#truly mad about ancients because. well. i will never have expectations again simply

[iniquity-fr]

arcane should have had a cosmic horror esque weirdo alien freak of an ancient and they got hehe silly moffs XD instead so i dont know why anyone keeps getting their hopes up for cool creepy weird eldritch etc dragons they already fucking fumbled that shit so hard where it mattered most they’re never gonna give us a scary one ever

[cute-little-spaceboy]

♤ Bunny Hybrid! Tadashi Yamaguchi x GN! Reader ♤ Fantasy AU ♤ Pure Fluff ♤ No idea how I got roped into this, but it's for @ultimate-astridwriting's Hybrids collab. ♤ This is long as hell, I'm sorry if it's boring, I tried my best. ♤ 2431 words guys...

<♤>

The Night was young, stars just barely peeking out of the sky. An almost bluish sliver of the sun could still be seen right where the horizon lay. When the entirety of the village was just starting to turn in for the night, the ancient spirits, the Yōkai, were coming out.  The first ones out were always the more predatory of the group. The foxes, wolves, bears, etc. They were the brave ones, and almost always came out first, at the same time the stars began appearing. Although they were the first to leave their dens and holes, they mostly prowled around, looking for any last traces of people that had stayed out late.  Next were the insects and birds. Bird Yōkai being more impatient than others, and simply unable to wait for the all clear from the predators. They began chartering and singing amongst themselves, flying from tree to tree without a care in the world. Meanwhile the insects sat near the edges of the trees, murmuring to each other.  Finally, the timid prey animals came out (Only with the confirmation from the Predators that it was indeed safe). The rabbits, mice, squirrels and such.  They would come out slowly, still unsure of their surroundings. Once they deemed it truly safe, they would party just as carefree as any bird or fox. The kingdom they lived by was a small one. The village was tiny enough that everyone knew everyone and almost all of them were related, or friends. The castle was more of a mansion or extra large house. And all around the village, there was a ring of meadowy area, and then forests for miles. Forests filled with Yōkai, that is.  The relationship between the kingdom and the Spirits was… Complicated to say the least. The Kingdom had said they were on "Neutral terms" years ago, but what really ended up happening was, the two sides avoided and feared each other. No one really knew why, but they feared great consequences if they interacted with each other. So the Humans in the village spent the day enjoying themselves, and the Yōkai came out at night, after they went home.  The meadow was sort of like a barrier to the two, no human or Yōkai was brave enough to go there… Well, not most anyways.  You had to be either brave or stupid to go anywhere near there. Tadashi Yamaguchi was neither brave, nor stupid, he was simply lovestruck. He couldn't stay in the forest with the rest of the Yōkai, not when he knew you were there. Out sitting in the meadows, staring up at the vast expanse of the skies. You were just as bad as he was, that's how he justified it. If you could go out, then so could he. Neither of you were hurting anything, you were watching stars and he was watching you.  He was almost certain that you didn't see him. The grass in the meadows was tall, almost knee length. So he would crouch down and watch you. It may have been a little creepy, but he couldn't help it. You were simply captivating to him. You weren't doing anything, just sitting there.  You had a lantern with you, you always did. It wasn't a bright light, casting only a faint golden light on your face. He couldn't see much, but what he could see, he adored. You looked so… Delicately made. As if every individual part of you was carefully crafted and selected from the best that the heavens had to offer. You were a deity, and he was a simple demon. He had seen a glimpse of heaven itself and now he knew it was clearly meant to be.  His long, floppy ears perked up when he saw your familiar form, kneeling on the soft grass. Cotton tail wiggling with excitement. He could sit there for hours, imagining what you were like. What did you like doing? You obviously loved the stars, maybe you liked nature? If you liked nature, maybe you would like him? Maybe you were waiting for someone else? He didn't like that thought. Shaking his head, ears flopping against his face. As if he could erase the thought from his head. It was ridiculous to be this possessive over something that wasn't his, but what else could he do? You were the forbidden fruit, and he wasn't willing to let anyone else take away his beautiful

temptation.  He crept closer, he didn't normally get closer than eight feet away, but he felt more confident today. It wasn't really confidence so much as desperation to get closer to you. He couldn't just sit and stare at you forever. It would drive him mad. Scooting closer as quietly as possible, the grass made a rustling sound underneath him but you didn't seem to notice. He was four feet away now, you were still clueless, and he still wanted more. So he crept closer until he was three feet…  Two feet… One foot…  Right behind you…  It was beyond him how you hadn't noticed him. If he leaned forward, he would be pressed against your back. He could smell your natural scent, grass, flowers, and the faintest hint of general store soap. The grass and flowers were probably thanks to the meadow, but he almost melted. He was right there, right next to you. He could easily imagine that he wasn't here, stalking you, but that you were meeting in secret. That the two of you were forbidden lovers, that he was embracing you, not hiding behind you. He knew that he had gone too far, this was a major invasion of privacy and inappropriate to sneak behind someone without them knowing. But he was practically lovedrunk being this close to you, and he couldn't think of anything other than you.  Would it really hurt if you knew he was there? You were already in the meadows, so you had to know that there were creatures that could be out there. It was really your fault for coming out here, he wasn't going to hurt you. He just had to hold your hand, if only for a second.  Reaching out with a trembling hand, he threw caution to the wind, slipping his hand into yours. Never once thinking about how bad things were about to get.  You jerked your hand away, shrieking and scrambling to your feet, whirling around to see what had touched your hand. The lantern was knocked to the ground and Tadashi's face was illuminated. He froze like a deer in headlights, his terror filled eyes never left yours. Your hands were brought up to your chest as you stared at the rabbit hybrid, equally afraid. Was he trying to hurt you? Hunt you? He was a rabbit, last you checked, those didn't eat people. But he was also a Yōkai, which meant you knew almost nothing about what he would actually do.  He felt paralyzed, the only thoughts in his mind were "What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?". When you took a step towards him, his fight or flight instinct kicked in… They chose flight.  He bolted from his spot, bounding for the forest. You stared as he didn't bother looking back, too scared to stop running until he was safely back in his He cursed himself for being so reckless, getting so close to you. He had completely thrown logic and possible safety to the side just to touch some stranger he could barely see. What kind of lovesick child was he?  "You went out there again, didn't you?" The almost scolding voice of his friend, Kei Tsukishima, called from outside the den.  Tadashi peeked his head out of the entrance, nose trembling from the dramatic situation.  "I couldn't help it, Tsukki, they just…"  ""Captivate You"?" Kei said, rolling his eyes. His fluffy orange tail swishing behind him. "That's what you said, isn't it? Every time you describe them, it's always the same thing."  "I know, but… I can't really describe them beyond that. I know it doesn't make much sense, but I just know!" Tadashi protested. "Know what? Know that they wouldn't take the opportunity to kill you on the spot?"  "Oh come on Tsukki, you know we get along just fine, they wouldn't shoot me."  "Sure. Come back and explain it to me when you've actually talked to them and lived to tell the tale." Kei scoffed, turning and stalking back into the trees.  "I almost got caught… Tsukki is right." Tadashi frowned, it was common sense that you didn't fall in love before a real first sight. But common sense wasn't making sense anymore, so anything was possible at this point. Even getting a complete stranger's affection, right?  "This is stupid…" Tadashi muttered to

himself as he crept out of the treeline. He had no idea if he would see you again, but curiosity had gotten the best of him and he wasn't going to give up the chance to see you again. Tsukki could advise him against it all he wanted, Tadashi was a firm believer in love at first sight. (No matter how one sided this was)  There you were, sitting in your usual spot. He hadn't scared you off after all, he felt relieved. But only slightly, he still had to muster the courage to try and talk to you. After all, you already knew he existed, so now he only had to make you just as in love with him as he was with you. Easy Peasy… Something odd that he noticed, was that you weren't looking up at the sky like you usually were. You were staring straight at the border of trees that lined the forest. Almost as if you were expecting something to come out. It was a little off putting, that was for sure. Were you looking for him? Was that a good thing, and you wanted to talk to him? Or did you have a hidden weapon? Okay… Maybe no hidden weaponry, no way you were that kind of person. Nobody who came out to look at stars would kill some demon they barely met, right?  "Here we go…" He whispered to himself, standing upright in the tall grass to walk over before his confidence disappeared.  "Or… Maybe not." He crouched in the grass again, opting to crawl instead of walk. Maybe it was because he could still back out, or maybe it was because it might make him seem friendlier. Either way, staying hidden until he absolutely had to come out, was far easier.  When he had gotten close again, he didn't want to come out of hiding. He wanted to get your attention, but he didn't want you to see him. His prey instincts were kicking in and he was regretting his choice to confront you.  "Hello?"  You spoke…  You had actually spoken. Out loud. To him? He didn't know that.  "I know you're here. I saw you yesterday, and… I assume you're back now?"  Were you just saying that? Or did you actually know he was here. You could have been bluffing, sure. But he had to say something eventually. So he may as well get it out now.  "Yes. I'm back." His voice was quiet, but everything else was quieter, so he knew you had heard him.  "I knew it." You had been bluffing… Your voice sounded too surprised to get a response. Had you been talking like that for the last hour?  "How long have you been watching me?" Tadashi felt awkward now, he couldn't lie to you and say it was the first time. But he couldn't just tell you that he had been stalking you for months now.  "A while then?"  "No! Of course not!" He protested.  "Then how long?"  "Only a few months. That's all." He tried to make it sound better than it actually was.  "A few months? Why? What were you even doing? Are you some kind of stalker?"  "No! I'm not a stalker, I swear! I was only watching the stars with you. I… I like it here too, and when I saw you, I guess I got excited that someone else liked it too." That wasn't entirely untrue.  There was silence, and he felt uncomfortable again. Had you somehow seen through his half-lie? Looking up, he saw the faint light of a lantern and your face. You were standing over him, looking down with what could have been amusement.  "Y'know you could've just asked, right? I'm not gonna hurt you." You crouched next to him and he could fully see your face from here. His cheeks heated up when you set the lantern in between the two of you.  "Sorry, I guess I was too scared." He muttered, staring at his feet and fidgeting with some blades of grass.  "Of what?"  "You… I know humans and Yōkai technically "Get Along" but everyone's still afraid of each other and I didn't really know you, and I didn't want you to think I was a creeper or anything and-" You placed a finger to his lips, interrupting his ramble.  "Well you don't have to be afraid of me now. I already told you, I won't hurt you. And honestly, I was probably intruding on your stargazing place. This Meadow is more a part of the forest than part of the village. If anything, I'm the

creep."  "No way! It's an in between space, you're not intruding, I promise!" He reassured, he didn't want you feeling unwelcome.  "You're sure?"  "Definitely! You're just as welcome to come here as I am."  "Good to know someone else loves this place like I do." You smiled at the happy Yōkai. Truth be told, you knew he had been watching you for a while. You simply acted as if you didn't see him because you knew how jumpy Yōkai were. You didn't want to scare him off, so you simply ignored him. And when he had actually started talking to you, you knew full well why he was watching you. It was painfully obvious how obsessed he was with you. But for now, you would humor him. You had waited for him to talk to you, you could wait for him to confess his true intentions.

As for how you felt? You weren't entirely sure how to feel. But seeing as he wasn't very good at confessing anything, you had plenty of time to think that over. For now, you had someone to talk to, and that was good enough. 

[funkzpiel]

Another consideration (sorry) is if Jaskier did lose his voice permanently from the Jinn and Geralt feels guilty and doesnt stop trying to find a cure even though he knows there isnt one (or lies to Jaskier that he's trying to find one til Jaskier finds out)

He doesn’t sing again. That prickly part of Geralt that’s been traveling alone for most of his life gruffly thought he’d enjoy that result. After all, he did his level best to have the issue resolved. It wasn’t his fault that the bard got involved. He hadn’t invited him along – he had just wanted to fucking sleep for fucking once in his life, damn it. It had been his wish though, however unintentional, that brought the bard into this new life, this silent existence. A world without Jaskier’s singing.

It is like biting into a pie only to find it has no filling.

Those words haunt him in the lingering silence of Jaskier’s presence. They hang between him and the bard as heavily as any wraith might – leeching him just as much as actual conversations exhausted him. Jaskier, like the birds of the woods, was born to sing and talk and fill the world with the litany of his voice and his perspective and his life; and Geralt had taken part in shattering him.

Yennefer had, in her way, tried to heal him. They had released the Djinn – much to the mage’s dismay – and that should have been the end of it. Jaskier’s swelling went down, his bleeding stopped.

But when he opened his mouth to greet Geralt when finally he woke, nothing more than a wheeze passed his lips. In that moment, the witcher watched a part of Jaskier die. He saw it in the bard’s eyes – a small bit of the light that constantly filled him fading away like a cloud passing over the sun.

Jaskier stayed with him. Geralt doesn’t understand why. It was his fault, his words, his hasty and ill thought out wish that had crushed the bard’s vocal cords to dust. Jaskier should hate him, and yet he stayed. Geralt thought pragmatically that it was because alone, Jaskier would struggle. He was a man who had independently crafted a life and a career for himself off his voice, and now that was gone. He had his fingers, his lute, of course – but drunken pub-goers relished the bard’s songs, his lyrics, and with nothing to sing along to, it left Jaskier’s lute playing, while lovely, pale and hollow by comparison to what patrons expected to hear when they recognized who he was.

Geralt did that to him. So it was the least he could do to keep Jaskier by his side. To provide a safe place for the bard to sleep, coin for him to eat. And that must be why he stayed, he reasoned. Why else?

As they passed through villages, he asked for healers, for mages – anyone who might have insight into the bard’s situation. He even began to direct their travels in the direction of famous herbalists or sorcerers (or sometimes even creatures), all without ever making it plain, just in case they might stumble upon someone who might have a cure.

‘Sorry’ hung heavy on his heart, weighing it down between his ribs, pressing in on his lungs, strangling him. He spent his nights, already so prone to sleeplessness, on his back and staring up at the sky as though the stars might suddenly align and spell out the answers he sought. His eyes drifted to Jaskier, curled by the fire. Small and quiet. So fucking quiet.

Geralt was really beginning to fucking detest the quiet.

It made him admire Jaskier’s penchant for conjuring a conversation seemingly out of nowhere; particularly when he began to try and solve this problem of too much fucking quiet by doing what Jaskier could not: talking.

“Pleasant day,” he growled one morning, eyes on the meal he stoked above the fire as Jaskier silently worked on lacing up his clothing. Blue eyes sought him out over the fire. He could feel the weight of them, the surprise. But what else was there to say? His words had been efficient. The day was pleasant. What should he say next? Describe the color of the sky? Foolish.

He grit his teeth, hating himself for his blatant inability to provide even so much comfort as this. But he keeps trying. He practices. Only because when he does, Jaskier’s gaze falls to him – keen in a way those blue eyes had not been in some time since the silence started – and for a moment he feels as though his bard has returned again.

Jaskier, for his part, does not simply melt back into the stone of a garden wall like a shrinking violet. His voice was not what made him so lively, so vibrant; it was a side effect of all the life and sunlight and existence that the gods had seen fight to cram into a body as lithe as Jaskier. He learned how to speak with his hands and Geralt, a man who had only spoken through body language for so long, found it easy to listen. It was an act of communication that drew no end of curious looks when they went to villages. How could two men speak so silently? Some even began to suspect Jaskier was a familiar of Geralt’s – which made the bard wheeze silently, laughing.

Geralt couldn’t even be annoyed by that. It was good to see the bard laugh.

Jaskier’s hands grew more and more fluent as they travelled until he learned how to fill the silence in an entirely new way. And if Geralt’s attention were distracted, his eyes not on the bard, Jaskier found ways to grab his attention. A pebble to the shoulder, if annoyed. A hand to his side, to the small of his back, to his bicep if not.

But still, Geralt looked for a cure. He did not ask for forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it – not while Jaskier was still unable to say the words to pardon him for his wish. Wishes. How Geralt hated them, hated the word. His wish had driven Yennefer away. His wish had bound Jaskier to a life in which he could not do what he loved. Geralt didn’t deserve forgiveness. So he did not ask.

And then came the contract about the witches of the bog.

Ancient hags. Magical ladies. So old that Geralt wasn’t even sure if the word ‘witch’ truly befitted them anymore. He didn’t even know what to call them, what to research in his bestiary. Three witches of the bog. Complicated and powerful, hand in hand. Some of the village worshipped them. They kept the forest rich with game. They protected birthing mothers. They warded off those from foreign lands that might colonize their home, change it, urbanize it. It left the area like a capsule from another time; perfectly preserved.

Others hated them. Virgins tended to disappear now and then. Children too. Livestock would die, men would suddenly fall dead. Believers called it penance, divine and unknowable justice for deeds the public might never see or fathom. Nonbelievers called it terrorism at the hands of monsters. Geralt found himself stuck in the middle.

He insisted Jaskier stay in the village. This was beyond even his expertise. Even with normal monsters there was always the chance that he might fail, not protect Jaskier, however slim. Now? He would not tell Jaskier that he had a healthy fear for what laid ahead, but he made it known that for no reason should the bard follow him this time.

He approached the bog with his swords on his back but his hands nowhere near their hilts. Women as old as these, there was a chance he might be able to reason with them. Negotiate.

There was just as big as chance that he might offend them by trying.

His heart thumped in his chest as he kneeled in a dry spot in the bog. He set out the offerings the believers told him would attract the witches to him. He rested his hands on his thighs. Closed his eyes.

“Bog women,” he said, calling to them in a hushed, croaking voice, “Ladies of the North, Winter Women… I have no request but to parlay with you. I humble myself, I kneel, knowing I don’t deserve an audience. Would you speak with me?”

At first there was nothing. He wondered if the believers had lied, if the nonbelievers were far more stable by comparison. He was just about to stand, to leave, when a wind brushed the faint hairs not held back by his hair tie to wisp about his face. The willows around him swirled and sang a sorrowful tune. The fine hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms rose.

“What is a boy’s name?” A witch sung to him. A boy. Despite his years, he felt very much like a boy kneeling at the feet of those women.

He nearly responded. Nearly. But there was power in a name for folk such as them.

“You may call me witcher,” he said instead, careful in his wording. Another witch laughed, delighted.

“Clever witcher-boy,” the laughing witch chirped, stepping out of the fog. She was lovely. Her red hair hung down to her bottom. Her face was round like a peach, her cheeks pink like one too. She wore a gown unlike one he had ever seen before. She looked kind, her smile pleasant, but her eyes – if he looked too long, he could see the predatory glint in those eyes. Her glamor blurred around the edges and if he peered too closely, he could almost see—

His pupils dilated, huge and blown out as he tried to make sense of what he saw. Limbs, so many limbs. A body distorted with tumors; or what he thought might be tumors, but perhaps just did not know the right word for them. Too many mouths, eyes, faces. The punishing visage of those warped by black magic or simply the form of a god not meant to be seen or understood by mortal men? He didn’t know, but he did register something wet beneath his nose. Hot and dripping. His heart thundered. He wondered if it might burst when finally another woman came up behind him, bent over him, and gently rested a hand over his eyes.

“A strong boy with keen eyes,” the woman behind him hummed, “Few have seen past our glamor. Fewer still remained sane enough to tell the tale.”

The first witch cackled, having appeared from the fog as well, and sneered, “You steal our fun,” then said a name that made Geralt’s lashes flutter sickly. The name sounded more like the mad tumble of rocks down a mountain side that any human word. His stomach lurched. He was so fucked. “I wished to see how far a witcher-boy’s mind might bend.”

“A boy came to us in good faith,” the witch whose name sounded like falling rocks said. Her voice sounded like the voice of many women, but also, one woman. His mother. He wondered if that was part of the glamor as well. If that magic was seeping into his mind, collecting fragments and details that might sooth him, lure him into a false sense of security.

Too bad it was the voice of the woman who had abandoned him. It only served to wake him up.

He decided to call that woman Earth Mother. The name pinged something familiar in the far recesses of his mind.

“Laws of matronhood,” said the second to the first, naming her as well. He gritted his teeth against the sound of it – glass shattering, wolves howling. It made his muscles tense, ready to flee the jaws of a wolf. When the feeling passed, a human name appeared in his mind seemingly from nowhere: Beast Mother.

“Aye, I know the laws,” said the Beast Mother, then a final name. Geralt’s stomach dropped sickly like missing a step on a staircase. This name sounded like the wind – both tame as the first warmth of spring thaws the fields, and wild like the storm that punishes a village. Sky Mother, his mind supplied.

Geralt bowed his head as those final, hind-brain instincts washed over him and eventually dulled. He felt suddenly exhausted. Word thin by the mere presence of these women.

“What does a witcher-boy call to women such as we for?” Asked the Sky Mother.

“Does a witcher-boy come to kill us?” Laughed the Beast Mother cruelly, and even with the third woman’s hand over his eyes – cool and soothing and dark – Geralt knew the Beast Mother was grinning with too many predatory teeth. More teeth than any human mouth should have. Teeth and teeth and teeth—

“The village placed a contract on you,” Geralt forced himself to say. “But I’m quickly realizing this is no monster hunt.”

He was in the presence of gods, or at least as close to gods as reality might ever get. Every story, every religion, stemmed from something after all. These land spirits, these witches, these women – they were so much more than a contract to be hunted. They owned the land, the wood, the swamp, and all inside it. Fuck.

“If you know this, then why come?” The Earth Mother asked gently.

“Some of the villagers are suffering,” Geralt explained, “I’m here to help. To parlay.”

“Life is to suffer,” laughed the Beast Mother cruelly.

The Sky Mother said instead, “And what can a witcher-boy offer us? How can a witcher-boy help?”

The Earth Mother was against his back, matronly and kind. He felt like a boy hiding behind a mother’s skirts – or more accurately Vesemir’s legs. It felt both nostalgic and sickening at the same time, his mind peeled apart like an onion so easily in their presence.

“I am nothing and no one to you Mothers,” Geralt acknowledged, “But I cannot turn my back on suffering. If I do so here, I have no right to my namesake.”

“A witcher-boy wanted to be a hero,” cackled the Beast Mother, fangs gleaming in his mind’s eyes, pearly and wet with hungry spittle.

“A witcher-boy is kind,” whispered the Mother blinding him with her mercy, her hand.

“A witcher-boy is doomed,” offered the Sky Mother clinically, but not dispassionately.

“What did the village ask?” The Beast Mother spat, “Did they whine about their lost babes? Their disappeared virgins? Their dead men? Their cows?”

“The milk had spoiled in their udders, so we killed them,” the Sky Mother said simply.

“The men had raped and stolen and marred the virtue of our lands, so we removed them from the grace of our hospitality,” the Beast Mother growled.

“The virgins sought escape from abusive homes, sought freedom and peace, so we guided them to happier places,” the Earth Mother hummed.

“And the babes would have died a painful death from winter, from illness, from genetic deficiencies – so we lured them to that better place in peace instead,” the Sky Mother finished.

“Life is cruel,” the Beast Mother growled like the sound of hooves on earth, pounding in chase after the fox, “But we are not. A witcher-boy cannot fathom our motives, so we pardon him once, but question our intentions again and a witcher-boy will understand punishment for himself.”

Geralt bowed his head intentionally this time, hands in tight, humbled fists on his knees.

“Apologies, Mothers, I knew not what to expect.”

“As we said, a witcher-boy is pardoned,” the Sky Mother said simply.

“We know a witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother sang behind him, her voice the laughter of a babe’s first smile, the song of a mother kneading dough in the morning. “A witcher-boy withholds his name, but we know him.”

“White. Wolf.” The Beast Mother is grinning with too many hungry teeth again. Geralt shivered.

“You helped a Godling not far from here,” says one.

“Spared a group of trolls in the eastern mountains,” says another.

“Helped a succubus escape the fires of the cities and the purge of daft men who put their faith in nonsense,” says the last.

“The list is long,” the Earth Mother says, her other hand stroking through his hair now. She’s untied it, let it fall loose around his ears. She tsks and says, “At least a witcher-boy tried to bathe for us. You need fine oils for hair such as this.”

He feels disoriented, exposed. Unsure of his footing.

“I will explain to the village—” he begins, but clicks his jaw shut audibly when the Beast Mother howls, “We were not done, witcher-boy!”

He swallows dryly. His very bones shiver. The Earth Mother shushes his fears and continues to pet him like a dumb, beloved dog warming her feet. It feels… nice. He has to shake his mind awake not to fall for that glamor, that lulling sense of safety. There is no safety. Safe is an illusion.

“Clever witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother says proudly, fondly.

“You’ve helped people and creature alike on our land,” the Sky Mother said.

“But you’ve also taken justice into your hands, as if we were not suitable to maintain it,” snarled the Beast Mother.

“What are three Mothers to do with their witcher-boy, their kind hearted wolf, their man of stone?”

They might kill him. They were not wrong, he had taken their affairs into his own hands unknowingly when fulfilling contracts in these lands. If their territory extended as far as he thought it did, he had only done so twice perhaps. Maybe thrice. A werewolf that had gone mad, slaughter their family. A cockatrice that had been spoiling the hunt for another township, killing the best of their providers. A wraith left behind by a widow spurned.

“We would have gotten to them in our own time,” the Beast Mother said, answering his unspoken question of why, if they protected these lands, had they not handled it?

“Or perhaps we did handle it in our own right,” the Earth Mother offered with a chuckle. Working through him, he realized. A pawn in their ways just as he was a pawn to fate. He shuddered helplessly, a little flame of offense rising in his gut as it always did at the concept of ‘fate’. She brushed his hair back in apology, stroked his cheek. “You need a shave.”

Disoriented didn’t begin to cover it.

“Spoil sport,” the Beast Mother snorted. So that had been it, then. He had acted as unwitting representative for them and their will.

“You are a trustworthy wolf,” the Sky Mother said, “Good in intention, civil in mercy.”

“You will go to the village,” the Earth Mother continued. “You will explain the way of things. Those who cannot abide by those ways can flee freely or be dealt with accordingly… They will not pay you, witcher-boy. Their hearts are selfish and easy to see reason why they should keep their coin despite your bravery, despite how you put yourself between we women and their cowardly souls.”

“For this, for the works you’ve already done unintentionally in our name and for the works you will later do intentionally in our name, we women shall pay you instead.”

He stiffened. Every bone locked in his body like rusted hinges on a door, painful and tight. That was a dangerous offer. He could not deny it and live. But one wrong word would spell a world of pain unending. He swallowed.

“You are too kind to someone as undeserving as me,” he managed to croak.

The Beast Mother laughed cruel and amused, high like a harpy’s screech and low like a bear’s roar. He shuddered visibly. The Earth Mother smoothed down the hackles that rose on the back of his neck like a master calming a spooked dog.

“Correct, we are too kind. Wise of you to notice,” the Beast Mother said.

“What does a witcher-boy want?” The Sky Mother asked.

Geralt clenched his jaw, feeling more like a mouse caught between a cat’s paws than a witcher. It was an uncomfortable, greasy feeling, and he hated it.

“I require nothing –”

“—Ha! A man says he requires nothing from gods!” The Beast Mother howled like a pack of wolves.

“You would spit in our eye and refuse our gift?” The Sky Mother asked diplomatically.

“Do not let them frighten you, witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother hummed, stroking his hair again. “We Mothers are unused to debt.”

He could ask for a token from them; small enough so as not to ask too much, but enough to appease their debt. He could ask for some tidbit of knowledge; the location of a cache in their lands, perhaps. He could ask for hospitality in their woods; safety and peace whenever he visited. But as their champion, which he was quickly coming to find that he was unknowingly, he inherently knew he need not ask for any of this. They had always provided for him, had always shown him the way. He never went hungry or thirsty in these woods. The birds called when anything deigned attack him, warning him. He slept here. To ask for what they already provided would be turning a blind eye onto their gifts – a dangerous thing.

He should find something else – something small, something humble. And yet…

“My friend… what would it cost for you to heal him?” Geralt finally asked.

“Aaah,” the Beast Mother crooned, “A witcher-boy does not love silence after all.”

“A witcher-boy did not know what he had until it was gone,” the Earth Mother said, her voice if possible even more fond.

“Witcher-boys tend to be clever, and yet dumb as rock trolls,” the Sky Mother said blandly.

“Please,” Geralt said, leaning into the cradle of the Earth Mother’s hand which blinded him, protected him. She hummed soothingly behind him.

“We women are powerful and old. We saw the mountains form and the rivers fill. We were there for the first storm, the first wind that graced the ground, the first sprig of grass, the birth of the first land beast,” said the Sky Mother.

“But alas, this boon you ask for is not as simple as you think,” the Earth Mother said sadly.

He nearly asked ‘so you can’t help’ before he caught his tongue. What a stupid way to die, offending gods. The Beast Mother cackled. She knew what he had almost asked.

“It is not that we are not capable. You ask for something more than what we owe,” the Beast Mother said, fangs glinting, her words the framework of a hungry maw in his mind’s eye, waiting for an excuse to eat him. A merry chase, a dangerous game. It thrilled her to chase him like a rabbit through their laws and customs and loopholes, waiting for him to trip and yet hoping he might not so the game would continue. “And you cannot afford a cure outright.”

“What is the cost of an outright cure?” He asked. He had to know. Maybe he could—

“Souls. Innocent souls. Blood. Flesh. Creation and death. You request to overwrite a Djinn’s will, witcher-boy. That sort of magic by human means, by the means in which you could pay us, would change you fundamentally. You’d no longer be worthy as champion of our will. We have no intention of warping a witcher-boy and losing a pawn such as yourself. Too dull, too boring. Too simple. A witcher-boy offends.”

He hung his head again. His debt to his friend was more expensive than his morality, the makeup of his being, than his use to the world and to these witches, these gods. His stomach became a stone inside him. There was no outright cure…

His head rose a little.

“What cost for his voice?” He asked. Not a cure. A voice. The Earth Mother stroked him approvingly. The Beast Mother smiled with impressed fangs. The Sky Mother considered him.

“A steep price,” the Sky Mother said, like spring rain.

“A generous price,” snorted the Beast Mother, like boars stomping in the brush.

“A fair price,” hummed the Earth Mother, like the sound of a gentle hands guiding a plant into fresh soil.

“Name it,” Geralt said, something unidentifiable to his knowledge of himself in the edges of the words, though he recognized it in others. Pleading.

They named it.

He agreed.

“But first,” said the women with too many voices, “What is a witcher-boy’s name?”

They already knew it. Geralt knew that they did. But he hadn’t given it to them. There was power in giving a name.

Geralt paid.

–

He returned to town feeling exhausted, hollowed out and reed-thin, and yet he held the light of dawn in his chest, weightless and hopeful. He carried it with him over the hall and down the path that led to the village, leaving behind him his Ladies and the offerings he had placed on their humble altar.

He followed their instructions precisely.

He went first to the village alderman – a believer – and the man who had posted the notice – a nonbeliever. He explained that this village was not in fact their home, but the home of the women, and it was by their mercy that their crops flourished and their lives went by in relative peace. When the nonbeliever questioned him, cheeks red with rage that Geralt had not done as he was tasked, Geralt merely offered precisely what the women had told him to say.

