s ridiculous, but she finds herself exhaling a sigh of relief she doesn’t deserve to feel. ❝ The Damon thing was a low blow. ❞ She admits, looking down at her gloves as she focuses too intently on peeling them off and tossing them into her cleaning bucket. ❝ And your Dad’s a dick. ❞ At that, she looks up at him, only managing to make the statement sound a fraction as accusatory as she intends to.

the thing they never tell you about grand gestures is that there’s a time and a place. as he stands in the doorway, watching his fiance manic clean their bathroom, he realizes, understands, now is neither the time nor the place for him to reveal what he’s done. it’s not ready yet, anyway. hell, look at the way she’s cleaning. their bathroom was clean before. now it looks like a place set up for an architectural digest photo shoot. he doesn’t know how long it’ll take him to get it ready, because he... he wants to do it all himself. his money. his own, two hands.

besides, this gesture right now, with the state their relationship is in, it’ll just appear as if he’s trying to one-up her. he knows that’s how she’ll see it, she’ll criticize it on reflex, and it’ll ruin it.

she won’t appreciate something so dirty, so run-down, so broken.

kol grits his teeth as he recognizes the similarities between himself and his new purchase. maybe she was after the mikaelson name all along. she’d always laughed along with him when they were dating and he complained or bitched about his siblings. when he called his father a dick, much like she just did. he thought they’d be able to do that together. but once the wedding planning started and caroline folded over the color of yellow, and she folded when rebekah called her choices tacky and unsophisticated, he started to see that she just wanted to fit in with his family. when he never had.

“invite who you want, caroline,” he replies with a shrug of a shoulder and forced nonchalance. he has no idea if she’ll buy it. “it’s your wedding. you can have anyone there you want.” it’s their wedding, but he hasn’t... fuck, he hasn’t cared about a single detail except in the very beginning. when he said he wanted to be married outside. and when he got to pick his bride. “my retaliation was the low blow. i didn’t mean it.”

and that’s the truth. he left davina for a reason. he blocked her number. deleted pictures of them and all their old texts. he hasn’t hung on to a single thing from his time with her. hell, he wouldn’t even know where to send the invitation, but none of that mattered when he’d tossed her name into the mix just to cut down the woman he loves.

he doesn’t reply about his father. of course mikael is a dick. he’s been saying that from the beginning. part of him wish she’d lie to his parents and claim she got her tubes tied just for the shock factor. fuck, that would be hilarious.

“did you do the dishes?” he knows how the question sounds. expectant. but he didn’t stop by the kitchen and if she didn’t do the dishes, he will. if she doesn’t strangle him for asking, first.

#seesgood #thread #•| kol & caroline || you deserve each other |•#•| muse || km |•#•| contact || caroline |•

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phykios · 3 years ago

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Ain’t No Sunshine, modern royalty, 1970s au [read on ao3] thank you as always to my darling @darkmagyk for taking a true story off the rails

May 3rd, 1979. The date seemed to jump off the page, the loud, bold text almost mocking her.

Not that she was keeping track, but it was just about four years to the day.

She’d woken up this morning, feeling kind of off, wandering around her apartment in a daze as she hustled her children out the door for daycare, losing time on her bus commute to work. It wasn’t until lunch, as she took the time to go through her day planner, that she realized: four years ago was when she had last seen Percy Jackson.

Though why Annabeth was thinking about him right this second was anyone’s guess.

Oh, sure, she’d thought about him a lot all throughout her pregnancy--thought about him, cursed his name, dreamed of strangling him for leaving her alone with these two absolute terrors--but as the years had gone by, and she had lost all hope of ever making contact with him again, he’d sort of fallen by the wayside of her thoughts. Something must have been going on with the navy mail system, because absolutely none of the letters or postcards she’d sent had ever been received, and she couldn’t reach out to Sally, since Annabeth had lost her address as well.

There was always the possibility that he… well, that he wasn’t around to receive letters anymore. But she tried not to think about it.

She tried her best not to think about him at all, these days.

Today, however, her childhood best friend turned US navy midshipman had popped up on her internal radar, and had just decided to take up residence in her brain. Her normally mind-numbing job couldn’t even properly distract her, and she spent all afternoon daydreaming about his messy, perpetually windswept hair, and his toothy, contagious smile, and his gorgeous green eyes like she was some kind of pathetic, lovestruck teenager, obsessing over her rockstar crush. Taking calls, scheduling appointments, and dodging the creepy advances of the assistant CFO were slightly more palatable if she had something pleasant to think about.

Old-fashioned romance was for suckers, anyway. Who needed it?

At least it was Friday. Fridays were KFC days, and she really did not need to accidentally burn dinner today. Again.

She hated it, but her kids loved it. God knows they could barely stomach whatever she usually attempted.

She sent them to bed early-ish, and settled down in front of the TV with a glass of wine. She didn’t usually indulge, but she had had such a weird day, she felt she deserved it.

Taking a long, long sip, she could no longer deny it: she really fucking missed Percy.

She missed him like she’d miss a missing limb, and it was all the more cruel because she’d lost him once, and miraculously found him again, on that fateful trip home from Athens. A military brat stuck at the American naval base in Spain to save money, waiting for a spare seat to open up on a plane so she could go home, by the sheer force of luck, she’d practically tripped and fallen into the lap of her childhood best friend.

And then she did trip into his lap. And then into his bed. And stupid, stupid, Annabeth, she’d always been so bad with her birth control.

Her little boy, he had blond hair, but sometimes he would look at her, or laugh at something, or drool in his sleep just like his daddy, and Annabeth thought she might just fucking die from it.

She loved her children, of course, how could she not? But she wasn’t about to deny it--sometimes, alone in parenthood, juggling dishes and laundry and schoolwork and life, she felt like she was drowning.

Sharp, piercing, the doorbell rang, knocking her out of her reverie. A little tipsy, still in her rumpled work clothes, she set the glass aside, and made her way to the door. “Mr. D,” she said, opening it, prepared speech all ready to go, “I told you, I’d have the rent for you by--”

She stopped, blinking, speechless. It was not Mr. D.

“Hey,” said the man outside her door. The ghost from another world that she had, apparently, conjured with her thoughts.

“...Hey.”

He smiled, a little strained, the light of the streetlamps casting harsh shadows on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

“How did you know where I lived?” It was, perhaps, not the most elegant thing to say, but she hadn’t exactly planned for what would happen when Percy Jackson, love of her life, father of her children, long-lost best friend wandered back into her life.

“Can I come in? Maybe for a Coke or something?” he asked, not answering her question.

She almost wanted to say no. For every letter never returned, for every month gone by without a word, for every day spent raising their children without him, not knowing if he was alive or dead--she almost said no.

But this was Percy. She could spare him a Coca Cola at least. “Sure,” she said, leaning away, “come on.”

“Great,” he said, and this time, his smile was all real.

So focused had she been on him, she hadn’t even clocked the older man who stood behind him. “Sir,” said the other man, with the air of a beleaguered secretary--and Annabeth would know, “I really must advise--”

“I’ll just be a minute,” said Percy, not even bothering to look back at him, pushing past Annabeth’s half-extended arm.

“But, sir, your father--”

Percy let the door shut in his face.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Harsh.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well… I’ll make it up to him later.”

“Who is he?”

But Percy didn’t answer. “Nice place you got here.”

He was being nice, of course. It was a craphole apartment in a craphole side of town--but the rent was cheap and the bus was convenient, and she only felt the slightest bit of shame as she led him to the craphole couch, handing him a coke from her craphole fridge. Christ, his suit looked like it cost more than her TV.

“Is your… husband home?” he asked, delicate.

“My what?”

“Your husband. I saw, um…” Embarrassed, he flicked his eyes to the ring on her left hand.

“Oh, this? It’s--it’s not--” Hastily, clumsily, she fumbles it off, pulling around the knuckle. “I’m not--I’m not.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I just--it’s to ward off creepy guys, right? Like, they won’t take no for an answer unless they think they’ll have to deal with an angry husband, so I just…”

In her more pathetic moments, she pretended that it had been given to her by the man before her. She had picked something small and simple, something that she thought he might have gone with, and pretended he had slipped it into her pocket the day she left the naval base.

“That’s--cool. That’s great, I mean. I mean, that’s--”

“What do you want, Percy?”

Not at all bothered by the shortness of her tone, he sighed, closing his eyes. “I have a… personal question I need to ask you. And I’m sorry to bother you with this, I just--I have to ask.”

Ominous. “Okay?”

“Did we…” He sighed again, mouth twisting. “Did you, as a result of our repeated sexual encounters four years ago, happen to have any children by me?”

He just rattled it off, as if it was something he’d said over and over and over again, tired of receiving the same answer, but never expecting anything different.

“Excuse me?”

“I know, I know, it’s an extremely rude question, and I know I have no right to ask you, especially since it’s been so long, but I swear, there’s a reason I--”

“Did you never get any of the letters I sent you?”

At that, his head shot up. The look in his eyes could only be described as ‘terror.’ “What?”

“I must have sent you half a dozen,” she said, crossing to the kitchen, the wine making her a little bit short. She had, in fact, sent him eight letters, with pictures, and never received a single response, but since he seemed genuinely lost, she decided not to tell him. Plucking the most recent photo down from the fridge, she returned to the man in her living room, his knuckles white around the can.

Standing before him, she handed him the photograph. He took it, fingers shaking. “We… you…”

“Percy Jackson,” she said, like she was introducing him to someone at a party, “meet your children.”

Even after they had just been born, Annabeth had seen how obviously they were his. Only their daughter had the same messy black hair, both both had the same long, straight nose, the same intense, brooding brow as their father--and when her son smiled, or her daughter laughed, it was hard not to see the shades of Percy so strongly in them. It was hard to see them, too.

Percy’s mouth was trembling. His eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on the photo. “My--” he swallowed. “What--what are their names?”

“Alexander,” she said, softly, “and Anne--”

“Annemarie,” he breathed. “Alexander and Annemarie.” He looked up at her, his eyes shining. “You remembered?”

Of course she remembered. Two lonely kids, she and Percy had spent so much of their childhood together, playing house, building their perfect family, even if only in their imagination. Alexander for his mother’s cousin, and Annemarie because he had wanted to name their daughter Annabeth, and she wouldn’t let him. Twenty years later, alone and in pain, holding her newborn children and alternately cursing the man who made them and desperately wishing he were with her, Annabeth had known that they could only have one set of names, even if their father might never meet them.

His face crumpled. He dropped his head into his hand, and groaned, like someone had pressed on an open wound.

“Percy!” Annabeth sat down next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his leg. Four years later and it still felt so natural to touch him like this. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, he grunted. “Yeah,” he croaked, voice hoarse, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I just--” And then he shuddered, a hand coming up to scrub at his eyes.

He was crying, she realized suddenly. Annabeth used to be the one that cried. She could count on one hand how many times she’d seen him cry. He hadn’t even cried when she had finally left the naval base.

Taking a shaking breath, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his expensive suit. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, shattered. “I didn’t--I never--if I had known, I swear, I would have left the navy. I would have come home.”

The silent, unspoken “to you” echoed in the dead air of her apartment. “Why didn’t you?” she asked, quietly.

They held each other’s eyes, an eternity passing in a heartbeat. Neither wanted to break the sacred silence, to bring words into the crystalline moment that hung in the balance between them.

“I never got your letters,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I… after you--left, I…” he sighed, aching. “I… got hurt. Bad.”

Annabeth couldn’t breathe.

“And,” he huffed a laugh, wet and messy, “and then I met my father. Can you believe it?”

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “You what?”

He nodded.

“He’s alive?”

Sally rarely spoke of him, and Percy had always refused to. Annabeth had just assumed he had died, years and years and years ago.

Percy laughed again, humorless. “He’s the king of Thera.”

Her jaw dropped. “He…”

“Yeah.”

“Are you shitting me?”

Shaking his head, he smiled, rueful. “I wish.”

Words from a half-remembered newscast floated through her mind. Alexander and Annemarie had been right terrors that night, and she had only been half-listening as the reporter informed the world that Triton, hereditary prince of Thera, had died, killed in military action. “He… found you?”

Percy nodded, miserable. “He told me--asked--told me to--to find anyone I might have…” And then he swallowed, tears in his eyes again, real, glistening tears. “And I am so, so sorry, I know--I know your job is here, and your whole life, and the children, but I--”

She took his hand in hers, squeezing gently so he didn’t fly away. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just say it.”

“I’m supposed to--I’m supposed to… if you would… come with me,” he trailed off, suddenly shy.

For the second time tonight, she felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. “...What?”

“He… my father… the king wants--needs heirs. He… he asked for a list of women, and I… gave him your name.” Stomach hot, Annabeth wished she had the courage to know about the other women on that list. Or to ask why Percy, young and handsome as he’d been at both twelve and twenty, wasn’t out there making some new ones himself. Why was he chasing down old leads? Why was he chasing down Chase bastards? “You’d--you’d live in the castle,” he said, like he was trying to sell her on it, though she could tell his heart wasn’t really in it, “and we, well, we’d technically have to get married, but that doesn’t need to be a big deal. You’d get your own rooms. You can set them up however you want. And you’d have a personal staff, a stipend, and the kids would get private teachers, and--”

“Staff?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Yes?”

Staff. Someone to do the laundry and clean the dishes. Someone to cook dinner and look after the house. Someone to help. Someone to do all the parental things that she just could not do, not by herself. Not without him.

“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” he said, squeezing her hand. His hand was just as big as she remembered, and just as warm. “And I would never, ever force you to do anything that you wouldn’t want to--”

“Yes,” she said, interrupting him.

He blinked, dumbly. “What?”

“Yes. I’ll come with you. We all will.”

“...Oh. Uh, great. That’s--that’s good. Are you sure?” He looked like a lost little dolphin, eyes huge and uncertain, and then, Annabeth did the one thing that she’d been desperately wanting to do for the last four years.

She pulled his face to hers, and she kissed him. Shocked, he stiffened, almost pulling away--before relaxing into her, cupping her face in his big, warm hand. Eyes closed, they leaned their heads against each other, sharing air once more for the first time in years. She had lost him twice already: once as a child, when her father had decided to move her across the country, and once as a lovestruck college girl, when she had to leave the naval base, four years ago. She wasn’t about to lose him for a third time.

And for the first time in forever, she no longer felt like she was drowning.

#my fic #pjo fic #pjo #percabeth #percabeth fic #au #the rivalry ends here #the au which we have affectionately named 'chop chop'#for... reasons...#darkmagyk #perseannabeth

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years ago

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Owari no seraph for the ask game!

ask game

hi hi hi!!!

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most):

Guren, probably. Compared to a lot of my other fandoms I honestly give most of the characters a fair chance, I write things for nearly every main character and a lot of side characters. But yeah, Guren's just. Guren's my guy. He's the blorbo. My dear departed husband who is a fictional war criminal

Runner up blorbos would probably be Yuu and Mika, though they just don't need any more attention since they're. Yknow. The main characters and tend to be overrated and mischaracterized so much it gets annoying! But they're mine and no one else is allowed to look at them except my beloved mutuals. Stop doing it

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped):

Asuramaru. Asuramaru my baby girl. I've always considered asuramaru transfem bc of the way that their presentation goes from shorter hair and plainer clothes in backstory to a literal dress and hair longer than their entire body even tho they're technically supposed to be a guy i just. I don't care. Asuramaru what a girlboss<3 The she<3 I get so much cuteness agression from that fucking idiot I want to rumple her hair and put her in the washing machine and give her blood snacky snacks

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave):

SHINOA MY GIRL AND YOICHI MY BOY. Yoichi my BOY he is literally my main kin in owari no seraph and I. Hgmghewihg. I'm a lil embarassed about that however. I hate how the fandom treats him because he's literally the most dangerous person on the squad like no fucking contest. He's the only one who figured out manifestation on his own, he's 10 times better at handling his demon than anyone else, his emotional control is off the CHARTS, he needs so much fucking therapy, I just. Dude. Did u guys forget about the whole. The. When chapter 51. Yoichi will get his time and you're all going to regret calling him an uwu baby when he does

And shinoa. I may not relate to her as heavily as I do with some of the others, but I want to rip her from kagami's cold dead hands and give her an article on comphet and also just. A hug. A long hug. She's a kid. She's the youngest one on the squad, I think. She's been given shit from the moment she was born and she has not had one fucking moment to be herself and yet she managed to have such a hilarious badass personality. She's also the same height as me and therefore we are siblings and she is me. I love Shinoa i lllvoe shnoia

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week): oh god I have. Several of these. So #1, Aiko. This girl

You know, the girl that gets one episode in battle of nagoya and then fucking dies. I, love her, she did nothing wrong, she deserves the world and she is so pretty. I also think she and Mito are kissing btw. Girlboss x girlboss.

Also. I think I win "obscure fave" because I was so adament not to make an actual oc that my other glup shitto is. I grabbed a guy who literally had a single throwaway line- not even his line, just mentioning him, and gave him a whole character arc and backstory.

This little guy here who gave Mika a death glare. I just realized now that I looked at this again he's calling the name dai. I thought HE was Dai. Well he's Dai now, who else is gonna correct me? Him and the kid Ferid dropped (who i named florian) are heavily featured in my giant ons rewrite as GIANT plot devices, given their own arcs, and used to further the arcs of Crowley and Mika especially, and to give a current insider's perspective of Ferid's Child Trafficking Business. Dai is actually a spy for the demon army in my fic, it's... yknow, I'd better not just start rambling I never even actually wrote half of their stuff but I love them dearly.

poor little meow meow (��problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave):

God, both Mika and Guren fit here perfectly.

It's soooo funny how most Guren stans nowadays are some version of Mika antis, and most Mika stans nowadays are some form of Guren antis. I love them both and they're both my horrible terrible fucked up poor little meow meows. On an intellectual level both of them did SO many things wrong but also your honor. They did nothing wrong. Shoves the catastrophe behind my back. They have so many issues to work out I DESPISE them /pos but if anyone else says a SINGLE WORD against them they're catching my hands

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason):

I loooooooove torturing guren it is my absolute favorite activity I love putting him in the guren plinko over and over like beast dazai i love watching him suffer and be in pain it's so fun because he's my favorite and i love him. Also though god what I would do to make him happy

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell): Ferid. He's the reason i'm homophobic /j BUT SERIOUSLY ISTG I AM GOING TO PUNT THAT MAN INTO THE FUCKING ABYSS I LOVED WATCHING HIM BURN ON THE STAKE WHY'D THEY HAVE TO TAKE HIM OFF I LOVED WATCHING HIM GET CARRIED AROUND AS A SEVERED HEAD WHY'D HE HAVE TO GET HIS DECREPIT ASS BODY BACK

im going to create another one because I think it's funny: Blorbo-In-Law (character you know and like but aren't the expert on, however one or more friends does in fact legally own this character): Shinya. I like shinya just fine, I love shinya, but he's just not the kind of guy I can relate to nearly as much as guren and I know some of my beloved mutuals just know him so much better. But I know Shinya has a strong, dedicated fandom who is absolutely giving their lives for that man on the daily. Like. He gets NOTHING and I feel so fucking sorry for u guys lol

i WENT OFF on this one didn't i

#rowan gets yelled at #ask game #owari no seraph

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martianbugsbunny · 2 years ago

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OUAT Thoughts Pt.42--Episodes 20-21

I have watched through S4E21; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for those further behind than I am.

—Zelena weaponizing her pregnancy is infuriating to me. But she knows what she’s doing. She’s basically given herself plot armor, because what hero would kill a villain at the cost of her unborn child?

—I get that the Apprentice felt like he had to make it up to Lilith somehow, but maybe telling a person who is literally full of darkness who to seek revenge on isn’t the best idea?

—Alright, so the Sorcerer exists. One small step for me. But I bet he’s never actually gonna show his beardy face.

—Emma and Regina going on a roadtrip in Emma’s semi-ugly little bug is awesome.

—I love how Rumple has just stopped pretending to be plotting in secret. He’s chilling, with the Author, in Granny’s in plain sight.

—Also, I love it when somebody is sitting in a booth at Granny’s and somebody else squishes them into the wall to sit down in the same booth. Hilarious.

—I can only assume Robin thought having another baby would fix what was off between him and Marian, because he obviously chose obligation over love this time and if he wasn’t shooting for a baby what would the point be?

—That bit where Belle got her heart back kills me. Rumple gave it to her (which, duh, is symbolic of him returning her metaphorical/figurative heart to her) (or maybe not really, cause I’m not sure I believe he’s just gonna move out of the way like that), but he also told Will Scarlett to take care of her heart. That’s quality writing. Though, I really do want him to have actually stepped aside, because otherwise a perfectly lovely moment has no meaning.

—Bringing Zelena back to Storybrooke is one of the worst ideas Regina has ever had.

—And bringing Lilith back wasn’t much smarter on Emma’s part. This girl is full of darkness, is a chronic liar, and makes very bad choices—and oh yeah, she has a vendetta against Emma’s parents! She wants to destroy all of the good things in Emma’s life! That can’t possibly end badly!

—Ugh, Cora. She’s already dead, can’t she just be gone? I 10/10 hate her. Very bad mother, very bad person.

—Maleficent’s hair is pretty. And although I like her makeup better when she’s not wearing that red lipstick, I do like that her lipstick and her nail polish match.

—Cruella got buried in a plain wooden box! Just what a dog-killer deserves. (And, yes, I have hated her more since her origin episode, because they hadn’t really said if she was a dog-killer in this show before then.) She can rot.

—I adore how salty Regina is now. She’s got a pretty dry sense of humor, but it works, and it plays pretty well off of Emma.

