#while also potentially facing up to some hard truths about the politics your father's made a fortune off

[pynkhues]

not sure if youve written abt this before but what is your take on the shiv/kendall/roman's pre show mental breakdowns that are alluded to?

Ah! I don't think I have written about it before, anon, so thank you for asking!

I've been percolating a bit of late on @waystarresourceco's recent posts which have indicated that neither Kendall nor Shiv went entirely to college in America, with Kendall having his EMBA from INSEAD, not Harvard Business School like many of us (including me!) thought (he did do his undergrad at Harvard though), and with Sarah talking about Shiv going to the UK for college.

I'm interested in that for a whoooole range of reasons, haha, but what I think is particularly relevant to your ask is that it sort of emphasises this divide between the four siblings, with Connor and Roman having been sent away as children, and forever fighting their way back in there after, and Kendall and Shiv being kept close as children, only really leaving in early adulthood, but also forever having a sort of mmm, close and given seat at the table as favourite son / heir apparent and treasured / only daughter.

After all, in many ways, both Kendall and Shiv were on the same path, right? Logan laid a map for Kendall which Shiv scoured and did her own variation of to try and best him at the journey. Kendall was groomed for a role, and Shiv was groomed to be a perfect daughter, only to decide she wanted to be the perfect son. The effect of it though I think was that both of them spent formative years under pretty stifling expectations, while both Roman and Connor were forced in their formative years to develop a degree of independence because they were pushed from the nest.

As a result, I do think Kendall and Shiv both tend to thrive within structure, and that they both tend to fall apart when that structure isn't there, while Roman and Connor have learnt to thrive without it, and struggle to exist when they're forced to live within it.

Because I think that's really the implication of all of their meltdowns - Roman's seems to have occured when he had to try and work under Frank in the LA office on projects he hated, while Kendall's and Shiv's both seem to have happened when they're too long left to their own devices. It's all spill, right? Just the context of their respective abuse means it leaks under different forms of pressure.

[ilalos]

Lavender dreams (Anthony Bridgerton x OC)-Part 2/3

Word count: 1.8k

Dances came and went and Grace had saved a dance for Anthony in each and every one of them, but he had yet to ask her for an outing. Gigi supposed he was busy enough trying to get Eloise to go on at least one outing with one of the few men that passed his rigorous check but was it so hard to take her out for a walk in the park or perhaps to have some tea? It didn’t help that she had heard rumors of him meeting actresses every night with unholy purposes, but she held hope for the eldest Bridgerton because every time they danced she felt as if there was no one else on the dance floor with them, and every time they talked he pulled a smile from her even if seconds before she had been upset.

She had had some outings with a couple of gentlemen who were approved by Simon and Daphne, and even if they were fine, educated young men she felt nothing for them. She knew her time was cutting short as it was already the middle of the season and her father didn’t have much time left, but she hadn’t felt anything resembling love for any of her callers. She had, however, started a friendship with non-other than Colin Bridgerton, and this lead Lady Whistledown to speculate about a possible engagement between the pair. The truth was, Colin saw Gigi as a sister at most and she saw him as the brother she never had.

The possibility of Colin proposing was truly daunting to Lady Bridgerton as she knew this union would break Anthony’s heart and could potentially cause a rift between the brothers. She had taken notice of the way her eldest tensed whenever one of the girls read the latest Lady Whistledown and the young couple was mentioned, Colin would always scoff and remind everyone he had no intentions of getting engaged anytime soon but that did nothing to lessen the deep frown in Anthony’s face or his mother’s worry.

Anthony had been visiting the brothel more often in a poor attempt to forget about Gigi and also convincing himself that he would never be deserving of the girl’s love. He knew he needed a wife and he intended on marrying that very season, but the thought of Gigi suffering half as much with his death as his mother did when his father passed, refrained him from accepting his feelings and proposing. Despite his resolve to forget his feelings for her, he continued to dance with her at every ball and party. When they danced he felt as if he could stay there forever, twirling her in his arms and holding her as close as possible; they talked sometimes at these events and felt as if they had known each other their whole lives.

It was the day of the picnic and the Bridgerton family was excited after hearing from the eldest daughter that Lord Watts had informed her and her husband of his intentions to propose to Grace. He was an earl and he and Grace had had some successful outings.

Grace had no objections toward the young man apart from the fact that she bore no feelings for him whatsoever, but given her lack of time to worry on such silly matters, she chose to ignore that in favor of having the wedding her father wished for, and who knows? Maybe their love would sprout once they were married.

When Anthony heard the news he could almost hear his heartbreaking in half, a pain ten times bigger than the one he felt when Siena rejected him. He almost wanted to beg Colin to propose before Lord Watts had the chance, at least that way he would be able to still see her when the couple visited. He decided to skip the picnic and instead stayed at home reviewing the business to avoid having to watch the happy couple celebrating their future union.

The proposal didn’t occur at the event, Lord Watts was there and he did take Grace on a walk but he had made the decision to make a formal proposal at his family’s home the following day so he limited himself to invite Grace, the duke, the duchess, and Lady Bridgerton to his house for tea. The invitation was accepted and the picnic continued without much excitement. The Duke's family left first because baby A was behaving quite fussy and her mother suspected it was due to the unforgiving sun beaming down on them; soon after the Bridgertons left due to a menacing black cloud that darkened the festivities.

Night and storm had fallen upon Lady Danbury’s home when a nervous messenger knocked urgently on the state’s door. Mr. Lock, the butler, had opened the door.

“How can I help-”

“Lord Bridgerton’s carriage was robbed and he is terribly hurt!” The young man had yelled the message hoping the duchess would hear him “Lady Bridgerton urges the presence of her eldest daughter in this uncertain times”

Grace had been the one to hear the messenger’s words and she felt panic take hold of her body. She ran to the door and demanded a horse be readied for her, the butler refused to let her go alone into the rain and advised her to wait until the carriage was ready. At his refusal, she chose to forget decorum and took the messenger's horse and rode it into the storm. The duke and duchess had heard the commotion and ordered the footman to ready the carriage at once.

Grace rode to the Bridgerton household in record time and when she got there she rode straight into the nearby stables, dropped the horse, and ran to the home’s door. Lady Bridgerton opened with teary eyes expecting to see Daphne and let a gasp when instead of her eldest daughter she saw the soaked figure of Grace Gillingham standing at her doorstep.

“Where is he?” That was all the girl said.

“Upstairs, the doctor is seeing him in his bedroom”

The woman barely finished her sentence before the younger girl pushed past her and ran up the stairs, politeness be dammed. She found Benedict passing by Anthony’s door and before she could ask about the man’s condition a pained scream tore through the wood. She gasped as if she felt his pain and fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

“The doctor said his injuries are extensive but not life-threatening” Benedict said it trying to calm the poor girl down but her sobs remained the same, “he said it would take a while, maybe you should go get changed into some dry clothes, surely Eloise can lend you some”

“I’m not leaving this door until I see with my own eyes that he is well”

Benedict only nodded and watched her seat on the floor with her back against the wall, right across the door. Daphne arrived not long after and she too tried to convince Grace to change out of her soaked clothing or to at least drink some hot tea while they waited but the girl refused

“I will be fine” was all she had said through gritted teeth and blue lips.

Hours passed and every once in a while a pained clamor would leave the room, Benedict watched how each sound made a fresh wave of tears fall from Gigi’s eyes. The wait was long and soon Benedict found himself nodding off against the wall, only to be suddenly awakened by the door opening, Grace barely waited for the doctor to exit the room before running inside and kneeling at Anthony’s bedside, taking his hand between hers and looking at his face with relief when hearing taking notice of his breathing and the pulsing of his heart.

“He’ll need lots of rest to properly heal his wounds but he will make a full recovery” the doctor took one look at Grace and shook his head with a smile “Give this to her as soon as you can” he said as he handed Benedict a vial with a yellowish liquid.

“What is this concoction?”

“It will help her fever and lessen her cold symptoms” he explained “If she looks abnormally flushed or agitated, call me immediately”

Anthony thought he had never felt pain as bad as when the doctor had healed his wounds but seeing Grace’s feverish form sleeping uncomfortably in a chair at his bedside hurt more than whatever he felt the night prior. He saw her pale skin and red cheeks that hinted towards a fever, and her labored breathing pointed to a terrible cold, his hand was resting between hers and he marveled at how small they looked around his. He saw Benedict enter the room and questioned him about her presence.

“She rode on a stolen horse in the middle of a storm to be by your side, brother” Benedict chuckled at his brother’s astonished expression, knowing his surprise would only grow “She pushed past mother, entered the house uninvited, sat on the floor in the hallway and refused to move until she knew you were alright” he pointed to her reddened cheeks and continued “She didn’t even change out of her soaked dress until she saw you with her own eyes, the poor thing caught a terrible cold and only accepted to take the medicine and the change of clothes if we allowed her to stay here by your side”

Anthony felt his heart explode with love for the girl, the feelings so strong his eyes glossed with unshed tears. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have such an angel loving him so much, and he only hoped he could make her feel half as loved as he felt at that very moment. He had to admit he was angered by her reckless behavior but the love overshadowed his protective feelings...until he saw her being woken up by a sudden fit of horribly sounding cough. He watched as she fought to regain her breath and was ready to chastise her until he noticed the way she looked at him, with so much love and so much relief he forgot what he was going to say.

“You’re awake,” she said simply, processing “You are awake!” Once processed the information had caused her tremendous joy and she jumped to embrace him, only to jump back when she heard his quiet complaint from the pressure put on his recent wounds “I apologize Lord Bridgerton, in my excitement, I seem to have forgotten about your injuries”

“No need to apologize, love” the pet name just flew past his lips, catching them both by surprise “You must go to get some proper rest now, you are sick and tired, we’ll talk later about the poor decisions you took yesterday”

Grace only nodded and without thinking took his hand and kissed his palm before leaving to finally get some rest on an actual bed.

“Fetch the Duke of Hastings for me, Benedict, I have a proposal to make”

PART 3

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Hi! If you’re still following along this story know that I appreciate it :))))) Thank you so so much for reading! I hope you enjoy it

[dropintomanga]

The Evergreen Shonen Story

A short while ago, there were some online conversations about the popularity of shonen stories. Almost all of them are based around the experiences of youth and some adult fans wanted action-oriented stories based around their life experiences as adults. Reading stories centered on teens and kids as the main characters isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, I’ll admit that. But sometimes, I think shonen stories are somewhat of a reflection on what adults have been telling kids for years and how some/most of their advice has failed youth.

Life begins in the womb. We come out to a world of many possibilities. As children, we’re immune to bias until adults decide to tell us about the many differences of various people out there. Some adults may not care and have trouble dealing with their own pain, They may resort to substances like drugs and alcohol to cope. Under the influence of drugs or alcohol, these adults may start to abuse children and/or neglect them entirely.

There’s a term that relates to the overwhelming negative experiences of children growing up. It’s called ACE - “adverse childhood experiences.” Examples of such experiences include physical/sexual abuse, parent separation, physical/emotional neglect, and living with an adult with substance addiction. I look at a bunch of shonen flashback stories and many of the traumatic ones revolve around physical and emotional neglect.

Why is this important to acknowledge? Because some adults do a bad job in raising their children or guiding kids to become responsible individuals. We’ve seen examples of bad parenting in anime and manga. There’s also the fact that adults have been full of dreams themselves when they were kids, but have been fed advice on how the “real world” works. They’ve been told that they can’t make their dreams come true and/or they need to behave a certain way to get by. It’s a vicious cycle. A colleague of mine told me that when she sees young people with vision and a desire to smash the status quo end up being a part of the status quo themselves, she wondered if that’s due to those individuals seeing how hard it is and how long it takes to generate the change they want to see.

One of my favorite shonen characters in recent memory is Satoro Gojo of Jujutsu Kaisen. He was a student of Jujutsu High and ends up becoming a teacher there. Gojo is considered to be a prodigy, but he remains humble. He’s also willing to speak up to authority as he has gotten into disputes with upper school management over the fates of cursed students (particularly Yuji Itadori and Yuta Okkutsu) whose potential have yet to be realized. Gojo has once said that he needs to remind himself not to be a bitter old adult as he ages.

A good number of shonen stories drive the point that adults shouldn’t be bitter old ones. Or maybe more importantly, don’t be dismissive about teen experiences. I listened to a podcast a while back about loneliness and how much it affects mental health. There was a discussion point about adults ignoring teens that feel lonely with regards to dating. Here’s a quote from that discussion.

“The number one way that we do this (being dismissive of loneliness) in America is every single 30-year-old up completely dismisses the loneliness that a teenager feels about not having a significant other. Because once we hit 30, we realize that your 16 year old significant other is nonsense. It’s just nonsense. You’re gonna be in love so much in your life. You’re gonna love everybody. You’re going to date a million people. It’s gonna be fine. You’re going to realize how insignificant this relationship is. 

The key word there is you’re gonna realize it. It’s a future thing for them. So when every 30, 40, 50, 60 year old looks at the 16, 17, 18 year old and says, oh, you just broke up with your boyfriend? Yeah, who cares? That’s a meaningless relationship. I don’t care. That exacerbates the loneliness. It exacerbates the disconnected feeling because it really, really, really, really matters to them.”

I honestly think adults being dismissive towards teens’ current experiences is one reason why shonen stories still resonate with many. We’ve all been through those times where adults just shut us down because ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Yes, there comes a point where we have to move forward. But a good amount of emotional pain stems from adolescence and it lingers. Most mental disorders begin to happen around those years. Unfortunately, most of us don’t know how to give back in ways that stop the cycle. I do think mangaka are trying their best to give back the way they know how. 

Yet I think the biggest reason for the enduring popularity of shonen stories is friendship. We all know the Shonen Jump tropes - friendship, hard work and victory. All three are important, but friends are what really keeps us alive. The harsh truths are that hard work doesn’t always get you where you want to go and victories do come at the cost of important relationships. Over the years, I noticed that in my neck of the woods, friendship is frowned upon. When you’re ranking important relationships in life, first is your mother, then maybe your father, then your romantic partner, followed by your children. Friends are last. There was a nice read I found that listed a good amount of studies on the importance of friends (especially for those who are LGBTQ+ and faced stigma from immediate family). 

We don’t live on an island, contrary to what neoliberalism says. Families aren’t enough. Friends are what keeps us alive and helps build our sense of identity. 

Maybe the fans who want more mature/adult-centered stories with shonen action just want to see more nuanced stories about friendships in adult settings. Friendships are so hard to make and maintain as adults. There’s some glimmers of hope for those kinds of stories - in video games. Yakuza: Like a Dragon is a great example of an adult hero in a genre dominated by young protagonists, the Japanese RPG. The story is about a 42-year old ex-yakuza who gets exiled into a unfamiliar city and manages to make something of himself with the help of new friends he made there. It was refreshing because the whole cast were adults who were unemployed and/or stigmatized due to underworld ties. They managed to save Japan from a vicious political alliance with action elements that felt shonen at heart.

I’m all for more adult-centered mainstream shonen stories because seinen material can be a bit too blunt for some tastes, but there’s a lot of focus on the mindset of youth lately than in decades past since there’s concern on how they will manage in a world that continues to disappoint them.

I love shonen because I honestly don’t feel like I’m an adult due to my depression. My development felt stunted. I feel that I have more in common with 20+-year olds than people my age. I want to be around people who are youthful at heart. I wonder about those who still enjoy shonen past the target demographic - what still draws them to it? Is it due to them embracing their inner child more likely than most people? Or do they just like to follow simple action stories that have a lot of heart (something that some people don’t have)?

Looking at shonen’s enduring mainstream status does make me think about the the feedback loops between adults and teenagers. I’ll end this by talking about an incident that happened a couple years ago where a somewhat prominent Anitwitter figure (I am NOT going to mention their name here, but you may know who I’m referring to), who made a lot of friends with people in the anime/manga industry, was outed be a sexual predator who went after young naive anime fans at fan conventions. One of the reactions from someone that was once close with them was how can older anime fans better connect with younger anime fans when needed. I know from personal experience, I sigh on seeing the behavior of teens at conventions at times. But I learned that by saying things like “Kids are so dramatic,” “Boys will be boys,” “She’s being emotional.” gets harmful in a hurry where proper context is warranted. Maybe they are being so-and-so, but it doesn’t hurt to ask and give validation to their concerns. Teens are the lifeblood of anime conventions right now.

Shonen is a gateway introduction for youth on how to process pain in a way that helps themselves and other people with the help of said people. It’s an escape from the distress and trauma of reality. That reality, which has situations like the incident I mentioned, is controlled by adults who don’t always have it together, can’t admit their flaws, and sadly take it out on the world. That’s why shonen is still so powerful today despite all the criticism the genre gets. And that’s the evergreen truth.

[rosierocks30]

Hidden series Ch.22

Chapter 22: The Legendary of the Infinity Stones

(Gilbert)

Most of the day since Nathaniel had come home was dull. He had to spend time with Nathaniel with the queen. It was absurd how much he had to put effort in getting his old lover’s attention while Queen Historia who doesn’t try and received more attention. Luckily, he has a plan to make this blonde whore fall from Nathaniel’s grace. Few of the templars who were only loyal to Alexander had discovered the culprits of Levi’s escape. Oh this made him grin in joy when it was Historia and also Zeke’s younger brother, Eren Jaeger. He had already informed Alexander about Historia and Eren involved in Levi’s escape. 

Since a month had happened both Alexander and Gilbert were planning and waiting for the right time to execute the plan. At this moment, Gilly is about to meet Zeke Jaeger, the current leader of the Jaegerist. He wondered how Zeke would take in his little brother’s betrayal? Even though Eren was known to be one of the dangerous titan shifters, he was too overhead on his heels for the handmaiden. It’s such a shame he was not into men. Gilly had always wondered how good was he in bed? He heard so much of it from that other whore, Belia. It got him curious but annoyed at the same time. 

Gilbert quietly knocked on the door and heard Zeke’s voice for him to enter. He opened the door to enter the room and saw only Zeke and Yelena. They probably were having a deep conversation. “Good evening, Gilbert! What brings you here? Please have a seat.” Zeke politely greeted the other man. Yelena guides Gilly to a chair then goes to pour whiskey for all three of them. She handed one to Gilbert then to Zeke.

“I hope I’m not interrupting both of you. I do have a message from the Grandmaster that I think you want to know.” Gilbert said that this had Zeke and Yelena interested. 

“Oh really? What message does the Grandmaster have for me?” Zeke took a sip on his glass of whiskey. 

“He believes it’s time to have a new King since Nathaniel hadn’t kept his bargain of the deal to keep his crown by letting one of our most valuable assets escape.” Gilbert said. 

Zeke thought about it for a moment. “You mean about that monster Levi Ackerman escapee? I was disappointed when I heard Captain Levi had escaped.” 

“Yes, we all are. So, the Grandmaster and I have thought of putting the rightful ruler to the throne.” Gilbert kept talking. 

“Is Historia gaining her full power to rule? That’s very bold for the Grandmaster to assume she will comply.” Zeke had his brow raised in curiosity. 

“I did say a king not a queen. We believe you are the perfect choice. Think about it? You being a ruler will help your group strengthen the support of the people of this island. And you at one point used to be part of Marley’s military. With that knowledge, you can command a new military who will do anything to fight against Marley. The people will glorify you as their savior instead of your little brother who's nobody.” Gilly resumed.  

“I would be careful how you talk about my younger brother if I were you. He may be a hothead sometimes but this group would not exist if it weren’t for him!” Zeke glared at Gilbert for the way he disrespected his little brother. 

“My apologies for offending you. It just saddens me how you care and love your brother so much and yet it doesn’t seem like he does based on his actions.”  Gilbert coaxed Zeke as the other titan shifter paused for a second in confusion. 

“What is the meaning of this, Gilbert?” Yelena had intervened when she looked at Zeke’s expression with a doubt. 

“What I’m trying to say is that Eren Jaeger along with Queen Historia had conspired together to make sure Levi Ackerman was able to escape.” He finally pulled the trigger and waited for both of them to react. 

“Wait what? So Eren was the one to let Levi escape?” Yelena said in shock. 

“Yes, and I have evidence. What nobody knew but only very small members of the inner circle of the Grandmaster about there are small spy cameras installed in the palace. Week by week, they had tracked the queen’s and Eren’s movements. They had allied together to free Subject 18. We have videos.” Gilbert had his phone and showed the video evidence of Eren and Historia meeting together then it showed another scene of Historia meeting Levi in secret in the dungeon. Then it showed how Eren had helped Levi escape from the castle.

Zeke felt hurt by his little brother’s betrayal. So much rage surged inside him. Of course, he had to be calm and clear minded for now. 

“I see, this is disappointing.” Zeke said. 

“I know this truth is hurting you but you must know this.” Gilbert said. 

“He is stupid for being reckless especially it can endanger his new little family. Alright like my father, putting his personal agenda first than his family’s safety. I was alright growing fond of my soon to be sister-in-law. I have no choice but to end her life along with my potential nephew or niece that she’s carrying.” Zeke sighed. 

“I’m afraid you are not allowed to harm the handmaiden for now. She has something that the Grandmaster had been searching for years.” Gilbert said. 