“If you do not like living in the lands of the Ladies, you are free to relocate somewhere with no matronage. But if you stay and presume to keep calling the lands your own, and living outside the laws of matron and guest, there’s nothing I can do to spare you from them. This was their land first. They’ve upheld every law, provided every mercy. Live by their terms, live somewhere else, or find out for yourself why men have disappeared from among you by becoming another face on a flier.”

They had bid him not over explain. There was no faith to be had otherwise, no trust, and the Ladies asked for little more than that from their guests. To explain would be to condemn these villages to eviction. So he left the nonbelievers’ fate to themselves. Heed, flee or perish.

They didn’t pay him, just as the women had warned. The nonbelievers accused him of solving nothing. They called him a charlatan and a cheat. The believers claimed that they had not asked for help in the first place – and honestly, that was fair.

He didn’t need their payment anyways, not now. He would not go hungry or thirsty while in their wood. They’d tide him over until he left their lands in pursuit of his next contract. That was more than enough.

He brushed off their accusations, their thanklessness, like kicking dirt from his shoes. He wondered if that was what endeared him to the Ladies, or at least part of it – for both he and the god women understood thanklessness despite service.

He went to the inn, carried himself up to the room he had left Jaskier in. He could hear his lute from halfway up the stairs. It was a pleasing sound, something cheerful to wake to – it’d have to be, not to received complaints from other patrons also guesting at the inn.

The moment he walked in, he found Jaskier seated on the window sill, face to the early morning sun like a plant soaking in daylight as he played with mindlessly fluent fingers. Geralt leaned against the doorframe and enjoyed watching the dance of those fingers over the strings, plucking, always searching for the next note. He let himself bask in that moment, in the portrait of his bard in peaceful domesticity. Then, knowing the Ladies would not wait forever, rapped two knuckles against the doorframe, drawing Jaskier’s attention.

The bard let his song lull to a stop, his face lighting up at the sight of him returned unharmed. There was relief there, plain and naked as Jaskier was in most ways; unabashed and quick to feel, to express. He set his lute aside with the same sort of care that Geralt might give one of his swords and immediately his hands went into action, his whole body speaking to Geralt as easily as he once did with words.

Well, what happened, don’t keep me waiting? Were they in fact witches or something more nefarious? Well? Come on, Geralt, these stories don’t write themselves!

He smiled. There was a weight in his chest he hadn’t realized he had been carrying until now as it slowly lifted, so close to resolution as he was. He stepped forward without a word, amber eyes locked on his bard, his traveling companion, his friend, his partner. It drew Jaskier’s hand to a stuttering motion not unlike ‘um’ or ‘uh’ or ‘what’s going on?’.

“Months ago, I stole your voice from you,” Geralt finally said, standing in front of the bard, close enough to touch him – but not yet. A puzzled look spread across Jaskier’s face.

I don’t understand.

“I wished for peace not knowing I already had something better. Already had peace in my hands. I was just to blind to comfort, to kindness, to know that I had it.”

Jaskier gave him a baffled look that both said ‘well aren’t you chatty today?’ and ‘who are you and what did you do with my witcher?’

Geralt did not know this language, this new tongue he was trying to learn: intimacy, apology, love. He reached to cup Jaskier’s jaw and paused nearly there feeling foolish, blushing, because words and intimate touches had never been a language of his. It felt foreign. Like a crude imitation, rusty and weak for what he was trying to convey. But Jaskier just watched him patiently, brows drawn into a curious frown as he met him halfway and nestled his jaw into his calloused hand.

‘Geralt?’

He brushed a thumb over Jaskier’s smooth jaw, freshly shaven and smelling of sweet oil. Memorized the lines of Jaskier’s face, the soundless paragraphs of his expression, and tucked it away in his mind for later.

“I am sorry knowing me left you silent,” he finally said, croaked, hushed, admitted.

Jaskier’s brows drew tight, his mouth a strange line. He shook his head.

“I understand if you cannot forgive me,” Geralt looked away. “I should have apologized the morning you first could not speak, but it felt wrong to ask when you could not answer. But now… Do you trust me, Jaskier?”

There was still that expression – anger, grief, confusion, all deserved. He’d leave him after this, no doubt. Geralt had pushed too far, presumed too much. But he pressed on. He had to see this through. Then he’d let Jaskier return to his normal life. Let him make his choice. Set him free.

He thought he heard a womanly sigh.

Jaskier’s hand came up to cradle Geralt’s on his jaw. In his touch and in his face, Geralt heard him: Of course I trust you, you daft excuse for a witcher.

Do or die.

He leaned down. Watched as Jaskier’s eyes widened. Watched until he was too close to see anymore. Got closer until their lips brushed – his so chapped against the bard’s meticulously cared for lips, soft and pleasant. The bard felt like a canary in his hands, all fluttering energy; fragile with hollow bones, more melody than flesh. He pressed, then swiped a tongue across trembling lips to ask permission.

Jaskier let him in. He sealed their lips together. Let his hand move from the man’s jaw to cup the back of his neck, crush him close without actually crushing him. Then he felt it. It began in his throat, behind his Adam’s Apple, and slowly crawled up – warm, not unpleasant but certainly not normal. It rose. When it met his tongue it tasted of night and bestiaries; earthy and deep. His voice. It passed by his teeth, slipped through their lips, then felt Jaskier jump in his hands. He leapt as though stung, or perhaps shocked like walking with socked feet and touching a door knob – surprising, sharp and fleeting. Then settled in his hands.

Geralt pulled away to mumble three words against Jaskier’s slack mouth, his own stomach twisting when no words actually bloomed despite his tongue and mouth doing what needed to be done to make words. He was mute. It had worked. The price had been paid.

He should have said it before he lost the chance to, and yet, there was a pathetic sort of comfort in murmuring the words soundlessly against Jaskier’s lips instead – like hiding behind a mask, bold because he could do so secretly.

Jaskier pulled away, speaking on instinct out of shock, “Geralt, what’s wrong with you—” then he stilled, eyes owlish. His hands shot to his throat. Patted and fluttered and searched for something that might give away what was going on.

Geralt smiled. His throat vibrated as it would if he had chuckled, but no sound followed.

“My voice,” Jaskier croaked, pale from shock and relief and all manner of emotions he wore as plainly on his face as he did his clothes. “How?”

Geralt felt relief bloom in his own belly: that weight lifting fully now that he had made amends, had fixed his wrongs. Relief that Jaskier’s voice was his own and not Geralt’s because that was a level of weird even the witcher couldn’t handle. He tapped his own throat with his fingers and looked at Jaskier pointedly.

Color leeched from the bard’s skin.

“You gave me yours?”

Geralt nodded, then blinked – confused – when Jaskier suddenly sprung to his feet, all pent-up nervous energy, and slapped faintly at Geralt’s chest with a sharp, “Take it back!”

Geralt’s brows drew tight, his lips pursed, utterly baffled.

“You lummox! Don’t you give me that look! You can’t—I can’t—this is too much!”

Geralt shook his head.

‘I had to make it right’ he said, using his hands, with his face, with his body; a pale imitation of Jaskier’s fluency.

“It wasn’t yours to make right! The Djinn did it, not you!”

‘My wish—’

“Was an accident! You thought the Djinn was under my control anyhow, it hadn’t been intentional. I honestly don’t recall if you even wished for it or said ‘I just want some damn peace!’ – you had warned me it was dangerous! If I had just listened—”

Wait. Wait.

Geralt shook his head. How had this spun away from him so quickly?

‘This wasn’t your fault.’

“It was no more yours than mine or mine than yours!” Jaskier pointed out, as if that had been his intention all along. He threw his hands out to his sides, pacing quietly – quiet, he hadn’t expected that, as if it had become a habit. He watched as the bard fluttered nimble fingers against his lips, eyes darting to Geralt distractedly, and mumbled, “Lovely kiss, by the way,” and when Geralt smirked he continued haughtily, “Which we will further discuss later, you oaf!”

Geralt chuckled without chuckling.

“You are,” Jaskier said slowly, finally stopping his pacing, “Insufferable. Your hero complex will see you into the ground one day, I swear, and no one will even know now because you can’t talk.”

Geralt gave him an obvious, deadpanned look. This? This felt right. Natural. Things had always been this way. Jaskier just hadn’t realized that yet.

‘You have always been my words.’

Jaskier stilled. In the lines of his body Geralt saw the quiet sway of wind through a garden well cared for; buzzing with bees, home to all manner of flowers, beautiful and soothing to its guests. So alive, so open. Jaskier was a garden. Geralt had merely returned the birds that had lost their way.

He waited. Waited for the inevitable. He had taken Jaskier’s voice, then made parlay for it without his permission. Surely the bard would leave him. He no longer needed the witcher, after all, and in his silent days had seen more than enough journeys to sing about for the rest of his life. Geralt waited.

“You bloody imbecile,” Jaskier breathed, his face going slack with subdued outrage and realization. “You daft man, you uncommunicative bastard!”

Geralt looked away. He didn’t need his voice. It was better suited in the bard. He didn’t need Jaskier. He had been on the road alone for years before him, and he could do it again.

But there was something in his chest – heavy, prickly and unfamiliar. Want.

He swallowed. He didn’t approach him, but also did not shy away when Jaskier stomped forward and reached for his face. He waited for the slap, for the slam of a door.

Jaskier guided his gaze back down to him.

“Don’t belittle my affections by presuming I stayed because you were convenient. I do not need my voice to live a comfortable or enjoyable life. I need you.”

He felt like shattered glass in a repair man’s palms, all his broken edges grinding together in wrong ways.

“What’s done is done,” Jaskier finally said, his hand reaching back to cup the back of Geralt’s neck as he had done to him not long ago. “And… you’re right. We’ve never needed words to speak and they have never been a tool you enjoyed using. I shall be your words. I’ve been with you long enough to know how to explain your creatures to townsfolk and gods above know I am a better haggler than you – you let that bastard swindle you into this contract for 250 crowns, for gods sake, Geralt! I was dying – ahh,” he shook his head, refocusing, “Nevermind. Point is, we’ve always made it work. We’ll make this work too. But for the record, I wasn’t broken, Geralt. Not with you.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to the witcher’s mouth, smiling and soft at the sight of Geralt’s baffled look, his inability to collect himself to react in the face of such an unexpected confession. Jaskier was the one to whisper into his lips this time between kisses, “Not that I don’t appreciate your sacrifice. The songs I’ll sing about the gift you’ve given me, Geralt – gods above, I’ve missed singing.”

‘I’ve missed it too,’ Geralt thought, perhaps said with his touch and the way he leaned into every peck Jaskier gave him, every breath against his lips.

“Fucking knew it,” Jaskier said, grinning against his mouth, “Filling-less pie, you emotionally constipated dog. And don’t think for one moment I didn’t hear you. We’ve been talking without talking for too long for me to have missed it, you know.”

Geralt felt heat rush to his cheeks and crawl up his neck, making a home in the tips of his ears. He turned away to hide it as Jaskier pulled back, but it was too late. The bard chuckled fondly and when Geralt finally chanced looking back at him, he grumbled embarrassedly – silently.

“It’s not the first time you’ve said you love me, Geralt,” Jaskier said, smiling with all his teeth, skin aglow like dawn breaking the night. “You’ve been saying it for ages.”

Jaskier drew his face back to him when Geralt tried once more to look away, bristly and unsure of himself and self-conscious that all this time he hadn’t been half as secretive – or aware himself – as he thought.

Jaskier took his time looking him over. Memorizing his face, Geralt realized, as he had memorized the bard’s when he found him on the windowsill. He felt exposed as he had at the Mothers’ feet. Known.

He leaned into Jaskier’s hand. Enjoyed the brush of a thumb over a sore scar on his cheekbone.

“I don’t need words,” Jaskier said gently, “But I am grateful to have them. Thank you, Geralt. I’ll use your voice wisely.”

The witcher leaned in, loose like a puppet with his strings cut now that it was finally done, and pressed his forehead to the bard’s. Power thrummed between them, the magic of being known and kept.

Silently, love spoke for them

[devilmaywrite]

if your taking requests... how bout some valen and kai angst over how he was in the cult 😈

I'm so sorry that this has taken me so long jfkdslf. I did actually write something like this a while back. But I think I'm gonna revise the part where Valen actually finds out or whatever so I hope this suffices

“Blood magic to hurt a vampire? Impressive."

The voice is different this time. A woman’s but not the dunmer’s. It’s sweet and silvery and Valen can’t help but to want to hear more.

Valen turns her gaze up at her and the Breton woman is unlike anyone she’d ever seen. She’s absolutely ethereal with her dark waves of hair framing her soft features. She’s almost ghostly in a way with her pale skin and features, she’s obviously ancient despite her soft features saying otherwise. There's an element of elegance in everything she does, even as she just simply strides across the snow towards her companions before helping the man to his feet and having the other woman help him stand, even though he’s vomiting up blood and staining the snow in front of them. Clearly Valen’s spell had more of an effect than she anticipated.

"That’s the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, Valen.” Kaidan whispers, gripping her upper arm.

“The Hero of Kvatch? Helena Motierre?” Valen asks in astonishment.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard that title, but yes. Most people don’t refer to me as that anymore. It’s also been a while since I’ve seen you, Kaidan." Her voice is velvet but his tone is mocking as Helena stares at the red-eyed swordsman.

"You two know each other?” Valen asks, looking quickly between the two of them.

“Well the four of us do, but yes, the Brotherhood and the Blooded Dawn have long since been friends, my dear Dragonborn. Since the Oblivion Crisis ended, I’ve made sure of it.”

The Blooded Dawn? This is the first time Valen was hearing of any of this. She quickly turns her questioning gaze to Kaidan, desperate for answers. But it doesn’t seem she would get any from him. He’s nearly catatonic next to her. His jaw is clenched, his demeanor clearly tense as he keeps his gaze to the snow covered ground in front of them.

“Kai? Surely she has you mistaken for someone else?” Valen says, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “You can’t be part of that atrocious cult."

"He’s not,” Helena answers for him, clearly delighting in the conflict. “At least not anymore. He was for quite a while. It seems your beloved is not who you think, Dragonborn. He was quite the model member."

"Oh, and Kaidan? Rosalind sends her regards."

That seems to snap Kaidan out of his daze as he quickly looks up at the ancient woman in front of them, his expression full of confusion and disgust.

"Rosalind…?"

“You’re shaking like a leaf, Kaidan. Surely you didn’t think you got rid of her that easily.”

Helena says nothing more but shoots a wink at Valen before she and her companions dissolve into black mist, disappearing before their very eyes, though not before Felria sends them a wave goodbye. Valen turns to look at Kaidan, anger quickly bubbling in her abdomen.

"Care to tell me what that was about?” Valen asks through her teeth.

Kaidan can’t seem to find words as he looks at her desperately. This only fueled Valen’s anger further. She tears away her arm that was still in his grasp and steps away from him.

“You lied to me, Kaidan! This isn’t just some petty shit you can keep from me. You were a Daedric puppet and just never fucking cared to tell me! I can tell you everything but you can’t be fucking bothered to tell me you that had Dagon’s hand up your ass? Are you kidding me!? I trusted you but I can clearly see that was a mistake."

The silence between them is deafening at they simply stare at each other. Valen’s anger was rare, even rarer when it was directed towards him. So to see her expression filled with rage, towards him, nonetheless is crushing. Kaidan’s still holding his hand out from gripping her arm and his eyes momentarily brimmed with tears that he quickly blinks away before finally dropping his hand.

"Nothing to say? Really?” Valen asks with a bitter laugh.

Kaidan shakes his head before responding. “I am not that man anymore, Vay. You have to believe me. I need you to understand that before I tell you anything else. I know you’re angry and I’m sorry for keeping this from you.”

Kaidan can’t seem to keep his voice steady and the desperate look in his eyes makes Valen’s heart drop slightly. She wants to stay mad at him, she knows she should. But she knows herself well enough to know that she just can’t.

Valen blows a deep sigh, wiping a hand over her face. “Who’s Rosalind?”

The question floats around in Kaidan’s mind for a moment while he asks himself how exactly he wants to answer that question. He thought he knew who she was, at least for a short time and maybe he still does know who she is, at least the person she is at her core. Though he figures just saying that she’s a psychotic bitch wouldn’t make the cut right now.

“You know how you asked me if I’d ever been in love and I said a lass had been… trouble? Well, that was Rosalind. I met her while I was in that cult. She was the clan’s priestess, very talented in conjuration magic."

"So what happened between you two? Or I guess with the whole group in general."

“I met them when I killed their leader, believe it or not. He had a pretty good bounty on his head, and I wanted it. I expected the others to retaliate but they actually commended me, twisted, eh? But that’s how it all started. I was alone in the world and killing people for money and they gave me a place to belong. At the beginning, I think I was actually happy. And then the farm happened…”

“The farm?”

“It was a small estate outside Leyawiin, we were raiding it for supplies but everyone got out of control. The things that were done to that family… I wish I could forget it, but perhaps I don’t deserve to. Night after night I couldn’t get their screams out of my mind till the only thing I could think to do was, well, destroy the cult itself.”

Valen almost asks what happened to the family but quickly decides that she doesn’t want to know. Specifically, the things that Kaidan is truly capable of...

“That’s how you got away?”

“Aye, sort of. It didn’t exactly go as planned. I didn’t want Rosalind to die with the rest of them and I thought she’d be on my side - stupidest assumption I ever made. I wanted to know if her magic could make me stronger, she said it could… well, she turned her magic against me instead. When someone you think you love tries to burn you alive in the fires of Oblivion and summons Dremora to tear the flesh from your bones, it tends to change how you see them. The hideout was destroyed in the fight; I don’t know if anyone survived.”

“And this is all how you knew those assassins?”

“Aye, though I saw Helena and Lucien the most. Felria, who I assume was the Dunmer, never stuck around long. Helena kept ties for centuries, insisting that it would benefit both groups. It probably does though I never saw how.”

Valen sighs again. “They value the same things at their core, they just worship different deities. It makes sense. Helps keep both of them afloat.”

“I guess…” Kaidan trails off.

The silence hangs heavy in the air, quickly becoming uncomfortable but neither of them bother to move away from each other despite barely being able to look at the other. Thankfully, Valen is the first to speak.

“I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that… I know who you are now and that matters more than what you did in the past.”

“You were justified,” Kaidan is quick to brush off her apology. “I shouldn’t have kept something like that from you. I just didn’t want you to think any differently of me…”

Valen frowns at that. “I don’t think any different of you, contrary to anything I said. It’s rare that I get that upset and I snapped, I guess. I think you’re a good man, Kai, I always have.”

Kaidan simply closes his eyes, sighing in relief as he steps closer to her to pull her into his arms. “Thank you, Vay.”

Valen simply smiles at him, reaching up to cup his face and planting a soft kiss on the new scar on his cheekbone from their recent battle. She leans back with a more serious expression on her face which makes Kaidan frown in concern.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think Rosalind will come after you now?”

Kaidan’s frown deepens into a scowl as he seems to ponder the question, absentmindedly running his hands up and down Valen’s sides.

“It’s possible, especially now. But that’s something I’ll have to face if it comes to it.”

“You won’t be alone in that. You know that right?”

“I will be, if it means keeping you out of Dagon’s reach. I don’t want you getting hurt, not because of me.”

Valen’s expression drops once again as she narrows her eyes as him. “We’re a team, remember? We do things together?”

Kaidan simply chuckles at that. “I should know better than to fight you on these things by now.”

“Damn right you should.”

[prrplwtch]

mc ends up killing a person (whether human or demon, premediated or self defense its up to you). but then someone walks in on mc. they have not hidden the body yet and await the person's reaction. will they help? pretend they didnt see anything? take them to diavolo? (hcs for the boys' reaction)

Hi nonny :) Ooh, such an exciting ask. I think I’ll go with MC that killed a demon (since Solomon is the only other human in Devildom, and I’d really rather the poor boy not die) by accident or in self defense 💜

So the tally thus far is: 

Tell Diavolo: Lucifer (though not the whole truth)

Help hide body: Mammon, Levi, Satan and Beel

Pretend they did not see anything aka not help: Asmo, Belphi

Lucifer: 

When Lucifer walks into an empty classroom, the last things he expects to see is MC covered in demon blood with a dead demon laying on the floor. Yet that is exactly what he sees. 

“What happened here?” Lucifer asks, seeing MC’s teary eyed face. 

The explanation is as stupid as it is surprising - MC accidentally sprayed the demon with her perfume that she brought from the human world. As it turned out, the perfume ingredients are lethal for demons.

Lucifer takes out a handkerchief and confiscates MC’s perfume - he needs to get rid of it before more damage is done. 

MC is freaking out, saying she should go straight to Diablo and confess, so that she can be punished. 

“Punished for what?” Lucifer asks as he looks at her, “He tried to attack you, and you defended yourself with what you had on hand, which by chance ended up being lethal to demons. There is nothing to punish you for.”

It is clear that takes MC a moment to understand what he is saying. 

Lucifer knows that the decision he made is best for everyone - after all, there was nothing important about this low-level demon, and Diablo hopes so bad that the exchange program goes well that Lucifer cannot let him down. 

And if reporting to Diablo that it was self-defense would ensure that MC does not get punished - well, who needs to know that that is why Lucifer chose exactly this cover story. 

Mammon:

Mammon is woken up in the middle night by MC. 

“What ya doin’ here?” Mammon asks, wondering if it’s another one of those dreams. Turns out it isn’t - and he realizes that when he sees MC’s wide-open, scared eyes, and sees that there is blood on her clothes.

“Are you alright, MC? Don’t ya die on me,” he says.

When MC explains that it is not her blood, he breathes out a sigh of relief. When she explains that she was out for a breath of fresh air when she was attacked by a lower demon, he gets angry at himself for not being there for her. 

“What do we do now?” MC asks, despair clear in her voice, “Should we tell Lucifer? Should we tell Diablo? Oh what will happen...”

“We will do the only logical thing in this situation,” Mammon says after momentary contemplation, “We will hide the body.”

Luckily for MC, Mammon knows plenty of hiding places in Devildom - some of them so concealed that no one would ever find the body in there. 

MC tries to argue, saying she should confess, but Mammon insists that his plan is best. He doesn’t think Lucifer or Diablo will punish her for self defense, but he does not want to take any chances when it comes to MC and her safety. 

Leviathan:

Leviathan is surprised, when MC runs into his room, clearly distressed. 

“Wh-what happened?” he asks, as he looks at her. 

As it turned out, when she was opening window in her room a part of the window sill came off and fell right atop some demon that was passing by outside House of Lamentation. 

Oh, this is just like in those outrageous dark comedy animes, Levi thinks to himself. Apparently, the thought made him smile, as the next moment MC asked him in a horrified tone about why he is smiling at someone being dead. 

“We should check if he is actually dead,” Levi suggests - in plenty of the animes he is thinking about the victim of such an incident might actually be alive. 

As it turns out yet again to Levi’s disappointment, real life is no anime, and the lower level demon lying by the walls of House of Lamentation is actually dead. 

“Should we do something? Should we tell Lucifer?” MC asks, making Levi think. They could always tell Lucifer - but then he would make them answer questions, and Levi’s show that he desperately needs to watch is starting in less than two hours. So he makes the decision.

“No - no one will even notice he is gone - and I have just the perfect idea of what to do with the body.”

The demon is heavy, but carrying him together is not so bad, and, luckily, the ocean is just about a twenty minute walk away. Lotan, the seven-headed sea monster, is grateful for the fresh snack, and Levi feels happy with himself. He solved the situation so masterfully, just like those anime characters. 

Satan:

Satan is enjoying a quiet afternoon in the Devildom library (it’s Friday, so he is like the only one there, when suddenly he hears a yelp, and then a thud. 

Annoyed by the disturbance, he goes to the sound, only to find MC holding a small knife and a dead demon at her feet. 

“What in the...” is all he can manage. MC looks pale and terrified, and it takes her a moment to speak, but when she does, his heart fills with anger - it turned out the demon was stalking MC and went into the library after her. When she tried to get away grabbed her, so she had to stab him in self defense. As it turned out, fatally. 

“What am I going to do?” MC exclaims. 

Satan knows that they could probably go to Lucifer to explain the situation, but the last thing he wants is Lucifer’s help. And besides, if they do go to Lucifer, that would waste the perfect opportunity to use all the knowledge he picked up from the detective series about how to hide the body. 

MC is in shock so she does not really argue, and Satan is delighted -finally he can put his knowledge to task. 

It does not take them very long to clean up all the blood in the library and also to deal with the body. Satan is pleased with his handy work - no one will ever find the body, because there is no more body to be found. 

Satan ends up spending quite a bit of time in the following weeks watching over MC to make sure that she was ok after the incident. 

Asmodeus:

When MC comes to Asmo all stressed, telling him about how she accidentally stabbed a demon to death, he cannot help but be amused. 

“You are so adorable when you are clumsy,“ he tells her as he blows at his freshly painted nails.

MC asks him to go with her to check if demon is still alive, and Asmo follows her. The demon is sprawled out on the ground, clearly dead. 

“Well, it’s not like anyone will mis him anyway,” Asmo says as he turns the demon’s face to the side with the front of his shoe, careful not to get any blood on it. The demon is one of the lower ones - and there are plenty of those in Devildom. 

“What do I do?” MC panics, and Asmo pauses, thinking before suggesting dumping the body in the pit not far from the House of Lamentation. 

“What’s in the pit?” MC asks neverously. 

“Just some ancient spirits of darkness, that love nothing better than fresh flesh,” Asmo tells her, shaking his hands - his nails are not drying fast enough. 

MC nods, then picks up the demon’s arms and looks at Asmo’s expectantly. 

“Are you not going to help me?” she asks.

“Me?” Asmo asks, “Sorry, darling, but I have just painted my nails - wouldn’t want to ruin him. Besides, I have already helped you with the great idea. Good luck.”

Beelzebub:

Beel has never expected someone as nice as MC to kill someone, even if it was by accident, so he is a little shocked when MC approaches him with her little problem. 

Nonetheless, she is clearly distressed, and Beel cares a lot about her, so he wants to help. 

“Where is the body now?” he asks, and follows MC to some bushes to which she says she dragged off the demon’s body so that no one would notice it. 

Beel first checks if the demon is truly dead - and it turns out he is. 

MC is pale and panicking, wondering out loud if she should go and confess everything to Lucifer, and for a moment Beel thinks that it might not be the most terrible idea. That is, until he remembers just how harsh Lucifer’s punishment can be. He does not want MC to be punsihed. 

“There is no need to bother Lucifer with this,” Beel tells her, “We can simply toss him off the cliff of despair - no one will find him.”

MC seems reluctant and nervous at first, as if she is close to crying. Beel pulls her into a quick hug in order to calm her down and that seems to do the trick. 

She wants to help him carry the body - but he can lift the dead demon easily and does not need help. 

He wants MC to go to her room so she can rest, but she insists on accompanying him. He does not mind - though disposing of the body is not the most pleasant of tasks, anything is made better by her presence.

Belphegor: 

Belphie is really mad when MC wakes him up from his nap only to tell him that she accidentally killed some demon. 

“You did? So what,” is Belphie’s reaction - it’s not like he had never killed another demon, and all of his brothers definitely have. 

MC, however, looks completely distressed, and though Belphie wants nothing more than to turn to the other side of the bed and sleep, he sits up on the bed. 

“Listen, we’ve all killed other demons before,” he tells her, “It’s not that big a deal.”

“But what do I do now?” MC asks and Belphie sighs. Humans.

“Well there are a few things - you can always go confess to Lucifer, although, in your shoes, I would not. There are plenty of places to hide body in Devildom, after all.”

MC seems to ponder his words. Her face hardens, as she gets up from bed and walks over to the door. As she opens the door she looks back at him. 

“Are you going to help me?” she asks, as Belphie sinks into his pillow. 

“I think I already did,” Belphie says, “Besides, you are one grown human, you can manage.”

[phantomphangphucker]

Ectober Day 28: Fall - Sinners Are We Chap.6: No More Idle Hands

And Dove could stay silent no more.

Neither he nor his brother got their father’s infamous wail. For Russet that made perfect sense, he simply didn’t hold up in the power department for such a powerful ability. And Orrin didn’t find such a brash brazen ability to be suited to him, so he rather didn’t care if he developed it or not. But Dove having it, and so young, was truly a surprise. And he loved those. So he feels he is quite justified in laughing as everyone else grasped their ears and collapsed, even father fell to the ground as everything shook. Everything around bursting, exploding, pluming even more smoke and ash into the sky practically blotting it out.

Who would have thought she’d have such a destructive ability.

He summons enough ectoplasm around his ears to muffle the sound, father wasn’t honestly smart enough to think of this quite yet. Then again, father was never on the receiving end of the Ghostly Wail. Orrin stands up, defying gravity to keep his balance on the shaky ground, sticking his arms out to the side and laughing, “WOW! I MEAN REALLY! WOW!”, grinning wide and a bit wild, if everything’s descending into madness and chaos then might as well behave a little mad to match, “KEEP THIS UP AND YOU MIGHT JUST KILL EVERYONE YOURSELF! HAHAHAHAHA!”. He absolutely knows father looks to him and notes his little trick to get around the wail, and will, of course, utilise it himself in a few seconds. The pressure’s on Dove, what will you do? What will you do.

But again she catches him by surprise, picking an option he never realised was on the board at all. She doesn’t stop, or aim it; no she changes octaves. Which, was father even capable of such a thing? She, she might just be stronger than him. Well fancy that. This octave though, oh it absolutely makes Orrin drop to his knees; the ectoplasm doing nothing to muffle the sounds.

All the mortals groan and roll over, many simply watching or backing away in stunned silence as three of the -apparently- four present Gray-Phantom’s pass out, the little girl- the princess losing the human disguise in the process.

Rio pushes herself up, staggering to run over to the little glowing gray-haired girl with her little head tilted skyward as green/purple sound-waves pulsed out of her mouth, sparkling pale blue tears streaming down her face from amber eyes. Rio collapsing next to her and hugging the little girl she’d grown to know as so gentle it almost hurt, “ROBIN! DOVE! STOP! SWEETHEART IT’S FINE! IT’S FINE! NO ONE’S HURTING ANYMORE! BUT YOU NEED TO STOP!”, and practically smushes the girl into her as the horrific sound peters off and the girl shakes violently.

Rio looks around as everyone starts to stand, some very cautiously looking towards the downed Gray-Phantom’s and chucking things at them from afar. Rio squeezing Dove/Robin closer and snapping her head towards Rex as he walks over, “she’s never hurt anyone”.

“She’s one of them”.

Rio snarls, “do I look like I care?”. Rex just huffs and wanders off, waving over his shoulder, “this is your problem then. Remi’s fine though”. Rio sighs at that. Then looking around as she stands. What the Hell are they going to do?

Spotting one of the hunters moving to put anti-ecto braces on Lark -Orrin, she staggers over, minding her twisted ankle and other injuries, “wait. This- this utterly insane nutter is to thank. He did this. Planned this. He-”, glancing to the girl she’s carrying in her arms who looked to just be staring blankly, “-got her to take them down. At least wake the twit up”.