—I have a love-hate relationship with how the Author doesn’t care about the actual stories, he just cares about whether or not he gets to write. And the way he sees people as their story elements I just flat-out love.

—The new book is stunning. But make no mistake, I don’t want every villain to win. Just Rumple, Regina, and Maleficent. And I also don’t want it at the heroes’ expense.

—I’m touched by how proud Maleficent is of her dragon daughter. But their stories are both incredibly sad. Possibly some of the most tragic material in the entire show.

—I don’t really want Emma to be a badguy, and it looks like it won’t happen—but it would be so cool if Emma was the dark magic lady and it was Regina who had to save her.

—Regina taking away her own ability to have kids to keep her mom from having power over her is terribly depressing. (I don’t believe for half a second that Cora was actually trying to do Regina a favor.) She didn’t know she wanted to be a mom yet. And it makes what Zelena did even worse. But Regina does have Henry, and probably also Roland now that she and Robin are back together, so she got to be a mother anyway.

—Seeing Emma reconcile with her parents did my heart some good. It’s kinda weird how she was more angry with Snow than she was with David—but come to think of it, David has consistently had a bit of a darker streak than Snow, so maybe it wasn’t quite as huge of a shock.

—Longer hair is incredibly fetching on Regina.

—Very cool that Rumple is not dead. I wouldn’t care about the Dark One—actually, I would hate his guts—if Rumple wasn’t part of him anymore. Although now I live in fear that it’s still gonna happen.

—Taking blood from Lilith was genius. Regina has a very good brain.

#once upon a time #ouat #zelena #the Apprentice #the Sorcerer #lilith #Emma swan #regina mills #maleficent #Robin Hood #rumplestiltskin #belle #Will Scarlett #the Author #Cora mills #cruella de vil #martianbugsbunny reviews

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years ago

Text

Posting Date: July 8th, 6:00 PM CT (UTC/GMT-05:00)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / College!AU / Humor / Smut (as requested in my fundraising initiative for BLM)

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: Jeon Jungkook had messed with you for the last time. That was what you thought when the hockey team – led by the insufferable Jungkook – kicked your dance team out again from your reserved room at the gym. In retaliation, you planned a prank of epic proportions and were caught in the act by none other than Jungkook himself. Before the rift between you could grow any deeper, you accidentally overheard something you were not meant to hear. Something which overshadowed even your heated rivalry. Faced with the choice between obvious wrong and teaming up with your worst enemy – you reluctantly chose the latter. But what will you do when feelings you once thought of as hatred become something decidedly… not?

Estimated WC: 42K

Rating: 18+

Preview: 1,941

The back of Jeon Jungkook’s head was as infuriating as the rest of him.

In the last row of the classroom, you thought this to yourself while typing into your laptop. Notetaking was part of your official duties as Teacher Assistant for Professor Rosenbarr’s class. This, along with grading homework, proctoring exams, and a variety of other bitchwork.

Despite this, the job of a TA was the best-paying on campus, not to mention that Professor Rosenbarr personally wrote the recommendation which landed your upcoming summer internship. Junior year was stressful enough as it was, with everyone turning twenty-one and realizing with some shock they were halfway through University.

Only one summer remained before entering the real world – everyone you spoke to said that this summer internship was crucial. If there was a blank period between Junior and Senior year of University, you might as well type FUCKED AROUND in the blank section of your resume and be done with it. No, this TA role was worth all the bitchwork, if only because it directly led to your upcoming internship.

The presence of Jungkook in your class though, had you seriously considering the merits of quitting.

Glowering at his messy head three rows before you, you wondered if he had even bothered to shower before coming to class. Probably not, based on the state of his hair and clothes. Both were rumpled, with wrinkles permanently stamped into the fabric of his hoodie. You were so consumed by the state of his appearance that when he stretched, turning around, there was no time to look away.

Jungkook’s eyes locked with yours and he blinked, taken aback by your staring. While you watched, his gaze narrowed.

See something you like? he mouthed over the heads of the people between you.

Stomach plummeting, your gaze snapped back to the screen of your laptop. After a long moment of pause, you slowly looked up and found him still looking. Most infuriating of all was the smirk on his lips, as though you had acted exactly as he predicted.

Once again, you remembered why Jungkook was the worst. It gave him no small amount of pleasure to see you embarrassed. Just as it made your own stomach leap to see his brow furrowed with frustration, lips pressed together as he huffed in annoyance.

The two of you had been at each other’s throats since freshman year, a feud of such epic proportion, it was difficult to remember how it had begun. All you knew was that by now, too much blood had been spilled for you to ever go back. Jungkook hated you and you hated him. That much was certain.

Still looking at you, Jungkook arched a brow.

In response to this, you scowled. Pay attention, you mouthed, gesturing at the board.

Jungkook glanced over his shoulder.

Professor Rosenbarr was so absorbed in his lecture, you doubt he would have noticed if the fire alarm and sprinklers went off. There was a zone he reached while lecturing about statistical anomalies in economic theory which not even you could pull him out of.

More importantly, he definitely did not notice Jungkook’s lack of attention. A girl in the front row was buffing her nails, the guy behind her was paying a bill and the guy to his right was scrolling through Tumblr.

At least Jungkook had his notes open, even if he was not looking at the board.

Making a face in his direction, you shooed a hand forward. With a roll of his eyes, Jungkook finally got the hint and turned around to face front. Pulling his hoodie overhead, he slumped low in his seat.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a sigh.

The girl next to you frowned. “Shh,” she said.

“Sorry,” you whispered, sinking even lower.

While stewing in your own embarrassment, a ping sounded from your laptop. Looking down, you scowled again at the familiar email address.

From: [email protected]

To: y/[email protected]

Subject: hey TA

Aren’t you supposed to be grading us? Maybe you should pay more attention to the lecture & less to the back of my head

Fury clouding your gaze, it made it difficult to see as you typed.

From: y/[email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: re: hey TA

Maybe if your head weren’t so big, I would be able to see the slides

Pressing send, you looked up and waited for him to respond. From the last row of class, you watched Jungkook open your email, snort and bend forward.

Professor Rosenbarr cleared his throat from the front of the room.

“Something amusing about economic theory, Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook’s head snapped up; a deer caught in headlights. “Um. No, sir.”

The Professor arched a brow. “While I appreciate your formal language, perhaps you could extend the same respect to your dress code next class. Hood down,” he said, pointedly glancing at Jungkook’s large sweatshirt.

Dejectedly, Jungkook reached up to lower his hood.

Even from your seat, you could see his ears were bright red. A small pang of sympathy went through you before reminding yourself he deserved it. Jungkook should have been paying attention – just like you should have.

Bending forward, you resumed taking notes. Professor Rosenbarr continued his lecture, the class returned normalcy but still, Jungkook failed to respond to your email.

This did not surprise you. Jungkook had always been flaky – one of the many reasons you two did not get along. You preferred things orderly, with everyone following an agreed set of rules and Jungkook had his own expectations.

A message appeared in the corner of your screen. For a moment, your heart skipped and then you realized it was only your groupchat with Seokjin and Gina, your two best friends.

Seokjin: Y/N, stop ignoring meee [10:41 AM]

Gina: lol Seokjin, she’s teaching [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: she’s not the one teaching. Rosenblah is [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: Y/N, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! [10:41 AM]

Y/N: his name is Rosenbarr, Seokjin. What’s the emergency? [10:41 AM]

Seokjin: finally [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: there’s a party this weekend. You in? [10:42 AM]

Gina: what night? [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: Saturday [10:42 AM]

Gina: okay, cool [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: why? What’re you doing Friday? [10:42 AM]

Gina: nothing [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: so, why did you – oh, never mind. Y/N, you in? [10:42 AM]

Y/N: this was the emergency? [10:42 AM]

Y/N: who’s throwing the party? [10:42 AM]

Seokjin: um. A friend [10:42 AM]

Y/N: Seokjin [10:43 AM]

Seokjin: okay, fine, the friend is Taehyung & the party is at hockey house. But Y/N, listen to me [10:43 AM]

Y/N: pass [10:43 AM]

Gina: lol Seokjin, you had to have known that would fail [10:43 AM]

Seokjin: I was hoping that by Junior year, we would have all become rational and mature human beings [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: aka, this feud you have with Jungkook is stupid, Y/N [10:44 AM]

Gina: *gasps* he said the name! [10:44 AM]

Gina: a plague upon your house, Seokjin! [10:44 AM]

Y/N: listen. While yes, I am a rational and mature human being [10:44 AM]

Y/N: his royal douchebaggery is not [10:44 AM]

Y/N: ergo, your wish was doomed to fail, Seokjin [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: sigh [10:44 AM]

Seokjin: well, do you at least want to get pizza with Gina and I after? [10:44 AM]

Y/N: that, I can do [10:45 AM]

Seokjin: okay, fine. It’s a plan [10:45 AM]

“We’ll pick up at the same place on Wednesday,” said Professor Rosenbarr, interrupting your train of thought. Head jerking up, your fingers fell from the keys. “Please read Chapter 4 of the textbook before then and complete the assignment online.”

As soon as he stopped, the class began to pack up, shoving books into backpacks and standing from their seats.

Rereading your notes, you struggled to recall who had last asked a question. Professor Rosenbarr liked to have that information to grant class participation points, but the conversation with Jungkook had thrown you off your game.

Before you could ask someone around you, a shadow fell over your desk. Looking up, you found Jungkook in the aisle, thumbs hooked lazily beneath the straps of his backpack.

Frowning, you glanced past. “You’re blocking the aisle,” you announced, shutting your laptop. Shoving this in your bag, you attempted to stand and found him still standing there. “Not to mention my way out of class.”

“Just came to see if you needed my notes,” Jungkook said, nonchalant. “You seemed pretty distracted.”

Glancing at him, you scowled. “I’m the TA here, not you, Jeon.”

“I know.” His smile widened and you repressed the sudden desire to smack it from his face. “Doesn’t change the fact that you were staring at me.”

“The only reason I was staring at you was because you look like you haven’t showered in days. Is the hockey team really that hard-up for wins? Resorted to repulsing the competition?”

Instantly, his smile disappeared.

Jungkook had recently been made Captain of the University hockey team and it was an endless source of gossip on campus, since usually only Seniors held the coveted title. Word on the street was Jungkook was just that good – or, the hockey team was that bad.

“I showered after practice,” he said, a bit sulky. “And we’re not that bad this year.”

Despite his words, the furrow between his brow deepened and Jungkook aimlessly shoved a hand through his hair. His fingers instantly became tangled, fighting a minute before he worked through.

Staring at him for a moment, you eventually blinked and tore free.

“Whatever,” you said, glancing past him. “Let me leave.”

Professor Rosenbarr was long gone, but he would expect your notes in his office by the end of day. You still needed to format them the way that he preferred, review them for errors and find the name of the last person who spoke.

Jungkook stepped aside and, pushing past him, you entered the aisle. As you climbed the steps, you heard him follow suit. The impending deadline began to weigh on you and – against all better judgement – you turned around.

“Hey,” you exhaled, coming to a stop on the last step.

Jungkook looked up. “What?”

“Did you… hear who asked the last question in class?”

Surprise flickered over his features, though he quickly composed them. “Uh, it was Nelson.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

You lingered for a moment, then turned around and left the room. Shoving open the door to the hall, you did not bother to wait for him to exit. Disappearing into the crowd, you kept your head low and placed distance between you. He had been startled into being nice to you, but you knew from experience this would not last for long.

Jungkook always found a way to have the last word.

Your theory was proven as soon as you entered the quad, phone dinging loudly to announce a new email. Sliding open the app, you finally found his response to your message.

From: [email protected]

To: y/[email protected]

Subject: re: re: hey TA

If you’re still wondering how clean my body is, feel free inspect it yourself. Hate to leave that kind of doubt on your conscience xx

Swallowing, your fingers hovered over the delete button before you gave up and shoved your phone in your pocket. You would not allow Jungkook to get under your skin so easily.

Such a feat was easier said than done, however. Jungkook had nearly two years of practice at pushing your buttons. By this point, you thought he might know your ticks better than your best friends. All it took was a well-placed wink from him to make your blood boil.

Still – you would figure out a way to get Jungkook back. You always did.

After all, you had two years of experience at pressing his buttons as well.

[ TO BE CONTINUED ]

Follow my writing / editing process on my Updates Schedule

#preview #The Art of More

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angelicamerlinbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Five times Mcgonogall had to deal with the Marauders being dumbasses about feelings and the one time one of them had it all figured out (alternatively titled: Slytherins may be morally challenged but at least they’re not as thick as warthogs)

1) James [Two Birds - Regina Spektor]

Mcgonogall gets woken up at four in the morning by a panicking James Potter in fourth year. She opens the door only a crack and he shoves his way in before she can even invite him in (which she still hadn’t fully decided she was going to do at all). He plops himself down in her chair, slams his hands down on her desk, and says, “So I kissed Sirius.”

Mcgonogall raises an eyebrow. James flushes bright red and starts sputtering out an explanation, “No, Minnie, you don’t understand, he’s my best friend, I love him, he’s brilliant, I think I wanna snog him for the rest of my life but he’s a fucking boy, Minnie -” Mcgonogall holds up her hand. James shuts his mouth.

“Mr. Potter,” she starts. “I have watched you and Mr. Black dance around each other for years. There is no doubt in my mind that the two of you were meant to find each other, in whatever way. The fact that you are both boys is irrelevant.” James takes a moment to absorb this, then squeaks, “Then why do I still like girls?”

Mcgonogall sighs. “You can like both, Jamie. It doesn’t have to be one or the other.” James blushes. “Oh,” he says, and then, “Lily Evans is really pretty.”

Mcgonogall sighs again. “I’m aware you think so, Mr. Potter. I’m also aware she’s dating Severus Snape.” James’ pink cheeks pale again, and he looks down. “Oh,” he says again, and then, “Should I kiss Sirius again, Miss?” Mcgonogall shrugs.

“You should do whatever makes you happy,” she answers, holding open the door. “Now off to bed with you, Mr. Potter. There’s only so many hours til the morning.” James considers this for a moment, then nods slowly, walking over and standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Potter?” She asks at his hesitation, and he suddenly turns and wraps his arms around her waist, burying his face in her robes. “Thanks, Minnie,” he mumbles, and she brushes a shocked hand once through his curls before he pulls back with a blush and runs off down the hall.

As soon as Mcgonogall’s closed the door, Severus pokes his head out from her study.

“Gryffindors, amiright?” He says, cracking a smile, and she raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I am a Gryffindor, Mr. Snape.” Severus just raises an eyebrow right back.

Mcgonogall sighs, lifting her skirts and heading back to her study. “But yes, yes, I suppose you’re right. Now, the next step of becoming an Animagus is…”

2) Peter [Soldier, Poet, King - The Oh Hellos]

Peter’s serving a detention with Mcgonogall when she notices he’s been quiet. Instead of “accidentally” messing up his tasks in the funniest ways he can muster, he’s simply doing his work quietly. He’s not even muttering to himself or singing. So, being the awesome person she is, she asks him what’s wrong.

Peter shrugs, not answering. She waits. A minute passes and he sighs, looking up at her with glassy eyes. “I don’t think my friends care about me.”

Mcgonogall wrinkles her nose. “What on earth gives you that idea?” She asks, and Peter shrugs, ducking his head down again. “Mr. Pettigrew. Why do you think your friends don’t care about you?”

Peter exhales heavily, but looks back up and answers. “Because they’re not here! Because I’m just their scapegoat! Because I’m not smart like Remus or charming like Sirius or brave like James or funny like all of them, I’m just the roommate they think they need to include. I’m - I’m expendable.” He spits the last word, throwing down the book he was about to put away and stomping towards the door.

Calmly, Mcgonogall says, “You’re an idiot, Peter.”

Peter freezes, turning around with a flushed face. “What?” He asks, and Mcgonogall sighs.

“I have seen many a clique in all my years of teaching. I know what real friendship looks like and I know the lack of it just the same. I know how to tell when one person cares about another and when to intervene. I know when true friends have been made. And you, Mr. Pettigrew, are one of the most beloved students I have ever had the fortune to meet. Most notably by those three boys you think are constantly leaving you behind, when really they’re always looking over their shoulders to check if you’re still there.”

Peter flushes red. He ducks his head, but not before she sees his smile. “Thanks, Professor,” he mutters, and she nods once, sharply, and waves her hand in dismissal.

“Report back tomorrow for your next detention. And bring those blithering idiots with you.” Peter beams, skipping out the door with a wave.

As soon as Peter’s left, Mcgonogall spins her chair to the side and looks down at Severus, sitting on the floor beside her desk with his legs splayed out in front of him and his nose buried in a book.

“So?” She asks. “What do you think? Gryffindor stupidity or Marauder stupidity?”

Severus snorts. “Honestly? Both. I mean, at least he has friends.” He turns a page and then freezes, suddenly realizing what he’s just admitted. He looks up at her and blinks owlishly, to which Mcgonogall waves a hand in dismissal.

“Nonsense. You have Miss Evans. And me, of course.”

Severus blushes. “Lily’s been distant, lately - wait, did you just say we’re friends?”

Mcgonogall raises her eyebrow. “Well you did always get on well with Gryffindors.”

Severus blinks. Then his eyes start to glisten and he smiles into his book. “Oh. Thanks.”

Mcgonogall pats his head and kisses it just for a single second as she stands and passes by him into her study. She’ll have to tell Albus about this at teatime.

3) Remus [Into The Open Air - Julie Fowlis]

A knock comes to Mcgonogall’s door over Christmas break in fifth year. It’s so late even she isn’t really awake, but she walks over anyway, grumbling as she steps over Severus’ sleeping form, curled on the floor over some books.

“Yes?”

She opens the door to a rumpled Remus Lupin, on the verge of tears and yet ever so polite as he manages to choke out, “May I speak with you, please?”

The last word is barely out of his mouth before he’s crying. He tries to cover his face as she puts a hand on his back and gently guides him inside, helping him settle into the chair in front of her desk. She Accios him some tissues and a mug of cocoa, and he sniffles out a thank you, desperately trying to get himself under control as he weeps.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he finally manages. “I know it’s late, I just -” Mcgonogall holds up a hand to stop him.

“Mr. Lupin,” she says. “When a student of mine shows up at my door in tears, the time is not my first concern.” Remus flushes, ducking his head to his lap. He sniffs, then makes to stand.

“Well. Thank you. I’d, um, best be going now -”

“Remus.”

Remus freezes. “As I have never seen you cry before, forgive me if I’m hesitant to let you leave without hearing your reason for doing so.” Remus sniffs again. He stays still for a moment before sighing, wilting back into the chair. He takes a deep breath, then rasps, “I’m in love with Sirius.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then, Mcgonogall clears her throat. “I see,” she says, slowly. “May I ask when exactly you came to this conclusion?”

Remus’ face nearly crumples again, but he catches it at the last minute, hands fidgeting in his lap as he mumbles, “Um - fuck. Uh, third year? Maybe? Ish?”

Mcgonogall’s eyes widen. Without an excuse to keep talking, Remus collapses back into tears. Mcgonogall watches him for a moment before murmuring, “This is about Sirius and James.”

Remus flinches. Mcgonogall shoves the tissue box towards him again and he sniffles, taking one.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “I was, um. I was trying to deal with it, y’know, on my own, but there’s only so much of watching the love of my fucking life make out with my best friend that I can take and so I - I kind of thought I’d talk to you because I don’t really have any other friends and I’d rather nobody know because I don’t want them to fucking pity me, I hate when people pity me, but I, um - anyway, I came here now because they’re on break and they won’t ask so many questions about why I was here cause they won’t know and I just -”

He rambles on, but Mcgonogall can’t much process what he’s saying, as half of it is in Welsh seemingly without Remus’ knowledge and all she can think about is every single interaction Remus and Sirius have ever had in front of her and how - wow, oh Merlin, she really should’ve seen that, huh?

“That must suck,” she interrupts his rambling with, unable to stop herself before the words escape, and Remus shuts his mouth with a snap and then nods, wincing and blinking back more tears.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s not fun,” he says softly. “Anyway, um, I - I know I can’t do anything about it, okay?” She raises an eyebrow and Remus flushes, ducking his head again. “I know that they love each other and they’re happy and I would be a pretty selfish person if I decided to ruin all of that for no reason other than my stupid fucking feelings. Besides, it’s not like I could make Sirius love me anyways, so it’d all just be a gigantic waste of time.”

Mcgonogall hums. “But?”

Remus’ shoulders slump and he buries his face in his hands. “But,” he mumbles, “sometimes I just hate them for it. Because why should they get to be so fucking happy? Because why do I have to be so fucking miserable? Because I don’t know what I did to deserve all the shit I’ve been through, but clearly I did something. Because… because…” He pauses, a last, single tear falling down his cheek like a shooting star. “Because I’m a half-blood queer werewolf covered in ugly scars who will never be able to find a steady job or afford a comfortable home and I’ve spent a lot of time questioning whether it was even worth it to keep going but I always thought of him, y’know? Because if he was still there I’d be okay. But he’s… he’s not gonna be, because he and James are gonna get married and they’re gonna have like fifty million kids and they’re gonna move away and I’m just gonna be here, a homeless werewolf whoring himself out to get by because I’ll just never fucking have anything better.”

They are quiet for a very long time. Finally, Mcgonogall takes a deep breath and reaches forward to grasp his hand.

“You will always have me,” she says solemnly, looking into his sad, sad eyes. “You will always have a home here, with me. I can’t promise you Sirius or children or even a job, but I can promise that you will always be loved by me.”

Remus cracks a small smile. His eyes are still dead, but she can see the tiniest spark amid the embers. “Thanks, Minnie,” he whispers, and stands. “Goodnight.”

