#this was written in the wee hours of the dawn and so. it may have typos

[sleeponthephone]

they set their lips to my life and leave the kiss with me. nicknames for everything, a thousand small loves contained to each. ze lets me love them the way I need to. he lets this connection be a conversation, be a tiny bird fluttering between us to sip the nectar from our fingers. (I turn to you- remember that bird in the ceiling? remember how your voice swelled so loud it filled my house, set the windows to bursting with the sound of you, and chased him out? this one nestles easily into new perches. she sings for every dawn they bring into my life. we like this one.) they keep their hands in my life.

my softness is not an irritant to zir- it is celebrated. ze loves what a romantic I am. we watch movies and I am hopeless with it, tied into the story beats and relationship drama and sweet exchanges. I am betrayed when wickham is horrible, and she laughs. they love that I wanted to love him. they tell me their stories of sweetness and they pretend to grimace when I smile and gush for them, but they wouldn’t tell me if they didn’t like it.

six hours of a bbc series, and ze tells me it was worth it to see my reaction at the very end. when they play music, when they sing, I try to keep a recording in my mind, try to play it back later. spring is coming but I keep this wrapped around me anyway, insist it is still cold enough out to wear it. they let me cook for them and bandage his finger because they understand I need to love him in my way sometimes.

she is used to earning love through usefulness. they play therapist, they fix, they carry, they drive, they save, they hold, they help. I mention a problem and ze insists they can be a solution. he says the things ze thinks I need to hear, they try to fit the role. I describe a someday person and they leap to be that-

“I’ll grow my hair out and find someone who can do historical styles” “I could figure that out”

“I need to find a boyfriend who likes driving so I don’t have to” “I like driving”

“I should end up with someone good with math to do my taxes” “I’d be good for you then”

and yes, I love him in the driver’s seat, but I love more that it is him who is next to me.

we get drunk and sit on the floor of my kitchen for a second time- love is the half-plain pizza, love is the unquestioned “okay, this is who you are”.

they’re kind. they take me at face value. they believe that I am a good person who deserves nice things. the 36 questions musical is going to stay painted in their colors for the rest of my life.

( - it’s written down in my phone, dated march sixteenth- “remember this. in this moment they call you di and love of my life and darling and they love you. in this moment you can call them lovely and my love. in this moment there are polaroids and they love taking pictures. they send you a heart and you send one back. they love when you play with their hair.”)

ironic that i never told you the exact spelling of his name but you somehow spelled it perfectly correctly (i guess there are only two ways, it was bound to be one of them, lucky guess). your ask haunting my box in the wee hours of the night, mere hours after I’d cried myself to sleep.

you wanted a good old fashioned love letter. this, too, is part of it, my love is at war in his mind. not with his mind, not yet, or with the people in it, but with the thoughts that tell him she doesn’t love you she doesn’t care end it right now. she meaning me. the variation of pronouns twinkling throughout your letter like lightning bugs, and they use he/they now. i once asked if that was they, singular, or they, meaning the system and my love shrugged and said, either or, i just know I’m not a girl or femme aligned. in the days of papyrus and scrolls (yes, that old-fashioned) it may still have mattered to some one other than i. the variation doesn’t vex me, i love my love the same.

and right now to love him is to give him a little room to breathe. i tell him just tell me when i can come back and he replies that he’ll talk to me later. i never wanted to overwhelm him or suffocate him. i said you may get tired of me and they told me they didn’t think so. another love letter, written in pencil, is waiting on the opposite desk. before i set that down, I’d found a poem that i had written for the first person in the system i dated—i still don’t know if he’s host anymore. i didn’t want that, though—recycled sentiment. i wanted my love you mentioned most recently to know that even though i loved both of them, the way i loved him was unique.

it doesn’t make sense to me, this kind of mental tug of war, and i just want to pull him out of it. tell them of course i love you of course i care and im staying your mind is being mean to you and it’s not your fault. i just don’t know when I’m allowed, it’s a constant thing i struggle with—the being allowed. i know, because of therapy, that boundaries are important.

—and two hours before the tears, i write, “the tears are because i get to love you. m-you don’t even know how happy that makes me.” i write earnestly and channel all the softness i can muster. i write, “i love you. i hope to nourish you right back, heart and mind and soul.”

(i’m a little ashamed and a little shaky, that this is what i produced, but please take it gently into your palm, please do)

[foulparadisevoid]

I TOLD SUNSET ABOUT YOU

source: pinterest.com

If the West had Call Me By Your Name, the movie adaptation of the book by Andre Aciman that goes by the same name, Thailand debuted its own series, drawing unimaginably impossible parallels of a similar plot, but took it to a whole new Asian aesthetic level.  Screenwritten and directed by Boss Naruebet Kuno, under the production house called Nadao Bangkok, this series features rumored partners in real life, Billkin Putthipong Assaratanakul and PP Krit Amnuaydechkorn, aka BKPP The Series. 

It’s a bare minimum story. Teh and Oh-aew were best friends, until a boyhood line of reasoning, turned them into rivals. Years later as they're preparing for university admissions, both pursuing interests in the field of Communication Arts, the two meet in a Chinese language class. Their reunion awakens complicated and unstable feelings.

Shot in Old Town Phuket, that has its own history of Chinese influence, the story takes us through a maze concocted just around that. Our protagonists rivalling to top their Chinese lessons. History is so gracefully blended in a story through all symbols that the director uses, one with an unobservant eye might just end up missing on it. 

The first scene opens with Teh singing a Chinese song, with flashbacks from his childhood, where he recalls losing his best friend over a role in a Chinese play, organized by their school for the Chinese New Year. The recurring Chinese proverbs, reiterated Chinese inclinations remain a proof of the screenwriter’s detailed research on the town they shot it in. The series carries as much Chinese heritage as Old Town Phuket does.  

source: pinterest.com

There is this constant play of Chinese symbolism, so, so beautifully embedded in taking the story forward. The protagonists realize their feelings for each other while taking Chinese lessons, especially at Teh’s house, the architecture, an acute Chinese home in Phuket, with a restaurant below, selling Hokkian Noodles. Shot at one of the prettiest beaches in Phuket, at wee hours nearing dawn, we observe Teh and Oh-Aew courting each other, in silence, fingers playing with Chinese Rose petals, painting each other’s nails in vermillion. 

The choice of this particular flower, represents the androgynous nature of a China Rose, where a flower bears both the male and female reproductive organs in one; meaning, how one could love without basing their feelings on the sex of their partner, that love is for all. You could love anyone you liked, male, female or the other. This flower would also later be used to represent Oh discovering his sexuality, where he’s inclined toward femininity.    

source: pinterest.com

Their first kiss is underwater. The scene is shot in such a magnificent way, where they’re kissing deep inside water, but the water on the surface remains still. It could be inferred in so many different ways, where one is hiding their sexuality from the world and yet there is a hurricane circling under water. That even when you do wish to negate it, the ripples underwater shall bubble up to the surface, one fine day. 

source: pinterest.com

In a scene where there is a final outflow of powerful feelings, lying dormant in fear of facing them, in fear of rejection from the society, Teh and Oh-Aew give in to their attraction. They had loved each other for so, so long, behind closed doors, just as under the sea water, they could finally give away. There is however a catch in it again, the windows of Teh’s room are open. An impeccable mastery in direction later revealing how these open windows meant they were now perhaps at a threshold of acceptance, accepting their love, their sexuality, their own selves.

source: pinterest.com

The above scene has to remain the most powerful of all. We see Oh bawling in confusion, because Teh had wanted to hold his breasts just as he would have if Oh were a girl, and when Teh finds nothing to grab on, reality comes crashing down and Teh leaves.

And then here we see Oh, clad in a red, lacy bra, wishing if may be he were a girl, Teh would want to kiss him, hold him, love him. This is such an intimate and bold exhibition of confused sexuality in the art of theatre, it leaves the audience astounded. 

source: pinterest.com

The final scene is a sight to behold. All their prayers at the Chinese monastery, all the meltdowns and confusion take a final leap to end at Teh saying the final, favorite words a fan would wish to hear,

“If I could be anything, can I be your boyfriend?” They finally do tell the sunset about each other. 

Thai BL industry has been venturing into Asian entertainment markets with their business plots of boy love stories, the origins of which can be found in the Japanese yaoi, homoerotic love stories written by women. Even when a product of fantasy, these series have been a breakthrough at representing LGBTQ relationships, fitting themselves into the heteronormative society. 

And well, if you haven’t watched ITSAY yet, go watch it now. 

[markynaz]

7/28

Dawn / Birthsign Written for @tes-summer-fest 2021 Wordcount: 1462 Content Warnings: Brief Death Mentions Ao3 Mirror: here

To nobody’s great surprise, Skyrim was batshit bloody fucking cold at night. Especially in the wee hours of the morning. Just before dawn, the cold settled so thick and glacial over everything that for anyone but a Nord, it almost hurt to draw breath. No matter how many thick blankets or warm furs one had wrapped around themself, there was always a wish for more.

Time had softened Andalmo’s memory of how godsblinded amazingly pisspoor freezing it was just before dawn. And yet, here he was, sitting on one of the great stone ledges of Ustengrav in the wee hours of the morning and wondering whether cursing Kyne out would help or hurt his chances of becoming an icicle. At this rate, he’d give his left pinkie toe to see the sky lightening in the west. He probably wouldn't even feel if it snapped off now.

He took a shallow breath, cuddling up further into his thick cloak, keeping the barrow’s entrance in his peripheral vision. Two more moments and he gave in to the temptation. The tiniest of flames flickered at his gray fingertips - just enough to send hot flares of magicka pounding through his system, forcing his blood flow back to a normal level of warmth.

Amazing that he was looking forward to the dawn now, wasn't it? Dawn had always been his least favorite part of stakeouts as a Blade. It just seemed to signify a night wasted most of the time - a final confirmation that yes, far too much time had passed, and they needed to do something about that.

He remembered remarking decades ago to his partner Sotha that he could happily do without ever seeing another dawn. “Not in a death way,” he quickly had to clarify, “but it really wouldn’t be terrible to wake when the sun is already up for the rest of my life.”

She'd given him an incredulous look, golden eyes glinting in the dim streetlights of the Arboretum District. “I thought you came from a farming town. Don’t farmers get up at dawn?”

Andalmo had snorted. Morthal was not a farming town. There was nothing to farm here, really, except perhaps mushrooms and swamp water, and in any case, Andalmo had never planned on returning.

Those plans had gone to shit now, though. The Blades gone, his team of five unceremoniously murdered trying to hold Cloud Ruler Temple against the Thalmor long enough for seventeen other Blades to escape across the mountains into Skyrim. Sotha had, he hoped, escaped - he’d watched her jump from the ramparts and disappear into the woods himself. The daughter of Morrowind’s Hortator was too important to be captured as a political prisoner by the Thalmor.

He’d escaped only by playing dead, not that it was really an act with the state that twelve hour battle had left him in. And now….

Now he was freezing his fingers off, waiting for dawn, or, better yet, waiting for the door to this stupid fucking barrow to open so he could know he’d been right in this ambush.

At least, he hoped it would be an ambush.

Andalmo tried to draw his cloak tighter around himself, though there was no more fabric left to gather, and glanced to the west again. As stubbornly dark as ever.

It wasn't even that he minded the nighttime. He remembered Miralnu, another Blade of his little team of five, grumbling about it once - “What do Blades and thieves have in common? Sneaking around at night.”

“Vampires too,” Andalmo had said dryly. Sotha had smiled instead of laughing, because they were all three on a roof, being very quiet, not to give away their position. Rather as Andalmo was perched now on the barrow.

“Let us not forget to count ourselves among that august body,” she'd said, mimicking a posh Imperial voice, and Andalmo snorted at the memory. Then he regretted it. That meant inhaling again, and by the infertile cocks, balls, uteruses, and assorted other genitalia of the Divines, the cold stabbed all the way in.

No, he didn’t mind darkness one bit. Ever since Mirmulnir fell to his hand and merged with his soul two weeks ago, he’d almost preferred traveling at night. Or with his hood up. Or with an illusion covering his face and masking his voice. A bit paranoid, perhaps, but decades of being on the spymaster’s side of Blades operations had left him very ill-suited to the fame brought on by the songs of every half-penny bard with a rhyming vocabulary, and the leaflets with sketches of his face and lurid tales of accompaniment. One thing they all got right - the Dunmeri tear track tattoos of loss running curves from the corners of his eyes to his jawline. He’d got them done in the Gray Quarter, blinded by tears of grief, not yet reconciled to the loss of his life and career and friendships in the Blades. He…. hadn’t really thought through the implications of having large, identifying facial tattoos.

But then, his favored spells had always come from Illusion.

The western half of the sky was almost beginning to lighten, he thought. He checked it against the eastern horizon, turned his head back and forth several times, before deciding that it was.

And then he couldn't decide whether this was good or bad. The bad news: he may have wasted the night. The good news: he might soon be able to delve into this barrow himself and retrieve what he was after. The bad news, reprises: if his instincts were right and someone else was after it, he might not find them to confront them in the winding halls of a Nordic barrow.

Mirmulnir had barely been dead ten seconds, his soul still scorching Andalmo’s mind with rage, when the ground had shaken with the Greybeards’ call. Dov-ah-kiin. Andalmo hadn't been insensible to what that meant.

He hadn't wanted to face it, either, not really. And it seemed…. impolite to traipse up the seven thousand steps to the Tower without bringing a gift. And he was a Blade - he knew of the rites for greeting a Dragonborn in every age and area, and knew that most likely, the trial would be to fetch the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

Returning home to Morthal had, therefore, seemed the best out of a platter of terrible options.

It had suddenly seemed even better when he'd come into the inn and the whole town seemed to be murmuring about some stranger with an interest in the barrow. An adventurer, they said, and much was made of the strange sword they carried - a long, almost curved blade with no ridge in the middle.

And what, Andalmo wondered, was someone doing near the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, openly carrying an Akaviri katana normally issued to Blades?

It was curiosity that made him leave immediately and set up his ambush. He regretted it a little bit, now. Not the curiosity or the ambush, no. That was going to be necessary - he wanted that horn as a gift to the Greybeards, as a way to avoid the journey for another week or three. But the leaving immediately and camping out all night on top of this barrow?

That, in hindsight, he really could have done without.

Dawn was full breaking now, the marsh starting to lighten so Andalmo could see more than silhouettes. He simultaneously blessed and cursed it. He was no longer having to pump magicka through his system every half hour to stay warm, that was good. But on the other hand…. he now had to decide what to do.

He was still debating that when the distinct scrape of the barrow door opening reached him.

Andalmo released the edges of his cloak. Footsteps crunched across the frozen sedge grass below, and Andalmo slowly reached for his sword, laid out at the ready all night. The leather wrappings of the hilt warmed quickly to his touch once he sent a little magicka down his fingers to help.

He tracked the stranger’s progress by the crunch of their boots.

Three.

Two.

One.

Andalmo swung down from his perch and landed halfway up the stairs, sword coming up to threaten someone on a lower step, just as the adventurer startled back from him. Her own hood fell away from her face, cold-reddened cheeks and chapped lips and blue eyes widened in alarm.

“Now, let's be civilized Blades and discuss this,” was what he’d planned to say. He didn't even get past marshaling his unconcerned drawl before the dawn light allowed him to recognize her face.

She'd been at Cloud Ruler Temple. She'd led the others to escape. She was standing at the stairs of Ustengrav clutching the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller to her chest.

“Delphine?”

[myaekingheart]

The Perfect Gift

Written for Day 3 of the Kakashi Lounge Discord Server’s September Event. Prompts: Happy Endings | Forgiveness | Hope | The Perfect Gift

[Read on AO3] Pairing: Kakashi x Rei (OC) Rating: Teen and Up @the-kakashi-lounge-blog

               Kakashi ruffled his daughter’s hair as they entered Kaminoki Bookshop, his in-laws anxiously awaiting their granddaughter’s arrival. Rei kissed Nariko’s chubby little cheek, instructing her “Be good for Grandma and Grandpa while we’re gone, okay?” Grinning, Nariko nodded once before wiggling out her father’s grasp and rushing toward Hana, affectionately slamming into her legs so as to nearly knock her off balance.

               “I’m sure she’ll give us a run for our money” Yuruganai jested, patting her on the head.

               “Are you sure you guys are okay with this?” Rei asked. As she rose to her feet, Kakashi placed a tender hand on the small of her back. “I know she can be a bit of a handful.”

               Hana smiled affectionately back at her daughter, replying, “It’s no trouble at all! You know we love it when our little Nari visits.” She turned her gaze to her granddaughter then as she asked, her voice rising an octave, “And we’re going to have lots of fun tonight, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

               “Yeah!” Nariko exclaimed, raising her arms up in the air. “We can watch movies, and bake cookies, and play lots of games, and stay up til the sun comes back out!”

               Hana’s face grew pale at the prospect, chuckling nervously. “Well, we’ll see about that” she mused. Nariko fell back onto the floor in uproarious laughter, as if she knew she already had these old folks wrapped around her tiny little finger. There was no way they could say no.

               The interaction was not particularly convincing for a mother as anxious as Rei. Yuruganai could see the clear uncertainty painting his daughter’s face, the way she bit her lip and watched her daughter giggle and kick her legs in the air. “Go. Enjoy your anniversary. We’ll be fine” he reassured.

               “Thank you again for doing this” Kakashi replied. “We really appreciate it.” And truly, he did. Hana and Yuruganai’s investment in Nariko’s life was such a welcome relief, especially after their past skepticism of Kakashi and Rei’s relationship. Raising a child was difficult, especially one as rambunctious as Nariko, and they could use all the help they could get. While Kakashi truly loved every minute of being a father, he couldn’t remember the last time he and Rei had a night to themselves. They found romance in the little moments now: the sloppy morning kisses with a child’s knee in your face, the homecooked food after a long day of monotonous paperwork and chaotic games of hide and seek. The moments watching Nariko romp around the playground with the other children, and the way Kakashi would wrap an arm around his wife and kiss her cheek through his mask, his heart swelling with love for the little life they had created together. Fatherhood was everything he had ever wanted, and yet he could not deny that some nights he did, in fact, yearn for a break. If nothing else, Rei certainly deserved it.

               At least for Kakashi, there were his hokage duties. It was still a massive responsibility but the job came with a very different type of stress. Rei never got a moment to herself. She never had the chance to step away from it all for something else. It was clear to Kakashi how especially exhausting being a stay-at-home mother was. He saw it in the dark circles under her eyes, her matted hair, the mess in the kitchen and the toys littering the floor. Kakashi did what he could but always feared it was never enough. She worked so hard. She deserved a quiet night of pampering with a fancy dinner she didn’t have to make herself, a non-animated film she could watch uninterrupted, and snuggles on the couch that did not involve a toddler’s slobber. If there was any night to do it, it was tonight.

               Rei nestled into Kakashi’s embrace as they walked home slowly, enjoying the sunset and the cool March air. “Are you sure she’ll be alright, Kakashi?” she asked quietly. “I’m so worried about her.”

               “Don’t be” Kakashi reassured her. “Everything will be fine.”

               “I just feel so guilty about leaving her” Rei replied. “I mean, we spend every day together. Her and I are never without each other. I just…”—by now, Rei’s eyes had welled up with tears. She bit her lip as she looked back over her shoulder, Kaminoki fading into the distance. “I feel so selfish, like we’re abandoning her or something, I don’t know.”

               Kakashi paused in the middle of the street. He brushed the long bangs back out of Rei’s face and tilted her chin up to look at him. “What are you crying for?” he asked softly. “I promise, Nariko is going to be fine.”

               “Are you sure?” Rei asked. The look of concern in her eyes, the desperation on her face, was enough to break Kakashi’s heart.

               “Positive” Kakashi reassured her. “She seemed more than happy about spending time with your parents. She’s resilient and adaptable. And there’s nothing selfish about taking a night for ourselves.” He caressed her cheek softly, hoping to exude some sense of calm. “You work so hard every day to take care of her, you shouldn’t feel bad for taking time for yourself. You can’t run on empty all the time, Rei. You deserve to relax.”