The hunter huffs and cuffs him anyway but does give the... prince a good zap to wake him up. The guy groans on the ground in a way that makes it sound like he had simply been taking a nice afternoon nap, “well. That was certainly interesting”.

Rio grunts down at him, slightly out of pain, “and that was a stupid choice of first words. I don’t think I need to point out that you’re at gunpoint, cuffed, and surrounded; Orrin”.

He chuckles faintly, sits up, and crosses his legs. Cool, calm, demeanour never faltering, “well I would certainly hope so. These fellows wouldn’t be doing what they’re supposed to otherwise”, he looks around and shrugs a little, her following his gaze towards Russet. Him chuckling faintly, “well damn, that imbecile’s still alive”.

Jester loses it at that, “you wanted us to kill him?”.

“Arguably, why not? He’s a real bastard”.

One of the hunters makes a wheezing sound, “oh gods”, looks to Rio, “how in all the worlds did you turn one of the princes. Seriously”.

Orrin apparently won’t let that statement fly, “oh no. Blame the little missy. Real gentle doll that one”.

Rio looks to the side as Dove/Robin stirs at that, looking down at Orrin. Rio holds on to her, unsure, when the girl moves to reach for him. Orrin just chuckles and stands up while the cuffs just fall off and takes the girl from her in a swift motion. Everyone near -who aren’t helping with clean up or medical care- gape at him and follow him with their guns, Rio turning around gapping herself. Orrin chuckles again, looking at them with a smirk, “what? Did you really think I wouldn’t have altered everything to have little to no effect on me?”, he grins, “I’m the smart one you know. The sneaky shadow. Guess it’s true what people say that no one notices what their shadow does until it does something they don’t expect”. One of the hunters shoots him in the foot as if to check, which he rolls his eyes at. It, of course, does nothing more than leave a bit of ash on his black spandex high-heels.

Everyone looks to the two Gray-Phantom’s that could actually be cuffed. One guy clearing his throat, “so... what are we supposed to with this? Did... did we just win”. It takes only a bit of murmuring for most of the people around to break out into cheering or crying. No one stops pointing weapons at Orrin though, which he obviously ignores as if they don’t even exist.

Rio does smile at Dove when she seems to hum slightly happily over the cheering. Though Dove straightens up and leans away from Orrin a bit, reaching her fingers out towards Russet. Everyone jumping and staring as both Russet and Phantom move across the ground to the other two Gray-Phantom’s inhumanly fast, yet never waking. Orrin putting Dove on the ground who goes over, takes off her teddy bear backpack, and bops Russet on the head with it; pointing at him with puffed out cheeks like she was scolding him. Then moving to do the same to Phantom. Orrin blinks at the scene, “I do not claim to understand that girl”.

Rio is the only one willing to stand anywhere close to him, her crossing her arms, “I think you just don’t understand being nice and innocent”.

“You may be right there. Though I doubt most would be any different in my shoes”. No one really argues him there, because he was probably right. How could anyone be raised by those monsters and not wind up one?

Rio scowls at him, “I almost feel bad for you. But you’re probably as much a murderous monster as the rest of your family”, scowling more when he chuckles and grins meanly. Making it very clear to everyone that he was perfectly fine with that fact, and that he has, in fact, actually killed people. Rio draws her eyebrows together, “then why, why effectively save us”.

Orrin quirks an eyebrow, “didn’t I already tell you? Oh well, mortal minds are hardly of quality”, then steamrolls right over multiple offended objections, “me and brother dearest started out like terrible terrors”, pointing at Dove, “she, did not”, smoothing his jacket, “be a shame to turn gold to brass, don’t you think? Further, this seemed like a far more interesting course of action, I dare say”.

Everyone pauses and looks to Dove and Russet as the latter stirs. Orrin actually smirking when Russet spots Dove glaring down at him with crossed arms and Russet actually flinches. Orrin saunters over with a very wicked-looking grin on his face, “now what was that? Did the big scary bad Rusty flinch at the sight of a little girl?”. Which fine, more than a few people around laugh at slightly. Though many find this to be incredibly surreal and way too mundane after everything; petty sibling bickering between those framed to be the worst of monsters in the middle of what was just a battleground that had promised nothing but death for all the mortals there mere seconds ago.

Russet scowls up at the younger prince, “fuck you you fucking piece of shit demon child bastard. Ancients fuck you are a psychopath-”.

Orrin cuts him off with a shrug while everyone else just watches wide-eyed, “I appreciate the compliment, though really this seems more like a situation where you should be aiming to be insulting”, he shoves Russets head with his boot, making Russet squirm and start spewing profanities at noticing the cuffs and everything. Orrin just talks over him, “be glad I’m not power-hungry like you. Otherwise-”, Orrin grins and everyone tenses as he bends down, “-I’d find it quite tempting to take advantage of this and just do away with the first prince entirely. I find doing so would hardly be difficult, considering your current predicament”. Everyone relaxes when Dove hits Orrin with the plushie backpack, and he just chuckles faintly and gives her a head pat as he straightens up.

After a second though, all the hunters and rebels nod to each other, marching over and move to grab up both the still unconscious Phantom and snarling Russet. But Dove grabs both of them and squeezes them, somehow knocking Russet back out, and puffs out her cheeks defiantly.

Everyone glancing at each other awkwardly. Orrin breaks their awkwardness slightly by sighing, “and she still doesn’t know how to snarl properly”.

Rio shakes her head, personally glad for that, and walks over the kneel in front of her, “sweetheart, we can’t just leave them in the street. And remember what I said about bad people needing to be punished?”, when Dove nods she continues, “well we punish people by locking them up. Besides-”, side-eyeing the hunters, “-I doubt you’d let us seriously hurt them. Right?”. Dove nods immediately and repeatedly, puffing her cheeks more. Rio can tell that the hunters got the damn message that this was a losing battle. No Gray-Phantom was dying/being destroyed here today. This tiny girl just effectively took out all of the ghostly Gray-Phantom’s with one attack and practically instantly, even nearly destroyed the city and everyone in it at the same time. They were very lucky she was a kind gentle soul. Very. It would be better to not tick her off or do something to change that. Not that Rio was entirely sure it was possible to piss that girl off. Annoy? Sure. Piss off? No.

Dove huffs again, turns almost dramatically, and starts marching off in the direction of the -probably wrecked- jailhouse; dragging Phantom and Russet under her arms across the ground.

One of the hunters pointing out, “she does realise we can’t put them in regular cells, right? Like, those things need special ecto-containment cells. Especially Phantom”, grumbling, “with that bloody crown of his”.

Orrin grins and turns to him, sticking his hands in his pockets and giving a smile that’s close to charming, “actually, no”, tilting his head, “well, yes, but no”. Rio glares at him so he explains himself without any further prompting, “I think it is fair to say that father was quite efficiently and effectively bested, yes?”.

One of the hunters scowls, “your point, monster”, scowling a little more, “and know that regardless of this, you still belong in a cell or obliterated out of existence”.

Orrin only chuckles instead of seeming even slightly threatened, “oh I’m well aware how others feel of me, no need wasting your breath. After all, you need it and you have so very little of it”, grinning meanly, “why it could be snuffed out just like that”.

Rio pinches the bridge of her nose, “for the love of- stop being threatening just because you can be now that it won’t make you suspicious”.

Orrin rolls his eyes, “you have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to tear off your pretty little head”.

“Uncalled for”.

“And yet you still seem to put up with me. Strange”. Rio absolutely scowls deeper at the Gray-Phantom for that. “Anyway, my point is, when you best a royal, what is it that happens?”, he taps his chin in obviously fake contemplation before sounding rather condescending, “why you usurp them of course. You take their throne. Their crown. I do believe you get the message this time”.

Rio blinks at him, bullshit, “there is no way your... mother will go for that”.

He wags a clawed finger at her, “ah but her role as Mortal Queen is entirely made up and her claim as High Ghost Sovereign is that of a Consort”, shrugging, “normally in chess, you kill the queen, you win the game. But in this case, it’s the king”, smirking, “or was”. Needless to say, everyone starts freaking out.

Rio watches him smirk as people panic, it was mostly a good or confused panic though. “You just like chaos, don’t you”.

He doesn’t even look to her as he speaks, “I find it enjoyable yes. It’s more that I like to be entertained. I’m a creature of novelty and I had been rather bored as of late”.

Rio squints at him, “I can’t figure out if you’re genuinely on our side or are just dicking around”. Scowling when he winks before sauntering off in the direction of the jailhouse. More than a few hunters and rebels following largely to ‘keep an eye on’ the Gray-Phantom they could do nothing about; though some were conflicted on their feelings over the halfa that they had become familiar and even friendly with over the past while.

They walk in to Dove sitting on the floor attempting and succeeding at braiding Phantom’s flaming hair. Orrin furrowing his eyebrows at her, “why? What purpose does this serve”. She predictably just hums at him, rocking a little. Many of the hunters and rebels mutter, “you've got to be kidding me”. Rio and a few others barely hold back cooing ‘awww’s at the girl; the fact that it was Phantom getting his hair braided rather killed the cute effect of the scene.

Everyone but Orrin and Dove jumping at a portal swirling open on the wall and the FrightKnight waltzing through. All of the fully living aiming their weapons but doing nothing when the ghost bows to Dove, who pats his helmet with a small smile.

The FrightKnight looks to Orrin, “I must say, you frighten me. It will never cease to amaze me how so many call the first prince the demon rather than you”. Orrin bows very exaggeratedly with a coy grin, “you flatter me so”. The ghost shakes his head before turning and kneeling before Dove, “shall I take these two to the dungeon for you, my queen”, she just hums but the ghost seems to understand and before anyone can do anything the two captured Gray-Phantom’s are whisked away by the ghost.

All the fully living around are stunned stupid, Rio looking to Orrin, “you were serious”, then screwing up her face, “wait”, throwing her hands out to the side and scowling at Orrin, “Dove obviously doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. Isn’t she just going to let them loose?!?!”. The group giving the halfas panicked looks as they come upon the same worry. The princess -Queen?- was practically a newborn and those two monsters were her family.

Orrin waves everyone off, “oh it’s no matter. Crown’s hers all the same. Dear brother isn’t strong enough to beat her and father wouldn’t bother to even try. He never genuinely harms family in any long-lasting or permanent ways”, Orrin looks around and gives another mean smirk, “though you should thank little Dove for stopping you from killing Russet. I sure wouldn’t have”.

One of the guys squints at him, “why? Also, them being free is the problem, not them trying to challenge her. Though fine, that would be an issue too”. Everyone had officially decided without question that they’d take the sweet little Dove as a ruler over her monster parents or siblings.

“Why that’s so very simple. You may think father is bad already, but that is nothing compared to what he’s really capable of. I wouldn’t put it past him to annihilate everything he could get his claws on if one of us were destroyed”.

Rio almost can’t believe that she’s hearing the Phantom, the mass-murdering monster of monsters, had a ridiculous soft spot for his family. A genuine one. Turning to look at Dove and going wide-eyed at her floating/walking over while tugging at a flaming glowing green crown. Which pulls down over her face before springing back over her head every time she lets go of it. The girl humming and purring in clear joy and amusement. Then kneeling down to poke Rio’s ankle which suddenly doesn’t hurt. Rio blinking, “sweetheart... did you just... heal me?”. Dove hums and nods before running off poking people.

Orrin sighs and shakes his head a little, guess she thought the hiding game was over; he does follow her with his eyes though. Which doesn’t go unnoticed.

One of the hunters kneeling down to let the little glowing girl poke his head, then staring off after her as she moves on, “this is going to take some getting used to”, then noticing Orrin’s staring that’s boarding on a glare, “chill out ah... for the love of everything take your human form again, this is too weird”. Some others nod, some laugh though it’s weak.

Orrin rolls his eyes but promptly shoots the guy lazily with an ecto-beam; the guy hissing from the impact and being caught off-guard, “that’s for proposing the idea of kidnapping Dove”. Unsurprisingly everyone points their guns at him again before lowering them and glaring at the halfa after he spoke. He just grins, “just keeping things interesting”, the grin turning rather mean as the guy brushes himself off, “besides I think you’d prefer a weak little ecto-beam over my original idea. Which involved cups, mice, and your eyes. Make of that what you will”.

Rio scowls, “I think I preferred when you didn’t randomly threaten people, let’s go back to that”, sighing and glancing to Dove, “at least you’re protective I guess”.

Everyone goes silent, which becomes slightly awkward till Remi comes running in looking for her ma only to get practically tackled by Dove. Gently tackled, but still tackled. Remi just looks confused and kinda scared, “w-who”. Resulting in Dove looking almost heartbroken and making gestures at Orrin, who rolls his eyes but twirls his fingers dramatically; both of them suddenly looking as everyone was rather more familiar with. Remi gets over her shock instantly and starts worry babbling at Dove.

-

Orrin grins faint and amused as he leans his arms on the windowsill, watching as Dove finishes poking people outside, everyone exchanging glances before basically shouting, “LONG LIVE THE QUEEN”. Oh there were so many possibilities to be had. Especially when father wakes and mother hears of this. Would she be proud ‘her little girl’ bested the ghost she never could? Would Dove ‘talk’ them into being peaceful ‘or else’? Would the dead accept her as a High Sovereign or would she need to prove her worth?

Looking down, she obviously had little idea what was going on. Possibly none at all. She was simply smiling and moving her hands around because she was enjoying their happiness and cheer. Such a strange thing. Her enjoying... joy. He truly has little clue how their parents made her. And he rather doubts they understand it either. Even when those two were ‘good guys’ they certainly weren’t able to be called ‘innocent’ or ‘gentle’. While those were the first words that came to mind with Dove.

Turning his head slightly as Rio comes in, her closing the door and leaning against it with crossed arms, “so... are you guys going to be staying or...”, and quirking an eyebrow.

“Is this your mortal way of asking me to”.

She huffs, “Remi would be sad, that is all”. Which Orrin isn’t even close enough to a fool to believe for even a second, “yeah. Sure it is”.

“...”.

Orrin shakes his head a little and turns to look back out the window. The mortals were giving her sweets. How quaint. “I doubt I could keep Dove away. As I find I doubt she would really let me try to in genuine”. She had clearly grown fond of this place and it’s creatures; and clearly not as simply pets, servants, or loyal manipulatable underlings.

He can hear the raised eyebrow in Rio’s voice, “wouldn’t ‘let you’? You don’t seem like someone who’s controllable”.

He elects for vague, not as if he needs to explain in the first place, “there are ways”. Far be it for him to mention that the Crown makes the wearer able to control the dead, or part dead for that matter. He doubts Dove would make much use of that, which is quite fine by him. Not that that wouldn’t make things interesting regarding father.

“Riiiight”.

He outright ignores that. Him speaking again as she joins him by the window, “regardless, no we will not be staying. Dove has her castle and throne to attend to”, grinning both mean and mischievous, “and I have a brother to torture”.

“... I can’t tell if you mean that literally”, she sighs, “so she’ll come back then”.

“Indeed”.

“And you?”.

That does catch him just slightly off-guard. Apparently he wasn’t completely deplorable to these people. Fancy that. Though he had a level of feeling that this particular member of the living was more than just tolerant of him. “Oh I doubt Remi would care if I did or not”, him smirking a bit, “unless of course, that particular question has nothing to do with her happiness at all”.

He glances at her as she audibly scowls at him, “you’re an emotionless asshole without a caring bone in your body”.

Which only makes him chuckle, “then clearly you’re rather nuts for getting feelings involved”. This entire escapade was bringing plenty of interesting surprises and twists that he hadn’t yet experienced it would seem. “Particularly when you know said asshole has wanted to at the very least mildly murder you on multiple occasions”. Why that of all things gets her to promptly give him a chastised kiss he isn’t going to claim to understand in the slightest. Instead he furrows his brows at her, “I find I don’t understand you much either at times”. Did Phantom’s just have a habit of attracting living women? That could be an idea to look into at a later date.

She rolls her eyes and looks back out the window, where Dove is now chuckling flowers at people. “Good. I’d probably bore you otherwise”.

He dips his head slightly to acknowledge that is rather true, “accurate”.

“... so, will you come back?”.

“Well I dare say my curiosity is rather peaked now, so I hardly can find a reason to not”.

She scowls at him, but even his moron of a brother could tell she wasn’t actually upset with him. “Yup. You’re still a jerk”.

He snorts, “don’t go expecting change. Dove’s the ‘sweetheart’, not me”, running a hand through his hair and smirking, “I’m definitely more charming though”.

“Annnd there’s the ego”.

“It’s far too late for you to make denials-”, pausing and tilting his head at sniffing mothers scent. Looking up to spot the red suit and hoverboard far up in the sky, clearly she was watching, was seeing this. Dove frolicking with a bunch of mortals, a green crown flaming over her head all the while. “Mother’s here”.

Rio immediately jerks to attention and puts her hand to her blaster in preparation for assault. Orrin tilts his head though, watching as mother seems to shake her head and laugh before shooting off into the distance. “She... left”, he’s never felt genuinely shocked by something before. Why?

Rio blinks at him, obviously in shock herself, “what?! Why?!”.

“I... don’t believe I know”.

Rio blinks at him before shaking her head and stiffly leaning on the windowsill again, “well I'm not about to look that particular gift horse in the mouth”.

He squints before smirking after a bit, “she may very well be going to mock father and berate brother for being a moron again”.

“Still not even glancing at the gift horse”. He chuckles at that.

Suddenly Dove’s floating in front of them, tugging gently on Orrin’s sleeve. ‘Come’. He feels the unspoken command deep into the core of him, and he can’t very well deny it. Now can he? So he floats off the ground and moves to head out the window, though smirking meanly and grabbing Rio at the last second to yank her out too.

“You bastard!”. That only makes him chuckle more.

Him speaking quiet enough that the living won��t hear, “you truly ought learn to be more sparing with the KingSpeak, being forced to do things is hardly enjoyable. Particularly for a Gray-Phantom”. Dove just hums pleasantly at him as he’s effectively dragged into the silly dancing thing. And while the mortals keep their distance mostly, they don’t outright flee from him. How quaint and a rather peculiar turn of events.

End.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: DIO

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Finally. After leaving this sitting in my drafts for a year, I’m finally going to tackle the big one, the man, the myth, the legend that is Dio Brando, or as he would be known at the height of his power… DIO.

DIO is one of anime and manga’s most famous antagonists, and quite frankly it isn’t too hard to see why. The guy is flamboyant, dramatic, oozes sexual charisma, and is just in general a formidable foe. He’s everything an evil vampire should be. But more than that, he’s everything a great antagonist in general should be. He’s hammy, he’s deliciously evil, he’s overly-dramatic... other villains wish they could be as delightfully extra as DIO. And even on top of all that, he continued affecting the series and pop culture long after he bit the dust.

Motivation/Goals: DIO simply starts as a selfish man who wants the sort of life he feels he is owed; to this end, he goes out of his way to screw Jonathan Joestar out of his perfect life and make him miserable while supplanting him as the golden boy in the eyes of the Joestar patriarch and become the sole inheritor of his fortune. But as time goes on and Jonathan begins to unravel Dio’s schemes, he utilizes an ancient stone mask to become a powerful vampire, and shifts his goal from merely inheriting a fortune to conquering the world. Even a silly thing like decapitation doesn’t stop him; after Jonathan ends up beheading him, he simply attaches his head onto Jonathan’s corpse and after many decades returns more powerful than ever to create the ideal world: one where he reigns supreme with the power of The World to squash all opposition.

Frankly, DIO’s motivations are incredibly standard supervillain stuff, but it’s the way he does things to achieve his goals that make them cool. Much like every great villain in the series, DIO is incapable of going a single moment without doing something either flamboyant or awesome, and much like everyone in the series he often combines the two. This is the man who figured the best way to kill a guy is to drop a steamroller on him and decided becoming a vampire was the logical response to being cornered by the police, so it stands to reason that no matter what he does he would do it with the over-the-top style of the series he hails from.

Performance: Anime voice actor extraordinaire Patrick Seitz voices DIO, and he makes him just as insane, over-the-top, and hammy as you would expect from a vampire who dresses like he had the raw essence of the 1980s injected into his veins.

Final Fate: DIO made one very simple mistake in the midst of all his scheming during the events of Stardust Crusaders: he pissed Jotaro off. It did not end well for the vampire. However, even after his death, DIO’s influence continues to effect the series in numerous ways, particularly Vento Aureo and Stone Ocean, both arcs that deal with characters that have strong ties to the man himself. Even Diamond is Unbreakable would not have happened the way it did if not for him.

Best Scene: The entire final battle with Jotaro is one of the defining moments of the whole series, but considering it takes up several episodes it would be cheating to put it here; if this were the OVA from the 90s, where his fight took up only about eleven minutes, I’d cheat and put it here. But there is a truly iconic moment that stands out even among a battle filled with standout moments: Dio, finally tired of Jotaro’s crap, decides he’s going to “roll all over” him, and drops a steamroller on his head in stopped time.

Best Quote: Are you kidding? Everything out of this man’s mouth becomes a meme. I truly cannot single out one single line from the man to say is his best. EVERYTHING he says is awesome, especially his quotes when he pulls off his super move in Heritage for the Future.

Final Thoughts & Score:  DIO is fascinating because he actually changes and adapts as time goes on. At the start, as a human, he is a bratty, monstrous, self-serving young man, one who was quick to blame his actions on his upbringing under his cruel father Dario. After Jonathan befriends Speedwagon and catches on to Dio’s scheming though, Dio’s justifications fall apart, and so Dio rejects his humanity, becoming a vampire who plays with his power like a child plays with his toys on Christmas. He begins to revel in his evil, and fully embraces his inhuman nature.

Then after his first defeat, Dio changes even more, becoming more self-aware of his limitations. Stardust Crusaders in particular shows that he has outgrown his immature belief of humanity’s inferiority to vampires; he has far more human followers in that arc, and it is even revealed in later arcs he sired quite a few children with human women. Still, with that in mind, it is quite apparent that he still views himself as the peak lifeform. He’s a lot more cautious and manipulative this time around as he heals and becomes accustomed to his new body. and while he is obviously dangerous, until the very end his role is far more passive.

Of course, once he finally gains the blood of a Joestar, he goes off the deep end, and his old persona rises again only far more mad than ever before, with his contempt for humanity, massive ego, and overwhelming arrogance inflating to the point that his defiance leads directly into his ultimate downfall. And it’s not like this was missing prior; these traits were very much present before he drained Joseph. But when he thought his victory was assured, he dropped all pretense and revealed his true colors.

The one thing true of DIO across all of his appearances is that he is charming, he is cunning, and he’s not a force to be taken lightly. It’s so interesting that he gets such a noticeable character arc that goes across several storylines and even expands long after he is killed. His staying power and the depth of his personality transcending his lifetime is just another element that adds onto the staying power of his character.

DIO is one of the most enjoyable anime antagonists ever made. The fact that he acts as an overarching villain for nearly the entire series, with his presence being felt even in the three parts directly after his death, is a testament to just how depraved and powerful DIO was. It’s so easy to see why DIO is so wildly popular; on top of being a powerful formidable threat, he just oozes style and charisma, with every little thing he does being the sort of insane over-the-top craziness you could want out of the series.

11/10 is the obvious score for DIO. He’s easily one of the best vampires in all of fiction, and definitely one of the coolest. The fact that even through all the craziness surrounding him, he had a well-defined character arc and managed to effect so much after his death just manages to make him one of the more successful villains out there, even if only inadvertently. The manga has already shown us all the pain that’s to come from DIO’s actions, so when it’s finally animated it will only further solidify DIO’s ranking as one of the best villains ever crafted. And that’s not even getting into his playable outings in games such as All-Star Battle and Heritage for the Future, the latter being one of his most iconic appearances ever and the source of dozens of his most famous memes. He’s such a prominent figure in popular culture that you may have seen something inspired by him without even realizing it; I was aware of many of his iconic quotes years before I ever comprehended what JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure was thanks to memes and videos online.

The fact that even through the hamminess DIO is just an unrepentantly evil bastard is incredible. He dresses like an 80s pop star, he gloats like a petty schoolchild, he’s extremely dramatic, and yet he is one of the cruelest, most evil villains ever created. He killed a dog just because he got rightfully beaten down, made a mother eat her own baby, forced a senator to run over innocent bystanders, blasted a hole through Kakyoin, and relished in every single one of those actions. And even from beyond the grave, DIO’s dark shadow still plagued the Joestar’s. Evil such as DIO just never dies, and I certainly wouldn’t want it any other way.

Before we go… All together now:

[phykios]

the marble king, part 4 [read on ao3]

Athens, 1453

Catching a current to Thera had been a simple task. Well, there had been parts to the journey somewhat more complex than he had let on to his traveling companion, but the steps taken had, all told, been rather simple for a son of the sea god. Following the currents was a matter of instinct, and in the water, he could forget mortal afflictions such as hunger or exhaustion.

Annabeth did not have the same freedoms, of course, and while Percy could extend his gifts to her for some time, he simply was not strong enough to sustain it for the entirety of the journey to Athens. Travelling by boat was somewhat riskier, as there were the Ottomans and the Venetians to avoid, not to mention all the other Latins and Franks and gods-only-knew-who-else who sought to steal some of Hellas ’ glory for themselves, but Percy was confident that he could steer a ship out of danger with far less effort than he could carry Annabeth under the sea.

“It will draw less attention to ourselves,” he had reminded her, “if we are merely one of a thousand mortals making pilgrimage to Athens.” Convinced, unhappily, she agreed.

It had been a long, quiet, terse five days, and not only because she would often refuse to speak to him.

The two of them had traveled these waters together once before, searching for a certain magical sheepskin, but Percy could never recall them being so empty. In his memory, sea monsters lurked beneath every wave, while other horrors plucked straight from the mouths of the poets and muses made their homes on every spit of land, no matter how small. But the monsters and the madness that had haunted heroes such as Jason, Odysseus, Aeneas, and all the others, appeared to have simply vanished into the mist. Even the waves themselves were unusually pacified, allowing them to pass without too much trouble.

It all made for quite the unsettling picture. It was, at once, both empty and not empty; he felt as though they were standing upon the shore as the water was pulled out to the sea, in preparation for the monstrous tsunami which would follow. If a man were able to live in that moment, the calm before the storm, the precipice before the cliff, the sharply receding tide before the flood, then he would know how the sea felt to Percy in this moment.

“Look, Annabeth,” he said, in an attempt to cajole her into conversation. “There, to the West--we are coming up on Delos.”

She did not respond.

“Do you not remember? Apollo’s lions burst forth from the stone and nearly ate us for trespassing.”

All quiet. When he looked to her, she had her head tipped back against the wood of the ship, eyes closed, hands fiddling with the frayed edge of her shawl, a thin, faded grey strip of fabric. She must have woven it herself; he thought he recognized her patterns as they shifted in the bright sunlight, but they had grown distorted by time, the threads stained with brown, dry blood.

With a sigh, he turned back to the sail, adjusting it, the scrape of rope soothing to his ears. The sea was never meant to be so silent, yet as the presence of the gods had fled the last standing city of their once great empire, as his father’s palace now sat cold and empty at the bottom of the sea, so too had the sea seemed to have lost all its magic.

No, not all of it, he thought. Was he himself not living proof that magic still lived in this land? He could yet still breathe underwater, could still command his boat and navigate the seas with more skill than the most experienced captain. There had been the terrible moment, a painful and fleeting thing, in the heartbeats between leaping into the sea with his arms around Annabeth and hitting the water, where he wondered if, rather than securing their escape, he had led them to their deaths instead, that he had lost the powers Annabeth had accused him of relying on too strongly.

But of course, they had not. Percy was of the sea, the ancient salt and spray his blood and his breath, and the power of Poseidon would remain within him always, even if the god himself did not.

In silence, they made their way then to Piraeus. As Percy had predicted, they blended in quite well with their fellow pilgrims, and if any person thought it odd that their vessel was only crewed by two, they did not mention it. At the very least, they were spared from walking in the hot sun, as Percy managed to scrounge up a few coins from the meager money Annabeth had found to rent them passage on a horse cart which traveled into the city. Still tired from the long journey, she lay her head on his shoulder, their backs pressed against the wooden cart.

Percy had never seen Athens before. He had seen the painting, which hung in Annabeth’s and her siblings’ villa, and he had heard her speak of it, many many times. Based on how often she spoke of it, he felt as though he had been there a thousand times before, had seen its winding streets and mighty marble monuments. By the gods, they had been tasked with crafting little miniatures of the Parthenon as a way of testing their fine motor movements. The way she talked, the things she built, surely she must have seen it for herself. “Bet you’re glad to be back,” he said, not really expecting an answer. “I’ve never been to Athens before.”

“Neither have I,” she mumbled.

He turned to look at her, shocked. “You haven’t?”

“Never had the chance.”

“But--I thought--the way you speak of it--”

“I’ve always wanted to see it, of course,” she said. Annabeth kept her eyes on her hands, playing with the increasingly fraying ends of her shawl. “All children of Athena do. But I have studied the temple more keenly than anyone I know. I know everything there is to know about the Acropolis. Every temple, every column, every brick was placed with the finest care and the foremost precision.” She smiled then, a small, creeping thing, and it seemed to lighten her whole face. “I cannot wait to see it.”

Like this, so soft in the face, almost dreamy, she was honestly quite pretty, he thought to himself. “Tell me about it,” he asked, as soft as a puff of wind, as though he had never heard her speak of it before.

Her shawl dropped to her lap. “We begin at the propylea,” she said, tracing the outline with her fingers, “the great winding road up the Western side of the mountain. Immediately to your right, there is the temple of Athena Nike, then once you enter beneath the great archway…” She sighed, almost ardent. “There, you would see it: the statue of Athena, and behind her, the Parthenon. The columns are of the Doric order, and thus unadorned at their top by any sort of frivolous curls or curves. Above them sit the metopes, which ring the whole building, and each marble frieze tells of a great epic; the Titanomachy, the Amazonomachy, the Trojan war. And the colors,” her face broke out into a true smile, and her eyes crinkled at the corners, shining and silver. “Such beautiful colors, red and gold and green. Oh, and the pediments! We must not forget the pediments.”

“The pediments?” He frowned. “I do not know that word.”

“It refers to the triangular space between the portico and the roof. Do you not remember the door of the Big House?”

Yes, he recalled now, though he didn’t see what all the fuss was over the empty space was. “Are the pediments truly so important?”

“These ones are,” she said, “for the western pediment depicts the story of our parents.”

“Ah.”

Now this was a story which she loved to hold over him, retelling every chance she could, to make sure that he never forgot which of their divine parents were revered by the city of Athens.

“It is beautiful, Perseus, you shall see,” she said, with a teasing grin. “It is said that the bodies and the horses are rendered so perfectly, I cannot imagine that you will not be able to see the look on your father’s face as he realizes he has lost the contest for Athens.”

“Yes, well,” he harrumphed. “It had better be worth it, then.”

“It will be,” she assured him. “Once we round the Areopagus , you will be able to see the propylea above the mountain, and the perfect point of the Parthenon above that.”

When they approached the Areopagus proper, some hour or so later, she actually leaned forward, going up on her knees to better see the view from their cart.

“Here it is,” she said. Her whole body quivered, as tense as a bow on a string. “Here it is.”