Mcgonogall nods, watching him leave. “Goodnight, Mr. Lupin. Come back any time.”

“Sirius loves him back, you know.”

Mcgonogall turns her head towards her bedroom, where a sleepy, frumpled Severus holds himself up against the door with a hand, his hair sticking up all over the place.

“Oh?” She says, and he shrugs, trudging over to her desk and picking up Remus’ unfinished hot cocoa and chugging it down.

“Yeah,” he rasps, wiping at his mouth. “Not that he knows it yet, but. ‘S kinda hard to miss, those two.”

Mcgonogall nods, slowly. She asks, “And how would you know this, Severus?”

Severus flushes, shrugging. “The way he looks at him.” Mcgonogall raises her eyebrow.

“What about it?”

Severus goes from pink to red, mumbling into the mug in his hands. “It’s the same way Lily looks at me and James,” he murmurs. “And the same way James looks at her. Well, her and…”

He ducks his head, pursing his lips. Mcgonogall lowers one eyebrow and raises the other. “Her and…?”

“Me,” Severus answers, soft. “The way James looks at her and me.”

Mcgonogall is quiet for a moment. Finally she hums, standing from her chair and heading back towards her study.

“You’d best be on your way, Mr. Snape,” she says. “You’ve not slept in a bed in nearly a week.” Severus nods, still flushed, and escapes into the hallway with only three of her books hidden under his cloak.

4) Lily [Touch The Sky - Julie Fowlis]

Mcgonogall is in the middle of a critical lesson to her first years when the doors of her classroom burst open and Lily storms in, her eyes steely as she stares Mcgonogall down. “A moment, Professor, if you please?” She says, and Mcgonogall raises an eyebrow.

“I am teaching a class, Miss Evans -” Lily’s eye twitches. At the sight, Mcgonogall’s brow furrows, and she sighs. “Very well. I expect nine inches on the importance of intent when transfiguring an object next class - oh, and your best attempt at doodling a giraffe while you’re at it.”

The students all file out with nervous glances towards Lily and Mcgonogall. When the last one trickles out, Mcgonogall waves her hand and shuts all the doors with an impressive display of wandless magic before raising her eyebrow and nodding towards the chair in front of her desk. “Well, Miss Evans? What did you need to speak with me so badly about that you felt the need to completely derail an incredibly important introductory lesson to my first years?”

Lily collapses into the chair and sinks into herself, shaking her head and burying her face in her hands. Mcgonogall sighs. “Miss Evans -”

“Don’t call me that,” Lily rasps. “Don’t call me that, I’m not - I’m not a Miss.”

Mcgonogall raises an eyebrow. “What are you, then?” She asks carefully, and Lily sighs. After a moment of useless fidgeting, Lily says, “Mr. I’m a Mr.”

Mcgonogall nods slowly, considering this. “Well then, Mr. Evans,” she drawls, “will that be all?”

Lily flushes bright red, then shakes his head. “Um, I - I’m a boy, right? And it’s weird for a boy to be called Lily, right? That’s weird, right?”

Mcgononall purses her lips, lacing her fingers together in front of her. Lily watches her anxiously. “I don’t think it’s weird at all, actually,” she finally answers, and Lily lets out a loud breath of air.

“Oh,” he says, curling in on himself. “So if I still wanna be called Lily, that’s - that’s okay? I can do that?” Mcgonogall nods.

“You can be called whatever you like, Lily,” she says. “Mr. Evans. Whatever you like.” Lily smiles for a moment, flushing happily, before frowning again.

“But what about Severus?” He asks in a small voice. “What will he think of his girlfriend being his boyfriend?”

Mcgonogall leans back in her chair, considering this. She glances down at the empty spot next to her, where Severus would be if he were not in class this morning. She purses her lips and carefully answers, “I think that if Severus truly loves you, which all evidence points to, then he will not stop for such an insignificant revelation.”

Lily grins down at his lap, cheeks pinkening, and nods. “Thank you, Professor,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for interrupting your lesson.”

Mcgonogall waves away his concern as he stands and heads for the door. “No matter. You can make it up to me with tea on Sunday. Oh, and Lily, dear?”

Lily looks up, hand on the door, and smiles. “Yes?”

Mcgonogall smirks. “I daresay Mr. Potter will not mind either.”

Lily turns the color of his hair and nods spastically before disappearing into the fray of students just dismissed.

“Lily cut his hair today,” Severus greets her with when he arrives that afternoon, weighed down by the tons of books in his arms. He dumps them on a nearby desk and makes his way over to her desk, picking up a quill and some parchment and settling in the chair across from her. “It’s all short and frayed and soft. He looks handsome.”

Mcgonogall hums. “Did you tell him that?” She asks as she summons them some tea, smiling at the way Severus hisses when it hits his tongue (he’s always had a bad habit of forgetting to blow before sipping).

“Of course I did,” he says, still scribbling. “He’s my boyfriend. It’s my job to make him happy, and if sweet compliments that make my teeth rot are what make him happy, then fuck my embarrassment, I guess.” Mcgonogall nods, pleased.

“What a gentleman you are,” she drawls, then takes a sip of her tea and asks, “What are you writing?” Severus freezes, then looks up at her with wide eyes.

“Just a list,” he finally says softly. “Of all the things I want to do before this war kills me.”

Alarmed, Mcgonogall coughs, beating her chest lightly as she sets her tea down. “You will not die in this war, Severus,” she says, her hands shaking. “None of you will.”

Severus shrugs and answers quietly, “With all due respect, Professor, we’re all going to die in this war, whether it be now or later.”

Mcgonogall feels her eyes sting with tears but pushes them back, shaking her head. “No,” she rasps. “No, none of you will die in this war. It will be finished before you leave the confines of this school.” Severus smiles sadly at her, shaking his head as he returns to his list.

“Sorry, ma’am. But half of my House have already sworn their loyalty to Voldemort, and soon enough others will be forced into it. Myself, Regulus, and Sirius among them.” Mcgonogall draws in a sharp breath. Quick as a whip, she tears the list from Severus’ hand and throws him a new parchment.

“Here,” she says. “Make a new list. Names of everyone you know with that wretched Mark, and anyone who’s thinking of it. I don’t care what House, you let me know. You bring me that list when it’s finished and I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you, Severus. All of you.”

Severus stares for a moment, dark eyes unseeing, before ducking his head to the parchment, writing slower than before. Clear names begin to come into view: Sirius Potter. Regulus Black. Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix Black. Narcissa Black. Mulciber, Avery, Dolohov… The list goes on and on until finally Severus finishes with a final flourish of his trembling hand, Severus Snape.

He then hands the list to Mcgonogall, who smiles thinly. “Thank you, Severus,” she murmurs, and he smiles wryly.

“Thank you, Professor,” he answers, and leaves in a hurry, forgetting his books on the way out.

5) Sirius [First Man - Camila Cabello]

Mcgonogall is making her rounds around the castle one night in sixth year when she hears the sound of someone crying. She wanders until she finds the source of the noise - Sirius Potter, his knees pulled to his chest as he stares into the Mirror of Erised.

Mcgonogall drinks him in - his bruised eyes, his sunken cheeks, his shaking hands - and murmurs, “Mr. Potter, it’s late.” Sirius flinches. He stands in a hurry and brushes himself off, wiping at his eyes as he pushes past her.

“Of course, Professor. I’ll just be heading to bed now -”

She grasps his arm, making him pause. He bites his lip, and she swallows.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she murmurs, as gently as she can. “Come with me, Mr. Potter.” He winces again, but follows her soundlessly, hunched over like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. When they reach her classroom, she moves wordlessly to her desk and settles in her chair, gesturing to the chair in front of her as Sirius closes the door behind him hesitantly. “Please sit, Mr. Potter,” she says, and Sirius flinches so violently this time she worries he might snap in half.

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses, and for a moment she’s transported back to that conversation with Lily all those months ago. “Don’t call me that, please. I… I don’t deserve it.”

Mcgonogall raises an eyebrow. “You don’t deserve to be called by your own name?” She asks, and Sirius withers like a dying flower into the chair in front of her.

“No,” he finally says, softly. “It’s not my name, Professor. That name belongs to my ex-boyfriend. My name is Black.”

Mcgonogall’s other eyebrow raises in surprise. She hums. “Ex-boyfriend?”

Sirius shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself. “After I hurt Moony - Remus, Jamie socked me in the jaw and told me I wasn’t a Marauder anymore. Was caught makin’ out with Evans and Snivellus soon enough anyway. He hasn’t spoken to me in months - I can take a hint, Professor. I may be a stupid, dumb, moronic piece of shit that doesn’t deserve to live, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to tell when somebody stops loving me.”

Mcgonogall feels her heart break open in her chest and stems it with white hot rage - for Remus, for James, for Severus, and, despite everything, for Sirius.

“You are not dumb, or stupid, or moronic,” she says slowly, lacing her fingers together in front of her. “And you’re certainly not a piece of shit. Impulsive and reckless at times, yes, but you’re not worthless. Trust me, Sirius, I’ve met worthless people, and they are nothing like you. Your life means something.”

Sirius laughs. Mcgonogall has never heard such an unhappy sound in her life.

“With all due respect, Professor, I’m the worst fuck-up anyone’s seen in generations,” he snarks. “I’m the disowned disgrace of the Black family who fucks boys and wears dresses and falls in love with poncy tossers and half-blood werewolves whose deepest secrets I give away like a fucking Death Eater spy. I’m the most worthless kind of person there is.”

Mcgonogall pushes her chair back, stands, and makes quick strides around the desk and over to Sirius, pulling him against her chest.

“You are beautiful,” she whispers, right into his ear. “You are smart. You are kind. You are brave. You are selfless. You are funny. You are brilliant. But above all, Sirius, you are good.” Feeling him start to tremble against her, her robes beginning to dampen, she musters up a smile, feeling her own tears well up as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“You are my favorite student, Sirius Padfoot Potter Lupin,” she whispers as he sobs. “You are James Potter’s favorite person, and Regulus Black’s favorite brother. You are Remus Lupin’s favorite friend and you are everyone’s favorite Gryffindor. You are one of the best souls in this world and we would all be devastated to lose you.”

Sirius sniffles against her chest. “Really?” He blubbers, and she kisses the top of his head.

“Really,” she answers, and he laughs into her robes. He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like I love you and she says, “What was that?”

Flushing, he pulls back, shaking his head and wiping away his tears. “Thank you, Minnie,” he says shyly, and she nods, smiling and squeezing his hand.

“Anytime, love. Would you like me to walk you back to your dorm or do you think you can do it yourself?” She asks, and Sirius shrugs when the door creaks open and Remus Lupin pokes his head through with a soft, “Padfoot? Are you in there?”

Sirius’ eyes widen and his tear-streaked face lights up like the sun as he bounds down the steps and over to Remus, skidding to a stop just before he reaches him. “Here, Remus,” he murmurs, and Remus smiles, running a fond hand through Sirius’ silky dark hair.

“Come on then, Siri,” he says softly. “Time for bed.” Sirius blushes, leaning in just a bit, and Remus grins, engulfing him in a hug and pecking his cheek before pulling back to grab his hand. “I’ve got it from here, Professor,” he says to Mcgonogall with a polite nod. “You have a good night, Miss.”

Mcgonogall smiles and nods back, watching her boys disappear out the door and into the night before sighing to herself and drawing her robes tighter around her to block the wind as she heads, finally, to bed.

In the morning, she wakes up to Severus already in her classroom, making himself busy at one of the desks. She blearily makes them a few cups of tea before settling across from him, taking in the disorganized array of cauldrons, ingredients, and notes in front of him.

“What’s all this then?” She asks, taking a sip of her tea and then wincing at the sheer sweetness from overpoured sugar, and Severus shrugs.

“Trying to make a potion out of wolfsbane,” he answers, voice soft. “Thought it might be able to prevent transformations.”

Mcgonogall raises an eyebrow. “My, my. A difficult task indeed. May I ask why?” Severus shrugs again, his nose buried in the notebook he’s scribbling in.

“To help Remus, of course,” he says, as if it were obvious, as if they’ve been friends for years. Mcgonogall nods, humming, and takes another sip of her disgusting tea.

“Your new interest is Mr. Lupin is certainly… kind,” she says, and Severus finally looks up at her, eyes wide and dark but so, so light.

“He’s nice,” he murmurs. “That’s all.”

And Mcgonogall suspects that there is far, far more reason than that, but it’s far too early and she’s far too tired to even begin picking apart the peculiar behaviors of one Severus Snape Evans Potter, so instead she simply nods and plonks her head down in her arms, allowing herself to be lulled to sleep by the sound of rustling notebook pages, cracking bezoars and Severus’ out-of-tune humming of Beatles songs.

1) Regulus [Learn Me Right - Birdy, Mumford & Sons]

A few hours before his graduation, Regulus shows up at Mcgonogall’s door, the smallest of smiles settled on his face. “Good morning, Professor,” he says, and she sighs.

“You graduate in three hours, Mr. Black,” she says tiredly. “What could you possibly need my help with now?”

Regulus gives her an amused smile, tracing his fingers along the desks of his brothers and friends as he walks through the rows he’s sat in for so many years. “Nothing,” he answers finally, looking towards her. “I came to deliver this.”

He hands her a light blue card decorated in fluttering rainbow butterflies that reads, You have been cordially invited to the wedding of Remus Moony Lupin and Sirius Padfoot Potter on the 21st of June. At the bottom is a hastily scrawled note in two different hands, We hope you can make it. We love you, Minnie! Thank you for everything! Thank you, Minnie.

Mcgonogall clutches the invitation in surprise and looks up at Regulus with the breathless question, “Really?” Regulus just smiles, nodding.

“Yup,” he says in that slow drawl of his. “Severus and Lily and James have been talking about it too, so you can expect to see another one of those soon.” Mcgonogall smiles, blinking back tears.

“And you?” She asks, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “What will you do, Mr. Black?”

Regulus shakes his head and bites his lip, looking up at her with twinkling eyes and a sparkling grin. “It’s Mr. Lupin now,” he answers, “and I have no bloody idea.”

Mcgonogall laughs aloud, drawing him into a hug and kissing the top of his head. She sends him off with a wave and well-wishes.

Six years later, there’s a knock on her door. Summer has barely started but most of the castle is empty anyhow, with students having been sent home and most teachers taking their vacations now. With the war having been over for years now and the fight for werewolf rights making serious headway, Professor Mcgonogall does not receive many visitors. So she only expects Dumbledore when she opens the door, but instead there’s Severus, grinning and holding the hand of a fluffy-haired, green-eyed toddler with a lightning birthmark on his forehead.

“Hi, Professor,” he says, waving his free hand. She catches the glint of a wedding ring and tears up, smiling as she draws him in for a hug.

“Who’s this?” She asks, bending down to shake the little boy’s hand. Severus grins.

“This is Harry,” he says. “Harry Evans. My son.”

Mcgonogall looks up at him in shock. He shrugs, and suddenly she’s beaming, hugging him close again. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers, and Severus squeezes her tight.

“I owe it all to you, Minnie,” he murmurs back, and kisses her cheek as she pulls back. After a moment of just smiling at each other, he says, “I have a few hours free to catch up, if you want? Tea?” Mcgonogall beams.

“But of course,” she teases, offering her arm. Severus takes it, laughing, and closes the door behind them with a few simple words of warning: “I feel I should mention, you can also expect untimely visits from six other Marauder children.” Mcgonogall looks at him, shakes her head, and sighs.

“Just as well,” she answers, and Severus laughs, joy shaking his bones. “But you owe me so much tea.” Severus winks.

“I’ve got the literal and figurative kind whenever you’re free,” he answers, and Mcgonogall smiles.

Severus announces his relationship with Lily and James by dragging them in by the hand one morning and shouting, “I got it, Professor!”

#marauders #minerva mcgonogall #harry potter #prongsfoot #wolfstar #james x lily x severus #regulus black #trans boy lily evans #bisexual james potter #gryffindors are morons #slytherins are emotionally wise if morally challenged #fuck canon #and they all lived happily ever after #and no one was a traitor and nobody died #except voldy he's dead as a doornail #why do we say that anyway doornails aren't living creatures they can't die #whatever #anyway #have a nice day y'all

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Text

Respite (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Twenty Three: Exhaustion

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood, Elias Bouchard, Rosie

Summary: Archiving is hard work, but someone’s got to do it.

Or, five people who caught Jonathan Sims sleeping on the job.

“Alright Jon, I think I’m going to head out-oh.”

Sasha had been gone for five minutes, tops. And yet here was Jonathan Sims, fast asleep in his chair and using her messenger bag as a pillow. And snoring.

They worked late into the night on some hunch Jon had - once he got on a research kick, there was no stopping him. Sasha wasn’t much better. They encouraged the worst in each other sometimes, but that’s how they got their sterling reputations as researchers. So this was not an unfamiliar scene.

But it was ten at night and Sasha had been looking forward to finally getting home, putting her feet up and knocking back a glass of wine or two. They had hit a dead end and wouldn’t be able to continue until tomorrow, anyway. Jon had begrudgingly agreed and she popped over to the bathroom only to return to...this.

It couldn’t be comfortable. Her bag was covered in buttons and pins, some particularly pointy. It wasn’t exactly clean either; it had been thrown on one too many questionable surfaces in the past few months. But Jon seemed comfortable, if his open mouth and the tiny bit of drool currently on the front pouch were anything to go by. Gross.

She contemplated waking him up. He would want to head home soon as well, the trains became entirely unpredictable the later it got and they boarded at the same station. But something stopped her. Maybe it was the dark shadows under his eyes, the small, wheezing breaths. The way his brow slightly furrowed even in sleep. The crankiness that increased as the week went on. If anyone deserved a quick rest, it was him.

Sasha had been in the job for three years before Jon came on. She cut her teeth in Artefact Storage for the first six months- initially she’d been excited to delve into the dangerous and mysterious objects they had on site, but that excitement quickly faded into dread after a week on the job. She got the first transfer out into research, much more her speed. She was steadily making her way up the ladder and was now trusted to train new hires and interns. Ergo, Jon.

When she first met him, she honestly thought he wouldn’t make it far. He was fresh out of college, twitchy and short-tempered with an intermittent stutter. She didn’t fault him for that of course, but that didn’t save him from the judgment of others. No one wanted to get within a mile of him until Sasha volunteered her services in a rare moment of pity. His hand was dry and shook in hers when they were introduced; he was clearly not used to touch, though surely he must have shaken many a hand by now.

Sasha was good at teaching, though she wasn’t very interested in it. “You should teach!” so many of her friends and family members said. Sasha hated being told what to do even more than she hated teaching.

Jon was a difficult student. He had constant questions that Sasha patiently answered. He did not take criticism well, once getting up and walking away for an hour after Sasha fixed his grammar. He couldn’t seem to focus, which was not at all promising in a career that demanded it. Still, she worked with him as a sort of pet project. If she could make a functioning researcher out of Jon, she could prove herself worthy of respect and perhaps a promotion or two herself. So she figured out how Jon ticked- what worked for him and what didn’t. It took some hard work but Jon opened up bit by bit, giving her more insight into the person he was. And he wasn’t all that bad, once you got past the prickly exterior. He was whip-smart with a dry, clever humor that Sasha could appreciate. When he got on the trail of something interesting, he followed it to the end with a dogged determination. Sasha found herself opening up in turn, talking to him about her past jobs in academia and her frustrations with the Institute. They had a lot in common, it turned out. Both were academics at their core, finding debate and discussion endlessly entertaining. They both had a soft spot for nice wine and greasy pub food. And they were both constantly underestimated and overlooked- Sasha, as a woman in her field with a tendency towards “aggressive behavior” which in any man would just be called confidence and expertise, Jon with his inability to read social situations, the stutter in his voice that undermined his points, and the painful earnestness in every word he said, no matter how pointed. So yes, they got on. He made her laugh. That was hard to do these days.

Five more minutes, she promised, sitting back down at the table with a fond look to her companion. Thirty minutes later she woke him up, smiling at his panicked embarrassment and laughing in exhilaration as they ran to the station, just barely making the last train.

___________

What does Elias think he’s playing at, putting this poor young man in charge of the Archives?

Rosie had worked at the Magnus Institute for two decades and had seen many a manager come and go. She was Elias’s first and only secretary, coming in a bright-eyed young girl and now a tired, disillusioned woman firmly in middle age. You see a lot of things at the Institute. Sometimes you have to turn a blind eye.

When Gertrude Robinson went missing, Elias handled the situation with a bizarre aloofness that Rosie felt no need to question. Questioning things got you in trouble around here. But when he told Rosie of his plans for Jonathan Sims, she had to stop herself from scoffing. She had seen the way Elias spoke to him, mentoring him in a way he never had with any other employee. Perhaps he just had a fondness for the boy, though she wasn’t sure what he had done to earn it. Jon never got used to Elias’s presence, constantly jumping at a hand on his shoulder and laughing nervously through any of their conversations. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so pitiful.

But to make him Head Archivist? The man had only been here four years, there were plenty of other researchers and staff members who had not only seniority but the credentials to match. Jonathan Sims had an Oxford pedigree, impressive to be sure, but in Literature and History. It didn’t help that he seemed one missing file away from a nervous breakdown at all times. And they were going to give him an entire department to manage? A department that was in shambles and hadn’t been properly handled in the last fifty or so years? Good luck, kiddo.

She had been a little short with him the day he took the position- she had a monster of a headache and he wasn’t exactly making it easy on her, what with his questions about Gertrude and his ridiculous little proclamations of “I don’t believe in ghosts!” But the sincere gratitude in his voice as he told her to thank Elias for the opportunity came back to her hours later. You have no idea what you’re in for. It seemed almost sadistic to put a man like that in charge of the Archives.