               Rei sniffled and a pathetic little giggle broke past her lips. “I know. You’re right” she replied. “I just wish I didn’t feel so terrible about it.”

               “It’ll be alright” Kakashi said. “Let’s just try to enjoy tonight as much as we can, okay? No more crying.” He grinned and kissed her on the forehead, squeezing her hand in silent support. Rei forced a smile and nodded. Truthfully, she didn’t want to take this away from him, either. He needed a break as much as she did.

               They continued down the road in comfortable silence before, all at once, Rei giggled quietly and nudged Kakashi for his attention. “You know, I was thinking: I hope my parents can even handle her.”

               Kakashi chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Besides, they could handle you, couldn’t they? Nariko has to get her energy from somewhere.”

               “Yeah” Rei laughed, mildly embarrassed. “If only I still had that much energy” she joked. She was positive she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in four years. Looking back on her ANBU days, when she’d stay up until the wee morning hours only to wake up at dawn, it all seemed incomprehensible to her now. These days she could barely keep her eyes open brushing her teeth. Funny how creating a life can drain so much of your own.

               Once they returned home, Kakashi guided Rei immediately into the bathroom with an all-knowing smirk. She watched quizzically as he began filling the tub and stirring in a copious amount of sweet-smelling body wash. Before she could ask him what this was all about, Kakashi glanced at her over his shoulder and replied, “A little relaxation never hurt anyone.” Rei could hardly stifle her laughter. She sat down on the edge of the tub and kissed his cheek. “Now you stew in here for a little bit while I go fix us some dinner” he insisted.

               “Wow, I guess maybe we should leave Nariko at my parent’s place more often” Rei joked. She smiled at him over her shoulder as she undressed, watching him retreat back to the kitchen. Once he was gone, she sunk into the warm water and closed her eyes. Her head had been pounding all week, her stomach twisting into knots. She stretched her arms out in front of her, straightened her back, and hoped this would be enough to alleviate all of her aches and pains.

               Rei had no idea how long she actually spent there, but by the time Kakashi had returned, her fingertips were wrinkled and waterlogged and her eyes had grown heavy. Her husband knocked musically and peeked his head through the doorway, announcing “Dinner’s ready!” Rei sat up and began rinsing the soap suds off her body, trying to snap out of her sleepy stupor. Kakashi crouched down beside her, cupping water in his hands to help wash away what she couldn’t reach. “So, did you enjoy your bath?” he asked, extending a hand to help her up.

               “Mmhmm, it was—” Rei started, but as she stood up the room began to spin. Her breath hitched in her throat as she fell onto Kakashi for support. His eyes immediately widened, holding her close as he helped her step over the edge of the tub and then wrapped her in a cozy towel.

               “Are you okay?” he asked. He sat her slowly down on the lidded toilet, watching as she blinked and tried to gain her bearings.

               “Y-yeah, I’m fine” she replied. “I just…got a little dizzy for a second.” Kakashi cocked a brow in concern. She may have insisted she was fine, but her face looked so pale and her hands were trembling in her lap. She sucked in a deep breath and smoothed her wet hair back. When she noticed he was staring at her, Rei pasted a fake grin on her face and added, “Really, I’m fine. I think all the hot water just fucked with my blood pressure or something. Probably doesn’t help that I’ve been tired.”

               “Was the water too hot for you?” Kakashi asked. “You should’ve said something. I could’ve cooled it down if it—”

               “No, really!” Rei interrupted, perhaps a little too abruptly. “I said it was fine.”

               “Okay…” Kakashi replied. He was not at all convinced but he knew better than to press her for answers. Especially when she seemed so on edge. He wanted tonight to be perfect and starting an argument or triggering a panic attack was the exact opposite of those intentions.

               Once she had calmed down, he watched with great focus as she slowly stood up and made her way into the bedroom. She peered at him over her shoulder, teased a tiny smirk, before dropping her towel and asking, “So do you want me to get dressed or should we eat dinner with our clothes off?”

               Kakashi’s cheeks burned as he ruffled his hair and replied, “I wouldn’t be opposed to either.”

               “Hmm” Rei hummed before finally turning to her drawers and pulling out a cute pair of underwear and one of Kakashi’s old shirts. “Well then maybe I’ll make you work for it, just to make things interesting” she said as she slipped his shirt over her head. It was one of the ones he wore back when he was a jonin leader, part of the since-outdated uniform. It fell to almost mid-thigh on her small frame, but fit tighter in the bust on account of her figure. When she turned around, the lace hem of her panties just barely showed from beneath the hem. Kakashi bit his bottom lip as she approached, lacing her fingers with his, then walked alongside him into the kitchen.

               On the table, a simple dinner awaited them by candlelight. A vase of her favorite flowers served as the centerpiece and for dessert, there was mochi—the kind with a whole orange inside. He knew how much she loved those. Toshio’s nose poked over the edge, sniffing for snacks, but Kakashi quickly shooed him away. Leaving Toshio alone with food was risky but he was not about to let the dog ruin all of his hard work. He pulled Rei’s chair out for her before settling in himself.

               Rei’s stomach growled in desperation as she picked up her chopsticks and surveyed her food. She locked eyes with Kakashi as they said in unison itadakimasu before digging in. The food was nothing Kakashi hadn’t made before: the typical rice, miso soup, and nitsuke—his specialty. This time, however, the fish in particular was overwhelming. It’s dead face and gaping mouth made her stomach churn. She picked apart a small piece, nibbled, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Kakashi paused mid-chew, staring at her in concern, as she flung her chopsticks on the table and staggered to the bathroom.

               “R-Rei..?!” he called after her. The panic in his voice was almost palpable. She threw the lid up and fell before the toilet, gripping the seat with white knuckles. Kakashi gave Toshio one quick warning glare before racing after her. “Rei, are you alright?!” he asked. He skidded up next to her, resting a hand on her lower back as she heaved and wept. He refused to leave her side the entire time, one hand constantly rubbing her back as the other rummaged through the counter drawers for anti-nausea medicine. Once she was done, he soaked a towel in cold water and pressed it to her forehead while he prepared a cup of water and a dose of chalky pink medicine. “Are you alright?” he asked.

               She hated the way he was looking at her, the absolute fear and concern on his face. Was she alright? How was she even supposed to answer him? She had been feeling sore and sick for weeks, but had just chalked it up to sleep deprivation. It had happened before, it made perfect sense. But she had her suspicions, too. This episode only further cemented them in her mind. So was she alright? Shaking her head, Rei huffed and whispered, “Kakashi, I think something’s wrong.”

               The word wrong struck him hard in the chest. “Was it the fish? The man at the market said it was fresh, but he had this look in his eyes that made me unsure. Maybe I should start an investigation. Maybe he’s trying to poison me to get me out of office. Not that I’m a stranger to death threats but—”

               “Kakashi, stop” Rei interrupted, lifting her palm in emphasis. Her hands were shaking again. “I’ve been feeling questionable since long before the fish was on the table.”

               Kakashi blinked. “W-what do you mean…?”

               Running her fingers through her hair, Rei stretched her legs out in front of her and locked her eyes on the grout lines in the floor. She didn’t particularly want to say it, because saying it would make it feel all the more real, but she couldn’t dismiss it any longer. “K-Kakashi…Kakashi, I think I might be pregnant again.”

               A jolt of panic rushed through Kakashi’s body. It took him a moment to register what, exactly, she had just said. It wasn’t like they were trying to conceive, but they also weren’t not trying. Perhaps that was the biggest mistake of all: the carelessness. But they had become so tired, it wasn’t worth the effort to pull out anymore. Hell, whatever intimate time they even had anymore was often spent half-asleep in lazy positions. They simply did not have the energy to try.

               A long moment of silence passed before Rei immediately gripped the edge of the toilet again. Her entire body was shaking now and her breath was labored. “Oh god, Kakashi, please say something” she whined.

               “S-sorry” he murmured, trying to gain his bearings. “A-are you sure?” he finally asked.

               “I don’t know, I really don’t know” she whimpered, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought I was just burnt out or coming down with the flu or something but then I started thinking about it and I can’t even remember when my last period was. I’ve been so busy, I lost track and then tonight happened and I just—” Tears were threatening to fall again as she choked on her own voice. Kakashi frowned empathetically before scooting nearer and pulling her into his arms.

               “Do you want me to run to the drugstore and pick up a pregnancy test?” he asked. “I can do that for you if it’d make you feel better.” Sniffling, Rei buried her face against his chest and nodded.

               “I think that might be for the best” she whispered. Kakashi cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. He hated to leave her like this but he was not going to pretend like they did not need answers. And as much as he hated the thought of what rumors would fly at the sight of the hokage buying pregnancy tests, he hated even more seeing Rei so distraught. He asked her if there was anything else she needed before giving her one last kiss and rushing out the door. In their absence, Toshio had leapt onto the table and was halfway finished with their food but at this point, Kakashi couldn’t have cared less. There were far more important things at stake now.

               When he returned, it was nightfall and Rei was curled up on the couch with a trash can by her side. Toshio had situated himself at her feet, his heavy head resting on her thigh. If Kakashi had to leave her, at least he could always count on her faithful canine to watch over her. The moment he unlocked the door, Rei sat up expectantly. He could see the anxiety immediately rush to her face. Toshio tilted his head around and barked a hello, spotted tongue lopping out of the side of his mouth.

               “I got the four pack” Kakashi said, holding up the box. “Just to be safe. There was a coupon.”

               There was a coupon. Perhaps it was just the ridiculousness of the situation, but Rei couldn’t help but laugh. It was always in the most dire of times, it seemed, that the stupidest things became suddenly so funny. After all, in a matter of minutes, things likely were not going to feel so funny anymore.

               Rei forced herself to chug the last of her water despite still feeling incredibly sick. Her mounting anxiety was surely not helping her cause. She sat on the edge of the tub as she ripped open the box and pulled out one of the tests. The mere sight of it was enough to make her gag again. Kakashi rested a gentle hand on her knee.

               “You ready?” he asked.

               “I don’t really have a choice” she replied. Without another moment of hesitation, she pulled down her underwear and proceeded to go to the bathroom. At least her bladder had been working overtime, so taking the test required no extra waiting on her part. Once she was finished, she put the test face down on a wad of toilet paper on the counter and sighed. Kakashi set a timer for five minutes. “And now we wait.”

               Kakashi gave a single nod as she went and sat beside him on the edge of the tub. “Are you alright?” he asked.

               “We’ll see” Rei replied. Then, with a bitter laugh, she added, “Well, isn’t this romantic? Happy anniversary, sweetheart, here’s my piss on a stick!”

               Shaking his head, Kakashi wrapped his arm around his wife and pulled her close. “I wouldn’t want it any other way” he jested.

               “Yeah, okay” Rei scoffed. After a few moments, however, her bitterness faded into dejection. Dropping her head back, Rei inhaled sharply and whispered, “God, this sucks.”

               Kakashi rubbed her shoulder. “Are you mad at me?” he asked quietly.

               “I’m mad at myself” Rei replied. “I just…fuck, I’m so sorry, Kakashi.”

               “What are you sorry for?” he asked. His voice was dripping with sympathy, his gaze soft and gentle. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

               “But I ruined our anniversary dinner” Rei argued. She could feel the tears pricking at the back of her eyes yet again. She refused to let herself cry this time. She felt so pathetic. “Tonight was supposed to be special. Everything should’ve been perfect but…but then I had to go and puke in the middle of dinner and start…all of this.” Here, she crudely motioned to what had become of their bathroom: toilet seat propped up, towels on the floor, medication littering the counter. And of course that stupid little pregnancy test.

               Kakashi drew her close and kissed her temple, nuzzled her cheek. “It’s okay” he replied. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I promise.”

               Rei turned and buried her face in his chest. Voice muffled, she asked, “Kakashi, what are we going to do?”

               “Well, what do you want to do?” he asked. “Though we really can’t make any decisions until we know for sure.”

               Shaking her head, Rei whined, “I don’t know! I haven’t thought this through. I never considered this could happen. I’ve been so focused on what’s going on right now, and Nariko is so much work, I just—” Her voice was starting to rise in octave as her hands shook again. This whole situation was so overwhelming. She needed a plan. She felt so unprepared.

               “I know, Rei. It’s okay” Kakashi whispered. He squeezed her tight and ran his fingers through her hair, brushing her bangs back out of her face. He could feel how rapidly her heart was beating through her chest and truthfully, he didn’t blame her. He had never considered this possibility either. Now that they were staring it in the face, however, a strange feeling had taken root in his chest. “You know” he said quietly, “I almost kind of hope the test is positive.”

               Rei automatically leaned back to stare at him in confusion. “You do?” she asked.

               “Mmhmm” he replied. “The thought of having another baby is kind of exciting. We may not have planned for this, but we can do things right this time. No wars to worry about. I’ll be right here the entire time. I think we’re in a good position to care for another child. I’m sure Nariko will be happy for the company. I think we’re ready, Rei. Maybe all of this is happening the way it’s supposed to.”

               Rei considered his words for a moment. She supposed he had a point. Things were so much calmer now than when she was pregnant with Nariko. They were secure financially, professionally, and in their relationship. Pursing her lips, Rei dropped her eyes to the floor, placed a hand upon her stomach, muttered, “I mean, another baby would be kind of nice. I always thought we’d have a second child eventually anyway.”

               Tilting her chin up to face him, Kakashi looked her in the eyes and whispered meaningfully, “I will do everything I can to take the best possible care of you. All of you. I promise.” As much as he believed he was a good father, he knew there were areas where he was lacking. All of that was going to change now, though. He needed to invest more time in caring for his family. He needed to pick up the slack at home and create a much more balanced division of household duties. One in which Rei was not so overloaded with work just because she was home all the time. Even if the test came back negative and things went back to normal, she deserved better and he knew that. He only wished that it hadn’t take a scare like this to truly remind him of that.

               Before any more could be said, the timer went off. Rei went rigid, immediately gripping Kakashi’s hand tight. “Oh god, I don’t think I can look” she whispered, eyes locked on the test awaiting her attention.

               “It’s okay” Kakashi reassured her. “Whatever the answer is, we’ll be ready. We can do this.” He was so confident, so certain and sweet. Even if she herself was terrified, Kakashi’s support made Rei believe that maybe they could, in fact, handle this. After all, she wasn’t alone in this. They were a team. They were in this together. Whatever the future held before them, they would face hand in hand.

               Sucking in a deep breath, Rei cringed and flipped the test over. It took her a minute for the result to register. She stared at it dumbfounded, eyes wide and unblinking, before her hand clapped over her mouth. Kakashi couldn’t read her expression.

               “What? What does it say?” he urged.

               Rei’s hand trembled. A strange and unexpected happiness rooted itself deep in her chest, rising up out of her throat in the form of an incredulous laugh. Turning her gaze away from the test, she whispered, “Kakashi…it’s positive.”

               Kakashi blinked, trying to make sure he heard her right. “It’s…it’s positive…?” he asked in disbelief.

               Rei nodded slowly, biting her lip to fight the small smile weaseling its way onto her lips. Her eyes were glossy and wide, her mouth agape. “It’s positive” she repeated. “I guess we’re really having a baby after all.”

               Overwhelmed with happiness, Kakashi leapt to his feet and pulled her into a tight hug. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and she could feel his hot, happy tears against her skin. It wasn’t until then that she realized she was crying, too. Suddenly nothing else mattered. Not the stress or the exhaustion, not the fact that Toshio had completely eaten all of their dinner. Curious about the commotion, he nudged the door open to peek inside, sniffing at the air and barking as if in congratulations. Rei turned to look at him, a laugh escaping her, as she urged him to come nearer. She reached down to scratch behind his ear, musing, “Looks like you’re going to have one more baby to protect.”

               Toshio, as if in staunch approval, barked and began spinning and leaping happily. In a place as small as their bathroom, however, this left little room for anything else. But Kakashi and Rei couldn’t even be bothered.

               “I guess we’ll have to find a way to tell Nariko” Rei whispered, settling into her husband’s arms. “I wonder how she’s going to take being a big sister.”

               “I think she’ll be happy” Kakashi assured her. “She’ll never have to worry about being alone.”

               Nodding, Rei snuggled up close, resting her head against Kakashi’s chest. “Yeah…that’s good” she whispered. “She’s such a social butterfly, I think a sibling would be good for her.”

               Kakashi smiled down at his wife and his heart overflowed. All those years of turmoil and distance could never have prepared him for what was in store. How did he deserve a life such as this? With a beautiful wife and daughter, a warm home, an unbelievable job, and now another baby on the way? He thought of his father, of how proud the White Fang of the Leaf would be. If only he could’ve met his grandchildren. If only he could’ve seen all that Kakashi had accomplished. He was so, so blessed.

               “I love you so much, Rei” he whispered, hugging her close.

               “I love you, too, Kakashi” she whispered back.

               And in those quiet moments, on the cusp of something wonderful, Kakashi was certain he had never been happier. This was everything he had ever wanted. He couldn’t have asked for more—and on their anniversary, even. A celebration of their love, of the commitment they had made to one another. Of everything good in the world, everything he thought he never deserved. This was truly the perfect gift.

[baronvontribble]

Found it! Would you like to try #44? And your Mass Effect folks or Daneel / Elijah if you'd like a change of pace.

44. Tentative kisses given in the dark.

yeah this one went REALLY long. have i ever written in this style before? idk! there’s a cut tho

---

It was late on the planet of dawn - well into the wee hours, if Elijah didn't miss his guess - but whether it was due to the change of schedule or the buzz from the end of a dizzying case, the detective couldn't sleep a wink. He tossed, he turned, he stared moodily at the ceiling, but nothing changed. Nothing worked.

And then, at an ungodly hour at which no sane human would be awake, he heard a chime at the door. Sighing, he braced himself for the cold air hitting his skin as he swung his feet over the side of the bed, only to find his feet perfectly comfortable when they hit the floor. Given that he was already in a bad mood, this only served to annoy him further. Damn this place! It was too perfect, too cleanly suited to human whims. Give him the artificiality of a City anyday. At least the unpleasantness of the air conditioning there would've given him an excuse to be awake other than his own thoughts.

"Come in," he said, smoothing a hand over his face. The door slid open, revealing a tall, broad silhouette standing in the light of the hall. Elijah straightened immediately, blinking. Why was Daneel here?

The robot stepped inside with a deferential nod, but was otherwise stiff as always. "Partner Elijah," he greeted. "My apologies if I have disturbed you."

"You haven't." Not that Daneel ever could be a disturbance, of course. But the robot's programming wouldn't be able to rest until he was assured of having done no harm, and thus it had become second nature for Elijah to soothe. "What seems to be the trouble?"

Daneel paused. For a moment it was as if he had lagged in his processing, all the little movements that made him seem more human coming to the briefest halt before they resumed themselves. Little else had changed, but Elijah had known him for long enough to be able to notice such things. "You are aware of the Three Laws of Robotics, partner Elijah," he said.

Elijah scoffed. "To the letter, at this point."

"Then I will refer you now to the Third Law: a robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law." The ever-so-dim light of the room made Daneel's default of a grim, dour expression all the more disquieting.

But Elijah was used to that. What worried him was the content of what Daneel was saying. "Are you malfunctioning?" he asked, frowning as he stood and came closer.

"I am not."

"You're certain? You won't hurt me by telling the truth if so, Daneel. I should like to know these things."

"Quite certain. I have already inquired as to the nature of what it is I am experiencing. Doctor Fastolfe has assured me that it is not a malfunction, only a natural evolution of my programming." If it was in Daneel's nature to frown, Elijah guessed he might have. "However, it has caused a reaction in my positronic pathways analogous to what you would consider to be distress."

A natural evolution, and yet it was causing him distress. Elijah's curiosity deepened. "Are you damaged, then? In pain?"