“Oh? Like what?” Zeke was curious again. 

“The infinity stones. They are real and she is the wielder of all six. So if you accept our offer, you can help your dreams come true.” Gilly continued. 

“What will you do about Eren and Historia? And how will you dethrone Nathaniel?” Zeke was now intrigued. 

“With Eren being connected to the Path and Ymir, he will be difficult to get rid of. As for Historia and Nathan; I will expose this secret of her being responsible for Levi escaping and probably the king will lose his interest in her and execute her which will make the people rise up and dethrone him then place you as king. What do you say?” Gilbert said.

At first Zeke thought about it. “I see as long as I get to deal with my brother. So tell the grandmaster I accept his proposal as king.” The Beast Titan shifter shook Gilbert’s hand while Gilbert smirked in victory of phase 1. 

“We have a deal then.” Gilbert said victoriously. 

(Historia)

Shit. It’s like the day of the wedding with Nathan again. She was in her room waiting for Nathan. Naked and alone. He had told her to be ready for him at night. 

Don’t let your fear show to anyone Historia..

The queen heard Ymir’s voice again. She had been quiet for a while. “I can’t help it...the thought of him touching me again is just too much for me.” The blonde woman whispered. 

My Krista, I wish I was there to protect you and hold you like when we were in the scouts..

“Same...I do think about what would happen if you were still alive. I read your letter and if you were still alive, I would have married even with the short time you have before the curse takes you away from this fucked up world…” Historia felt a small tear slipped from her ocean blue eye. 

But you shouldn’t feel regret in any decision that you made before. You have now Levi and your son, Atticus. Think of both of them when fear consumes you. You’re not giving yourself some credit of how strong and capable you are in fucked up situations.  

“Atticus? My little boy...I missed him so much. I envied Sasha for raising him, which I should be the one.” Historia had always thought of her baby boy. For being Levi and Historia’s son, he wasn’t a tiny baby. Her hand wiped the tears off. She must endure these acts for their sake. Levi was caught once. She will have to be stronger and not be a burden to cause more misfortune. A queen can make many moves and has a chance to win this twist game in politics. 

Suddenly, the doors opened and Historia glanced to see Nathaniel entering the room. The usurper noticed his wife was ready for him. 

“I see you have been waiting for me, my wife.” Nathaniel smirked. Historia felt the urge to slap his smirking face, but she was composed. 

The beautiful golden haired queen got up from the bed then let the white sheets fall on the floor to reveal her nude body. Nathaniel walked towards her and caressed his fingers on her soft creamy fair skin. 

“Would you believe me if I say I have missed you?” Historia was not expecting his words. She knew he had hated her for many reasons but that feeling is mutual too. This does not make sense. She felt his lips on her neck slowly traveling down to her collarbone. No matter how hard she tries to enjoy it for her mental sake, these lips are not her true husband. Levi had always made her crave more. Her thoughts drifted to remembering their first time together. It was a grieving night for everyone from the betrayal of Reiner, Bertholdt, and Ymir. From feeling lonely and grief, both Historia and Levi had blossomed into a prue love.

“Historia, you are beautiful like your sister, Freida.” He muttered. 

Historia glanced then took a step back from him. “How do you know my sister?” She whispered.

Nathaniel realized Historia was confused but alert. Maybe it’s the alcohol in him but he felt it’s time for her to know that long ago he was in love and engaged with Freida. He sighed and went to sit on the bed and pat the mattress for her to sit beside him.

“Come Historia, I think it’s time I tell you about the time I used to be engaged with the woman who was my first love.” He said. Historia was hesitant at first, but she went to sit next to him so he could tell her about her sister. 

(Natasha)

The sky was beautiful with clear blue and white puffy clouds. A little girl with brown hair was plucking out wildflowers at the meadow. She carefully tried not to get her summer dress dirty. Her mother will scold her as today will be an important day. Natasha, her mother, and her baby brother Damon will go visit the palace to see Grandpa and Grandma. Her mother, Morgan Ackerman nee Stark had decided to fly from Hawaii to Paradise Isle two days before planning to see her in-laws. Long ago Atticus bought a private land away from the capital when Morgan became pregnant with Natasha. 

For two days Morgan wanted to have some time to herself with her children. Life as a widow was too heartbreaking for her. She lost the love of her life just when their marriage was still new. This must be how her mother felt when her father died so many years ago. Natasha looked up to see her mother who’s in the cottage cradling her baby brother. The little girl smiled  and resumed plucking out flowers. Her mommy loves flowers. This will make her smile again. Her mommy had a pretty smile. 

It felt so long that little Natasha was surprised her mommy didn’t call her name to go see grandma and grandpa. Maybe mommy had fallen asleep with Damon again? The little girl skipped back home. When she saw the door was opened, Natasha was feeling weary but didn’t think too much into it. She entered and went upstairs. 

“Mommy! I got flowers for you!” She heard no one.

As she got closer, the little girl heard a grunt and whispers. Huh? Who is with her mommy and brother? She slowly pushed the door to open for her to view a gruesome scene. Her silver grey eyes widened in horror to see two men were looking down at her mother who looked frozen from seeing a small body on the floor. There was blood soaking the wooden floor and from the look of these strange men's faces; they were laughing. 

Did they hurt her little brother? Why? Why would they do that?

Her mother finally noticed her and shouted. “Natasha ran! Run to safety!” 

Natasha gasped when another man grabbed her before she had the chance to run away. 

“Oh no you don’t brat.” The man who grabbed her was struggling from her wiggling and kicking to be free. “Noo! Let go! Mommy!” She was calling for mother to save her.  

“YOU PIECES OF SHIT! YOU MONSTERS!” Her mother was screaming and crying from seeing her baby laying on the floor dead. “WHY?! I have told you I don’t have it!” 

“Don’t lie, woman. Your father was the last one to hold all six stones. Our sources say you found it five years ago with that Ackerman prince you married. So, tell us where those stones are and this time your last remaining child.” The sinister leader said. 

“Fuck you. Fuck all of you, Jaegerists! I have told you. I don’t have them anymore. Please, please spare my daughter.” Her cries were heartbreak and full of agony. The worst pain to see your own child being killed. 

“Tell us where was the last time you left it?” The Jaegerist man said. 

Morgan was sobbing as she realized it’s pointless to beg for mercy since she was telling the truth. The stones literally disappeared as she used them to have her first pregnancy to make it to full term to birth a healthy child. Her daughter was the result of it. The one wielding the power of the six stones. They must not know the truth. These monsters will do anything to get the stones. The leader was losing his patience. 

“Very well. Kill the other brat.” The leader ordered. 

Morgan looked panicked when the other man who held Natasha placed the dragger on her small throat. Slowly, Natasha screamed in fear. 

“Stop! Stop! I will tell you the truth! Please don’t take her away from me too…” The grieving mother begged them. 

“Fine, now tell us.” He gestured to the man to not harm or kill the crying girl. 

“They are inside...me. I absorbed them accidently.” Morgan said. 

“I see and yet you are not unable to use them? What a terrible mother you are being unable to protect her children.?” The man mocked her. Morgan glared up with rage and charged at him with the knife that was used to kill her infant son. 

The man used defense moves to disarm the knife and lock his arms around her neck and pinned her to the floor harshly. “You asked for this, bitch.” 

Everything had gone to hell when Natasha saw the man pinned her mother and now he’s unbuckling his pants while her mother wiggling and screaming so many bad words. Then herding her mother crying and screaming in pain whatever the man was doing to her mother. All she know, that man’s hands with her baby brother’s blood smearing on her mommy. Then the man started to choke her in the process until no cries or screams were heard from her mommy.

Natasha stopped wiggling and whispered. “Mommy…?” She had a devastating expression. 

“Such a shame. She’s dead.” He had finished violating the mother.  The men groaned in disappointment since they wanted to have a turn. 

“Stop being whiny brats. The body is still warm enough to have fun.” The leader said then chuckled. 

Natasha felt her world became dark. Rage, sorrow, and feeling useless consumed her. A faint whisper was heard from her ear. 

Take your ravenge...they have spilled blood now; they must pay for it…

Who was that? Natasha said mentally. She could hear the same voice again. 

Use it..use your gifts form the stones they so eager to have…

Mommy had made me promise not to use it.

I’m sorry sweetheart but you must break your mommy’s promise...look what they have done to her and your baby brother? They must pay. You are an Ackerman and Ackermans must do whatever it takes to protect and survive. The least you can do is honor your mother, child…

You didn’t answer my question. Natasha said in her thoughts. 

My apologies, I’m you...well the titan in you. Awaken first and let me and the power of infinity stones handle the rest…

Natasha snapped back to reality to glare at these awful men. “You will pay for it!” 

Now the men started to laugh at the little girl’s threat. “Oh, she has fire in her. Men just end her so we can leave.” The leader said. 

Suddenly a rush of electricity spread inside her as some unfamiliar power burst out. She now felt stronger and aware how to fight. The little girl let out a roar while using that strength to bring the man down to the ground surprisingly. The rest of the men were shocked to see a small girl was able to throw a full grown man onto the ground. Then she grabbed the knife the man was holding to stab repeatedly on his chest. Blood spilled everywhere while hearing the man screaming from the pain. All he could see was glowing silver eyes until he died. 

Natasha dropped the bloody knife and turned herself to glance at the rest of the men. The men looked so scared and ran to try to leave the cottage. 

“Where do you think you are going huh?” Natasha’s voice was distant but not like a human. With the power, she made the door closed and locked from the room so they wouldn't escape. The men tried to open the door. 

“I just want to play a little game.” With her glowing hands, she made them lift up into the air without touching them and threw them to the wall for them to crash roughly. 

“Please, please! Don’t hurt us. Have mercy..” Her hearing those words from their mouth had enraged her. “Mercy? Where was that mercy when my mother begged you not to harm my baby brother. Where was your mercy when you hurt her and killed her?! You deserve no mercy.” 

Natasha slowly crushed their insides into liquid and watched how they coughed out blood. Now they look like a blob with human skin. She hadn't noticed the wind was causing it while she flew above ground. Little by little, she started to get back in control and saw what she had done. Her reaction was dizziness as darkness took over her and slumped down to the ground. 

Night time had arrived when Natasha woke up. The cottage was dark but only the moonlight shined down the room to see blood all over the walls, floor, and furniture. Slowly, she got up and went to her mother’s body hoping she’s still alive. Her tiny hands shook the corpse but no response. 

“Mommy, please wake up. We’ll be late…” her tears falling seeing no life in her mother’s once brown eyes. She let out an agony scream until the house phone rang. The little girl could hear it from downstairs in the living room. She quickly ran downstairs and picked up the phone. 

“Hello? Who is this?” Her sniffles were loud enough a familiar voice was able to hear. 

“Natasha? Is your mother there? Why are you crying?” Her grandfather Levi called. 

“I-I..grandpa!” She cried. 

“Hey kiddo, calm down. Tell me what's wrong?” Levi was trying to calm his granddaughter. 

“M-mommy...they...kill her...and Damon too….I’m scared. Please come get me..” She was still sobbing. 

It was quiet on the other side of the phone; only heavy breathing was heard. Then a growl of anger and a punch sound was heard. 

“Honey, who was it that killed your mother...and Damon.” Levi’s voice felt like they were about to break. He and Historia had lost their son, Atticus a year ago, now two members of their family were killed. 

“I think...they were called Jaegerists? I don’t know. Please I’m scared..come.” She begged. 

“Natasha, it's going to be ok. I want to stay inside the cottage and don’t open the door to anyone besides me and your uncle. We’re going to get the military police to investigate. Can you do that, soldier?” Levi uses his affectionate tone while giving her an order. Whenever she visited her grandparents, Grandpa Levi played soldiers for fun. He sometimes teaches her some moves to protect herself. 

“Y-yes Captain Grandpa.” She sniffled. 

“Good girl, stay there. We’ll get there in half an hour.” With that, he hung up. 

Natasha goes lay on the couch to wait for her grandfather. She began to chant to herself to calm down. As he had promised, a half hour had passed. A knock was heard but she was quiet. 

“Natasha? It’s Grandpa. Open the door, kiddo.” She sprinted up and ran to unlock the door and open it. In her view, Levi and behind him were several military police men and Uncle Erwin. The little girl jumped at her grandfather to hug him tightly. He instantly held her and carried her. 

“Shhh it’s ok. I’m here.” He whispered to comfort her. Levi entered the cottage with her holding onto him. He was grateful that she survived. 

The police made their way into the cottage and explored all over the cottage. Her Uncle Erwin was beside his father. “Natasha, where are the bodies? Can you show us?” 

She nodded and pointed them upstairs, they went and reached Damon's nursery room to see a bloodbath nightmare. 

“Oh fuck. What a mess…” Levi glanced at each body and spotted his infant grandson’s corpse then his daughter-in-law’s. What is he going to tell his wife about this tragedy? And Pepper...too. 

(Eren)

The green eyed titan shifter was dabbing a cold wet cloth on his lover’s forehead. He stared at the woman he loves while his hand caressing her hair. Eren was in disbelief at what he saw earlier with Natasha. She is full of surprises. The Eldian man got up and started making tea in case his fiancée woke up. 

“Damn it, Natasha...you literally will be the death of me.” He sighed while turning on the stove to have the kettle pot boiling for tea. 

He was stuck in contemplating other matters when a soft groan was heard. This got his attention. He glanced on the couch to see Natasha waking up. Eren went to be by her side. 

“Hey…” It’s the first word she had said to him since the incident. He took her hand to gently kiss. 

“How are you feeling, babe?” He asked with concern. 

“I feel...like being hit against the wall.” She chuckled lightly and carefully tried to sit up. Eren stopped her so he could help her without struggling. 

“Luckily I got a special tea just for that.” He smiled then got up as the kettle began to make a whistle sound. 

Eren goes to turn off the stove. He poured the hot water into two mugs. The tea bags were already in the mugs as he poured the water. Carefully, he holds the handles to carry the mugs to the couch. Natasha watched the way he had prepared the tea. By the time she received her tea mug, she had enough strength to sit better. The heiress took a sip of her tea. 

“It’s not green tea?” She was a bit disappointed. 

“Doctor recommended not to let you consume caffeine while you're pregnant.” Eren informed her. 

“Wait, is this ginger root tea?” She sipped again. The taste was familiar with earthy and spicy all in one. The Burnette loved ginger root tea especially with lemon to add the zesty flavor. 

“Yeah, it’s good for you and safe for the baby.” Eren said while sipping his tea. 

“I hope there will be more because I love ginger.” She gulped down her tea. 

“Natasha, don’t drink too fast.” He warned her. 

“Alright, alright. Any medical advice Dr. Jaeger?” She smirked. 

“Dr. Jaeger is my dad.” He scoffed. 

“Yes, but I can see you being one too. Imagine you wearing a white uniform coat or blue scrubs. I think it looks sexy on you.” Her hands rub on his chest. Usually he would respond to her flirty actions but right now it’s not appropriate. He had seen her use so much power and it almost drained her energy. If he hadn’t been there to try to calm her down, the situation would have gotten worse. 

Eren sighed in disappointment and grabbed her hands gently to remove them from his chest. “Natasha, you have a lot of explaining to do. What was that earlier that you just did? It nearly drained your energy. You were unconscious since the incident. Fuck, I was scared for you. I just need you to be honest to me. What other surprises do you have?” He ranted. 

Natasha was biting her lips nervously. This is where she needs to tell him what he saw was not what she had wanted anyone to know for many reasons. One of them is being used as a weapon by others. The American heiress placed her mug on the table stand. 

“I don’t know where to start...this isn’t easy for me to tell anyone about my powers.” She said. 

“You can start on how you got them.” Eren looked at her. 

“I was born with them, but I don’t remember much of what my mother had told me long ago.” She paused as she was trying to remember the conversation with her mother on keeping her gifts a secret to everyone. 

“Is it genetic?” He was concerned. If it was, there’s a chance their unborn child will inherit. It would put any of his children with Natasha into a dangerous situation. 

“I don’t know. This had never happened to any wielder. It was one of the reasons why I joined a secret organization to help me know more about it and be in control. All I knew was that these stones inside me had killed my late grandfather, Tony Stark.” She began to explain. 

“I see. So, no one knows about the stones besides me?” He asked. 

“My grandmother from my mom’s side, Director Maria Hill who’s in charge of the organization I joined and now you. I don’t tell anyone about it so please can you not tell anyone?” She gave him a pleading look. 

“Hey of course I won’t tell. Your secrets are mine now. I will not let anyone hurt you if they know the truth. I’m here for you, Natasha.” He wrapped his arms around her to reassure her that her secret is safe with him. 

“Thank you..” She was grateful of having her secret being kept for good. 

Eren was about to say something when her stomach made a loud growl. He saw how she blushed embarrassedly. He chuckled at how cute she looked.

“You haven’t eaten at all today. Tell me what you're craving and I’ll make whatever you want.” Eren offered to make something for her. 

“Hmm...I am craving a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup?” Natasha glanced at him.

“You got it, rest here while I make what you request.” Eren smiled then kissed her forehead. He went to the kitchen to start making food. 

Natasha watched Eren cooking from the couch. She had thought if it’s time to tell him the cause of her PTSD. She was lost in her thoughts when Eren was calling her name.

“Natasha, I got your soup and your grilled cheese.” Eren had already placed the tray of soup and grilled cheese on the coffee table. He sat on the couch next to her. His hand grabbed the bowl and spoon to help feed her. She was reluctant at first but let him feed her. 

She moaned from having tomato soup in her stomach. Her eyes glanced at the delicious melting grilled cheese sandwich. Eren noticed where her eyes lingered and chuckled form the way she stared. 

“This is why you can’t skip meals, my love.” He placed the bowl down on the table to grab the sandwich and let her bite down as the cheese stretched. 

Natasha just made a grunt sound from having her mouth full from the grilled cheese. Her finger pointed to the bowel to have something to help her swallow down her food. Eren switched the sandwich to the soup and watched her slurp the soup. 

“Thanks my love. Seriously, you have magic hands whenever you cook. Did you learn from your mom as a boy or was it on your own?” She gleaned into his rich emerald green eyes. 

“I learnt just the basics from her, but mostly from during my time in the military.” Eren was a bit quiet from hearing the mention of his mother. His memories as a boy gave him a nostalgic feeling. His mother did teach him how to make soups, and sandwiches including grilled cheeses. He missed her so much. 

“Hey...I’m sorry about our fight at the clinic. You were right. I wanted to forgive you and move on, but that pain was still there...I wasn’t being honest to you or myself.” Out of the blue, Natasha decided to  apologize for her behavior towards him. 

“Shhh it’s fine. I knew deep down what I did to you will take a long time for you to heal and forgive me completely.” He said.

“Um also...I think I’m ready to talk about my mother’s death..” She struggled to let it out in sentences. 

“Babe, you don’t have to…” Eren gently grabbed her hand to kiss it softly.

“But this is important...it’s mainly the reason why I struggled to control my powers. My past has always haunted me where my pain and emotions get out of control and create chaos. I don’t want to end up hurting an innocent.” She glanced at him and hoped he let her talk about her past.

Eren sighed but nodded. “Alright if you’re really ready, I’ll listen to you.” He gave her a warmth smile. 

Natasha smiled back and began to speak. She started every beginning of the summer, her parents and her had always visited Paradise Isle to spend time with her grandparents. When she was 4, her mother decided to go to the cottage that her father had built for my mother as when she was pregnant with Natasha. What she could remember was being in the meadows to pick at the flowers and smell them. She had collected a few for her mother and went back to the cottage. What she had seen was blood spread on the floor in her baby brother’s room. A small body laying in the pool of blood. Her mother’s face went pale than glared at the men who were responsible. Her mother yelled and screamed at them but all they did was laugh and it got to the point where it led Natasha to seeing red for what they did to baby brother than later witnessing her mother being raped. A child should never have witnessed such a gruesome scene. Then all she remembered was blackout until she woke up to see what she had done to these filthy men. She had heard a ring in the living room and went downstairs to pick it up and it was Levi who was concerned when they would come to visit them. She had explained what had happened and quickly her grandfather hung up to go to the cottage.

“So yeah...he brought the police and they were horrific from the scene. I told them what they have done and I torture them until their bones and organs were melted. They looked like a blobfish out of water, but they probably thought it was my Ackerman gene that killed them. I mean I was awoken on that day too but mostly the power of the stones did the damage.” She had stopped to see the way Eren was trying to compose himself. His knuckles were white from how his fists tightened. 

“Do you know who were those men that did these awful acts on your mother and baby brother? Why did they do it?” Eren’s voice was cracking from feeling angry and disgusted by what these men have done to her and her family.

“What I heard from my mother before she was killed; they were…” She doesn’t know how Eren would act if he knew these men are part of the Jaegerist faction. Her grandmother, Queen Historia had been slowly gaining back her power throughout the years and she had restricted them until the Jaegerists had lost their power seat in Paradise Isle.  

“You can tell me, Natasha.” He slowly calmed down for her sake. 

“I don’t think you would like it if you knew who they were.” She said cautiously. 