The situation never seemed to improve. From what little she saw of him in the hallways, he always looked haggard and on edge. When he stood in front of Elias’s door waiting to be let in for another meeting (Elias had been scheduling a lot of them as of late), his hands fidgeted and his feet shuffled. She felt bad for him, when she remembered to. She had twenty years to get used to Elias, but he seemed to get worse with every visit to his office.

It was with a reluctant sigh that she took the paperwork from Elias and headed down to the Archives. Just a few things that slipped my mind on the last visit, so sorry Rosie. It was the end of the day and she was punctual to a fault, meaning she very rarely stayed past five unless Elias requested it. Even the Archives were empty- the assistants had all filtered out earlier and her footsteps echoed in silence as she made her way to the Head Archivist’s office.

“Mr. Sims?” she called, immediately regretting the choice of name. It sounded unnatural coming out of her mouth. “Jon, are you in there?” There was no one in his desk chair, though his bag and coat were still accounted for. She was not about to do a scavenger hunt through the Archives, the place gave her the creeps and it got worse with each passing minute. She contemplated just leaving them on his desk when she saw a half-opened door labeled “Document Storage.” I’ll just peek in, can’t hurt.

“Jon?” she called again, creaking open the door and peering inside. It was not very well-lit; half of the lights were flickering like something out of a horror film. No one answered her. “Jon, if you’re here I have a few papers for you to sign. I’ll just leave them on your desk-” It was then she noticed a cot in the corner. That’s not allowed, she thought testily. It was rumpled- somebody had used it recently, she deduced. And then she looked down to the floor to find one leg sticking out from under the cot. She shrieked, grabbing at her chest as she slowly made her way over, unsure of whether she was about to die or if she had to call an ambulance.

She kneeled down gingerly, her legs trembling as she found one Jonathan Sims entangled with a small, tattered blanket and snoring softly, completely lost to the world. She sighed in relief and no small amount of irritation- the man had just taken about three years off her life, at least. And what was he doing under the cot? Such a strange thing, that Jonathan Sims.

She reached out and grabbed his arm, giving it a good shake. “Jon!” He kept right on sleeping, completely ignorant to her entreaties. She gave him another, harder shake- nothing. This is ridiculous. She leaned in closer and opened her mouth to give one last deafening shriek of his name. “Jon!”

That did the trick. Too well, one might say.

Jon immediately sat up, which wasn’t a good idea- he only had a few inches of room left under the bed and ended up slamming his head against the metal rungs and leaning back down with a cry. “Agh!” he squeezed his eyes shut as she reached out her hand in apology.

“God, I’m so sorry,” she babbled, patting his arm. “It’s just, you weren’t waking up and- are you alright?” His silence was worrying. Oh god, Elias is going to murder me if I’ve killed his Archivist.

“Yes,” he hissed, awkwardly sliding out from under the bed in a sort of shimmying motion and rubbing at his forehead. Luckily he hadn’t broken any skin, it was just red at the point of impact. “What on earth- ah, Rosie!” The instant switch in tone as his eyes focused on her form would be amusing in any other situation. “So sorry, d-did Elias need anything from me?”

She paused, considering the man in front of her. He looked bad, really bad, like call-the-doctor-bad. Thinner than ever with dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t had a good nights’ sleep in weeks, if ever. And that look in his eyes, the change in his voice as soon as he noticed her- Elias had sway even through proxy. Suddenly Mr. Sims was all eager-to-please, as if he hadn’t just been caught collapsed under a bed in sheer exhaustion.

“What are you doing under there?” is what she asked, though she did not mean to. She wasn’t really supposed to care about anyone in the institute and she’d done a good job of it thus far. But something about this situation felt off, even to her.

He ran a hand through messy hair (he’s going gray so young) and gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Ah, just a- I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.” He made no attempt to explain his odd choice of napping area. “If you could please not tell Elias-”

“Of course,” she assured, again strangely protective of the silly little man in front of her. “Think nothing of it- just need you to sign a few papers, is all.” She got up to allow him room to move, ignoring the creaking of limbs far too young to sound so bad. “Should probably use the bed next time, dear. That floor’s got to be horrible on your back.”

Jon blushed, grabbing at the papers and looking anywhere but her eyes. “Yes, well,” he shifted his feet, gesturing at the tattered blanket he had extracted himself from. “I’ve got that, so it’s fine.”

She fixed him with a dubious stare, but let him have this one. He headed back to his office to grab a pen, limping in obvious pain. The papers were signed and they said their goodbyes, Rosie heading home and Jon heading back to Document Storage, whether to sleep or work she couldn’t tell.

In her next round of discretionary spending, she ordered a few pillows and a nice knitted throw for the Archives. The break room had been looking a bit drab, it deserved a little sprucing up.

______________

“Mr. Stoker, if you could come get your Archivist I’d be much obliged.”

“I’m on it, Janice.”

Tim sighed. Just another Wednesday night at the Magnus Institute.

Jon was running them ragged with investigations, following up on every statement he deemed ‘unsatisfactory’ in terms of research. So far, he had deemed almost every statement as so. It was not very fun.

Tim had taken pains to finish his research bright and early, wanting to get home as quickly as possible and finish up the series he’d been binging. This plan included the added plus of avoiding the worms that had been showing up outside the institute over the past couple of days. But then Jon had come out of his office, looking sad and lost as he handed over another statement for Tim to work on. “Tomorrow is fine, Tim,” Jon said, in an uncharacteristic show of generosity. “No need to worry.” Tim was worried now, for an entirely different reason.

He promised himself he would only stay an extra hour, just to make sure Jon got home alright. That was two hours ago. Jon had apparently snuck out to the library without him noticing, and now needed to be fetched for reasons Tim was pretty sure he could guess at.

Jon was never really on good terms with the librarians. What he lacked in charm, he did not make up for in well, anything really. He got upset when a book was in the wrong place; he was very short whenever something would take longer than a few minutes. He constantly hid from the librarians when it was time to close- one night he was quite literally chased out by Janice, and another night he was locked in (also by Janice) and didn’t even notice.

So finding him tucked in between two bookshelves fast asleep was not surprising in the least. It didn’t look comfortable but Jon seemed fairly relaxed, crammed as he was. This had happened more than a few times back in research but never recently. And never was he quite so hidden away, not even a limb giving away his position. He knew Jon liked his small spaces, but even this was pushing it. Janice hadn’t attempted to wake him, knowing what a fools errand it would be. “That boy could sleep through the end of days, I reckon,” she said as she opened the door for Tim and ushered him down the aisles. “I don’t know how he does it.”

“That makes two of us,” Tim mumbled as he crouched down in front of the man he previously called a friend and now a boss. “Jon? You up, mate?”

No response. Typical. Tim could keep this going for the rest of the night, or he could take matters into his own hands.

Let it never be said that Tim wasn’t hands-on.

He managed to maneuver Jon into his arms without waking the man, a feat he’d perfected over the years. Jon, for his part, just slumped into his chest and muttered some nonsense under his breath that Tim couldn’t make out. Jon was a fairly vocal sleep-talker, something he found endlessly amusing. This situation was anything but amusing, however, and he could barely summon up a smile to give Janice as he carted his boss back down to the Archives.

Jon was falling back into old habits. He was becoming distant and moody, snapping at any inquiry about his health or well-being. It took all of Tim’s strength not to snap back at times. Sasha helped keep him in check, giving him warning glances whenever she believed he went too far, which was happening more and more often. He was afraid for the frail man in his arms. He had a strange sense of impending calamity that woke him up in the middle of the night, heart racing like it did after his encounter with the circus. It awoke a strange, primal fear inside of him that Tim couldn’t control and it crept in more and more by the day.

Even when Jon was safe and comfortable, tucked neatly into the cot in Document Storage, the fear didn’t ease. He wanted to stay and keep watch, though that didn’t make much sense. The Archives were probably the safest place to be. Nothing could reach them in this dank, dusty prison cell of a workplace. Not even Prentiss. But he was tired, so he decided to leave Jon to his dreams and chew him out tomorrow morning. Now wasn’t the time.

He took a quick detour to his desk and back to Document Storage before he left, throwing one of his cardigans over Jon’s sleeping form. Just in case he gets cold, he reasoned. In reality, he didn’t know who it was actually for- Jon or himself. Maybe both.

_________

This is ridiculous.

Initially, he had been happy and slightly proud to see his Archivist stumbling back into work, bleeding and freshly marked by the Corruption. He of course told him the opposite, encouraging him to take all the time available to him to recover. But his Archivist was nothing if not stubborn, and watching him limp about the Archives, paranoid and afraid, was a wonder to behold.

Today, however, might not have been the best time to come back.

The Magnus Institute, on paper, had a fully functioning HR department. That this HR department only included one incredibly overworked woman who was willing to let many things slide in order to collect a paycheck was no matter. They still had to observe the basic requirements that came along with it, and that included having mandatory yearly training in things such as workplace harassment. The modern workplace truly was a marvel - as if anyone willing to commit these acts would be cowed by one seminar.

But here they were on a Thursday afternoon, every supervisor gathered in the conference room to undergo ‘mandatory training’ in sensitive subject matters. The training wasn’t actually training at all but an instructional video of about thirty minutes. It was quite literally the least they could do- Elias wasn’t about to go wasting precious money on hiring more professionals to help them avoid inappropriate conduct. That’s what lawyers were for, after all.

Jon had stumbled in once the video had already begun, looking bedraggled and worse for wear. The only seat left was in the back, conveniently located right next to Elias. He gave his Archivist a short nod and glanced back at the screen with a bored detachment, watching from another pair of judging eyes as Jon stumbled and struggled his way around his colleagues, murmuring apologies.

He didn’t acknowledge Jon’s greeting, preferring instead to keep him at a distance. He didn’t want him to get too comfortable with him, not at this early stage. But he still noted the exhaustion in his features with some concern- he did need him semi-functioning, how else would they get any statements recorded?

Jon managed valiantly to stay awake for the first ten minutes before he started to nod off, his head jerking backwards in a sad attempt at consciousness. Elias rolled his eyes, clearing his throat several times in an effort to keep him awake. He didn’t much care for Jon’s dignity, but it was rather embarrassing for him to have an Archivist who couldn’t stay awake for a mere thirty minutes once the lights were down.

But then it started to veer into dangerous territory. Jon was slumping down further and further in his seat, each jerk awake more distracting than the last. Elias would ask him to leave if he didn’t think he would collapse on his way out the door and cause even more of a commotion. No, it would be fine to let him sleep if his head wasn’t constantly listing to the left, further and further and- Christ.

Jon’s head found purchase on his shoulder and there he remained, finally content to doze in peace.

They were tucked far enough in the corner that nobody could really see unless they strained their eyes. Everyone else was either watching the video or falling asleep themselves. Elias considered his options- he could wake the man, knowing the force required to do so would only cause a scene, or he could let him sleep until the end credits rolled- credits he knew were incredibly loud, and thus would cover up any yelp the Archivist emitted upon waking.

Both were terrible choices. If Elias had his way Jon would have collapsed back in the Archives and avoided this mess entirely. He would also have the added bonus of being able to scold him later- a win-win, certainly. But alas, it was not meant to be. He sacrificed his pride and let the man continue to sleep on his shoulder, tensing as much as he could to keep Jon from slipping further down into a more embarrassing position. The added irony of the subject on the screen- Unwanted Workplace Advances- was not lost on him.

At least the man was having unpleasant dreams. He contented himself with watching the Archivist flit across his nightmares, running from worms and spiders and whatever other horrors his mind conjured. It was much more entertaining than the video on the screen.

And then the credits rolled. A few seconds before they began, Elias placed a firm hand on Jon’s shoulder and shook him once, hard. Just in time, the outdated, cheesy music blasted from the speakers and nicely covered his Archivist's shriek of terror and subsequent heavy breathing as his eyes shot open, panicked. No one was the wiser to that little display.

His hand turned light, friendly. Just a boss showing concern for an unwell employee. “Jon, are you alright?” he asked, schooling his face into a parental sort of worry. That always seemed to work well with Jon- he was much more apt to be agreeable when the authority figure in question made it personal. “Do you need to go home?”

His eyes could barely focus as everyone else in the room stood up, yawning and stretching and milling about. “I-yes, I think I just need a lie down.” Elias nodded in faux-concern, helping the man to his feet.

Jon didn’t say a word as he walked him past the front door and into the Archives. He knew he had work to do.

________

Jon was in the way.

This was not a sentence Martin Blackwood had ever thought before. Even when Jon was technically in the way, he wasn’t, not really. Wherever Jon was, was wherever Jon needed to be. Whether it was standing in front of Martin when he needed to get to the break room, or blocking the water cooler as he lectured Tim about ‘workplace standards,’ Martin wasn’t going to ask him to move. Fighting with the man was absolutely exhausting and a lesson in futility.

But Jon was literally in his way. As in if he didn’t move, Martin would not be able to do his job for the rest of the day.

The man was curled on top of a box of files, the exact box of files that Martin needed to access. He wasn’t moving- Martin had thought at first that he was dead, but his slow, even breaths disproved that. Why would he choose this spot to take a nap? It couldn’t be comfortable- his back was hunched and his bad leg stuck out at an awkward angle. His arms were sprawled over the box as if guarding it. Sasha had told him a few stories from their research days, but he had never seen the man asleep over anything but his desk. Jon was looking far too vulnerable these days, and Martin didn’t know what to do with that.

“Jon?” he tried quietly. The man didn’t stir. Figures. He wanted to reach out and shake him awake, but his wounds were barely healed and kept opening up, probably from his nighttime escapades. He didn’t want to be the cause of more of Jon’s pain. So he stood there awkwardly, shifting from side to side as his boss continued his slumber.

“Something wrong?” Martin jumped at the sound of Tim’s voice- Jon did not. He was leaning in the doorway, looking almost as tired as Jon and definitely in need of a nap as well. He recovered a bit better, having taken every day allotted to him. But that didn’t mean he was back at peak performance. Tim followed his gaze to the floor and rolled his eyes upon seeing Jon asleep. ‘Really?” Tim was very irritated these days. Martin didn’t blame him.

“I didn’t know what to do!” he whispered back, though he probably didn’t need to keep his voice down. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I need that box-”

“Just move him,” Tim replied unkindly, making his way over. “He won’t wake up, he’s a very heavy sleeper, honest.” He reached out a hand to grab Jon’s shoulder but Martin stopped him.

“N-No!” he stuttered forcefully, well aware of Tim’s attitude towards Jon these days. “I’ll just, I can wait, I guess-”

“You said he was in your way.” With a wince Tim crouched down, placing an arm around Jon’s waist and hoisting him over his shoulder in one smooth, practiced move. “See?” he said, also whispering. “Not a peep.” It was true, Jon hadn’t stirred one bit. It was also very concerning. He watched as Tim slowly made his way across the room to the cot, placing Jon in bed with an infinite care he didn’t think the man capable of. Like hands at a piano remembering a well-practiced tune, Tim’s body played out a gentleness he no longer felt, not anymore. He even placed a blanket over Jon, pausing for a moment to look down at him. Martin couldn’t see the look on his face and couldn’t guess at what it was.

“There.” He turned around and abruptly exited the room, not sparing another glance at either of them. When Martin looks back at this moment, he’ll wonder if that’s the last kindness Tim ever offered Jon, and how sad it was that he wasn’t even awake to see it.

________________

A year later and Martin finds himself standing over Jon, watching him sleep. He is curled around a tape recorder. The light is on, it’s recording. For what end, Martin does not know.

He slips an arm around Jon’s waist like he saw Tim once do. Jon shivers- Martin is very cold these days, so he doesn’t fault him. He deposits him in the cot he knows so well- he will be safe here. Warm. Basira is here, and Melanie- they’ll look out for him, in their own way. He pauses, looking down at the man in the bed. He is alive, but Martin couldn’t tell you if he is breathing.

He does not visit the Archives again.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162460

#whumptober2020 #exhaustion #no.23 #fic #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #elias bouchard #my writing #jonmartin #not a lot but its there #not really any cws

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cheeriecherry · 4 years ago

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Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi] [5/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 5/9

Warnings: brief descriptions of violence (not graphic), fluff, kissing, boyfriends x2

You’re surprised when his lips touch your own, even though you’d been expecting it. He’s softer than you imagined, warmer, and more pliant. He melts into as the kiss deepens, cupping your jaw so gently you can’t help but feel the tenderness he has for you.

You stay like that for a few moments, close enough to share breath and feel each other’s heartbeats.

When you part, you’re out of breath. His eyes are half lidded, and your shirts are slightly rumpled, but you remain entangled with each other, his forehead coming to rest against your own.

“Can I tell you something, sweetheart?” He asks, soft and quiet.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, smiling. “You can tell me anything.”

He pecks your cheek a couple times, lips trailing down over your jaw. “Shouta’s in love with you, too.”

You’re less startled with the statement than you thought you’d be. Looking back on all your interactions with the man, you’re not sure how you didn’t see it sooner. He showed care for you much in the same way he did with Hizashi, always going out of his way to try and make sure you were okay.

“He didn’t even try to hide it, did he?” you wonder. “I was just that oblivious?”

Hizashi laughs, joyful and melodious. “Don’t worry about it too much. He kept it under wraps in highschool, so it really only looked like natural friendship progression.”

“He’s liked me since high school?”

“Yeah,” he grins, “he had so much trouble talking to you he was so shy. I told him I’d help him get to know you better, since you were my best friend.”

Your heart swells as you think back to your teen years; Hizashi insisting you get to know Shouta, talking him up and telling you what a cool person he was. And you, pushing through the awkward conversations with him because you wanted to make Hizashi happy (only to later find out that he’d been right, and Shouta was a cool person. And a good friend).

“‘Course, I was hella jealous when you started spending more time together. I thought ‘did I seriously just set the love of my life up with another guy’. Because seriously, what kind of teenaged boy does that?”

You listen fondly as her rambles, a habit he’s had since you were kids. Whenever he was excited about something -or just excited in general- he was an endless chatterbox. He could go on for hours if you let him, talking about everything and nothing. Most of the people he knew had expressed some amount of annoyance over it, you knew, but you? You loved it.

“Then finally in our third year, Sho and I had a sleepover and got into my parents’ sake. I...accidentally told him I had a crush on you, too.” He droops ever so slightly, looking sad. “I think he gave up on you after that. Thought I had a better chance than he did.”

You tug gently on Hizashi’s hand, pulling him down to sit on the couch with you. “Honestly,” you admit, “at the time, he would’ve been right. I didn’t realize I loved him the way I did until the three of us rented that shitty apartment together.”

“Oh god, the one above that old dive bar?”

“Yup. I got hassled by some drunk guy on the way up one night, after a shitty patrol, no less. Shouta overheard, and basically jumped out the window to beat the shit out of the dude.” You snicker, “I had to pull him off the guy. Then he ran me a bath when we got in, and made actual noodles for supper, instead of the instant ones we lived off of. Just to make me feel better.”

Both of you are overcome with fondness, thinking about all the little ways Shouta had taken care of you over the years. Hizashi reclines against the arm of the couch, and you scoot closer to lay across his chest, where he drapes an arm over you.

“It...hit us really hard when you left,” he says, turning melancholy, “but it pushed us closer together. It was scary at first, realizing how deep our feelings for each other actually ran, but I haven’t regretted it a single day we’ve been together. Even when we fight, or argue, or just bug the crap out of each other.”

Guilt niggles in your heart, and you push yourself a little harder against him. “A part of me wishes I’d never left,” you mumble, “the sad part, the lost part, the scared part. But I’m also glad something so good came out of it. Is that weird?”

He pets your hair idly, curling the stands around his fingers and stroking against your scalp. “I don’t think so,” his tone is honest and light, “I think it’s important to find the silver lining.”

You consider his words carefully, as you fall into a comfortable silence. With all these feelings aired out, did it mean you had a chance with them? After so many years, and so much grief, was it possible? Did you even deserve it?

Shut up, you tell yourself, I don’t care what I think I deserve. I care about what I want. Who I want.

“‘Zashi, when Shouta gets home tonight…”

“I want to tell him everything. I want...us. The three of us.” There’s worry in his voice, the slightest of tremors, but for once you think you’re less concerned than he is.

“It’ll work out,” you tell him. “If he feels the way you say he does, then it’ll work out.”

Neither of you say anything after that, drifting slowly in and out of sleep, while some strange netflix series plays in the background.

----

You rouse from your slumber when something clatters in the other room. Your mind instantly jumps to ‘break in’ when you see Hizashi still asleep beneath you, but when you move to stand, you find that someone has draped a blanket over you both.

You glance at the wall, surprised to see the hands past midnight. Had you really been out that long? A solid ninety minutes without a single nightmare? You smile down at the blond after you extract yourself from his grasp, brushing his hair off his forehead to place a small kiss there.

Moments later, you find Shouta in the kitchen, dumping remnants of all the leftovers into one frankenstein-esque bowl. You remain in the doorway for a little bit, watching him float back and forth between the fridge and the counter.

He tenses when he catches your reflection in the door of the refrigerator, just for a brief second, easily missed to the untrained eye.

“It’s rude to stare,” he says, devoid of any malice.

You bite back a smile, giddiness rising in your chest.

“I love you,” you tell him.

He startles for real this time, and looks at you with wide eyes, wider than you’d ever seen, with a dusting of pink rises to his cheeks. It’s a good look on him, you decide, storing the image away for later.

“Something happened today, didn’t it,” it’s not phrased as a question. He composes himself after your words have set in, turning back to the atrocity that is his dinner.