"No. I am neither damaged nor capable of experiencing what you would call pain." Daneel's eyes were sharp, observant as only a machine was capable of being as they bored into his. "But I fear that if I act on the Third Law potential, I may cause you to come to harm through my actions."

Elijah offered up a thin smile. "Nothing you're capable of doing could hurt me enough to outweigh mitigating your distress, Daneel," he said. "But if it'll make you feel better, I could order you."

A human might hum, or bite their lip, or scratch their head. Daneel did none of those things in spite of the fact that he was thinking no less deeply. "That might counterbalance the First and Third Law potentials sufficiently, yes."

"Then go ahead." Elijah gestured broadly. "I order you to act on your distress. Do whatever it is you deem necessary to fix it, and trust that I will not be harmed by your actions."

Daneel nodded gravely. Then he stepped forward, a looming shape in the dark, leaning in, in, in. Elijah was struck by how close he was able to get without the residual body heat or puffs of breath that one might expect from a human becoming a factor. There was no smell, no taste of perfume. Just the displacement of air as something very large got very close, close enough to almost touch. Until they were touching, a hand snaking up into Elijah's hair, cool lips that felt remarkably real otherwise pressed to his forehead.

It was a kiss. Daneel had taken hold of him and kissed him, however chaste it was. Stunned, he brought a hand up and caught Daneel's wrist, thumb pressed to where the pulse would be in a human. "Daneel," he breathed, swallowing heavily. "Has it helped?"

"No." The android's voice was no less strong, no more affected than it had been a moment prior as he tipped forward just enough to press their foreheads together. His eyes were closed. "It seems I have only heightened my own distress. My apologies, partner Elijah."

Elijah's brow furrowed. When he spoke again, his voice sounded small to his own ears. "Perhaps if you did more?"

"More?"

"If you went further," he added hastily. "Though I won't order you to do it if it's against your wishes."

Daneel opened his eyes, looking utterly lost and innocent as only a robot could. "You have yet to order me to do something in this instance that has gone against what was dictated by the potentials in my positronic pathways, partner Elijah."

Was that consent? Could a robot consent at all? "Then I order you to do as you wish," Elijah told him. "You have me for as long as I have left on this planet, if it pleases you."

He'd meant what he'd told Vasilia, after all.

[smashing-teacups]

Wee Preview: Atonement Chapter 17

A/N: About to head into a long stretch of 12-hour night shifts, so unfortunately, Atonement won’t be updated this week. Sorry, friends. As a wee peace offering, how about a bit of what I do have written so far? 

__________________

She might have been able to scrounge up the willpower to keep walking if his room had been dark. At least that’s what she told herself. 

But it wasn’t. 

The rapid, colorful flicker of lights across his window made her miss a step, her brows knitting in contemplation. 

Jamie didn’t watch telly in the middle of the night. Not ever.

Not unless…

Unless he wants you to know he’s awake? 

She inhaled slowly, tremulously, as she closed the few steps to his door, tucking herself off to one side where he couldn’t see her. She stood there for a moment, back braced to the wall, eyes closed, listening to the muffled sounds coming from the speakers. 

“Let’s take a look at the living room.”

“It’s a little bit small. I’m just a little concerned that this may be… maybe too narrow? I’m not sure if this is spacious enough.”

“This house is about 2,400 square feet, so seeing these really tight living spaces, that just is a bit of a conundrum for me because that’s really where I want to put the square footage.”

Claire released her breath in a laugh, biting her lower lip in a futile attempt to stop the smile blooming across her face. HGTV. 

It was. It was for her.

She pushed the door open with a soft click, just far enough to peer through. Jamie turned his head immediately, anticipation melting into a heartstopping smile as his eyes found hers.

“Just popping my head in to say hello,” she whispered needlessly; he clearly wasn’t asleep. 

“Hello, Sassenach.” Jamie’s smile deepened until the dimples showed in his cheeks. “Did ye have a good few days off?”

She shrugged. “Oh, fine. Ran some errands, nothing exciting. How are you holding up?”

“Good. Fine.” 

“Good, that’s good. Glad to hear it.”

They both nodded silently, awkwardly for a moment. Jamie drew in a breath to speak at the same moment Claire blurted, “Well, I shouldn’t keep you, I—”

“No! No, not at all,” he stammered as she began to withdraw. Claire paused, hiding her smile behind the edge of the door as Jamie continued hastily, “I told ye, my sleep schedule’s broken. I’m always awake this time o’ night. Took yer wee suggestion about the House Hunters tae keep myself occupied, but I… I’m always grateful for yer company, Claire.” A deep flush had crept up his neck and into his cheeks as he spoke, his expression growing increasingly sheepish. “If ye have the time.”

Claire glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “You know, actually, I… was just headed for a coffee break.”

“Ah.” Jamie dropped his lashes, his mouth twitching into a tepid smile that did nothing to hide his disappointment. 

“No,” Claire fumbled to explain herself. “No, what I meant is, I could — I do have time. Just now.”

Blue eyes snapped up to hers again as understanding dawned. “Oh.” He choked out a huff of a laugh, the blush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t — I’m with ye now. Why don’t, ah… why don’t ye go fetch yer coffee and bring it back here, then? I dinna mind.”

“Would you like one?” The offer spilled out of her before she had a chance to think it through. She tapped her temple in a gesture of absentmindedness as he began to draw breath to answer her. “God, sorry. Clearly I need the coffee. It’s the middle of the bloody night.”  

“Nah, a coffee sounds braw, actually. I’ll be up anyway. Been catchin’ wee naps during the day between physical therapy, so I’m no’ tired just now.”

She frowned at him, not overly pleased with the idea. He was supposed to be getting his rest, not staying up all hours of the night on a caffeine buzz. Jamie shrugged in the direction of the television, giving her a lopsided smile that weakened the fault lines of her resolve. “Besides, I’m invested now. Will they pick the auld fixer-upper that’s all rotted out wi’ mold and asbestos, or the verra posh new construction that’s way over-budget? Cannae sleep ‘til I find out.” 

Claire leaned against the doorjamb, her eyebrows and mouth quirked in amusement. “I could just tell you, you know. I’ve seen this one before.”

“Och.” He scrunched his nose at her. “Where’s the fun in that, Sassenach?”

[the-lady-bryan]

because i’m waiting on the water for my pasta to boil, here’s an idea i had for a fic but haven’t worked on it hardly any not for lack of muse. the muse is there. the worldbuilding has been done to death. i just haven’t the time to add it to the mountain of WIPs I’ve already got going.

so here’s the idea.

It’s a Harry Potter/Hermione Granger Soulmate AU.

The least you need to know: involves Lily Potter being a bamf, pagan god worship, god-like Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, reincarnation, future mind/soul into past self style time travel.

also typos. oh god the typos, but i can’t really be bothered to fix them at this time.

This is gonna be broken up into parts so i’m gonna do a different part per reblog till i’m done.

PART 1:  THE PATRONAGE OF A TITAN

When Lily was a young witch - around 13 or so - her best friend Severus introduced her to some old pureblood traditions (which he and his mother did but hid from his father). She was shown how to worship the old pagan gods. To a muggleborn this was at first not well received, but as Lily had learned in the previous three years not everything about her new world was to be taken at face value. So she endeavoured to learn and not be prejudiced. She had lerned that each witch or wizard who practced the old ways had a patron god or goddess to which they prayed. This was, to her, not entirely unlike the idea of patron saints to whom muggles appealed for strength, guidance, or support. And so this is how she approached this new aspect of her magical identity. Even after her parting of the ways with Severus, she continued to learn and had even begun the practice of honoring the old gods - though she had no patron as yet.

On her seventeenth birthday she had ventured into the forbidden forest, feeling an inexplicable pull on her magic. She found herself in a clearing where there was a pond and a small smattering of trees. Despite it being the dead of winter, the clearing was warm and inviting. There was a fire lit, and an old woman sitting before it. She was naked from the waist up, and her skin sagged and her long hair was thin and silver with age.

"Miss Evans, I've been waiting for you."

"Wh- How do you know my name? Who are you?"

"I was once called the Meter Theon. But in Sparta they called me Meter Megale. My brother-husband called me Rhea."

"You're a titan."

"Yes child."

"I thought you'd be bigger."

Rhea laughs at this and invites Lily to join her by the fire. Lily learns from her that Rhea has come forward as her patron, and tells hr that the old ways are dying. That now across the world only the oldest and strongest still remain. "Zeus and his lot were some of the first to go. But stubborn old Hades refuses to give in. Refuses to give up his post and move on like the others." "why?" "What do you know of the tale of Hades and Persephone, child?" And so Lily tells her the myths she learned as a child pre-hogwarts, and of her research. Of the rites she had read about and so on and so forth. "My siblings and I may have been chained in Tartarus, but we could still see. We could still hear. Mother Gaia still whispered to us in our hearts and Father Ouranous still sang strong in our minds. It always brought me great sorrow to see how my son was treated by his siblings. Given no choice but to rule in a place devoid of warmth and love. Forbidden from walking the land with his siblings and taking part in the wonders that was the growing race of men and their curiosity. Over time many believed him cold and incapable of sharing in what they had. The reality was that he felt everything so much more deeply than they. For it was to him all souls would eventually come. Even those of his brothers and his sisters. But there was one who saw in him the goodness. The kindness and the gentleness that had been hidden by the dark." "Persephone." "Yes. As you mortals are so fond of saying, history is written by the victors. And never has it been more true than in the case of my most beloved son and his wife. Persephone was ordered to wed Hermes, whom she loathed with all of her heart. The night before they were to wed, she fled and went to the only place she knew Zeus's omnopotent sight could never penetrate. She went to the underworld begging sanctuary of Hades, who readily gave it to her. In time they grew close, and eventually he allowed himself to open up to her affection. But rumours of Demeter's search for her daughter told them it would be only a matter of time before those on Olympus realized to where she had fled and Persephone, being posessed of imortality and not a mortal soul, could be removed from his realm and there was little he could do about it. Unless she were willing to bind herself to him in marriage - but because it meant she could no longer return to the world above, to the sunshine and the light, he would not force it upon her. She chose to wed Hades, for her love for him was so great that even the thought of being parted from him brought her great pain. They were wed, and he took her to bed as any husband would his wife. And after, she ate of the pommegranate that would seal her fate. Twelve seeds, she needed to consume.... but the gates of the Underworld buckled and gave way under the might of Zeus and his Olympians. Hermes stole Persephone away after she had eaten only six. The bond to her husband only partially fulfilled. Hades was punished by watching Persephone forced to marry Hermes. But rather than marry the brute she attacked him and took up his dagger, plunging it into her own heart.... For the weapons forged in the fires of Hephaestus were so powerful they could kill even a Titan. Denied the pleasure of watching Hades suffer as his wife was married to the suitor Zeus had chosen, Zeus forbade her soul from ever entering the realm of Hades and bound her soul to mortal bones to be reborn again and again. My beloved son still stands watch, though he grows weaker by the year, in the hopes that now his brothers are long since gone, her soul may be able to pass through his gates and she is returned to him."

Lily is given the choice near dawn to accept Rhea, one of the last of the old gods, as her patron goddess or to refuse and seek out another. Lily accepts Rhea, which causes the old woman to smile and gives her an amulet with strange runes upon it.

Lily wakes in her own bed in Gryffindor tower, finding a delicate locket around her neck. Upon closer inspection, the inside has an inscription - the same strange runes from the amulet Rhea had given to her in what she assumed was a dream... Only to realize when she pulls her covers aside that her feet are smudged in dirt as if she'd been walking outside.

Lily learns as much as she can of Rhea in the following years. When she marries James Potter, she insists that they buy a specific type of wine without telling him why. He believes it is her favorite because she tends to keep a bottle in the house "for special occasions". She plants a garden where every plant links back to her patron Titaness in some way or manner. The night of Halloween, after James has gone to sleep rather satisfied after their own "after party" once they'd come home from Sirius's wild Halloween party, Lily went out into her garden in the wee hours and made her offering to Rhea who, once again, appeared to her. This time Rhea was much more ancient in her appearance, much more haggard. But she was still very pleased to see Lily had done as she had promised and continued to worship her. "You are the last of my acolytes, I am afraid. And when you one day pass, so too shall I." Lily professes that won't be the case. That one day she and James will start a family, and she will make sure that her children honor Rhea just as Lily has done - even if they have to do it behind her husband's back (to many Light families, the "old ways" are seen as dark and are thus shunned and forbidden. Otherwise she would have happily included James in her worship of Rhea.) This amuses the Titaness, but she says that no, it is her time. The age of the gods has finally come to an end. But with the passage of the gods, something new must fill the void. Something new must give mankind the comfort and protection once offered by the old gods. "I have a gift for you, my dear child. As my last priestess, I wish to give you something your husband... unfortunately cannot." "What?" "Try as you might, your husband's seed will never swell your belly. But as my last act in this existence, I grant you a boon. Your loyalty and your love have kept me alive longer than my brothers and sisters. Your love has given me more time with my beloved son Hades, and as a mother who has seen all her other children perish before her, this is a gift that can only be matched by one of equal value." Rhea touches Lily's abdomen and Lily feels a warmth flood her starting from there. Rhea visibly weakens as she is doing this, and the brightness in her eyes fades from brilliant emerald to a dull moss. "What have you done to me?" "My body fails me, but my power will remain so long as you live. I have given you the only thing of value to me left. Treat him kindly, my priestess. He has known so much sorrow and so much pain and yet he remains so pure and full of love." Lily, in disbelief, puts a hand to her adbomen. "How... what...." "Word of advice from one mother to another. If your husband tries to eat him, just paint a face on a rock  and shove it down his throat. My only regret was letting Cronus eat Hades instead of Zeus. If i knew then that boy would be such a hatefull jackass like his father, I'd have thrown him into the abyss myself and been done with him. Hera, too. And Poseidon was on pretty thin fucking ice there by the end."

Lily wakes the next morning in her bed with James, and once more her feet are smudged with dirt. This isn't the first time, so she tells James that she woke in the night for some water and wanted to take a stroll in the garden to look at some of her night blooms. The moment she is alone, she casts a charm and finds that she is, indeed, pregnant. After James has gone to work for the day, Lily prepares a special offering and leaves it in the garden tucked in a little altar disguised as a muggle garden decoration. She thanks Rhea for her gift and promises to show him all of the love and affection she possibly can - for both his mothers.

Lily does not see Rhea again, but she can feel her patron's presence from time to time and finds it comforting.

When Harry Potter is born, Lily silently praises Rhea, thanking her again for her gift and for her patronage and protection, and promises to do the best she can to raise the reborn Hades in a way she would hopefully approve.

They go into hiding, and Lily invokes Rhea's power and protection - not for herself, but for the son the Titaness had given her.

The entire day of October 31, 1981 Lily Potter feels powerful. She feels the energies surrounding her and her family intensify and a feeling of dread settles into her gut. She is reminded of the last time she and Rhea spoke face to face. The titaness had said that her body was failing her, and that so long as Lily lived, so too would the power of Rhea. During the day when she set Harry down for a nap, she prayed fervently over the boy, chanting ancient prayers of protection she had learned over the years. James comes upon her, but does not interrupt and instead waits outside Harry's nursery and listens to his wife's chanting. He slips away when she finishes and hurries downstairs. When they are both in the kitchen later, standing side by side at the counter as Lily prepares Harry's after nap snack and James is fixing himself some tea he quietly says, "I know Harry isn't mine." "What? Where the hell is this coming from? I did not cheat on you if that's what you think." "You got pregnant pretty quickly after Sirus's costume party-" "I did not cheat on you." "then who's the father?" "YOU are you dolt! I... Harry was a blessing! A gift to us for my unfaltering devotion o a dying goddess!" "you're mad." "Call me what you want, James. But I tell you if you were to pull an inheritence test on him right now you'll see he's your son. The night Harry was conceived we had just made love and she came to me and blessed me with our son. Go upstairs and look at him, James. He looks just like you, but with his mother's eyes. That's no glamour. That's no illusion or spell or-" "I know it's dark. I know it's illegal. I saw you chanting over him like some madwoman." "It was a protection chant James! In case you've forgotten we've got a madman after us who wants to kill our son because some drunken blithering idiot said so!"

The the argue a bit more and Lily storms out of the kitchen. After Harry wakes up, James realizes he's been an idiot after watching Lily playing with Harry and goes to apologize. Lily's annoyed with him, but forgives him with a "Besides, you know the wards on this place would have kicked him right out if he wasn't really a Potter you dunderhead."

That night Voldemort attacks, just as in canon. Lily is wearing her special locket that was given to her from Rhea when she accepted the Titaness as her patron. When Lily died, the remnants of Rhea's power was called forth and protected Harry in response to the muggleborn priestess's willing self sacrifice. But it was not enough to stop the horcrux that was drawn to the reincarnation of the god of the dead.

[anasatsia98]

The Devil and The Daughter  Chapter Three

The bakery was closed.

As it was every Sunday and there was no white envelope under her door on this day… there never was. Instead of getting up at the crack of dawn and kneading copious amounts of dough or mixing batter, Cora was sat in Pol's kitchen, idly sipping tea and munching on a piece of toast—with butter and grape jam, strawberry never sat well with her stomach—as Pol read the newspaper.

Much like written in the Bible, Cora did not work on Sunday's. However, it wasn't because it was God's day of rest, rather it was because Sunday held great meaning to Cora. When she was younger, and her father had yet to leave her and her mother, Cora's family would leave for a picnic the moment the last church bell rang. Her father would drive her and her mother up the dirt roads to a grassland that only few knew Small Heath held. Her father and her would lay on the old, brown blanket and stare up at the sky, pointing out shapes as her mother fixed the food.

Cora's mother continued the tradition after her father left, claiming that she didn't need that bastard to drive her up the hill and that she could do it herself. For a while, Cora couldn't seem to find the same amount of joy she used to when they went on their picnics. Her family had fallen apart, her father gone, her mother working extra hours, and her watching their lives unfold. Florence, Cora's mother, wasn't unaware of her daughter's mood and so, on Sunday's, she created a new tradition. One that was just for the two of them.

Waking Cora up at the crack of dawn, Florence would lead the small child downstairs and two the kitchen. The first few times, Cora whined and complained at the time and how tired she was, but Florence ignored her daughter and kept up with the tradition. Together, Florence taught Cora how to bake bread, make cookies, and ice the cakes. The treats they created would be taken up with them to their picnic and the two would feast on the goodies that they had prepared, ignoring the oncoming stomachaches.

On Sunday, Cora spent time with her family.

"Good of you to join us," Cora heard Pol greet as she took a bit of her bread, her eyes flickering up to see Ada lazily walk into the kitchen, "Where have you been all day?"

"In bed," Ada hummed, making her way towards the kitchen, "Couldn't sleep. Then I couldn't wake up. Then I was cold and then I had to go for a wee. Then I was with this bear on a boat but that was a dream. Then I was hungry. Why are you reading the paper?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Pol's question like static in the background to Cora, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she looked at Ada. If there was one main similarity between Ada and Tommy, it was that neither of them liked sweets. Both her and Tommy had a habit of eating their toast with butter and drinking their tea with either one or no sugar.

So, when Cora saw that Ada was placing two heaping spoonsful of strawberry jam on her toast, she couldn't help but raise her eyebrow.

"I've never seen you read the paper." Ada stated as she took a large bit of her bread, shooting Cora a glare, noticing her questioning stare, "I've only ever seen you light fires with them."

Pol sighed, closing her paper, and Cora leaned back in her chair. Bringing the floral teacup to her lips to hide her smirk, Cora watched as Pol gave Ada an odd look. If Ada was what Cora suspected, then she had to learn to do a better job at being careful… especially if her brothers were around.

"The BSA are on strike. The miners are on strike. IRA are killing out boys, ten a day." Cora could almost see the warning lights flashing in Pol's mind as Ada took a massive bite out of the bread, the jam giving it an extra two inches in height.