He smiled at her excitement, as though she were a child.

Almost immediately, he noticed something was wrong. Her shoulders were tight, raised up to her ears as she went deathly still. “Annabeth?” She did not answer him. “Annabeth?”

Joining her at the lip of the cart, he looked up at the Acropolis.

He frowned. “What are those walls?”

The many, many times she had described the Acropolis to him, she had never once mentioned the stone walls. Brown and grey, they rose up out of the sheer cliffside, notched indentations in the top like teeth, as though they were devouring the cliff-face whole. On the northern and southern ends, two large towers lorded over the rest.

Too enthralled in the stone walls, he did not notice as their cart traveled onward in the shadow of the cliff. “Where are we going?” he asked, looking towards the horse at the front of the cart. “Was that not the propylea ?”

It was only then that he saw Annabeth. Pale as a ghost, she was, her knuckles white from gripping the edge of the wood, and her face was set in a terrible grimace. Her eyes bulged out as though she saw a monster, her chin trembling as she opened her mouth and gasped out, “Those are not supposed to be there.”

“What isn’t?”

“The walls.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. He always knew her to be solid, immovable, strong as a statue, but now she looked as though she could be brought low by a mere puff of wind.

“Perhaps they are new,” he offered.

But she fell silent again, glaring at the cliffside as they passed. Her hands, now resting in her lap, clenched and unclenched over and over again, twitching in the manner that suggested she was about to draw her knife, though what target had drawn her ire he could only guess--presumably, she dreamt of stabbing the fool who had chosen to add walls to the Acropolis. Her jaw was hard, set so firmly he thought he could hear her grinding her teeth behind her lips. Antagonistic as they were, he had been on the receiving end of that glare more times than he cared to remember, and he was again glad that they had chosen to set aside their rivalry for now. Eventually, the driver let them off on the eastern side of the mountain. For a moment, he made to help her down from the cart, as he had been taught, but looking at her face, he decided not to risk the insult, allowing her to scramble down to the ground by herself, and side-by-side, they made the long trek to the Acropolis, just another two pilgrims on the final leg of their journey.

Unfortunately, their troubles were merely beginning.

Cresting the hill, the midafternoon sun beating down on them, Annabeth stiffened against him, so severely he thought she might faint. “What,” she hissed, “is that monstrosity ?”

He blinked, squinting through the bright light, though he did not see anything so obviously offensive to the senses--but then, he did not know the field of architecture nearly as well as she did. “What is it?”

“That!”

On top of the building immediately before them rose a bell tower, a cross sitting proudly above it. Surely she could not be referring to that, as the streets of Constantinople had been practically littered with bell towers and crosses. One would be hard pressed to find a corner which did not have a church with its own bell and steeple. “The tower?”

“No, the columns,” she scoffed. “Of course the malakes tower! What is it doing on top of the Parthenon?”

“Annabeth,” he said slowly. “It is a bell tower. Surely, you know what a bell tower is.”

She flushed. “Yes, I know what a bell tower is, phykios , but what I do not know is which imbecile thought to put one up on top of the Parthenon!” She pointed, glaring at it. “It is not even symmetrical!”

He tilted his head, looking. She was right; it did seem oddly placed, given what he had heard of the temple, far back and to the left.

“This is all wrong,” she fretted, worrying her lip between her teeth. “This is--this is wrong. We are supposed to enter through the propylea from the West, into the Precinct of Artemis Brauronia, then pass the Athena Promachos on the northern edge , and--and the pediment--”

Oh dear. She was shaking, now, a leaf on the wind. It was a risky move, to be sure, but he rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. She trembled so violently, he thought he could feel it in his bones. “Here,” he said, “let us go inside. We can sit down, catch our breath.”

The fact that she did not refuse him was more concerning than if she had turned around and stabbed him.

Walking into the--the church, he supposed it was, he too felt a little uneasy. The western pediment, the one she had spoken so highly of, the one which was supposed to portray the origins of their ancient feud, a good third of it was missing, plucked straight from the middle of the frieze, the faded pale statues headless, like corpses in the grip of death.

Percy had seen many churches before. Few could compare to St. Sophia, but in essence, all churches looked somewhat the same. He did not have the fancy words for it, not like Annabeth, but he could recognize their shared features should he see them. This was…

He did not know what to think of it, truly.

He supposed that St. Sophia had spoiled him, all that light streaming in through the dome of the roof. The churches of Constantinople were not places which he frequented, but he found himself in St. Sophia for pagan-related duties more frequently than he cared to be, and had become used to that kind of space, so open and airy. By contrast, here the ceiling was flat, dark, nearly oppressive. Rich frescoes and golden mosaics surrounded them, their strange, frightening faces staring down at them, in cold, apathetic judgement. Pilgrims streamed in through the narrow entrance, pressed so close together that Annabeth was forced to grab onto his arm for fear of being separated. Still she shook, shivering as though she were feverish, and before he could think better of it, he placed an arm around her shoulder, drawing her off to the side, away from the large crush of people. Gently steering her, he brought them to the back left corner of the main gallery, and dropped to his knees in order to better blend in with the crowds, pleased when she took his lead without any further prompting.

“This is all wrong,” she whispered. “This is so wrong.”

He squeezed her shoulder, placing his head against hers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Those walls,” her breath hitched, “those hideous, ugly walls--”

“I know,” he said, “I know.”

“I--I didn’t think that--I never thought that, that it might have changed. That it might be different.” She turned to him, eyes wild. “I never--the Parthenon, it’s… you do not understand, the Parthenon is perfect. It is the most perfect piece of architecture ever conceived, ever planned, ever built. The architects, their understanding of mathematics is unparalleled, even to this day. It is perfect .”

He did understand, but now was not the time to point that out. Now was simply the time to listen.

“All children of Athena, we can only dream of creating something even half as beautiful. The Parthenon isn’t supposed to change, it is supposed to endure. Survive.” She swallowed, eyes blinking back furious tears. “Look at what they have done to her altar. Her temple.” Turning from him, her hand swiped at her face, and he looked away. “And these horrible, horrible bodies,” she hissed, after a moment. “The statues of the Parthenon are meant to embody the perfection of the human form. What man do you know looks like that?”

Towards the end of the room was the greatest offence yet. As with all churches, this one too had a portrait of the moment of death of their trinity god, his arms fastened to a wooden cross, his head hung in shame and despair. At his feet, a woman wrapped in blue looked on him in painful grief, her hands outstretched as though she could catch the frozen stream of glittering red which poured from a black mark in his side, their features flattened and reconstituted with different colored stones, thick lines criss crossing their bodies.

She shook her head, disbelieving. “My mother would never have let this insult go unpunished. She must still be here. She has to be.”

Now her tears had dried, and her mouth was set in a thin, grim line, stubborn and serious. No longer did she shake apart on the cold, stone floor, but was still, poised, gathering energy about her as she waited for the proper moment to strike. Oh, he did not have the heart to attempt to convince her out of her plan.

“Stay here. I will see if I can find a way to speak to her.” And so she left him there in the gallery of the church, off to seek some quiet corner.

Unfortunately, she had not specified for how long she would be gone. And truthfully, she should have known better--they were all saddled with the half-blood’s curse, the plight of wandering attention and nervous energy. To order Percy to stay put was simply a folly. He vowed that he would not leave the Acropolis, for it simply was not that big, and they were sure to find each other easily, but he could not be blamed for indulging this small bout of an itinerant spirit.

Walking out of the church, before he could exit entirely, something gold caught his eye, and he looked up. Almost directly above the entrance was a raised part of the roof, reminiscent of the dome with which he was most familiar, but instead of sunlight, the dome was lined with gold and pearl and lapis lazuli in what even he had to admit was a stunning mosaic. The same woman was depicted here, in the same stunning blue robe, though she looked down on them not in grief, but in deep, pensive thought. No, not pensive, he amended--calculating. With her straight nose and keen eyes, she seemed to stare deep into his very heart and soul, considering all the contents she found there, and he was unsure whether or not she found him wanting.

Perhaps it was merely because he had been thinking of her so often these last few days, but for some strange reason, the woman in the mosaic reminded him of Annabeth. He had seen that piercing gaze on her face many times, one that she shared with all of her siblings. It was a trait inherited directly from their shared mother, the one they wore when they were crafting the very finest of their battle strategies.

Unnerved, he continued on, stepping out of the church into its looming shadow.

In front of him rose another one of Annabeth’s hated towers, round in the way he had come to expect from fortified walls, with soldiers eyeing the pilgrims warily from their positions at the top, though he doubted these men had seen much in the way of fighting. Although, who was he to tell. He had thought, once upon a time, that churches were meant to be sacred spaces to men of god, places where no blood could be shed, nor hateful action be taken. Of course, he knew better now.

Wandering round the Acropolis did little to ease his strange mood. It could not have been a more different experience than exploring his father’s palace beneath the sea; rising high above the city, rather than submerged beneath the depths, where one was empty, ruined and rotting, the other was full, crowded with masses of travelers and worshippers, its fortifications kept seemingly well. And yet, as he walked, still he sensed that strange emptiness that he had felt down below. The people who surrounded him may as well have been ghosts for all that he could know them.

Unbidden, his footsteps brought him past a collection of red roofed houses, squat and low, then round to a strangely shaped building on the northern side of the Acropolis. He frowned, walking down the slim stone steps, taking in the columns whose spaces had been filled with grey stone.

He had not lied to Annabeth when he said he had never been to Athens before, and he surely did not have her thorough knowledge of the ancient buildings which decorated it, but he knew, deep in his bones, that what he was looking at here was wrong. Beyond the ugly stone, it came too far forward, as though it were a living, breathing creature, swallowing the ancient marble over the course of a thousand years. Tilting his head, he tried to put it from his mind as he considered the four pillars which stood before him.

There was something behind those walls, he knew, though he did not know how, something which called to him, deep in his soul. If he closed his eyes, he thought that he could smell seawater, imagined that he could hear the gurgling of a spring, deep beneath the foundations of the earth, pouring forth as though it were a beating heart.

“Percy.”

He blinked.

Annabeth stood before him, scowling. “Did I not say to stay where you were?”

The sun laid low on the horizon, casting long shadows over him, though he could not have been standing here for more than a few minutes. “I… I apologize,” he said. His thoughts were fuzzy, as though he were emerging from an unintended nap. “I did not realize how long it had been. Did you find what you were seeking?”

Her scowl deepened further, before dropping, as though it were a mask, leaving nothing but weariness behind. “No,” she said, her gaze dropping to the ground. “My mother would not come.”

“Perhaps we can find a market,” he suggested, though he knew it would be a fruitless gesture, “and procure a sacrifice. Maybe that would entice her to appear.”

But she shook her head, her lips pulled into a frown. “That would not be wise. I fear that if she allowed the desecration of her temple in this way without repercussion, there is very little that would call her down from Olympus.” She turned to join him, then, standing shoulder to shoulder as she, too, beheld the strange facade.

“Tell me about this place,” he requested. Speaking at length on architecture was, after all, one of her favorite pastimes, and he did so hate to see that sorrowful look on her face. “I feel as if I… know it, somehow.”

“I am not surprised,” she said. “This is--was--is the Erechtheion, the temple dedicated to both of our divine parents.”

“I see,” he teased, hoping to make her smile. “And you said that the Athenians did not like my father.”

Gods be praised, it worked. Trembling, as though she were fighting it, a smile did raise the corners of her mouth. “I said nothing of the sort, merely that the early Athenians vastly preferred my mother.”

“And yet, here lies a temple to his glory.”

She lightly smacked him. “There were shrines to the other gods as well, phykios .”

“You cannot take this from me, skjaldmær. I shall go round proclaiming its glory to all who would listen to the tale of Poseidon and his Athenian temple.”

“Oh, hush.” But she was grinning now, and his heart rose at the sight.

They stood there for some time, as the sun continued to set over the complex, the shadows of the towers lengthening with every minute. The longer they stood, the more the question nagged at him, filling him with a desire and a longing that he had not known for some time, a yearning which reached beyond his skin and bones deep into the core of him. “Why do I know this place?” he asked her.

Equally spellbound, she answered, “Legend held that this is where our parents’ great rivalry began. They say that beneath the Erechtheion lies the three marks of the sea god’s trident, under the branches of the very first olive tree.”

“Here, you say?” How extraordinary. Here was the spot which would come to define their antagonism, a mighty tree the seeds of which were planted thousands of years ago, far beyond the memory of any living man, recorded in stone and letter. Here they were, two souls adrift in the uncaring winds of time, and yet, together, they had come full circle, to the place where it all began. Who of the ancient Athenians could have guessed, all those generations ago, that their choice of patron would shape the course of history, as a river through a valley? Who among them would have known how their decision would take root throughout the years, until it blossomed within Percy and Annabeth, children who, despite following the same gods, would have been as total strangers to them? The thought filled him with an emotion he could not quite name, only that he knew he was glad for her presence.

“Thank you,” she murmured, as quiet as a breath, “for looking after me. I am sorry to have dragged you here on nothing but a whim and a wish.”

Acting on some instinct he did not know he possessed, he reached down, and took her hand. It was warm in his, her heart beating strongly through the tips of her fingers. “Think nothing of it. We two must stay together, should we not?”

“We should indeed.”

She looked on him without any distaste or annoyance for what must have been the first time in a very long time, and it sent a warm thrill through him, as though the shadows around them had receded, bathing the two of them in sunlight. “I have been thinking,” he said, inspired by this place and this time and the thought of their legacy. “If indeed, the gods that we know and worship have truly… have truly gone,” and his voice grew thick at the thought. He cleared his throat, and was grateful she did not comment on it. “Then we should continue to travel together. This truce that we have struck, it has proven beneficial in more ways than I could have predicted, and if we are to survive whatever comes next, I have a feeling that we should stay together. If you agree, Annabeth, let us, here and now, tie off these threads of our history, as one would to a tapestry. Let us end this rivalry of ours.”

She looked at him, a cascade of feelings crossing her face, too quick for him to name, until she settled on something which he would define as apprehension, perhaps. Gazing into his eyes, she searched for some hint that he would betray her, he supposed, though he could not blame her for it. His proposal was a novel one, and bold as well. Should her mother get word of this agreement, Annabeth could find herself in deep trouble, as Athena’s hatred of Percy himself was no secret.

This close, the setting sun seemed to reflect in her eyes, transforming them from steel to silver, a kaleidoscope of glittering stars. This close, he realized he could trace the flush on her cheeks as it traveled towards the crooked bridge of her nose, and he saw that there were freckles there, beneath the tanned skin.

“A plan worthy of Athena,” she said after some consideration. “I agree to your terms.”

And thus, it was ended.

“To think,” he murmured, “that such a legendary rivalry could have been resolved so easily.”

“It is strange,” she admitted, “that along with my mother and our ancestral home, I have lost this as well.” And she looked out over the city, despondent.

He frowned, as he did not think of their antagonism as something to lose; rather, he felt as though the ancient fields had been overturned, the old soil furrowed, giving way to new and fertile ground, full of endless possibility.

“Well,” he said, hoping to put a smile back on her face, "my first act, in the shedding of our rivalry, is to pledge myself to our future empress, Ana Zabeta Palaiologina." Then, in a fit of insanity, he raised her hand to his lips, and laid a kiss there.

She did not smile at him; rather, she rolled her eyes, pulling her hand from his grasp, and wiping it on the front of her dress.

“Where to then, your majesty? The Morea?”

“Enough,” she said. “I had given up that plan some time ago.”

“Oh?”

“As you and I have both noted, the despotes will not give us the army that we seek, nor the Legion, nor any of the rulers of this Christendom. I fear,” she sighed, biting her lip, “I fear that Constantinople is lost to us forever.” She looked to him again, clear eyes shining. “We have lost, Perseus. The gods have gone, the empire has fallen, and we have lost.”

And that, he supposed, was that. The reign of the Olympians was ended. They were well and truly alone.

But, he thought, at least they were together.

“What now?” Endless possibility, he thought. How frightening. “Do we look for the agoge ?”

“I do not see how we can,” she admitted. “Chiron could be anywhere, and I have not the faintest idea of where to begin.”

Neither, unfortunately, did he. They could have been anywhere in the world, but the world was a vast, vast place. “Let us find some place to rest. Tomorrow, we can decide what to do, but tonight, we have earned our respite.”

Their business thus concluded, they wound their way down the cliff, to the city below, in search of some place to rest their heads.

It was not terribly difficult for them to find an inn. Claiming tiredness, Annabeth bade him to go and get them something to eat. “Anything in particular?” he asked.

“Something cheap,” was her perfunctory response. Collapsing onto their shared bed, which was, unfortunately, the only one which had been available in that particular establishment, she turned away from him, curling into herself, and sensing the dismissal for what it was, he left her to it, setting out for food.

Immediately, he wished he had been able to entice her to come with him.

Athens in the evening was quite beautiful. The air had cooled considerably, the low light casting the homes and streets in shades of red and pink and gold. It was smaller than he had expected the great city to be, however. He had been expecting something grander even than Rome, or the city of Constantine, yet what he saw put him more in mind of a small, backwater town. Even to his untrained eye, the buildings were mismatched and patchwork, different styles of marble sewn together haphazardly, unsymmetrically and non-uniformly--a cardinal sin, he gathered, to the keen mind of an architect. From the way Annabeth had spoken of it, Athens by rights should have been the virtual center of the known world, the shining jewel of Hellas and beyond, as it had been in centuries long past. Whatever it may have lacked in people or in great thinkers nowadays, however, there was at least plenty of food to be found. The air here was thick with the heady smells of garlic, salt, and onion, transporting him back to his childhood home, to his mother and her kitchen.

Gods, his mother. In all this time, he had not even spared a thought to her or her husband or their daughter. He had sent them from Constantinople prior to the siege, but he did not know where they had landed. Were they safe? Healthy? Had little Esther been able to sleep through the night without being plagued by any more nightmares? Was his mother able to make her pastries still, with cinnamon and mahleb?

Would he ever see them again?

Without much conscious thought, his wanderings brought him to a stall on the edge of the populated area, every inch covered in reams of fabric, richly hued, in shades of copper and cream and grey. He had passed by hundreds others just like it, so he was not certain why this one had caught his eye. Perhaps coming across this particular stall had simply coincided with an idea he had been concocting, a coincidence of good timing and sudden fortune. Perhaps it had been the length of blue cloth he had seen behind the elderly woman who sat in the center of her tent, eyeing him warily. “See something that piques your fancy?” she asked, though she made no further move to greet him.

“Oh,” he said, “no, thank you. I was merely looking.”

“Finest cloths in the city,” she said, a bold claim, he thought, since he was quite certain he had seen these exact fabrics on display in every little tent he had come across so far. “I make them all myself.”

“I do not have much in the way of money,” he said, hoping she would leave him be.

Oddly enough, that only seemed to excite her. She turned over her shoulder, pulling the bolt of blue down from behind her, and holding it out to him. In the evening light, he thought it might resemble the color of a starless sky, a deep, inky blue. “You have good taste--this color is very fashionable these days.”

“Truly, I have no money,” he said, even as an absurd thought began to form in his mind. The color, he thought, that blue, it would look quite beautiful set against a certain blonde braid.

She sighed. “What do you have?”

“Huh?”

“The malakes noblewoman who ordered this from me has declined to send someone to retrieve it for her for several days now,” she said, “and so it sits in the back of my stall, unsold and taking up valuable space, when it could be in your hands instead, or draped around the shoulders of your beautiful wife.”

Percy blushed. “She’s not--I mean--”

“But because I am a generous businesswoman,” she interrupted, smirking, “show me what you have, and we may be able to come to some arrangement.”

The way she looked at him, all-knowing and altogether too familiar, compelled him to obey. Counting his coins, he laid out his paltry offering before her, the smattering of silver stavrata, Venetian lira, and smaller, duller bronze coins making for a pitiful display, when his fingers fumbled, and a golden drachma tumbled out of his hands, coming to rest before her.

He froze, praying that she would not see it, or if she did, that she might mistake it for an Italian florin, and leave it be.

Naturally, of course, that is what she picked up, her eyes settling upon it almost instantly.

“Well, well, well,” she said, looking at the coin with curiosity. “It has been some time since I have seen one of these.”

“Ah,” Percy started, flushing. That coin was not meant for mortals, and they had precious few of them to spare. “That--I--that is to say--”

“If you are looking for the gods,” she went on, peering at him with new eyes, “I could have saved you the trouble. They are not here. In truth, they have not blessed this land with their presence for some time.”

He blinked, astonished.

With a kindly smile, she tucked the drachma back into his coin purse, swiping some of the lira for herself. “I think this makes for an adequate trade, no?”

Still, he was rendered dumb and speechless.

“Keep an eye on your money, traveler,” she said. “You never know if you will find more.”

The noise of the city was dwindling, down from a lively hum to a low murmur, and the light turned even cooler as the cold moon rose over the cliff. Annabeth would most likely be worried at his long delay, or at least starving. But he could not force himself to move yet. “You’re--” he stammered, “you--”

“Yes, child,” she said. “Now, you should be headed off. The guards do not take kindly to stragglers wandering the streets so late at night.”

There were a million things he wished to ask this woman, important things, questions of ancestry and whether or not there were more of their kind nearby, but all that he was able to say was the terrible, sad news that he carried within his heart. “Constantinople has gone,” he said. “The agoge has vanished.”

Bittersweet, she smiled, folding the shawl for him into a tight bundle. “I know.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “I had a dream.” And thus, she bade him good night.

In a daze, Percy wandered back to the inn where they were staying. On his way back, he had stopped to purchase some food like he promised her he would, settling a loaf of hard, cheap bread and some kefalotiri , as that was all he could afford, but at least it would tide them over for the night, until they decided on the next course of action.

When he returned, Annabeth was no longer lying prone on their bed, but sat upright, her back against the wall, eyes closed. She opened one as he entered, her hand automatically sneaking towards the folds of her dress where he knew she kept her knife, until, upon recognizing him, she relaxed, letting her hand fall back down to her lap.

“Here,” he said, placing the parcels on the bed between them, though he kept the shawl tucked away against his chest, for now. “Dinner.”

“Thank you,” she said, quietly, taking the bread, picking at it with her fingers, slipping the teeniest of bites into her mouth. After some time, she noticed that he was not following suit. “You’re not eating.”

It was not a question. “Ah, I ate mine as I returned to the inn,” he said, easily.

She stared at him, not at all convinced.

“In any case,” he went on, eager to change the topic, “I have been thinking about what we should do next.” He had done nothing of the sort, but hopefully it would take her mind off of the obvious.

“So have I.” She put the bread aside, drawing her knees up to her chest, and hugging them. “I would like to go home.”

Percy frowned. Surely she did not mean Sigeion . She had already indicated her feelings towards the search for Chiron and the rest of camp, namely, that it would be a useless, fruitless, frustrating search, and surely she did not mean Constantinople, lost to the ages. What other home was there?

“You know that my mortal family does not hail from here.”

“I do.” It was not a piece of information well hidden; one only had to look at her pale skin, her blonde hair, and her looming figure to know that she was, in all likelihood, not one of the Hellenes by blood.

She would not look at him, her fingers tapping random patterns over the fabric of her dress. “If he still lives, I should like to see my father.”

“Oh.” That was… unexpected. To anyone who knew her, there were a few core tenants of Annabeth as a person; her love of architecture was one of them, and her distaste for her father was another.

“When I--left him, he lived in a city called Uppsala, far to the North of here.”

“How far?”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Svealand.”

Well. That was indeed quite far. “You mean to travel to Svealand? On your own? That would take near on half a year.”

“To the East of Constantinople, there is an old trading route once used by the Norsemen to travel between their lands and ours,” she said. “A river by the name of Danapris .”

“A river?” he asked, skeptically.

“One that spans nearly the entire continent. In the time of   Basileios II Porphryogennitus, this was the route which delivered his legendary Varangian guard. I know for a fact it has fallen out of use, and the tribes of the Kievan Rus’ no longer roam that area.”

He had never heard of those people before--not that it mattered. “Annabeth, it does not matter how fearsome and ferocious you believe you are, you cannot travel all the way to Svealand by yourself.”

She scowled at him, lips pulling back into a snarl. “I have done so once before.”

“The whole road? By yourself?”

“Well,” she hesitated, “no. Not the whole thing. But I traveled some of it, before Thalia found me.”

“Be that as it may,” for he knew she would attempt to traverse the whole way by herself, merely to spite him, “as Thalia once did for you, let me do as well. I shall accompany you to Svealand.”

Her eyes widened. “Percy, no. You should be looking for Chiron.”

“As you yourself have said, he could be anywhere,” said Percy, “and I may have all the time in the world to find him. In the meantime, I should very much like to see you safely returned to your father.”

“I told you, the road is long since abandoned.”

“And you’ll forgive me if I am skeptical of that fact. Not of you,” he said at the look on her face, “nor your vast pools of knowledge, but even you cannot predict whether or not you shall meet trouble along the road, and it would comfort me greatly if I were able to come along.” Sourly, she opened her mouth as if to argue, but he interrupted her. “Annabeth. You cannot convince me otherwise. I am coming with you.”

Eyes narrowed, she glared at him, before acquiescing. “Fine.”

“Good.”

“Then we should rest. We shall leave at first light on the morrow.” On that abrupt note, she flopped down onto the bed, turning over once again, her back to him. “Good night, Perseus.”

The air was charged between them, with what he could not say, though he could nearly feel it shaking, as taught as bowstring. “Good night,” he said in response. Then, blowing out their room’s solitary candle, he laid himself down to sleep as well, his back to her, and thought not of the bundle of cloth he had purchased on a whim, not of how her golden braid might look against the dark blue fabric, and not of the sweet smile she had given him in the shadow of the Erechtheion. No, he thought of none of these things. Not at all.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #325

tired of seeing me in the survey tag yet? lmao me too

Would you date someone who’s shorter than you? I have absolutely never understood why there would be any correlation between someone's height and whether or not you would date the person because of it. What, do you think the person has any control over that? So basically, yes, I would, without a second thought. Have you ever fallen in love on the Internet? "Fallen in love," no. I had to meet Sara first to see how we meshed in the same environment. Have you ever had a crush on your best friend’s sweetie? Yes, hence the Joel mess. Have you ever had a controlling boyfriend? No. Good luck getting me to date someone like that. Can guys be sluts? Who the fuck cares so long as the person is safe and open with their partner. Ever had a crush on your best girlfriend? Twice now, haha. Would you ever kiss someone who’s taken? No, I'm not that kind of person. Do you mind being the third wheel? I don't care, really, so long as my friend doesn't totally ignore me. I very much enjoy seeing people in love. Has a kiss ever made you weak in the knees? Yes. Have you ever been in a love triangle? No, and I absolutely would not if I was aware. You pick me or you leave me alone. Do you feel comfortable buying condoms? I've never had to, but I'd probably feel a hint of awkwardness. Have you ever run into your ex with his/her new partner? No, and the only case where that would be a problem would be with Jason. I know in my heart I would feel at least some hatred towards her. Have you ever felt guilty after doing something sexual? Yep, when I was first actually getting truly sexual and felt like I was betraying my "abstinence." Would you stay friends with your sweetie’s friends if you broke up? I'm still friends with Jacob, mine and Jason's former roommate and his then-close friend. So yeah. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? I hope more than words can explicate that I have a stable job that I love, my driver's license, and my own place with a long-term partner, since I think living alone would be very detrimental to me. I also hope I have much better control over my social anxiety. Oh, and can I PLEASE be fit again? What was the last thing you bought for less than a dollar? No idea. Who was the last person in your bed? My niece Aria was sitting on it with me. I miss Misty's kids. Do you have a nice phone? Not particularly, but it does the job. Is Marilyn Manson creepy or cool? I find him creepy in a cool way, haha. Well, at least aesthetically. With his recent sexual assault (or abuse? idr) allegations however, I don't know how I feel about him because I don't know the facts. I really should actually read up about it. Regardless, I love his music; he's one of my favorite musical artists. Do you like talking to strangers? Depends on my mood and the person. Do you have OCD? Yes. Are you clumsy or graceful? I'm clumsy as all getout. Have you ever ran into a door because you didn’t know it was closed? Haha, no. Have you ever woke up and didn’t know where you were? After my cyst removal surgery, I was confused for a moment or so. Do you own a Wii? Yep. Do you like to talk about yourself? Depends on with whom, the subject, and my mood. Has anyone ever called you conceited? No; I'm very much on the other end of the spectrum. Tattoos or piercings? I love both, but tats win. Have you ever had ants ruin your picnic? I’ve never had a picnic. At least that I remember. What’s the last gross movie/show/video you saw? Recently, I watched The Dark Den dissect his recently-deceased tarantula to figure out why she died. It was serious impaction, and it was disgusting. Would you rather live in a huuuge house or a little cozy one? A lil cozy one! Not TOO small, though. I'd feel claustrophobic. Have you ever blow dried something other then your hair? Maybe? What is your favorite piece of equipment at gyms? Treadmills. Do you have a tutor for anything? No. Does your sibling(s) have braces? My older sister did for a little while. Did you tell your last girlfriend/boyfriend that you love them? Yes. What was the last thing your parents got mad at you for? Apparently I somehow forgot to wipe crumbs off the kitchen counter. Have you ever had a bathing suit fall off of you while swimming? Not a suit, no, but when I wore bikinis and I jumped into the pool, it's happened before where my top would go up. I'd obviously fix it super quick. Do your pets have favorites? I'm absolutely Roman's favorite, but he loves Mom, too. I'm the only one who interacts with Venus. What’s the longest you’ve ever liked someone without telling them? A very long time. I had a big crush on Girt my freshman year, and some time after Jason, my crush for him came back, but he didn't ask me out until years later. Turns out we'd been friends just too long and the relationship felt too weird for me, so I broke up with him after I think... four months or so? We're still great friends. That's my bro. Did you prank anyone on April Fool’s Day? I never do anymore. I don't like pranks. What’s the sweetest thing a gf/bf can do to get you to forgive them? Changed behavior. Do you dislike when surveys ask to describe your underwear? Well, I'm almost always in my pajamas, sooo I generally don't even have any at that moment. Did you check to see how much fat/calories was in the last thing you ate? No. If the last person you kissed gave you roses, what would you do? Blush and thank her. Anything happened lately that you never expected to? "Never?" No. Are you the person you thought you’d be when you were younger? I'm a massive disappointment and embarrassment to that little girl. Are you a confrontational person, or the peacekeeper? I am absolutely a peacekeeper. I avoid confrontation like the plague. The last time you did something with BOTH of your parents was? They've been divorced since I was I think 17 and I am now 25, so... Do you like pumpkin pie? Absolutely not. Do you believe in any conspiracies? I am 100% sold on that the government had some involvement in 9/11. Look into the evidence - there is an overwhelming amount. There are others that I consider as possible, but no others do I absolutely believe. I'm around 50/50 on the simulation theory. Do you have a little sister? What’s her name? Yeah, Nicole. Have you ever changed yourself to impress someone? Who? Nah. Who was the last person you gave up on? Why did you give up on them? Colleen. We simply butted heads way too much, and she just had this volatile meanness towards others I couldn't watch anymore. What was the last thing you printed? Is there even ink in your printer? Probably a paper for when I was in school. I don't know if our printer does. Have you ever gotten your nails done? Or do you get them done regularly? Yeah, with Colleen and then another time with my sisters. It was really just to hang with them, though. It's not something I'm interested in. Have you been outside yet today? What were you doing? Nope. When was the last time you got a new bed? Is your bed comfy? Not since I was an older teen did I get Mom's bed, but it wasn't new. This was actually her parents' bed, too. Well I mean, the mattress obviously isn't that old, but the bed itself is pretty ancient. It's comfy enough. Do you remember the first time you ever drove a car? Who were you with? Yes: on the dead-end road that led to our old house. I was with Mom obviously and probably my sister, since I think I did it on the way home from school. Do any of your friends drink excess amounts of alcohol? Do you? Not to my knowledge. I definitely don't. Have you ever been in handcuffs? Why, exactly? Yes, because it's mandatory when being transported to a mental hospital. What’s your favorite thing to do when drunk? Would you do this sober? Never been drunk before. When was the last time you bled? What happened? Well it's my time of the month, so. Are you a fan of dogs? Do you have any pets? I love dogs, but don't currently have one as a pet. Mom's looking intently. How often do you bathe? I'm going to be completely transparent and say not as much as I should. Doing my hair is fine, but moving all around, bending and propping my legs up exhausts my legs so much that I avoid showers as long as I can take it or until I have to go somewhere. I want strength back in my body. So. Badly. Do you have any tattoos? What, where and why? I have six that I'm not all explaining, but locations: right upper arm, right inner wrist, left inner forearm, left upper arm, right collarbone, left breast. What do you wear to bed at home? Pajama pants and a tank top. What do you wear to bed when you're somewhere else? Pj pants, tank top, and usually a bra, depending on where I'm at and with who. Do you have any phobias? What? Why do you think you have this/them? I have a lot, but I'll discuss my strangest/strongest: pregnancy, maggots, parasites, and whale sharks. Pregnancy would be because a fetus is technically parasitic, and, to cover that topic, I'm just generally terrified of anything living in MY body. I also find it absolutely disgusting to see a baby move from the outside. I will actually scream if I see this, and that is not an exaggeration. I'm afraid of maggots (larva in general, really) because I think they're just disgusting, and I once brought something in from outside and put it in my dresser (idr why), and one day I opened it and reached in for something just to find lots of little larva squirming around. That's when it started. Now, whale sharks: it's literally because of World of Warcraft, hahaha. There's an underwater zone in the game where they roam as boss enemies, and their mouths look so weird and are actually a bit toothy. Irl, they just have mouths that are just way too big for my comfort. I know they're entirely harmless, but still. If you could ask God (to atheists - IF there was one) one question, what? "Why." Why so much evil, pain, and unfairness. Briefly describe your family. Kinda broken, but still loving and try to stay close. Big "ohana" mood: everyone's loyalty is endless. Where do you stand on the death penalty? For it in extreme cases. Where do you stand on wearing fur? Disgusting and horribly morbid unless for survival purposes in cold climates. Could you kill somebody? In self-defense, yes. What are your political beliefs (anarchy, communism, democracy etc.)? I just say I'm Independent. My beliefs stretch over so many titles; plus, I'm not very educated on all types and what they entail. What, if anything, WOULD you sacrifice your life for? To save those I love most. How would your ideal partner look? *shoves picture of Mark Fischbach in ur face* Would you ever have an affair? Nope. I'm telling you: pick me or leave me be. I'm not a side-chick. Would you ever have a one night stand? Also no. What one thing would you change in this world (free Tibet, abolish Sweden)? Honestly... probably abolish all militaries. I do not in the least support war, and it's just... sad to know countries stand ready to kill the moment they "need" to. Distrust seems to make the world go 'round. Sure, a country may try to rebuild them in secrecy, but that's a preeeetty big thing to succeed in keeping under wraps. "But what if a terrorist or something rises?" I'm quite sure we could handle that without an full-on army. Maybe I'm not well-informed on this topic, but I've just never supported military presence. I WANT TO MAKE IT CLEAR AS DAY, I have endless respect for veterans and aspiring soldiers, because I DO understand the mentality of wanting to protect your home, but yeah. I just wish it wasn't a thing. Would you ever choose a career or job where your life was at risk? Nope. Do you have any famous relatives? Ancestors, yes, and I have a distant cousin who wrote a fantastic book, if that counts. Are you a loyal member of any organizations? No. Desired weight: At MOST 140. :/ I'd like to be closer to 120, but I'll take 140. What are your opinions on marijuana legalization? Legalize it, but treat it similarly to alcohol, like prohibiting driving high, obviously. What do you think about tipping at restaurants? Tip a minimum, and THEN increase according to service quality. Are you addicted to anything? Soda. Would you ever get back together with any of your exes? Yes. Never mind what gender you ARE, what gender do you WANT to be? I'm a female and content with that. Do you ever feel ashamed revealing your age? Yes, considering how behind I am in just being an adult. What does your parents call you? Generally just "Britt." Mom occasionally still calls me "Twinkie." ;-; Has anyone ever threatened you with a knife? Wow, no. Do you ever watch The Simpsons? No. What’s the last thing to make you scream? Truly scream, a mix of depression and anger. I screamed into my pillow. Do you play games with boys/girls, like ‘hard to get’? I'm an adult. I'm a tease in some romantic situations, but "hard to get" is definitely the wrong term.