“Hizashi kissed me earlier,” you admit, “and then we had a long talk. About feelings.”

“Gross.”

You hide a giggle. “You’re not mad?”

“Hardly,” he shrugs, and you don’t detect any dishonesty. “We’ve talked about it before. Our...feelings for you. I assume he spilled everything?”

“The whole cup of tea.”

“God, you’re picking up on his language habits.”

You laugh for real this time, unable to contain it any longer. Shouta deadpans at you, and shoves his food in the microwave while he waits for you to collect yourself.

Eventually you do, wiping the fainest tear from the corner of your eye. “I can’t believe people think you’re not funny. Your sense of humour is arguably better than mine.”

“Maybe you’re just wearing rose tinted goggles,” he suggests, leaning casually against the counter. “It’s a real thing, you know. When you like someone, you see them as better at something than they really are.”

You roll your eyes and meander over to him. Close like this, you can see that his cheeks are still flushed and his pupils are blown wide. He looks tired, as per usual, but you know he’s alert and that all his attention is on you.

You wrap your arms around his waist and lay your head on his shoulder. “So what do you think?” you ask.

“Of what?”

“Of us. You, me, and Hizashi?” You peer up at him while he thinks about it, a soft crease forming in between his brows.

“Truthfully,” he replies, “I didn’t think it was possible. ‘Zashi and I thought we were good and over you, but the moment you hugged us in the airport, I knew we weren’t. So we talked about it later, after you’d fallen asleep.”

“And?”

“And we decided that we didn’t want to add more stress to your life by asking you to choose between us. If you confessed to either of us, then we’d go from there, but…”

You squeeze him gently, prompting him to look down at you. “Did you never humour the possibility of the three of us together?”

The blush on his face darkens considerably, and he fights the urge to avert his gaze. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he mumbles, “The chances of you liking one of us were already pretty slim, but both of us? I was being logical.”

“You were being dumb.”

You reach up and pinch his cheek, tugging slightly until he grumbles and shakes you off. He catches your wrist as you move, and you can’t help the flutter in your chest at the feeling of his warm hand wrapped around you. A flutter that only increases when he brings your palm to his lips to lay a kiss on it.

You twist slightly, enough to lay your fingertips against his face, gently tracing the scar beneath his eye. “After everything we’ve been through together, how could I not love you both? Adore you both? The two of you, the thought of coming home... it’s what kept me going. Even if you didn’t want me, even if you hated me, just getting to see your faces again...it saved my life.”

He stares at you for a second, more tender than you’d ever seen him. He releases your hand in trade for your face, holding you in place while he stoops down and captures your mouth.

His lips are warmer than Hizashi’s, more plush, though slightly more chapped, and the way he kisses you is nothing short of intense. Years of longing and repressed feelings are poured into it, only emphasized by the way he holds you close.

You clutch at his shirt, pressing back against him with equal fervour. He’s hot and solid, his presence safe and comforting. He’s not much taller than you, but held like this you feel like a doll in his hands, tiny and precious.

You whine when his tongue teases at your bottom lip, asking you, begging you, to return. You part your lips slowly, mouths meshing again so your tongues can slide against each other. He groans then, a low rumble in his chest that you feel more than hear. It stirs a spark of warmth in between your legs, the beginnings of arousal making you tremble beneath him.

“Now, that is a nice sight to wake up to.”

You and Shouta freeze when Hizashi’s voice sounds from the doorway, utterly full of mischief. You suppress a whine when your kiss is broken, settling on a pout instead.

“We were talking,” Shouta says.

Hizashi raises a thin brow, trying his best to keep the corners of his mouth from quirking up. “‘Talking’ huh? Is that what the kids call it nowadays? Because back in our day, it was just called ‘making out’.”

He cheers quietly when Shouta’s face -somehow- becomes even redder, and you avert your gaze to hide a smile. Hizashi at least seems to be in a better mood than before, his earlier stress over your impending doom less visible; shoulders more lax, eyes less frantic. He was still drowsy, you knew, but maybe now he’d be able to discuss it rationally.

Until he says, “You’re taking this surprisingly well, Sho.” and your stomach drops. “Not gonna lie, I’m still pretty messed up about it. No one likes knowing their girlfriend got visited by the elusive Oracle, but if you’re this calm about it then you’ve obviously got a...plan…?”

He trails off, glancing back and forth between the two of you. The guilt and panic in your expression, the desperate anger budding in Shouta’s.

“You didn’t tell him?”

You throw your hands up in surrender, taking a step away from the two of them. “I was getting to it!” you promise, “I was starting with the ‘I love you’s and was gonna end with the ‘untimely demise’ bit.”

“You’re not going to die-”

“Don’t bother, Sho,” Hizashi cuts him off, “we’ve already had this conversation.”

His tone is bitter and sad, biting like venom into your heart, the same way Shouta’s furious expression does. This was why you’d started off with the good stuff; everything bad would have ruined it from the start.

“You’re not seriously going to just walk into your death, are you?” He’s exasperated, and rightly so, but the crack in his voice screams ‘please tell me no’.

You sigh. “I’ll tell you what I told Hizashi. If I don’t face this now, when I have the upper hand, I’m going to be running for the rest of my life.”

“From what?”

“Akuma.”

Shouta freezes. Where the name had meant nothing to Hizashi, it’s struck a chord with him, and you notice it.

“You know the name, don’t you?”

He nods, expression carefully blank.

“Then you understand why I have to do this now, while I have the chance?”

Another nod.

Hizashi looks like he wants to explode, but Shouta gets to him before he can say anything. “I’ve seen the aftermath of Akuma, ‘zashi. People hunted down decades after they thought they’d escaped, their families destroyed. Akuma is unrelenting, persistent, and unpredictable.”

You take a few steps closer to the blond. “And I’ve got a clue about where she’s going to be, and when. Do you get it now?”

Hizashi’s shoulders fall and his posture relaxes, as your plan clicks in his head. “You’re gonna ambush her. God, I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, reaching out to link your fingers together, “it’s hard to think when you’re scared.”

He sighs deeply and yoinks you closer, capturing you in a hug. “We’ll have to work fast, then. Two weeks isn’t a lot of time to plan something as big as this.”

A moment later you feel Shouta’s hand against your back. “We’ll manage. Right now, though, we’re all exhausted. No good to anyone.”

He’s right, you realize. You can already feel the heaviness in your limbs, and the fogginess of sleep beginning to return. The two of them aren’t faring any better, either.

Shouta gives you both a kiss, lingering a little longer than would be considered chaste, and wanders out of the kitchen. You smile as he goes, and once he’s out of sight you turn your attention back to HIzashi.

He catches your face in his hands, holding you fast and firm to nudge his head against yours. “Promise me you won’t ever stop fighting?”

You lean into his touch, gazing up at him happily. “I promise,” you tell him, and it’s one you intend on keeping.

Ten minutes later, the three of you are crammed onto a king sized mattress, limbs entangled, hair in faces, snores in ears. Despite all that, it’s comforting and reminiscent of the way you used to be; carefree and content and so, so in love.

You fall asleep easily.

----

You awake alone the next afternoon, rumpled and groggy, with a mouth that feels like it’s full of cat litter. You crinkle your nose at the sour taste and roll out of bed, stretching on the way to the bathroom. Despite the previous nights’ cramped sleeping arrangements, you feel surprisingly rested. Moreso than you have in months.

Even when you couldn’t remember your nightmares, they still left you waking to a sense of fear and panic. Today, though? Nothing. No extra anxiety, no overwhelming exhaustion, no desire to lay on the couch and do nothing. You felt...good.

In the bathroom, you find a note taped to the mirror. You open it while you brush your teeth, smiling when you recognize Shouta’s handwriting.

‘Y/N,

If you’re able to, try and find Oracle. Get as much information as you can from them. If they’re worried about getting involved with pros, tell them not to. We’re not going to bother them, since they’re not technically doing anything illegal.

I’ll be in contact with some people this afternoon, who’ll be able to help us with Akuma. Hizashi’s going to call in a few favours. We’ll take her down. She won’t get away this time.

Take care of yourself, okay? If you need anything, call me.

-S’

You smile at the note, particularly at Hizashi’s doodle of a cockatiel and a cat (which he’d probably added when Shouta wasn’t looking). If they were going to do their parts in hatching a plan, then you were going to do the same.

You finish brushing your teeth and wander out to the living room, where your phone and laptop are still laying on the coffee table. You check your phone for messages, finding none, and turn your attention to the computer.

Oracle was just a kid. A kid in a beat up hoodie, and a pair of shoes ungluing at the soles. They could technically be from anywhere in the city, but you had a feeling they might be from one of the more downtrodden neighborhoods.

You open a map of the area in an internet browser, singling in on both spots you’d met with the vigilante. As you’d suspected, they were in close vicinity to each other, and within the bounds of the only run down area for forty blocks.

You’d previously met them during school hours, but who knew if they’d be in class today? You best bet would be to check the area out, ask around to see if anyone knew anything, and see what you could find.

----

You feel utterly defeated, sitting on a bench in the dark like you are. A dull streetlight flickers above you, casting strange shadows on the ground. You stare at them, frustrated.

You’d been wandering around the streets for hours, first seeing if you could find Oracle out and about, and when that didn’t work, you’d settled on going door to door. It had been a fruitless effort, in the end. Most people either didn’t know who the kid was, or they hadn’t seen them in a while.

You knew for a fact that some of them had been lying, which was annoying albeit understandable. You were glad that kid had some many people looking out for them, even if it hindered your ability to get information.

Sitting alone like this, you half expect Oracle to materialize beside you, but after a few moments of waiting and no dice, your thoughts begin to drift. First to Shouta and Hizashi, and how their days went, then to the disappointment that was your afternoon. Eventually, you end up on Akuma.

For someone you’d only met a handful of times, she was playing a much bigger role in your life than you expected. While you had been working as her personal assassin, most of her order had trickled down to you through your ‘handler’. He’d been your partner on the mission, a companion to save your ass if you fucked up.

The more you think about it, the more you realize you never actually knew that much about the guy. Despite your close quarters undercover, you’d never had time to be friendly. The underground was littered with eyes and ears, always listening. Becoming too close would have been a liability, so you’d pretended, acted distant and borderline cold towards him, played the part perfectly.

Akuma sniffed him out about eight months before the end of your mission. One too many kill orders ignored, too much information leaked in too short a time period. She caught him in the act one afternoon, and had him trapped in her tar before he could react.

She’d dragged him to the center of the warehouse, calling everyone around. “See this?” she’d said, nudging your partner with her shoe, “this is a mole! Sneaky little hero scum who thinks he can upturn my whole organization.”

You’d watched helplessly as he stared blankly at the floor, eyes shaded black with tar. At that time, you’d only seen Akuma kill once or twice, not fully understanding her quirk or the strength it took to fight it.

You stood there in your little group, unblinking, as Akuma questioned your partner again and again, asking for names and information. He gave away everything; his own identity, the people he worked for, what his mission was, everything. Except you. Never once did he utter your name, suggest the existence of a partner, or give away where you were.

Even when Akuma directly questioned him, he denied it.

He had eventually managed to free one of his arms from the tar, taking a swipe at Akuma using his quirk. He barely grazed the side of her head, and half a second later there was a bullet lodged in his.

And you just stood there, watching. Watching as he hurt, watching as he died. Watching as a wife lost her husband, and two children lost their father.

“Y’know, I think this is the first time I’ve managed to sneak up on you.”

You startle when a voice sounds too close to your ear, jumping away and nearly falling off the bench. Beside you, Oracle snickers, leaning back casually.

“You’re tricky to find, you know,” you grumble, willing your heartbeat to slow down from the scare.

“That’s good,” they say, “Don’t need heroes sniffing around for me.”

“Why not just get a license?”

“And be at the beck and call of a corrupt organization?” they scoff, though their tone isn’t malicious. “No thanks.”

You shrug, and slouch against the back of the bench. They weren’t wrong, you supposed. When it came to morals and humane treatment, the Commission wasn’t much better than a bunch of villains.

“Why are you looking for me, Y/N?” they ask, and you sigh.

“I need more information, about the vision you had.”

“A real disaster, that one. No one believed me when I told them to be on the lookout for Akuma.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “Most pros would think she’s too noteworthy to be smuggled into the country. In their eyes, it’s an impossible scenario.” Or too stupid to realize that people can do whatever they want, if they have the right connections and the right amount of money.

Oracle hums, considering your words. “It’s only impossible if someone steps in and takes her down. But what happens when everyone figures ‘someone else will do it’?”

“It never gets done.”

“It never gets done. Inaction is the very reason Akuma was even able to get here.”

You’re both quiet for a few beats, before they speak again.

“While I saw you dying, I took a look around the area. There was a chicken restaurant, with a flyer in the window. That’s where I got the date from.” They fiddle a little with their hood, pushing some loose strands of dark hair back under it. “It’s adjacent to a radio studio. The restaurant is a hole in the wall kind of place, family owned I think, not a chain store.”

“What’s it called?”

“Dunno. I didn’t see the whole sign. There was a picture of a really fat chicken cartoon, though.” They stand up off the bench and stretch, a couple pops coming from their spine. “Now, if that’s all-”

“Does anyone ever survive?”

They pause. “Survive?”

You look up at them sadly, and for a moment you see a flash of compassion on their face. “You see people die. Have your warnings ever saved anyone?”

In a moment, their expression changes to something far more fatigued than you’d ever seen someone so young wear, and your stomach feels like it’s been pumped full of lead.

“I don’t see people die,” they say quietly, “I see the moments leading up to someone’s death. I give people a place, a time when I’m able to, but what they do with that information is up to them. Sometimes they don’t believe me, sometimes they think they can get around it.”

“What about the ones who listen?”

Oracle shrugs, stuffing their hands in their pockets. “Sometimes they end up somewhere by accident, if they’re not paying attention.”

“Please stop being cryptic.”

They roll their eyes. “You need to be cognizant of my warnings, and not take them lightly. You have to be aware and alert all the time. The people who ignore me, or think they’re above dying, or find themselves somewhere by accident. Do you know what they have in common?”

“No,” you hiss, “that’s why I’m asking.”

Bright honey brown eyes pierce into your own, reaching a depth in your soul you never thought possible, and Oracle’s next words shake you to the bone.

“Hopelessness. Guilt, anger, shame, exhaustion, anything that gnaws away at hope like a dog’s chewtoy. In order to survive, some part of you has to want to live.” They shuffle their feet a bit, taking a few steps away from you. “I don’t know what you’re planning to do, and I don’t really care. But if you’re gonna walk right into this shitshow, you have to want to come out.”

They turn on their heel and start walking away, disappearing into the darkness, leaving you sitting beneath the flickering street lamp.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #erasermic x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #Space Between #we're more than halfway done omg?#i didnt edit this chapter so um #excuse any mistakes #If anyone would be interested in beta reading future stories lemme know

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intothewickedwood · 3 years ago

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Once Upon A Time Rewatch: 6x18 Where Bluebirds Fly

Whoop! Whoop! Zel Zel centric!

The yellow brick road! I wish the characters had an adventure in Oz so we’d get to explore it a bit more like we did Wonderland and Neverland.

Back off! Leave young Zel alone! Is magic not a common thing in Oz?

Aww this friendship is adorable. I kinda wish his name was Boq though to tie in with Wicked’s tin man, but they already included Boq.

It always makes me so sad seeing young Zelena. She was so sweet and her father is just the worst! She deserved so much better. She must have gotten her kindness from the little time she spent with her adoptive mothers, cause goodness knows her other three parents are evil. If she was raised by Cora to be Queen, I’m not sure she’d have had the heart to rule through fear like Cora no doubt would have wanted.

Get off baby Robin, you bitch! 

No you can’t hold her a little longer.

The Black Fairy: “I never grow tired of that new baby smell.” She is so freaking creepy.

She’s manipulating you, Zelly!

To be fair Zelena was almost that level of creepy when it came to Snowing’s baby back in s3. 

Lol. Poor Snow.

Okay. It is pretty adorable that Snow has been planning Emma’s wedding since after the first curse haha.

Help! Snow’s being super adorabubble!!

The fact that Zelena is probably Belle’s closest friend at this point lol. Poor Belle. I wish the others cared about her more but I do enjoy her dynamic with Zelena.

Zelena, don’t do it, girl!

Another entrance to the mines?

Other than Stanum (probably breifly) and briefly Glinda (the two-faced biatch) I don’t think Zelena has ever had any friends. She just had her horrible father growing up and that was it, no wonder she craved love so much. She’s always been alone and has known only hatred for something she can’t control (her magic).

Oh, so the Witch of the North is wicked too? Interesting. I wonder if she fell out with Glinda or Glinda turned on her too. I wanna know more about the Wicked Witch of the North! And heck, I wanna know what happened to the Witch of the East too!

Regina’s come to save sis!

God, these two fighting like children again lol.

Even though they’re fighting, Regina’s instinct is still to protect big sis from falling rock.

Getting married at Granny’s lol. But don’t they end up getting married on top of Granny’s or something?

David still not over Whale. Dude, you almost got Kathryn pregnant! You know what, it’s really messed up that they slept with others while cursed, even though they wouldn’t have if they weren’t under its influence. 

I think that deep down, Zelena just wanted a mother again. We still don’t know when her adoptive mother died but I think Zelena was really young. She was the only person to show her love and since Zelena going back in time may not prevent her death, she is desperate to find that love again from her other mother. She will do anything to have that again and that’s why she’s often so desperate to prove herself, she thinks power is the only way to win Cora’s affections. It’s the only thing that will make her mother, the only person she believes can love her, show her the love she so desperately craves.

It’s the king of the forest! 

Why is a Lion in a forest? Or tigers? I’m not even gonna ask.

Is Gideon more powerful than Regina? He knocked her down pretty easily. 

The Black fairy playing hide and seek with the Wicked Witch of the West.

Go Zel Zel!

This scene is so cool!

The Black Fairy can deflect magic? Weird that Blue hasn’t been shown to do that. I guess they have different power sets.

There Regina goes again. She is getting flipped around so easily today lol.

Yes! Thank you! Zelena is stronger than Regina confirmed. I was afraid they were going back on what they’d established in s3. She’s supposed to be more powerful than Cora, according to Rumple, who I think is easily more powerful than Regina. I’m gonna do a magic ranking one day. 

Magic is really affected by emotions. So because Zelena’s emotions are unstable, that makes her magic unstable? Interesting. I love it being connected to their emotions. 

What’s she using Zelena’s magic to do?

That lion is huge!

Oh, she made it into a scaredy cat. I wonder if it can talk.

Don’t say that Regina. Zelena needs you. You need each other deep down. Just wait till s7, you’ll be besties then!

Even though Regina’s hypocrisy this season gets to me a lot, I’m glad that Regina and Zelena’s sisterhood was tested and they didn’t instantly become besties. It makes their friendship all the more real and worth the ride in s7.

Snow: “And if she wanted to get married in a bathroom it would be perfect and exactly what it’s supposed to be.” Oh my God lmao! That would have been the best! 

Umm, how did the crystal summon a tornado portal?

I misremembered. I thought Stanum knew it would drain her magic but he seems like he’s telling the truth that he didn’t.

He’ll be alright. Dorothy will help him.

But what will she do with the crystals? 

Zelena: “You’re all I’ve got, Regina.”

I actually want to cry. This was so brave of Zelena. You can tell how much the idea of destroying her magic breaks her. It is a part of her. She’s had it since the day she was born. Can you imagine ripping away something that is that ingrained in who you are and have always been? It makes me so upset but it was important for her development. 

I wanna hug Zelena! 

It looks painful. I imagine it would be ripping away a part of yourself like that. 

Aww Regina is so proud of her sis and hugs her. I can’t!!

God I was so distraught when they took Zelena’s magic. You don’t understand. I think I still would be extremely distraught if she hadn’t gotten magic back in s7. The important thing was, much like Harry Potter meant to die when Voldemort struck him in the Deathly Hallows, Zelena meant for her magic to be gone forever and that is a bigger sacrifice for her than anyone will ever understand, akin to sacrificing her life. I wasn’t sure she ever would get it back but I wish Robin hadn’t given up her magic. It was very nice of her to do that for her mother, who’s magic was such an important part of her life but can you imagine mother and daughter and Alice and Robin kicking ass with their magic. In my head, Robin gets magic back a short time after the s7 finale. 

Why oh why didn’t we get more of a Black Fairy and Blue Fairy interaction in Storybrooke? At least we get some in the flashbacks next week.

She really hates her.

I can’t remember why Rumple can’t know why his mother gave him up. Guess I’ll find out soon!

This was such a great and important episode for my girl, Zelena. So proud of her. What an emotional rollercoaster! 

#ouat #once upon a time #zelena #regina mills #zelena mills #wicked queen #ouat 6x18 #6x18 where bluebirds fly #ouat rewatch #ouat rewatch 2019

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mrs-nate-humphrey · 4 years ago

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So not to be dramatic, but if you could get a degree in discourse-ology, the topic of my master’s thesis would definitely be “Which political candidates did the characters of the CW’s Gossip Girl (2007-2012) support?” I’m doing this in order from most to least obvious, and considering both the 2016 and 2020 presidential elections.

[ little ivy interjection here: i haven’t changed ANYTHING, except adding a screencap of the title + the submission, because that made me laugh & more people deserve to see it, and putting this under a read more because that’s how i generally try & organise stuff on this blog. so this submission is exactly as it was when i received it! also while we’re at it, anon, this MADE my day.]