“Why? Don’t tell me it’s related to me?” Eren felt his heart beating fast as he became afraid of her answer.

“Y-yes...but I know it’s not you. It’s never you nor your brother since he's been dead for a long time. They belong to the Jaegerist. I don’t know who was the real leader during that time when I was a small child.” She felt Eren got up quickly. All she heard was an angry growl and a punch to the wall. 

Natasha looked up to see he made a hole. She got up from the couch and slowly walked towards him. “Listen Eren, this is not your fault-” 

Eren turned around to face her quickly. “Of course it is! I made the Jaegerists. I caused the revolution for Eldia not to fucking brutally kill an infant and raped then kill a mother. They stole your childhood away and yet I was not able to be there to prevent that. Was I there to protect you?” 

“No, I haven't met you yet. Eren, I told you. This is not your fault. You didn’t kill them. You didn’t send them to kill my family.” She placed her hands on his cheeks. “I know what type of man you are and what you're capable of doing but you are not a monster. They are my love.” 

Eren’s tears fall from the guilt. If he knew his followers would cause this kind of trouble, he would’ve not made Jaegerists. He was surprised that the Path didn’t let him access Natasha's timeline. He will need to have a talk with the Founder Ymir. 

“But my name. My family’s name is tainted by causing pain to the mother-in-law I wouldn’t ever get to meet or your little brother.” What bothers him  the most is when his child is born, how will he look at him or her without guilt.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty. They should feel the guilt for what their action had done to my family. I will not let those fucking Jaegerists take my happiness too by having the love of my life feeling the guilt and burden of their crime!” She could feel her body shaking with hatred from thinking about the Jaegerists. 

“You really do hate them huh?” Eren said. 

“I do. They took almost everything from me. My mother, brother, my birthright. I was supposed to be My grandmother’s heir but few Jaegerists who are still in power were prevented by passing a law to take my title I was born with and the line to succession. I am tired of the way they ruled over the government far too long and my family had to pay the price. I’m glad times are changing in the future era because my generation has been protesting to give my grandmother’s power seat full control. I only go visit Paradise because my father’s family lives there. Kuchel had been studying overseas to become a diplomat to best handle the government to help her family to survive there. The aftermath of the three Jaegerist’s acts of crime, the police had to cover the truth. I was angry and furious. My grandparents had to shut me up for my sake. So I had to play the fucked up heiress who sleeps with strangers and parties and drinks into my misery.” She finally calmed down from her outburst. 

“It was not meant to be like the last government was before the uprising. I did it so the Eldians can open their eyes to know the truth and not live in some delusional lifestyle where we’re the last humans on this planet and these fucking walls are our life support. I can’t believe it fires back at my ideology.” He took a deep breath and joined Natasha to sit beside her. 

“So what do they want from your mother? There must be a reason they went to your cottage on that day?” He resumed.

“They wanted the stones. My mom is the daughter of the late Tony Stark. He was the last person that used it to save the earth’s population from an alien invader, Thanos. She didn’t tell them that I have them in my body, instead she told them she had them inside her...to protect me.” Her lips quivered as tears fell. All Eren could do was hold her and comfort her.  

“I won’t let the Jaegerists get you and our baby. If they or anyone tries to hurt my family; I will personally shed their blood like a river.” His tone was dark. This is one of the promises he will keep. 

He needed her. His Eve. His soulmate. His freedom. 

(Natasha) 

The following morning both of them had woken up early to go back to the palace. At first, Eren was reluctant to let Natasha go back to work from yesterday's incident. She had to persuade him that she was better now. They entered the palace and looked at each other before they departed for their duties. 

“Let me know if you don’t feel well. I’ll pick you up.” Eren said while she nodded. 

“I promise I will. Now go before your annoying brother comes to find you. I’m not in the mood to greet him.” Natasha said. 

“Alright, but I will see you later.” He gave her a kiss on her forehead. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.” She smiled back while embracing his kiss on her forehead. 

She had watched him leave, then went to Queen Historia’s chamber to start her work. Later as half of the day reached, Natasha finished her morning chores. It’s lunch hour so she will wait for Eren to come by to get her to go eat. The brunette heiress was about to go inside the Queen’s chamber to grab her stuff. 

“Ms. Potts, is the queen busy with an audience?” Yelena walked towards her. Natasha turned to see the stoic woman. 

“Hey Yelena. Um, I think she is at the moment since she left in the morning to a bunch of meetings with the high ranking ladies, after lunch I will let her know you stopped by to have an audience with her.” Natasha said. 

“I see. Then after lunch it is. Are you on your way to lunch?��� Yelena asked her. 

“Yes, but I’m waiting for Eren to come. You know how protective he has become lately.” Natasha chuckled. 

“Yes, Eren will be a great father and husband too. SPeaking of husband, when will you two be wed?” This threw Natasha off guard. 

“I don’t know. We haven’t picked a wedding date yet. Maybe after our baby is born?” From so many events had happened, it didn’t accrue to her or Eren to pick a date to be married. Only thing Eren ever mentioned was he just wanted to get married now and be his wife. She forgot the culture and society in this island was way different than most modern societies. Maybe she will give a date for the wedding before their child is born even though it's ridiculous to wed so rushly because society will label their baby an unwed bastard. Oh well, she’s just doing this for Eren. 

“I’m sure Zeke and I can offer help for the wedding to happen as soon as possible. Queen Historia adores you. I’m sure she’ll happily help too.” The female Jaegerist said. 

“Thank you, I’ll have a talk with Eren about your offer.” Natasha finds it suspicious that Yelena all of the sudden decided to talk to her so casually.

“Oh I forgot to mention, but Eren would be busy during lunch. He sent me a message to let you know he’ll see you later after work.” Yelena said as she noticed the way Natasha became disinterested and was about to leave.  

“Really? He said that, huh?” Natasha sighed and felt a bit sad that her fiance will not be able to have lunch with her today. 

“Of course. If you want, you can have lunch with me. I might have to come back here later anyways.” Yelena offered. 

“I guess having lunch with you is better than eating alone. Shall we head to eat then?” Natasha gave in and walked with Yelena. 

They went to the hall where most of the staff, Jaegerists members, lower ranks Templars have their meals. It’s basically a cafeteria to her but one day it will be one in the future. She preferred to have lunch outside of the palace since drama had always come to find her. As her pregnancy started to show, few people who had annoyed her before avoided her. Especially, her relationship with Eren was public so they don’t want to be on Eren’s bad side. Oh my god, she was so embarrassed the way he announced everyone the day after the ball. She remembered how her face was red and dying the need to hide herself. If she was in control of the situation then she wouldn’t feel embarrassed. 

As for today, many people stared while walking through the aisle of tables to go wait in line for a meal with Yelena. This felt like her high school days where she was always the center of attention. Being the heiress of Stark Industries and the family’s fortunate, the public was always eyeing on her. It gets too much when she needs her privacy. Once they got their meal, both Yelena and Natasha sat on an empty table. 

“Eat Ms. Potts. The child will need his or her strength.” Yelena gave a smile and began to eat her meal.  

“You can just call me, Eve. I felt like those ladies during the Regency Era.” Natasha said while putting her meat. 

“Very well, Eve.” Yelena said politely. 

 The rest of the meal hour, they were silent while eating. They barely had small talks which bugs Natasha. Maybe having lunch on her own would have been better? They finally finished their meals and Yelena spoke again. 

“It’s almost over lunch, would you be alright if we take a detour? I need to drop off a letter to one of the members in their office.” Yelena waved an envelope letter towards her. 

“Yeah, we got time before the Queen expected me to be back to serve her.” She said. Natasha got up to grab her tray. 

“Good.” The other woman got up as well and took her tray. 

Both women place the tray with empty dishes into a bin where kitchen staff pick up to wash them later. They walked out of the hall in silence. The detour walk was a bit long until slowly it got dim further away than the hallways Natasha was familiar with. She started to feel anxiety. 

“Yelena, are you sure this is where the office leads?” She was getting a bit worried. 

“Yes, I have come here a lot. There are some offices further down.” Yelena said casually. 

“I see…” Maybe Natasha was just feeling a bit sick again. The meat was a bit heavy for her. 

“We’re almost there.” The other woman said. 

As they walked further, Natasha was getting frustrated as her feet were killing her. She stopped to take a small break. 

“Sorry I am going to need a minute.” She begin to panting. 

Suddenly, a hand was placed on her mouth to keep her silent. Natasha panicked and wiggled to free herself. Before she can use her Ackerman strength, she feels something poke on her neck and slowly sees the view blurry. She saw Yelena with a smirk along with two more people. Where did they come from? Why are they doing this? Shit, did they find out she was one of the spies for the Assassins and the last remaining Paradise military?

“W-what did you do to me, Yelena?” She was struggling to speak. 

“Don’t worry this injection is not titan serum nor will it affect your child. We just need you for our special project. We know you have the stones in you. If we do not keep you until you give birth to the child, we’ll remove them from your body.” Yelena explained. 

“Y-you bitch! Eren will notice. He will-” Natasha felt a slap on her cheek. She glared at all three with hatred. 

“Be good and stay silent. The serum is working. Soon we’ll have you unconscious. Speaking of Eren, Zeke will handle him. Sleep well. Ms. Potts.” Natasha’s view slowly darkens. 

Slowly her eyes began to open. All she saw was white surrounds but there were blue lines glowing. In front of her, there was a holosign doing a countdown. It felt like she was in a virtual game that’s becoming popular in her time. 

Welcome to Animus Project. Name: Natasha Eve Ackerman-Stark. Code: 2467489

Shit. She’s in the Animus machine. They know her true identity. Oh where are you Eren?

New subject. Subject 19. Resuming Arene Ackerman arc. 

Halonus, Eldia Empire 1556

It’s been forever since being knocked out by the king’s guards. Arne lost count being held in the cell. Is Ingrid alright and safe? He wondered about his wife. Arne heard the footsteps coming closer and the keys chain making noises as it unlocked his cell. The guard looked at him. 

“The king had summoned you.” The guard said as he dragged Arne out of the cell. Arne prays to the gods and goddesses to protect his small growing family. 

“What the hell? Where am I? Who are you?” Natasha suddenly sees white but as her vision became clear, there were many people staring at her. Some familiar ones like Zeke, Yelena, Floch. 

“How intriguing. Girl, we should be asking you that. Who are you?” Alexander Di Lorenzo stands before her to observe like she’s some mythical creature. 

“It’s pointless to answer that question when you have me hooked up into an Animus machine.” She with a bitter tone. 

“True, but we wanted to give you the chance to speak, Eveline or should we call you Natasha? Tell me Miss Ackerman? What year are you both?” Alexander said. 

“2041…” She whispered. 

“Just as I expected. Gentleman and ladies. Who would ever think the handmaiden is from the future and even better a direct descendant of Levi Ackerman and Queen Historia. I presume that’s on your father’s side? The infant prince is your father?” Alexander chuckled from seeing how her expression became pale. 

“Go fuck yourself.” She spit on the Grandmaster's face. The templars quickly aimed their gun at her ready for their leader to give command. 

“Lower your guns.” Alexander ordered his men. 

“You’re a hothead woman. It doesn’t matter now. You are the key to my goals. Knock her out again and gather any info since her grandfather decided to escape.” Alexander said. The scientists nodded. 

“Hold up. Alexander, she is pregnant with my brother’s child. My niece or nephew might not make it.” Zeke was concerned. 

“Don’t worry the baby will survive. It’s mother is an Ackerman. We’ll give you the baby as its legal guardian. If the child inherits the gifts, we’ll raise it as our weapon.” Alex smirked. 

Zeke stayed silent, this is what he feared having an innocent being born in this cruel world and will be used as a weapon. He felt conflicted from knowing how his little brother will not hesitate to use The Rumbling on them instead. 

A/N: Ok, this is where I’ll stop until the next chapter. I’ll see you next time.

[kingandfireheart]

What stories are left in ACOTAR: Elain edition

It is likely that the next installment of the ACOTAR series will cover Elain Archeron. Elain is probably the least developed character of the Inner Circle, and the only character (other than Amren and Lucien) whose perspective we haven’t seen yet. This post details her trauma, the issue of choice, Elain’s personality, the sweet innocent Elain image, and her various roles. 

Elain will definitely have to face her past trauma, which include:  

Graysen: grief, feeling of betrayal

The Cauldron and being kidnapped: trauma, feeling violated, becoming high fae

Her father: grief

Sisters: having a role in the Night Court, belonging there, being protected

Choices: 

Before I get into Elain’s role, I want to talk about a huge thing for Elain, which is choice. Rhysand spends ACOMAF and ACOWAR showing Feyre that she always has choices. Nesta struggles with this in ACOSF, and while Nesta does make choices to be more active - she kills the Kelpie, saves Feyre, saves her friends, she choses Cassian, and kills Briallyn. 

“I am not a thing to be controlled by you”, Nesta said icily. Everything in her life, from the moment she was born, had been controlled by other people. Things happened to her; anytime she tried to exert control, she’d been thwarted at every turn -- and she hated that even more than the King of Hybern.

Elain, who has suffered much of the same trauma as Nesta, will make her own choices in her book. Those choices will involve who she ends up with (I refuse to get into the Elucien/Elriel debacle here - I like both!), how she wields her power (as a seer, as high fae, as a Made person, as the Cauldron’s favorite, as a political pawn), and what she makes of the situations that happened to her. 

Elain has already shown that she can make good on a bad situation in ACOWAR, I’m excited to see how she keeps that up in her book: 

“This could end very badly, Elain.” // She brushed her thumb over the iron-and-diamond engagement ring. “It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” (ACOWAR)

“I know your circumstances for coming here were awful, Nesta, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so miserable about it.” (ACOSF)

Sweet Innocent Elain: 

Elain’s persona in the Inner Circle is a sweet and innocent girl. She loves gardening and cooking. She is kind and cares about things like manners and propriety. Here are a few quotes that show that: 

Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. (ACOWAR)

“You’re still lovely,” Mor said a bit gently. Elain offered a half smile. “I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant.”Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. “Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless.” (ACOWAR)

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.” (ACOWAR)

“I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.”(ACOSF Bonus Chapter)  

We know that there is a lot more to Elain than anyone gives her credit for - Cassian, Amren, Rhys, and even Nesta point this out on different occasions in ACOSF: 

Cassian: “Nesta was wrong to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.”

Amren: “Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Rhys: “I also think we haven’t seen all she has to offer. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way” “And torn up by thorns”

Nesta: “Elain stiffened, but refused to balk from whatever she beheld in Nesta’s gaze. “You think I’m to blame for his death? Challenge laced each word. Challenge - from Elain of all people. 

We also see Elain starting to take back her power in ACOSF when she steps up to look for the Dread Trove

“You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“I am not a child to be fought over”

“I went into the Cauldron too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of it what my trauma did to you.”

Elain’s Roles: 

Sister: Elain has long been a mediator between Nesta and Feyre. She is the calmness that complements each of their fire, she is the one they each seek to protect. (I’m thinking of SJM’s fire/ice/stone metaphor for Manon, Asterin, and Sorrel). However, she is able to fight for what she wants with each of them, and use her skills to her advantage. Elain shows Feyre her remorse for the years when they are poor, which is why Elain and Nesta step up to help with the Mortal Queens.

 “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.” (ACOMAF)

“And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.” (ACOMAF)

Sweet, innocent Elain who vomited from the violence on the battlefields, who recoiled from Cassian’s weapons, does show that she is willing to fight for her sisters. 

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Seer: Elain seemed to gain clarity once she realized what she was seeing. She says she can control her Seer talk, and actually uses this power to help Feyre find the Suriel in ACOWAR, and offers to do the same with the Dread Trove.  It isn’t clear if Elain’s refusal to acknowledge her powers stems from fear, lack of acceptance, or just the fact that she needed to be normal before she can embrace her new life. 

“Are you asking me that as her sister, or as a seer?” (ACOFAS)

“Then I will find it. I might require some time to ... reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” (ACOSF)

Made and Cauldron’s Favorite: Just like Nesta and Feyre, Elain is Made. All of the Like Calls to Like logic that applies to Feyre in ACOMAF with the Cauldron and the Book of Breathings and Nesta in ACOSF with the Dread Trove applies to Elain. Now that Nesta’s power is limited,  Elain may have to step up and use her power to help find the fourth Dread Trove item or with a new Cauldron-related task. The big distinguishing factor here is that the Cauldron likes Elain. 

The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something … It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken.

“You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well... and because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.” 

Lucien’s Mate: Elain hasn’t been raised with the mating bond, she doesn’t care for it in ACOWAR when she tries to win Graysen back, but it is possible that after almost two years in the Night Court, and watching both of her sisters accept their bonds, that she may want to acknowledge it, or at least understand it. Being Lucien’s Mate also makes Elain a political pawn. Her presence in the Night Court ensures Lucien’s loyalty, and given that Lucient has ties to 3 of the seven courts and the human lands. Elain could potentially wield the power of those alliances (or destroy them based on her relationship with Lucien). 

“You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”// “It means nothing,” Elain said, her voice breaking. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—”// “You belong to him.”//“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”(ACOWAR)

“You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?//“He brought you a present”// “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”// “No. He is a good male. He cares for you.”// “He doesn’t know me.” //“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”//“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male” (ACOFAS)

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen. 

Member of the Inner Circle: Elain insists that she is a member of the Night Court in ACOSF, and offers her help in tracking down the Dread Trove. . She is already an active member at Inner Circle dinners (seen in ACOFAS and ACOSF), and those bonds could continue to grow. 

“And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared she was a part of this court -- and would do whatever was needed. ... He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court... It sucked the life from her.”

Nuala and Cerrdiwen’s Friend: Elain has befriended the two half-wraiths who spy for both Azriel and Rhys. Give Elain’s powers for persuasion (”my sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles”)  and observation (”Nesta never spoke if afterward, I just observed”// “Elain’s brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.” ), she could make an interesting spy or courtier.

“They’d spent more time with Elain than even I had. They understood her moods, what she sometimes needed.” (ACOFAS)

Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. (ACOSF)

[effieduan]

GIVE RIO JOB 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 | Rio & Effie

TIMING: Present

LOCATION: Vulpine Voltage Repairs

PARTIES: @3starsquinn & @effieduan

SUMMARY: Rio’s ability to afford groceries is called into question.

CONTENT:  No Triggers!

Effie sat at the counter, tinkering with a giant black box. It was a monster, a dinosaur, and an absolute disgrace to modern computers. But Florence wanted it back in suitable working condition because it was “so simple”. Effie learned early on in this business that it was important to give the customer what they wanted -- even if she thought she could give them a better experience. Florence was elderly, and she could understand wanting things to stay the way they were. And truthfully, after Effie was done with this big old dinosaur, there wouldn’t be much to complain about other than its size and heavy weight -- that reminded her. She would have to schedule a drop off at Florence’s apartment. Watching the little old woman waddle in carrying that thing had almost given her a heart attack. She was working on replacing the cooling fan when she heard the door jingle as someone entered.

She would have preferred to be in the back sitting in her workshop, but that meant  she would have to constantly be getting up from her work to come out front whenever a customer came. Annoying. She poked her head up over the harddrive to get a look at her customer. “Just a second,” she said, swiftly hopping off the stool, placing her tools on the counter, and grabbing her lime-green gloves. She looked at the boy. College student, most likely. “Can I help you?” she asked. “Did something break?”

In a lot of ways, a shop like this should make Orion feel right at home. Ever since he was old enough, he practically lived on his computer if he wasn’t reading. Nowadays, he did a lot of his reading on the computer anyways, with the scribe archive coming along. It was slowly but surely growing, and Rio was starting to find it easier to find information through the database instead of skimming through the books like he always had to before. Of course, there were probably thousands of books still unaccounted for, but he had tried to prioritize to get some of the most common books translated first.

If his pastimes weren’t enough, then his old second major made a shop like this feel even more familiar. Computer science had always felt like more of a means to an end than an actual passion, but he had still picked up on a few things in the first two years before he had dropped it to focus on history and mythology. After all, the groundwork for the database had already been built thanks to Winston’s help. That was what Rio had wanted the degree for in the first place.

Now, Rio just needed work. Money wasn’t exactly tight. His parents had left behind a generous amount split between himself and Athena, and despite the size and grandeur of the home that he currently lived in, his living expenses were surprisingly cheap. Perks of only paying utilities he supposed. Still, a steady income wouldn’t hurt. And despite the change in majors, Rio still knew enough about technology that a place like this could be a potential job option. If they were hiring that was. “Hey there.” Rio gave a small wave when the woman behind the counter spoke to him and slid closer to the counter. His fingers began tapping against it rhythmically as he considered his words, “Nope. Nothing broken here. Not technology anyways” Rio rattled off, letting his words slowly fade as he realized this was not the best conversation starter, “I was actually just wondering if you knew if this place was hiring? I’m sort of looking for employment.”