Pol's eyes trailed down the young woman's body, her lips pursed and her eyes sharp as they landed on her breasts. Cora placed her cup down and glanced between the two women. Pol had an uncanny knack for figuring things out, she always had. When Cora and Tommy started seeing each other, they kept it hush and undercover. They acted as they normally did and never gave a single hint that something was happening between the two; and yet, Pol was the first to figure it out. Cora and Tommy had only been together near a month when Pol causally asked them how long.

Any secret that was hidden in this house was never hidden from one person.

"Stand up," Pol commanded, her cold eyes never leaving Ada's confused face.

"Why?" Ada hummed as she took another bite of the bread and looked at her Aunt. Cora's presence was quickly forgotten as Pol focused on Ada and Ada focused on Pol.

It wasn't unusual for Cora's presence to be forgotten. Her personality made it easy for her slip into the background. When the boys were at war, Pol and Ada would use this to her ability. On dark nights, she would slip into bars, flirt with men, and eavesdrop on their conversations as soon as important topics came out. Cora was never told to leave the room, the men either forgetting that she was there or not caring enough.

"Just stand up." Pol's face twisted into one of concern and she placed her teacup down as Ada stood up, brush her hands off and grumbling as she did so. Cora's eyes followed Pol's movements, "Side on."

It was quick, neither Cora nor Ada had seen it coming, but Pol grasped Ada's left breast and gave it a sharp push. Ada's reaction was fast, her mouth dropping in shock as her body lurched back. By then, Cora had seen enough. As Ada's body pulled back, her dress twisted around her sides and Ada's once petite frame wasn't as petite as it used to be. Especially around her midsection.

"Oi! What are you doing?" Ada squealed, pushing Pol off her.

"Ada," Pol's voice was gentle and stern, and Cora could hear the concern in her voice, "How late are you?"

It felt as though the kitchen had gone deathly silent at Pol's words. Cora's body tensed and she sat up straight, her eyes locked on Ada's face, observing every reaction that was quick to flicker across before becoming passive. Ada's closed her eyes before leaning her body against the wall and letting out a sigh.

"One week." Ada breathed, her voice wavering as her eyes locked with Pol's, "Five weeks. Seven if you count weekends. I think it's a lack of iron. I got some tablets."

"But they didn't work," Pol finished for her, sitting back down at the table, Ada following her lead.

"No."

Cora wrinkled her nose in thought, her eyes drifting to the window and she watched as the breeze that traveled through ruffled the clothes that were hanging to dry. There was no doubt in her mind that Ada was pregnant. Her years at the bakery had shown her every stage in which a woman was expecting: the cravings, sore breasts, swollen feet, long nights.

"We're going to have to visit Mrs. Simeon," Cora said, the two other women looking at her, one with fear and the other in agreement. "She's trustworthy and, Ada," Cora's looked at the young woman, "You'll find out one way or another. I think it's better we find out before you give birth."

Pol sighed, "She's right. We'll go later tonight. Nobody can see us or know, especially your brothers, Ada. Lord knows what will happen when they find out."

Ada only nodded in response and it didn't take a genius to know that she was frightened. Cora understood. There had been an… incident a week after Tommy had been drafted. She was late, had cravings, and her breasts were sore. In the end, she wasn't expecting, but Cora never forgot the panic that gripped her heart at the possibility. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted children with Tommy, but when he had gone with the possibility of him never coming back, Cora feared for them.

"Why don't you come help me with the shop, Ada." Cora gently coaxed the girl, trying to help distract her from whatever the results may be.

"But you're always closed on Sunday." Ada's brows furrowed in confusion causing Cora to smile at her.

"Who said I'd be selling the sweets?" Cora said, and she watched as a soft smile formed on Ada's face.

"Alright," Ada agreed, before getting up and heading up the stairs to get ready.

While Ada was getting ready, Cora placed her dishes in the sink and slid on her coat. There were no words spoken between Pol and Cora, she didn't know what to say and Pol was deep in thought. Ada was already hurrying into the kitchen seconds after she had left and Cora knew that she didn't want to be in the house for much longer.

It made sense, neither knew when one of her brothers would be coming back. The two bide Pol a goodbye before heading out the door and walking down the street, passing The Garrison quickly, and arriving at Cora's bakery. Cora unlocked the door and slid into the bakery, Ada following.

"What are you in the mood for?" Cora asked, hanging up her coat and pulling on her apron, her eyes flickering to Ada as she waited for an answer.

Ada shuffled on her feet, her eyes flickering around the empty bakery before she paced towards one of the tables near the front and placed her purse and coat on it. Cora didn't bother to scold her, not when Ada was in such a vulnerable position. Aside from John, Ada would be the second Shelby sibling to have a child. She knew the struggles John had with keeping his children in line—the whole family did—and how Tommy was always on his back to take better care of the kids.

There was no doubt in Cora's mind that Tommy would be the same on Ada, if not worse. As the only Shelby daughter, there was no doubt in either of their minds that Tommy's reaction would be the worst. Arthur would laugh his eyes slowly turning to ice as he realized that it would not be a joke, John would scoff before threatening to beat the lad up, and Tommy… Tommy would pretend that everything was okay while he made passive aggressive comments to Ada.

"Shortbread," Ada responded after a moment of thought. Cora nodded her head, making her way towards the pantry to get the dry ingredients while Ada placed on the spare apron Cora kept under the counter and grabbed the milk and eggs from the fridge.

The two worked together in a comfortable silence. Words were only spoken when they thought it necessary, but otherwise, a stillness remained. Neither girls minded, though. While Ada mixed together one batch of shortbread, Cora was kneading another. Teamwork had always been a strong suit between the pair. They had grown up together and, even though Cora was two years younger than Tommy and three years older than John, the two depended on each other.

"Can you pass the flour?" Cora asked, already reaching for the bag that rested on the other side of Ada. Ada nodded wordlessly and handed the blonde the bag, her attention focusing back on the stiff batter together.

Opening her mouth, Cora froze, her lips closing and her eyes drifting back towards the circular dough in front of her. As much as she wanted to—craved to—Cora knew it was better not to talk about the events that transpired that evening. There was barely an hour left before their appointment—the sunset quicker in the fall than—and Ada was still mixing with the same amount of aggression she had when she entered the bakery four hours ago.

"Ada," Cora glanced at the clock, "We should go."

"Why?" Ada huffed as she blew a strand of hair out of her face and looked at Cora, "We still have thirty minutes."

"Pol wants us to get there early, remember? Before the workday ends and people crowd the street." Cora said, wiping off her hands and hanging her apron up on the rack before pulling her coat on. Ada grumbled at Cora's words but followed in suit, pulling off the apron and putting on her coat.

Under the cover of the falling sun, the two women made their way down the street before making a sharp left. It was the long way to Mrs. Simeon's home, but it was the safest. Going straight there would've raised eyebrows and murmurs would be floating around Small Heath before the moon could kiss the sky. Cora felt that the streets were unusually quiet at this time of day and she couldn't stop herself from glancing behind her as she walked down the cobblestone road, the paranoia building up in her at such a rapid rate her breath was coming out in short puffs.

Pol was waiting in the back alleyway behind the house when they arrived. Her head was slanted downward as she took slow, deliberate drags from her cigarette. At the sound of their footsteps, Pol's head lifted—slightly—and threw her cigarette on the ground, her foot stomping out the embers when she walked towards them.

"We have to be quick," Pol directed, and Cora gave a stiff nod while Ada refused to meet her Aunt's gaze and focused on the brown puddle in front of her, "Cora goes in first—alone—and then we follow."

The rest of Pol's words muddle into nothing as Cora calmly walked to the front of the house. As dangerous it was for Cora to be Thomas Shelby's wife, there was always a level of protection that she had that the rest of the family hadn't. Tommy knew her whereabouts at all times, and Cora wasn't blind to the men in with peaky hats that would make daily trips past her day—some making it extremely obvious that they were checking on her.

While some dared to test Thomas Shelby's limits, others worshipped the ground he walked on—or didn't but still appreciated all he did. And Cora, Cora knew that she was well liked in Small Heath, her warm personality attracting smiles from even the bitterest of men. Cora was protected in the town, Ada was not. She may be a direct Shelby, but ever since she was younger, people loved to see how far they could push Ada.

"Good evening, Mrs. Simeon's." Cora greeted, a smile on her face, as she entered the dark, musty room.

Mrs. Simeon's was a kind woman and one whom Cora enjoyed talking with. Her warm brown eyes seemed to always sparkle no matter how bad her day had been and a gentle smile never seemed to leave her face. Her face held no wrinkles or age-spots and it was only when one looked at her hair that they saw the mass of grey curls.

"Cora, it's so nice to see you," Mrs. Simeon's smiled, "Is Ada here?"

"I'm right here, Mrs. Simeon's." Ada's gentle voice greeted as she stepped into the small house, Pol only seconds behind her.

"Alright then," Mrs. Simeon's said, clasping her hands in front of her, "You can follow me back this way."

Taking a seat, an uneasy silence fell between the two while as they waited for Ada's to finish. Cora debating on starting a conversation with Pol, but the glare she was shooting her way was enough for Cora to keep her mouth shut. Fiddling with her handbag and twisting the ring around her necklace, Cora tried to entertain herself as they waited and tried not to let her nerves get the best of her.

Either way, everything was going to be okay.

It always was.

The stars had yet to join the moon when Ada rushed out of the room and hurried to put on her coat. Cora studied Mrs. Simeon's face for anything, a hint to what the answer was and what Cora would expect to follow. Mrs. Simeon's only nodded, a movement that caused Cora to close her eyes a take a sharp breath.

"Keep bloody walk, Ada," Pol commanded as the three of them left the house. The cover of the night sky was enough to block them from some prying eyes, but not all, "Cora can only take suspicion for so long, and there'll be questions of why we're with her."

Cora nodded mutely and the trio had only taken a few steps before Ada yanked her hand out of Pol's grasp, the cigarette in her hand shaking from the news they had just received.

"I'm not getting rid of it, Aunt Pol," Ada said, her voice wavering at the claim and Cora couldn't help but admire the young woman. When Cora thought she was pregnant, she didn't know what she wanted to do… not when there was a possibility that Tommy wasn't coming home.

"Just come home and we'll talk about it," Pol reached forward to grasp Ada's arm, her voice calm and soothing but with an undertone of urgency.

Ada swatted her hand away, "You get off me or I'll scream. I swear."

The sudden motion had Cora stepping in front of Ada. If anyone came from the side or the back, they would think that it was Pol and Cora who were having the conversation, not Pol and Ada. It was safer for Cora to suspected. Pol glanced around, annoyance written across her face, and she crossed her arms.

"All right, you want to do this on the streets, let's do it. Whose is it?"

Ada hesitated, and Cora saw fear flicker in her eyes, "If I tell you, you'll tell them and they'll cut him to pieces."

"Not if he marries you, they won't." Pol promised and Ada looked away, shuffling uneasily on her feet as she took a long drag of the cigarette, "Will he marry you?"

"I don't know," Ada muttered, her eyes focusing on the ground, "I don't know where he is."

"Ada!"

"Jesus Christ, Ada!" Cora and Pol exclaimed, Pol rolling her eyes while Cora only shook her head, disappointment evident in her eyes. She would think that after what her father did with her mother, Ada would have a better understanding of what type of man to marry and—while Tommy wasn't the best man—he was one who would never run off with another woman.

"Look, he's gone away, but he said he'll come back," Ada tried to explain, her voice rising in frustration and, with what Cora thought, fear.

"Yeah, but they all say they'll come back." Pol snapped.

"He's not like that. He's a good man. He promised," Ada said, her voice lowering to a mere whisper as she tried to reassure herself, her eyes welling with tears as the events of today came crashing down around her, "He will come back, Aunt Pol, I know he will!"

"Ada, we'll believe you more if you tell us who he is," Cora soothed, placing a hand on Ada's back as Pol pulled her into a hug.

There were many men in Small Heath, Birmingham and, as long as Ada didn't have this child with someone who dared to push Tommy, she would be fine. But, deep in the back of Cora's mind, she knew that Tommy and Ada were similar and they always loved to taunt one another. Tommy was, in a sense, Ada's fatherly parent and daughter's never wanted to follow the rules that their father's laid out.

Cora knew that she didn't.

_______________________________________________________________________

Ada had come to the bakery early the next morning and asked Cora to accompany her to a new film that had come out. Cora didn't have the heart to say no to her after last night and followed her out the door and down the street, passing The Garrison. She had no idea what film Ada had picked, but she didn't care. Cora had never been a big fan of going to the pictures.

The red velvet seats were strangely comfortable and the popcorn didn't taste stale. Reaching her hand into Ada's popcorn bag, her eyes trained on the fil that was being played, she brought the treat to her mouth, savoring the buttery taste. The sound from the film echoed in the room around them and even though there were some people with them, she felt as if they were the only two there.

It was only when a loud bang resonated around the room that Cora snapped out of the hypnotic daze she had been in. Whipping around, Cora's eyes widened at the tall man stalking towards them. Ada gripped her hand tightly as she watched her brother approach them and take a seat next to her.

"Tell me the man's name, Ada," Tommy demanded, ignoring the cold glare Cora shot him.

"Rudolph Valentino." Ada dryly replied, her eyes never leaving the screen as her grip on Cora's hand became harsher. Closing her eyes, Cora let out a sigh as Tommy stormed out of the theater.

He wasn't trying to hide his frustration and anger about the current situation and, while Cora agreed that he had the right to be angry, he wasn't handling the situation properly in her opinion. The click of the film being shut off only emphasized her point.

"Get out!" Tommy ordered as he walked back into the room, pointing at the people and then to the door, "All of you! Get on! Now!"

The theater cleared in mere seconds and it wasn't long before Tommy stood in front of the two women, his eyes looking almost black in the dim lighting.

"I said, tell me his fucking name." Tommy hissed, his eyes narrowing into slits as he glared down at his sister—his only sister.

"Freddy fucking Thorne," Ada stated, tears filling her eyes as she stared up at her older brother, "Yeah, your best mate since school. The man who saved your life in France! So, go on. Cut him!"

Cora tensely watched as Tommy stared blankly at Ada before heading out the exit, his silence creating an unease between the two girls.

"Cut him up and chuck him in the Cut!" Ada shouted after him, and Cora's eyes widened.

Wasting no time, she slid past Ada and rushed to catch up to Tommy, her heels clicking noisily against the carpet. There was no doubt in her mind that Tommy was going to do something to Freddy. Whether it was to throw him in the Cut, kill him, cut off his hand, she wasn't sure.

"Thomas!" Cora shouted, her voice covering the sound of Ada's quiet sobs as Tommy pushed open the door, the glass vibrating from the force, "Thomas, do not hurt him!"

Her hand had latched onto his wrist before she could think, stopping him in his tracks. His chest was heaving but still, he refused to move out of the dainty hand that controlled him. Cora's face was flushed from the sudden exertion of energy.

"Tommy, leave him alone. She hasn't seen him, so don't you fucking go and fuck him up." Cora demanded, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear and refusing to shy away from his cold glare.

Cora felt the blood rush through her ears when Tommy didn't respond. Instead, he stared blankly at his wife and blinked. She wasn't a fool; she knew that he heard every word she said. Tommy was stubborn, they both were. Pol compared them to oil and water, but even though they were stubborn, they understood each other's goals and actions.

"Please," Cora whispered, her soft blue eyes staring into his cold ones.

He didn't respond.

Turning on his heels, he continued on his way and left Cora in the middle of the street. Her heart hurt and her mind ached as she wondered what changed… what had happened between the two.

"Thomas, I swear to God."

Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoyed!

[shinee-fictions]

when inspiration hits - namjin (dump #2)

summary: namjoon is a creative mind who writes in the middle of the night; seokjin sometimes wishes he cared about sleep as much as he cares for getting the perfect lyric word count: 840 pairing: namjoon x seokjin warnings: n/a notes: this is my first non-shined blurb on this page! sorry it’s a dump; I really wanted to finish this but the time kept passing and I kept not writing for it oof and sometimes you gotta know when to put the pen down, ya know? enjoy!

Being a lyricist is a somewhat therapeutic responsibility for Namjoon. It means he gets to spend nights he can’t sleep doing something more productive than scrolling through social media for hours on end. Means that he is able to live inside of his mind in still silence, with nothing to pull him out but himself whenever he pleases. It is his method of stress relief in his own little world whenever scheduled events and appearances during the day and video shooting through the night come to be too much for him to handle in a given amount of time.

Being a musical poet is what keeps him going and part of what gets him excited for new albums, because God knows there isn’t a single Bangtan song that Kim Namjoon has not written lyrics for. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Performing his lyrics is always a fun bonus, but it is always the process of getting that perfect phrase to fit the music and content of the song that makes him especially proud of his work as an artist.

Knowing that he has the ability to bring his abstract thoughts and emotions to life with pen, paper, and a couple of notes is the true prize in Namjoon’s head.

Of course, he knows he can’t ever take all of the credit when the most beautiful piece of artwork is sleeping peacefully in his bed every night for him to draw inspiration from.

In the dim silence of the bedroom, the younger man sits at his work desk, scribbling down lyrics to the sound of Seokjin’s steady breathing. His very own white noise and comfort while he writes his lyrics, then scribbles, then writes again, only to tear out his page, crumple it up, toss it into the trash can, and repeat.

And even though the words never seem to flow right until the wee hours of the night, Seokjin is always perfect. From the moment he wakes up to the moment he rests his head to sleep and even in the hours that he does sleep, he is perfect. Even the nights he does not get to sleep that much to the point where he is constantly yawning and there are heavy bags under his eyes that only ungodly amounts of makeup and photoshop can truly conceal, he is perfect.

Halfway through his fifth draft of the night, Namjoon hears a stirring of sheets and light groaning coming from behind him. He knows it is more than his heart and soul turning over to sleep on his other side when a sharp inhale is heard, followed by another groan as, the lyricist assumes, he stretches his limbs out.

Turning his chair around enough for him to face the bed, Namjoon fixes his gaze on the sleepy-eyed elder now sitting up and gazing back blankly with his usual morning-slash-middle-of-the-night face.

“Morning,” the younger male teases, knowing full well it is three o’clock in the morning and therefore, the middle of the night. Seokjin doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks down at the bin by the work desk, takes note of the mess of paper balls around it (because Namjoon never really makes his shots), and looks back to the source of the mess.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing our next hit.”

“It is,” Seokjin looks around for his phone, feeling around on the mattress and remaining unsurprised when he finds it hiding underneath his pillow, “three-sixteen in the morning, Namjoon.”

“And?”

“And you should be sleeping,” the elder responds with a hint of irritation, and the only reason Namjoon lets the tone slide is that he knows it has been a good week or two since Seokjin has gotten to sleep completely through the night with the former at his side. Seokjin leans back onto the support of his elbows, still fixed on the man who is somehow still wide awake. “There’s stuff to do later. Come.”

The elder gently pats the empty space beside him, tempting Namjoon to join him once again in bed and ready to counter any excuses he may come up with. It was a battle constantly fought night after night, and sometimes, Namjoon actually wins.

Most of the time, however, he gives in. Neither of them knows if tonight will be one of those nights.

“I haven’t even gotten a solid hook yet,” he whines, setting his pen down onto his notepad. How can he possibly sleep when his words were still jumbled in his mind? He’d much rather stare blankly at a notepad to figure himself out than stare blankly up at the ceiling where he couldn’t at least jot down some phrases.

Seokjin scoffs. “We’re still in the middle of this album’s promotion.”

“So?”

“So,” the elder giggles, admiring Namjoon’s work ethic but loathing his disregard to take care of himself. “Come sleep while you can and you can write on a night when we don’t have to be up at the absolute crack of dawn.”

[camillemontespan]

this heavy crown: part one [drake x mc]

I wrote a prompt called  ‘Moments That Could Be’ and thought the little story  at the end of that prompt, ‘The Kiss’ would make an interesting short series with Camille marrying Liam, while still being love with Drake. I never had my MC marry Liam in the game, so this is new territory for me, especially since I’m a Drake fan! Just know that  this doesn’t affect any of the fics I’ve written about them so far. This is just a stand alone series. (I have copied and pasted ‘The Kiss’ for the first section as I feel this is a good introduction).  Be warned, this has a lot of angst. So. much. angst. 