Blair Waldorf: “Hillary Clinton is one of my role models. I do not break treaties, you ass!” (04x13) There’s no question that Blair would go hard for Hillary in 2016, she praised her on multiple occasions throughout the series. Blair’s a classic American neoliberal, third wave Democrat-type: she’s decently progressive when it comes to social policies, and would be decidedly supportive of causes like gay marriage, racial equity, and women’s reproductive rights, but she’s still very much in favor of maintaining the status quo when it comes to capitalism and the hegemonic structure of power that, lets face it, heavily favors her own class interests. To use the American healthcare system as an example: Blair would have been all for the Affordable Care Act, and is largely supportive of the idea of creating a public option - but single payer, nationalized health care? It just wouldn't work in a country like the United States for “X” reason (although the real reason, deep down, is that she doesn’t want to see her tax rate go up in any meaningful way). So she’s thoroughly for Clinton in both the 2016 primaries and the general election, she maybe even comes out with a line of high-end “I’m With Her” merchandise if she’s still CEO of Waldorf Designs, and is personally heartbroken when Clinton loses.

Flash forward to the 2020 primaries. Blairhates Donald Trump, like emotionally, viscerally hates him - his misogyny, his incompetence, and his blatant tackiness are a direct repudiation of her beliefs, and the fact that he’s representing Manhattan society and the Upper East Side to the world in such a godawful way is frankly embarrassing. So in a certain sense, her strategy, like frankly many Americans at the time going into the 2020 Democratic primaries is, “Which one of these candidates has the greatest chance at beating Donald Trump?” I see Blair being rather conflicted at first, but ultimately going for either Amy Klobuchar or Kamala Harris. She has a certain admiration for Elizabeth Warren given her professional background, but her policies are a bit too progressive for someone like Blair. Buttigeg is fine, but not especially thrilling. Biden, quite frankly, doesn’t seem like he has any real chance at winning, although I think he’d be Blair’s third choice after Harris and Klobuchar. I can see her leaning more towards Harris ultimately - although, after the “Amy Klobuchar throws staplers at her interns!!” rumors start spreading, Blair cannot help but, at a personal level, kind of respect her for that. When Biden unexpectedly takes South Carolina and then the Democratic nomination, Blair is a bit disappointed, but not overly so, and quickly marshals her financial resources into supporting and fundraising for him for the remainder of the election. At least it’s not Sanders - or Bloomberg. As a New Yorker, of course Blair’s opinion is “Fuck Michael Bloomberg”.

Chuck Bass: Now here’s where it gets interesting. Chuck, as you said, isn’t stupid - there’s no way he falls for the “build the wall” crap or any of Trump’s rhetoric, he knows it’s a bullshit farce and sees right through it. But you know what he definitely is? Deeply greedy and deeply selfish. I’m hardly the first person to point this out, but Chuck Bass is, in many ways, the fictional equivalent of the Donald Trumps and Michael Bloombergs and Brett Kavanaughs of the world - new money billionaire who inherited his wealth from his father working in the real estate industry, who despite his lack of business acumen and deeply problematic history with women, has managed to coast through life failing upwards with absolutely no social or legal accountability? I mean, back in 2010, Forbes Magazine actually did a real interview with the fictional Chuck Bass in which they outright compare him to Donald Trump. I couldn’t tell you if the Gossip Girl writers meant to write Chuck as their Trump analogue - I mean, they did invite Jared and Ivanka onto the show, after all - but the parallels are just too strong to ignore. All of which is to say, not only did Chuck Bass vote for Donald Trump, he held exclusive political fundraisers for him and was probably a substantial donor to his campaign. Now, did Chuck distance himself publicly over time as the political climate became increasingly caustic and public sentiment towards Trump plummeted even further? Perhaps, perhaps not. It really depends on if the board of Bass Industries felt like being connected to Trump was a liability or an asset - but privately, I imagine Chuck once again voted for him in 2020, because the one policy Donald Trump did effectively execute during his tenure in office was massive tax cuts for billionaires, and for someone like Chuck Bass, that’s the only political policy that really matters. He wouldn’t wear a red hat and wouldn’t be caught dead within sniffing distance of a MAGA rally and the hoi polloi, but dude is basically the image of what the kind of rich conservatives backing the Trump administration for personal gain look like. On the off chance that the distastefulness of it all got to be a little much for even Chuck post-2016, perhaps he might switch his vote to Bloomberg. But I highly doubt Chuck would be politically invested in anything other than his own wallet to such an extent that he wouldn’t vote for Trump, no matter how much it would no doubt completely infuriate Blair.

Dan Humphrey: As the unofficial king of the hipsters, Dan has been a Sanders supporter since before it was cool. Seriously, Bernie Sanders appeals to Dan intrinsically on every level - his policies, his rhetoric, even his aesthetic - the rumpled old man with wild hair wearing mittens and railing against the upper class is the sort of thing that’s basically political catnip for someone like Dan Humphrey. Not only would Dan vote for Sanders in both the 2016 and 2020 primaries, he’d go out and be one of the celebrities campaigning for him. This would definitely lead to him butting heads with Blair, and she would no doubt call him out on supporting someone like Sanders when Dan himself is now a millionaire, who made his money from writing stories about the upper class. The fact that in 2017 he apparently gets married to Serena, a billionaire heiress, and may or may not have been engaged to her back in 2016 when the Democratic primaries were happening might cause him a bit of cognitive dissonance, but really, just because he’s climbed up the socio-economic ladder now doesn’t mean his values have really changed, have they? (Debatable.) In any case, in both the 2016 and 2020 general elections, Dan would definitely vote for Clinton and Biden respectively - although he’d be significantly more disgruntled about it than Blair would be switching from Harris to Biden. I don’t think Dan would be a “Bernie bro” in the way that term is used, but he’d definitely chafe against Clinton’s past policy decisions, and would probably make some snippy Tweets about her during the election. Nevertheless, once it became clear that Trump was going to be the Republican nominee and was a serious threat, I think Dan would change his tone and start encouraging his fans and followers to vote for Clinton. Likewise, in 2020, Dan would probably become one of the Sanders supporters doing outreach for Biden, having become more politically pragmatic following the experience of living under the Trump administration.

Vanessa Abrams: Much like Dan, Vanessa is a progressive, although unlike Dan, Vanessa’s activism is more focused around specific issues and less around specific politicians. I can see Dan and Vanessa being in roughly the same place in 2016, and given that the only real choices were between Sanders and Clinton in the primaries (RIP to Martin O'Malley), Vanessa would no doubt go for Sanders. Whereas Dan might campaign for Sanders directly however, Vanessa would instead focus her time and resources around advocacy for specific causes that are important to her, like climate change and racial justice, and would probably use her platform as a filmmaker and documentarian to advance those causes. I could very much see her getting involved with movements like Black Lives Matter and organizations like the Sunrise Movement, and taking part in protests, marches, and sit-ins. When the 2020 Democratic primaries come around, I could see her possibly switching from Sanders to Warren for a while (and Dan would definitely argue with her about it if she did), but I can also see her switching back to Sanders after Warren amended her support for single-payer, “Medicare for All”. She’d definitely vote for Clinton and Biden in the generals, but not enthusiastically.

Nate Archibald: For someone whose family business is politics and who, in 2017, is apparently a candidate in the New York City mayoral election, Nate seems to be rather removed from politics. As Vanessa puts it in 02x19, “The only thing Nate’s ever voted for is American Idol.” Still, as Editor-in-Chief of The Spectator, Nate kind of has to have an opinion, and in that respect, I see him gravitating towards the type of center-left “establishment” candidates that he and his family would no doubt have close ties with. In the Gossip Girl universe, the Vanderbilts are portrayed as being a lot like the Kennedys, and I think Nate’s policies as a mayoral candidate would really reflect that. In 2016, he would vote for Hillary Clinton in both the primaries and the generals without much of a second thought - after all, she’s the obvious choice, and there’s no way a candidate like Donald Trump could actually beat her, right? Actually, optimistically, maybe that’s why Nate decides to jump into the mayoral race in 2017 - previously, he had been for all intents and purposes politically apathetic, but seeing someone as genuinely vile as Donald Trump ascend to the office of the presidency stirs him out of that apathy, and he wants to make a positive difference in the only way an incredibly privileged white man from a politically prominent family knows how. So he runs as a Kennedy-esque center left candidate, further left of someone like Hillary Clinton, but more moderate than someone like Elizabeth Warren - sort of like Kamala Harris, now that I think about it. I have no idea if he would actually be able to beat Bill de Blasio given the major incumbency advantage de Blasio would have, but who knows. Come the 2020 Democratic primaries, I think Nate would probably just vote for whoever he believed was most likely to beat Donald Trump. I don’t see him having any sort of clear preference - maybe he would gravitate towards Biden on the basis of him being the most established candidate, or maybe he would gravitate towards Harris on the basis of her campaigning as the “moderate progressive” candidate. I could also seeing him liking Andrew Yang, come to think of it. In any case, he would most definitely support Joe Biden in the generals. How involved he’d be in supporting him really depends on whether or not Nate actually gets elected to mayor - if he was the mayor, he’d definitely endorse him and probably donate to him, but I think he’d be too wrapped up in his own political responsibilities to really do much more than that. If, however, he lost the election and was still the Editor-in-Chief of The Spectator, I can see Nate getting more involved alongside the rest of his family, officially endorsing him in The Spectator, hosting political fundraisers for him, and maybe even campaigning for him. The Vanderbilts in the Gossip Girl universe (I have no idea what the family’s actual political beliefs are in real life) definitely seem to me like they’d be Biden supporters, and I imagine they’d use their political clout to try and get Biden in, and more importantly, Trump out.

Serena van der Woodsen: Oh Serena. Look, she knows it’s important, okay? It’s just, she’s been really busy lately, and she doesn’t really like to think about politics, and hey, remember that fundraiser she did with her mom for last month’s philanthropic cause du jour? Serena’s a Democrat, vaguely, but if you tried to really pin her down on her political beliefs she’d probably just change the topic. So who does she vote for in 2016? The truth is, she doesn’t. Not in the primaries, not in the general, not at all. She meant to, okay, Blair’s definitely been pestering her to send in her mail-in-ballot for weeks, but she just got distracted and forgot. Serena really strikes me as the kind of person who doesn’t enjoy thinking or talking about politics, save for perhaps a few specific issues, and she has a sense that everything will work itself out eventually and she doesn’t really need to participate. And then the 2016 election happens, and holy shit, she didn’t vote. Blair and Dan might have spent early 2016 bickering with each other over Clinton versus Sanders, but the one thing they can definitely agree on is “What the fuck, Serena?!?!” They both reminded her like, a million times, how could she possibly forget?! Serena feels really bad about it - she didn’t think it was such a big deal, she didn’t think Donald Trump could actually win! - and so she starts overcompensating whenever the topic of politics comes up, maybe even joins Vanessa at a few protests and marches, even though she’s still sort of clueless about the actual issues at hand. She does vote in the 2018 midterms, although only in the general election - straight blue ticket, all the way down. She takes a picture of herself at the voting booth wearing an “I Voted!” sticker and posts it on Instagram, tagging both Dan and Blair in the post (who already voted weeks ago using mail-in ballots, but it’s the thought that counts). Flash forward to 2020, and she really needs to make a decision about who to vote for in the primaries… but there’s just so many choices. Everything seems so scary and stressful and real in a way now that it didn’t back in 2016, and she can’t just ignore it and assume things will work out for the best like she did back then. So who does she vote for? Well, Serena always wins, so she votes for Biden. Conspiratorially, both Dan and Blair privately wonder if her voting for Biden isn’t on some cosmic level the reason for his unexpected victory, even if they know there’s no logical way that’s possible, right? But it would be such a Serena thing to do… In any case, Serena’s just happy her candidate won, and would probably host political fundraisers for him with her mom’s circle of philanthropic friends. Assuming she and Dan are still married at this point, she offers to help him do political outreach to Sanders supporters to get them to vote for Biden, which he sweetly dissuades her from given that most Sanders supporters would probably dislike her on principle.

So that’s how, in my opinion, the main cast would vote, ordered roughly in how confident I am about that analysis. You could make the argument that perhaps some characters would vote or act differently based on whether or not they’re dating or married at the time - like, would Chuck openly fundraise for Trump when Blair is a dyed-in-the-wool Clinton supporter if they’re married? (He totally would.) But I tried to consider them purely on the merits of their personalities and values, and not on the particularities of their situations at the time (with the exception of Nate, just because him being in office or not would obviously make a huge difference in regards to how politically involved he’s going to be).

I wish I put as much effort into my actual university essays as I did on Gossip Girl political analysis.

#meta #gossip girl #anon you're literally a legend #i cannot believe you submitted this to my little blog when you could've like......#sent it in to vox or something #it's just SO good?#also honestly 'i wish i put as much effort into uni as i did into gg meta' is like #THE BRAND on my blog so #*raises a glass* cheers!#i don't even have words i just think you're objectively correct about ALL of this #gg politics #submission #i am LITERALLY flattered to receive this gem thank you so much?#no no flattered is the wrong word: honoured is better #but i really appreciate it is all

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lesbian-dp · 5 years ago

Text

Royally Fucked

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Words: 2,271

Warnings: Misogyny, frustration, bath sex, strap on sex... p sure that's it.

Request: Yah.

Summary: The Queen will always be your world.

A/N: Just an FYI this is obviously set in the medieval times, so the reader is pretending to be a man, bc they’re a Knight. Just wanted to let you guys know that.

18+ ONLY.

“-A woman cannot rule on her own-!”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, near enough seeing your own brain, before you tuned out the dull drawl of the aged man.

His Royal Highness. Howard Stark. A pompous old git, who rules his kingdom with an iron fist. The man, who was currently ranting in front of each kingdom’s officials. All because, he was trying to wed his son, for his own selfish greed. And you. The Queens General and secret lover had to be there to witness it.

“I’m sorry you think that, you Highness.”

Ah! There she was.

A small smile tugged at your lips, hearing her husky voice.

Glancing out of the corner of your eyes, down to where Natalia sat regally beside where you stood.

God.

She was gorgeous.

How you ever got so lucky, is beyond you.

Her red layered dress, lined with the finest gold thread, the world had to offer, pushed her soft perky breasts up. Giving you a fantastic view of them, from where you stood above her. Your agile eyes were soon drawn to her plump, moving lips. Watching Natalia’s plump, moving lips. Watching them intently, remembering the look of them clasped around the crystal toy strapped around your hips. And the way they felt gliding across your wet core. How soft they were against your own lips. Moaning into your mouth, in a telltale way of what was about to come undone.

Spoiler alert! It was you guys!

Realising you had probably been staring at her beautiful self for minutes too long. You repositioned yourself, placing a hand upon the hilt of your sword, and staring blankly at the wall of the meeting room, in front of you. The door within your eyesight, able to see any and all newcomers, should they arrive.

“However, I would like to remind you of which of us are in their bankruptcy.”

“How dare you-?!” His face grew red with rage, light grey moustache and hair clashing, terribly, with the raspberry hue it had taken on.

“Watch your tone while you are speaking to the Queen,” you ordered.

“And I’d watch your tongue!” the King argued back.

Natalia placed her hand gently upon your leather-bound arm, just as you opened your mouth to shout a reply. Glancing down at the red-headed Queen, she shook her head, and you knew to hold your tongue.

“I’d rethink about who you appointed to be your head Knight. They’re obviously lacking in some basic training.”

“With all due respect, your Highness,” Natasha began, an entirely fake smile drawn upon her face, “My General is of the highest order. They live by the highest standards. And I respect them and their opinion. I can’t help it if you expect everyone but yourself to watch how they speak.”

“Now, General?”

You turned to face Natalia. “Yes, your Majesty?”

“Would you be so kind, as to personally escort King Howard from the castle. I think we have all heard enough for one morning.”

“It would be my pleasure.” You gave her a half bow, before moving towards the infuriated man.

***

Huffing, you slammed the door to the quarters the Queen had “gifted” you with. Reasoning that it would be better for her safety, if you were close by, in the castle. The royal quarters being only a few doors down from your own.

You kicked off your dirt-covered boots, as you threw your ornated sword across the room, and into the wall, in frustration.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice.”

The voice to your side made you snap your attention to it. You knew that voice. You loved that voice.

There she sat.

The Queen.

Her legs were crossed, hands folded upon them. Watching you from her place on your bed.

“That sword was very expensive. And a gift from myself, if I might add,” Natalia said, the corner of her lip up turning slightly, as she cocked an eyebrow.

You sighed. Taking a step towards the red-headed Queen, you said, “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

She waved you off.

“I don’t care about the sword,” she said, “I care about what has gotten you in such a foul mood,” Natalia finished with a pout.

You knew how bad she wanted to make you feel better. How much she hated seeing you any other way, but happy.

“They’re incompetent fools.”

Natalia smiled at this.

“The Trainies?”

“Oh, no!” You shook your head. The memories of your day, attacking your mind. “Not just the trainees- If anything, they’re better than most of the men we have now.”

The Queen stayed silent as you spoke. Listening to you intently, her face the only give to any reactions. Namely being a tick of an eyebrow, sometimes even both, and a roll of her eyes.

You drew closer to the beauty that is the woman you have devoted your life to serve. And now to love. However secret that may be.

“I swear. If we ever have the unfortunate luck as to be thrust headfirst into a war... I am afraid we might not survive.”

It was quiet for a moment, as the Queen debated her words. Right now, she was not Natalia, your Natalia. The woman who told you she loved you at the dead of night. The one who called out your name during the throngs of passion. The one who was soft to touch. Who’s skin was perfectly smooth against yours.

No.

This was the Queen.

All business, and took no shit.

The woman who did what she had too for the good of her kingdom, to keep her people safe.

“What do you need?” she asked, finally.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, now only a step away from her, “Time?” you asked simply. Before breaking out of your stress-induced trance. And closing the distance between you and Natalia. Placing a gentle, but firm hand upon her shoulder, you said, “But let’s not think about that now...” You leaned down, to be eye level with her. “I want to spend some time with, my Natalia.”

The Queen smirked at what you called her, it quickly turning into a soft smile.

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Good.”

And with that, you lifted the shorter woman up into your arms, beginning to make your way out of the room.

“Now, I think, after the long day we’ve both had, we deserve a bath.”

***

The water was a milky white, red rose petals floating upon the calming water. The same water that swayed with every movement.

Gasps and moans filled the air, as the wet red-head bounced upon the blue crystal that was almost always strapped against your hips.

You said because it helped in making people believe you were one of the opposite gender. But mainly it was because of how much you love the availability to take the beautiful Queen, whenever, and wherever you two so wanted.

One of your bedchambers.

The throne room.

The dining room.

A random palace hallway.

Hell.

Even in the royal courtyard, if you so wished.

You watched Natalia’s silky wet body move on your lap. The water gliding against her body, her hair wet, and nipples pert. With your hands on her hips, helping her chase bliss. Then continuing to slide along her glistening body, pulling her closer to you.

Natalia panted as you left open-mouthed kisses all along her neck, them travelling up to her cheek, and finally her full lips.

With your arms wrapped tightly around her, one around her smooth shoulders, and your other around her waist. Pressing her against your body, as you kissed her earnestly, pouring everything you felt for the queen into that one kiss. Natalia’s arms wrapped around your neck, as she fucked herself onto you, kissing you the very same way.

“The bath’s starting to get cold,” you mumbled against her mouth.

“Then we should hurry, so that we can go to bed.”

“To sleep? Or...?” You rose your eyebrows. Once. Twice. To convey what you meant.

“Or.”

You smiled brightly at her.

Your lips were around her nipple in the very next second, sucking with enough power to make the Queen cry out. Causing her to buck her hips into your lap, faster than ever. Riding you like one would upon a station, on a long journey. Chasing her realise.

She jumped back in surprise when your hand connected with her small bud, rubbing away at it, but she soon continued to drive the object deep within her “sinful” hole.

It was not long after when she cried out in pleasure. Throwing her head back and crying out to the Gods.

Once Natalia had recovered, merely breathing heavy, with her head tucked into the side of your neck, you spoke.

“Let’s get to bed. Huh?”

***

Sat upon your calves the royal silky sheets rumpled beside you. Natalia’s legs thrown over your hips, and your hands gripping hers. Rutting into her. Drawing out her beautiful sounds.

How the powerful Queen could be reduced to this, you did not know.

You were only thankful that she chose you to reveal this secret side of herself too. Knowing how closed off she was to the world. If she even showed a thread of emotion, like she wanted too, on many occasions, other than her cold and calculated, yet caring self. The surrounding kingdoms would be out for blood.

More than they already were, that is.

“My lord, Natalia,” you husked, “You are beautiful.”

And she was.

She was beautiful, no matter what.

But right now, she was especially stunning.

With her hands gripping yours on her hips, her flushed chest rocking with each of your thrusts. The sweat, and remaining bathwater, making her body shine like the sun. Her mouth parted and gasping, and her eyes heavy-lidded.

You could go on and on about all the things you loved about the woman below you. For an eternity if you could. However, you were in the middle of something, as Natalia reminded you.

“I’m all yours, Y/N,” she spoke softly, “No one could ever compare to you.”

“Nor you, my love.”

Your hands on her hips tightened slightly. Helping her to lay in her stomach, Natalia moving to grip tightly on the silky pillow, pressing her face against it.

Her legs straddled tightly against yours, ass in plain view. The crystal resting on Natalia’s slick, wanting heat.

Groaning softly, you spoke, “There are no words in this world or the next, that could convey how much I truly do love you.”

The Queen hummed softly at your admission, her shoulders moving, and then relaxing with a sigh.

Your hands gently brushed down her silky back, until they reached her ass, caressing the plump asset.

“You were crafted by the God’s,” you said, adoration clear in your voice.