Effie stared at Rio, mouth opening slightly in surprise. “... Employment…” Effie said slowly, as if she didn’t quite understand. Truth be told, she didn’t understand. She was quite clear that she was not looking for any other staff for her store, even if Eva told her she was being ridiculous because she would get so much more work done if she had someone watching the front counter while she sat and worked on orders in the back. And what did this boy mean by nothing broken - at least not technology. Was that a Gen Z thing? Was she so old that she was starting to call things gen z things? Was she going to rage war on middle parts and baggy jeans next? Effie had to shake herself out her head, reminding herself she was going to live long enough to see Gen Z 10.0, to stare at the boy. He was… Skinny. And polite enough. Effie’s snarky comment of why didn’t you check the website’s F.A.Q before coming in here died on her lips. “Uh -- “ Effie coughed. “I own this store,” she said. “My name is Effie Duan. And I’m not - I mean, I’m not really looking for employees.”

The woman, who turns out was the owner of the store, didn’t seem especially thrilled about the idea of Orion asking if she was hiring. Apparently, that wasn’t something she did a lot of. Or maybe at all. Rio had passed by the store on a few occasions, had only actually popped inside once or twice to check the place out, but he clearly remembered her face from each visit. Did she have any other employees, or was she running this place all by herself? “Oh! That’s awesome. Hi there. My name’s Rio. Technically it’s Orion, but nobody calls me that except my family.” Rio exclaimed, holding a hand out towards the woman as a means of introduction. He quickly backtracked to correct himself, “Er- well I guess my family used to call me that. Now nobody really does.” Well that was awkward. Definitely not the greatest first impression. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you or anything.” Rio bit at his lip. Well there went another option. Was he cursed to live on his family’s money in that oversized home forever? Could that even be counted as a curse? “Do you uh- run this place all by yourself? Because that’s crazy impressive. How do you have time to do everything?”

Effie’s gaze shot down to the hand he outstretched to her as if it was going to bite her. She did not like contact, especially with humans. Well, especially with anyone. Still, that’s why she wore the gloves. They were the solution and the reason she could be around people. Effie quickly recovered and reached out to shake his hand, hoping he didn’t mind the feeling of rubber. “Orion,” she said. “Rio.” Only his family called him Orion -- had called him… Something flashed in Effie’s memory about the doctor and business owner that were brutally murdered, leaving behind their children. She didn’t remember the girl’s name, but she did remember Orion because it had been one of  Eva’s favorite constellations growing up. Then again, Eva’s favorite constellation changed every week - maybe she just remembered Orion because she would get poked in the side with a stick shrieking and giggling. Now that was a reason Effie never wanted to have kids. Her demeanor softened though, realizing that this kid was on his own now. She felt that familiar, heavy feeling in her chest -- like whenever she looked at a frustrated old woman who just wanted her dinosaur hard drive fixed or a man that just wanted a stupid gaming system repaired because it meant a lot to his father. Effie cursed under her breath, straightening slightly. How hard must it have been to have your parents murdered and now had to provide for himself?

“You’re not a bother, Rio,” she said shortly. “It’s just - I mean, I do run this place by myself. It’s my store - my business, I mean. I’m open Monday through Friday, from 9-5 and then on Saturday’s from 9-12.” Officially, at least. More often than not, she was here, open late or early because it wasn’t like she did much. “So … Well…” Effie looked at Rio. God, could he afford groceries? He was so skinny! “What - What experience do you have?” she asked, lamely.

Orion tilted his head curiously as Effie repeated his name, followed by his nickname to him. “That’s me.” Rio responded quietly, trying to figure out what Effie was thinking about. Clearly something was processing. She was still looking up towards him, but she wasn’t meeting his gaze, instead staring past it. She must have been lost in her thoughts, the same way Rio did. “That sounds busy.” Rio agreed, listening to her hectic schedule. While RIo tried to keep himself busy too, none of his hobbies were exactly time sensitive besides his classes. She was bound to this schedule to run a business. Owning a business in general was way more stress than Rio thought he could handle. Being the sole employee was another thing entirely. She surprised him when she asked about his experience. Hadn’t she just said that they weren’t hiring? “Oh well uh-” Rio considered her question. Technically, he didn’t have much. Not officially. “Well I used to be a double major with computer science as one of those. I’m still a double major, just not computer science anymore. But I learned quite a bit in the first couple of years. I’m pretty decent when it comes to like coding and stuff.” Rio scratched at his neck nervously. It wasn’t like he could exactly show off the database he and Winston had built. Not without looking completely insane. “And I also worked as an assistant in my old job, taking calls and talking to people that came in. It uh- burnt down last year.”

Gears were churning in Effie’s mind as she stared at Rio. He certainly had a series of unfortunate events happen to him. Parents murdered and his job burnt down. Other than making sure some poor college kid could afford groceries, she would get her sisters off her back. It wasn’t only Eva that thought she worked too much. Not to mention if this kid could code, he was likely smart enough to learn how to fix phone screens and the like so she didn't have to waste time with those while she worked on her larger products. Not to mention, if she didn’t have to answer the phone or talk to people… Temptation was something Effie learned not to engage with a long time ago because it only led to disappointment and more self loathing than she could handle. What would she do about this kid’s safety? Make him wear gloves? “A couple of years in computer science is certainly better than nothing,” Effie said finally. “What do you study now?” That seemed like a decent question to ask. She could put him in a full rubber suit, though she wondered if that would be considered cruel and unusual punishment. It wasn’t like the feds would believe it was just her version of wrapping him in bubblewrap.

But how many incidents did she have in her shop? She was comfortable here in her shop and her apartment. Other than making the lights flash when frustrated, she never had done anything dangerous. The danger happened when she inevitably had to go outside. “Look, Rio,” Effie started. “I think -- Why don’t we try it out?” The words fell out of her mouth, surprising herself that she was going through with it. “Obviously, you’re a college student, and I don’t expect you to work all the hours my store is open. We can adjust to your schedule so you can have a healthy class life and social life as well as adequate free time to decompress.” Now she sounded like Eva, who frequently lectured her about what it was like to actually live. Not an option for her. She looked at Rio, before remembering something. “Oh, and I should… Probably check your references.”

[wastelandcrown]

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 7: you matter to me (the terrifying tales of the grimm monarchy)

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Mr. and Mrs. Grimm’s A+ parenting, panic attacks, unconventional sibling problems/dynamics, very brief disappearance (If I miss something please tell me!)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight. If you wanna be tagged in chapters, please ask!! All feedback is very welcomed, I didn’t have anyone to beta so *sighs loudly*. This chapter is kinda angsty and opens up some fun new plot relevant strings. I also want to make it clear that I will be demonstrating Roman putting in work to fix his mess ups in later chapters as well! He’s got some loose ends to tie up, and he will do so. 

Pairings: Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, Creativitwins

Tagslist: @under-the-blue-moonlight @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @im-actually-ok @hauntedturkeycalzonedreamer @croftersjam15 @rainbowsixth @snaketho @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @a-soul-among-the-stars @sweet-razz-tea @the-cactus-lord @genderlessfish

Janus’ eyes move to Logan, they seem to communicate without a breath between them. Logan takes nothing but his phone with him when he heads into the hall, but it’s far too late. Remus is nowhere in sight.

Roman takes a shuddering sigh, places his head in his hands, and leans against the makeup counter.

“I’m-I’m sorry-I don’t-I don’t know what that was-”

“Yes, you do.”

The room feels so uncomfortable, the tension could be cut with a knife. Roman knows Janus well enough to know his glare cuts sharper than any weapon could ever. Especially to him. His face stays firmly planted in his hands, hiding from the truth he’s been avoiding for far too long.

“Roman, look at me,” Janus orders. 

He listens and keels back in shame at the look of anger and disappointment on his friend’s face.

“Tell me the truth, why are you doing this?”

It’s a good question. For all it’s worth though, he doesn’t know. Which seems like the cop-out of the century, but truly...he has no clue at the moment. That, however, is not an answer Janus will accept and not one he will accept of himself. 

With a deep breath, he thinks “Alright, Roman. Be honest. Why are you doing this?”

Within moments he gets it and it is the easiest conclusion he’s ever come to. The twins have always had a very sturdy dichotomy. Remus was a messy and wild child growing up, while Roman was clean and polite. When they played, there was always a good and just prince and an evil conniving duke. There were good marks and bad marks. Good ideas and bad ideas. Clean and messy. Good and evil. Something nice and something terrible. Even in the eyes of their parents. It didn’t matter to them as children, Remus even seemed to enjoy it on occasion. Looking back, he only ever liked being “bad” when he got to choose it. When they played in their yard and there was a choice between swimming in the pool and scooping water onto the grass to “drown the bugs”, he was the happiest child in the universe. When the school called their father and told him that Remus had been in another fight, he looked like someone had ripped his soul from his body. It didn’t matter the reason he was fighting, he was “bad”. Roman had always thought the merit of the fight was dictated by why you were fighting in the first place, but apparently, he was wrong. 

The dichotomy they played into was fun! It was! For a while, at least. Then Roman began being berated by everyone around him for acting similarly to his brother. Then Remus was the new social outcast months before they hit middle school. Then it wasn’t fun anymore. Being “good” was stressful and lonely. Teachers, classmates, friends, family, everyone equated “good” with perfect. Perfection is a hard burden to bear alone and twelve years old. Roman’s mind drifts to when they split up. When the dichotomy became less of a two-person game played for fun, and more of an ugly sweater from an aunt that they had to wear to every formal event. It was hard, it was always much too hard. It hurt him. Recently, he realized the much heavier burden of being “bad”. The stress and loneliness must be tenfold when everyone beats into your brain that you are the perfect example of the “Evil Twin” trope. Even your own brother. Your twin. 

“Everyone told me,”

They had been a pair once.

“‘Roman, you’re such a good kid, you’re good at everything.’”

They were a good pair. Even now. He’d worked with him just a month ago to put something together and it was amazing.

“‘There is nothing you can’t do!’”

A few months ago, he was doing something he hadn’t thought possible and making amends with his brother.

“To them, I was independent and self-sufficient,”

He wasn’t either of those things, not then and not now. He had always been a pair.

“I was perfect. I had to be.”

The catch is that he gave up the only person who didn’t care if he was perfect.

“I thought it was true, I-”

The catch is that now his actions dawn on him fully like a wave over the shore.

“I needed them to be right.”

His breath shakes, “Who am I if I’m not that?”

The wave of grief and guilt crashes into him, and all he can think about now is how much he wants to take back every single mean thing he’s ever said about his brother. He feels the sea of emotions that he’s held back take him in and drown him with ferocity. Janus sighs as Roman stares at him through watery eyes.

“Roman. You were doing so well with Remus.”

He’s right, Janus is always right about these things. Two months ago, he had been doing so much better. He and Remus were still bickering in public, but it was fun to him. Though when Remus had “glue-and-feather’d” his makeup bag, he had thrown a little fit, he laughed about it later. Remus had laughed with him. It was light and fun. May, June, and most of July were the most fun he’d had with Remus in years. They’d spent time together, helped each other with chores, ridden to the theatre together. Little, minuscule things. Things that made such a tremendous difference in Roman’s confidence. 

“What happened?”

The same thing that always happened. His mother came home

There was always something different about his mother. When he and Remus had befriended Janus in elementary school, they met someone else's mother for the first time. He realized the day he had met her what made his mom so different. Lillian Devine, or as they called her Mrs.Lilli, was quite possibly the strangest woman they had ever met. The first time they saw her, Janus had seen her outside the school and made a beeline for his mother’s arms. She took him up into her arms, gave him a spin, and hugged him tightly. Roman doesn’t remember much from being that young, but he can remember the first moment he felt jealousy was when Lillian took Janus into that hug and loudly announced that she missed him. Only gone a day at school, and she missed him enough to announce it to the world. He remembers going home to a very big, very empty house. He was grumpy, clutching Remus’ hand like a lifeline as their nanny ushered them into their room and told them she would collect them at dinner time. When she collected them, Roman asked if she had missed them. She said, “I’m not your mother, am I?”.

His mother was different. When she came home, she would offer Roman a hug and give him a big kiss on the cheek. Every time, even the most recent. Like clockwork. Roman, sometimes accompanied by Remus, would wait outside the door for his mother’s car to arrive. She would exit and her heels would clack along the stone pathway. She would kiss him on the cheek when she got up the steps, offer him a quick hug, then begin to speak about her latest adventures in Paris. If Remus stood with him, she would give him her coat. Roman would always take it from him, hang it up, and follow his mother wherever she went. Recently the thought of their mother handing Remus her coat made Roman want to puke. 

They’d had dinner together one night in July. On her most recent visit, she told stories of her new revolutionary fashion line. He told her all about the newest theatre show. Remus made an effort to sit with them, and it was a labour for Roman to look at his mother when he spoke instead of Remus. He was there for all his anecdotes but he would still hang off of every word just to find something to prod at. Remus stood, and his mother’s words echoed in his brain.

“Remus, dear,” His mother begins in her shrill voice, “If you’re not going to eat with us, at least go and shower. Your smell is unbecoming.”

He latches onto that conversation, that’s really when the downfall started. 

“Mother, that was quite rude…” He says softly, keeping his eyes on his plate.

“Sometimes you have to tell the truth, my darling.” She laughs then, and Roman wants more than anything to get up and chase his brother.

“Speaking of your theatre production,” He turns his attention back to her, “Your father is thinking of coming this year.”

All thoughts of defending his brother leave his brain entirely. His mouth dries and he feels the onset of excitement and pure panic. At that moment he is consumed by selfishness and tries to push away the panic and think only of this dream come true. 

“He’ll be happy to hear you got the lead again,”

“But Mother, I told you, I’m only-”

“Yes, the understudy. You’ll change that, won’t you, my darling? I didn’t raise you to get second place, did I?”

He was good. What he was doing was good. He couldn’t disappoint his mother, let alone his father. Truth be told, he barely even spoke to the man except for their short and brief calls on the major holidays. He hadn’t seen him in person in nearly two years. He’d outgrown the excuse of him being busy but hadn’t outgrown the fire that a visit from his father lights inside him. It became even worse when after two feeble attempts to be rid of Logan, his father called him. Unprompted, unscheduled, and entirely without cause. He buzzed when he picked up the phone. 

“Roman.”

“Hello, father.” He can barely contain the happiness buzzing around in his throat.

“I have made time in my schedule to come to see your stage performance at the request of your mother. She has told me you landed the lead role again, I can’t say I’m not impressed. This is the sixth year in a row she has asked me, you know. I hope there is some merit to your casting director’s choice.”

He can barely keep himself sat down, the urge to jump around is so intense that he nearly dies. “Oh, certainly! I won’t let you down! Oh! And neither will Remus, he’s entirely spectacular in his role this year, I really think you’ll love-”

“I am not attending this production to see your brother. I trust you won’t let me down, because unlike him, you are not a failure. I will see you then, goodbye.”

In one fell swoop, his father had crushed his mood and strengthened his resolve. 

“My father is coming to the production. He called me himself to confirm.”

“The man who talks to you on average thirty minutes a year is coming to our show? Please tell me you’re joking.” The shock is evident in Janus’ voice as he searches Roman’s face desperately to ensure he’s lying.

“I’m not. My mother, she-she told him I got the lead. He told me-He told me that he was impressed with my track record. Then I-Well I started talking about Remus’ spectacular performance and he...He said he wasn’t coming to see Remus and that I-” Roman is on the verge of tears, he feels the urge to crumble like a war-torn kingdom.

Janus places a hand on his shoulder, meant to be a comfort, “That you what?”

Tears track down Roman’s face as he sits and slumps over to physically display his guilt, “That I’m not a failure like him, so I won’t let him down.”

“I am internalizing so much anger at the moment, please give me a second.” Janus takes a deep breath and screams angrily out loud. Roman takes it as initiative and screams as well, but much more wet and sad. 

Janus pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

“You didn’t think to tell anyone any of this?” Roman shakes his head and sniffles.

Janus mutters to himself, “Right. Of course, you didn’t. You fool.” 

“We all know you’re not an absolute prick Roman. You’d obviously just pick on Logan for no reason you’re totally not super stressed or something.” He recoils at that, Janus’ face falls.

“I’m just-Roman-You can talk to me,” Janus speaks with an air entirely too soft for him.

What gets Roman’s attention is the tired and slightly sad, “Lord knows that neither of you does enough.”

“I’m here for you, even if you do some very morally shifty things. Especially if it’s all because you’re all stressed out and your daddy issues are taking centre stage in your mind.” He sits beside him now, taking Roman’s hand in his.

“I know how passionate you are, and I can tell that this isn’t how you want to do it. So, you don’t have to. You have...lots of things to make up for and apologize for. But there is still time. As long as you mean it, and you want to do better.”

Weakly, he mutters “I do.”

“Then find a way to apologize and fix it the way you always do.”

“And what way is that?” He asks with a soft smile, to which Janus chuckles under his breath.

“Facing every and all challenges with courage and honesty. Obviously,” Janus raises a thumb and wipes the tears from Roman’s cheeks with a genuine smile. 

So it was settled then. Roman needed to apologize. To everyone. He was already thinking of ways to express his sorrow and regret properly, his brilliant brain spitting out lavish and somewhat laborious ideas. Janus can tell from the way the passionate light returns to his eyes and he smiles. There is work to be done. 

The door slams open and an entirely too panicked Virgil stands in the doorway, “Janus-”

Work to be done later. Virgil’s breath is coming in whooping waves, his body is shaking, makeup smudged from anxious tears rolling down his face. Janus moves with purpose, approaching Virgil like a particularly protective guardian. Virgil grabs the fabric of his hoodie and tries to breathe.

“That’s it, Virgil, you’re alright,” He coos, gently placing a hand on his head.

“We can’t-” Virgil speech is messy and laboured, “We-We can’t find Remus-He’s-He’s not picking up his phone-I’m-We-”

Roman’s blood runs cold. Remus has done this before, sure. But it’s always been silly and fun and not motivated by weeks worth of stress and terrible feelings. Roman knows his words were the cherry on the cake, and nearly slaps himself for still being sat there while his brother was who knows where.

Roman grabs Remus’ bag from the floor, opening it to find his phone. There are almost fifty missed messages, most of them from a contact labelled “The Sexy Kind Of Spider” who he can only assume is Virgil. 

“His phone’s still here,” He sifts through the bag some more, “Along with his jacket and his car keys.” 

“Well, I’d say he can’t have gone far, but we all know how crafty Remus is,” Janus says with a drained expression on his face which only inspires Virgil to clutch his shirt even tighter.

There’s a fire in Roman now, an urge to find his brother’s newest hiding spot and somehow make it up to him. He slings the bag over his shoulder and approaches the pair.

“No need to fear, Virge! I’ll find Remus and bring him back to us as quickly as I can!”

Virgil only nods in response, prompting Janus to gently ruffle his hair. Roman leaves, knowing that the Virgil situation is in very capable hands. On to finding his brother. 

He sends a quick text to Thomas debriefing the situation, playing it off as a “typical Remus situation”, and leaves the building. If Remus had been outside the theatre, he certainly wasn’t anymore. Potentially unfortunately from Roman, a certain nerd was out there looking instead. When they made eye contact, Logan approached. He looked...frazzled. Much more so than Roman had ever seen. 

“There you are. I was wondering when you would come help. Remus is missing and hasn’t answered his phone.”

“He left it here, but I’m going to go and look for him.” 

Logan mutters something under his breath about the inefficiency of something-or-other, but Roman does not have the time to care. Him and Logan talk for another minute, Logan even gives him his number to call when he finds him. Logan says he’s going to get more people to look, Roman only nods. He’s focused in, there’s hope for a new start still and he’ll be damned if he loses it to Remus randomly disappearing forever. He piles into his car with Remus’ bag and starts his search.

Hope turns to fear after the third hour with no signs of his brother. He had checked his house, all the old spots Remus used to love, their whole neighbourhood, Janus’ house, every department store near the theatre. Nothing. It was like a magician cast a spell to make his brother disappear. He’s on the verge of panic. His hands are shaking like a bitch and his breathing wavers with each word he mutters to himself to ease his anxiety. He has to pull over into the parking lot of the convenience store near his home. It wouldn’t be safe for him to drive anywhere anymore. He wonders for a moment how in the hell his brother disappeared so quickly. He only had about thirty minutes on foot ahead of them, how had nobody found him? He almost cries sitting at the wheel. What if he’d been kidnapped? Murdered? Taken for ransom? Wait, that’s the same as kidnapping, isn’t it? God, it didn’t matter now! His brother was gone. For nearly ten minutes he lets the situation hit him hard. Tears roll through his body and he sobs. If Remus was gone forever, what would he do? What could he do? 