[bittermarrow]

Slashers x s/o who is pregnant (very few weeks) but scared to tell their slasher bf? RELEASE THE CREATIVITY SURPRISE ME PLS

A/n: This calls for some good ‘ol angst with a side of eventual fluff that you barely notice. YAS I SHALL. I didn’t know which slasher you wanted since you didn’t specify, so I decided on Michael, I hope that’s fine!

Warnings: Light angst, unplanned pregnancy. (lame final line)

Words: 1200+

.   .   .

Not Sick

You hadn’t thought much of the nausea the first week or so, figuring you’d just caught something nasty and should give the doc a visit to hopefully get some antibiotics and wait it out. But… you were not prepared to be sent home with a pregnancy test instead, and not a bottle of pink slime or a prescription to a local clinic. You figured you’d humor the doctor by playing along and taking the test, just to say that you indeed weren’t about to pop a baby out of nowhere.

As you sat and waited for the test to initialize, that’s when you started to worry.

What if…? What if you actually were? It’s not like you and Michael had been using protection or birth control, for some reason it just never occurred to you as important. And now as you sat on the porcelain toilet seat starting at the small stick, still not displaying a second stripe, you had the time to think of just how high the possibilities were of him actually getting you pregnant. You had no way of knowing if he was ever sterilized at Smith’s Grove or not, you couldn’t blame them, whoever really could think of Michael Myers ever getting a sweetheart to have babies with?

You shifted uncomfortably on the seat, your heart starts to race as it neared the estimated time on the packaging that told you results would appear on the test. You closed your eyes and breathed in through your nose, trying to prepare yourself for that second line.

But nothing could have prepared you for those two little pink lines that meant “positive”, you were shaking, your eyes bubbling with salt and water. You wanted to be happy, you did, it wasn’t as if you’d never wanted a child, but… now that it was actually happening… you were terrified. And that was just the beginning of your worries, what would Michael think? There’s no telling how he could react, or if he’d even understand. Would he even want this baby? Would he leave? Kill you? Kill the baby?

You didn’t know. And maybe that’s why you keep the unsettling news to yourself for another week, making you about… three weeks pregnant now. You weren’t even really sure why you were counting, for some reason, it just seemed important.

You just hoped that you wouldn’t have to raise this child on your own, there were abortion methods available, but you couldn’t imagine doing that right now. And the idea of abortions was still relatively new, you didn’t know if you could trust it in its youth.

It was when Michael finally questioned you about your ‘illness’ one morning, signing to you in unpracticed hand movements, that you finally decided he needed to know. You couldn’t keep it to yourself forever, this was his child too, he has the right to know.

“Michael… I’m… I’m not sick okay? It’s more complicated than that, I… I’m sorry.” You rubbed your face with your hands and wondered to yourself why you were even apologizing, this wasn’t just your fault. You leaned against the bathroom wall after brushing your teeth to be rid of the vomit you’d just discarded ten minutes earlier, sliding down to the floor and hugging your knees as if to protect yourself.

You glanced up to Michael, who had his head tilted to the side like an owl, a signature sign of his curiosity. Eventually, he sat down beside you, his legs bent a bit awkwardly to fit in the small space between the wall and the cabinet below the sink. You scooted over to lean against his side, your cheek compressing against his bicep. It took him a moment to react properly, and even behind the mask you could see the gears turning in his head, but he soon wrapped an arm around you— a bit stiffly, but comforting nonetheless.

“I’m pregnant.” The phrase was pushed through your lips so casually it surprised even you, you didn’t even stutter, your voice didn’t even crack, not once.

You felt Michael tense, relax and tense up again, obviously conflicted but silent as always. Well, he’s not reacting negatively, you think, in fact, it appears that he doesn’t react at all for a while. And you fear that he might not even know what you mean, did they even educate him about pregnancy in the sanitarium?

“Do you know what that means? I—” You don’t get to finish because he’s signing to you before you have the chance.

‘Yes’

You form a silent ‘oh’ with your lips and nodded, shifting your eyes to focus on something else. The off-white popcorn ceiling of the bathroom serves your call for a distraction well enough. And as a minute or two ticks by on the ancient cat clock on the wall above the half-hut bathroom door, you can’t help but ask something else that’s eating away at you.

“Are you mad?”

You feel his rough fingers prying at your fingers, opening your palm to trace shapes into. He doesn’t respond straight away, but the gentle touch reassures you slightly.

‘No’

.   .   .

You woke up half on top of Michael still in the bathroom a couple of hours later, both of you seemingly having fallen somewhere along the line. It’s dark outside now, and almost as dim in the room if not for the small, blue night light plugged in above the sink. You feel a bit terrible for letting Michael sleep in such an uncomfortable position, knowing the kind of knots he gets in his back and neck, but you also know that if he had truly wanted to move, he would have.

You shift around with the intention of getting up, and into your much more comfortable bed, and as expected the small movements shake Michael awake as well. Reflexively his arm curls around your stomach and you can’t help the lazy smile that spread across your face, you don’t know if he’s doing it now because he knows there’s a baby in there, or simply as a protective reflex because it’s just you. But you like to think of it as a mixture of both, regardless of the real reason.

“C’mon, let’s get in bed, it’s late, and I’m positive you aren’t too comfortable on the bathroom floor either, big guy.”

He doesn’t need much coaxing before you’re both on your feet and heading for a softer surface to continue to sleep on. And as you crawl into bed next to him after changing you can’t help but notice how he immediately pulls you against his side and locks an arm around your back, tighter than normal, and much more eager than usual. You don’t have the energy to smile or mumble a ‘goodnight’ but you can’t help the tiny thought that crosses your drowsy mind before you doze off again.

Well, at least you don’t have to worry about your period for the next nine months.

.   .   .

[yukiwrites]

The Taste of Fear

Thank you for the support as always, @breeachuu​! I got carried away writing this! sakdjlmasd It was so much fun! I hope you likey~

Summary: Crossing the borders between worlds and getting used to his new home was a task that Wolfram was equally looking forward to and uneasy about. Hiding who he was while still trying to forge new bonds would prove to be a challenge, but Wolfie knew that as long as he had Byleth and Dimitri by his side, he would be able to see it through. Dimitri, however, had his own demons to fight...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

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Wolfram adjusted the purple bandana he wore around his head to hide his pointy ears for the fourth time as he followed Dimitri and Byleth closely.

After Dimitri explained the situation to the professor, Byleth had stared at Wolfram for a long while, as though having a long-winded conversation within herself regarding his story. Or regarding himself, Wolfram couldn't say. Perhaps she also noticed the Blood he carried within his veins? Sure, the way he sensed her Ancient Blood and the way everyone from his family back home felt were fundamentally different, but they still shared some similarities...

Perhaps Byleth and the other presences Wolfram felt were closer to that one foreign shape-shifting dragon his mother Nidra encountered decades ago (who apparently visited them on more than one occasion, though not during Wolfram's memory). Perhaps a different feeling still -- he could not say for sure, not now and certainly not in the foreseeable future. Only after going back home he would be able to compare the feelings by talking it through with his mother and siblings.

Alas, for the moment, Wolfram knew one thing: despite Byleth shouldering the strongest presence of the Ancient Blood in the vicinity, she did not bear any of the usual physical manifestations of such power. Namely, the ears. Or the skin that sometimes glittered in little lighting.

Seeing his train of thought lead him that way made Wolfie once again adjust his bandana, wanting to be more than completely sure that his ears were properly hidden. Byleth's were round and in plain sight, but he could never be too careful...

After going up a set of stairs, the three of them reached the floor whence the second strongest presence lay -- the other two presences were also around that tower, but perhaps in higher levels... Trying to pinpoint their location, Wolfram looked all around as though he could miraculously see through walls or something.

"You two wait here," Byleth said as they came to a stop, making Wolfram blink and finally focus on the audience chamber in front of him.

More specifically, on the woman walking out of a nearby office, towards whom Byleth headed. For some reason, Wolfram once again felt as though he was drowning on dry land.

The bright green-haired woman carried herself with a grace that befitted the highest of nobles, but the subtlety of her steps bore the caution of a seasoned warrior. Wolfram immediately knew that under that thin ceremonial garb that woman was not what she appeared to be.

Her very presence exerted pressure in the air, making it difficult to breathe. Wolfram gripped at Dimitri's arm from behind, instinctively hiding behind the blonde youth. As they were the same height, Dimitri served poorly as a hiding spot, but the action helped to keep Wolfram grounded into the moment, not being sucked into that woman's ground-shattering aura.

There was no way around it.

Wolfram knew it, deep into his bones, intimally in every cell of his body: that woman was a dragon. A very powerful one.

Perhaps because there were so few of them around? Perhaps because she was the only one who exuded such power? But it looked as though she made little to no effort to hide her presence. Mayhap an action borne out of hubris, to always let her presence caress all that approach -- to show that she was the one who held immense power?

Wolfram couldn't even think of beginning to understand.

That woman's power was raw, almost wild -- it was as though she held it with a very loose leash; or a tight one that was very much close to snapping.

Either way, she was dangerous. She was powerful, much more than Wolfram was comfortable with imagining. He had only felt a shred of this kind of power the moments Nidra would transform to teach this or that lesson regarding their dragon halves, but it was never unleashed in such... Brittle control.

Nidra had always taught her children to keep their dragon halves in check; to talk to it and embrace it into their logical minds. To be consumed by their wild sides would be a sorry end, as she would put it. Never once had Wolfram felt a dragon so closely out of control, yet seemingly dormant. Would anyone of his family feel that... that unsettling way were they to lose their humanity?

He felt his heart growing cold with each beat, his breathing turning so thin he could feel the icy grasp of fear engulf his being from within.

He had never been so scared of someone in his whole life.

The moment she directed her gaze to him it was as though the smile she wore when speaking with Byleth disappeared from her face entirely the moment the professor left her sight. Though that was Wolfram's mind playing tricks on him -- the woman still smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes as it did moments ago. He felt a visceral urge to leave; to run away only to not be close to which felt as controlled madness.

Not realizing how rasped his breathing became, Wolfram felt Dimitri slightly step to the right, shielding Wolfram even more from the approaching woman.

Noticing how he trembled, the half-manakete looked down to Dimitri's shoulder and how strongly he grasped himself onto him. A faint wave of warmth washed over the boy, making him use that momentum to regain the air he had lost. He mouthed a 'thank you' for Dimitri's silent support, though the blonde had no way of seeing it.

The more the woman approached, the more inclined Wolfram felt in looking upwards to direct his gaze to her instead of downwards to her shorter stature. It was as though he could look at the overpowering presence towering above her instead of her actual eyes. Still, look at them he did -- the bright green hiding a vast depth within them.

"Greetings to you, child." She cocked her head downwards in a respectful bow, making Wolfram slightly wince, the shaky breath leaving his lips. "I have heard the situation from our dear Professor Byleth." She looked straight at Wolfram, as though she could see him bare.

Did she know? She knew it, right? She couldn't have missed it! If he, who had less manakete power, was this overwhelmed by her own, it was a given that she would be able to recognize a fellow shape-shifter, weaker or not!

Time felt as though it dragged itself -- one second passed and Wolfram already felt like he had stopped breathing for hours! He could only nod in response, his voice failing him. "M-mhm?" He managed to scramble around his tongue, trying to remember how to speak.

"As the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and Headmaster of the Officers Academy, I must say that I have not heard of a transfer student -- you do not match the one we were scheduled to receive at the start of the year, either." She placed one hand over her cheek, as though in confusion.

Was she testing him? She was! Was he going to spill the beans about being a shape-shifter or would he stick to his own story? What could he do under the bone-shattering presence she exerted?

Breathing was the most he could do!

Clearly seeing how noticeable uncomfortable Wolfram was, Dimitri nudged himself a bit, taking the woman's gaze away from the foreign boy. "Even if he is not the one the Academy was expecting, we cannot simply leave him like this -- alone, confused and without memories."

Byleth stood by the woman's side, slowly walking to stay beside Dimitri -- almost forming another wall between Wolfram and the woman.

"Of course, Prince Dimitri. That would not at all be my intention." The woman said in a controlled breath, the eerie lack of color of her face making Wolfram even more afraid to be near her. "Those in need are always welcome here at the monastery -- we offer shelter, food, and work for the able."

"Lady Rhea-" Dimitri meant to speak, but the woman called Rhea simply sharply turned to him, shutting him up.

"However, to accept one into the Academy like this would not only be unprecedented but reckless and irresponsible, do you not agree?"

Dimitri pursed his lips. "Of course, we are not asking you to do this out of goodwill, Lady Rhea. The Kingdom is more than willing to shoulder any costs of his enrollment--"

"It is not a simple matter of costs, Prince." Rhea interrupted, blinking as she changed her gaze from Dimitri to Wolfram. The half-manakete felt a chill go down his spine. "It is also a matter of security and skills. The Death Knight is still out there and although far from me to doubt a child, I cannot so readily accept a new student under these circumstances."

Death Knight. That seemed ominous.

"I can fight," Wolfram heard his own voice say, surprising even himself. "I'm, uh, a wyvern rider -- I'm sure I can be of use in tracking this Death Knight with my mount."

Rhea blinked in surprise. Byleth slightly widened her eyes as Dimitri gasped, turning to Wolfram.

"You already have a flying certificate at your age?" The blonde asked, flabbergasted. Not missing a beat, he turned to the Archbishop, "truly, we cannot turn our backs to such a gift, Lady Rhea."

Finally stepping into the conversation, Byleth brought one hand to her chest, "I will make sure he is properly instructed in my class, Lady Rhea. I see much... hidden potential in this boy." She said after much deliberation.

Wolfram could swear he saw a smirk appear in Rhea's lips as she glanced at him before she softly smiled to Byleth. "Well, it does reassure me that he will be under your care, dear Professor Byleth, though I am still cautious about this."

"Can you not make it an exception this time, Lady Rhea? I will take full responsibility should anything happen." Dimitri dutifully bowed, prompting Wolfram to scramble himself in a bow as well.

"I-I'm sorry for all the trouble I'm causing, but I'm sure I can be of use." He found his breath once his eyes lost Rhea's, making speech a much easier task.

A very uncomfortable and long silence followed while both Dimitri and Wolfram had their heads down in their pleas. A tired sigh broke the stillness, followed by a "very well."

Both youths lifted their heads with the same smile, exchanging happy glances.

"However, I will still need to hear more of your story, Wolfram." She added, sending yet another chill down the boy's spine. "... At another time, of course. The hour is late and there is much to do in order to accept such a hastily enrolment in the middle of the night. For now you shall be placed at the room beside Byleth's-"

"Oh, I am positively sure Dedue will not mind to share his room with Wolfram!" Dimitri smiled, taking a step to the left so as to pat the half-manakete's back. "Indefinitely, if I might add! If it is too much trouble to prepare a new room, I might even offer my own-"

"What?! You don't need to do that, Dimitri! I'll be happy sharing rooms with- uhh," for a moment he thought how hard it would be to sleep with the bandana on, but that was something he had to worry about later.

"Dedue? He is my friend and self-appointed vassal -- his words, not mine -- with whom I am sure you will get along with. He is a wonderful person."

"It will be no trouble to arrange a new room sooner rather than later, Prince Dimitri," Rhea added, "though it is heartwarming to see how selfless the next King of Faerghus is turning out to be. May you never lose sight of these feelings." Rhea said in a motherly tone, which made Wolfram almost forget the fear that had shook him so badly. "Well, then, Professor," she bobbed her head to Byleth, "and Prince Dimitri -- I trust that the two of you will do your utmost to make our Wolfram to feel at home."

"Of course," Professor and student replied in unison, making the half-manakete smile proudly. "Farewell, Archbishop. I thank you for accepting this proposition so readily," Dimitri bowed once again as Rhea excused herself, giving him but a wave before she disappeared back into the office whence she had come.

Byleth looked at her new student, patting him on the shoulder. "We should begin by showing you your provisory room, yes? I'm sure you'll want to put all of that," she glanced at his oversized backpack, coat, belt and provisions, "away."

"Oh, yes, please." Wolfram chuckled, feeling the weight of the world slip out of his body now that Rhea was out of his sight. "Maybe show me to your stables or barn? I wanna call my wyvern over to settle him in, too."

"Of course! I would also like to meet your steed if I may, Wolfram." Dimitri smiled politely, taking a step back so as to allow Byleth to walk in front, following right after her.

"Sure! Aquilo loves meeting new people!"

Dimitri flashed a conflicted smile before speaking again. "Oh, so your mount's name is Aquilo? I am sure he is a very well taken care of beast, given how warmly you speak of him."

"Yeah, I just need to blow on here and-" Wolfram reached for the wing-shaped whistle he carried on him at all times, finally realizing he wasn't playing the amnesic part very well. "And, um, he'll come. Heh, heh..." He cleared his throat.

Dimitri flashed that same smile, patting Wolfram in the back once they reached the bottom of the staircase, "is something the matter? Oh, perhaps it would be better for US to do the talking, huh, Professor Byleth?"

"I suppose it would, yes," Byleth nodded, guiding them towards the dormitories once again.

"Eyyy, so you were just gonna waltz around with the new guy without introducing him to anyone? That's mean!" A playful voice sing-songed beside them the moment they walked out of the building into the garden. Wolfram looked from Dimitri to Byleth before locking eyes to the brown skinned young man chilling right beside the entrance, as though expecting them.

"Oh, Claude, good timing!" Dimitri smiled, walking towards the young man. He wore a uniform akin to Dimitri's, though his cape was yellow and the brooch holding it differed in design. "This is Wolfram; he will be transferring to the Blue Lions House starting today."

Claude whistled, "damn, you got another student in your House? A guy gets lonely like that!" He chuckled as he almost danced away from the wall towards Wolfram -- a set of steps of one who knew how to sneak up to someone. "Wolfram, huh? What's your story, kid?" He looked at the boy from below, a playful smirk never leaving his lips.

Tilting his head to the side, Wolfie simply smiled in confusion. "Um, I don't think I can tell you much... I don't really have any memories."

"Oh, so we're playing a guessing game, are we?" Claude looked at each one of them, immediately sagging his shoulders. "Wait, don't tell me you're actually trying to play the amnesia card. And don't tell me you fell for it, Your Highness?"

Before Dimitri could even open his mouth to retort, another voice interrupted them from behind -- a velvety yet authoritarian tone that made Wolfram somehow uncomfortable. "Oh? Surely Dimitri would not be THIS trusting?" A white-haired woman stepped out of the hedge on the opposite side. "I have said this before and I shall do it again: being this trusting will surely lead you to your demise."

"Edelgard," Dimitri bobbed his head to the girl, glancing to the tall, black-haired man behind her. "And Hubert. What a pleasant surprise -- is nothing we do here a secret? Not that I was trying to conceal anything, of course."

"As opposed to your new friend here?" Claude saw the opportunity to jab and he took it, smirking. "No hard feelings, Wolf -- I can call you that, yeah?"

"Uh- sure-" Wolfie didn't know where to look, feeling like a prey in the middle of a den full of predators.

"Please, both of you -- can you not see you are making him uncomfortable? Everything is new to him."

Edelgard crossed her arms, shifting the weight of her body to another leg, lifting her chin. "I do not claim to believe this 'amnesia' nonsense, though I have not been informed of how... foreign he looked." She said, looking straight at Wolfram before shifting her gaze to Dimitri.

Wolfie almost gave into the urge to check his bandana again, but under much self-restraint, he managed to refrain from it.

Dimitri sighed, shaking his head. "Will the two of you stop this? Trust is the first step to understanding! Irregardless of believing his story or not, one should first reach out to him for anything to have any chance of starting!"

"I will say this again -- you are a fool if you think this sort of mindset will allow you to go far in life-" Edelgard rolled her eyes with impatience, not looking for one but quite ready to start a fight if needed. However, a loud clapping sound startled the words out of her mouth.

"Alright, that is enough out of all of you." Byleth had clapped her hands, attracting everyone's attention. "We were going somewhere when the three of you surprised us -- either come with us or let us be on our way. You will have plenty of time to get acquainted from now on, after all." She said matter of factly, the authority of a teacher making the three house leaders purse their lips in their own way.

"You are once again right, Professor." Edelgard took a step back, breathing in. "I will apologize for getting in your way without any sort of warning, but I will take no words back."

Claude playfully crossed both arms behind his head. "Alright, yeah, I'll go with you. Despite everything, I still think it's not fair for the new kid to be enrolled into the Blue Lions right away without even properly meeting the other House leaders."

"Well, you two are not giving the best of impressions." Byleth said, almost sarcastically, as she once again led the way, prompting all to follow.

"House leaders?" Wolfie risked asking, trotting right beside Dimitri.

"You mean to say you didn't even hear about the Houses before Dimitri swept you to his class? Unfair!" Claude slapped the Prince's back, quickly putting himself between the two of them.

"Actually, Wolfram was assigned to Professor Byleth's class, not the Blue Lions specifically-"

"Same thing!" Claude threw his hand to the air, nudging Dimitri with his elbow. "Anyway, sorry about all this. I'm Claude, leader of the Golden Deer House. And the cheerful lady over here is-"

"I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, leader of the Black Eagles House and First Imperial Princess, heir to the throne." She declared, clearly annoyed. "You should at least properly introduce yourself, Claude."

"Meh, those titles only get in the way! I'm a people person more than the heir to something or the other. And I feel that Wolf here is also a person who likes to be around other people, am I right?"

"Oh, wow! How did you know?" Wolfie smiled, still uneasy regarding Claude's suspicion and Edelgard's animosity, but quick to wanting to make friends. "I think it's more comfortable to be around lots of people -- maybe it can trigger my memory, too."

"Riiight," Claude winked, quickly leaning on Wolfie as they walked. "Although it's already decided that you're on the Blue Lions House, I'd still like to try and seduce you out to the Golden Deer -- how about we go to the Dining Hall together once we're finished with whatever you're gonna do now? Nothing says 'bonding' better than sharing a meal, yeah?"

"Oh, what a wonderful idea, Claude. You took the words from my mouth." Edelgard jabbed from beside Wolfram.

"It was actually what I had in mind after we helped him unpack." Byleth said, a few steps ahead of them. "We don't know how long he's been lost in the woods, so I'm sure he must be starving."

"Great! It's settled, then." Claude smiled, pulling Dimitri along. "We're all gonna get acquainted real quick!"

From under Claude's arm, Dimitri chuckled. "Are you alright with that, Wolfram? If you would rather rest, we would understand."

"No, we wouldn't!" Claude protested in the middle of them, but Dimitri masterfully ignored it.

"I'm okay with it, yeah. I want to know everyone as soon as possible -- I wouldn't want to give more trouble than I already did, and being used to everything is the sure way to help me pull my weight around."

Dimitri smiled. "Very well, then. I am glad to have you aboard, Wolfram."

During the short trip from the dormitories to the dining hall, Wolfram already met so many new people! There was Dedue, a tall, black man who was under Dimitri's vassalage -- and Wolfram's roommate for the time being -- who had a most soothing presence; Ashe and Ignatz, two short-haired young men with the brightest of smiles and welcoming nature; Raphael, whose 'muscles were hungry for second dinner' as he had said and took upon himself to accompany the new kid to put 'some meat into his bones', his own words.

There was a mention of a girl who never left her room as they passed it, but no word came from her direction, so Wolfie kept being led on. They saw Cyril, a young page of Rhea's who was still hard at work despite being almost bedtime. As they made their way past the greenhouse towards the pond, Wolfram saw many 'Knights of Seiros', as the students introduced them, though some of them didn't wear the armor Wolfram saw most of these knights wearing (namely a purple haired woman, but he didn't get much time to look at her as he was being led towards a staircase that would lead to the Dining Hall). 

At the door, a pair of young women noticed the group arriving.

"Oh, hey there, Dimitri, Professor- oh wait, who's this with you? Why are his eyes closed? Are you gonna surprise him with something?" The short, ginger girl asked cheerfully, bouncing towards them.

"Annie!" The taller girl beside her pulled her ear.

"W-what? What'd I do? Did I mess up?"

"Uh, my eyes are actually open, they're just really thin." Wolfram snorted. He never really had to go through this since people knew his father well, but he did hear from Henry how he wouldn't stop hearing this while he grew up. It was rather amusing, honestly.

This Annie girl turned red so quickly she almost exploded. "Oh no no no no! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be rude or anything-"

"I'm sure Wolf here doesn't mind! Let's get to eating already! C'mon, you two join in too!"

"Bah! B-but we just left-"

"There's always room for more food!" Raphael placed one hand behind each girl's back, pushing them inside.

Their little group grew larger and larger as they found more people in the Hall to share the table with -- soon Wolfram was surrounded by so many people he'd feel dizzy if he weren't so at home! He liked bouncing his eyes from one conversation to the other all around the table, laughing as though he belonged there from day one.

After Annette's (he learned her proper name after she introduced herself) accidental insensitive question, most of them refrained from asking about Wolfram's amnesia, though the topic did bounce up here and there mostly due to Claude's boundless curiosity.

Wolfram could say that he at least met all of the people who were originally from the Blue Lions House -- those born in Faerghus, wherever that place was.

He met quite a few from the Alliance (who had transferred to Byleth's class as well) and one or two from the Empire, also his classmates at the Blue Lions House.

All in all, Wolfram's first night in Fódlan was so eventful, he was only able to blow the whistle Cynthia had given him way past midnight, once everyone had said their farewells. He asked the knight on duty at the stables for a spot to place Aquilo in before looking up to the moon and smile, content with how everything turned out.

Sharing a room with someone felt much better than Wolfie would've thought, honestly. He was used to always having someone by his side, so sleeping alone during the first few nights would've been nerve-wracking to the boy, to say the least.

And Dedue was a most wonderful roommate -- although a young man of few words, his calm breathing during his sleep lulled Wolfram more often than not. It was for a short while, however -- a week after transferring, Wolfram already had his own room, in the middle of Ashe's and Dedue's. He felt somehow safe to be close to his former roommate as well as near the one who bore the Heart of Immortals.