“Then why don’t you make me see them?” she replied, smirk upon her face, as she wiggled her ass to tempt you. The toy rubbing against her core.

And she did tempt you.

Of course, she did.

Pressing down on the crystal, you watched as it steadily disappeared into your loves throbbing head. Natalia moaned, as inch by inch, it vanished within her. Brushing against every crevice, drawing her high-pitched whines when it hit the special parts within her, bringing the Queen utmost pleasure.

With your hands now on her ribs, you slowly started to thrust into her. Working in drawing moans from her.

“Oh, God!” Natalia cried.

“Can you see them yet?” you asked playfully.

“Not quite,” she replied, matching your pants, as she backed herself u onto the toy you fucked her with.

“Guess I’ll just have to go harder.”

The bed was creaking below you, as you worked harder to pound into the woman you loved. Natalia's grip on the white pillow, patterned with red, tightened as cries poured from some unknown place, deep within her.

“Fuck! I love you, baby!”

“I love you, too, Natalia.”

She was close. She was oh so close. You could feel it every time you moved. Every time you pulled the crystal from her depths, only to push it back in, with vigour. It getting harder and harder to do.

“You’re close,” You stated.

Natalia nodded vigorously in agreement. Going to bite against the pillow.

“Don’t do that,” you told her, “I want to hear you, when you arrive.”

At your request, Natalia unclenched her teeth and allowed the pleasure-filled noises to pour from her mouth.

One of her hands snapped to one of yours that lay on her ribs, it surely leaving light bruises in their wake. Gripping at your hand, as she got closer to her much-anticipated release.

You couldn’t pull your gaze from her pleasure-filled face. Her hair sticking to her forehead, and around her ears. You knew that this would be her last orgasm, for a little while.

Pressing kisses against Natalia’s neck, jaw, and cheek. She came with a powerful cry. The hand not holding yours, came to grip the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair, as her insides tightened around the toy.

You let her ride out her realise before you pulled from her.

With a tried sigh, you flopped down on the luxurious bed, besides the blissed-out royal.

“How you doing there?” Natalia nodded at you. As to say she was okay.

She came to cuddle into your chest.

Your hand was combing through her slightly damp, sex mused hair when the Queen spoke.

“I think it’s about time we came clean to everyone, about our relationship.”

“What?” you asked, shocked.

“Marry me.”

#original work #original fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU

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kelyon · 3 years ago

Text

Golden Rings 25: A Challenge

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Lacey faces her greatest struggle yet.

Read on AO3

She wakes up screaming. Her body is rigid, helpless, wracked with pain. Her tongue burns with the sour juice of an apple. Cruel hands are on her, pinching, clawing, grabbing--!

Her husband is already holding her, even before she understands that the nightmare is over. He rocks her back and forth like a child. He strokes her hair and murmurs soft words. He wipes away her tears.

She cries until her chest hurts. Until she is wrung out from it. Until she has no more tears and her noises are more moans than sobs. He holds her through it all. He never lets her go.

Gasping for breath, she tries to speak. It isn’t needed, he knows what memories plague her thoughts. She doesn’t need to explain herself to him.

But she wants to say the words out loud. Fears are most powerful when they are hidden, like monsters lurking in deep water. If she brings them up to the surface, if she exposes them to the light, they will be weakened.

“It was--them.” Her chest heaves. She rests on him. He is there. No matter what, he is always there.

“They’re not here,” he whispers, as he does every time this happens. “You’re home, you’re safe here, sweetheart.” He takes her hand, presses her wedding ring to his lips. “You are mine now. They will never hurt you again.”

Shuddering, she curls into a ball in his arms. “I know,” she whispers. “I know, Rumple. In my mind I have no doubts. In my heart, I trust you--I do! But these nightmares, these memories… They keep happening.”

“Less and less often.” He kisses the top of her head, clutches her tightly. “That is the way of pain--pain in the body and pain in the mind. It never disappears, but it can lessen. In time.”

She laces her fingers through his. Slowly, her breathing returns to normal. He’s right. For a while, this happened every night. She’d be so afraid of her nightmares that she wouldn’t sleep at all. Now the memories are a disturbance, not a certainty. Someday her terrors will be less than memories.

“And you’ll be here for me, when I am in pain?”

“Always.” He kisses her head. When she tilts her face up, he kisses her lips. Softly, gently. “I will always protect you, sweetheart. I will always comfort you.”

Exhaustion overtakes her. Still in her husband’s arms, she sinks into the pillows of their marriage bed.

“I love you, Rumple,” she murmurs.

He places a kiss on her temple. “And I love you, Belle. I will never let Regina hurt you again.”

****

It was dark when Lacey opened her eyes. Her chest was tight. Her jaw had clenched as she slept. She didn’t move as she lay on her back in bed and let the dream wash over her.

It hurt. It always hurt to dream of being loved, of having a husband who loved her. She kept telling herself that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t want Mr. Gold to love her. But the husband in her dreams wasn’t Mr. Gold. He was someone she called Rumple.

And Rumple called her Belle. Lacey was so desperate to be loved that her mind let her imaginary husband call her by the nickname her real husband had given to his boyfriend.

Fuck, she was a nutcase.

She had to get over him. These stupid dreams and delusions would never stop as long as she kept yearning for her husband. She needed to give herself to Mayor Mills. She would make everything better. When Mayor Mills finally owned her, then Lacey could stop deluding herself that she deserved love. She was a worthless, trashy, Old Town slut. No one worthwhile could ever love her, and Mayor Mills would never pretend to. Mayor Mills would punish her for existing, just like she deserved.

It would all happen. Life would go back to normal. All her dreams would come true. Just as soon as she could prove to Mayor Mills that her marriage was dead.

Gradually, the room lightened around her. She heard the noises of Mr. Gold getting out of bed. Water in the pipes as he washed his hands and brushed his teeth.

She didn’t move until she heard the shower turn on. That was when she slunk across the hallway to what used to be their room. As she crept over the creaky floorboards, she rehearsed excuses for why she was there. She had forgotten something, some piece of jewelry or clothing she had left in the armoire.

That was technically true. She was looking for jewelry.

For as long as she could remember, Mr. Gold had never taken off his wedding ring. Sometimes he would remove the large moonstone ring, but never the plain gold band that hid behind it. Not when he did messy house work, not when he showered, not when he slept.

Lacey was probably an idiot for thinking that might have changed, but how would she know if she didn’t try? She’d been watching him lately, trying to see if she could get his ring away from him. Every night for a week, she’d dried dishes that he washed, standing next to him at the sink making stilted small talk. Being that close to him made her want to tear her skin off with a cheese slicer, which was not quite the type of pain she was looking for.

It hurt to be near him, it hurt to be away.

Quickly scanning the bedroom, Lacey looked at the dresser and the bedside table where he might have emptied his pockets the night before. His keys and his change were in the amber-brown cut glass dish where he always left them. No ring.

There was a teacup on the nightstand, by what used to be her side of the bed. Lacey pressed her lips together. That fucking chipped cup had ruined her life. It was a symbol of how much he loved “Belle.” Balling her hands into fists, she crept closer to the bed and looked inside the teacup.

Empty.

That left only one more option, the riskiest one yet. Silently, Lacey went to the closed door of the bathroom and crouched in front of it so she could see through the keyhole.

At first, she couldn’t see much through the steam. She knew she would be able to see the sink or the counter or any other place where Mr. Gold might have set his ring down. But as she squinted through the haze, she could see his body through the glass of the shower door. He was standing up, under the spray. His right hand was braced against the wall, keeping his weight off his bad ankle.

His left hand, the hand where she could see a faint glint of gold, was pumping his cock.

Lacey bit back a scream. Bastard! He was jerking off? He was thinking about his handsome Belle while still wearing his Goddamned wedding ring?

She backed away from the door while the world fell apart around her. She stared at the chipped cup, as though she could shoot lasers out of her eyes to blow it up. God, she wanted to smash that fucking thing into shards. She wanted to smash her skull in. The voice inside her was screaming and for once she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted to join it. She wanted to scream and wail until there was nothing left of her but pain. And then she wanted her husband--her Rumple--to comfort her, and hold her, and help her put the pieces of herself back together.

She made it back to her room before she began to cry. She buried her head in a pillow to muffle the sound. Part of her wanted to let Mr. Gold hear, to know how much she hated him, how much she hated herself for loving him. He needed to know how much pain she was in. She had to tell him. She had to make him care about her!

But he didn’t. That made Lacey cry all the harder. He didn’t care about her. She could tell him everything and it wouldn’t change that fact.

Her dream was even more bitter now. Rumple had promised that he would protect her from an outside threat, from some horrible person named Regina. He didn’t even think that he needed to protect her from himself--or from herself. Rumple would care if she was in pain. He would comfort her, and love her.

But Rumple wasn’t real.

Rumple wasn’t real, and Mr. Gold didn’t care. Her only hope was Mayor Mills.

****

One of the best parts of trying to prove herself to Mayor Mills was that Lacey had a reason to care about her appearance again. The ritual of clothes and makeup and jewelry helped her keep her mind off herself. It wasn’t like she mattered. That was why she needed to be decorated. She was just a fucktoy, a thing to be looked at and consumed.

And she really, really, wanted to make Mayor Mills want to consume her today. Lacey’s hands shook as she attached her thigh-high stockings to her garter belt. These were real silk stockings, with a black line going up the back. Classy as fuck, like Mayor Mills herself. A tight black dress matched the stockings and the black heels.

Heavy on the eye makeup today. Black mascara and eyeliner, shimmery dark gray on the lids. Sultry, seductive. Maybe just trashy enough that Mayor Mills would notice it, and insult her for it.

“Stupid whore,” Lacey whispered to her reflection as she lined her lips apple-red. She stared at her mouth and tried to imagine it was Mayor Mills speaking to her. “You desperate, needy little slut.”

She breathed. That felt better.

Her own wedding ring was right where she had left it last night, in the bottom of her sock drawer. The night after Mayor Mills had made her offer, Mrs. Gold had taken off her wedding ring for the first time in as long as she could remember. It had taken her hours to get to sleep that night. She’d kept rubbing the naked patch on her finger. It had felt so weird, so wrong.

Now it was easier. Today, she was ready to go a step farther. Lacey took the ring out of her sock drawer, but instead of sliding it onto her finger again, she dropped it into her royal blue clutch. Today would be the first time since she had gotten her wedding ring that she would go out in public without it on. At least she’d have that to show Mayor Mills.

By the time she came down the stairs, Mr. Gold had already finished breakfast. He was folding the newspaper and getting ready to go.

“Good morning,” he nodded to her politely. Then he stopped and looked again at her outfit. Yep, there was nothing wrong with his eyes or his cock. He just didn’t want her. “Are you going into town today?”

Lacey nodded and kept both hands behind her back. “I’ll grab breakfast at Granny’s.”

She would do no such thing, but this version of Mr. Gold liked to know she ate.

As he drove them to the shop, Lacey wondered--again--if Mayor Mills knew what Mr. Gold’s ring looked like. One plain gold band was pretty much the same as any other, right? The other day, when he had left her alone in the shop, she had gone through the inventory of men’s rings and picked out a few likely candidates. If she had ever seen Mr. Gold taking off his ring, she would have tried to swap it out with a fake. As it was now, she might still try to pass off shop inventory as her husband’s private property.

But he would be able to tell the difference if she tried to switch the rings. And even if Mayor Mills didn’t have Mr. Gold’s eye for antiques, she would know when she was being lied to. She was a smart, savvy woman in power. A useless idiot like Lacey couldn’t hope to fool her.

Lacey, please stop insulting yourself. This is how you let yourself get hurt!

The voice was getting pushy. Lacey waved it away from her mind like a wasp at a picnic. Besides, what the voice didn’t understand--what no one had ever understood, except for Mr. Gold and now Mayor Mills--was how much she wanted to get hurt.

****

Lacey managed to keep away from City Hall until around noon. She spent the morning walking in a spiral around town, circles getting smaller and smaller as she zeroed in on her target.

She stayed away from the familiar stores today. If she went to Sugar’n’Spice or Hair Today! she might be tempted to tell Mara or Janine what she was planning. They would try to talk her out of it. They’d tell her that she deserved better--as if they knew anything about her. She also gave a wide berth to Marine Automotive and Game of Thorns. Lacey had only just gotten on better terms with Dad, she didn’t want to have to deal with his judgement again. And Uncle Manny only liked her so much because he remembered a little girl who could repeat jokes and read meaningless trivia out of books.

Her family, everyone who loved her, didn’t really know her at all. They loved the person she was in front of them--fun and smart and hard-working. They would never understand who she really was. Her darkest, ugliest, most depraved self. The part of Lacey that had slipped so easily into being Mrs. Gold. No one could ever love that version of her.

Good thing she wasn’t looking for love.

Heart in her throat, Lacey climbed up the stairs to City Hall. What time did Mayor Mills usually take a lunch break? She didn’t know, but she would find out, wouldn’t she? If this worked out, she would know the mayor’s schedule intimately.

As she thought about that scenario, Lacey’s breathing began to even out. Surely even someone as professional and orderly as Mayor Mills wouldn’t be above an occasional nooner. Of course Lacey would be available at any time of the day or night. If the mayor had a bad day and needed to unwind, if she was furious with the incompetence of the stupid bureaucrats and drones she worked with and needed to vent out her rage, then Lacey would be there. Ready and willing. For as long as Mayor Mills would have her.

Lacey, she’ll kill you. Regina killed Sheriff Graham--she killed Maleficent! And her own father! If you take one step out of line, she will rip out your heart and crush it!

“Mr. Gold already did that,” Lacey muttered to herself as she opened the big double doors. The worst Mayor Mills could do would be to finish what her husband had started.

The stuttering male receptionist told her that the mayor was in a private meeting, but of course Mrs. Gold was more than welcome to wait.

She sat in a hard red plastic chair directly in front of the mayor’s office. There was a magazine in her hands, but she couldn’t even pretend to read. Instead, she looked at the door. Then at the shiny black and white tiles. Then at her left hand, and the indentation in her fourth finger.

Hours could have passed. Days, or years. What was time? It felt like she had been waiting all her life, or like she had never been alive before this moment. Or like she still hadn’t been born. Not yet, Not until--

The door opened. Mayor Mills was dressed impeccably in a black pantsuit. The blazer had a thin border of white around the lapels, to match the blouse underneath a black vest that was cut to accentuate her bust. She was stunning. And she was smiling. Not a smirk or a grin, but a real smile that radiated joy and triumph.

Lacey’s breath caught. How could she have forgotten how magnificent she was?

However, her spirits sank when she saw just who Mayor Mills was holding the door open for.

It was him. It was Mr. Gold’s “Belle.” The tall, handsome, well-dressed man who had destroyed every hope she’d had of a happy marriage.

Jefferson!

Unlike Mayor Mills, the man left the office frowning. He held a battered old top hat under his arm, close to his chest. When he saw Lacey, his slate blue eyes went wide. His mouth opened, but it was Mayor Mills who spoke.

“Why, Mrs. Gold!” she smiled. “This is turning out to be a banner day! Please come in.”

The man stared at her, but she didn’t look at him as she hurried into the mayor’s office. She stood in the center of the circle on the floor while Mayor Mills shut the door behind her. There was an extra click as the door locked.

“You know, I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to have you back so soon, dear.” Mayor Mills came up behind her and wrapped her arm around her waist. The closeness made her gasp. The mayor’s hand took Lacey’s and rubbed approvingly along her naked fingers. “You’ll find I reward prompt obedience in my underlings.”

With a final squeeze, Mayor Mills broke her contact with Lacey and went behind her desk. An apple sat on the white stone surface. One of the mayor’s Honeycrisp apples, as red as blood. It already had a bite taken out of it. Mayor Mills sat in her black leather chair like it was a throne.

“Now,” she said, “do you have something to show me?”

“Yes!” Fumbling with her clutch, Lacey pulled out her ring and set it on the desk next to the apple.

Mayor Mills looked down at it, pleased but clearly expecting more. “And?” she said brightly. “Where’s the other one?”

Lacey opened her mouth. “I--” she began. “I don’t think we really need it. T-there’s nothing special about Mr. Gold’s wedding ring. I can prove my devotion to you in any number of way, Madame--”

“No!” The single word was a wrecking ball, crashing through all of Lacey’s pitiful excuses and desperate begging. “No, that is not good enough, you stupid whore!”

Despite her fantasies, Lacey winced at the reality of the mayor’s wrath. It took all her strength to stay standing. She didn’t deserve to kneel.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

“I gave you a job, you brainless blow-up doll! And when I tell people to do something, I expect it to get done!”

“You’re right, Madame Mayor. I’m so so--”

“Get out of here,” she snapped. Mayor Mills grabbed the half-bitten apple off her desk and dropped it into her purse. She started turning off the lights around the office. “Don’t come back until you can get Gold’s wedding ring away from him.” She unlocked the door and opened it. When she looked at Lacey again, some of her good mood seemed to have come back. “I promise you, dear, you’ll have plenty of time to make this up to me. Right now, I’ve got some baking to do.”

And she left.

****

Standing alone in the middle of the mayor’s office, Lacey heard the click-clack of high heels on tile, fading away.

“What the fuck?” Lacey whispered. For a moment, she wondered if the voice in her head would say something. But there was nothing.

She was nothing.

Nothing to Mr. Gold, and nothing to Mayor Mills. She wasn’t even important enough for them to hate or degrade. They didn’t care about her.

She was nothing.

It was like she was in shock. She couldn’t move. If there was anything to hear or see, she didn’t notice it. Again she had the feeling of time evaporating into mist all around her. All her hopes of a future had just turned into ash and crumbled away.

Slowly, the door creaked open. A man’s head popped into the office. No, not just a man. The man. The man her husband had sex with and called “Belle.” The man he loved.

“Are you okay?”

Lacey wanted to laugh. What a question! And from what a source! Sure, why not? Why not talk to “Belle”? It wasn’t like it could make this day any worse!

The man stepped into the office. He didn’t speak to her at first. He walked to the desk and picked up her wedding ring. He held it in his palm and smiled.

“You know, I’ve never seen you without this on, in one form or another.” He held the ring out to her and she jolted back to life.

“How many times have you seen me?” She snatched the ring out of his hand. “I never saw you before a month ago. But I guess it makes sense that you knew about me before I knew about you. The wife’s always the last to know, right?”

The man didn’t match her anger. He just smiled at her, the same kind of condescending compassion usually reserved for children or morons.

“Why did you think Regina would help you?” He tried to move his hands, but he was limited with the hat under his arm. “Now me, I knew exactly what I wanted, and I demanded payment in advance. That’s the only way to deal with her. She’s not like your husband.”

“Please don’t talk about him,” Lacey hissed. “Or about her. Or about anything! Why are you even here? Just to torture me?”

His smile vanished, his eyes filled with tenderness. “I’m not your enemy,” he said.

“No, you’re my rival. Are you fucking both of them? Do you seek out people I might have an interest in and seduce them before I can get a chance? Did you dig up my old high school boyfriend and rock his world too?” God, it felt good to be angry, to have somewhere to direct her anger that wasn’t at herself. Jefferson could take it.

“I’m not fucking Regina.” He was almost sardonic as he said it. “One thing I learned in my travels is don’t put your dick in crazy. That’s something you should have thought of before you came here, missy.”

Lacey rolled her eyes and stomped out of the office. The man stayed behind her until they were out of City Hall. On the front steps, he grabbed her arm. Not hard, just enough to get her attention. Just enough to turn her around to face him.

“So what’s your plan now?” he challenged her. “Regina was kind of loud in there, I couldn’t help overhearing your predicament.”

“And you want to help?” Of course he did, he wanted Mr. Gold all to himself.

“I want to know what you’re thinking,” he said. His mouth twitched and he looked away for a minute. “I wanna know how badly all this has fucked you up.”

She scoffed and began to walk again. She didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter. Away from this weirdo. Away from everything.

She stopped at the crosswalk and watched Sheriff Swan’s yellow bug turn the corner onto Mifflin Street. Was she going to Mayor Mills’ house? Why? God, was everyone having sex with each other except her?

The man was still following her. “Listen,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk? Maybe you have questions for me? We’ve got a lot in common.”

The thought made Lacey want to gag. The swell of anger was the push she needed to turn on her heel and face this homewrecker.

“Why does he call you Belle?” she spat. “Mr. Gold doesn’t like nicknames and it doesn’t make any sense to call a man that. So what’s the story there?”

He blinked. The face he made seemed to be genuine shock. He looked her in the eyes when he asked, “You think I’m Belle?”

Lacey was going to scream. “Oh, good God! How many people is he cheating on me with?”

The man held up his hands. “Just me, as far as I know. I can’t imagine him with anyone but me and you.”

“And Belle,” Lacey taunted them both with the name. “I know that Belle exists and I know that he loves her. If that isn’t you, then who the fuck is it?”

Exhaling, Jefferson scratched the back of his head. “Um,” he said. “Wow. Okay. Um. Have you… ever talked to your husband about Belle?”

She bristled, crossed her arms over her chest. “Where do you think I got the piddling information I have? Yes, Mr. Gold says that Belle is real. He talks about her like she’s a woman--actually, he talks about her like she’s an angel, but that’s neither here nor there. He says that he loves her and that she trusts him.”

“Do you trust him?”

Lacey scowled. “Why should I?”

“Because he loves you.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “No. He doesn’t. Never did, never will.”

The man made a noise, a wordless expression of pity. He looked at her like she didn’t understand something blindingly obvious.

“You can’t expect me to believe that Mr. Gold loves me.”

“Mr. Gold? Nah. But your husband? Honey, your husband loves you more than anything in any world.”