A worker from the store comes out from the front. They see Roman and Roman sees them. Roman couldn’t care less that they now look incredibly uncomfortable. They move to the back of the store and from Roman can see, they’re talking to someone. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know why he’s watching. He’s still crying like a baby. The thought of having lost his brother to the universe is still making his head pound. The worker gives whoever they’re talking to a smile, walks back inside the store, and from the till inside they give Roman a reassuring smile as well. He gives them a thumbs up. He takes a deep breath. He needs to pull himself together and find-

When Remus turns the corner from behind the store, Roman goes for the door handle before he can think. The sight of his shivering, tear-stained, obviously upset brother has him moving. He rips the door open and scrambles out. He trips over the edge of the car door and it doesn’t even matter. His palms and knees scrape against the concrete, ripping the skin on his hands and hurting his knees. He doesn’t care. It stings and he doesn’t care. The second he’s on his feet again he bolts at Remus and throws his arms around his chest. His head is firmly locked between Remus’ neck and shoulder, he’s grabbing at his shirt like a lifeline. His breathing is erratic, the tears are back now and back with a vengeance. His knees are shaking. He hadn’t even recognized how terribly and horribly scared of losing his brother he even was. Feeling it now was like the first breath of autumn air in your summer lungs. Remus stands there, just stands there. For a moment, the buzzing of his mind recognizes someone saying his name. Then there are arms around him. He’s being squeezed within an inch of his life. He doesn’t mind. He will never mind again. 

All Roman’s scared voice can squeak out is a loud and cracking, “I’m sorry!”

They stand together in the chilly late-august afternoon air, in full sight of any neighbours or employees at the store, for five minutes. They sway slightly. Remus doesn’t say a word. Not one passes through his lips. Remus pulls away, only to take Roman’s hand and drag him to the car. 

“C’mon you crybaby, let’s go home.”

Roman just nods and doesn’t comment on the tears on Remus’ cheeks. Remus takes the driver’s seat and Roman piles into the passengers’ side. He holds his brother’s bag in his lap, he squeezes it tightly. The drive home is only a few minutes, but Roman’s breathing calms enough to the point where he can rationalize texting. Janus, Logan, and Virgil all get a very simple text, but it’s enough to explain the situation.

‘Found him. We’re going home. He’ll call you in a bit.’

They pull into the driveway, shuffle into the house, take off their shoes. It seems weirdly unreal. It’s like Roman has entered some twilight zone where he and his brother get along. A twilight zone that Roman hopes to make a reality. Like he’s an upset kid again, he takes his brother’s hand and remains resolute in not crying again as he leads him through their empty house. The maid is there, she sees them pass. She doesn’t say a word. She watches the obviously upset twins make their way down the hall and into Roman’s room. Remus lets Roman take him by the shoulders and sit him on his bed. They stare at each other for a moment, unsure of what to say. 

Roman takes the first step, “You scared me, Remus.”

Remus looks away, “I didn’t think you’d care, really…”

“Of course I’d care! Remus, I-I always cared! And I meant it when I said that I am truly sorry!” He’s crying again, and frankly, he feels a little stupid. 

“I kinda figured when you ran at me crying like a crazy person,” His brother picks up the end of his blanket and wipes his face with it, “You’re crying a lot today.”

“I’ve had a quite terrible afternoon, I think a little emotional distress is warranted.” He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, Remus smacks the blanket gently across his cheek. 

Remus ushers him in again, nudging his head against Roman’s stomach and wrapping arms around his back. Roman stands between Remus’ legs and holds his head like the precious thing it is. 

There’s a shudder of a breath from each of them. Both of them are so painfully aware of how long it’s been since the last time they sought out each other for comfort like this. There’s something so familiar in it. The warmth that Roman remembers from a childhood spent at each other’s sides. They used to be so close that they shared a bed by choice. He spent nights asleep and calm holding onto his brother. This feels like that. Something so personal and so old. Remus starts to cry again and it’s a messy sob that makes Roman’s ears ring. He squats down to look Remus in the eyes, taking his hands in his. 

“I didn’t mean it, Rem. I don’t think you’re a failure-I-” Remus cries harder, he does his best to wipe the tears with his fingers.

“You-You mean much more to me than I’m sure I've let on in recent years.” There’s a tenderness and honesty in Roman’s voice that feels good and right.

“Mother and Father have been driving me insane, pressuring me to say and do things that I frankly don’t believe in.” The feelings he’s sharing now are lightening something in Roman’s chest, and from the look on Remus’ face, his words are more than on the right track. 

“Not anymore. I promise to you that from now on I am going to do everything I can to make up for the terrible things I’ve done.” 

Remus smiles at him, teary-eyed and covered in snot. It’s not gross to Roman, not right now, because Remus looks better. 

“Can you start by getting me some water?” Remus’s hoarse voice coughs out, Roman is on his feet and goes to the kitchen as quickly as he can. 

With two glasses in hand, he hurries back. He stops at the door. Inside, he hears Remus talking. He’s on the phone with Janus, who sounds more than upset. He goes in, gives Remus the glass, and turns to leave for privacy reasons. His brother grabs at his wrist and tugs him back. He sits beside Remus and they drink their water. He keeps his mouth shut and listens to the ways in which other people love his brother. Janus is angrier than anything else. The heart-palpitating rant that ensues is wildly emotional. He talks about how much the incidents of this afternoon scared everyone, goes off on tangents about the risks of running off and not telling anyone, tells him with the most love in his voice that he was worried about him. Remus promises not to do it again, Janus only sighs in a loving way. Janus brings up his talk with Roman, emphasizes his support of both of them, and lets Remus be on his way. Virgil is next, and he’s quiet. The call is full of little silences, Virgil takes breaks between sentences. Stops mid-word to take a breath and keep his wits. He tells Remus that he scared him. Tells him that he cares about him, no matter what. That he loves him and wants the best for him. He doesn’t use those words exactly, but Roman reads between the lines. 

They’re fairly average calls considering the circumstances and their relationships. Roman sees Remus hesitate as his fingers ghost over the call button under Logan’s contact. He’s saved as “Boobear” with a blue and green heart. It’s by far the most normal of the names on his list. It’s by far the sweetest as well. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, and Remus gives him a shaky smile.

“I’m worried about what he’s going to hate me now or something,” 

It’s almost the stupidest thing Roman had ever heard. He might not get along great with Logan, but he’s not blind. The little nerd is wrapped tightly around Remus’ finger. He’s seen Remus hang off of Logan and say all kinds of crazy and vulgar things, only to get a small reprimand or occasionally an annoyed-but-loving smile. Remus can spout off in a rant about nothing in particular, only to have Logan hang onto every word and provide commentary and factual corrections. There is nothing in the world that could shake away the Logan Lark who was smiling and dancing in a field with his brother only a month ago. 

“With the way he looks at you,” Roman chuckles, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this made him love you more.”

Remus blushes furiously, and instead of dignifying Roman with a response, he hits the call button.

Logan picks up the second it goes through as if he was waiting by his phone for Remus to call him. The intense emotion in his voice makes the twins do a double-take. He’s normally so straight and narrow. Measured. Collected. There is an air to the typical Logan that has vanished now. Roman wonders why he couldn’t show this side on stage more often. 

“Remus? Please tell me this is you.”

To cover up his anxiousness, Remus flirts terribly, “Heya hot-stuff, what’re you wearing?”

There’s a relief filled laugh on the other side of the phone, “There’s my answer. Are you alright?”

“M-hm! You’ll never guess who made me feel better with a shit ton of groveling!” There’s an air to Remus’ voice that conveys humour.

“Remus.” Logan sounds so serious, Roman watches Remus sigh and roll his eyes at the care.

“Yeah, Logie. I’m okay. I mean it.”

Logan speaks again, that same serious voice, “I’ve been worried all afternoon.”

“Yeah...” 

It’s quiet for a second, there’s a tension of the unspoken affection the pair have for each other floating in the room. 

“I feel this is as good a time as any to tell you that I don’t think you’re a failure at all. You-I...In truth, I find you quite interesting to be around. You...You are...immensely talented in my humble opinion. I...While I understand we haven’t been friends for long- I hope it is not presumptuous to say that we are friends-But our relationship is...important to me. I enjoy your company and all you do for me. It...It is a true pleasure to be in your company, Remus. I-” 

Despite the blushing on Remus’ cheeks, he softly mutters “You’re ranting again, Lo-Lo.” 

“My apologies,” Logan nearly whispers out, there is affection seeping from his voice, “However, I meant everything I said.”

“I think you’re the shit too, babes. Sorry for worrying ‘ya.” There’s that affection again, Roman has never heard his brother sound so affectionate.

There’s another pause, Remus speaks again “I’ll make it up to you.”

“If you make a sex joke at a time like this-” Logan scolded, they could almost see his grimace.

“No, I mean it,” Remus laughs, “We can do something together. To make up for it.”

“I’d like that.”

Roman looks to his brother, the phone, and then his brother again. To him, it sounded as if Remus had just asked him out on a date, but he knew well enough that Remus and Logan were probably too dense to understand the implications.

“I’ll uh-I’ll talk to you ‘bout it later then, kay boobear?” Remus asks while staring at Roman, confused about the ‘oh-my-god-you-totally-like-him’ look he’s getting.

“Alright. Goodnight, Remus.” Logan’s voice drips honey and roses as he wishes him goodnight, there is so much Roman can hear wrapped up in that simple sentence and it’s a wonder to him.

“Goodnight.” 

The call ends and Remus lets out a dreamy sigh. 

Roman winds back and smacks Remus with a pillow in excited fervour. 

“You did not tell me you were that in love with Logan!” 

“Wha-You asshole!” Remus takes the pillow and smacks him back, “I am not in love with him!”

“Yeah right! That was the gayest conversation I’ve ever heard!” He nearly shouts, getting up and grabbing more pillows from the collection at the head of his bed.

“We didn’t even say anything juicy!” Teases Remus, grabbing pillows at lightning speed, preparing for what he knows is coming.

“It was in the tone! And don’t say juicy like that you dolt!” 

Remus hits Roman with a pillow to the face. With an excited cackle, Roman launches an attack, throwing as many of his numerous pillows at his brother as he can. There is an all-out war within seconds. Both boys are shrieking and laughing. By the end of the pillow fight, they’re breathless and more joyful than they have been all day.

“How do you feel about a sleepover?” 

Good. Remus feels very good about a sleepover. That night while laying in Roman’s dumb red sheets, cuddling up to his brother in the way that little kids do, he feels happy. Really happy. Genuinely happy. Logan had told him that it was hard to love somebody when they didn’t act as if they loved you back, and he was right. The smartass was always right. Now though, he felt it. His brother had cared, ran for him like he was the only thing that mattered to him in the world. He loves Roman. Apparently, Roman loves him too. His brother hugs him closer in his sleep. That’s more than enough for his brain to quiet tonight. 

Addendum; August 20th -

Remus went missing this afternoon. It worried me greatly, but he turned out alright. Things between the Grimm twins seem to be better. On August 21st, they arrived to practice bickering but holding hands. They both appeared near ecstatic all day, needless to say, it was tiring. There will be no more need for the “Roman Incidents” section of this notebook.

Circled in red pen, written largely at the bottom of the page, underlined three times over. 

Note: Investigate your true feelings for Remus Grimm.

[curiousconch]

Fight or Flight

Chapter 13 of Ricochet (An Open Heart AU)

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: Bryce and Heather both need to make major decisions as they face the final revelation about what truly transpired during Heather's kidnapping.

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Dr. Heather Song) ft. PLATONIC Ethan Ramsey

Words: 3.5k+ | Genre: Crime, Suspense/Thriller, Romance

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / language, hints of violence

Author's Notes: So this took too long to write, and frankly, I'm still reeling with it. I have long planned the conclusion of this series but I am still shocked with how I came up with this final twist. I do hope you forgive me for sitting on this for far too long. Life wasn't making it easier.

Also, disclaimer: Majority of the characters are owned by Pixelberry, except the main character Heather Song.

"You can't go back to the case, Lahela."

Bryce pounded his fists on his oak desk in frustration. He just came out of a meeting from Chief Tanaka, requesting for him to be assigned back on the Farrugia case.

Victim - prosecutor relations. Possible disbarrment. Termination. To sum it all up, his career will be in jeopardy.

These are the looming threats over Bryce's head if he didn't back off the case. Not that he had much choice. Now that his and Heather's faces were plastered across every Boston online article from the gala.

He couldn't help but to think that someone planned to stop his involvement in the case. Probably because that person knows he's doomed once Bryce works his way to untangle the web of conspiracies that transpired.

Resolved, the ADA swears to himself to get to the bottom of it before he lets this go. Sitting down, his mind ventures to Heather, wishing that her day back to Edenbrook was going much smoother than his was.

*** 

Unfortunately, before noon, Heather found herself in a supply closet.

It was proving more difficult to go back to normalcy after everything that has happened. Patients recognize her from the news coverage. Doctors, nurses, even half the staff was treating her like something fragile. Even the usually grumpy attending that was her boss wasn't trying to get on her toes today.

For Heather, it was incredibly disorienting.

But the probable reason behind how everyone was acting weird around her was that early morning incident.

While taking on an emergency case, she froze up. The last time she did was during her intern year. And that was for an entirely different reason. This time, her head blanked out because she thought she saw Ed Farrugia in that gurney. The slithering snake of a man he was. She couldn't move her fingers, nor speak because of the mixed emotions of her imagined vision.

Edenbrook was where it all began.

Luckily, Dr. Naveen was around to sub for her.

And thus began her slow downturn, reaching the tipping point in this condemned supply closet.

Eyes closed and breathing slowly, Heather struggled to free herself from the suffocation she was feeling. She loved Edenbrook, she loved working here. But now, why does she only feel dread the first day she again set foot on it?

Beep beep.

The sound of her pager momentarily freed her from her prodding mind. It was Ethan. He wanted to see her at Chief Banerji's office. Sighing deeply, she fixed herself and got out of the closet, wondering what this meeting might be about.

An elevator trip and a couple of minutes later, she knocked on Naveen's door and let herself in. Ethan Ramsey was already inside.

"You asked for me?" Heather said, closing the door behind her.

Her mentor and grand-mentor exchanged looks of concern before straightening up.

"Grand-protégé, have a seat," Chief Naveen gestured towards the comfortable chairs in front of her desk, where Ethan already took a seat on one.

She obliged, taking the seat opposite her boss. Dr. Ramsey didn't take long to speak right after.

"We know you've been through a lot recently Dr. Song and we-"

"Please don't put this delicately, Ethan. I can't get anymore fragile," Heather spoke up, demanding for both doctors to tell it to her straight.

"Of course, Heather." Ethan coughed, before sitting up in a more commanding posture.

"Johns Hopkins have offered a long-term position to the Cancer research partnership we have with them," Naveen said. "We both think it's in the best interest of you and Edenbrook to take the opportunity, given that it's your target specialization and -"

"It's not in Boston." Heather finished the sentence for him.

"Yes," Ethan nodded. "We don't want your career to be overshadowed by what has been going on. You have a lot of potential, and this would make you a forerunner in the advancement of cancer research."

"It's frankly what you can call it, hitting two birds with one stone," the eldest of the doctors added.

"How long will it be?" Heather asked, weighing it all in.

"A year, a year and a half, at least." Ethan replied.

"And what of my position in the diagnostics team?"

"You'll stay on to consult remotely, but your responsibilities will be diminished given that we want you to spend more time on the cancer research."

Heather swallowed hard. They're putting me into self-imposed exile.

Sensing her hesitation, Ethan reached out to her and patted her arm.

"We only want what we think is best for you Heather, so please at least give this some thought."

She met her mentors' gaze and nodded at them, before rising to stand up.

"I will think about it," she said, leaving the office.

*** 

Pulling all the strings he had left, Bryce Lahela stepped foot into the mansion of Massachusetts' prolific senator. Isolated by house arrest, thinking about Ed Farrugia made the young ADA's skin crawl.

As he walked the carpeted floors into a receiving room, he couldn't help but notice the select macabre portraits that showed war scenes hanging on the stuffy walls. Says alot about its owner, that's for sure.

The double doors he entered in opened, and a tall imposing figure in unflattering maroon satin robes came in. He looked a bit older, yet, somehow, more formidable.

"Ah, ADA Lahela. I see you are not backing down?"

Bryce almost snorted at his arrogance, immediately sensing the pretend machismo in his foe's tone.

"We'll see about that, Senator," the prosecutor replied politely. Didn't want to cross the point of no return before I had the answers I wanted.

"So, what does the young and promising prosecutor want from a disgraced politician today?" Ed sat down on one of the most pretentious armchairs Bryce has ever seen in his life.

"The truth," Bryce smiled cheekily, standing opposite the other man, matching his bravado.

The senator's response was to lean back on the too comfortable chair, crossing his legs.

"Well ADA Lahela, are you certain you are ready for the truth? It may get closer to home, more than you will ever think," Farrugia replied, a sinister grin masking his features which suddenly made Bryce feel queasy.

I don't like where this is going. He thought to himself, staying quiet.

"I thought so," Ed Farrugia nodded, watching the lawyer's stoic facade slowly crumble. "But to hell with it, it's just going to be fun to watch how you had a hand on all of what happened to your precious Doctor Song."

The former senator snapped, and in came a butler that carried a tray. In the tray was a white envelope, and a tumbler of what Bryce smelled as scotch. The politico grabbed the glass and sipped the rich liquid, neither offering Bryce any nor pouring him another glass. Instead, he reached for the white envelope and raised it to Bryce's level.

"Recognize the handwriting, young man?" Ed Farrugia was now sneering at him, expectant.

As Bryce's sight slowly trailed the cursive handwriting, he sensed the familiarity of the strokes. Ed Farrugia's name was written, but there was something about the way it was written.

When his eyes fell on the top left side, he recognized the insignia almost immediately, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up.

There it was, the name he tried to get away from since his adolescent life. Lahela. The logo of his parents' godforsaken company that duped so many families.

Bryce can only freeze in place, as the horror of the realization that his parents somehow had a hand in all of the things that happened to Heather slowly dawned on him.

"Heather Song was the doctor that saved my ass, ADA Lahela, so of course I didn't have the motive to hurt her, you know. She prevented my assassination, and I'm not an ungrateful hypocrite," Ed Farrugia began to explain. "But Heather knows this... I am not to shy away from people who can give what I want, what I need, you understand of course? You're a smart young man."

"So in exchange of a generous donation to my campaign, I am to concoct a plan that will mutually be beneficial to me and my donors," Farrugia continued. "My donors wish to teach you a lesson, make sure that you do not forget where you came from, remind you that no matter where you go, once a Lahela, always a Lahela."

"That's why we went with a warning first, remember? Get out of Boston, or else," the senator shook his head. "Your parents didn't think she'd be a good influence to you. Frankly, an orphan with an absentee father? She'd set you up for failure. At least that was what your parents thought."

"And of course, I wanted to gain something more with it, might as well do the work right? I had my kidnapping staged, that dashcam footage you received? That's from me so that you can arrive at the scene before I get killed by that amateur wannabe Jordan. What's in it for me was public sympathy - as the survivor of a second assassination attempt. Public sympathy equals votes. As simple as that."

Ed stood then, and padded his way to the nearest open window, before looking back at Bryce.

"I used my own enemy, the Travis Brothers, to deflect suspicion, of course. I also a used a middle man, someone who already wants payback from Dr. Song, someone with motive... So Declan Nash worked for me, in exchange of leniency in his role on Panacea's medicare fraud." He smirked, satisfied with the grandiose of his plan. "My only mistake was that I underestimated that ungrateful piece of crap though. Who would have thought he had the brains to record me?" his fist connected on the windowsill, startling Bryce.

"So you see, young man, everything that happened, is on you. No one is to be blamed more than you. All because of your ambition to become something you are not. Something you will never be, be apart from your family name."

Stunned into silence, Bryce can only gape at the senator. The turmoil within though, was unparalleled.

The anger that was boiling in him in the revelation that all this time, his parents was the cause of so much misery. Bryce's heart was so quenched of the discovery that he hasn't completely escaped them, nor their relentless hunger for taking control of his life.

His fists clenched, wanting nothing but to smash every single thing in that wretched room. He didn't care anymore.

What right do they have after putting him in so much pain? What do they even want to achieve? Do they want to make him crawl back to them as if nothing happened? Do they want the same pretentious respect that so many others had just for their mercy?

How does he even begin to explain all of this to Heather? That everything that went downhill for her was because of the person she loved? How can she accept him now? How can she love him now?

And as if on queue, Bryce's phone began to ring. When he saw the caller ID, he almost dropped it.

It rang once again. And he knew he had to take it.

"Bryce? Can we meet?" The voice from the other line was firm, but fragile.

He tried to level his voice, not wanting to have her worried. At least not now.

"Sure, babe. Where do you want to go?" Bryce replied, walking out of the mansion that was sucking the life out of him.

"In that cafe, where I bought you coffee that first day we met. Do you remember where?"

Bryce sensed the urgency in Heather's voice. Has she found out? He hoped not.

"Okay, what time?"

"I was hoping now. If you're done working, that is."

He was done. No reason to delay the inevitable.

"Okay, I'll drive there now. I'll see you."

With a heart heavier than it has ever been in his entire life, he drove down to where it all began, praying so much that it wouldn't be a trip to full circle.

***

Heather nervously sat by the glass wall of the Cafe, in a quiet corner. She already ordered two caramel macchiatos, the same drinks she and Bryce had the first day they met.

She rehearsed what she was about to say in her head, hoping that repetition will make it less taunting. Once she sensed Bryce, she waved him to the table and stood up.

He instantly saw her, and the load he was bearing suddenly become a little lighter. But the guilt was still there. The guilt of being the person to have caused much misery in her life.