@jovialyouthmusic @notoriouscs @drakesensworld @tacohead13 @thequeenofcronuts @katedrakeohd @moonlightgem7 @be-still-my-aching-heart @pug-bitch

The party toasted the King’s future and the future of Cordonia. As more champagne was popped, the waiters brought out more canapes which Drake refused. He hated tiny finger food. He was sat beside Maxwell and Hana who were playing a card game, which Maxwell was losing badly in. The party had gone on into the wee hours and Drake was entertaining himself by drinking more whiskey than was necessary. He needed to. Anything to get through this.

He glanced up and watched King Liam gently tuck a lock of Camille’s hair behind her ear. Sat the top table, dressed in her white gown and her veil, Camille was a beautiful bride. Drake watched as she laughed at something Liam whispered in her ear and she reached out to steal another slice of wedding cake.

It should have been me up there, Drake thought then regretted that it had even passed in his mind. His stomach twisted as he watched the woman he loved be fed cake by his best friend. This was too much. Standing up abruptly, he threw his napkin down and left Hana and Maxwell at the table. They both stared after him, confused. Drake had kept his feelings to himself the past few months. Well, to most people. He had told Camille how he felt and she had felt the same. But they had both agreed, a month ago, that she would stay in the competition. If Liam chose her, she would yes to being his wife. To being the new Queen of Cordonia. They didn’t want to hurt him.

He rushed out of the palace and down the steps. He needed air. He needed to get away from royalty and opulence and romance for just one night. Tugging at his bow tie, he loosened it and then continued to run away from the palace.

Drake didn’t hear the sound of her heels running after him until he felt her hand pull his arm back. ‘Drake, wait!’

Camille tried to pull him around to her but he couldn’t face her. He didn’t want to see her beautiful face crowned by her veil. ‘Drake, please,’ she murmured. Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked up at him. He averted his eyes and tried to push her away but she held on. ‘Leave me alone,’ he whispered. ‘This is too hard. I’m so fucking in love with you and I have to watch you be with him instead.’

Without a sound, she reached up and gently pulled his face down to hers. To his shock, her lips softly met his. Once he registered what was happening, he reached his hands to wrap around her back, holding her in close as they kissed. They both tasted salt water as their tears mixed together. He wished he could keep her there forever. But she wasn’t his. She could have been his but he let her go. As they parted, Camille looked into his eyes. She wasn’t a happy, glowing bride anymore. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made you unhappy. You looked happy at the table. I’ve ruined it,’ he whispered. She shook her head. ‘I put on a good performance, Drake. I’m just a really good actress.’ 

She squeezed his hand and tore her eyes away from him regretfully. ‘I’m still in love with you...’ she whispered, before running back towards the palace, her veil blowing behind her. Drake watched her go. He wasn’t going back. He needed to go back to his room, drink a bottle of whiskey and leave this night behind him. 

                         **************************************************

Camille woke up to the feel of Liam spooning her. She breathed out and tried to shake off the claustrophobic feeling. The feeling that this didn’t feel right. The feeling that she wanted another certain man wrapped around her instead. 

Camille cared for Liam, yes. He was a good friend and he always treated her with kindness. Whenever he smiled, his eyes crinkled up and he had laughter lines; he was a genuinely good person. But he wasn’t the one she could see herself being with. However, her romantic life hadn’t panned out the way she desperately wanted and she reminded herself, probably for the hundreth time, that this had been her choice. She could have turned down his proposal but she said yes. Drake and Camille had agreed that they couldn’t hurt him and that their affair was just that. An affair. A ‘passionate, declarations of love’ affair but an affair nonetheless. 

She slowly managed to get out from under his arms and wrapped her bathrobe around her. Opening the terrace doors, she let herself out to survey her new kingdom. I’m a queen now, she thought. This is so surreal.  

They had returned from their honeymoon last night; their wedding party had been a week ago. She hadn’t seen Drake since that night, when she ran after him and he was crying, telling her that he couldn’t watch her be married to Liam. Camille felt an ache in her chest but she pushed it down. 

The honeymoon itself had been lovely. They had travelled to Venice and stayed in a beautiful villa on the water. Liam had planned their itinerary and he took lots of photos; mainly of her. Camille knew he would be a good husband. He would be loving, kind, loyal. But it didn’t stop her from picturing Drake’s face when Liam made love to her and it still didn’t stop her from picturing Drake’s face when she had an orgasm. Imagining that it was Drake who was touching her was the way Camille dealt with sleeping with Liam. Camille felt her face flush with shame at the thought and she sat down at the table, which already had a jug of fresh orange juice and a tray of pastries laid out for them. Their servants woke up at the crack of dawn and were silent in their work. 

‘Hey beautiful.’ She looked up and saw Liam up and dressed in smart trousers and a shirt. ‘You’re up early.’

Camille smiled. ‘You’re dressed early. What are you doing today?’

He poured himself a glass of juice and sat down opposite her. ‘I’ve got meetings. Since we’ve just got back from our honeymoon, there’s a lot to catch up on. But we will be together at 1pm for the official presentation of us, the king and queen. Hana, Olivia, Maxwell, Bertrand... everyone should be there.’

‘Drake?’ Camille asked, a bit too quickly. Liam didn’t notice. ‘Drake will show face. He can’t not say congratulations to the new Queen of Cordonia, can he?’

Camille nodded and looked out at the view of the kingdom. So Liam didn’t know.  Camille and Drake’s secret was safe. After months of them sneaking around, Drake had been certain that they would have been found out but thank God.  ‘I’m meeting with Regina now to discuss what we’ve missed, so I’ll see you later,’ Liam said, leaning down to kiss her. He left the terrace and Camille tried to push down the feeling of dread about her day. To be introduced as Queen in front of Drake... she didn’t want to see his face.

                          ********************************************

Hana helped fix Camille’s hair into place and stood back to admire her handiwork. Camille’s dark hair was teased into a fishtail plait and she wore a silk gold off-shoulder dress. ‘You look amazing, Camille!’ Hana said happily, clapping her hands in excitement. Camille smiled and slid a gold Chopard gobstopper ring on her finger. 

Liam entered the room and stopped in his tracks. ‘Wow.. you look incredible,’ he told her, looking her up and down. He was wearing official regalia and looked every inch a King. ‘Are you ready to meet your court?’

Camille nodded, exhaling nervously. Hana squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll celebrate with champagne after!’ She gave Liam a wink and left the couple to make their way to the Throne Room.

The Throne Room. Camille had always admired the beautiful architecture of this room, with its domed ceilings, arches and the gold statues of angels adorning the walls. It looked like a cathedral but in miniature. Now, as she held Liam’s arm and moved towards the Throne Room, she couldn’t help but feel nervous about entering. ‘Ready?’ Liam asked, giving her an encouraging smile. Camille nodded silently and took a breath. 

‘May we present the King and Queen of Cordonia!’ 

The court applauded as Liam and Camille entered the Throne Room. Camille spotted Bertrand who gave her a uncharacteristic wink. Maxwell and Hana were jumping up and down with excitement. Olivia curtseyed; she and Camille were friends now which was a relief. For a while, Camille thought Olivia would be her enemy. Madeleine clapped but her eyes were cold.

Camille couldn’t see Drake. Maybe he hadn’t come to the presentation after all. She didn’t blame him if he didn’t.

Liam and Camille stopped before the thrones. Both thrones were gilded. Camille swallowed, terrified. ‘Go on, Camille. Let’s sit,’ Liam whispered. She nodded and made her way up the marble steps to her throne. Slowly, she turned to face the court and they watched with bated breath as she sat down. Regina stepped forward holding an ornate, silver crown decorated with diamonds and standing behind Camille, she announced clearly, ‘The new Queen of Cordonia!’ She slowly placed the crown on top of Camille’s head and it was at that moment that Camille finally saw Drake. 

He was standing near the corner and his eyes said it all. They were filled with anguish as he watched her. All of a sudden, the crown on Camille’s head felt heavy. It was as if she had a weight on top of her and it was pushing her down into her seat, keeping her in place. She took a breath but it came out haggered; nobody heard as they applauded and cheered.  As she watched Drake, he mouthed, I love you. 

                             ******************************************

After she toasted champagne with Hana, was caught in a bear hug by Maxwell, had her crown admired by Olivia, was passive aggressively insulted by Madeleine and given courtly advice by Bertrand, Camille finally managed to get outside for fresh air.  She stood before the fountain and studied her reflection in the water. She looked regal; powerful with the crown on her head. 

‘Montespan.’

Her heart jumped and she turned around to see Drake standing behind her. She smiled weakly, her eyes filling with tears. His eyes widened in alarm and he rushed forward to hold her in his arms. ‘Shhh, it’s okay honey,’ he whispered, holding her close. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook, holding onto him for dear life. ‘This crown feels so heavy,’ she choked out. Drake closed his eyes, trying to think of something to say that would help her, make her feel better. But how could he when he felt so hopeless too? 

‘He is a good husband, Drake,’ she whispered, looking up at him now. He gently wiped her tears away from her face. ‘He is kind and gentle and he loves me. But I just don’t love him in that way.’

‘You will grow to love him,’ Drake assured her, though the thought filled him with jealousy. ‘Liam is a good man, you couldn’t find a better husband.’

She blanched at his words. ‘I think I could..’

Drake swallowed and tried to ignore what she meant. He exhaled. ‘He loves you, Camille.’

‘You love me.’

‘I do.’

They stared at each other, their eyes locked.  In a moment, Drake stepped forward and pulled her to him, their lips meeting in heated desperation. Camille tugged on his bottom lip and Drake groaned. God, he wanted her. He wanted to take her back to his room, undress her, take that heavy crown off her head and discard it, and feel her body against his. He wanted to feel her skin under his, her fingernails scratching into his back and he wanted to tell her that he loved her. 

Drake pulled away, breathing heavily. Camille’s cheeks were flushed. ‘We have to stop doing this,’ Drake managed to say, his eyes wild. ‘We could get caught. We’re torturing ourselves here. Think about Liam.’

Camille clenched her fists. ‘I never think about Liam. Do you know that when he is with me in bed, I imagine your face?’ 

Drake paled. ‘I don’t want to think of you two together in bed.’

‘This is my life now, Drake. I don’t feel complete anymore. I imagine you in those moments because your face gets me through it. I feel ashamed. He is such a good man and I am imagining his best friend.’

Drake closed his eyes and wished she would stop talking. Everything she was saying was torture. Yet he wanted her to still want him. He was slightly relieved that she hadn’t forgotten him. But he knew he had to let her go. He had to for Liam. 

‘Camille, I love you,’ he told her. ‘I always will. But while you are married to him, we can’t be together.’ 

Camille bit her lip and studied him. ‘What if... what if we still met in secret?’

‘Too risky,’ he replied. ‘Too selfish.’

‘You still want us to be together though,’ she answered defiantly. Drake sighed. She knew him well. ‘I do.’

She stepped forward and roamed her hands across his chest. Her eyes looked deep into his and his breath caught as he took her in. He loved this woman. But could he risk his whole friendship with Liam just to be with her? Could he stab him in the back? Could Drake live with himself if he met her in secret and felt her skin against his and made her feel complete again?

As she kissed him again, Drake knew the answer. 

[bee-kathony]

I’ll Never Love Again: Part 3/4 - “Commitment” 

written by @julesbeauchamp & @curlsgetdemgurls

a/n: thank you so much for your love on the previous chapters! we hope you’ll enjoy seeing their commitment to each other... several decades later 

Part I / Part II 

May 2005

She opened her eyes slowly to the early morning sun, and looked over at her still sleeping husband -- laying on his back with his hands folded across his stomach. Claire had been hoping he wouldn’t wake at the crack of dawn like he always did, because she had a special birthday plan to wake him up.

Pushing her side of the covers away, Claire moved to her knees and carefully pulled back the sheet covering her husband’s waist. Even in middle age, Jamie had a fit body, always at the gym, taking care of himself -- not that Claire minded in the slightest.

She didn’t want to straddle him, because that would surely wake him, so instead she turned her body to face him and placed one hand lightly on his bare thigh. Jamie started sleeping naked again when their kids had grown too old to barge into their room at all hours of the day, and for this Claire was thankful.

As she moved his hand gently on his thigh, she looked down between his legs, and saw his semi-erect cock twitch slightly. Claire’s heart started to race, nervous that Jamie would wake up before she wanted him to.

Leaning over his body, careful to keep her curls from tickling his skin, Claire touched his cock with one finger, from base to tip. Seeing that he only squirmed, but didn’t stir, made her aroused and so Claire took hold of his cock in her hand and placed her lips around the tip. He tasted salty and warm, she smiled to herself and opened her mouth for more of him. As her tongue swirled on his head, tasting the pre-cum that had started to ooze, all of a sudden, Claire felt a large hand on her shoulder.

She turned her face to look at him, and saw two squinty, sleep filled blue eyes peering down at her, with a smirk on the owner’s face.

“Happy 45th Birthday, Jamie.” Claire smiled, and then dipped her head to place a kiss on his cock.

“Are ye tryin’ to give me a heart attack, Sassenach?” Jamie grunted.

“Something like that,” Claire smirked and continued to suck on his length. Jamie groaned, arching his back off the bed and moving his hand to tangle in her curls, which had streaks of grey in them.

“Claire…” Jamie sighed, “I canna --”

She looked up just in time to see Jamie shut his eyes tightly, his other hand twisting the sheets and then she felt him spill himself into her mouth. Claire nearly gagged -- it had been awhile since she’d done this to him, but swallowed, and pulled back, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“I’m dead, Sassenach.” Jamie said softly, reaching out his hand for her. Claire climbed on top of him, laying her body flat over his, nuzzling her face into his neck -- she was thankful that she too, was naked… but that might have more to do with their extracurricular activities the night before.

“Would you like me to sing?” Claire smiled against his chest, placing a soft kiss there.

“Oh aye, I would.” Jamie grinned, sliding his hands over the small of her back and finally resting on her round arse. Even as they got older, Claire’s arse was still firm -- a bit more plump, which Jamie liked, but firm nonetheless.

“But first,” Jamie grabbed both her hips to lift her slightly off of him, and understanding his meaning, Claire reached in between their bodies and took hold of his cock, guiding it to her center.

“Happy Birthday… to you,” Claire started to sing, as she rose off his chest and placed a hand on his belly, sinking down on his hard cock.

She rolled her hips, her breasts bouncing slightly as Jamie pushed himself off of the bed. “Happy birthday to you,” she sang.

Jamie thrust upwards, squeezing her hips, and moved one calloused hand over her breast, kneading and flicking her nipple. Claire’s breath was becoming heavy and quick, making it harder for her to sing.

“Happy,” she moaned and rested her hand on one of Jamie’s knees behind her. “Birthday dear,” Jamie cried out, “Jamie.” Claire sighed, rolling her hips in a figure eight movement and finally moaned as her orgasm took over her body and she fell against his chest.

A moment later after they had taken a breath, Claire lifted up to look at him, brushing a finger across his lips. “Happy birthday to you,” she pressed her lips against his, kissing him deeply.

“Thank ye for making my birthday so good every year for the last seventeen years, Sassenach,” Jamie whispered against her lips, his hand brushing a few curls away from her face.

“You do age like a good wine,” Claire remarked with a smile.  Since the day she had met him, his gorgeous face didn’t change a lot, it simply got better -- a few lines were gracing the sides of his eyes and a new one on his forehead because he worried about the children so much. His fiery curls were starting to fade into a lighter auburn colour and he discovered his first white hair the other morning.

“Thank ye for the compliment,” Jamie chuckled softly, kissing her nose, “So do ye, Sassenach. I like the grey,” Jamie’s finger touched the grey streak in her hair.

“That’s what happens when you marry someone older than you by three years,” Claire smirked.

“It’s beautiful,” Jamie lifted her chin, “Ye’re beautiful, Sorcha.”

Claire sealed their lips once more, “Smooth talk like that can get you everything you want, Fraser.”

“I already have everything I want, Fraser,” Jamie admitted with a broad smile, his index finger stroking her upper lip. “I never thought at forty five I would be so happy, so fulfilled, so peaceful but I am and tis’ all thanks to ye, Claire.”

Jamie hadn’t touched a glass of alcohol after the night of Claire’s graduation and their argument. It had not been easy, neither for him and for her -- who lived in the constant fear of seeing a relapse but they had trusted one another completely and together, took small steps towards his recovery. “I’m so proud of you,” Claire could barely hide the emotion in her voice and her eyes were shiny with tears about to spill but they were not sad tears -- they were happy ones. “And thank you for allowing me to see not only your good side but also the less appealing one and most importantly, thank you for trusting me enough to let me help you.”

“We built a good life together, I canna wait to see what lays ahead for us for the many years to come.”

“I can see lots of love,” Claire winked, kissing his cheek, “And graduations, birthdays, weddings, grandchildren…”

“Och, we have many more years before grandchildren,” Jamie chuckled, “I ken it will happen one day but there’s still time.”

Their oldest daughter Flora was sixteen, Skye turned fourteen in the fall and their latest, Henry was eight. They did have plenty of time to think about grandchildren but they also knew how fast life passed by and they were determined to enjoy every moment.

“Yes, we’ve got all the time in the world,” Claire pulled him close and kissed him tenderly, her legs tangled with his. They kissed thoroughly for a long time, being in their own bubble, in their own world -- together and not a care in the world.

******

After reluctantly getting up, Jamie and Claire took a shower together -- that took longer than planned once Claire ended up pinned against the wall while Jamie kneeled down and had what he referred as his “english breakfast.” 

They got dressed and went downstairs to find the kids at the kitchen table having breakfast together. After a few kisses and hugs for Jamie by the children and real breakfast consumed, everyone left for their respective activities. Claire left for the hospital and the kids left with Jamie for school before he went to his studio to start some work.

In the early afternoon, Claire left the hospital and made her way to Carfax’s Close to surprise him. She walked up the familiar stairs, remembering the thousands of times she had come here. Once, Jamie didn’t allow anyone to visit him at his studio, but after their argument that night about the car crash and his fiancée, he had welcomed Claire’s presence and even sometimes preferred when she was there to keep him company when she could.

With a light knock to warn him that she was entering, Claire walked through the door and immediately stopped in her tracks.

Jamie was sitting on his stool, not painting, not drawing. Simply sitting on his stool and staring at an unopened bottle of whisky that was sitting on the table nearby.

“I’m no goin’ to drink it, Sassenach.” Jamie said without looking at her.

She pulled off her jacket, walked into the studio and draped it over the couch. “I didn’t think you were.”

“Tis a gift…” He finally met her eye, “From my friend Charlie from University, I suppose he doesna ken about my wee addiction.” Jamie half laughed and then sighed, looking back at the bottle. Claire came to stand beside him, sliding her arm around his shoulder, and he leaned his head against her chest.

“A long time ago, I woulda craved this, mo nighean donn.” Jamie moved his arm around her waist to pull her closer. “Even after that horrible night, I woulda been tempted to drink it and forget what I’d done to ye.”

“But now?”

“But now,” Jamie turned his face to look up at his beautiful wife that had stood by him for so long, “All I crave is ye.” He turned her body so that she was facing him and she straddled him, wrapping both legs around his waist as he put his hands on her back. “Ye are a great surgeon, Claire. Yer a great mother, a wonderful wife. There isna much that ye canna do.”

Claire blushed and buried her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him, acrylics and his own personal musk. “There’s plenty that I can’t do, Jamie.”

“Ye canna cook, that’s for sure.” Jamie laughed, squeezing her arse gently, making her squirm on his lap. “Ye canna… well. As I said,” He pressed his lips against hers, “Ye can do anythin’ ye put yer mind to.”

“Well yes, that I do, but it’s stubbornness,” she pinched the tip of his nose.

“I still dinna know what ye decide to spend yer life wi’ a loser like me but I’m thankful,” He tried to bite at her finger, but she was too quick.