She couldn’t speak. Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned away so he wouldn’t see, bracing herself against a fence. It was plastic made to look like wood, the sort of thing you got in the bad part of New Town. Up ahead, the yellow bug was on Main Street again. Must have been a short visit.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. The man was still behind her. “Isn’t Mr. Gold loving me a bad thing for you?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got a wife of my own. I’m gonna see her soon. I’ve got a piece of what I need for that.” He held up the top hat, as if that explained how he was going to get back to Leona. “Point is, there are some people that belong together. They’re a matched set. In one world or another, they’ll find each other.”

Lacey shook her head. “That’s only true in fairy tales.”

Jefferson patted her on the back. “Exactly.”

She shook her head and started walking again, faster than before. Somewhere in the distance, ambulance sirens blared. Behind her, the man picked up his pace to catch up with her.

“You keep following me and I’m going to call Sheriff Swan.”

He shook his head. “Emma’s got her own problems right now. Hopefully, she’ll have her own solutions too. You need to figure out yourself, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Someone called her that. Not this man, not any of her friends or family, no boy she’d ever dated, but a man. A man who loved her.

Rumple.

Lacey wiped at her eyes again. God, her makeup was probably ruined. “Alright, Jefferson, fine. If you have all the answers, why don’t you tell me what they are?”

The man got ahead of her and stopped walking. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes. His mouth was open, but it took him a moment to speak.

“Two questions,” he said at last. “One at a time. First, what do you want from your husband?”

She sighed. There was no way she could tell this man what she really wanted from Mr. Gold. And she couldn’t very well tell Mr. Gold about it either. So she settled for the next best thing.

“I want him to give me his wedding ring so I can give it to Mayor Mills.”

The man pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay, well, you’re going to have to tell him that.”

“What?”

“Just be honest with him. Tell him that Regina wants your wedding rings. Tell him that she wants to hurt you and you want to let her. You’ve tried everything else, haven’t you? Maybe that’s the only thing that will work.”

Lacey shook her head. “That would never work! Mr. Gold isn’t going to give me something just because I ask for it!”

Jefferson shrugged. “He’s fair, isn’t he? Make it a deal, truth for truth. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

She kept shaking her head. This man might have fucked her husband, but he didn’t know him at all.

“Second question.” He held up two fingers. “And then I have to go. School’s letting out and I need to see my daughter. But the question is,” he leaned forward, and looked her straight in the eyes. “How did you know my name is Jefferson?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. With a showy flourish, he spun around and put the top hat on his head. Then he sauntered off, with Lacey alone on the sidewalk.

****

She trudged along by herself, from the New Town mansions to the Main Street shops. Unlike her frantic spiral to City Hall, Lacey walked slowly now, in a straight line. There was no avoiding where she was going, where she had to go. But there wasn’t any hurry either.

He was right--the man, Jefferson, whatever--she had to talk to Mr. Gold. Lying and sneaking around hadn’t worked. But maybe they could make a deal. She couldn’t imagine what he would demand as payment, if she asked to be freed from their marriage.

If nothing else, Dad would have to start paying rent again. She couldn’t live in Mr. Gold’s house anymore. She’d be homeless, jobless. She could probably crash with Janine or Mara. Live with them and work at Game of Thorns for whatever twenties Dad could spare after he had paid the bills. On the bright side, he probably hadn’t cleaned out her old bedroom. She could still wear her clothes from high school.

It was a bleak future, but at least it was something. It was better than hating herself all the time, the way she did around Mr. Gold. The way she would if she gave herself over to Regina Mills.

Rumple will protect you, Lacey. He loves you!

And maybe she could beg Dr. Hopper for some therapy. Clearly she had a lot of issues, even before she started hearing voices.

When she got to the shop, the Closed sign was facing out, even though it was the middle of the day. But the Cadillac was parked by the side door, and she had her key. The bell rang as she let herself in.

“We’re closed,” her husband’s voice came from the back.

“It’s just me,” Lacey called. Whoever that was.

She made her way to the back slowly. Between all the walking and all the emotions, she was wrung-out. Bone-tired and ragged. She slumped on the doorframe and looked at him. These could be the last moments for her to pretend that he was her husband.

Mr. Gold was sitting at the work table, appraising some kind of antique. It was shaped like an egg but the size of a football. It was gold, and covered with clear gems so huge they had to be fake. Diamonds that big didn’t exist outside of museums. The two halves of it opened on a hinge, and lay flat on the table like a book. Gray velvet lined the inside, covering the indentation meant for some kind of small bottle.

What was that thing? A holder for a bottle of perfume? A carrying case for an expensive liqueur? Something to do with Easter?

Standing up, Mr. Gold closed the egg on its hinges and locked it with a key. His hand slipped into his pants pocket. He was hiding something. That didn’t surprise her at this point. As far as she knew, he was hiding everything.

She cleared her throat and stood up straight. “I went to City Hall today,” she announced.

Mr. Gold pulled a jewelry box off a shelf, then frowned at the dust on top. “Oh really?”

Lacey knew that tone. That dismissive, disinterested voice he used every time he wasn’t growling or snarling. Being ignored was worse than being hurt, and that was all he had done to her in months.

“Yes,” she spat out the word. “I had a meeting with Mayor Mills.”

That stopped him from looking at his inventory. When he turned his head to her, she saw that his teeth were on edge.

“Why?” he whispered.

A deep breath. Do the brave thing. Tell him the truth. He loves you.

“Because I wanted her to hurt me.” Lacey had tears in her eyes. When had that started up again? “Because I want her to fuck me, and insult me, and treat me like shit. The way you used to.”

Grimacing, he looked away from her. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because she couldn’t do it.” Lacey kept breathing, deep and even. She felt… strong, somehow. Like there was more inside of her than there had ever been before. Maybe bravery had followed her after all. “She tried to play it off like she wouldn’t do it, like it was a principle or something. But I’m pretty sure that something stopped her.” She swallowed, and took a step toward him.

Rumple.

“I think...” she began, and then stopped. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy.”

“Say it,” he whispered. His eyes--so dark, so lovely--brimmed with tears. “Please say it, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Another breath. Another step.

“I had a dream,” she said, “where you said you would protect me from Regina.”

“Yes.” He stared at her. He looked at her like she was the only star in the sky. He moved toward her, arms open. “Yes, I’ll protect you.”

He held her. He embraced her. For the first time in months, she felt his arms around her. He cherished her. He loved her.

Lacey wanted to melt into him. She wanted to cry so hard she dissolved. But she couldn’t do it yet. There was more that she had to say.

“In my dreams... I call you Rumple.”

A shudder went through him and he held her tighter. “Yes,” he whispered into her hair.

So, Lacey thought, as crazy as she sounded to herself, somehow she was making sense to him.

“And in my dreams,” she went on, “you call me Belle. Am I Belle? Have I been Belle all this time?”

He broke apart from her gently, and kissed her on the forehead. “No,” he murmured. “But you will be, sweetheart. I promise.”

Moving away from her, he went to one of the shelves. He pulled down a box--a fireproof safe--and unlocked it with two different keys. His back was to her, so she couldn’t see what was inside.

“I think it’s time,” her husband said, “for me to tell you everything.”

Then he turned around, and put something on the work table. It was a knife--no, a dagger. A ruby-pommelled, wavy-bladed dagger. On the flat of the blade, facing up from the table, a name was engraved in black enamel.

Rumpelstiltskin.

Lacey blinked. She had seen that dagger before. Was it in a dream? Or a memory? She looked at her husband, who stood back from the blade as though he had no claim to it.

She looked at it again. She knew that dagger. It was hers. He had given it to her. Long ago, in another world. Or in a dream. Or in a memory.

Picking it up, she looked at him. Understanding was so close she could taste it, but she wasn’t there yet. All she could do was ask her husband.

“Rumple?”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfiction #ouat

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cicada-bones · 4 years ago

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 35: Blessing

Sorry about the wait (...again lmao) But I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think! (also - this is the last one before the meeting between Maeve and Aelin! We really are getting close to the ending!)

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

For the first time, seemingly in weeks, Rowan awoke with a clear head.

Today, they would leave Mistward. In the week that had passed since his…cadre’s…departure, the fortress had gotten no word from the capital. No summons, no orders. This did not comfort him.

Maeve knew everything, she had to. But instead of choosing to strike, she was biding her time. She knew that he had to return to Doranelle eventually. It was not to her advantage to drag them home early, and against their will.

As Rowan walked about their rooms, gathering various belongings, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened upon the cadre’s return to the city. Couldn’t help but imagine what they had been forced to endure on his behalf.

Aelin stirred in bed, giving Rowan the chance to shake away those thoughts. He took it gratefully.

The princess sat up, her golden hair rumpled. Cloudy eyes found his. “It’s time to leave. Isn’t it?”

Rowan only nodded.

Within half an hour, they were ready to depart, and found themselves standing at the kitchen door, saying their goodbyes to Emrys, Malakai, and Luca.

Somewhere to his right, Aelin was enduring a torrent of worry and affection from Emrys, all while the old male shoved more food than Rowan thought was in the entire fortress pantry into her rapidly-filling pack. Rowan was facing Malakai, who seemed to be struggling to figure out what exactly to say.

The prince decided to take pity on the male. “It has been an honor, Commander,” he said firmly, with a slight bow of his head.

Malakai’s body jerked, his scent speaking of surprise. “…the very same, Your Highness.” The old commander also bowed his head, respect lining his brow.

A small smile graced Rowan’s lips as he backed away, allowing Aelin to say her final goodbyes without any interference.

The princess was looking at the three males, her brow furrowed with anxiety but her scent warm with affection. “It might take a while,” she was saying, “but if – when, I reclaim my kingdom, the demi-Fae will always have a home there. And you two – and Malakai – will have a place in my household, should you wish it. As my friends.”

Emrys’ eyes were gleaming as he nodded, gripping Luca’s hand. Malakai let the ghost of a smile intrude on his resolute expression. Rowan had to hold in a grin at the sight – the gruff commander really had let this female worm into his heart, whether he had wanted it or not.

Luca was openly staring at Aelin, his eyes filled with wonder. Rowan was not sure whether he had ever truly understood who he had spent all those weeks toiling beside in the kitchens. But there was no doubt in his mind now – this was a future queen standing before them. And no longer could anyone easily forget it.

Pride at everything Aelin had accomplished coursed through him. Pride and fondness. He had known that he loved her, deep in his heart, for days – weeks, really. Ever since he saw her looking back at him through the Valg darkness, and she smiled at him, with that Queen’s smile.

Aelin reached out and ruffled Luca’s hair, a warm smile stretching her cheeks. She made to turn and join Rowan at the edges of the trees, but before she could Emrys spoke up.

“Your mother would be proud,” he said. Aelin put a hand on her heart and bowed her thanks. Rowan knew without even needing to taste her scent that words wouldn’t be capable of communicating the depth of her gratitude.

But the morning was beginning to wane, so he cleared his throat softly. And Aelin gave the three males one last parting smile before she followed him into the trees.

Their feet were light as they padded over the leaf-dusted earth, their speed increasing until they were once again streaks of gold and silver through the misty undergrowth. Only this time, their path headed up the mountains to the east, in the direction of the rising sun. To Maeve, at last.

···

The whipping was no more than he deserved.

Lorcan didn’t have to say it out loud to know that it was true, though he’d found himself repeating it over and over again in his head over the past two days. Days that he had spent tied to a post in the stocks, being whipped by Cairn.

There was no warning before Cairn entered the small, muddy yard. No time for Lorcan to prepare. All of a sudden, he would feel a breath at his back, would hear the slight pull of feet in mud, and then the iron would rent his back.

Cairn worked at him for what felt like hours at a time, his every stroke of the whip coated with gleeful mutterings and shouted taunts. Lorcan knew that the vile male took every possible pleasure in having such power over him, that every sound he made would be played over in Cairn’s mind for weeks or months to come.

So Lorcan kept as silent as he could, each stroke of the whip becoming a vow of revenge.

He knew that he deserved punishment. But this, this was something different. This was personal. And Lorcan would take his vengeance on Cairn even if it took him unto the end of his life.

Mostly, Lorcan slept. And let the pain and rage consume him.

Even so, Lorcan couldn’t find it within himself to really regret the decision. The betrayal. Rowan had not lied – if they hadn’t come, Mistward would have fallen. They had saved him, and that fire-breathing bitch. This was just the price they had to pay.

But Lorcan wasn’t sure he would ever forget the sound of that word on his queen’s lips. Betrayal.

He had betrayed her. The one thing he had sworn never to do, not in his extraordinarily long life. And he had done it. When it came down to it, he had chosen Whitethorn’s life over his devotion to his Queen. Had chosen Rowan over Maeve.

And the truth of that decision shook him.

Maeve had found him in that hovel, those centuries past, had rescued him and nurtured him. Had made him into who he was. And yet he had betrayed her. It would be a long time before he would be able to reconcile that with himself.

He was her Second, her top commander, her most trusted confidant. He was responsible. The one in charge. He was at least as guilty as Whitethorn. He didn’t blame Maeve for her punishment of him, even as he hated Cairn for it. Even though he had betrayed his Queen, he could never hate her.

Ever since he had first beheld her, and felt the curls of her dark power brush his dark soul, he had loved her. There hadn’t been anything he could do about it. It was like they were made for each other, both creatures of darkness. Both Fae who stood alone and apart. Who were both loved, and hated, by those less powerful than they.

But she did not feel the same.

Her every rejection of him cut him to the quick. Lorcan tried not to let her see how much her indifference hurt him, but he knew that she knew. And that she gloried in it, in his suffering. Gloried in the way that they both knew this doomed courtship would never end, that he would never stop loving her, and she would never stop taunting him with that love.

Lorcan knew that she bedded Fenrys partially to spite him. Knowing that choosing him over Lorcan would hurt more than some noble, or courtier. And the fact that it worked infuriated him. But there was nothing he could do about it.

Other than perhaps be grateful that Rowan was her relation, however distant, and therefore could not be the blade of her choice. For it was certain that Maeve choosing Rowan to take to bed would hurt more than even Fenrys.

Rowan was his, not hers.

Or at least he was his. Not anymore.

Lorcan had lost Rowan to the clutches of some foreign whore. A bitch-queen from across the sea. And he had no idea how to get him back.

So Lorcan took his whipping with a curse, and a smile. Cairn was the least of his problems. And soon, Lorcan would ensure that the despicable male got what was coming to him.

Cairn left him there, bleeding on the stones, until day passed into night and then day again. And Gavriel and Fenrys came for him.

A key clicked in a lock, shackles fell into the mud with a thump, and Lorcan sagged to the ground, his limbs sighing in relief even as they wept fresh blood into the earth, red beneath his bloody body.

“Get him up,” Gavriel said softly, and Lorcan felt hands reach around his arms and pull him to his feet. “I’m sorry Lorcan, she ordered us not to heal your wounds with our power.”

Lorcan just grunted, forcing his legs to take his weight. They shook, but held. Fenrys began to guide him back up the path to the area of the palace that held their suites.

Lorcan frowned, but accepted the male’s assistance with as much grace as he could muster. He didn’t really have another choice.

“Anything to report?” Lorcan’s voice strained through gritted teeth. One step after the other, he said to himself, one step after the other.

“Nothing of any significance.” Gavriel shrugged. “We received word yesterday from the sentries that guard the western pass that the wolves spotted Rowan and Aelin making their way through the mountains.”

“So they are on their way to Doranelle.” Lorcan grunted.

“Evidently.”

“And when are they expected – ” he gasped, sucking in a breath through his teeth, “ – to arrive?”

“Within two or three days,” Gavriel said, soberly.

Fenrys, however, seemed to have a very different reaction. His scent filled with anger, and his muscles filled with tension, coiled to spring. He shook his head. “When Rowan gets here, I hope he suffers for what he’s done. I hope she drags him over hot coals for this.”

Gavriel turned in alarm, “Fenrys, you don’t – ”

“I mean it, Gavriel. I can’t wait to tell him what happened because he sent us those damned letters. To tell him that she tied Lorcan up in the yard and let Cairn – ”

“You will do no such thing.” Lorcan forced as much authority as he could into his pained voice. Fenrys frowned at him, confused. “You will not speak of this, not to Rowan, not to anyone.”

“But Lorcan – ”

“No, Fenrys. What’s done is done. There’s no changing it now. And it’s no use harping on about it like some upset child.”

Lorcan could feel Gavriel looking at him inquisitively, but Lorcan kept his eyes ahead, until they reached the familiar halls of the residential part of the castle and he shook off their assistance and told them to go and get some rest.

But before he could escape to his rooms, Fenrys tried to speak up one last time. “Lorcan, Rowan should – ”

“No, Fenrys. And I will not hear any more of this from you. You will not speak to Whitethorn about what happened here, and I’m tired of saying so. And if I find out that you defied a direct order, there will be consequences.” Lorcan stared him down, looking the young male directly in the eyes, until Fenrys nodded and turned away.

Gavriel nodded as well, and the two males left the stone corridor.

Lorcan collapsed facedown into bed, but for long minutes, sleep eluded him. He knew that within a couple of hours, or perhaps a day, his own magic would heal the wounds to his body. But right now, they hurt enough to keep him from sleep.

Rowan would have enough to face when he reached Doranelle, he didn’t need Fenrys attacking him at first opportunity as well. And the knowledge of what Maeve had done because Rowan had called for their aid…he didn’t need that weighing on his soul.

Rowan hadn’t really had another choice. He needed to save the fortress, and the demi-Fae. Needed to save the female he loved.

Lorcan turned over in bed, the sheets rustling as he groaned in pain. If Lorcan knew nothing else, he knew how far one would go for the one they loved.

···

Rowan awoke with the rustling of leaves, and the flicker of a breeze over his cheeks. It whispered of birds chattering, a far-off stream, of the coming dawn, and of the countless dreams of slumbering Fae, hidden just from sight.

He rose slowly, his eyes automatically flicking over to his left side to check on the female who was still slumbering there. Aelin’s eyes flickered beneath her lids, her brow furrowed and her mouth open, letting the occasional bated breath escape. Telltale signs of nightmares haunting her sleep.

Rowan frowned and stood. There was nothing he could do, and she needed all the sleep she could get, even if that sleep was restless. Today, she would meet with the Queen of the Fae, and show her all that she had learnt.

They had camped that night at the top of a hill, at the bottom of which you could see the rivers that would lead them through the rest of the valley and right up to the stone walls of Doranelle. Rowan strode through their small camp, heading east to where the first glints of the rising sun could be gleaned over the ruffled edge of the horizon.

Below him, the river water churned, gray and violent and deep. Surely a promise of what was to come.

Today, he would see Maeve again. For the first time in months. For the first time since he had realized the true depth of what he had given up the day he swore her the blood oath. Rowan wondered how long it would take her before she knew that she had lost him forever. Wondered if she already knew. Surely Lorcan and Gavriel had told her what happened at the ward-gates? Surely she must have guessed?

Either way, all would be decided before nightfall. Relief and panic warred within him, fighting for dominance. Both held fast.

Rowan turned to glance back at the queen – his Queen – shifting on her bed of leaves, close to wakefulness. She was so beautiful. Everything he wanted, and everything he couldn’t have.

But something that he just had to save. Someone he had to save.

Desperation began to overflow within him, breaking through the final barriers of ice surrounding his heart. And then, as he turned back to face the now-rising sun, it happened.

At first, it was just a brush, like a trail of burning fingertips, across his brow and down his cheek. Then the feeling of a Presence. Greater and more terrible than he had ever thought to comprehend. Greater than any he could possibly imagine.

She was the sun and the stars and the hearth and the candleflame, the great and the small, the important and the insignificant. She was more than any would ever know, more than thousands of years of worship could appreciate.

She was Mala Firebringer.

And like a sunbeam though the morning dew, she appeared before Rowan Whitethorn, Prince of Doranelle, Lieutenant and second to Lorcan Salvaterre, and bloodsworn to Maeve, The Queen of All the Fae, a silent question ready on her lips.

What ails you so, Prince of Ice?

Rowan wanted to fall to his knees, to avert his eyes, to fall into some remembered prayer from childhood lessons. Yet he was frozen in place.

She was barely more than an outline, a shaft of light enclosed in the rising sun, but he felt her mighty power and strange gentleness as potently as if she were standing right next to him. And that mighty power felt…familiar. Like something he had already learned to love.

So Rowan breathed in her unknowable scent and offered up his desperate prayer.

Rowan Whitethorn begged the Goddess of Dawn to protect Aelin Galathynius. To keep her safe from Maeve when they entered Doranelle, to give her strength and guidance, and to let her walk out alive.

And yet Mala waited. Her question still unanswered. A hidden truth not yet acknowledged.

So Rowan unlocked that final door, and told Mala what truly weighed on his heart. Not for Aelin to survive, or to leave safely, having secured her armies and her peace. But for them to stay together. For Rowan to remain with Aelin, the woman he loved. Here or in any other world.

And as he admitted that, the deepest truth of his heart, Rowan felt the goddess smile at him, across time and space, through other worlds and bearing the prayers of thousands, as she disappeared into the brightening sun.

Aelin awoke, and moved to stand beside him. She cast him a questioning look, which he left unanswered. He didn’t know if he could explain what had just passed. But he knew that it had been something permanent, unchangeable.

They packed up camp and began to scale the hill, following the rushing river back to its source. To Doranelle they went, for their futures to be decided. To Doranelle, where a dark Queen lay in her spider’s web, waiting to pounce. To Doranelle, with the grace of a goddess bestowed upon them, their blades sharp, their steps light, and their eyes bright with star fire.

To Doranelle.

···

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