But years of practice of showing everyone else the facade of his unbreakable confidence helped him hide what he was truly feeling at the moment, and instead smiled at her.

Her beaming return smile proved to be almost too much.

He reached out to her and intertwined his fingers with hers, almost nudging the cup of coffee in front of him.

"Hey, you remembered," Bryce was touched.

"Of course, it's probably the only thing you ordered during those meetings." Heather chuckled, brushing his cheek with her knuckles.

Her chuckle was lackluster, not her usual one full of wit.

"What's going on, Heath? It can't be that you just missed me," Bryce asked, straight to the point, hoping to dodge her intuitive powers of observation.

She sensed the edge in his voice, making her eyebrow quirk. Heather discerned it was best to ask him first.

"No, Bryce. What's up?"

For the second time that day, Bryce was stunned into silence. Heather's sharp perception of him was unimaginably accurate. And he knew he'd explode if he didn't tell her.

So he did.

From the denial and threats of Chief Tanaka, to his prodding, which led him to the heavy weight of the truth of Senator Ed Farrugia's admission. He didn't spare any detail.

Heather listened intently, trying to comprehend exactly what he was saying. She saw the guilt in Bryce's eyes when he told her that his parents set the wheels in motion, apparently for some sick and twisted lesson he needed to learn, like he was still under their supervision, under their control.

The more she heard, the more overwhelmed she got. But she didn't let go of the grip she had on Bryce's hands, reassuring him that she's there to not judge, but only hear out what he learned of the unnerving truth. And to acknowledge the strength of Bryce's character to not hold out the truth to her.

That was what she loved about Bryce. He was never one to back down from the truth, when it mattered. At least that's the case with her.

She has spent half the day pondering about her own decision. She took Bryce's position into account but she didn't expect this other factor to come into play.

If she stayed in Boston, she'd stay with him. And he won't be able to help her case. She knew Bryce, and he'll be unnerved not to be able to personally oversee it. And with this new discovery, he'd want to all the more take this case. This was personal. And Bryce wasn't one to back down against it. She's going to hold her back.

If she left... Well, Bryce would be able to take on the case.

Either way, she'll lose him. And the mere thought of it pained Heather to the core.

Bryce noticed Heather's lack of reply, the contemplative look in her face made him sense something was about to go south.

"What if there's a way, Bryce?" Heather finally spoke. "What if there's a chance for you to fight all this? Would you take it?"

"Heath, I don't think I want to know where this is heading..." Bryce stared at her, confused.

"Answer me first, Lahela. If I give you an out where all those hurdles goes out of your way, will you go through with it?" The intensity with which her eyes bore into his was unparalleled, yet rendering him clueless.

It took him a few moments before answering. Everytime he asked himself the same question, the answer was never different.

"Yes, Heath. I'll fight this to make sure those bastards can do you no more harm." his answer was firm, but as to her way, he still had reservations.

She nodded, her heart screaming not to do this. But she had to do it, else, everything her and Bryce will have between them will be diminished to nothing but resentment and guilt. With him claiming responsibility for his own parents' actions, yet unable to do anything about it. And Heather resentment, because she can't guarantee that a day won't come that she'll blame him.

They can't be together. Not until this is all resolved, not until they can leave everything behind.

Laying it down the line, Heather had to choose. She had to choose for both of them, even if it will surely hurt them both.

"Do you trust me, Bryce? Do you trust us?" Heather was firmly holding his hands, determined.

He nodded, despite himself. He feared what she was about to say, so he held his breath.

"So be it, Bryce. I'll give you an out. I'll give you what I think you need now,"

Bryce was afraid to ask the next question in his mind, but he did anyway, fuelled by Heather’s fire.

"What's the cost, Heath?"

"I'm leaving for Baltimore, Bryce," she said quietly, biting her lower lip, clearly putting in an effort to hold back tears. "I hope two years is enough for you to fight everything alone, because you'll have to. We both have to fight this separately, it seems."

Bryce's blood ran cold. No, no, no, no fucking way.

Seeing the panic in his eyes, Heather soothed him by brushing her fingertips on the back of his hand, sadness beginning to creep into her expression.

"It's the only way, Bryce, it's the only way..." she repeated, as if to convince herself rather than him.

"No, Heather, I can't lose you, not this time, not ever." Bryce's voice was pleading with her, yet he knew, deep down, that she was right. That this seemed to be the only way to fight all the remaining battles of their lives.

"If we concede now, Bryce, it would only break us. If we avoid this now, it will eventually haunt us and we'll succumb to it. We'll just end up hurting each other." She struggled to reassure him, but she pressed on.

"This way, we're not bowing down. We stand more of a chance to overcome this if you'll fight this. If, we will fight this." She rose from her seat to take the chair beside him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, comforting him. "We're merely carving our own way around it. It's not going to be easy, but I know we'll overcome... Because you're one hell of a prosecutor, Lahela. You're the best and you know it."

"How come you're the one who's so brave about this?" Bryce stared back at her, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes, aware that this may be their end.

"Because I believe so much in you, Bryce. Because you can do so much for this world more than how your parents defined you. You are your own person, and nothing can ever take that away from you," she paused, brushing the hair away from the beautiful amber eyes that gazed down at her. "Most importantly, because I love you so, so much. And what I can give you now, the love I have now in me, is less than what you deserve. I want to heal, for myself Bryce. I want to be whole again, so that I can give my 100%. When all of this is over, I'll come find you, that's a promise."

Bryce couldn't help himself anymore and pressed his lips against hers with fervent passion, knowing that this will be the last time in a long time before he can find her in his arms like this. Agreeing to this course of action, they bid their goodbyes, never as uncertain as they were about the decision they just made.

In less than a week, Heather left for Johns Hopkins, bidding goodbye to everyone except Bryce. Hoping the moment she stepped inside the plane, life would give her this chance to start over, to completely heal, to become whole again. Because Bryce Lahela deserved more than the fraction of what she could give. He deserved everything of her, no inhibitions, no limits, no holding back.

Bryce watched her go from a distance. He watched her plane took off from the ground, all the while concocting a plan to defeat the shadows of his past lurking around so that he could be with her again. Freely, completely and irreversibly.

That day, two open hearts chose to fight. Fight for the things that hung over their head so that it was no more. But in their decision to fight, they lost the comfort of each other.  They embarked on their separate paths with the promise of meeting again one day.

The path to the summit was often lonely. It is in their hopes however, that the moment they reach the end of this hard path they were in, they would no longer be alone anymore.

More than their willingness to overcome another hurdle in their way was their certainty to trust in each other, in the strength of their love for one another. In their endurance. In their hope.

For them, that was more than enough. It has to be enough.

Author's Notes 2: If you're reading this, I want to thank you so much for taking time to read this series. There's an epilogue in the final edits and I promise to tie the loose ends of this final chapter! Please do share your thoughts in the comments, I would really appreciate it!

Tags: @eleanorbloom @ejustlurkshere @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[dancingsparks]

When The World Was Asleep

I wrote this for the incredible and wonderful @fictional, to say happy birthday and express how happy I am that we are friends.

Thank you @randoyoyo and cigal for beta-reading this fic and making it better.

Also on Ao3

“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Draco doesn’t dare to speak above a whisper, heart beating high in his throat and cold creeping up his feet. (He really wishes he wore shoes, but Draco has raided the Manor's kitchen often enough to know that sneaking is easier in socks. Some things are worth the cold.)

“Yes, absolutely certain. 100%. Why, are you scared?” Theo is smirking back at him, the Lumos giving his face an eerie shine. Draco scowls at him. He is not afraid, he is not a baby after all!

Although, it is quite dark here. And they are all alone, in a castle they haven’t even begun to learn, twisting staircases sworn against them and ill-tempered portraits Draco doesn’t yet know well enough to bribe potentially watching and reporting their every move. Draco doesn’t even want to know what could happen if they were found out — surely there would be consequences.

Most importantly, his mother wouldn’t like it. Draco can already see her disappointed frown, the way she would hold the letter detailing Draco’s failure, looking from the lines the spot where Draco would be standing, praying to Merlin the ground would swallow him to escape her lecture. It would be useless to hope, foolish and far too late by then, her disapproval long since conveyed and shame hanging heavy over him.

Perhaps they shouldn’t do this. It was a bad idea, wandering through poorly lit corridors on nothing but promises, doomed to –  

“Hey Draco, calm down. You trust me, don’t you?” That’s a big thing Theo is asking here, trust, but Draco finds himself nodding before he even realises that.

That is how he ended up here in the first place, agreeing too quickly, charmed by a smile. Draco was merely talking about breaking into the kitchen, Theo was the one who suddenly lit up and challenged him to do it. And Draco never could back down from a challenge.

“Good, that’s good. Just remember that and think of the pastries, alright? They will be worth it.” Draco would glare at Theo for treating him like a baby, but the thought of the delicious pastries is enough to spare Theo. Draco can smell them in the air already, can feel them calling out to him, just waiting for him to come and collect them.

“Exactly, so if you are done standing around, we can finally move on.” Draco almost sounds like his father when he uses that tone of voice, all subtle demand and politely covered impatience.

His father is never laughed at, though. It’s lucky for Theo that he is already walking again, or Draco would have to confront him about it. But as it is, Draco is sure they are nearly there, the pastries beckoning him closer and closer —

“Malfoy?” Draco stops, freezing at his name being called. Surely he must have heard wrong. Or maybe it was Theo, who is looking at Draco with wide eyes and, now that Draco thinks about it, actually sounds completely different. It most likely was not Theo. Which means someone is here, someone saw him and Draco needs to find a good excuse if he doesn’t want to be expelled. “What are you doing here?”

Now that he thinks about it, Draco knows that voice. Too young to be a professor, too suspicious to be a friend, oddly hostile from the very first moment — Potter. Of course, it has to be Potter. Of course.

Draco can only hope that Theo is still undiscovered, hidden in the shadows and disappearing back into them with a meaningful look. He’ll get the pastries while Draco stays and distracts Potter. Fantastic. At least Potter is easily handled, the only thing Draco has to do is make sure he has all of his attention. Draco has charmed enough of his father’s friends to know he can do that.

“Potter, such a nice surprise to meet you here!” A lie, obviously. Draco has never been less happy to see Potter.

Potter frowns even harder than before, which would be an admirable thing had anyone else done it (it still is, but Draco absolutely refuses to acknowledge that). Draco gifts him with his best smile, the one that convinces the house-elves to secretly bring him hot chocolate whenever he wants and more often than once made his mother smile when she was sad. Potter, however, looks more confused than anything else.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you didn’t answer the question.” In truth Draco was hoping for exactly that. Apparently everything must be difficult with Potter. “I’ll ask again: what are you doing here?”

Draco has to resist turning around and checking the corridor Theo disappeared into. Potter might not be particularly smart (proven by his choice of clothes and friends) but even he would realise he is being masterfully distracted. No, Draco has to keep him here, too wrapped up in Draco to think of anything else. Only, now that his smile was not as appreciated as it deserves to be, Draco doesn’t know what else to do.

Draco isn't often helpless, but when he does find himself in such a situation, he knows a sure way out of them: what would his father do?

Lucius Malfoy surely never had to cover up pastry-smugglings, but Draco has seen him steer away nosey Ministry employees often enough to learn a thing or two.

Draco draws himself up to his full height, head held high and posture impeccable. He is taller than Potter, and Draco makes sure Potter knows that too, forcing him to look up at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have permission to be here.”

Potter doesn’t believe him. He also doesn't answer the heavily implied do you have permission? He just stands there, glaring at Draco and not convinced at all. Draco can do better than this.

“You see, Professor Snape”, Draco watches with satisfaction as Potter’s expression darkens, “he trusted me with a special task. I’m afraid you can’t be trusted with the details —” That was the wrong thing to say.

Potter is a brute, half-wild and without manners. Draco really should have known that after he so rudely refused to shake hands with Draco, but he didn’t think Potter would go as far as attacking him. That is exactly what Potter does though, making low grumbling noises that might be words and lunging at him, getting dangerously close to Draco.

This, Draco thinks, is what his father means when he talks about blood supremacy. Muggles are basically animals — less evolved than even some animals, one might argue — and the only thing they are good at is spreading their filth and tainting everything they touch. And blood, more than anything else, is vulnerable as much as it is strong.

Potter, however, stops, a few inches away from choking the life out of Draco, staring at something over his shoulder. Which is extremely rude, even for Potter. If he is going to attack someone he can at least look at them at them while he does it. That’s just basic decency.

“Brought your friends, did you Malfoy? I should have known. His Highness doesn’t go anywhere by himself, after all.” Friends? What is Potter talking — Theo. Theo must have returned, carelessly didn’t check if Potter was still around and now Draco’s pastries are in danger.

This might be worse than being killed by Potter (he would at least die a mourned martyr, sure to be avenged).

Draco has to think fast if he wants any chance of turning this disaster around. He knows exactly what his father would do: smoothly hint at generous donations waiting in the future, promise his support or silence on certain matters. Lucius Malfoy is good at making people see reason, and he made sure Draco knows every trick there is. That also involves judging when the effort is worth the outcome though. Potter, in his stubborn naivety and annoying moral righteousness — bribing him would be exhausting and require more time than he has. While Draco would love to wear him down, prove that Potter is not better than him, much as he likes to act it, he needs to be smart about this.

“Oh, you mean Theo? He is just carrying — well, you don’t need to know what he is carrying. Professor Snape would not be pleased to hear we are talking about his best-kept secrets so freely.” Potter’s eyes light up, focusing on the basket as if he could coax it’s secrets by staring hard enough. Draco would call that a full success, very quietly so no one can overhear and mess with the next steps of his brilliant scheme.

“What are you bringing him?” Potter’s voice is a hilarious mixture of horrified and interested, wanting to know more despite himself. Exactly as planned. Draco can hardly keep the proud expression of his face.

“I couldn’t possibly tell you! He would be very angry if he heard.” That finally gets Potters attention again, looking at Draco instead of the pastries.

Potter is thinking hard, studying Draco as if looking for a trap. He won’t find it though, Draco is too smart to be caught.

“What if I promise not to tell anyone?” It doesn’t escape Draco that, as eager as Potter sounds, he hasn’t actually promised not to tell. Did Potter notice too? More likely he simply plans on breaking his promise, that Potter should possess a stealthy wit as doubtful as him not telling Weasley the first chance he gets. That’s fine with Draco, once they are out of this situation, they can deny everything. Who is going to believe Potter over them?

Draco makes a great show of considering Potter’s proposal, glancing between him and the pastries, watching him grow more and more impatient. It’s only Theo’s subtle cough that startles him out of his game, Draco could have gone on all night.

“Alright, as long as you promise not to breathe a single word about this!” Potter still doesn’t promise, only nods vaguely as he pushes past Draco to look into the basket. Draco would be insulted if Potter wasn’t neatly falling into Draco's trap, his face lighting up as he discovers the pastries.

“You are bringing pastries to Snape? Ron swore that old bat sucks blood out of students at night. Just wait until he hears …” Potter trails off, finally realising what ‘not telling anyone’ means. If it wasn’t so bothersome, Draco could almost admire his loyalty.

“Now Potter, you better remember what you promised. You said you would keep the secret.” Potter looks conflicted for all but a second, before he juts his chin out and crosses his arms, turning to scowl at Draco. He probably means to look determined, hoping Draco won’t argue with what he says next, but Draco really wants to tell him he looks like a pouting toddler. He would, too, if it wasn’t important to the plan that Potter feels he has the upper hand here.

So Draco doesn’t say it; instead he focuses on the picture he makes and tries his best to commit it to memory to tease him later.

“I think I changed my mind about that, Malfoy. It doesn’t seem fair to me, that you get all these pastries and I have to keep the secret and not get even one.” Draco doesn’t point out that they shouldn’t get pastries either, that in this scenario, Snape would want them all for himself. This is what Draco aimed for after all, to bribe Potter with pastries into letting them go without Potter realising he is being manipulated. It’s by far the most effective way out.

After some grumbling and watching Potter look smug, once again interrupted by Theo (why did Draco bring him again?) Draco heaves a sigh and gestures at the pastries. “Fine, you may choose one. You are lucky I feel generous tonight.”

Potter snorts but doesn’t answer him. Draco is oddly disappointed at that.

“They all look good, how am I supposed to choose one?” That is a problem Draco can relate to, the first sign that Potter does have some decent values after all.

“Just take a treacle tart, you’ll like it.” Potter grins at him, forgetting for a moment that he doesn’t like Draco, and takes the pastry. Theo looks bored out of his mind, but Draco can’t bring himself to care, not when he can watch Potter have his first taste of the tart.

Saying Draco is nervous as he watches him chew would be too much, but he definitely wants to know how Potter likes it. Not that he cares about Potter’s opinion, obviously, this is purely about making sure he judged him right. That’s all there is to it.

Draco forgets all about justifying his nerves at Potter’s slow smile.

“This is really good. Who would have thought you have such good taste, Malfoy?” Potter smiles at him, half of his face covered in crumbles from the sweet pastry, his eyes almost friendly. Draco wants to answer something snide, something about how they are all lost if Potter were to be a judge of good taste, but he is completely lost in that smile. It’s unfair, that Potter can make him lose his mind with nothing but a smile, that he looks so handsome despite the crumbs on his face.

Draco doesn’t want Potter to ever stop smiling at him.

“While this is all very nice, Draco and I do have to go now. Snape is waiting and all that. Goodnight, Potter.” Draco could curse Theo as he drags him away, forcing him to leave Potter standing all alone, the pastry still in his hand and the smile growing smaller.

“Get it together Malfoy, how much longer did you want to stand around there?” Right, yes. Draco was not supposed to take this long, to stare at Potter and think about how nice he looks. Thank Merlin Theo was there to remind him of his priorities.

(If Draco finds his thoughts slipping back to that night and Potter’s smile, if he ever thinks about maybe offering Potter a second treacle tart to see that smile again and break the silence hanging over the moment, well, no one has to know.)

***

Draco never liked the dark. It’s the oldest of cliches, fear of the unknown, embarrassing and pathetic, but not even his father’s increasingly reckless attempts at conquering this weakness could cure him. No, Draco never liked the dark and he still doesn’t, but it’s getting harder and harder to escape.

It’s easy enough to distract himself during the day, to sneer and scoff and flaunt derision like a shield around him. But at night, laying in a bed, sleep long since abandoned, there is nothing to hide him from the looming shadows. Draco tried to ignore them, pretended he didn’t know where his father kept disappearing to, kept his head down and hoped things would be over before they started. It was foolish and naive, the prayers of a scared little boy still believing in miracles and heroes.

Somewhere along the way, Draco lost his ability to deny the undeniable. He can’t act like everything is normal anymore, like Potter is just a demented nut-case clamouring for attention.

Damned Potter, he really has an aggravating predilection of ruining Draco’s life. Of course he has to be involved in this nightmare, always the root of chaos. The public might not believe Potter, might be better than Draco at deliberate ignorance, but Draco knows Potter is responsible for this. And yet Potter has the gall to run around like he is the victim here, suffering and moping and making sure everyone is aware of it. Draco can’t stand it.

Arguably the worst thing is that he can’t even complain about the git effectively. There are things better not talked about, and while making fun of Potter’s hair used to be enough, it doesn’t address the real problem anymore. Most likely it never did in the first place, but back then Draco was better at ignoring his problems. These days they never leave him, imposing in silent judgement, impossible to forget or outrun.

That doesn’t mean that Draco doesn’t try. He might have lost his naivety, but he is still stubborn. So he keeps on not acknowledging the truth beyond conceding its existence, keeps on walking and tells himself he doesn’t realise the darkness is gaining ground, that things will crumble very soon.

At least this way, his magic keeping up the small ball of light, his feet carrying him through the now familiar corridors, Draco feels like he has some control left, the semblance of a choice.

Draco is in fact so determined to just walk straight ahead and tune out everything else, that he doesn’t realise he isn’t as alone as he thought until he runs into someone else. And it’s undeniably someone Draco collides with, their hands grabbing his arms for balance and their heads knocking together. It’s painful and undignified and the absolute last thing Draco needs.

“Watch where you’re going, you arrogant wanker.” Draco moves past them, hoping to avoid having a conversation and get on with his brooding.

“That’s rich coming from you.” He knows that voice, would recognise it anywhere — Potter. Of course it’s Harry bloody Potter. Just when Draco thought this night couldn’t possibly get worse.

“Potter, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here.” Potter looks tired, the small light casting shadows on his face and revealing the dark circles under his eyes, the mussed mess of his hair. Potter looks about as wretched as Draco feels. And yet here he stands, head high in defiance and daring Draco to comment. Potter has always been stupidly brave.

Draco doesn’t know how to deal with him, with how uncompromisingly Potter reflects the emotions Draco tries so hard to bury in himself.

“Can’t say the pleasure is mutual.” There is something about the way Potter says it, hollow and not quite there, the most obvious retort that Draco would have perhaps expected from Weasley, but that seems far too flat for Potter. It grates on him, already unsettled by Potter’s appearance and his pent-up frustration, oddly offended by Potter’s lack of originality in his jape.