He wouldn't take Byleth out of his sight!

... Which meant that, for the time being, he had to do what she said and be a proper student.

At the Officers Academy, apart from the usual classes and training sessions, the students also had extra-curricular activities at the end of each month. Wolfram had arrived three days after the mission for October -- rather, for the Wyvern Moon -- had ended. The mission for this month was to investigate a village for a plague or something. He didn't understand very well, but the situation appeared to be dire.

It was also during the classes that he learned the reason why Claude had been complaining about Dimitri amassing students for his own House -- the Blue Lions, originally composed only of youths who hailed from the Kingdom, was an amalgamation of people at the moment. There were those born in the Empire as well as those from the Alliance -- all of them attracted to the way Byleth conducted her classes.

Which were, quite frankly, phenomenal. She brought out each student's hidden talent; encouraged and challenged them in equal terms. The way she explained strategy was as easy to understand as how she taught the proper way to hold a blade.

Apart from his family, Wolfram never really had a proper instructor to guide him through his progress. Of course, Nidra's dragonstone training as well as Cynthia's riding and lance lessons, not to mention Henry's magic instruction were all invaluable to him, which he internalized down to a T. But Byleth was someone whose entire existence was there to help him learn and improve martially. Such focus was the push he never knew he needed.

The weeks passed by so quickly it made Wolfram dizzy; there were so many people to meet he was still having trouble memorizing everyone's names. He did internalize meeting Flayn and Seteth, however -- the lesser presences he had sensed the day he arrived. The way the both of them also masterfully hid their ears made Wolfram even more aware of the fact that shape-shifters weren’t a thing this world was ready to accept.

Dimitri would take it upon himself to walk with Wolfie whenever possible -- wanting the boy to gain as much freedom as he could inside the monastery as he got himself acquainted with everything.

As fast-paced as everything was, an even more sudden event happened: The Knights of Seiros started mobilizing themselves to go to Remire Village two days before the expected.

"Things turned south in the village," Wolfram heard Jeralt, Byleth's father, say as he barked orders here and there for the Knights under his command. "Get your kids geared up and ready -- this isn't gonna be pretty."

The trip down to Remire was quick and silent, the students wearing their emotions like a thick cloak -- a dark shadow hovering over their shoulders.

For some reason, Wolfram still felt a bit detached from the reality of that world -- perhaps because of his mostly sheltered life and busy first few weeks at the Monastery, the dark cloud hovering over this world hadn't settled in for the half-manakete yet.

He had been so focused on simply staying beside Byleth he hadn't given much thought as to the reason of his summoning.

But he was about to find out.

Oh, he was about to find out, indeed.

The smell of blood hit his sensitive nose earlier than his companions', making him retch and cough before even setting foot at the borders of the village.

Crazed, distant screams filled the air, making the students flinch and the knights scowl. Pleas thrown towards the sky in a helpless attempt to find salvation tore the wind, sending shivers down Wolfram's spine.

People were dying.

They were dying at the heaps.

Afraid to give the next step towards the village, Wolfram heard everything before he saw it. The sound of a dull blade struggling to cut through flesh; the sputter of blood staining clothes and walls as its owner's life ebbed away. The laugh of a person whose mind was lost, driven to murder by the sport of it.

A woman whose long hair was pulled before her throat was slit, the scream she didn't even have time to utter dying alongside her limp body.

The smell of fire and burned flesh -- putrid skin being set aflame simply by the joy of it.

Wolfram widened his thin eyes to the point that they were visibly open -- something that rarely, if ever, happened. His entire body trembled, his mind going numb. What- whatever was happening there?! That was no plague, that was no fight, that was no war! That was slaughter, for the pure and simple joy of it!

"What's going on here..." Jeralt grumbled under his breath.

"U-ugh..." Dimitri shook his head, leaning his weight on his lance lest he felt too sick to stand up.

Byleth patted his shoulder. "Are you alright?" She gestured circles around his back.

"D-do not concern yourself about me -- rather, the villagers, we must save them..."

Wolfram's sight and hearing started spinning, his whole body losing its sense of balance. The voices all around him started to jumble one atop the other as they deliberated the best course of action as quickly as they could.

In his mind, Wolfram remembered the moonless night his siblings Cynthia and Meliodas pulled him to have a serious talk. It was about war, survival and... taking another person's life.

"Back in our future, we only had to kill Risen, so it was all fun and games," Cynthia scoffed as she sat down on the table right outside their house. The way she spoke displayed the weight of her age and the burden of two wars she had to carry in her youth. Even though she looked exactly the same, she's had two decades to mature and work through all that had been plaguing her since childhood.

Downcast, Meliodas nodded. "However, once we were sent here -- in here, we had to kill humans to survive. We took lives of people, those we swore to protect back home."

"It... It was so hard. It never got easy." Cynthia clutched her hands, then turned to her little brother. "I don't know how's the state of the world you're going to, Rammy, but you gotta understand one thing, okay?"

Wide-eyed, Wolfram felt a bit uncomfortable with the way Cynthia spoke. "O-okay, Sister." As he said that, Meliodas squeezed his shoulder in silent support.

"You're probably gonna have to kill people." She said in one breath. "You'll do it to survive; you'll have to tell yourself this. You can't hesitate just because they're people like you and me -- well, not actually like us, but you get it -- they WILL not hesitate to cut you down and we'll never be able to handle it if we lose you out there, okay? If it's too hard for you to do it with a clean conscience, you can throw the blame on your loved ones. You can say it's because you have to see them again! Because they'll be sad if you're gone! Use anything you have to justify it -- to make it less terrible."

"It's a daunting task," Meliodas crouched beside Wolfram, pressing his forehead against his little brother's arm as he squeezed his hand. "One we can only allow time to heal."

"Heh, I'm sure Father would be way more practical about this, especially back in the day." Cynthia shrugged, grasping Wolfram's hand with everything she had. "It's okay to feel bad about it, okay, Rammy? It's gonna hurt, it's gonna haunt you. But don't let them drag you down with them... don't let the guilt win, okay? Think about us... it's for you to come back to us!"

Tears blurred his vision. Wolfram could barely stand straight, his nose itching with the stench it avoided to smell, his stomach turning so readily he knew it was only a matter of time until he threw everything up.

"Hey, Professor Byleth? The new kid's not looking so good." A high-pitched voice came from below Wolfram just as he started to hear things again. "He's turning blue! D'you think it's better for him to sit this one out?" Caspar held Wolfram's arm in an attempt to keep him standing.

"It's fight or die out there, kid. If you don't have the stomach for it, maybe you should've stayed home." Jeralt said briskly as he rushed his mercenaries into the villager's rescue.

Byleth took Wolfram's hand, her cold touch bringing him out of his nausea. "We're going out there to save these people, Wolfram. I believe you can do this, but I need you to believe in it, too." She said firmly, squeezing his fingers. "I don't want you to believe that this is going to be easy -- it never is. But you can't allow-"

"... the guilt to take me." Wolfram said, taking a deep breath. "I-I understand, Professor. I'm sorry for panicking... p-please guide me."

"Our goal is to-"

"Isn't that-" Ever watchful, Dedue spotted suspicious figures at the edge of the village. "Your Highness, it seems that those are the ones in charge of this madness."

His head low, Dimitri clutched his hand so hard it tore the seams of his gloves. "It's clear what must be done. Kill them all." His voice deepened as though shaken by a subtle madness. "Don't let a single one of them escape! Sever their limbs and crush their wicked skulls!"

Widening his eyes, Wolfram looked from Dimitri to those cloaked in black, so far into the village.

'Trust is the first step to understanding!' Wolfram could hear Dimitri's soft voice comforting him.

'Poor thing, to be lost in the woods in the middle of the night.'

Dimitri's kind words rang in Wolfie's head, contrasting with what he had just said.

'Kill them all. Crush their skulls.'

Wolfram gripped at his weapon, his heart torn, not knowing what to fear.

Rhea.

Remire.

And now... Dimitri.

"Br-brother, Sister... Mother..." Wolfram whimpered, his lips trembling as he turned around to get to Aquilo.

The battle was nigh, in more ways than one, whether he was prepared for it or not.

[shadowedoracle]

An Unconventional Gift

Happy Rumbelle Christmas in July! This is my RCIJ gift for the lovely @moonlight91​. I’m sorry you had to put up with me and my poor communication when my life and health overtook me in the last month. Also I’m sorry I drifted over into the next day -- I’ve no idea what timezone you’re in but I’m sure it’s well in Sunday wherever you are.

I hope you enjoy your gift. This what happens when I come up with a new idea so you have a complete gift and write it all at the last minute. I enjoyed working on it even if it wasn’t my initial idea and is perhaps quite different to what you were expecting from your prompt. I’m planning on posting my initial idea too at some point so if you have any interest in seeing that I’ll hopefully post the prologue and first chapter soon.

Summary: Rumple brings a baby back to the Dark Castle.

Enchanted Forest AU and canon-divergent.

Prompt: Fairytale Murder

Rating: G

Notes: Fluffy and but also angsty because that’s what apparently happens when I decide to try to write fluff. 

Also because I decided to write this new idea at totally the last minute please let me know if you see any typos because I haven’t obsessively been through this as many times as I normally would before posting.

Warnings: Depression (not in any real depth or detail but it is there).

[AO3]

“And then I reached into her chest and do you want to know what happened next?”

There was a high pitched giggle that was answered by a happy little burble.

“Do you? Yes of course you do.” The high voice trilled. “You’re going to be the baddest and most evil of sorcerers when you grow up.” A scaled green-grey scaled hand reached into a carry basket and tickled light haired baby’s stomach. “Yes, you are. You are, you are.” An excited shriek echoed through the large hall.

Rumplestiltskin grinned at the baby. “Yes. You are and I’ll teach you all there is to know. It’s actually quite simple. You see, little one, the thing you have to remember is people turn to me in times of need, out of desperation, for things they can or won’t do for themselves. It’s amazing what people will ask an evil sorcerer to do for them. You just have to know how to extract the right price for your services. You will want to remember that for yourself later.”

The baby stared back at the sorcerer solemnly, then gave a little twitch of her head which, if you squinted at it carefully enough, you could just about interpret as a nod. The sorcerer’s grin widened and was answered by a small, almost wry, quirk of the lips from the baby. Could babies have a wry sense of humour?

Then again this one seemed to be one of those children who was born an adult in all but body. Her intense blue eyes gleamed with intelligence as if she was in fact taking copious mental notes. If she could have held a pen she surely would have been taking actual notes. She would surely grow up to be a scholar of great renown. Or would have if she had been born into a world that readily allowed women to become scholars.  

The sorcerer, snorted to himself, that was of course, a stupid a narrow minded view. Not that he expected anything less from the fools of this land any more. He’d been alive for centuries and how much had changed? Precious little. Women, rich and poor still, died in childbirth and far too many infants never lived to adulthood. The lands were still mostly ruled by the same noble families, mostly by men (although there were notable exceptions), the poor were still expected to give their lives in the battles the noble families fought between each other and occasionally existential threats such as ogres.

Which really reinforced to him how little had changed -- they were still fighting ogres wars of all things. He had always believed when he had been called up to fight them that they would finally have stopped the ogres in their tracks once and for all. Of course he’d been a naive fool back then and now understood something of the harsh barrenness of many of the ogres’ lands and the complicated nature of ogre politics. They weren’t nice and fluffy creatures (then again neither was he) but they weren’t all the rampaging senseless villains most humans believed them to be.

Well all humans he’d ever met in fact except perhaps the one living in his castle. He didn’t think he’d met another person in his life who so much as considered that perhaps not all ogres were monsters. Some would have mistaken such compassion for softness but then only one who had never clashed minds with Belle would have ever have thought her soft. She was gentle in many ways but soft implied that she was weak and malleable and his Belle was neither of those things.

She also wasn’t his Belle. She might have come with him as part of a deal and have been his maid (although with the all the Castle’s self-cleaning spells and other spells to provide food and drink she was barely even that at times) but she most certainly wasn’t his in the way he sometimes wished she could be. She would never look at him that way. If he was a better man he could have released her from her deal with him and let her go out into the world and find the happiness she deserved. But he was still a monster, a selfish one at that, and he couldn’t bear to lose the light she had brought back into his life.

He knew one day he would find his son but that seemed a long way off most days. Before her there had been so many times when he wouldn’t rise from his bed for weeks when the despair over the loss of Baelfire consumed him. But with Belle here even the darkest days were easier. Having someone who would smile at him and even if she was not able to fix his problems somehow made those days less unrelentingly terrible.

She also would not allow him to mope and feel sorry for himself for too long. The first time he had fallen into one of his dark spells after she’d arrived and holed himself up in his chambers, she had waited three days before hammering on his door and then barging her way into his inner sanctum when he didn’t respond. He supposed he could have used magic to lock his door but he’d been so startled it hadn’t ever occurred to him. He’d never bothered with any locks, magical or otherwise until he given her her own suite of rooms and wanted to make sure she’d feel safe from anyone, including him.

Even that first time Belle hadn’t asked him any questions and just taken one look at his pathetic form and walked out. He’d assumed that she wouldn’t be back --  who would after looking at his matted and wild hair, his crumpled night shirt and his twisted bedsheets from   his nightmares? He sincerely wished the legend that the Dark One didn’t need sleep was in fact correct when the nightmares over took him. But his little maid had surprised him. She’d returned less than five minutes later with a glass of water and a book. She’d placed the water on his bedside and after looking around his room and discovering that he had no chairs in the room sat down beside him on his bed and began to read to him.

He supposed if he were a better man he would have summoned a chair for her but he wasn’t one. If this was to be the only way he would ever have Belle in his bed he would not pass up the opportunity. So he had lain there entranced by the sound of Belle’s voice and the tale of the hero Gideon. She had read to him for hours and while the heavy feeling in his heart and his limbs was still there somehow it wasn’t quite as bad as it had been before.

Hours later she laid down the book looked him in the eyes. She had smiled somewhat sadly at him and he felt a stab of guilt at idea he someone made his little Belle feel sad. But before he could apologize and grovel for her forgiveness, she had stood up an informed him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t think he’d eaten in at least three days (he hadn’t but hadn’t really noticed) and that she expected him downstairs for dinner. Since he could think of no way to reply to that or how to argue with the fierce and stubborn creature that was his maid he’d acquiesced.

Ever since then whenever he’d have one of his episodes she’d come to his room and read, sometimes out loud to him and other times silently to herself. Either way she would always sit next to him keeping him company. Sometimes she’d absent-mindedly reach out and stroke his hair and it was all he could do not to purr. He would have liked it if she touched him like that out of true affection and not pity but he couldn’t stop in taking comfort from them. They were a soothing balm for his ancient dark and misshapen soul.

She never asked him any questions during those times --  which was a good thing as he didn’t trust himself to answer them without soaking her shoulder in tears. She simply was there and all she seemed to expect was that he managed to magic himself from bed at least once a day to appear for a meal that she’d make with her own rudimentary cooking skills. Some of the concoctions she’d laid in front of him tasted truly terrible he had to admit. But the idea that she cared about him enough to try to make him a chocolate cake was to him a far sweeter gift than her simply instructing the castle to make one for her (and not just because she’d gotten the salt and sugar confused).

No his little maid was kind and compassionate towards him and he had found himself slowly opening himself up to her in a way he hadn’t to anyone ever before. Not even with Milah. Belle might have just been his maid and gradually becoming, dare he hope a friendly companion? He couldn’t hope to yet have met the bar for a friend yet but she was a constant in his life that even a year ago he never would have believed possible. Now he was about to change both their lives. He just hoped that she would be pleased and not mad at him about it. Maybe he ought to have consulted her first?

A loud wailing broke though his reverie. He looked back to the baby and took in the red screwed up little face.

“Hush now. Little one. Hush. What’s wrong now? I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

He reached into the basket and stroked her cheek. She took a big breath and for a moment it seemed like that was all that would be needed to calm her. But then she let out an even louder cry and it seemed that that hope would be in vain. He sighed and took the tiny little one into his arms, sniffing her slightly as he did so. That wasn’t the issue it seemed.

She was lighter than Bae had ever been to hold even though he thought from some of the other signs that she must be at least a month or two old by now. Of course he hadn’t arrived home until weeks after Bae’s birth but he was certain Bae had never been this tiny even as a newborn. His anger stirred as he felt how thin the babe was in his arms.

A quick thought later and a leather bottle appeared in his hand and he shifted the baby in his arms slightly and tilted the bottle so that the teat was in front of its mouth. He hoped that the nipple shaped object in front of it would be enough for the babe to work the rest out but apparently he had slightly over-estimated its intelligence at this stage at least. He shook head, amused at his own stupidity and gently opened the baby’s mouth and placed the bottle’s nipple inside. For a moment she seemed confused but then she gave an experimental little twitch of her mouth and her whole being seemed to relax as she began to drink more enthusiastically.

“That’s it. Drink up little one. There’s more where that came from. Infinitely more, in fact. Now I should go back to telling you your story where was I? I was telling you about how I murdered that women who wanted to harm you. Yes? Now I had dispatched the first two and the final was one was choking on my magic when I reached into her chest and I out her heart.”

There was a crash from behind him and the large doors to the Great Hall flew open and Belle came rushing into the room.

“Rumplestiltskin, I didn’t realize you were back already. Do you want your tea now or later? And what was that noise just now? I could have sworn I heard a baby crying but...”

She trailed off as the sorcerer turned towards her and she caught sight of the small bundle in his arms. His generally soft and good natured maid’s countenance took on a much sterner and frosty appearance as she glared at him.

“And where, pray tell, did that come from?” She tapped the heel of her foot against the floor while he tried to remember how to make his mouth work.

“It’s not what you think, Belle.”

“And what precisely is it that you think I think?” Her stony expression almost made him cringe before he reminded himself sternly that he was the Dark One and he did not cringe to before his maid no matter how much her liked her or how sharply he could feel the points of the her stare piercing into his skin.

“Well… You probably think I broke my promise I made to you after that whole, er, um, incident with Jack and Jill’s baby. But I didn’t. I swear.”

“Then where exactly did it come from? It didn’t just appear out of thin air.”

He gave a nervous little giggle, “No, no, of course not my dear… I mean, dearie. I was getting to that. You see there was this village that called on me to help it deal with a problem it was having. The town’s babies had all gone missing from their cribs overnight. Their parents woke up pleased at first with a good night’s rest because of not having been awakened in the night to discover they had all gone. So I was called by some of the parents to help them find their children.”

“For a price.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well of course for a price. The Dark One doesn’t do anything for free and he most certainly does not do good deeds. But you needn’t worry about the price, it was just some gold the families offered up. Nothing more, er, exotic, this time.”

“Then how did you get her”, a quick nod of that beautiful head towards the bundle in its arms, “if not as the price?”

“I’m getting to that bit. Now I can see you’re not in the mood for the clever little bit of magic I did to find the children right now. But it was a particularly good piece of magic to find them so quickly, if I do say so myself.”

His maid didn’t look the least bit impressed with that.

He swallowed hard. “Right. Anyway, so I tracked the children to a cave in the middle of the Infinite Forest. A trio of those gnats who call themselves ‘Fairy Godmothers’ had taken them in the hopes of using their blood to enhance their powers. They weren’t the first ones, just the first time they’d branched out to taking a whole village. Which was foolish if they’d hoped to go unnoticed but it seems from what I found there they’d done enough experiments to ascertain that this would likely have worked. Well… I’m dark but I’m not like that.

“I dealt with the fairies then returned the rest to their homes but this one was well left over, nobody claimed her or even knew whose she was. I tried to track her parents with magic but there was no trace of them. There’s only one reason for those that particular spell to fail -- if they’re dead. So she’s an orphan, see.”

Belle’s face had softened during his explanation and while she still looked serious she looked more like her usual self. He became aware that the sucking on the bottle had stopped too. He removed the bottle from the girl’s lips and vanished the bottle.

“And so what are you planning on doing with her now?”

He gulped and stared down at baby to give himself courage.

“Well it seems that she needs a home.” He glanced back up at Belle but she seemed to be more focused on the baby in his arms. That was good. Maybe she wouldn’t be too mad about this after all.

“And well, I was, er, wondering if you wanted her.”

Belle’s eyes snapped back up to his face. She looked at him, startled.

“Me?”

He suddenly wondered if perhaps this was a bad idea and that maybe he should have asked her whether she wanted a child before bringing one back for her. She’d never wanted her marriage to Gaston perhaps she hadn’t wanted children either. It would hurt to give this child up if she didn’t want her. In less than a day he’d become rather fond of the little one. But he could hardly keep her if Belle didn’t want her, he wasn’t a fit and proper person for such a task on his own.

“Well… That is if you, um… If you want to of course. It’s just you seemed quite fond of that one baby but gave up on marriage and all that life to come here with me. We agreed that I wasn’t to take any as part of deals any more but I thought this might be, um, a mutually agreeable way for you to get that chance.”

“Rumple...”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to.” He hurried to add. “I’m very good at finding homes for babies.”

“Rumple...”

“I have experience doing it.”

“Rumple!”

“And I wouldn’t hold it against you in the least...”

“Rumplestiltskin! Will you let me get a word in?”

“Oh, right of course.” He swallowed hard of over the dryness of his throat and unconsciously ran a finger over the forehead of the baby.

Belle smiled at him slightly and took a few steps closer to him and the baby.

“Are you sure about this?” She reached out a hand towards him but stopped just short of touching the baby.

“Yes, yes of course.”

“You won’t mind a child running around the place all the time?”

“Why I mind that? Would I have suggested this idea, if I didn’t mean it?”

She shrugged. “You might not have fully thought this through.”

Well he hadn’t but that didn’t mean he was going to regret it if she wanted this.

“Does she have a name?” Her hand grazed the baby’s head as she said it.

“Does that mean you want to keep her?”

She smiled softly her gaze now fully on the baby. “Yes. Yes I want to raise this child with you Rumple.”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. When she phrased it like that it made it sound like she would be letting him do more help her out every so often. Almost like she would let him help parent the child, almost like they were a couple. He was sure she didn’t meant the latter but perhaps this meant she viewed him as a friend of sorts now? He felt a dampness that felt suspiciously like tears begin to well up in the corner of his eyes. She held out her arms to him and he wordlessly transferred the baby into her waiting arms.

“Why, hello little one.” She smiled one of the most radiant smiles he’d ever seen down at the babe in her arms and she was answered with small little smile. “You’re beautiful aren’t you? What’s your name? Rumple, you didn’t tell me if she had a name yet.”

He didn’t think he could reply, he wasn’t sure he’d seen a more beautiful sight since he’d lost Bae. He swallowed a few times to force the emotions he was feeling down enough so he could answer Belle’s question.

“Yes… Well at least I assume it’s hers it might not be I guess. It was sewn into the blanket I found her in but I suppose that blanket could have belonged to another child first…”

She nodded, “Well let’s assume that it was probably her name then unless it’s truly dreadful.”

He shook his head, “it’s Alice.”

“Alice? That’s a good name. I think it suits her don’t you think?”

He nodded the sight of Belle cooing down at the baby was too much for him to trust himself with words right now.

“Well. Then I guess we’ll have to make a place for you to live, little Alice. We didn’t have much time to prepare but let’s see what the castle can rummage up for us shall we?”

He cleared his throat, “I um, might have taken the liberty of preparing the room next to yours as a nursery. At least until you decide how you want to decorate it of course.”

She smiled at him. “Well let’s start there shall we Alice?”

As she reached the doorway she turned and looked back at him and said, “Oh and Rumple, just so you know, this wasn’t the only way I could have had a child and remained faithful to our deal.”

He nodded wondering what her point was. He supposed she could have found herself some young man in town to get her with child. It didn’t quite seem Belle’s style somehow but perhaps he’d been wrong. She rolled her eyes slightly and he watched the slight crinkles form at the sides of them as smiled at him.

“Just the next time you decide you want to raise a child with me Rumple, perhaps consult me first? We could try the traditional route of acquiring one. I hear it’s a lot of fun.”

And with that she breezed out of the room while he stood gaping after her.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 8: EGGMAN NEGA

There are some villains I like. And there are some villains I don't like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That's where this comes in.

This is a series of mine in which I go into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the villains in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I'll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. Keep in mind that these are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don't bite. :>

Anyhow, for today's installment, we'll finally be tackling Sonic's beloved arch-nemesis, the rotund doctor himself, the scheming conquerer in the making, the forever determined mad scientist...

...'s clone.

Eggman Nega.

The Gist: It was just an ordinary handheld adventure for Sonic the Hedgehog, as he made his way through the opening act of Sonic Rush to foil the nefarious ambitions of Dr. Eggman yet again. The doctor hinted early on that there would be more than meets the eye this time around, to which Sonic initially disregarded as typical Eggman talk. However, he changed his tune when he met a purple cat who he had never seen before... and later, a mysterious fellow who looked rather derivative...

“Look, no disrespect, but I’d rather not stumble over my vowels and offend an entire section of the human race by accident.”

It's quickly established that this man, who went by the name of Dr. Eggman Nega, hailed from an alternate dimension. The same applied to the aforementioned feline, Blaze, who in turn was revealed to be the Sonic to this Eggman's... Eggman. So she was well-acquainted with Nega's dickery, and it didn't take long for her to conclude that he was responsible for the regular Eggman's presence regarding her side of affairs.

Eggman and Diet Eggman, in league with each other, planned to use the growing time-space rift between the two dimensions to, scientifically speaking, fuck shit up. But together - after having an unnecessary scuffle (because all new heroic characters in this franchise are obligated to fight Sonic for trivial reasons) - Sonic and Blaze went Super and Burning, kicked the Eggmen's Eggasses, and restored everything back to normal. And that was the end of that, right...?

Pfft, ANYONE who looks exactly like Eggman can say that.

Not necessarily. Nega made a surprise return in Sonic Rivals, where he was revealed to be the mastermind of attempting to turn the world into a card, a plan that even the actual Eggman would probably laugh at. This cemented him as the... by my estimation... sixth antagonist to screw the doctor over. And that's if we're not counting villains who were unaffiliated to begin with.

Somewhat more concerning however, his backstory was completely different. Rather than being Blaze's arch-enemy in an alternate dimension, he was now inexplicably Silver the Hedgehog's arch-enemy IN THE FUTURE!!!!!, having been revealed to be the descendant of Eggman. Nevermind that this would imply Eggman found someone worthy of his affection (himself notwithstanding). At least Blaze's backstory remained intact, right.........?

Not that it stopped Nega from reestablishing himself as Blaze's dimension foe in Sonic Rush Adventure.

That would explain the Eggman jamboree.

And then that didn't stop Nega from reestablishing himself as Silver's future fiend in Sonic Rivals 2.

YYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

It's been said that the future interpretation is the true and honest one for Nega, because with a character like this, you clearly have nothing to lose by picking the more confusing option. Not that it matters too much nowadays, since he's been spending his decade long retirement at the Olympics. Best place for him, really.

The Design: Nega's appearance is a masterstroke of telling a story purely through the visuals. The grey-haired moustache establishes how Nega is older, and thus wiser, than the real Eggman. The red tracksuit confirms that Nega is always quick to call for action, unlike the defeatist outlook implied by Eggman's black pants. The use of the Classic yellow tusks on Nega's jacket, as well as the bumblebee shoes, make it apparent to the viewer that he is more Eggman than Eggman will ever be, as he encompasses the heart and soul of the character, of which the original simply cannot live up to.

Now you see, anything can sound deep when you talk a lot of shite.

He should really get that hip checked.

All sarcasm aside, Nega's design gets a solid place in the "not particularly great" tier, and that's putting it nicely. Whether it took five days or five minutes to come up with him, we are given no point of interest outside of the very thing that makes him unoriginal. After all, why should we care about the thought put into his look when they didn't...?

Even his poses are the fucking same.

Sonic got himself a counterpart in the form of a serious-minded cat with pyrokinesis. Tails got himself a counterpart in the form of an excitable raccoon with (implied) hydrokinesis. But all Eggman gets is a guy who looks just like him, right down to the name. I would say there's some injustice here. If you're going to make an alternative equivalent of the doctor, go wild with it. Think up as many physical contrasts as you can. Make the character their own being, rather than a halfhearted copy and paste of another, better villain. Especially when the latter is the villain of the series.

The Personality: Nega is set up to be an eccentric yet brilliant mastermind, even though Eggman is also such.

Nega is set up to provide a polite contrast to the often childish Eggman, even though Eggman is also capable of maintaining a polite facade when he feels like it.

Nega is set up to be capable of some truly evil things that can shock and disgust others, even though Eggman is capable of that too.

Noticing a pattern?

That said, there is one notable difference: Nega's lapses in logic are ten times more unintentionally hilarious.

“And I’ll have, you know that, my grammar has, always been, perfect!”

“...By removing myself as well in the process! On another note, what's 2 plus 2?"

There's really not much to add about Nega's personality. Whatever you can say about Nega, you can say about Eggman too. And I'd prefer not to be redundant when it's the turn of the real deal.

The Execution: If it wasn't obvious at this point, Nega falls flat as his own character and as a counterpart for Eggman. Either he's a repetitive second wheel (the Rush duology), or he's a straight up poor man's replacement (the Rivals duology). He has very little going for him that the original Eggman doesn't already have, which makes his shortcomings all the easier to spot.

Now you might be willing to think "But Nega is a darker mirror of Eggman! He shows a more vicious and sadistic side of the doctor! This type of character provides a fascinating insight into Eggman's character!"

Well here's the thing.

We already have a character who fulfills the role very well as a darker mirror of Dr. Eggman.

His name is Dr. Eggman.

Contrary to popular belief (which I'm sure has been influenced by certain adaptations), the real Eggman is still a massive bastard when you look past his outwardly silly demeanour, and as such, he's fully willing to commit surprisingly cruel acts of villainy that you wouldn't initially expect from him. This includes the enslavement and corruption of an innocent alien race, breaking the entire planet apart for the sake of waking up an ancient beast, and going full suicide bomber on Station Square when Chaos is seemingly defeated.

Part of the genius with Eggman's character is that he has two contrasting sides: the playful manchild, and the monster within. Giving the latter half to an uninspired recolour simplifies Eggman himself in the process, because by doing that, he's only one half of himself, and he's less effective as a villain in his own right because of it.

Well at least even the official cast don't seem to take Nega seriously.

“Oh no! He’s going to turn the planet into a card!” *smiles joyfully*

This review was a hard one for me, because there's only so many times I can point out that Nega is a complete ripoff, and aside from that elephant in the room (eggaphant in the room?), I don't have much else to work with. So I'll just reiterate that Nega has fortunately been reduced to Olympic fodder and call it a day.

Meanwhile, the real Eggman literally conquered the world. Just a reminder.

Crusher Gives Eggman Nega a: Thumbs Down!