“Oh stop it, you’re stuck with me forever and nothing you can say will make me change my mind at this point,” Claire kissed him.

“I’ll take that bottle outside, put it on the stairs and I’m sure someone will grab it!” Claire laughed, and untangled herself from Jamie’s lap. When she reached for the bottle, however, she couldn’t control her hand as it started to shake and before her or Jamie could stop it, the bottle went crashing to the floor. Glass and whisky covered the ground, and Claire stood still, staring down at her hand with a subtle tremor.

“It’s okay, Sassenach. Dinna move,” Jamie said quietly and tip toed his way to the small kitchen in his studio to grab towels and something to collect the glass in.

“It’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?” He said when he returned, and bent down to mop up the spilled liquid.

“Only slightly more so than the last time I noticed.” Claire said and feeling defeated, she plopped down on the stool, careful to not let her feet touch the broken glass. “I thought…”

“The doctor said that Parkinson’s can be a slowly developing disease, mo ghraidh,” Jamie did his best to collect the glass into a small pile but left it to attend to his wife. “Claire, look at me,” He tilted her chin up with his hand.

“Yer hand might shake a wee bit from time to time, and ye have that new medication to help with some of the anxiety.” Jamie brushed his thumb across her cheek.

“I know that. But if the shakin gets worse, I’ll have to stop working at the hospital and I don’t want to do that Jamie!” Claire started to cry, and leaned into his body, feeling his arms wrap around her.

“I used to ken a man who had the disease -- I was just a lad, but he managed alright. He had good days when the shaking wasna so much.” Jamie stroked her hair, softly whispering things in gaelic she couldn’t understand but eased her nonetheless. “And the man had bad days, when his whole body wouldn’t do what he wanted it to, and he couldna stop the moving.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Claire looked up at him, and he wiped her tears away.

“Because, Sassenach, ye will have good days and bad days, that’s just how life works. But that old man also had a wife that loved him and she took care of him everyday. I saw how his life was better because of her in it.” Jamie kissed her softly, “I vow to ye now, Sassenach -- that when ye can no longer hold yer own spoon or write a letter, that I’ll be there to help ye every step of the way… just as ye have been there for me.”

“Oh, Jamie.” Claire sighed and pulled his face to hers once again, kissing him with all her strength.

Jamie kissed her back and leaned to the side to grab a paintbrush before presenting it to her, “Let’s paint.”

“I can’t paint and you know that,” Claire looked at him amused.

“We can paint, together,” Jamie took her hand, “Come on.”

“And what do you want to paint?” Claire raised her eyebrow, looking at him amused while he set up a blank canvas and prepared some colours.

“I dinna ken, whatever ye feel like painting,” Jamie smiled at her, making his way to the record player and put on a Stevie Nicks record on.

Claire looked at him, her mouth curling into a smirk as the first notes of “Blue Denim” went off, “Now that takes me back.”

Jamie dipped his brush into the blue paint, “Ye hypnotized me that night, mo nighean.” He began to paint big strokes over the canvas and Claire watched, always fascinated.

Claire dipped her own brush into some of the red paint, but she had something else that she wanted to paint instead of the canvas. She brushed the paint quickly on Jamie’s forearm, smearing the red and he gasped, looking up at her with an open mouth.

“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp…” he smirked, “Ye take my good paints and ye dinna use them on the art.”

Claire bit her bottom lip, looking up at her husband, “Oh… but you are a work of art.”

Jamie squinted his eyes at her, and then decided two could play at this game. He reloaded his brush with blue paint and swiped it across her chest. “Fair’s fair.”

“My dress!” Claire laughed and looked down at herself, smudged with blue paint. “You’ll pay for this, Fraser.” She swiped at him again but he dodged her, running behind the canvas. With the music blasting and her heart racing, Claire chased him around the studio with her paintbrush in hand.

Jamie was trapped in a corner with nowhere to turn, so Claire walked up to him, pressing herself against his body so that the blue smudge on his shirt. “Let’s make purple,” she sighed and kissed him.

“See,” he growled, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist. “Ye do know how to paint.” Jamie laughed, kissing her neck and carried her over to a tarp near the easel, laying her down on her back.

Claire quickly removed her dress and panties, while Jamie made an effort to rid himself of his clothes. He stood above her, naked, his cock throbbing and she licked her lips. “Jamie,” she sighed and held up her hands. He laughed, turning to the side and placing both of his hands into the paint before climbing on top of her body.

“It’ll be cold, Sassenach.” Jamie grinned and then placed both of his paint covered hands over her breasts, squeezing and kneading until her chest and stomach was covered in paint.

She shivered slightly, and moaned as the cool paint covered her skin. She arched her back, smearing the paint over Jamie and placed both her hands on his back to press him against her. Jamie slid home, rolling his hips and chest, gliding over her. Together they rolled around in the paint, laughing and giggling like teenagers, lost in their love.

[ionica01]

Hi! I hope you don’t mind a fic request! But could you make a Todomomo fic with them as Royai? (Both of them are my OTP and I can see a parallel almost and I’m trash for the both of them!)

Hello, wonderful anon! I din’t mind this at all! In fact, Royai is one of my top otps, and maybe that’s why I found this so challenging, as I wanted to do both them and todomomo justice. Tbh this fic is almost 6k but it only covers the beginning, with a few original scenes. I hope you’ll still enjoy it, but if you have a certain scene in mind, by all means, shoot my inbox again! I’m so glad to have also finished this in time for the discord anniversary!

But enough blabbering, here it goes:

They meet in front of the grave.

Momo hasn’t seen him in years, and the first time they meet again is in the cemetery, in front of her father’s tombstone. Not exactly a warm reunion, yet Momo can’t help but think it’s fitting for them. Their short past is marked by deaths that scarred, some in the form of engravings on their bodies, others leaving bleeding gauges hidden deeper within.

Also fitting, she doesn’t find much to say. He looks the same, and yet he’s not the Todoroki she once knew. His hair is now slacked back, his scar even more visible, but less menacing in the soft evening glow - or maybe Momo has just faced death one too many times in the last few days to find anything scary anymore.

She’s glad to discover that, despite being toughened by the Academy years, his eyes still sparkle with that thirst for knowledge and kindness he himself isn’t aware he possesses. It’s a reassuring reminder that he’s still Shouto, and not just Major Todoroki.

They don’t speak until long after the ceremony is over. He lingers behind, after the few people who attended the funeral leave, watching the sober tombstone with a sad, although resigned look. It probably mirrors hers pretty well - after all, they both know the dead ones aren’t coming back to life, no matter how many tears they shed, and they both saw this coming.

It didn’t keep Momo from crying the night he passed away, or from holding the hand that slowly cooled under hers. But she didn’t beg, didn’t ask for some supreme force to bring him back - his father was an atheist anyway - didn’t feel remorse over not telling him how she felt during their time together. They had almost two decades, and that was that.

She wonders whether Todoroki has anything to tell his master that he hasn’t yet. When they parted, her father cursed him to never come back. And yet here he is, dressed in his uniform - is it a form of spite or of proof that he made it? - and the one in charge of arranging the modest funeral. If she believed in fate, she’d say it has a fine sense of irony.

“I’m sorry, Todoroki-san,” she eventually says, surprising herself with how calm her voice is. “Having you take care of everything, even up to my father’s funeral…”

“You don’t have to worry about it. As an apprentice, I’d do anything I can for my teacher,” he says and he means it, eyes trained to the engraving on the cold stone, cold as her father’s body, colder than the wind that whooshes past them, an inscription written for the living rather than the dead, and one that will soon fade away.

“Don’t you have any other family or relatives?” he continues after a moment’s hesitation.

“My mother has long been dead.” Todoroki knows, of course, but he nods soberly anyway. “Both my mother and father seem to have been estranged from their families, so I’ve never heard them talk of any relatives.” So she is alone. It doesn’t make much of a difference anyway - except for the years Todoroki spent there, she has always felt alone.

“What will you do from now on?” Momo likes the way his questions are never detached. Tell me how I can help is the underlying message, and she appreciates knowing he’s always ready to be her crutch, even though she may never use it - hopes she’ll never need to be so broken as to rely on him entirely.

“I’ll think about it,” she says, because she isn’t too sure what she wants or how he can help. “Fortunately my father made me go to school properly, so I think I’ll be able to live on my own somehow.”

“… I see.” He doesn’t sound to convinced, not when the girl who always has a plan and a schedule set for her seems to lost, so he shortly adds, “If anything happens, you can visit the military authorities anytime. I’ll probably be in the military for life.” He hands her a piece of folded paper with an address and a phone number scribbled on it.

As she unfolds it, she murmurs, “For life?”

“Yes,” he nods confidently.

“Please don’t die, Todoroki-san,” she genuinely says as she looks up at him. The heavy realisation that he is in the military, that he doesn’t just idle away behind a safe desk the whole day and uses his alchemy to defend himself downs on her, and she shudders.

“Don’t say such ominous things,” he shivers in response. Then his eyes drift back to the grave, as if he’s talking for both her and her father, “I can’t guarantee it. Because in this occupation, someday I might just die on the side of the road like a piece of trash.” His words are harsh, but his smile isn’t. “Even so, if I could become one of this country’s foundation stones and be able to protect everyone with these hands, I think I’ll be happy. That’s the reason why I learned alchemy, but-”

He finally looks back at her and the seriousness fades into embarrassment. “In the end, I wasn’t able to be taught master’s secrets. Sorry,” he scratches the back of his neck, “I ended up speaking of my childish dream.”

“No,” Momo shakes her head and looks down at the grave. Maybe his father wasn’t a soft man, and maybe Todoroki’s words didn’t reach his heart, but they speak to her. “There’s nothing childish about caring.”

It’s then that she makes a decision that she knows might change her life, and even Amestris’s history, because she has no doubt in her mind that Todoroki will become influential. But she trusts him, and decides that if trusting her only friend is a mistake, she might as well die.

“The secrets my father left behind - he said they were written in a code that no average alchemist would be able to decipher.” Todoroki was no average alchemist.

He cocks his head to the side. “So master left behind his secret manuscripts after all…”

“No,” she interrupts him. “They’re not manuscripts. He said it would be a problem if his life’s research disappeared or was taken by an outsider.”

Todoroki gives her a dubious look, “How did he leave them behind then?”

“Todoroki-san.” Her voice doesn’t falter as she lowers her head, exposing the top of the tattoo her father carved into her back. If he flinches, she doesn’t see it. “That dream… Can I entrust my back to it? Is it alright to believe in a future where everyone can live in happiness?”

***

She has the same dream every night.

Crossing her arms over her chest as she lets her shirt fall to the floor. Feeling Todoroki’s mismatched gaze tracking the tattoo on her back. That silence, so loud that Momo shudders, even as the dawning sun bathes her in hues of gold and fiery red. The creaking of the floorboards as Todoroki takes one step towards her, then a second one that closes the gap. The touch of the tips of his fingers over her bare skin, outlining the notes her father burned, etched into eternity. A burden she had no say in carrying.

And then his cold fingers and the single kiss he presses to her back are replaced by sweat streaming down her spine. under her uniform, and her knees buckle. The sun whips her with heat that only makes the smell of blood more pregnant, and a splotch of red blocks the vision on her snipe.

Everywhere she goes, the smell of death and ashes follows her, embedded into her clothes, her hair, her skin, her mouth. She pukes after every meal during the first week. It’s subdued to morning sickness now.

The dead don’t even receive a cold tombstone in Ishval. They’re just abandoned on the streets, bathed in the pool of their own blood. Sometimes they’re picked up by brave family members - if they have any left alive. But sometimes there is nothing to pick, because it’s all ashes and debris. Caused by alchemy.

Caused by her secret.

Todoroki never shows his face until the end of her dream, to deliver the final blow with his reddened eyes, a mix of lack of sleep and the drained stream of tears he sheds in the wee hours of the morning. He’s always there, in her treacherous mind, his transmutation gloves pulled on, and his face remorse as Momo manages to rip the words out of her throat, words she’s been saying every night in her fitful sleep.

“Even though I believed, why did it end up like this?”

She always wakes up then, her face damp with tears she can’t unleash during the day, and Todoroki is always by her side, awake and hiding his head in his palms. She’s one of the few females in the military - she doesn’t get a separate tent in wartime. It’s the only thing here that isn’t bad - having him with her.

The two of them and Midoriya - they formed a sort of amity, a friendship forced between broken pieced tied together by need and military roles. At least she knows she’ll have someone who’ll pull the trigger in her stead and take her out of her misery when the crimson blood will be too much to endure.

Todoroki rasps out, “The Hero of Ishval.” His laugh is wry as he kicks his pillow, knuckles red after his punch has scattered all of its insides and is now meeting the wooden bed boards. “What a joke.”

They’re awake and quiet after that, because there’s nothing else to say, no words that can change the gravity of their crimes. The sun mercilessly rises to announce them their killing duty isn’t over, and Midoriya enters the tent with two cups of coffee. They drink in silence, although it tastes like blood to Momo, and they get dressed mechanically afterwards. Midoriya looks at photos of his fiance again before they leave, and that keeps him going.

Momo and Todoroki look at eachother, and that keeps them from letting themselves get killed.

***

The war is over.

The citizens say it’s rather sudden. Momo exchanges a glance with Todoroki and knows it’s already been going for too long for both of them.

They’re back at the Easter Headquarters after they’re discharged from war duties, and Momo finds herself looking at the mismatched eyes of her Lieutenant Colonel on her first day back at the office. His red hair still bleeds after those he burnt to a crisp, while his white bangs mourn the sandy graves of those innocent Ishvalans.

“Momo Yaoyorozu.” He looks at her as if this is the last place he wanted to meet her at, as if she’s making it hard for both of them.

But she’s already made her choice, so she holds his gaze steadily, and sees the hidden gratitude in those mismatched eyes of his - blue for the ice that has hardened his soul, black to hide the pain that dwells expertly.

“So you went through all that in Ishval, but in the end you chose this path.”

“Yes. I chose it myself, and put my arms through these sleeves out of my own will.” She needs him to know she was also the one who burned that tattoo on her back, through him - he just offered the fire, but it was her that pushed him to incinerate her secret. She needs him to stop taking responsibility for her decisions.

His eyes linger on her for a beat longer, but he eventually takes out her file and looks over it as if the the black circles under his eyes aren’t caused by that same page of paper with her face on it. “What’s your field of expertise?”

He already knows. “Guns.” He doesn’t know the reason though. “A gun is good. Unlike a sword or knife, it doesn’t leave the feeling of a person dying on your hands.”

He startles - even under his trained mask, he’s still human. But her eyes harden with resolve, and his features soften in response. He knows how stubborn she is, and she should know how weak he’s always been to her requests. “That’s decent. So you plan on deceiving yourself like that and continuing to soil your hands like this?”

He knows this one too. “That’s right. We soldiers should be the only ones soiling our hands and spilling blood.”

It’s a twisted take on his ideal, but it’s the only version that can fit within the nightmare of their reality. A fairy tale where the witches die - they’re the witches. “It should be enough for only us to go through something like Ishval. As the alchemists say, if the truth of this can be shown through equivalent exchange, so that the new generation that will be born can enjoy happiness, to pay the price, we will have to shoulder corpses and cross a river of blood.”

Todoroki closes his eyes for just a split second and then stands up. “I’m thinking of recommending you as my right hand. I want you to protect my back.” His eyes pierce through her, and she squears her shoulders. “Do you understand? To entrust my back to you means that you can shoot me from behind anytime.”

It sounds only fair to Momo. She has entrusted her back to him once - it’s high time he did the same. She’ll make sure she won’t have to shoot him, as he hasn’t shot her the day she begged him to, when the smell of blood was too much to endure.

“If I step off the path, shoot me and kill me with those hands. You are qualified to do that.” He doesn’t flinch as he says the words, and means every one of them, because Todoroki never says what he doesn’t mean, not even now. His eyes have hardened, the spark almost disappeared, but it is rekindled with the promise of the path they’ll walk together. “Will you follow me?”

Momo doesn’t skip a bit. “I’ll follow you even in hell, if you ask me to.” She’s already paid a visit.

He crosses the desk and they shake hands. They wouldn’t need to embrace the other even if they were allowed to. They’re filthy with blood that isn’t theirs, and none of them pretends they’ll shoulder the other’s burdens, when they can barely hold their own. But they’ll walk together, and keep each other from stepping off the path they’re carving together, and that’s enough.

***

The words he said that day still echo in her mind.

He’s said them every time a new member joined team Todoroki. “I am a powerless human. Because of that, I need your help in order to protect everything. I will protect your lives, and you will protect only whom you can… Even if it’s only a few, protect those below you, and those below you will also protect those below them. No matter what happens, live, continue to survive greedily. Live, and let’s change this country together!”

Team Todoroki soon earns a reputation in central - sometimes as slackers and heavy drinkers, other times as exceptional soldiers. They’re a mystery to everyone, because no one knows what they’ve been through. Frankly speaking, they’re a mystery to themselves too.

After Momo joins Sero Hanta, a tall, lanky guy with a taste for donuts and a sharp mind, prone to analysing attacks and developing tactics. He likes poking fun at Todoroki, and shoots him using different weapons from the conventional bullets, by employing the fine art of sarcasm. It proves efficient when Todoroki is slacking over his paperwork, gathering intelligence from his sister Fuyumi instead.

Sero is followed by Momo’s senior by one year from the Academy, Kaminari Denki. He’s got an unhealthy addiction to cigarettes and large chested women and an equally big obsession with guns, losing only to Momo when it comes to sniping. He’s the one who starts calling her the Hawk’s Eye, and Todoroki soon adopts the nickname, to Momo’s silent dismay. More often than not, she enters the office to find Todoroki and Kaminari bickering over date plans or Sero’s donuts, but Momo doesn’t particularly mind seeing the spark returned to her Lieutenant Colonel’s eyes.

The needed weight to balance their zany chatter is added when Iida joines. He’s Kaminari and Sero’s total opposite, being plagued by  the desire for everything to be in perfect order and disposing of a photographic memory that outdoes even Momo’s. He soon earns Todoroki’s trust, despite his large hand gestures and reluctance to improvise, but he learns to unwind with time.

The last one to complete their team is Ojiro, a modest young man with a kind soul and a dedication to computers even bigger than Kaminari’s love for women. He’s baffled by Kaminari and Sero’s chirpy attitude at first, and is even more flabbergasted that the Hawk’s Eye doesn’t reprimand them everytime they slack, but the day he walks in the office with a cat he named Black Hayate and Todoroki falls in love with it, she knows he’s adjusted just fine.

So walking into the hallway leading to the office five minutes before the clock strikes 7am sharp - because Momo is always punctual - on a Monday morning and hearing Sero’s teasing words before even opening the door doesn’t strike Momo as unusual.

“So I’m telling you, Kaminari, there’s no way she’ll go out with you,” Sero crackles, and Momo pauses in front of the door.

“Why, because she’s too good for me?” Kaminari pouts, Momo can tell just by his tone. “I mean she is, but I am a charmer.”

“Dude, she’s Yaomomo’s best friend. She has better taste in men than that.”

“Hey, that’s rude!” Kaminari’s protest is weak.

Momo didn’t know Ojiro was inside until he speaks, “Sorry to agree, Major, but Sero-san has a point. Besides, have you seen Major Jirou’s former dates? She’s definitely not into blonds.”

“If that were the only issue,” Iida mutters under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to hear. He always thinks he’s stealthy, and fails every single time.

“Is this shit-on-Kaminari day?” the assaulted man shrieks.

Momo almost chuckles when Todoroki steps besides her. “What are we doing, Second Lieutenant?” he whispers, feeling there is an aura of secrecy to be kept.

“Listening as Major Kaminari makes plans to hit on Major Catalina.”

Todoroki cocks an eyebrow, “Is this a work-appropriate discussion?”

Momo shows him her watch. “Technically, Sir, work only starts in two minutes.”