This isn’t like Potter at all, devoid of any tangible emotion, eyes glazed over, entirely too still. Potter looks vacant, not really present, staring right through Draco and seeing nothing. This goes beyond one night of little sleep, beyond simply being startled by running into Draco. Now that he considers it, Potter has been like this for weeks now, even months, maybe.

Draco never thought this day would come, but he misses Potter. He misses poking Potter’s temper and watching his anger flare up, wants to see the spark in his eyes and hear his voice full of — right. Draco didn’t realise he spent quite this much time thinking about Potter. Or that it would hit him this hard to see Potter hurt.

For some reason, that only makes Draco angrier.

Who does Potter think he is? Standing there all sad and vulnerable, sparing Draco not even a glance, too absorbed in his misery. This was supposed to be Draco’s escape, the one time of the day that he can just exist and — admittedly — indulge his own misery for a few hours. But Potter has to steal these too, hasn’t he?

Well, Draco is done letting Potter take whatever he wants. He has seen enough, has limited himself to comments and observations when he should have stepped in far sooner. And now see where it got him. Draco’s life is falling apart, Potter is once again claiming the spotlights and nothing is making sense anymore.

Potter still just looks through him, not moved at all and standing far too close — why does he stand this close? No wonder Draco can’t think, not with Potter crowded against him and invading his mind, leaving him no space to move let alone form thoughts. If Draco could just get some space, just some time to consider all of this, preferably away from Potter and his oppressive quiet.

It’s too much, Potter close enough to count the freckles on his face but so far away, emotions whirling inside Draco and refusing to settle down, everything loud and hurt and so full — Draco pushes Potter away.

There is an unexpected rush of giddy satisfaction cursing through him, seeing Potter stumble and knowing Draco is the one who made him lose his footing — it’s an intoxicating kind of power like Draco never felt before.

“What the hell, Malfoy?” Finally. This is the Potter Draco wants, spitting mad and glaring, anger coiling around him and his eyes boring into Draco.

This is exactly what Draco needed, not to wander alone in these drab halls or to turn his thoughts over and over again. No, all he needed was Potter, shoving him hard against the wall, his fury burning away everything else.

“What? Nothing more to say? Pathetic, Malfoy. I thought you had more fight than that.” The words are whispered into his ear, Potter’s breath hot against his face, his hands holding Draco’s wrists, pressing him into the wall with his fight.

As loath as Draco is to admit it, Potter is right. This fight was embarrassingly short. It can barely even be classified as a fight, not with how easily Potter restrained him.

As cleansing as Potter’s anger might be, Draco resents being handled like this, like it doesn’t take any effort at all to keep him pinned. Potter is lucky Draco can’t reach his wand, or their positions would be turned before Potter realised what happened. Then Draco would be the one smirking.

Unfortunately, all Draco can actually do is struggle in Potter’s hold, trying to free his hands and push him off. Potter only laughs at his efforts, that bastard.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit Potter, I’m simply too sophisticated to excel in this brutish muggle brawling. Figured you would be good at it, considering —”

“Merlin, Malfoy, just shut up for once, would you?” Before Draco can respond to that, can even think of what to say to that, Potter is kissing him.

If it can be called a kiss, that is, brutal and biting, much more forceful than any of the tentative kisses Draco shared before. Much better too. Potter knows exactly what he wants, hands gripping tightly at his hair, pulling Draco’s head up to meet him, crowding him closer against the wall.

It’s overwhelming, Potter’s lips on his, the desperate noises he makes, his hair between Draco’s fingers, everything hot around them, muffled, nothing as important as Potter kissing him, demanding more and more until Draco’s lungs burn from the lack of air.

Draco never wants him to stop.

Potter breaks away suddenly, panting heavily and staring at Draco in wonder, the hands in his hair softened to almost cradling Draco’s face. Potter’s eyes are glazed again, unfocused from pure pleasure and because of Draco, this time. It’s a far better look on him.

No matter how good Potter looks like this though — lips red and kiss-bitten, skin flushed dark, hair a mess — Draco wants him closer again. He wants to feel his hunger again, wants to lose himself in Potter and see what noises he can get him to make, wants to brace himself against Potter’s ferocity and forget the world around them.

Potter stubbornly resists Draco tugging his hair to get him back down. It’s a whole new kind of cruelty Draco didn’t think him capable of, taunting him with being so near and so out of reach. He leans over Draco and just looks at him, Potter’s fingers tracing his cheekbones, his nose, his lips, sending shivers down his spine. It's wonderful and tantalising and not enough, not what Draco wants.  

“Are you going to kiss me again, or what?” The moment the words leave his mouth, Draco wishes he hadn’t said them.

Potter breaks away as if suddenly realising just who he is pressed up against, glancing up and down the corridor in wild panic and leaving Draco stumbling at the sudden loss. It’s abundantly clear, even without the bewildered look Potter shoots him before turning around and running away — Draco broke the moment, beyond repair.

Alone again in the echoing darkness, Draco can’t help but feel he should have expected this. Good things never last. And whatever else that kiss was (fantastic, consuming, addictive, tender, primal) it was definitely a good thing.

***

Potter quite effectively ruined the brooding wanderer thing for Draco. It’s not about escaping anymore, with just one encounter Potter made it all about him. Draco simultaneously hopes and dreads to run into him again. There are only so many nights he could meander through the corridors, not sure what he is looking for and even less certain if he wants to find it.

So, after glaring at Potter and cursing him under his breath, Draco decides he needs a new habit. Something to keep him busy when the night brings truths he doesn’t want to face.

Breaking into the Prefects’ bathroom seemed like the ideal task.

Draco has always enjoyed charms, liked figuring how they all work together to build the most complex of wards and constructions. Plus, dismantling wards is a necessary skill when one is as unabashedly curious as Draco is. With his friends all knowing better than to leave their things unprotected, he learnt early on to sneak past the protective charms they would put on their trunks. All things considered, snooping is a very rewarding fault. Draco learnt more than his fair share of secrets, and the better his friends got at warding, the better he got at evading them.

Even with all that experience though, cracking Hogwarts’ wards seems more than a little daunting. Probably a good thing. Anything else would have been concerning, to say the least. Since Draco has no intention of actually breaking in though, that hardly matters. It’s about the puzzle, the thrill of discovering something new in the never ending maze that is Hogwarts.

Draco wouldn't turn down a bath either, should he by some miracle find a way through. He heard enough whispered fantasies about the spigots, dazzling scents and iridescent bubbles to know only an utter fool would decline when opportunity presents itself. It doesn’t even need the added intrigue of access being restricted to snatch Draco’s attention. If the rumours are to be believed, it’s the most luxurious space Hogwarts has to offer. Maybe Draco would finally find something in this castle that satisfies his standards.

Thus prepared to spend the night sitting in front of a locked door, mind deep in complex magic work and all his problems forgotten, Draco thinks he can be forgiven for some befuddlement when the heavy door gives under his pro forma nudge. And he really can’t be faulted for going inside, not when the door is already open in an invitation that could not be clearer.

In fact, the one thing that Draco will take any critique on is stopping in surprise once he sees who’s already in there. Because of course it would be sodding Potter.

The only saving grace here is that Potter looks as shocked as Draco to see him.

They probably both should have expected this. After all, fate does have a way of throwing them together. But standing here, the air humid and filled with glittering bubbles, too many scents all around to name them, Draco doesn’t think of fate and how he should resent being forced back to Potter again and again.

This is the last thing Draco expected. He thought he would be safe from Potter and the haunting thoughts about that kiss, that he could postpone untangling the mess of emotions the memory causes in him. The most spectacular thing Draco was prepared to handle was someone catching him tinkering with the wards and having to come up with a cover. Instead he stares like an idiot, none of his excuses fitting and torn between joining Potter and getting out of here.

“You can stop staring now, Malfoy. I was here first and I refuse to leave.” Right, that settles it then. Draco can’t leave now, not when it would look like admitting defeat after what Potter just said. If Potter doesn’t have a problem with this … unorthodox situation, Draco doesn’t either. Any embarrassment he might feel is shoved down without acknowledgement, the heat blamed for his flush and the surprise for his hesitation. Yes, Draco is completely fine.

He closes the door and steps further into the room, closer to Potter. Potter who, to Draco’s immense satisfaction, clearly didn’t expect him to come in.

“I suppose we'll just have to share then, Potter.” It’s a miracle Draco is able to keep his composure and not let his nerves show, smoothly covering the uncertainty bubbling up in him with a teasing smirk.

Malfoy’s aren’t flustered, not even when they are about to bathe with an arch-nemesis they have confusing feelings for.

Before he can change his mind and bow to the increasingly loud voice in him demanding he get out of here as fast as possible, Draco strips himself of his clothes. There is nowhere private to change, a glaring oversight in planning that is easier to focus on than the awareness of Potter’s eyes on him. Seriously, who designed a bathroom with absolutely no space to hide? It speaks of nothing but incompetence and sloppiness and if Draco could he would —

The moment he is naked Draco flees into the relative cover the foam provides. It’s regrettably less opaque than he hoped, not actually offering much of a wall between him and Potter. At least Potter who finally realised how rude staring is and looks into the opposite direction, blushing up to his roots and shifting where he sits, collecting more foam around himself. It does nothing to obscure the view.

“Enjoying your bath, Potter?” Draco wishes something would break out of the water and swallow him whole. How did he think that was a good idea to say out loud? It’s almost excessive in how embarrassing it is, causing Draco to flush in what he knows is a most unflattering shade of red and Potter to turn back towards him, splashing widely and spluttering.

Well, at least he got Potter’s attention. Draco firmly believes that anything that gets him Potter’s attention can’t be completely horrible. He might have to rethink that one though.

“Am I — what are you even doing here?” It's a good question, Draco has to concede that much.

“I believe I have as much right to be here as you do.” Which boils down to essentially no right at all, not that it matters right now. Although — “I would like to know what you are doing here. Aren’t you supposed to be a paragon of goodness? That means no breaking and entering, not even for purple bubbles.”

“I didn’t break in! I know the password.” Potter looks triumphant for all but a second, before he frowns. Draco has the uncomfortable suspicion that he could watch Potter think all day, expressions flickering over his face and eyes lighting up in excitement or righteous indignation.

“I knew last year’s password, which probably shouldn't have worked ...” Potter trails off here, staring at Draco with wide eyes as he realises the implications of his sentence.

“Hogwarts simply let you in as well? Why even bother with wards if she makes exceptions for everyone who is passing by?” Draco doesn’t think he said anything indecent, but Potter looks at him in alarm.

“Are you telling me Hogwarts set us up?” Draco can only stare at Potter, the question asked in all seriousness and whispered as if afraid someone could overhear.

Potter’s sudden paranoia is enough to infect Draco, making him suspicious of the walls around him. He didn’t consider this, that Hogwarts could have brought them, specifically Potter and Draco, here to — for what exactly?

This suddenly feels like a very bad romance, the ones Pansy likes to read even though she doesn’t admit it. The main characters, fighting since the day they met, unexpectedly locked up together and discovering long hidden secrets in the steaming bath. Draco can almost see the cover already. They would hold each other in a passionate embrace, looking deep into each others eyes as if —

“Hello Harry, how nice and unexpected to meet you here!” There is the ghost of a girl suddenly sitting between them. Draco is too surprised to do anything but stare at her, nestling up against Potter and ignoring his horrified expression.

“Myrtle! Hi, I, I didn’t … what are you doing here, Myrtle?” Potter evidently knows the girl, though he seems as surprised as Draco by her appearance and not at all pleased, scooting away in futile attempts to create some space between them.

This is not something Draco was prepared to deal with — neither Potter, nor Myrtle and least of all the bizarre relationship they apparently have — and Draco would be lying if he said he doesn’t mind being eclipsed by her, but he is also very intrigued. Myrtle has been here for only a few seconds and has already created quite the spectacle, and Draco rather enjoys seeing Potter this flustered.

“Oh I was just passing by, terribly alone and looking for a friend … and now here you are.” Her speech is interrupted by an excessive amount of sighing and significant looks Potter is too busy scooting to see. It’s all very dramatic. Draco fully approves.  

“Yes, right, here I am. Myrtle, would you mind—” She talks right over him, nodding eagerly up until that point but not interested in listening to Potter’s plea. Draco supposes that is just as well, she likely would have ignored it anyway and if Potter doesn’t learn to speak up he really can’t expect people to respect his wishes.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” Potter evidently does remember, choking on air inhaled too fast and coughing inconveniently loud, obscuring most of what Myrtle says. Draco isn’t sure whether to be grateful or disappointed that he doesn’t hear what is sure to be a colourful retelling of their last meeting. “I was hoping we could —”

“Myrtle, have you met Draco Malfoy?” Oh, that’s him. Myrtle’s head whirls around worryingly fast, eyes pinning him in place as she inspects him. It’s a very tense few seconds in which she scrutinises him with more seriousness than Draco thought her capable of, before she giggles and waves at him. Draco isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks he passed some kind of test.

“So Draco, how do you know my Harry?” Potter sputters and curses next to her, denying the claim of possession in the most clumsy way possible. Really, Myrtle should have picked someone with grace and grandeur to fawn over, she deserves better than Potter’s foul mutterings. Though Draco has to admit, there is something oddly endearing in the way Potter tries so hard to be polite, to let her down gently.

“He cruelly rejected my offer of friendship, can you imagine? We have been sworn enemies ever since.” Draco is too busy smirking at Potter’s glare to fully listen to Myrtle’s maudlin reaction to this ‘tragedy of destined souls’, but it sounds appropriately overbearing and Potter is still charmingly embarrassed, so he doesn’t really care.

“He rejected me too, you know.” That gets Draco’s attention again, Myrtle bends towards him as far as possible while pressed against Potter, voice pitched low to a conspirator murmur. “I offered him a place to stay with me should he unfortunately die on one of his little adventures, but he stubbornly refuses to die! And he never visits, though he always promises he will.”

That is indeed very scandalous, Potter looks ready to die right here and now, and Draco can’t hold his laughter back for much longer. This entire situation is too ridiculous. Myrtle’s overbearing presentations, Potter clearly desperate to be literally anywhere else, the fact that this is likely a regular occurrence — how is anyone not supposed to laugh at how preposterous it all is?

“I told you I’m sorry for not visiting more often. I’ll try to come by soon, okay?” It’s a desperate plea that not even Potter himself believes in, and Myrtle shakes her head in disappointment.

“You always say that, you never do though.” Before Potter has a chance to defend himself against the not-quite-accusation, Myrtle dives back into the waters with a last despairing howl. Rather more sudden than Draco expected; but then, so was this entire encounter. Anything else, more normal, would have been disappointing.

Yes, Draco will simply have to make sure that this time, Potter keeps his promise to visit. Draco will drag him there himself, just to make sure.

“You can stop laughing now, you smug bastard.” Draco hadn’t even been realising it, trying to keep the laughter suppressed and apparently only succeeding in holding back the sound while his entire body shakes from it. Well, no sense in holding back anymore.

Potter doesn’t look amused as Draco breaks out laughing, pouting and scowling at him, only making Draco laugh harder.

“Oh, shut up already.” This time Draco really does stop laughing. He supposes anyone would, if they were suddenly aggressively kissed after convincing themselves that it wasn’t going to happen again and they had absolutely no problem with that.  

***

A few kisses shared in secret are no excuse to be this invested. Draco doesn’t know when he started caring and he knows even less how to deal with it. This was never supposed to happen. Things weren’t meant to evolve further than their rivalry, damning enough in its intensity.

Feelings, those are what brings the real trouble.

It might have been alright if they could have continued as they were, accidentally meeting all over the castle, spending sleepless nights together that could be discarded in the light of the day. Draco could have gone on hiding from the growing realisation, could have blamed the orchestrated intimacy of the late hour and never thought about it again.

But Potter just had to get hurt.

Objectively, it’s nothing dramatic. A Quidditch accident, Potter’s had worse. Draco’s heart (foolish, obsessive as it is, unaware of the tragedy it announces with every beat) couldn’t be reasoned with though, demanding he visit Potter to make sure the git is alright. As if Draco could do that better than the highly qualified Mrs. Pomfrey, but Draco’s heart stubbornly ignored logic. It didn’t care that Potter wasn’t supposed to matter like this, that Draco might have stalked into the Hospital Wing to make fun of Potter for his fall, have his fans shoved around a little, maybe, but under no circumstances was Draco meant to become as useless as them, wanting to hold Potter's hand until he is better again.

It’s a despicable weakness Draco wasn’t even aware of, discovered too late to avoid and frightening in its size.

Not that knowing this makes it any easier to deal with. Knowing that visiting Potter with all his friends there would be a bad idea doesn’t mean some part of Draco doesn’t yearn to go, willing to accept the suspicious looks and Potter's facade dripping in false bravado telling everyone he is fine – Draco would have accepted it all as long as he could just be there.

Draco honestly doesn’t know where he found the quite remarkable amount of restraint necessary to keep from throwing away all decorum and give in to his instincts, but he somehow manages to preserve the image of unaffected arch-enemy.

But it’s late now, any reasonable person asleep, no one here except them. It’s rather cruel, how Draco came to crave what doomed him, but he will have to contemplate that later. Potter is more important than Draco’s internal crisis.

“Did you come to laugh at me?” How Draco wishes Potter were right.

It would be so easy, to pretend this is why he’s here, say something rude and insulting about Potter’s skill and watch him fume. But looking at him, pale and thin in the sterile bed, Draco can’t bring himself to say it.

Potter looks horrible, worse than a fall really should be. It fits neatly into the picture of the tragic, hurt hero, and Draco resents that he falls for it. He can’t decide whether this gets better or worse by knowing that it really isn’t an overly-dramatised tale of suffering but Harry, the boy Draco has been catching glimpses of and been meeting with.

If Draco hadn’t known, he could have taunted him with snide remarks and left, feeling smug and superior. It would have been simple, almost no thinking required, what he has done all his life.

Since Draco does know though, he doesn’t answer the question.

Potter doesn’t need to know why Draco really came, doesn’t need to hear about the unpleasant realisation of even more unpleasant feelings, should never learn how much power he holds over Draco.

So, to save himself the embarrassment of an incredibly saccharine answer, Draco silently sits down in the chair next to the bed.

Neither of them is saying anything, Draco because he can’t trust what comes out of his mouth and Potter because he’s a stubborn and childish bastard who lacks the proper decorum to make this more bearable and talk over Draco’s silence. Back in the dorm, pacing and listing the reasons to wait over and over again, Draco didn’t anticipate how awkward this visit would be.

Perhaps Draco should just leave again. After all, he gave in and came here, against all logic, to make sure Potter is alright. And Potter is; painfully frail and quiet but nonetheless fairly healthy and surely back to his obnoxiously bright behaviour tomorrow. No need to remain any longer.

Except that Draco doesn’t want to go. Everything in him rebels against the idea of leaving Potter alone, with no one here should he need something and nothing to do in what is sure to become a long night. What would Draco even do? Sleep is further from his mind than it ever was, his thoughts running with no end in sight, peace unreachable. He would just stand on the other side of the door, too weak to leave and too proud to return.

If Draco is going to stay anyway he might as well try and salvage what dignity he has left. Besides, pacing out in the corridor like a misbehaving dog sent outside is not a very appealing picture. Draco would rather not experience it first-hand.

Not that this stupid chair is a much more comfortable prospect, digging into his back and too small to move around. It’s also bound to become cold sooner rather than later; freezing and cramped up is simply more than Draco is willing to accept.

Before he has much time to think and doubt, Draco stands again, glances up at Harry reaching for him, and climbs onto the bed.

The bed is smaller than it seemed. Too small for two people, really.

Potter is very close, suddenly, their noses almost touching. It’s still all very awkward, Draco balancing over Potter because he intended to move him to the side and stopped in the middle of the movement, Potter looking up at him in confusion, the moment stretched too long.

“Hi there.” It’s probably the stupidest, most uninspired and absurd thing Potter could have said. Draco leans down to kiss his smile.

Things are better after that, novel and strange but thrilling, too. They fit together, not perfectly and not on the first try, but they make it work; Potter’s arms around Draco, clinging like he is afraid Draco will leave, Draco curled around him, hands idly tracing his spine and drawing patterns on his back, protecting Potter from the outside.

Pressed close to Potter, feeling his steady breath under his hands and on his neck, Draco has never slept this deep.

***

Potter is late. He usually is, always getting distracted or too polite to tell people to bother him some other time, but Draco really isn’t in the mood to wait for him today. He’s had a horrible day of friends teasing him over absent-minded smiles and needing to bargain for Theo’s notes because he was too distracted all day to take his own. That alone is annoying enough, but the fact that his behaviour could be interpreted as mooning over a secret boyfriend, all too easily, doesn't help matters. As if Pansy needed any more encouragement.

So yes, Draco would very much like to go to sleep now. Which he won’t be doing until Potter deigns to show up.

It’s moments like these when Draco regrets this whole arrangement. They both sleep better together, that’s undeniable by now, but sometimes he doubts if sleep really is worth all the hassle. Usually that is around the time when Potter storms through the door with some poor excuse, and, snuggled deep under the covers with the steady beat of Potter’s heart lulling him to sleep, Draco always forgets his irritation.