[celestialholz]

Qcard 28? If that ok? 🖖🏻

OH MY GOD I WAS HOPING FOR THIS ONE. Thanks anon! :D Sorry this has taken me a hot minute, I’m generally quite crap at life…

Welcome to your dose of Sunday evening feels. Call it dinner, because one needs a balanced, nutritional meal of angsty love at least once a day, and I am LIVING for soft Qcard tbh. #DoctorHolly (tl;dr? The word of the day is ‘bittersweet’, my friend). Y’all can blame these Expansion feelings I’m giving myself…

(Fun fact: This is something of a spiritual prequel to last week’s prompt on snowballs [http://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/179725251226/qcard-and-11-it-seems-to-fit i.e. this thing], though you definitely don’t need to read that first - it’s simply the same ring we discussed there).

28. “Marry me?”

Prompt list here: http://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/179662102941/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you

“Would you marry me, if I asked?”

“Would you marry me, if I asked?”

Across his quarters, Picard glanced up from his PADD with exasperation.Of all the ridiculous things the god had ever asked him…

“Congratulations,” he drawled. “Amongst a veritable myriad ofways to distract me that you’ve employed over the years, you’ve finally discoveredthe most absurd.”

Q leaned over the sofa, his lips curled into a frown.

“I’m being serious, Jean-Luc.”

The Captain emitted a disbelieving titter as he consulted the dutyroster he’d been working on once again.

“Now I know you’re not. When are you ever serious about anything?”

“I am perfectly serious about us, as well you know, Picard.” Q’stone was snipped, eyes hard, and his lover gave a soft sigh as his PADDvanished with a brilliant, petulant flash. Well, if the only way he couldcontinue working was by indulging him… twelve years beside him, and the entitywas still frustratingly insecure.

Then again, he certainly wasn’t offering him his full attention.He hitched upright, heading for his replicator.

“Tea, Earl Gray, hot.” It materialised with a whir. He took aconsidered sip, smiling, feeling Q’s eyes heatedly upon him. “So, where wouldwe do this? Would we perhaps hire out Ten Forward?”

He noticed Q’s vague surprise in his peripheral vision as he perused ashelf of exotic trinkets from their travels.

“I… hadn’t considered it,” he muttered, “but I’d thank you to thinkthat I have more class than your pit of drunken starship iniquity.”

Picard smirked at the carvings of an ancient vase, shaking his head.

“I’ll be sure to inform Guinan of your glowing report.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Q grimaced, features turning pensive. “KatiganVIII, perhaps. Ten-foot high waves of crystal upon a cornflower shore, usbeneath them in wedding finery, or whatever passes for it in Starfleet. Oramongst the ruins of Lanigo, seeing as you apparently have a distinct fondnessfor them.”

The dry observation didn’t pass up Picard, who pointedly moved to an artefactof different origin – an archaic toy, which slotted together in multipledifferent ways. He rotated it curiously, giving it his full concentration.

“You are aware, presumably, that Will would be the onboard officiant inmy absence?”

“Yet another reason we’re not doing it here,” Q growled. “I wouldrather perish than recite vows in that man’s general direction.”

The lack of conditional tense didn’t escape the observant Captain’snotice, who manipulated the puzzle with vague amusement – was he assuming hisagreement?

Two can play theteasing game, mon dieu.

“I imagine the buffet would be a culinary delight…”

“Oh, exquisite. The most delectable of canapés, caviar, Tinibriansnufflegorts, foie gras… anything French, naturally, as well as your family’sbest vintage on ice. Candles absolutely everywhere, in shades of deepestvermillion and most regal sapphire, permanently aflame. It’ll be incrediblyromantic, Jean-Luc,” he cooed.

Picard directed a curious look at a (hopefully replicated – Q hadassured him) section of the Bayeux Tapestry that had hung upon his lounge wallfor a little under two years, gaze drilling into the primitively renderedswordplay – so he had thought about this, then.

“Of course, the crew would all be invited.” His voice remained admirablylevel, verging on sarcastic – this was a spectacle, surely, nothing more thanan elaborate attempt at distracting him –

“No,” Q replied instantly. “This isn’t for them.”

A resounding clack echoed as Picard’s fingers slammed a pieceinto place with far more force than he’d intended.

He’s not – he isn’teven joking. Dear gods above…

“Oh,” Q murmured sadly. “You actually thought I was just tryingto distract you.”

Why wouldI not think –Picard strangled down his own astonishment, digits lightly shaking against theflaking wood, his tone beaten into submission to remain neutral after a fewsharp swallows.

“What would you say, Q?”

The deity paused for a moment, knowing full well that he wasn’treferring to his own shock.

“Oh, something doubtlessly trite and exuberant,” he remarked softly. “Perhapsthat I have lived for millions of years, and that I never understood theconcept of a soulmate, or maybe that I would rip apart the known universe toprotect you, and trust me, I know it inside out. It’d be along those lines,certainly.”

Tears sparkled in slate-grey eyes, Picard finally deigning to turn tohis beloved.

“Do you have any idea how terrifying that is?”

“Significantly less so than the thought of being without you, I assume.”Q was staring earnestly at him, his expression matter-of-fact.

The human took a slightly ragged breath, heart beating wildly.

“Why do you want to do this, Q?”

Q murmured a bitter half-chuckle, getting up to prise the puzzlequietly from his hands.

“Because you don’t get to stay with me forever,” he whispered. “I canbring you back, of course, but that would be dependent, and I…”

He swallowed silently, collecting himself, cursing the very idea ofthis obtuse mortal and the weakness he had spawned at his very essence.

“It would be something of a comfort to know that somehow, in spirit,you’re always going to be by my side.”

He clicked softly; the conundrum split into pieces, the fragmentsincomplete without one another, but the ultimate prize at their heart. Picard’sgaze locked to it breathlessly, enraptured; it was unmarked platinum, jetblack, sparkling with what seemed like impossibly condensed stars.

“A permanently collapsing supernova.” Q’s voice was somewhat hoarse. “Capableof invisibility when you’re in anyone else’s company – I entirely understand ifyou don’t want this made into public knowledge – and I can make it into anecklace or something, if you’d rather –”

“Q.” Picard choked his name.

“Yes, dear?” His eyes were steel with intensity.

“Ask me the damned question.”

The god nodded nervously, fingers raising; Picard caught themimmediately, gaze burning.

“No,” he requested quietly. “No pomp, no ceremony, no relocation – not evena candle, mon dieu. I’m not here to respond to my magician,simply to the one I love.”

A distant, thankfully uninhabited spiral galaxy burst into an infernoat Q’s anticipation, at the absolute delight that was this human – he was wellwithin his rights to expect the universe’s most exuberant proposal from a manwho could easily deliver it, but he was more than content to simply accept thebasic question, already knowing his exact reward. He was truly exceptional.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, trembling silently. “Do I just –”

Perhaps that galaxy was far closer than he’d assumed, because by theContinuum, was it just him or had it retroactively climbed several thousanddegrees in the previous few seconds?

“However you wish, Q,” Picard reassured gently.

A muttered relief left him – thank the stars for that. It wasall getting vastly too… sweet.

As you command,mon capitan…

A firm hand spun the Frenchman, who gaped upwards and through theexoglass of his quarters as fireworks burst into existence, spelling out asimple question: MARRY ME?

“Surely you didn’t expect me to be so basic, Jean-Luc?” Hebreathed to his ear. “Not very me, is it?”

Picard burst out laughing, utter, fond exasperation permeating to hiscore.

“You entire fool,” he whispered. “I must be insane, but yes.”

Q beamed, arms wrapping tightly around him from behind.

“Guilty as charged,” he murmured. “Thank you, dear. Now,if you’ll excuse me, at least spiritually – I was rather delighted, you see,and I’m fairly certain half the quadrant saw that. Somewhat ruins the conceptof subtlety.”

Picard shook his head with a grin, willing for once to forgive him hisindiscretion, silently basking in the majesty of the universe as he pressed awarm kiss to his beloved’s clasped hands.

Perhaps he’d entirely lost the plot, but by his god, he’d willingly acceptit for this wondrous brand of madness.

[raywritesthings]

Cupid Doesn’t Lie

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Carrie Cutter, John Diggle, Quentin Lance, Felicity Smoak, Roy Harper, Thea Queen, Lyla Michaels Pairings: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: When Cupid tries a different tactic after their first meeting, Oliver must confront a truth that he's been hiding from for years. AO3 link

This is an alternate version of the episode “Draw Back Your Bow” from season 3, in which I attempt to course-correct where the Arrow writers went wrong. Hopefully, you enjoy!  

Carrie was unlucky in love, so it seemed. The Arrow had so far rejected her overtures, and their first meeting had been spoiled by him bringing that little sidekick of his along. She’d wanted more time to make a lasting impression, just the two of them. But instead she’d had to cut and run, leaving her hostage behind to slow her lover down so she could regroup.

How could he not see they were destined for each other? He’d saved her from certain death!

But of course, a part of her thought with chagrin, she wasn’t the only person he’d saved. Some people he’d saved countless times. And she didn’t have to search far for a name. It was contained in article after article that she’d clipped out in her search for every scrap of information she could find about her lover.

Dinah Laurel Lance.

Even back when he’d been going as the Hood, when no one in this city had even tried to understand him — not even Carrie, she could privately admit — that scheming lawyer had been right in the thick of things. She’d even been sniffing around that gym Carrie had followed the Arrow to and then had been forced to watch as he’d carried Dinah Laurel Lance out of a car wreck and to safety in his arms.

It had been Carrie who took care of the culprit for him in the end. Carrie who had made sure Isaac Stanzler had been properly punished.

So what did this pretender have that was so special that Carrie didn’t? What made her think she owned something that wasn’t hers?

Maybe that was the problem her lover was having. He wasn’t thinking straight because there was someone standing in the way.

Well, she could take care of that.

Carrie waited in the shadows outside the gym her quarry was determined to frequent. She was staying late, which was all the better. Less witnesses meant an easier getaway. At last the door opened, and Dinah Laurel Lance made her way out into the night, totally oblivious to the arrow trained right on her heart — but something gave Carrie pause.

If she killed her rival now, she wouldn’t have the answer to just how the other woman had so thoroughly grabbed her lover’s attention. And she needed that information badly. So...perhaps simply dispatching her would have to wait.

Arrangements would have to be made to suit her newly forming plan. That visit to Kirby would have to be postponed. She switched out her arrow for a tranq dart instead, a grin spreading over her lips as she readied her shot once more. Carrie didn’t think she’d mind that at all.

—-

Waking up to harsh lights and her arms forced behind her back was something Laurel wished she didn’t have a familiarity with. She was past tolerating it, though.

With whatever time she had, she knew she needed to assess the situation. She’d been leaving Ted’s gym when something had struck her neck. Obviously whatever it had been had knocked her out so she could be moved...here. The spot felt sore, and she could tell her head was tender on the other side. Not a soft landing, then.

Her hands were cuffed behind her. Not to the chair, though, which made all the difference. Whoever she was dealing with didn’t think her much of a threat; they’d soon learn.

“Good, you’re awake,” a voice with a falsely cheerful lilt said, and Laurel looked up. “I was hoping to get a little girl talk in.”

Standing just beyond the glare of lights was a woman with red hair and a smile that wasn’t friendly.

“Who are you?”

That earned her a giggle. “I’m Cupid, stupid.”

“Cupid…” As her attacker came closer, Laurel could better make out the quiver strapped to her back and the bow hanging by her side. Her head fell back slightly to rest on the chair. “Another archer, just great.”

“You’ve had some experience with them, haven’t you?”

That gave Laurel pause. “What do you want?” She sat back up as best she could. An unfamiliar archer who had no qualms targeting the innocent. “Were you the one who killed Sara?”

The woman’s brow knitted together. “Who’s Sara?”

“My sister.”

The woman scoffed. “Oh, I don’t care about any of that.”

But it didn’t make sense. If she hadn’t been the one to kill her sister, why was this woman after her? Why did Laurel feel like she’d seen her before?

“I just care about my boyfriend,” this Cupid continued with a little smile on the end.

“Your boyfriend,” Laurel echoed for lack of anything else to say. It was best to keep her talking, unless she was planning to leave her alone for awhile, but something told Laurel escape wouldn’t be that easy.

“Don’t tell me I have to spell it out for you. Isn’t it obvious?” The woman brandished her bow about with an expectant look.

“Oh no,” Laurel blurted without thinking. This could not be happening. This had never happened, not even when there was a shred of a possibility for a criminal that it just might work—

“Oh yes. The Arrow. Now you understand my problem.” She imagined if there was a table to perch on, Cupid would have done so. As it was, she simply paced. “It’s not easy planning a life together when he keeps rushing off to you. So tell me, what is it he sees in you?”

Only her good sense kept her from laughing in the other woman’s face. “Nothing. If anything, he sees something he doesn’t like and gets angry about it,” Laurel felt it fair to amend. “But nothing — let’s just say I wouldn’t call him my boyfriend. That’s ancient history.”

Cupid didn’t even blink. “He saved you from a burning car last week.”

Laurel bit back a grimace. “That was a coincidence. He would have saved anybody.”

She didn’t even have the memory of it to really know what Cupid was talking about, having been unconscious. She only knew the after, when Oliver had offered her a ride home and told her he still cared about her despite their arguments over Ted and her training. And Laurel had hugged him because she was just so tired of fighting him, tired of being angry. They were on seemingly separate paths, but a part of her still just couldn’t let go.

This was absurd. How could she have gone from thinking she might have found Sara’s killer to this? Why was she even having this conversation?

“Wait. How’d you know about the car?” Laurel sat up as best as she could. “Have you been following me?”

Cupid rolled her eyes. “I never wanted to follow you. The Arrow is my desire.” Her face transformed into a glare. “It’s your own fault for getting in the way and stealing his heart from me!”

This woman had to be insane. Clinically. And the only way she was going to get out of this — short of some miraculous opportunity affording her the time for a mad dash to the door without getting skewered — was for her to simply accept that this was how her captor saw things and try to explain why it wasn’t the case. In as gentle of terms as possible.

“Look, I would love to help you. I really would. But you might as well let me go.” Laurel shook her head as Cupid watched her with narrowed eyes, obviously waiting for some kind of trick. “If you want to get at his heart, then you’re wasting your time. The last person the Arrow is in love with is me.”

Her eyes were on her shoes as she finished and her voice had gone quiet. That had been the only way to keep it from wavering too badly to be understood. It was one thing to know it, another to say it herself.

There was a theatrical gasp from her captor. “You really believe what you’re saying, don’t you?” The woman leaned in closer, and Laurel turned her face away. “You must be heartbroken.”

“I’m not,” she answered with more force than she’d intended.

“Hm. Now that’s a lie. Careful, I don’t like being lied to.” Cupid straightened up again. “And you better hope my boyfriend proves you right.”

“Because then you’ll let me go?” Laurel ventured cautiously. It sounded simple enough. And she’d had more than enough practice in Oliver telling her he didn’t love her; what more could it hurt?

“Because then I don’t have to kill both of you,” Cupid answered, perfectly matter-of-fact. Then she gave that sickly sweet smile again. “And I don’t think that’s something either of us wants, is it?”

“But you love him!” Laurel protested before she could rethink yelling at the armed and mentally unhinged woman.

“I do. But if he won’t love me, I’ll make sure he won’t be loving anyone else.” Cupid took one of her arrows from her quiver, holding it in her free hand. “Good thing he doesn’t love you, right?”

He didn’t, and if it saved him maybe that was a good thing. But Oliver would be walking into a trap with this woman for her sake regardless, only Laurel didn’t see a way out of it for herself this time. Cupid had guessed her feelings; that alone was a crime to be punished by death in love and war.

—-

Oliver’s mood was going from bad to worse as the days passed, it seemed. Roy was still grappling with the knowledge of the police officer he’d killed, leaving him off his game; Felicity was beginning a something with Ray, which had only been all too inevitable once he’d turned her away even if John still seemed to think he had a chance at anything; Laurel was determined to keep training for a life that would only hurt her in the end; the only person who seemed truly interested in spending time with him at the moment was a certifiably insane woman who seemed to think killing was the best way to get his attention.

He could only be glad she hadn’t done more to Roy than knock him out when she had had the chance, but they couldn’t afford to wait for Carrie Cutter to make her next move. Of course, with Felicity on her dinner date and Roy helping Thea reopen the club tonight, that was making matters more difficult.

But those frustrations were all forgotten when the Arrow’s phone rang with a call from Lance. Hopeful for a new lead, Oliver picked it up. “Detective?”

“Your new girlfriend decided to leave me one of these fancy phones, too,” said Lance. He sounded rattled. “And according to her, if I ever wanna see my daughter again, I’m supposed to get it to you.”

“Laurel.” Oliver’s grip on the phone tightened so much it was a wonder it didn’t snap. How could Cutter have known to target Laurel?

But it hit him: of all his friends, it was Laurel who was publicly associated with his vigilante alter ego. Cutter didn’t have to know his identity to use that against him.

John had looked up with a frown when Oliver had said her name, but it was Lance who spoke. “I have no idea what she wants, what her terms are. The note she left with the phone says if anybody but you tries to call her she’s gonna kill Laurel. And I know she’s not bluffing cause Laurel’s not home or at that gym she’s been going to. You know I don’t like to negotiate with these crazies, but...” The man trailed off helplessly.

“I’m on my way.” He hung up and went for the case holding his gear.

“What’s wrong with Laurel?” John asked.

“Cutter took her. She must have realized I know her.”

“No, you know a lot of people,” John said with a shake of his head. “She’s figured out this one touches a nerve. It’s a trap, Oliver, one you shouldn’t get yourself into. I’ll get Roy.”

“Roy is busy. And so is Felicity, John, before you suggest her help.”

“She’d make time for you,” John insisted.

“She shouldn’t have to.” He couldn’t ask her to do that anymore than he could blame her for making the right choice for herself. Association with him was dangerous; Laurel was proof that it left a mark no matter if there was a relationship or not.

Just a few short nights ago he’d held her in his arms, safe and secure. Now she was at the mercy of one of his enemies. For all he kept trying to dissuade her from entering the field, he still failed to protect her.

“I’m just not sure you’re thinking with a clear head right now, man,” Diggle told him.

“I know what I have to do, Digg.”

He changed and was leaving the base within five minutes. Lance was waiting out behind the precinct, and Oliver wasted no time in holding his hand out for the phone. He turned away from the man and dialed.

Cutter picked up on the second ring. “Who is it?” She trilled.

“You know who it is,” said Oliver, already fed up with the woman’s games. “Where is Laurel Lance?”

“With me, silly, you know that.”

“And where is that?”

“You want to come see me? It’ll have to be alone. Captain Lance and your little friends aren’t invited.”

“Fine. Where do you want to meet, Carrie?”

“You know the place. Our special spot.” She gave a short laugh that quickly cut off, and her tone turned to steel. “But you listen to me, lover. I've been burned before. And if you're playing me, I promise you, I will kill her in an instant.”

With that, she hung up.

“Well?” Lance asked as he lowered the phone.

“I have to meet her alone. Wait here, Detective.”

“Hey, wait!”

Oliver shot a grappling hook and traveled up to the rooftop, leaving Lance behind. He traveled from building to building further into downtown. There was only one place he knew of that Cutter would consider special to the both of them; the place where he’d saved her from a Mirakuru soldier, just outside the subway station.

There was no one waiting on the street when he got there, but the lights were on inside. He ziplined from across the street onto the roof of the building that housed the entrance to the subway station. There was a small window set high off the ground, so Oliver rappelled down the side with another grappling hook arrow to get a look inside. What he saw nearly made his heart stop.

Laurel was sitting in a chair, hands bound together and utterly defenseless as Cutter paced back and forth in front of her. There was an arrow in her hand ready to nock on the bow in her other. Ready to pierce Laurel through, ready to rip her from the world just as violently as Sara. His fear come to life despite all his efforts.

Oliver worked to even out his suddenly ragged breaths as he thought through his options. A surprise attack wasn’t feasible; the windows were old and would creak if he tried to pry them open to get a shot. Shooting through the glass would be an even bigger giveaway, and Cutter would have time to get off a shot of her own before he could fire his second arrow.

He spoke into his comm. “Digg, you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” said Felicity, and he frowned. Digg had pulled her from her date for this. “Did you find Cupid?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s the plan?” Diggle asked over the comm.

“I go in alone.”

“Oliver, I really think you should wait for Roy.”

“Laurel doesn’t have that kind of time.” Cutter had wanted a meeting just between them, and she was too close and too prepared to strike at Laurel to risk any kind of trick. He would have to go in and talk the woman down. He could only hope he was more successful than Cutter’s therapist had been.

Oliver descended to the ground, then walked around to the door. He opened it just a crack, as silently as he could manage.

“...any minute now,” Cutter was saying, whether to Laurel or herself he could only guess. Then she spun on her heel to face her hostage. “And I would give serious thought to saying anything when he does get here.”

“Why? You’re killing me anyway,” Laurel said, and Oliver’s heart missed another beat.

“Well, how painful do you want it?”

That was enough. He shouldered the door open the full way, and both women looked towards him. There was a cut and some bruising on one side of Laurel’s face, but she was aware. It still left him feeling guilt and anger all at once; this was happening to her because of him, but he would get her out of it.

Cutter’s lips were curved in a smile. “Hello, lover.”

Oliver switched over to the voice modulator and his reply was a growl, “Not your lover.”

“Because you’re hers?”

He stopped in his tracks. That’s what this was about? Laurel’s lips were pressed tight together and her eyes were fixed on the wall behind him. This was the last place either of them wanted to be or the last conversation they wanted to have.

“No. She has no part in this, Carrie,” Oliver tried to reason. If he could secure a way for Laurel to get out of danger, then he could focus on catching the murderer in front of him. “This is about you and me, like you said.”

“You’re so right,” Cutter agreed with a smirk. Then she drew the arrow back on her bow and held it there, pointed at Laurel.

Oliver stepped forward. “Hey!”

“Well, if she’s not a part of this, we don’t really need her anymore, do we?”

Laurel stared the arrow down, unflinching and showing no hint of the fear she had to be feeling. But this was something she’d done so many times before, and so many times it was his fault.

Unbidden, an image of her on the table in the base with that same arrow embedded in her chest and her eyes open and unseeing rose to his mind. His knees trembled for a moment, only just managing to hold his weight. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the panic down. Not her, it couldn’t be her.

“Carrie. If you really know me at all, you know that’s not what I do. There’s no justice in this.”

“But she loves you,” Cutter said, an audible pout in her voice.

Oliver shook his head. “She doesn’t.”

Cutter’s head tilted. “Interesting. You’re not lying, either.”

“What does she mean, ‘either’?” Felicity’s voice asked, and he only narrowly stopped himself from flinching. He’d almost forgotten about the open communication line.

It was a fair question. He wanted to ask but knew the situation was resting on a razor point as it was. Anything unnecessary would have to wait. And Cutter still had Laurel at arrow point.

“Are you satisfied?”

“Oh, not nearly,” Cutter replied with a smirk he was beginning to loathe. “Do one thing for me?”

He grimaced but said, “Name it.”

“Tell me she doesn’t mean a thing to you. That you don’t care about her.” The string of Cutter’s bow was trembling with the strain of holding the arrow back, the arrow that was still aimed directly at Laurel’s heart. “You don’t love her.”

He could do that. To save her, he could do almost anything — and if Cutter wanted him to deny that, too, he would. Gladly, if it meant Laurel’s life.

He had done this before, even, and to a much shrewder opponent. But he had needed Slade Wilson to believe, if only for the short term, because he wouldn’t have been able to think straight if it had been Laurel in his enemy’s grasp like now. So he’d lied.

Oliver’s mouth opened, but he found himself frozen, incapable of speech. A cold sweat broke out on his brow and his mouth ran dry as his mind stuck on a single thought: he had lied.

Lied when he’d fallen back on selfish choices with Sara instead of trying to build something real with Laurel. Lied when he’d turned his back in that hallway and on the pledge he’d upheld those five years on the island to make things right between them. Lied every time he had tried to push her further and further away because it had been easier than risking his whole heart—

The only person you're fooling is yourself.

John had been so right and yet so very, very wrong. Oliver was not in love with Felicity; that had always been the lie.

He was in love with Laurel Lance.

“I’m waiting,” said Cutter, an edge creeping into her voice.

Laurel was, too. He could see her chest rise and fall with each breath, confusion in her eyes as the seconds stretched on and he said nothing.

Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“I…”

“Say it. Oliver, say it,” John was urging him.

“I can’t,” he uttered, no more than a whisper.

The silence on the other end of the comms was louder than words would have been.

“What was that?” Cutter asked.

He didn’t know what to do. The truth would kill Laurel; lying would as well. There was no third option. He was frozen in a moment, and he had nothing.

“He doesn’t,” Laurel answered for him, tense and looking at Cutter, who turned her neck towards her again.

“That’s for him to say.”

“But he doesn’t,” she insisted, sounding so sure. How had he let that happen? “He can’t. He’s only hesitating because he’s worried you’ll kill me after.”

“Because he cares about you. Loves you,” Cutter reasoned.

“Because he cares about people, not for me,” Laurel argued, her voice breaking on the last word. There were tears shining in her eyes from the harsh light cast over her. “Not because he loves me!”

“Laurel—”

“I know he doesn’t! He…” Laurel’s eyes had jumped from Cutter’s to his, and whatever she’d been about to say died in her throat.

He could tell the exact moment she realized, could see it in her eyes. Disbelief and shock giving way to a brief flicker of something soft — and then despair.

Laurel’s lips formed soundlessly around his name. Ollie. Her head shook once, as if that alone would cause Oliver to remember his denial.

But now that the truth was out, he couldn’t forget it. Not again. Why had he done it? Why had he wasted so much time, put her through so much pain, just to realize what he’d known all along?

“I’m sorry.”

Cutter let loose a nasty laugh. “A pair of hopeless lovebirds! Never dreaming they carried the key to the other’s heart. How sweet.” Acid dripped from her tone. “Why don’t I help you with a couple of Cupid’s arrows?”

“Oliver, Oliver, we need a plan.” John was back, whatever his thoughts on what had been said unknown.

Laurel was more direct. “Go. Get out of here!”

“I don’t think so. Loverboy first!” Cutter whirled to face him, a snarl on her lips and her hand releasing the arrow—

His dodge, it turned out, was unnecessary; her shot went wide when Laurel aimed a hard kick at the back of the archer’s legs.

Oliver wasted no time in firing a net arrow which his opponent staggered into. Laurel had dropped off the chair, legs tucked into her body as she forced her arms under and around them. It left her at her most vulnerable, which Cutter, still only a few feet from her, seemed to notice.

A flechette slid out of her sleeve and into her palm as she turned her back on him again. Oliver fired a grapple arrow, catching the end of her coat and pinning it to the floor. Cutter was forced to a knee but soon ripped her clothes free.

With her other hand she was already using the sharp end of the flechette to slice through the bonds of the net, but, before Oliver could take more than two steps forward, Laurel was back on her feet, cuffed hands in front of her which she swung right at Cutter’s head.

The woman went down, and Oliver was wrenching the flechette from her fingers before she could get over her initial daze.

“She saved you,” Cutter mumbled. “How about that?

Oliver’s head lifted, and he and Laurel shared a look full of apprehension. There was so much that demanded saying, but none of it could be done in front of Cutter.

He licked his lips and gave a try anyway. “Grant teach you that one?”

A breath escaped Laurel, not quite a laugh, and her shoulders relaxed.

The distant sound of a siren registered as it grew louder and louder. Someone must have tipped Lance off to their location.

Oliver returned his attention to Cutter, but she had fallen unconscious. Only minutes ago she had held the power to take one of the most important people in his life from him, and now she lay helpless by his feet. He knew he should feel sorry for the woman and the condition she couldn’t help that drove her to such extremes. Cutter had even appealed to the similarities between them at their first meeting.

Maybe two years ago her argument might have stuck. But where Oliver had worked to control his own darker impulses, Cutter had allowed her madness free reign. Because of her refusal to accept the truth a man was dead, and Laurel had nearly suffered the same fate. It was hard to let go of the anger that thought inspired, particularly when he had nowhere to direct it as Cutter was in no condition to listen.

But Oliver also knew decisions needed to be made fast. He switched off the voice modulator. “Can you explain to your father what happened?”

Laurel nodded. “Might leave out some details, but sure. You should go.”

“I’ll take Cutter with me.”

“What? Why?”

“ARGUS should be able to use her. And I don’t think prison will do her mental state any favors.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything that can,” Laurel muttered, arms crossing over her chest. Privately he agreed with her. But ARGUS was far more capable of holding their prisoners than the police. And Cutter’s inside knowledge of the SCPD made her especially dangerous to entrust with them. The last thing he wanted was for her to break out and seek new revenge against Laurel.

Oliver lingered still. It didn’t feel right to leave Laurel behind, not with what had just occurred here.

The slam of a police cruiser’s door outside decided things for him, however. “I’ll double back as soon as I can.”

“Yeah,” said Laurel, not quite looking at him. “See you.”

With that, he hefted Cutter up from the ground and made for the back exit. He’d have to use the time apart from Laurel to think of what he needed to say.

A part of Oliver wasn’t sure there was enough time in the world to figure that out.

—-

John wasn’t sure he’d ever believe what just happened.

Oliver had refused to say he didn’t love Laurel. It was like they’d all jumped back two years. What was he thinking?

Felicity hadn’t said a word as it had all unfolded. She’d stared straight ahead, face a blank mask of calm. Only once it became clear Cutter had been apprehended had she spoken, though not over the comm.

“Captain Lance should be there soon. I was able to pinpoint the address from Oliver’s tracker and send it to him.” She’d pushed her chair back with the clear intent to leave.

“Felicity,” he’d began, not sure where he was going with it but knowing he had to try.

“John, it’s okay.” Her smile had been a poor imitation of her best, but her eyes had remained dry. “I knew. We all knew. I just — I should go.”

She’d probably gone straight back to Palmer. Man, Oliver had really blown things.

He didn’t beat around the bush in telling him so when he got back from dropping off Cutter.

“When I said I didn’t think you were thinking straight, it wasn’t exactly this I thought would happen. Something like it, maybe, but even I thought you had enough sense.”

“John, I do not want to talk about it right now.”

“Well that’s too bad, Oliver. Cause Felicity heard everything.” He watched his friend wince and crossed his arms. “So what are you going to do about that?”

“I don’t know. Was she upset?”

“Went back to Palmer.”

Oliver absorbed that information. “Well...good.” He turned and opened the glass case to start setting his gear inside.

“Good?” John repeated, wanting to be sure he’d heard right.

“I told you I wanted her to be happy. Palmer can do that for her.”

“And not you?”

“I think we all know that.”

“That’s cause you haven’t tried, man. But you want her to be happy because you love her.”

The wearied calm broke, and Oliver whirled around. “No! That was the lie I told Slade. You were the one who insisted it was true, John. Not me.” The hard resolve in his eyes faded. “But maybe I wanted to believe you, because it was better than knowing I’d used her. She’s my friend and my teammate, and I do care about her, John, but I used her as bait. That’s not love.”

“And what you have with Laurel is? A lot of people would say you’ve used her, too.” Oliver frowned, but John wasn’t done. “I’ve watched you try to get over her for two years.”