He allows a lazy smile to spread across his lips, placing his hand on the knob. “That means I have two minutes to make fun of him.” And then he walks in, only to announce, “What’s with this commotion, Kaminari?”

His third in command weeps, “Sir! Why would you immediately suppose it’s my fault?”

“But it was yours,” Sero points out as he nibbles on a donut.

Momo stops in the doorframe, looking at the broad shoulders that open a path on which they all follow, a path to a better place, and where she’s allowed to walk right behind him. She listens to the laughter, watches as Kaminari buries his head in Todoroki’s arm no matter how much the Lieutenant Colonel shoves him away, and wonders whether having so many people to care about is something to be scared about.

Midoriya strolls into the office right then, pushing her inside along with him, and launches himself at Todoroki’s other arm. “Shouto! Eri is officially eight days old today! Do you want to see the pictures? I think she has Ochako’s eyes, wouldn’t that be brilliant?”

While Sero chuckles at the man whose displays of affection they have all gotten used to, she seats herself across from him. “Maybe you should cut down on the sweets, Major Sero,” she says as he passes her the intelligence Iida managed to gather on the latest murder - an unsettling case, to say the least. The man was found with 17 holes in his body, all of them of different sizes - and none corresponding to any rifle or gun.

“I will if Kaminari manages to actually get Major Jirou to go on a date with him.”

Momo throws him a sly look, under which she feels Sero tense. Over the sound of Midoriya almost bursting into tears at how perfect his family is and Kaminari now clinging to Iida for support, Momo says, “We’ll see about that.”

***

It’s warm inside, and she laughs like she hasn’t in weeks, maybe months.

“Kyouka, you are the best.”

“I still can’t believe I did that for you. You owe me big time, Momo!”

“Sure,” Momo says around her cup of tea, and smiles at how flushed her friend looks. It’s one of their rare days off, and since the weather has become rather chilly, they decide to spend inside, wearing sweaters and perched on the sofa, with Black Hayate purring between them.

Momo puts her cup in her lap and lets the warmth seep through her socks. “Was it really that bad? Going out with Major Kaminari?”

“I don’t know about that,” Kyouka says, masking her embarrassment with her own steaming cup of tea - and just a dash of licorice, as she claimed. “I didn’t go out with Major Kaminari - just with a blonde electrobolt named Kaminari Denki.”

“And what’s he like?” Momo asks, not even trying to bite down on the size of her smile.

Kyouka glares at her grin, but still answers, “Not all that bad. He has some redeeming qualities. Too bad he’s a womanizer.” She bites on the inside of her cheek, and Momo feels the question in her statement.

“You should know he’s pretty serious about you,” Momo answers, remembering the discussion in the office. “Didn’t he invite on a second date?”

“He, uhm, he did mention this classical music concert he has tickets for,” she says, her voice quiet as she avoids Momo’s sparkling eyes. “Anyway, enough about this! Fraternization laws won’t even allow -” she stops herself before she can say more, and throws Momo a worried look.

“Technically, you work under different commanders, so there shouldn’t be any problems.”

Another wave of pinks colors Kyouka’s face, but it vanishes as she changes the subject, “What about you?”

Momo takes another sip of her drink, not rushing into an answer. Her situation is the same as it has always been - she wanted to protect someone who was beyond important to her, but she had no right to feel love for this person. Not after what had happened in Ishval. Not with the way she could barely look at herself in the mirror. She was a killer, and she wouldn’t soil such beautiful feelings with her bloody hands and soul.

“Momo,” Kyouka whispers, and her name suddenly holds so much weight to it it crushes her. One of her friend’s hands covers hers, and she wonders when she started shaking. “You deserve to be happy.”

Happy. Momo shakes her head. “You didn’t see that slaughter, Kyouka. They barely -” her voice catches up in her throat, and Momo remembers why she doesn’t talk about the war. She gulps the rest of the sentence down and instead rasps, “They didn’t stand a chance.”

“You were under orders,” Kyouka says, as if that makes her a better person.

The harsh reality is, it doesn’t. “I pulled the trigger. Again. And again.”

Midoriya once said there’s one sole reason why he fights in the war. Because he wants to go back home alive. “Reasons are always simple,” he said back then, and Momo winces at how painfully true it was.

After all, she only joined to see a dream come true.

It shattered instead, and the glass shreds pierced through her every fiber.

Kyouka sighs and puts her cup on the coffee table before circling her arms around Momo and pulling her head to her chest. “When will you finally let yourself accept you have paid for that?”

“Probably never,” Momo says with no remorse - because nothing can replace a human life. It’s why alchemy’s biggest taboo is human transmutation. And the fact that she’ll never heal is a small price to pay.

Kyouka holds her tighter, and Momo embraces her back. “But I have people like you, and you make me feel alive again.” Until the nightmares haunt me, is left unsaid.

“Then what about the Lieutenant Colonel?”

“He’s probably even worse than me, but he also has the team. We’re never alone.”

“We’ll never leave you alone.” Kyouka’s tears wet Momo’s sweater, but she doesn’t particularly care.

“I know,” she says as she curls a fist around the material of Kyouka’s blouse. “Thank you.”

***

They sit in front of a grave they should have never seen.

Ochako had to take Eri home, but Todoroki stayed behind, and so did Momo.

As the sun sets onto another day and onto another death, Momo thinks this is all too unfair.

It’s unfair that Midoriya had to die before he even had the chance to see Eri mature into the beautiful lady she promised to be. It’s unfair that he had to die when he was putting his life on the line for a case he shouldn’t have gotten so involved in. It’s unfair that he will never see the world Todoroki promised to bring around.

It’s unfair that they’ve lost so many people who will never, ever, come back.

Momo feels like crying, but she can’t. Her eyes are red, her nose is runny, but the tears just won’t come out, and she wonders if she’s used them all up in the endless nights in Ishval, and she thinks that’s unfair too.

But maybe the most unfair thing is that now Todoroki is stripped of one of the only two people he’s ever trusted with his life, and that he’ll never have the chance to tell Midoriya all he plans on doing, won’t ever fight over Ochako’s quiche again, won’t hear him gush about his wife and daughter for as long as he’ll live.

The silence is suddenly too loud, and Momo has to ask something, anything. So she asks the most stupid question, “Are you alright, Sir?”

He doesn’t look at her as he says, “Yeah.” Liar. His gaze drifts to the sky as he fixes his hat over his eyes and adds, “Except, it’s a terrible day for rain.”

Momo follows his gaze, but the sky is so clear it’s like it’s laughing at them and their grief. “What do you mean, Sir? It’s not raining.”

“Yes,” he corrects her, a single tear rolling over the scar and down his cheek. “It is.”

That’s when Momo gets it, the true extent of his love for Midoriya, another feeling he never talked and never will talk about with Midoriya. She’s never seen him cry before, because Todoroki never gives up. He’s constantly looking for new solutions, new ways out, and doesn’t give in to crying. He only cries when everything is lost and there is no way to make it out safely towards a happy ending.

The tears finally well up in her eyes, too, and she feels better as they fall on Midoriya’s grave. He got no speeches today - the military isn’t into that “useless blabber”, but perhaps these tears and his family’s cries are the loudest words he’ll hear.

When they leave the cemetery, Momo is painfully aware that the new pit in their hearts will never be filled up, but she knows they’ll somehow make it anyway. She takes Todoroki’s hand, and he gives her such a determined look she wonders why she ever thought he was useless on rainy days.

And they walk ahead.

***

It’s 2 am, and her heart pounds as she picks up the phone.

“Sir?” she hoarsely whispers. No one but him calls her so late at night, when he can’t handle the solitude, the walls closing in on him, the screams of people being burned alive, or even worse, the loudest silence of them all. Sometimes he just calls to make sure she’s safe and really alive and not just a figment of his imagination.

Momo knows because she’s done it more than once, too.

“Sorry to disappoint, Peach,” Sero says, and Momo just knows he’s grinning on the other end of the line.

“Not exactly the hour to use that nickname, Second Lieutenant,” she grimly replies.

“About that. Todoroki’s pretty wasted. We might have overdone it with the alcohol tonight,” his voice sounds sheepish, but the smirk hasn’t vanished from it. “We were wondering whether you’d be willing to take him home?” Some muffled sounds in the background announce her Kaminari is drunk enough to compose poems, which is very drunk.

“On second thought,” Sero says, “maybe you should take him to your apartment. I don’t trust him not to fall asleep in the bathroom.”

Momo sighs, asks for the coordinates, and says she’ll be there in twenty minutes. Exactly eighteen minutes and thirteen seconds later, according to Iida, she opens the door to the indicated bar.

On the counter, Todoroki is half asleep, weakly shoving off Kaminari, who’s singing something about Jirou’s silky hair and perfection despite the modest cleavage. Momo wonders just how much of this Ojiro has recorded, and pities Kaminari for the embarrassment and hangover he’ll have tomorrow.

But her main concern is Todoroki, who’s resting his head on his folded arms and nodding off, muttering inaudible things from time to time. When Momo taps his shoulders lightly, he gives her a bleary look. “Momo?” he whispers, loud enough only for her to hear.

He hasn’t called her that since they were teenagers, so innocent and so naive. Maybe he’s dreaming of those happy times again. She doesn’t feel like breaking the truth to him, so she just hums in agreement, “Yeah. Now let’s go home.”

Momo manages to somehow get Todoroki up, although he stumbles a few times until he can keep his head straight. He’s never been a great drinker, so he must have really been careless tonight - except Todoroki is never careless, and Momo knows exactly what he wanted to forget about.

As he circles her shoulders with one hand and she loops one of hers around his waist, Sero sheepishly grins his apologises, holding Kaminari in a similar position. “You look quite sober,” Momo notes as they walk out of the rowdy bar, Ojiro and Iida tailing behind, perfectly unaffected by the beverages they consumed.

‘That’s because I have experience. I didn’t drink less than them,” Sero says, and judging by his tactician smirk, Momo guesses there’s only a half-truth in his words. She has bigger problems than to question Sero’s credibility, though.

Like getting Todoroki to her house.

“Thanks again, Yaoyorozu. See you tomorrow!” Sero waves.

“You mean see you in four hours,” she grumbles and half-supports, half-drags Todoroki onto the five minute walk to her apartment.

He’s quiet most of the way, and Momo doesn’t find it in herself to start any discussion. His weight on her is all she focuses on, his faint tang of alcohol, and the crisp air of the night. She doesn’t need to ask what happened - they’ve been together for far too long to need words. Somewhere along the line, a look became enough to get his input on a situation.

But right now, he lets his bangs fall onto the bridge of his nose, covering the canal of communication between them, so Momo lets him be, in a state between reality and whatever he’s reminiscing about. Judging from the subtle curve of his lips, it’s a pleasant dimension to be in.

Helping him up the stairs is a challenge, but she hasn’t been training for so long in the Academy for nothing, and they make it to her small apartment on the second floor with only mild bruises. Having him clean himself and take a short shower goes unexpectedly well, too, and he’s tucked under her covers when she walks into her room with a glass of water and two pills.

Momo hasn’t really taken the time to drink in his appearance before. He was always at her side, and she took that as a guarantee, even during the war. In Ishval, waking up to him sitting next to her bed, hugging his knees, made her tremble, because his hair had the color of bones and blood. As she watches him cuddled under her sheets now, the white and red look less like brilliant crimson and snow white, and more like faded hues of the colors of his soul.

Or maybe it’s just the lightning.

She sits down next to him, and he shifts ever so slightly, eyelids fluttering open. “You should keep yourself hydrated,” she says as she gives him a pill and the water. He drinks them gratefully, but when she makes to leave, he catches her wrist.

“Can you stay?” It’s the first time he talks since they’ve entered her place. “Just for a while longer.” She brushes his hair away to reveal eyes that plead, I don’t want to be alone.

So she sits down again. He doesn’t let go of her hand, and she wonders how long it’s been since they’ve acted like they were in love. Years ago, she was innocent enough to whisper that on rainy nights, pressing into his side as she read a book and he studied alchemy. His conscience was clear enough to murmur it back and press a kiss to the crown of her hair.

The feelings remain, albeit with the added maturity and understanding that accompanies their age, but none of them call what’s between them love anymore. They don’t call it anything. Momo refers it as mending to herself.

Todoroki squeezes her hand and says, “Momo. Do you remember the promise you made me?”

I’ll follow you into hell if you ask me to. Of course she remembers - she promised that with all of her being, both as his subaltern and as Yaoyorozu Momo, to whom Shouto Todoroki is the most important person in the world. So she nods.

“I have a feeling I’ll be paying it a visit soon,” Todoroki says. Images of Midoriya’s black coffin and Eri crying flash before Momo’s eyes, and as much as she wishes he wouldn’t take revenge, she knows his mind is set. She just hopes he won’t sacrifice himself when he avenges his best friend.

“I’ll walk alongside you.”

Todoroki nods, and clinks his forehead against hers. “This path we’re taking, it’s towards a place where you’ll be able to smile. Where we’ll both be able to smile.”

A quiet “Yeah” rasps out of Momo before his lips find hers, and she kisses him back. It’s short, and chaste - not their first, neither their last. But it’s merely an intermission in the path they still have to walk, and they can’t allow themselves to get sidetracked. They don’t deserve more than an interlude.

So Momo turns off the lamp, and cuddles next to him, wondering what awaits them up ahead, and how many ways to keep themselves from breaking they’ll find. For now, feeling his warmth and listening to his heartbeat works just fine.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

she will come for you...(ii)

Mod Gotham’s note: Following up from this story, written in response to 03x03. Jamie flashes back to Selkie Island in 03x08...so, what if Claire and Brianna were there, waiting for him?

Seals. Greeting the new day – or each other – loudly.

 Claire shifted a bit in her bedroll, bringing Brianna closer.

 That scent…

 Her eyes flew open – to see Jamie watching her.

 She gasped.

 Carefully, reverently he reached across Brianna’s sleeping form to cradle his wife’s cheek.

 “I’m here…you’re here…”

 Voice full of so much wonder.

 “I could watch you for hours, Sassenach…watch Brianna…”

 She lay her hand atop his, twining their fingers together.

 “We can have our forever now, Jamie.”

 His chin trembled, eyes shining with so many tears.

 “This…this is a day I never thought would come,” he whispered. “Waking beside ye…holding our bairn…”

 He swallowed – and his face contorted in shock.

 “What is it, love?” Her voice was strong, calm. Centering.

 Gasping for breath, he shook his head. “Outside?”

 --

 She chose a small section of wall on the side of the castle that faced the ocean. Her heart had leapt watching Jamie tenderly kiss the top of Bree’s curls, then constricted as he threw one of her shawls over his head – hiding his hair.

 In the light of this new dawn, the sun shining on his face illuminated new wrinkles and lines around his mouth and eyes. Testament to how hard his life had been since their parting.

 Christ – did he see the same lines and gray hairs now, his eyes searching her face?

 “They’ll be looking for me.” One big hand clutched the shawl tight to his head amid the whipping wind, his other hand lost securely between both of hers. “The prison guards. The prison governor. He asked me to translate for Kerr…and I escaped yesterday when we were out cutting peats, on the moor.”

 Claire massaged his hand – the one she had mended, after his ordeal at another prison, so many years ago – between hers. “Do you think they’ll send a search party out here? The boat isn’t coming for us until tonight, after dark.”

 He pursed his lips, eyes darting back and forth. “I doubt they’d send anyone out here – but they’ll be watching the island today. Wi’ spyglasses and such. We canna go outside.”

 “That’ll be all right – we need time, you and me. And Brianna, too.”

 Jamie shrugged – that odd half-uncomfortable motion she had seen so many times, and now rejoiced at seeing yet again.

 “Such a great father I am to her, and husband to you – I immediately put the both of ye in danger.”

 “Stop that. Stop it right now,” she hissed. “I - *we* - both knew what to expect when we came back. We are prepared for anything. *She* is so strong, Jamie – so determined. Just like you.”

 His lips cracked the tiniest of smiles. “Puir lass. She must be a right handful.”

 She raised his hand to her lips, kissing each of his fingers in turn. “She is. But she’s a Fraser. I *do* have some firsthand experience, after all.”

 He squeezed her hand – basking in the feel of her, the sight of her.

 “It’s been so long since…” he swallowed. “Since I’ve felt a loving touch, Claire.”

 She moved their joined hands to her hip, easing closer to him on the stone wall.

 “I can touch you now.” Her eyes shone with promise.

 His wame dropped…

 “Claire,” he rasped. “I – weel. I must tell ye something.”

 She straightened up a bit, preparing. So brave.

 He licked suddenly dry lips. “I – I lay with another woman. Just for one night – the night before I arranged to turn myself over to the English. Two years ago now. And no – I’ll tell ye all about the rest of it, at the proper time.”

 She closed her mouth, calming her breathing.

 “Did you love her?” She hated how small – petty – her voice was. Of course he had had a life…

 “No,” he breathed. “Look at me, Claire. Please.”

 She hadn’t even realized her eyes had strayed away from him – shielding herself, perhaps. But now she returned her gaze to his – locking with the blue eyes she had seen every day in their daughter.

 “She meant to comfort me. It was a kindness. I – I had been alone for so long, and I kent I’d be arrested the next day.” He swallowed, throat suddenly thick. “She helped me to forget that.”

 Now Claire shifted so that they were side by side – her thighs pressing against his – on the lichen-spattered wall.

 “I shared Frank’s bed, for a time after Bree was born,” she confessed. “I – we – tried to go back to the way it had been. But we couldn’t…or wouldn’t find our way back to each other. He was a fantastic father to her, Jamie – don’t doubt that. But he hadn’t truly been my husband since she was about a year old.”

 He leaned his forehead – cold, clammy – against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice low.

 “I’m not,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s done. Your time with that other woman – that’s done. It’s over. We are here.”

 “Thanks be to God,” he whispered, drawing her into a long, long kiss.

 --

 “Do you want to take everything in the box, Mama?”

 Claire looked up from the corner of the large room, where she was folding away the blankets and cloaks they had slept on the night before. “I don’t see why not – gold coins are as good as gems, and much easier to convert.”

 Jamie padded over to his daughter, crouching beside her. “May I see what’s in the box?”

 She beamed up at him, opening the lid wider. “Look – gold coins, and jewels, and chains. Even some pearls, just like Mama’s necklace.”

 His heart skipped. “Ye mean – the long string of pearls?”

 Brianna nodded. “Yeah – she wore it all the time in Boston. It was one of the things she brought with us.” She paused. “Wait a minute – I remember now. When we were at Lallybroch, and she wore them, Auntie Jenny said something and then Mama said *you* had given them to her!”

 “Aye – as a wedding present. They were yer grannie Ellen’s.”

 “That’s my middle name – Ellen,” she smiled, proud.

 Jamie let out a small strangled sound, then pulled Brianna tightly against him. Awkwardly she patted his back.

 “Are – are you OK?”

 He pulled back, frowning. “OK?”

 She smiled, shaking her head – the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. “I’m sorry – I forget. It means ‘all right.’ Though I don’t know why we use those letters. It’s an American thing.”

 “Thank ye for explaining it to me – I’ll try to keep up wi’ ye.”

 “Silly – we understand each other just fine.”

 Softly he traced one hand down her temple, cheek, and chin.

 “My wee miracle. Of course we do.”

 --

 “How much longer, Mama?”

 Claire drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Jamie turned his back to face the stinging wind, tugging Brianna to stand in front of him, shielding her with his body.

 “Hopefully not much longer, love – it’s long past sunset, and the moon is up. At least the water is calm.”

 *A Dhia* - just the thought of being on a boat, even for a short journey, curdled Jamie’s wame. But for Claire – and especially for Brianna – and most importantly, for their life together – he’d do it. Would do anything.

 Had done everything.

 “Any man wi’ half a brain will no’ come wi’ a lantern, that’s too risky.” He paused. “Who did ye say the man was, again?”

 “He’s someone who says he knew you from before the Rising,” Brianna piped up. “Mama knew him too.”

 “Weel, I kent a lot of men before the Rising,” he murmured. “So – ”

 “There!”