“Yeah, ‘try’ being the key word. All those relationships accomplished was letting me run from something I knew would be hard. But I made myself a promise when I was stranded on that island, John,” Oliver said. “A promise to make things right with Laurel. And giving up on that has been my mistake, but I can’t keep lying to myself about it.”

“Well, what if you give up again? How many times can you put Laurel through this?” He had to ask. “Knowing you have feelings is one thing, Oliver, but how does it solve all the problems between you?”

“I don’t have those answers. I don’t know what to tell you,” Oliver replied. “Being honest with myself doesn’t mean I’m expecting a relationship.”

“So you’re just planning to be alone the rest of your life?” Why was he so determined to just punish himself over and over?

“It’s better than using someone else to feel less alone. I did it with Sara and McKenna and Helena...but I’m never going to be able to commit myself to someone else. Not fully. And that’s not fair to expect that to be good enough.” Oliver drew in a breath and released it. Despite the gloomy prospects he’d outlined for himself, he didn’t look depressed. There was an inner peace in the way he held himself. “I have to go see Laurel.”

John shook his head but held his tongue. If Oliver didn’t want his advice, he wasn’t going to waste his breath giving it.

He did have a lot to say about it once he got home, pacing their kitchen and occasionally having to check his volume so he didn’t risk waking Sara.

“He and Felicity could have had something nice. Now we’ll never know. But I can’t see something nice coming out of him and Laurel giving things another shot. They’ve tried it, and things didn’t work out. Now they’re gonna try it again all because they nearly died together?”

“Sounds like us when you put it that way,” Lyla remarked wryly.

John’s mouth snapped shut. When he opened it again, he was scowling. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m just pointing out that it’s not unheard of for people who split up to find each other again. People change. They learn from their mistakes.”

“So you think they should get back together? That Felicity should just let Palmer charm her with his million dollar necklaces?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” Lyla turned off the stove and faced him. “You need to let them make their own choices, Johnny. Not force something you want to happen because you think it’d make your friends happy.”

“Oh, so wanting my friends to be happy makes me the bad guy?” He couldn’t help grouching.

“No. Just makes you stubborn,” she corrected with a smirk. John sighed and took the plates out to the table.

Lyla was quick to follow with the meal.

“Now, Oliver’s just as stubborn, so you’ll have to let him see this through. And as for Felicity, from everything I’ve heard she’s doing pretty good right now. This Palmer is interested in her, values her input. He promoted her from secretary to Vice President.”

John grudgingly had to admit that was an improvement. Felicity had always hated that secretary job.

“Maybe she falls in love with Palmer. Maybe she doesn’t. It doesn’t have to be the great love of her life, and neither does Oliver.” Lyla shrugged. “You told me she hasn’t had a serious boyfriend since that college hacker. She’s young and still trying to figure out who she is and what she wants.”

“And I need to let her do that,” he guessed.

“It’s a good thing you’re smarter than you are stubborn, Johnny.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Guess that’s how we made it work this time.”

“We got there in the end,” she agreed, leaning in to share a kiss.

John resolved to put all the rest of it out of his mind for the night; only time would tell if Oliver and Laurel could pull off their own little miracle.

—-

She had no idea how late it was by the time she made it back to her apartment, but Laurel still couldn’t sleep. She’d waved off staying a night at either the hospital or her father’s, as well as his suggestion of posting a guard outside her building.

“I know you’re worried, but I think I’ll be good for the night. It’s not like I’ve ever been kidnapped twice in a twenty-four hour period.”

“Well twice in less than a week is pretty close,” he’d pointed out.

Laurel had talked him down eventually. And she was glad she had refused supervision when there came a knock at her door. Laurel checked in the peephole first, but her instincts were right: Oliver stood on the other side.

She drew in a breath and then pulled the door open. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice was soft with his nerves, and it took him a moment to ask, “Is it okay if I come in?”

“Yeah.” She stood aside and watched as he naturally made his way to the sitting room. He stopped there, however, clearly unsure whether to sit or not. Laurel gestured to the couch and took her own seat in the chair across. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“That’s putting things simply.” Oliver perched on the edge of his cushion, hunched slightly forward. He could spring back up to his feet in a second if he wanted. She didn’t blame him; a part of her was terrified to have this conversation.

Oliver began eventually nonetheless. “So...what happened.”

“You mean me getting kidnapped because a mentally unstable woman was convinced I stole you from her or you refusing to tell her you aren’t in love with me?”

“The latter is probably more important right now.” Oliver drew in a breath, his eyes dropping to his hands folded together. “Laurel, I wasn’t refusing to tell her something. I was refusing to lie. Because I realized something tonight that I’d been trying to run from for a while.” He looked back up at her. “And that was my feelings for you.”

A dim part of her knew this was the part in every film where the two lovers came together, where a younger girl — her hair a deep brown, a sparkle to her eyes that had never seen a bad day — would push past the obstacles between them and capture his lips in a searing kiss for the ages. But she was older now and more tired if not any wiser. She also really liked that decorative bowl on her coffee table and wasn’t about to risk smashing it.

But mostly, she was hearing the words as if they were up on a screen separate from her. It didn’t seem like it could be a real moment, not in her life.

He seemed to guess at some of her inner turmoil. “You looked pretty upset about that at the subway station.”

“I wasn’t—” Laurel stopped and looked off to the side at the candles in her fireplace. “She told me she’d kill you if you didn’t answer the way she wanted.”

“Oh.” Oliver took a few moments to absorb that while Laurel continued to stare into the flames. “So you’re not upset. About me still...”

She shrugged. “It’s your feelings. You’re allowed to have them.”

“Cutter seemed to think it was a mutual feeling.”

She knew what he was trying to get at, the words he wanted to hear from her. Laurel didn’t know if she could take that leap of faith again. Not after crashing so many times.

“Why are you convinced you’re still in love with me?” She asked instead, turning sharply to face him. “Because I was pretty sure I got the right message last year.”

His head bowed again. “Laurel, if I could take back some of the things I said, I would. All I can do now is say that I’m sorry.”

She knew that, the same as she knew that she’d already forgiven him for it. Laurel couldn’t even count the things she wished she could take back from the last year.

Oliver wasn’t done. “When I came back from the island, I thought things would be easier. That I could finish my father’s mission and be done with it, and then I could focus on my family, and on you most of all. But that’s not what happened. I failed. And the consequences of my failure are affecting the city to this day. The things that I’d sworn to achieve on the island seemed impossible, and that...it left me angry. At myself, at all the things that were going wrong. It wasn’t something for me to take out on you, but I did and I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t exactly the best friend to you last year, either.”

He shook his head. “I expected you to support me when I couldn’t even tell you what I needed support for. That wasn’t fair. Maybe if I’d been honest, things wouldn’t be like this between us now.”

That was a tempting thought. If she’d known what Oliver had been struggling with when he returned the previous year, would she have felt it wrong to continue what they’d started before the Undertaking? Was there even a point to wondering when that just wasn’t their reality?

“So what are things between us?”

Oliver sat back, thinking over his words. “I know how I feel. This is it for me, Laurel. I’m done trying to find you in another person. But I can understand if I’m not the person you want.”

She still hadn’t given a definitive answer. Maybe that wasn’t fair to him, but there was still so much to hesitate over. And even if Oliver had changed his mind about how he felt for her, that didn’t necessarily change his mind about how he felt for what she was doing.

“I don’t want to just be someone’s girlfriend or the woman everyone knows the hero will rush in to save. That’s not all that I am.” Her arms crossed over her chest, bracing for the argument that was sure to follow her next words. “And I can’t even think about being with someone who won’t respect that.”

Oliver’s eyes squeezed shut. “Laurel, I do respect you.”

“How can you say that when you won’t respect my choices? When you don’t think I’m capable?”

“It’s not about being capable! I know you could be capable with more training.” His expression turned hard and cold as stone. “But Sara was capable, and she was killed. I could be killed any night I go out there no matter how capable I am.”

“And you think that doesn’t scare me? That it wouldn’t hurt me to lose you?” She stood up, rounding the coffee table. “It’s something I’ve thought about every night since I ever learned you were the Arrow! But I have never asked you to stop, because I know this is something you need to do.”

“But why does it have to be something you need to do?” It sounded more like pleading than a challenge as he looked up at her with those wide, blue eyes.

“Because I know myself. Because I know what will happen if I don’t.” Laurel stopped and drew in a breath. “When Sara was gone the first time, when we all thought you were both dead, I stopped feeling. I went through life, but I walled myself off from everyone. All the pain and the loss was kept inside of me. For five years.”

He knew all this, yet he didn’t seem bored or frustrated by the repetition. No, Laurel thought at last Oliver was really listening.

“And after a while, after we lost Tommy, it got to be too much.” She shrugged one shoulder. “So I did get hurt, but I was the one who was hurting me. Because I didn’t have an outlet. And I’m not saying that losing my sister again — I never want to go back to that part of my life. No matter what happens to me or who I lose.” Her hand came to rest on her chest. “But I can’t keep holding this inside me. It has to have somewhere to go.”

Oliver stared at her, a realization dawning on his face. “Boxing’s your outlet.”

“Yes.” She thought she felt something ease inside her. He understood. Laurel dropped onto the couch on the side furthest from him. “I asked you to train me because I didn’t want to make the same mistakes I made last year.”

His shoulders slumped. “And I didn’t want to train you because I was scared of making a mistake. That it’d be you I’d have to bury.”

Laurel watched him, the shadows under his eyes and the lines that were faint yet creeping in. “Do you think about that a lot?”

“I see it in my sleep most nights,” he admitted in a low tone. “And it’s not something I ever want to prepare for.”

Laurel scooted just a little closer to lay a hand on his arm. “I can’t make you any promises, Ollie. Just like you can’t make me any. But the criminals of this city don’t care if I’m a civilian or not. I’m a part of this fight either way, and it’s time for me to fight back.”

His eyes had fallen to the carpet, and he gave a miserable little nod.

“I’d rather fight with you than against you,” she added.

Oliver’s other arm lifted, and he placed his hand over hers. “Me too.” Then he shifted, his body turning towards her as he took both her hands. “If this is something you have to do, then I’ll do my best to respect that. I just wish things didn’t have to be this way. That they were simpler.”

“The way we used to be,” she said, her wistful tone an echo of what she saw in his eyes.

“Laurel, I do love you.” It was the first time he’d spoken those exact words tonight, ambiguity abandoned in a single moment. “I don’t know that it makes up for everything that’s happened, and it’s far less than what you deserve. But it’s true and it’s real, and I’m never going to deny it again.”

Was there a point to holding herself apart from him? It wasn’t a question of falling; she’d done that years ago.

She leaned across the foot of space separating them, laying her head on his shoulder as her arms settled around his waist. He was still for a moment, then his legs shifted apart to give him room to pull her in closer.

“It’s a start,” Laurel said on a sigh. Her eyes closed as she let herself grow comfortable with the feel of him again. It was a moment she didn’t want to leave.

After this moment would come decisions, and she didn’t know which were the right ones. She was grieving. Sara’s killer needed to be brought to justice. Those were things she couldn’t let go of, not even for Oliver. It would be selfish of her to give up on avenging her sister for a relationship.

And yet, she couldn’t let go of him, either. That was probably selfish, too. Oliver didn’t deserve the anguish that raged under the surface of her skin, the numbness that seemed to live in her heart with so many pieces carved out of it.

He rubbed the small of her back, lips pressing to her forehead for the briefest moment. A shaky breath left her, too tired for a sob. It couldn’t last; it never did.

But they could stay here, like this, if only for tonight.

—-

Oliver wasn’t immediately sure of his surroundings. That wasn’t a normal occurrence for him; it usually meant he was returning to consciousness after being overpowered in a fight. But the lethargy in his limbs didn’t speak of soreness or discomfort, and capture didn’t usually come with a warm, familiar body draped over his own.

Laurel’s head was tucked under his chin, fitting against him with the rightness he remembered and had dreamed of on the island. They’d fallen asleep with the lamps on, and in their warm glow she looked serene, the worries of the years forgotten in sleep. She was so beautiful.

But that wasn’t what had woken him up.

His phone buzzed again in the pocket of his jeans, and Oliver struggled to sit up better on the couch without disturbing her. With care, he was able to retrieve the device and picked up just in time.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?” Thea’s voice asked. “It’s five in the morning.”

He pulled the phone back to check the time. “What are you doing up?”

A soft mumble left Laurel, and he quickly brought the phone back up to his ear.

Thea didn’t seem to have caught the noise. “I just got back from the club. Opening night, you know, lot of stuff to sort through after we closed. So when are you getting home?”

“Uhh, not too sure, Speedy.”

Laurel’s head turned, face scrunched up adorably and eyes still closed. His sister’s name left her lips slow and slurred. “Thhheaa?”

Too loud. Oliver held his breath.

“That’s Laurel,” said Thea, not a question.

“Yep,” Oliver agreed.

“Okay, never mind me. Bye.” His sister hung up before he could even begin to formulate an explanation. That was going to be a tricky conversation to navigate whenever he got around to it.

Laurel was definitely close to waking up, her eyelids fluttering as a yawn left her.

He rubbed her arm, but paused when he felt the muscle there. Laurel had never been weak, but her training with Grant was showing.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever felt my arm up before,” she remarked, voice still groggy with sleep.

“Just admiring your progress.”

Laurel peered up at him. “What time is it?”

“A little past five.”

“Mm.” She pushed herself off his chest and ran a hand through her hair to get it out of her face. “No point falling back asleep.”

She staggered up to her feet, eyes still half-closed, and he had to hold in a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I should start getting ready for work.”

Oliver‘s bemused grin faded. She always pushed herself so hard. “You were held hostage last night. Can’t you call in a personal day?”

“Wish I could, but I need to get some files together to hand over to the defense. Not fair to keep them waiting.” She looked to him and sighed, sitting back down beside him. “And it’s not fair to keep you waiting.”

“If you need time to decide how you really feel about this, that’s okay,” he told her.

Laurel shook her head. “I know how I feel. I’ve known for years.” In that direct way of hers, she continued, “Oliver, you’re the love of my life. You are always going to be that.”

Another man might have been over the moon. He knew her well enough, though. “But.”

Laurel’s lips twitched. “But, I just don’t see how this can work.”

“Why not?”

“Sara. It’s been barely a month since we lost her.”

“I know,” he agreed. It seemed both too short and too long a time. “But I don’t see why we can’t help each other through that. Build something good together. Find some kind of happiness.”

She sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap. “I don’t know if I know how to be happy anymore, Ollie. I don’t even know if I should let myself be.”

She really believed that. Oliver reached over and took her hands. “Laurel, if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you. And I don’t think Sara would want you to deny yourself that out of grief. She loved you.”

Her eyes were still lowered but he could see the wet sheen to them as her lips pressed together.

“We’re not going to make the same mistakes we have in the past. No more lying, to ourselves or each other. And this time we have each other to rely on. I don’t want to watch you struggle with this alone, Laurel. It’s okay to let people in. It’s okay to keep living. Trust me when I say survival is not enough.”

Laurel looked up at him at last. “I have to find her killer.”

“And we’ll do that together. If you have to train, we’ll do that, too.”

She froze. “You would do that?”

“If it makes you happy, yes.” Laurel’s expression didn’t change, and he had a moment of doubt. “Unless you’d prefer to keep training with Grant.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop training with Ted, but there’s things I can learn from you, too.” Her mouth pulled down into a frown as she asked, “Do you really think we can have both? A relationship and justice for Sara?”

It was a variation on the question he’d been wrestling with for months. Oliver needed an answer now. “For a while, I thought that being the Arrow meant there wasn’t room for a life of my own. When Sara died, I took it as a sign that the path I’m on, it doesn’t lead anywhere good.”

Laurel waited, never interrupting even as he paused to gather his thoughts.

“But being the Arrow can’t stop me from caring about the people in my life. You, Thea, the team. It’s not separate. If last night with Cutter showed me anything, it’s that a person I love can be taken from me whether I allow myself that love or not. And if I die tonight or the next or three years from now, what is the life I’ll have wanted to leave behind?”

“But is it a good idea to jump into something because we’re scared?”

“I don’t know. Are we holding back because we’re scared?”

Between the two of them, they didn’t seem to have an easy answer.

“If we try this,” Laurel began eventually, “I think we should start small. Not an open relationship, just not—”

“Official?” He guessed.

She nodded. “And maybe we should keep it to ourselves at first. Until we’re sure.”

He grimaced. “Digg and Felicity were on the comms last night. And Thea called this morning and was able to figure out where I was.”

Laurel’s eyes squeezed shut. “Okay, there goes that plan.”

“Laurel, that doesn’t mean we have to do anything. I don’t care what the others think. I just want what’s best for you and me. Whatever you think that is.”

She took one hand away from his and laid it on his cheek. Laurel’s eyes opened, and he held his breath as they searched his face for something. Her lips parted—

Somewhere off down the hall a shrill ringing noise started up.

Laurel’s hand fell to his shoulder where she gripped on for a moment. “And that’s my work alarm.”

He tried not to let any disappointment show on his face. “I should let you get ready.”

Laurel began to rise again from the couch, but she stopped herself. “I’ll come see you after. The Verdant?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there.”

“Okay.” There was a pause as he watched some conflict play out over her features. She leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “We’ll talk soon.”

“Okay.”

She disappeared down the hall to shut off her alarm, and Oliver slowly stood and let himself out of the apartment. He needed to give Laurel her space to think things over.

Oliver skipped heading back to the loft, instead going straight to the base. He had a set of workout clothes there and a desire to let his mind go totally blank for a while. Sleeping was an impossibility when he’d only be tossing and turning as he wondered what Laurel would decide. They both knew what they wanted, but was that enough to surmount the problems they faced?

He was only alone for the first half hour. As he finished his target practice, Roy came down the steps.

“Hey, Digg filled me in on what happened last night. Laurel okay?”

Oliver set his bow and quiver aside. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. You know you can call me, right?”

“I know. But you made a commitment to Thea to be there for her last night. And I know you’ve been dealing with a lot lately.”

“Yeah.” Roy nodded. “But if you can still believe in me, then I’m not ready to give up on this.”

“Good.” Oliver went over to the mat and selected two sets of sticks. He tossed one to Roy, who caught it but didn’t immediately move to join him.

“Digg, uh, mentioned what you couldn’t say. About Laurel.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. He should’ve figured that was going to get out. He’d have preferred it be on his terms, though.

“So are you two…” Roy trailed off, clearly waiting for him to fill in the rest.

“We don’t know.”

Roy seemed to sense that was the most he wanted to discuss it, and he stepped onto the mat.

Sometime after they took a break for lunch, John came in. “I asked Lyla to keep us updated on how Cutter’s fitting in.”

“That’s good.”

To his surprise, it was all his friend had to say about the previous night. Oliver had been bracing for a continuation of their argument, but for whatever reason John seemed to have made his peace with it.

Some hours later as a pair of heels descended the steps, it occurred to him John shouldn’t have been the teammate he was most worried about.

“You’re here early,” Roy remarked.

“Ray gave me a half day since I helped him close the deal last night,” Felicity explained. She seemed no less composed than usual, but she had yet to look at Oliver.

He knew it wouldn’t be right to leave things at that. She deserved an explanation.

Oliver moved to intercept her before she could put up a wall of screens. “Hey, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

She stopped. “Funny that you would consider that now.”

He winced. “I didn’t mean for things to happen the way they did. Or to hurt you.”

“Well, I won’t say it didn’t sting a little. When you called things off last month, I didn’t really believe your excuse. It felt like there was more holding you back than just not wanting me in danger. And now we both know what it was,” she said. “I’m just glad that we stopped before anything got too serious.”

“I still care about you,” he told her. “You’re a friend and a valued member of the team, and if there’s ever anything you want to tell me, I am here for you.”

Felicity nodded. He doubted it sounded like much in the face of whatever pain she was feeling, but he knew he had to try.

“Ray kissed me last night,” she blurted just as he took a step back.

Oliver paused and blinked. “Did he?”

“Yeah. It was...very sweet.” She was smiling, a light blush to her cheeks. “So I think I’m going to see where that goes.”

“Good. I’m happy for you. Ray...he seems good for you.”

“He’s open, I think is the thing. Everything is very straightforward with Ray. I like that. I don’t do complicated well, and Oliver, you are complicated.”

She had him there. “Well, I’m glad you’re figuring out what you want.”

She nodded once. “You too.” Felicity took the last couple steps around him to her computers and sat down.

He had to stop himself heaving a sigh of relief. Somehow they’d navigated a path that didn’t leave either one of them unhappy. Lord knew what he’d done to deserve Palmer’s timely intervention, but for once Oliver was grateful to the man.

The hour grew later and with it grew his agitation. He knew Laurel tended to stay late at the office, but he’d been hoping tonight would be an exception. Oliver was only half-listening as the others discussed a police report about a man found dead from a boomerang attack. And he was far slower to suit up than usual.

“We waiting for something?” John asked.

Before he could answer, the door opened for a fourth time.

“Hey, sorry. Things ran a little long at the office.” Laurel had a bag with her that he assumed carried the clothes she worked out in. “You heading out?”

“Just to collect some evidence. Shouldn’t take long. Did you want to start training here tonight?”

In his periphery, he was fairly sure the others were exchanging surprised looks at that.

Laurel nodded. “If that’s okay. If you’re going to be busy, though, I can just head to Ted’s.”

“No, I should have time.” He knew Laurel wanted to continue at Wildcat’s gym as well as here, but he was loathe to send her away when they had yet to resolve where they stood with one another. “We’ll have to analyze the evidence here before we get any leads.”

“Okay. I’ll just change and warm up till you get back,” she decided, her lips curving up into a smile at the end.

He found himself smiling back. “Great.” Oliver laid his hand on her arm briefly, wanting even just that little bit of contact before he left.

But as he made to turn away, Laurel reached out, her hand snagging the strap of his quiver.

“I think you were right,” she said quieter. “About living instead of surviving. And I don’t know if I’m any good at it, but I’m willing to try.”

“That’s fine.” He closed his hand over hers. “Trying is more than fine.”

Laurel took a step closer, her eyes never leaving his, and closed the distance between their lips.

It was not the passion of a young and frantic love, but the meeting of two old friends; two parts of a whole coming together with the single, shared sigh: finally.

They broke apart, Oliver swaying towards her just slightly as she pulled away to catch one last brush of his mouth against hers. There was nothing reserved about the smile she wore now; Laurel was happy. More importantly, she was letting herself be.

“That wasn’t a bad try,” he couldn’t resist remarking. Her head shook as her grin only grew, and he couldn’t stop himself drifting nearer again.

“I don’t want to keep your team waiting,” she whispered, stopping him with a hand on his chest.

Right, the team. He turned back towards them to find they were all pretending very unsuccessfully not to be watching. Well, it wasn’t the worst reaction.

“Roy, let’s head out,” he announced for their benefit. He added to Laurel, “There’s a changing room near the back you can use. I’ll try and get back here as soon as I can.”

“Alright. Stay safe out there.”

He touched her cheek and nodded once before managing to step away and join Roy at the stairs.

It wasn’t likely to be perfect. There was no telling what awaited them in the future. It was, as Laurel had said last night, a start.

But merely her memory had carried him through five years of Hell. The reality of her, of them, Oliver felt might just be enough to withstand anything.

[jisungjuice]

I know! Ron x Viktor and Chudley Cannons 😍 give me anything!

“The Chudley Canons.”

The words that came out of Viktor Krum’s mouth seemed to float in the air above all the people on the table, and the silence stretched for a bit longer than usual.

“Come again?” Ginny asked, her face splitting into a smile that Ron didn’t appreciate one bit.

Viktor finished swallowing. “I have just been bought by the Chudley Canons,” he repeated and shrugged one shoulder. “I know they have been very bad in the past, but they’re replacing the entire team and offered me the position of captain and a large sum of money. So I accepted. I like Britain anyway.”

Ron was pretty sure his face was the color of the grilled tomatoes on his plate, and even more so when everybody (except Viktor) turned to look at him.

Sunday lunch at The Burrow was usually a rather boring affair, but he never missed a chance to see his family now that he had moved in with Harry to a flat in London. Harry and Hermione usually tagged along as well, and this time, Hermione had decided to invite her dear friend and newly retired Quidditch Star.

“But I read in the press that you’d retired?” Harry asked Viktor, taking his eyes off Ron.

“From big cups and national teams, yes.” Viktor nodded and smiled warmly. Ron shivered. “I vant to play in a smaller team and not vorry too much.”

After that the conversation changed thanks to Percy and Hermione, who started discussing the latest antics of the new Minister for magic. Ron never thought he’d be glad to hear their boring bureaucratic rubbish, but now the attention was not on him, which meant he could return to sneaking glances and Viktor when he wasn’t looking. Oddly enough, Ron could feel someone’s eyes on him when he looked away from Viktor, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“Time for pudding, everyone!”

Bill and Fleur helped Ron’s mum remove the dirty dishes from the table and replace them with plates of thick slices of pie. Ron started eating as he nodded along to something George was saying, but then his eyes fell on Viktor again, and his heart dropped when he saw him talking to Ginny. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, and that made him all the more worried because Ginny had that wicked look in her eyes that could not mean good news for Ron.

They stopped talking after a while and Viktor ate his pie quietly. Ron attempted to send Ginny death glares several times, but she was determinedly looking anywhere else.

Conversations grew less animated every minute, now that everyone was full and slowly making their way to the garden to enjoy some leisure time under the late afternoon sun. Ron was about to follow Harry and Hermione outside when suddenly Ginny’s voice rang louder than necessary.

“Hey, Viktor, would you like a tour of the house?”

Ron spun around rapidly, dread spreading coldly through his body as he saw Ginny patting Viktor’s broad shoulders amicably. Viktor smiled at her and nodded politely.

Ron rushed to stand in front of them, trying hard not to blush as Viktor looked questioningly at him. “Uh, Ginny,” Ron said in a very obviously forced, casual tone. “He’s probably too full to be climbing all those stairs right now. why don’t we all go outside?”

“Don’t be silly,” Ginny dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “He’s an athlete. I’m sure Viktor will be just fine.”

Viktor smiled again. “This house is very interesting. I vonder how many rooms it can hold.”

Ron didn’t know what kind of things Ginny had told Viktor, but it didn’t seem to be a way out of this without making a scene, so Ron merely nodded and started leading the way. “I’ll go with you, then.”

The three of them walked up to the first floor, where Ginny showed Viktor her bedroom whilst making odd comments about the dull color of her walls and lack of decoration. Ron pinched her hard in the arm when Viktor wasn’t looking, but she simply pointer her wand at him menacingly until he backed away. Ron had left his wand downstairs.

As they went up to the second floor, Ron tried with all his might not to stare at Viktor’s backside as he climbed up the stairs, but he failed miserably.

“Percy used to share a floor with Fred and George?” Viktor asked with amusement. “They must have drove him mad.”

There wasn’t much to see in Bill and Charlie’s old bedroom on the third floor, but as they continued their way up, Ron’s apprehension increased. He should have asked Harry and Hermione to create a diversion downstairs so they had to come down. Or he should have tried to steal some Peruvian Darkness Powder form Fred and George’s old room so he could activate it as soon as they reached the fifth floor.

“This is mum and dad’s bedroom,” Ginny told Viktor. “As you can see they don’t have anything on their walls. No pictures or posters of any kind. Much less a Quidditch team.”

Viktor looked like he found this information strange, but he nodded anyway. Ron stepped on Ginny’s foot as hard as he could, but she zapped him with a slight electric shock from her wand and he had to retreat.

As Viktor stepped into the first stair leading up to the fifth floor, Ron called out his name, desperately. “You should see my dad’s garage! He keeps all of his muggle experiments down there. I’ll show you.”

Viktor looked interested and Ron’s heart lifted, but then Ginny stepped in between them. “There’s only one room left! And then the attic of course, but that’s not as interesting.”

Ginny grabbed Viktor’s arm and started pulling him away from Ron, who followed quickly and envisioned many ways to make Ginny miserable in the future, as soon as this was over.

“Ron’s room,” Ginny said as they neared the door. Viktor looked over his shoulder at Ron and smiled at him. Ron felt his knees weaken.

“Old room!” he corrected. “Ancient, really. I haven’t been here in so long, I hardly remember what it looks like.”

Ginny put her hand on the doorknob. “You’re being too humble, Ron. Yours is truly an spectacular and unforgettable room.”

Ginny pushed the door open and led Viktor inside. The orange glow hit Ron’s eyes and he deflated so much he wondered if it was possible for the floor to swallow him and spit him out somewhere else. Ginny called him and he slowly dragged his feet towards his humiliation, thinking that it was probably less pathetic than running away.

As soon as he stepped inside, Ginny perked up. “I think mum’s calling me!” And with a loud pop, she disapparated.

Viktor was taken aback for a moment, but then his eyes kept roaming up and down Ron’s room, which looked like it hadn’t been a day since Ron finished decorating it when he was ten years old. All the posters were in perfect condition because they were magical, the orange of the walls looked brighter than ever, and Ron’s mum had even kept all the orange bed clothes exactly the way Ron did when he lived there. He know realized how ghastly everything looked, especially with the addition of his own orange hair and bright red face.

Ron tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking.” He cleared his throat and looked out the small window at his family and friends downstairs. “It’s really stupid and-”

“Wow,” Viktor interrupted him, and Ron turned back to look at him, expecting a mocking fit of laughter to erupt at any moment now.

But Viktor didn’t look like he was about to laugh, nor did he seem like he thought Ron was the most pathetic man on earth. He was looking at Ron with a mix of surprise and acknowledgment.

“I feel so embarrassed,” Viktor said.

Ron frowned. “What? Why?”

Viktor rubbed the back of his neck. “Every English person has told me that the Chudley Canons are bad, but I have never vatcted a game myself. I have been saying bad things about them and now I can see I vas mistaken.”

Ron didn’t know what to say. Why would Viktor feel embarrassed about this?

“If you like them, they must be a good team.”

Ron’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, they’re…they’re not that bad,” he stammered. “They’ve had some pretty amazing matches, even if they don’t win.”

Viktor nodded. “I vas a very bad professional by accepting to enter a team I don’t know.” He stepped a bit closer and Ron’d heart pounded. “That’s why I’m embarrassed.”

“That’s alright. The Canons have a bad reputation, but a very interesting history,” Ron said, unbelievably glad that the attention wasn’t focused on him or his extreme fanaticism for the team.

Ron watched in slow motion as Viktor’s hand reached up and landed on Ron’s shoulder.

“I need someone to teach me.”

Ron gulped and nodded.

With a swift movement, Viktor stepped in next to Ron and threw his arm around his shoulders. “And maybe later ve can come back up here and put my face on your valls too.”

Ron laughed nervously, thinking that there were probably already a few posters of Viktor hidden in between Chudley Canon’s players. Before Viktor could reply or look more closely at the room, Ron started leading them out, one hand bravely on Viktor’s back.

“You could start telling me about the canons as you show me your father’s garage,” Viktor suggested once Ron had closed the door behind them.

With the feeling of Viktor’s arm still around him, Ron couldn’t help his next words, “For starters, you’re probably the best player they’ve ever had.”

Viktor’s smile was brighter than Ron’s entire room.