 Jamie turned – pushing Brianna behind him – and sure enough, there it was. A lonely rowboat, a man’s heaving back facing them as he pulled and pulled and pulled at the oars.

 Claire turned to gather their things – just rolls of blankets, and two leather satchels, one of her, one for Brianna. Jamie had had nothing, of course – and he and Claire had secreted the coins and jewels in their pockets for safekeeping.

 Jamie walked to the edge of the rocky shore to help the man maneuver the boat for a safe landing –

 “Weel – it’s good to see ye, Jamie!”

 Even in the dark, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

 “Rupert? What the devil? Ye’re alive!”

 “Hi Rupert!” Brianna beamed, materializing at his side.

 “Good e’en to ye, wee lass. Are ye ready for another boat trip?”

 “I am!” she exclaimed, and turned to Jamie. “Da?”

 If his heart had stopped at hearing Rupert MacKenzie’s voice for the first time in ten years – then Brianna’s voice calling him Da for the first time sped it up beyond measure.

 He bent, carefully lifted his daughter – and then wife – into the boat, and then climbed in beside his friend, kinsman, rescuer.

 “Ye owe me an explanation, man! How are ye not deid?” He took the other set of oars, helping Rupert steer the boat toward the shore.

 “Now *that* is a story – but dinna fash, we’ve plenty of time now.”

 Jamie looked across the boat at his wife and daughter – cuddled close against the cold. Tired, yet smiling.

 “Aye,” he whispered. “That we do.”

[monster-mum]

Private time and a Kilt-tastrophy

Weddings are generally great. Unless you know a load of grumpy people who are not fun, then weddings are not great for you. These happy occasions can bring out lots of different emotions. From tears of joy for the hopefully happy couple, to tears of sadness for those who aren’t able to be there on the day. Laughter. Is laughter an emotion? For the purpose of this sentence it is. There’s fear. That moment when you are barefoot dancing and drunk cousin Bob starts bustin’ out some fierce moves right next to your poor unprotected, vulnerable feet. Then there’s anger. We’ve all been there. You’ve been stood in the queue for a slice of the fancy pants wedding cake for what seems like a year. You are almost there when all of a sudden Susan from the office grabs the perfect slice you have been eyeing up! Susan! Why? The pain is real my friends. As I said weddings are emotional. The most emotional wedding I have been to was my brother’s wedding last Friday. Chris pointed out that I was more emotional at my little brother’s wedding than at our wedding. Totes awks! Generally, I am not a crier, but I was a sobbing mess during the ceremony. It was so wonderful to see my brother so happy.

 My brother and his husband Jeremy’s wedding was possibly the most beautiful wedding I have ever been to. And I have been to some pretty amazing weddings. The setting was perfect with the weather and company following suit. It very much felt like everything went to plan perfectly.

 The day began like many others with me waking up and panicking “Shit! I’m running late!” Only to discover it was five am. By that point I was so excited and nervous that I couldn’t sleep so I got up and started getting stuff ready for the big day. Showers were had by all and then shortly after breakfast myself, Steven and Lyla were whisked away over to the hotel where the rest of the wedding party were staying. As we entered the hotel we were met by my little big brother. As I saw him walk into the reception area from the bar I flashed back to when he was little. So much time had passed since we were kids. We used to hang out all the time as kids and as teenagers. I can remember worrying that he would look back and just remember his school and college books. So I would take him everywhere with me. I wanted to make sure he had some fun times. I remembered all the times I had stuck up for him. The fights I had been in to protect him and keep him safe. Now a grown man on his wedding day he no longer needed his big sister. We both live such separate lives now with our own friends. It had been true for some time. Standing there in the hotel reception it hit me all of a sudden how much time had passed. How our lives had changed and moved on.

 We headed upstairs to where all the beautifying was happening. I walked into Jeremy’s best man’s ginormous bedroom to find a hair salon fully equipped with one of Andrew’s best friends and fellow groom’s maid Kat sipping Prosecco on the bed. I’ve known Kat for a few years now and she is someone who is infectious. Not in a leprosy kind of way but in a spreading laughter and happiness way. Kat enters a room and immediately everyone’s spirits lift. As I sat down on the bed Rob entered. My brother’s best man. I only met Rob recently but he is such a funny, grounded person who is great at putting people at ease and making them feel comfortable. I was in good company.

 Set scene: Kat and Rob are chatting away with me with their groom’s maid and best man glasses in hand. I am feeling jealous as my groom’s maid glass is in my Dad’s car. At my hotel. My Dad, with his car keys, was in this very hotel. Not ideal.

 Rob: “Hey Nicola! Where’s your drink?”

 Me: “I don’t have one yet.”

 Rob: “Well I’ll get you one. What do you want? Where’s your glass?”

 Me: “It’s in my Dad’s car. At my hotel. Hopefully he’ll bring it soon.”

 Rob: “Okay! I’ll find you one to use.”

 I watch him and Kat peruse the area looking for a glass for me and then at exactly the same moment all three of our eyes fall upon a glass sat on the side. This was a glass the same as ours except it had something else written on it.

 Rob: Reaching down to pick up the glass “Just use this one.”

 Me: “Whose is it?”

 Rob slowly turns it around and in cursive gold letters we all gaze upon the one glass we probably shouldn’t use. As we looked at the beautifully written “Groom” on the glass. We all paused to think for a second. From what I can gather we all came to the same conclusion. Andrew doesn’t drink alcohol. He’ll probably just have a can of coke.

 Rob: “It’s Andrew’s he won’t mind. He’s not using it.”

 I shrug and accept my brother’s groom glass from his best man.

 Rob: “He won’t even notice it’s missing. It’s fine.”

 We all sit and chat until it’s my turn to get my hair done.

 Ten minutes into the process and Andrew walks in. He heads straight over to where his glass was. He has a quick hunt round and then…

 Andrew: “Where’s my glass?”

 Uh oh.

 It’s okay. Rob would never tell on me. We wedding party members and a strong bond of trust. We have got each other’s backs.

 Barely a breath was taken when…

 Rob: “Nicola’s using it.”

 What! Snitch!

 Where is the comradery Rob! Jeez.

 Andrew: “Why are you using my glass?”

 Me: “Rob gave it to me.”

 Ha! Take that Rob.

 Andrew promptly found me a non-groom glass and poured my drink into it. My groom’s maid glass appeared shortly before we left for the wedding.

 The rest of the morning was spent primping and preening. About forty minutes before we were about to leave for the wedding I look out of the window in my parent’s room to see Andrew, still in his normal clothes playing peek-a-boo with Steven and Lyla.

 Me: “Andrew, your wedding is in just over an hour. Maybe you should go get ready?”

 Andrew just looks at me and just when I think he’s gone to get ready I see his head appear over the balcony divide and the kids fall over themselves laughing.

 Shortly afterwards the majority of the wedding party headed downstairs to wait for the bus. The wedding party minus Andrew, Jeremy and my Dad (Andrew needed help with his kilt. I referred to it as a kilt-tastrophy).

 As we’re waiting for the coach to arrive we all hear a wee voice shout “there’s the bus.”

 Like mindless sheep we follow the voice over the busy road to a layby. Only for me to discover that Steven was in fact the one to shout about the bus and he was pointing at a normal bus stop. So there we all are, wedding party and guests all stood in our glamourous finery at a bog standard bus stop. As we all stood awaiting the bus we watch as a very smart looking blue double decker coach pulls up, on the other side of the busy road, outside of the hotel we all just walked from.

 Thanks Steven! Jeez my kids.

 So all of us trot back over in a long line to the hotel and climb aboard the super nice coach.

 As we pull up to the spectacular location it dawns on me that there is a bit of a walk and I am wearing heels that were designed to punish feet. As each step brings me closer to where the ceremony is I start to feel more and more pain. My feet are being crushed. I begin to worry for the health of my feet. Blisters are already out and are causing me quite a bit of discomfort. Super best man Rob has already magically produced plasters but the shoes are disintegrating them. The pain and fear become real as I realise that I have to get through the ceremony with my feet in absolute agony.

 As we wait for the wedding to start I head in to the holding pen where all the guests are waiting. I lay on the floor and put my feet up on the window sill. I need to get blood out of my feet to make them smaller! What? It’s a thing. With the support of Diana, one of Jeremy’s best friends and groom’s maids I lay down on the floor praying to whichever God could hear me that I would make it through the ceremony.

 As the guests settle themselves in and the music begins I am the first one in and I am hoping that my smile does not show the pain I am feeling. While I enter the room my brain is filled with images of me falling arse over tit. I decided if that happened I would just play dead until the ceremony was over and everyone left the room.

 Timing is very important when walking down the aisle. We had practiced the day before and as I was the first one in I was to set the pace. I think we can all gather that I could not go particularly fast due to the Chinese foot binding I was enduring. Slow and easy won the race.

 The ceremony was perfect. I cried my eyes out and as I looked around the beautiful ornate room I noticed that there was a whole lot of synchronised crying going on amongst the guests too.

 As the ceremony ended and the officiant announced them husband and husband more crying occurred with cheers and whooping as we all celebrated their marriage. We stood for photos. They posed for photos. I tried not to fall down.

 Or cry out loud.

 There are photos of me on the wedding day where you can see the pain on my face. I could not wait to get the hellish shoes off of my feet! Once the bubbles were blown and cheers were shouted I collapsed on the stairs and attempted to remove the torturous things. As I pulled my poor foot out it was noticeable that it had been crushed. I think a few guests may have physically recoiled from me as my poor deformed feet were laid bare.

 Flat shoes were dug out of the buggy and all became right with the world. That was until Lyla decided that the post ceremony photos were the best possible time to have a complete screaming meltdown. I have never seen Chris scoop up Lyla and flee a place so quickly in my life.

 Tantrum dealt with the rest of the afternoon went really well. It was great fun with some brilliant and hilarious speeches. The best men and the matrons of honour did a fantastic job with their speeches. It was so much fun.

 The meal was delicious and drinks were flowing. Conversation was happening at every table. It amazed me how just two people could bring so many different people together from different lives and backgrounds and they all have a great time.

 As the light faded and the starlit dance floor sparkled people kicked off their shoes and danced the night away. Lyla held court in the centre as she threw herself into a full on one-woman headbanging mosh pit. She was quite the sight in her long white dress, sparkling belt and tiara while throwing herself around the dance floor.

 After a few songs I decided to go and find Chris and see how he was getting on. He was on child duty and was doing an amazing job.

 I found him chatting in the garden with Kat and her friend Sarah.

 I joined in the conversation. It didn’t take long for me to find out that half an hour earlier Chris, Steven and Sarah had been in the pagoda chatting when Steven requested Chris leave and give him and Sarah some “private time.” As soon as Chris had gone Steven had bent down, picked up a dead flower and held it out to Sarah declaring “look what we are doing to the world!” He then went on into what can only be described as a monologue about heaven and hell.

 Poor Sarah!

 As me and Chris heard this story from Sarah we glanced at each other and I like to think we both came to the same conclusion.

 It was time to include a warning/disclaimer on the kids. Something along the lines of a recording that would kick in and say something like:

 “Hi I’m Steven. I am a happy, chatty kind of guy but I like to say random stuff that’ll leave you speechless and uncomfortable. Disclaimer: As Steven’s parents we cannot be held responsible for Steven’s actions or words.”

 And also:

 “Hi I’m Lyla. I am lovely and sweet until I’m not. It’s probably best for you to just be constantly on your guard for a change in my mood. Disclaimer: As Lyla’s parents we cannot be held responsible for Lyla’s actions or words”

 I’m pretty sure the only disclaimer we would need for Lachlan would be a warning for dribbles and potential sick.  

 Overall the day was a huge success. As much of a success as it can be when there are children involved and your feet have become crippled.

 I had a wonderful time.

 It is the first same sex wedding I have been to. And do you know what I thought of as I saw two men, one of them my brother, stood kissing each other and holding hands as they were announced as husband and husband? Wow, they are so in love. They are so happy. I am so glad they found each other. Not everyone is that lucky in life to find the other half of their soul. I fail to understand what gender has to do with love. Seeing and hearing the joy and love that was surrounding my little brother and my new little brother-in-law was overwhelming and just beautiful. I truly hope they felt every minute of the love and support that enveloped them both that day because they deserve it. They really do. As do we all, sexuality aside. We all deserve happiness and the love and support of others in finding the other half of ourselves.

[davidpwilson2564]

Bloglet

Monday, April 13, 2020

I begin the day by calling Dr. Harmon’s office.  I get a tape.  The office (no surprise) will be closed until further notice. 

I know I have written about this elsewhere but Dr. Harmon is one of the best eye surgeons in the business.  It is simply dumb luck (long story here) that I ended up being one of his patients.  

Note: Yesterday, a lot of touching base via phone, text, email.  The grandkids, the Hamajima family in Vegas...  And practicing went a bit better this time. 

I am thinking that the concert band which generally cranks up in July won’t be happening.  Not being able to play, even those low-visibility gigs, is a drag. I hate not seeing people. 

Note: The awful insomnia routine (it has become routine) will have to be changed.  I’m sure I’ll find a way to do it.  It goes like this: I lie away, get up in the wee hours, decide I must sleep a little and then get a couple of hours before dawn.  It is when I fall back asleep that the awful dreams come.  Last night (or, more accurately, this [early] morning’s) found me on a job in a remote unrecognizable place.  I was one of three percussionists and we were to read off the same part.  We were then shown a painting or huge print, which conveyed nothing to me, and told to improvise something to go with it.  In exasperation I asked to be relieved and was told this was impossible because the performance was about to begin. 

A change will have to take place in order to stop these early morning nightmares.  I note that I am always so relieved when it’s seven a m and I can think: Thank God, it was only a dream.

Note: Nipper Read, the detective, died last week, ninety-five, claimed by the virus.  He’s the man who jailed the Kray twins.  Years ago when the Monty Python group created the Piranha Brothers (Dougie and Dinsdale) I had no idea it was a takeoff of the dread Krays.  I think everyone knew this but me. In those sketches the brothers are chased by a detective called Snapper.  I wouldn’t have gotten that either.  In more recent years a film about the Krays, called “Legend,” pretty much covers the story.  Ingeniously the twins are played by the same guy, Tom Hardy. 

Mid-morning.  The sound of a hammer on wood. Somewhere down the block someone is working on something.  Otherwise it eerily quiet. 

Later: I had firmly in my mind that our president was taking a day off but there began, what is called, a press briefing.  Trump mentions the growing death count and offers his “warmest condolences”...surely one of the most infelicitous phrases imaginable. (One thinks of his Happy Good Friday greeting.) The purpose of this meeting to create a timeline, done by a kind of boardroom presentation, showing he acted to prevent the spread of the virus and was not just sitting on his hands.  This presentation took a lot of work.  And he gets quite nasty afterwards when questioned about any part of it.  To one reporter: “You’re a fake.  You know that?” He talks about the “failing New York Times” and revisits other insults.  He had tweeted about firing Fauci but says something vague about being entitled to his opinion. No, he says, he’s not firing Fauci.  But Fauci then has to backtrack in regard to the interview he gave yesterday in which he stated that fewer lives might have been lost had the federal government acted sooner. He does a little dance around this subject. Better for all of us if he stays on the team.  None of the experts are agreeing with Trump regarding the “grand reopening” of the country and think it wrong to promote the idea that this could happen as early as May the first. Trump says he will tell the states when it is time to declare that the virus has peaked and is disappearing.  He bristles when told the state governors should have a say in this.  Any of them who opposes him, he says, won’t be re-elected, implying that he will see to that. 

This a particularly dark time in our nation’s history. 

[daleisgreat]

Merry Friggin’ Christmas

Happy December everyone and do you know what that means? It is time for the annual Christmas blog entry here. This year I am covering a 2014 film I discovered via snail mail Netflix a couple years ago that I enjoyed so much I tracked down the BluRay online and busted it out again this fine yuletide season. I am covering 2014’s Merry Friggin’ Christmas (trailer) which will also go down as one of Robin Williams’ final films as it released a few months after his tragic passing. Boyd (Joel McHale) wants to keep the spirit of Christmas alive in his family and wants just one last Christmas season for his son to maintain his innocent youthful love of believing in Santa. His Christmas cheer is challenged to new heights when his brother Nelson (Clark Duke) invites him back home to the family for Christmas in time for his son’s baptism. Boyd dreads the trip there because he has kept a distant relationship with his father, Virgil (Robin Williams) and the two waste no time at squabbling away throughout Christmas Eve but must put their differences aside when Boyd realizes he forgot his son’s presents back home a few hours away and now must do an all-night overnight drive to get back in time Christmas morning with the precious cargo.

I immediately fell in love with this film for telling the dysfunctional family story of trying to get everyone under one roof, rivalries and everything, all in the name of Christmas. I identified with many elements in Merry Friggin’ Christmas for having the chaotic family holidays and throughout it I could not help but resonate with many themes for parents going out of their way to make sure their children get their ‘Santa’ gift. In my GameBoy retrospective earlier this year I lamented how I accidentally broke my GameBoy a few days after getting it for Christmas and how my folks did not have to, but they went above and beyond and bought another GameBoy despite my 10-year old goofball mistake. Merry Friggin’ Christmas has plenty of entertaining bickering throughout with all members of the family. Even when Boyd and his father have to drive back home to get Boyd’s gifts for his son the two do not skip a beat at taking potshots at each other. There are some fleeting moments of hope after a kind exchange with Boyd and his dad while taking a pit stop at the gas station, but quicker than a bathroom break they are right back breathing down each other’s necks. Eventually Nelson gets in the mix too, and I have to admit until this film I was never a huge fan of Clark Duke, but the way he was written and how Duke pulled off Nelson’s bouts of PTSD acting up whenever the family succumbed to discourse resulted in Clark winning me over! Bravo to Phil Johnston for the wonderful script! There were a few clips I wanted to link to throughout this entry, but the only clip I can find on YouTube is Nelson phoning home during the road trip in not-so-desirable quality, so enjoy!

Throughout Boyd & Virgil’s drive there are a couple other subplots with the rest of the family back home. Both Boyd & Virgil’s wives (Candice Bergen & Lauren Graham) spend the night worrying about their spouses until progressively drinking their troubles away reminiscing about the past. I found this angle both hilarious and worrisome because Merry Friggin’ Christmas points out several times Virgil’s past problems with alcoholi-ism. Another alcohol related theme throughout the movie that has a delightful payoff was how Virgil encouraged his grandkids to leave Bourbon out for Santa instead of milk. The grandkids have their own subplot too getting into all kinds of mischief in the wee hours of the night with the highlight being trippy nightmares from eating a whole jar of pickles canned in 1973. There are not that many extras on the BluRay, though that may be due to a third party Amazon seller not disclosing they were selling the Canadian version to me that does not even have subtitles. It does however have nearly a half hour of cast interviews going over the bullet points of the film with a lot of them also agreeing with the natural family discourse that transpires at Christmas gatherings. The highlight of the interviews though is when McHale & Williams are both interviewed and go on a five minute spontaneous improve bit mixing in their one-of-a-kind comedy while somehow keeping it related to hyping up the film.

This re-watch marked the first time mixing in Merry Friggin’ Christmas in my rotation of Christmas movie to watch during the season. It is a bittersweet watch knowing it is one of Williams’ final films, but also simultaneously wonderful with Williams still being on top of his game here, especially in some powerful moments where Boyd & Virgil are at their zenith of their bickering and when they eventually reconcile. A few days ago I caught Christmas Vacation at our local theater that will occasionally showcase older films and Merry Friggin’ Christmas is the perfect contemporary take of that film and is essential holiday viewing for everyone! For more past Christmas film coverage, click here! Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed Deck the Halls Detroit Rock City Die Hard Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Dirty Work Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hercules: Reborn Hitman Indiana Jones 1-4 Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Major League Man of Steel Man on the Moon Man vs Snake Marine 3-6 Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Slacker Skyscraper Small Town Santa Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Sully Take Me Home Tonight TMNT The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past