But Potter still isn’t here, and Draco has waited long enough. He’ll simply have to collect the git. Even if that means fishing him out of that dreadfully red common room Potter insists is comfortable. Draco swore he would never set as much as a foot in there, back when they argued over whose bed they should sleep in and Potter refused to acknowledge that Draco’s is obviously the superior choice.

Now that he thinks about it, Potter might actually be trying to goad him into sleeping in his bed. He has been sulking since he finally accepted Draco wouldn’t make any concessions on that point. Potter trying to trick him in such a blunt fashion is not exactly out of the realm of possibilities.

Well, Draco will make sure Potter regrets insulting him like that. The least he could have done is come up with something clever.

Draco does not expect to run into Potter in his own common room, clutching his now fairly useless invisibility cloak to his chest and glaring at his friends. It would make for an amusing picture, if Draco weren't the one who has to answer them all. He really hoped to avoid that. A foolish hope maybe, considering his friends are all terribly nosey and Potter is not subtle in anything he does, but Draco hoped nonetheless.

“Ah Draco, look who I caught trying to sneak in.” Theo’s smirk is far too knowing, far too pleased with himself. Theo knows, and he has no intention of allowing Draco an elegant out.

Potter whirls around at Theo’s words, his entire posture sagging in relief and smiling when he sees Draco. There goes Draco’s last shred of hope that he would somehow be able to salvage this disaster. But Potter smiling at him instead of insulting him? Not many things could possibly explain that happening.

“Trying to smuggle your boyfriend past us, are you?” Daphne is clearly pleased with herself too; judging by her mocking tone though, she hasn’t figured out how close to the truth she has come.

Unaware as she might be, Draco wishes she hadn’t phrased it like that. Potter isn’t his boyfriend, likely never will be, and Draco has come to terms with the reality of that, that Potter is only here because Draco practically forced him and he doesn't have a better option at the moment. Draco doesn’t need Daphne’s snide comment reminding him how precarious the situation is.

“Yes, he is. Anything else you would like to say?” The room falls silent. Everyone (including Draco, to his utter shame) stares at Potter in astonishment. Potter, who glares at Draco’s friends, daring them to object, standing proud and defiant and boldly proclaiming himself Draco’s boyfriend. His boyfriend – Draco likes how that sounds.

Watching him now, every bit the hero everyone expects him to be, undeniably the boy Draco got to know when the world was asleep, Draco finds he doesn’t mind Potter essentially making that decision for him.

Draco still feels stunted, somehow, unsure of the appropriate reaction but giddy excitement threatening to overwhelm him. The one thing he is sure of, is that Potter is standing far too far away for his liking. He also isn’t willing to wait around here until the inevitable teasing and interrogating begins.

“Wonderful, if that's all then, we are going to leave now.” No one dares to protest as Draco takes Potter’s hand and drags him away, Potter himself only smiling and squeezing his hand in return.

Draco doesn’t allow himself to linger on how perfectly their hands fit together, how nice simply touching Potter feels, but this is definitely something he could grow used to.

Looking back over his shoulder and immediately caught in Potter’s bright smile, Draco knows he won’t ever grow used to this, the warmth of affection and happiness flowing through him and making him smile too, impossibly light, the rest of the word fading into insignificance. But that is alright, Draco can’t think of a better future than discovering Potter’s smile every day anew.

[mousehole5000]

more tgcf chapters 143-173 lets goooooo

PEI MING BOO HISS except actually okay he’s mostly funny i think but still boo hiss

“hey who’s this guy who’s really pissed at you?” “oh thats my sword. i broke it.” alright then!

i think i need to go back and reread the banyue pass arc bc im still confused as to whats going on with banyue and pei su

“Banyue dropped from the sky with two pots raised. Without a word, she plummeted with the mouths of the pots facing down, trapping and detaining the shocked Ming’guang and the roaring Ke Mo within.” - THATS MY GIRL

“It must be known that, to heavenly officials, it certainly was more than natural for kingdoms of the mortal realm to fight and annihilate one another; the acts of these plays progressing on endlessly. But when it came their own turn, it was often hard to let things go. If one must stand in the same court as the one who annihilated their own kingdom, and that man cavorted in the heavens, exceedingly flashy, then it must be vexing.” - hmmmm!!

“I’ve spoken too many words in this lifetime. What are you referring to?” - okay to be fair thats a mood

okay its nice to get some pei ming backstory and its funny that he and xie lian are bonding but also still whenever pei ming interacts with a female character my hackles rise like a cat lol

“Xie Lian watched as Banyue thought really hard before cheerfully pulling out a few long, wine-red scorpion-snakes, and putting them into the bubbling pot.” - THATS MY GIRL

“Although “smell” was something colourless and formless, the instant Banyue removed the pot cover, it was as if some mysterious physical object had twisted all the air around the mouth of that pot. The group stared at the sight within the pot for a long time. Their pupils reflected an endless, bottomless darkness; like it could pull them into the abyss. No words could describe the sentiment expressed within their eyes. A moment later, Xie Lian patted Banyue’s shoulder and gave a thumbs-up.” - like father-figure like daughter-figure. amazing.

“However, what if one day mortals discovered something completely new that ran faster than horses? Then, when this new invention overtook horses, worshippers of this heavenly official who controlled horses would inevitably decrease. Such heavenly officials, flashing by like shooting stars, made up the majority of the heavens.” - obsessed with this, genuinely. life and change. worship and its purpose. my religious studies diploma on my wall is screaming at me rn. ALSO i am once again thinking about celebrities

“...” It was only then that Pei Ming seemed to notice, and started to contemplate this question. A moment later, he answered, “A habit. In a dark, creepy place like this, isn’t it normal to hold women in your arms, to comfort them and calm their fears?” “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t scared,” Banyue said.” - BANYUE I LOVE YOU. I MISSED YOU SO MUCH. god this takes me back to every college party i ever went to

LING WEN BACKSTORY????? shoeseller chosen for godhood bc she wrote a political essay and got arrested...... and now she’s face to face with the official who appointed her..... do go on.....

“Ling Wen laughed out loud, seeming to be enraged, and her voice dropped. “Very well! You said I couldn’t reach that high. Then, might I ask you: had the prominence of the Palace of Jing Wen at its peak ever reached even the knees of my Palace of Ling Wen??” - GET HIM!!!! BOO HISS JING WEN

“Compared to you, I’m not that bad,” Ling Wen said. “You’d personally order me to stay in the Palace of Jing Wen until midnight, then turn around and say I shamelessly hang around ‘til late to harass you. Words murder without form; I was much nicer responding with blatant violence.” - ling wen im love you..... also this bit... feels Real

BLOOD RAIN BLOOD RAIN BLOOD RAIN!! FLOWER PETALS TRANSFORMATION!!! see hua cheng? look as how cool it can be when you leave the story for a little while!! bc then you get to return and make an entrance!!

“Not only can you bring forth bloody rain, you can also make flowers shower. I didn’t know that. How fun!” - cute!! and in that moment we were all xie lian

“Everyone was stunned by his deed, and Ling Wen arduously gave him a thumbs-up. ”Ol’ Pei, what a man!” Pei Ming gritted his teeth. “WELCOME!” - aww three two tumors buddies!!

okay yin yu is here and xie lian did the equivalent of asking someone when the baby is due only to find out theyre not pregnant at all. then rong guang taunts yin yu and no one says anything. i do love the amount of awkward moments in this book tbh sometimes there are no words.

“All around was sand and mud crushing at him, exceedingly suffocating. The sand and mud was also moving endlessly; the feeling was like he was swallowed into the stomach of a giant monster, and that monster had also eaten a bunch of other things besides him, tumbling everything in its stomach, trying to digest” - ooooh creepy!!! the red string thing... is cute.... also xie lian being able to see hua cheng’s butterfly vision by looking directly into his eye is kinda cool. and obviously homoerotic.

“Are lower-ranked heavenly officials below other people?” Quan Yizhen asked. “No,” Yin Yu replied. Were they not? It was obvious that he himself didn’t believe in his own words, and Quan Yizhen also noticed. A good while later, he said bluntly, “I don’t like it here.” Yin Yu said nothing.” - im having emotions. and then yin yu also saying he doesnt like it there either.... also idk how this scene is going to play out but as much as im enjoying quan yizhen being an icon i can also possibly see how yin yu could eventually get to the point of “i am tired of being nice. i do just want to go apeshit” even if he really cares about qyz. it happens </3

“Indeed,” Hua Cheng said. “Half a year later when Quan Yizhen actually ascends, he won’t find it so funny anymore.” “Can we watch that part too?” Xie Lian asked. “We can. Hold on,” Hua Cheng replied.” - quan yizhen king of taking things literally. also why did this turn into hualian having a movie night

jian yu seems like the kind of asshole who would purposely give someone regular soda when they specifically asked for diet soda. god yin yu is really having a bad day i really feel for him in the whole situation with the brocade immortal

awww okay at least jian yu tried to take responsibility. im still mad at him tho that was objectively a terrible idea. god this whole situation sucked :(

“Rocks and earth crushed at them from all around, forcing their bodies to press tightly against one another, their faces brushing, their ears warm. Although it wasn’t the right time, a thought flashed through Xie Lian’s mind: “‘To die buried together’ doesn’t feel so bad.” - okay... im kind of emotional.... gay people....

okay obviously these murals and the prince of wuyong have some connection (im guessing pretty direct) to xie lian and are important but everytime they start analyzing one i feel like im back in art history class fhadskfhskjdhf not that thats a bad thing!! i liked art history a lot tbh

“Don’t worry, they’re not human,” Hua Cheng said. “It’s precisely because they’re not human that we have to worry, alright….” Xie Lian thought.” - goth ghost bf problems

xie lian: well, there is one person i trust more than anyone else, someone who’s first in my mind hua cheng, oblivious: oh :/ xie lian, also oblivious: what? hua cheng: you shouldnt trust so easily its dangerous xie lian: oh. haha. yeah. well. wanna,,, know who it is? hua cheng: its :) fine :) it :) doesnt :) matter :) but of course you can tell me if you want to gege xie lian, internally: well now ive made it weird hua cheng, 5 minutes later: actually i need you to tell me. right now. its totally for your security me: gay people smh

“As they suspected, he had been captured by Qi Rong. Although no one was bound by ropes, there were balls of greasily green ghost fires hovering over every one of their heads.” - completely off track but anybody else remember the great green globs of greasy grimy gopher guts song

“Could there actually come a day when Qi Rong was embarrassed that someone might see the manner in which he ate? Before Xuan Ji entered, she put Guzi down. Guzi, ta-ta-ta, ran in, rushing straight to Qi Rong’s side. But when he saw him, he pointed his finger. He cried, “Dad is eating bad things in secret again!” “I’m not!” Qi Rong retaliated.” SCREAM IS QI RONG LEARNING THE POWER OF LOVE NOOOO also god that poor man whose body he has im starting to doubt if he’ll ever be free jimmy novak flashbacks

everytime we get another ghost king power somewhere someone should be writing hua cheng the cyborg bf in a high tech futuristic au i think thats the only other potential setting that could truly capture this wild ride

“In truth, throughout history, there was no man in the world who didn’t love bragging. A breeze could blow the handkerchief of a brothel girl into a man’s hand, and he would turn around and say the most beautiful of renowned escorts had fallen in love with him; holding shoes and wiping benches for the emperor’s mistress’s uncle’s grandson’s cousin’s mistress would for sure become him being an important administrator at the residence of royal relatives, raising his status. Thus, men who didn’t brag were a rare species.” - SCREAM this is going in my favorite tgcf quotes folder god... mxtx come here let me shake your hand

read the story of rain master yushi huang’s ascension. why am i crying. also this bit im crying again me with my stuffed animals “Thus, while Yushi Huang was cultivating at the Temple of Yulong, every time when she went to seek water and passed that door, she would rub the head of that ox. The door knocker soaked in her essence of life, and when the Rain Master ascended, the ox ascended with her.”

okay thats enough for now i have 7 more chapters to book 4!!! woo!!!

[phoebehalliwell]

Yo that anon with the Bianca/Dency 👌🏻👌🏻 but like ohhh Dency coupd totally meet a cute Phoenix in her universe tho!! 👀 Or maybe a dark Witchlighter? Idk I think her falling I love with a more “neutral” witch hybrid would be cute!

And like do you think her little agency would work with neutral magical sources like phoenixes to find people? Because like Dency could be like a Penn but for the opposite side? If that makes sense?? Like Penn is bringing all the “light” witches together but Dency is really the figures head for the “dark/neutral” witches like the witch hybrids and the phoenixes…like Dency is kinda like the unintentional beacon of light for that side…just by being herself? Like maybe she doesn’t actively campaign for more acceptance for hybrid witches but her mere existence alone and the good she does is enough to get the ball rolling?

tbh as far as dency love interests go i'm a little bit torn because i have this mortal rashid idk if i've talked bout him before but like. he and dency have a classic rivals to lovers arc going on in college liek they fucking Hated each other blah blah blah she definintely gaslighted him a lil with her powers nothing malicious jsut like. teleportation like ha there's no way she'll beat me 2 the best spot in the library bc i just saw her walking up the steps while i am already inside and then boom he walks over there and she's there how?? the fuck>? teleporation fuck u. the point is thru their quasi spy vs spy antics i think they start to gain a sense of respect for one another than and he goes political journalism did this question even mention love interests idk That's Not The Point rashid does politics while dency's a bit more of a muckraker kinda more on a corporate side fraud and all that so they no longer are competitors and um. like they can finally appreciate the other as they are no longer and opponent as with most dency characters they have hooked up a couple times i shouldn't say that because as far as characters that have been introduced dency has slept with none of them bc they are all her besties u should never sleep w ur besties only ur homies but i think. i've stated this before? for starters dency doesn't do a lot of long term relationships just because you know that level of vulnerabilty and like if u really like someone then it's just leverage thatcan be used agianst u Or if u die then ur gonna break their heart but i think she does casual relationships with literally anyone but witches i. haven't posted the chaapter fuck i'll post it now because i've been sitting on it for so long and like i'm worried i'm gonna back myself in a corner w a it's not a plotline i don't like maybe just a plotpoint but i've like. written half the next chapter anyway. i'm also sitting on about 10k i think not only. 7k? unpublished w&s because it's like ending the narrative is ending i really need it to be coherent Speaking of incoherent. dency. i'm gonna post the chapter. but dency hangs out a lot at p3 which has changed hands piper owns her restaurants the backstory for this is.

paige has a charge back in the late aughts she's in a coven the point is her bestie has some traumatic incident happen to her and she wants revenge and it's something that (imo) totally justifies revenge like a killing her rapist type thing and like. it depends how we're going with charmed morality but i've established before i think (?) it's canon that if a witch takes an innocent's life she becomes a warlock like it's possible for witches to defect and become warlock if they take a life Specifically an innocent's life and even tho like that guy would be a mortal he def doesn't get innocent status because he's fucking evil she's allowed to murder him but i think she would murder someone else in the process and then causes her to lose her witch powers and gain a couple warlock powers and the rest of her coven shuns her for it which could have easily sent her down a dark path but paige's charge her bestie like stood by her thru all that like. like it's shit cosmic rules tbh. maybe. for legal reasons: i am not endorsing murder. please for the love of god don't make me admit to a grand jury i have a tumblr that'll be so cringe bro do not murder anyone. but paige's charge stands by her and idk maybe paige gets her a job at p3 all that the point is when piper sells the club to open her restaurant she sells it to paige's charge and her gf the warlock. so p3 kind of becomes a neutral power for magic no vanquishes allowed and it's one of the few places dark magic has on the surface just to vibe u just have to be able to tolerate being served by a witch like she owns the place so that kind of filters it. idk if this is more rambly than it normally is. i promise i'll go back in later and add periods. maybe. i am also a liar. but the point is i think p3 is one of the few places dency can really be hersefl because herself is half demon!! and at magic school she really is suppoed to feel ashamed of that like she hates it or something wishes it gone and Yes. it does scare her. being the source's heir all that. she's always worried about giving in to dark magic but like. she's a demon!!! there's no changing that there's no fighting that pushing it under the rug like. she can't change it she does want to spend her life hating herself like. it's who she is. fuck. so i think she doesn't date witches but like the regulars at p3 some warlocks the occasional like darklighter. dency has had romantic trysts with.

beck to rashid her mortal homies who she has hooked up with who they've always had this rapport they have this thing. bc rashid's smart okay that's why he's at dency's level (respectfully she gets her brains from her father i love phoebe but she's intuitive not intelligent cole on the other hand passed the bar exam (i think) so like.) rashid knows something's up. the point is they each give the other three questions. three questions you ask that the other has to answer fully honestly cards on the table no half truths nothing just the answer. rashid used one of those to find out dency's a witch, but she made him work for it. nothing vague like what are you strange things happen around you why like she's like ask your question but you better be specific about it and he's like fuck it. whatever. magic. that's my answer i think magic happens with you and no i'm not flirting i'm dead serious is magic like. are you magical? and the answer was yes. and rashid like while he was asking while he was like confident enough to admit that out loud to ask that to her face Did not see that coming. of course. there's a difference between like yes i can cast a couple spells and yes i'm the antichrist so. : )! but i think that's like a rapport thing between rashid and dency like whenever they ask hard hitting questions like "is that one of your three questions?" but idk if he's gonna. if he's gonna be it for her. there's also jack dency's childhood bestie so there's the childhood friends to lovers thing but like. i just don't see jack being in love with dency in that way like they're best friends. but not lovers. (but maybe they are??? idk)

But. third potential love interest is if i weren't goign for those two i was actually thinking.

two options here a cupid who reocgnizes dency as "the demon with the cupid ring? yeah that's gotta be the source's heir". so there's that i like the idea of. yeah. : )

but also. and i came up w this in an ask which i will not evne attempti to find. i'm sorry i can't spell you guys but it;s not happening 2nite beloeveds. but if u'vemade it this far. i do love u w my whole heart. dency. love interests. old ask about a squad a half-grimlock. appeal of being able to see auras see good people. this was originally in the ask. a love interest for billie?? maybe. idk. but just like. for dency someine who's always known htey have this immense dark side like. hmmmmmm okay i just thot of somehting. for lili. whish is phillipa. which is the prandy thirdborn. she's phsycics. however tf u spell that sykick. that's not the point dency who has. the source on her soul. falling with someone who can literally see the good in her. i'm picturing the half grimlock just ot like like a normal albino human. and they run a halfway house for those born of evil. because he or she or they idk>??? maybe neorponounds idk!!> whoever they r they run a halfway house for these kids born from demons warlocks darklighters bc they can see the good in them and that shouldn't. you get so scared gifted with these powers you don't understand they need a place to turn to. and the grimlock grimmy offers that place. def not their name but like. grimmy lmoa. ao. yeah. i think jsut opening i think integating magic schoolesp in a dency timeline what with penn and the elders and their pomp and circumstance i think it'd be a pain in the ass. but at the very least A magic school for kids wihtout light magic like they deserve it. evil shouldn't just be their default option. like they're just kids man they're jsut kids they deserve a shot at not even good man not everyone has to go on to be exceptional cure cancer and save the world just like. a chance to understand themselves not be scared. not be hated, jsut be/ like. do they not deserve that? so if grimmy's not a li for dency at the very least they are homies and they like pull together a magic school for neutral/dark beings.

[starstruck-thirst]

Crimson Dance Card

Illumi Zoldyck: Part 3 ‘Insidious Quickstep’

Previous- Part 2 ‘Dangerous Foxtrot’

Next- Part 4 TBA

Warnings: Slow manipulation, slow building story

~~~~~~ 

“The wedding is canceled,” he had said, voice as stern as it had always been. But there was an exhaustion under that familiar layer. Something that made the flesh on the back of your neck stand up. So many questions poured into your mind all at once that you couldn’t focus on any one to actually put a voice to it. But your father was looking directly into your eyes, awaiting your response.

“What happened? Was it something I did?” you finally asked, voice steady but uncertain in confusion. You couldn’t help but to think of all the times you denied Tibor. Had he finally decided your refusing his advances was enough to call everything off? “Will this harm the company?”

A pause. Then he took a deep breath that did nothing to relax his posture. “It doesn’t seem that the Tibor family will be pulling out of our contract, so nothing will change going forward with the partnership. As previously decided tomorrow we will be pairing with the Tibor company for the assigned supplies at a reduced cost.”

That was too neat. Why would they continue to partner with your family with so little gain? Sure, the pharmaceutical company your family ran would still generate a good revenue for the Tibor family, but originally they had been getting a partial share of the company when their son married you. So this was still a loss for them comparatively. “But what-” you were cut off as your father’s phone ringtone pierced the still air.

With a quick look at the phone screen he stood, putting a hand up to you indicating for you to wait for his return as he left for his office. “Yes? ...I’m taking care of it right now.” That was all you caught before the office door shut.

It had all happened so quickly and yet also in slow motion. Your father had stayed in his room so long that the morning passed in an anxious haze. You showered- though it wasn’t satisfying-, helped your younger siblings get ready for school, and even after all of that he still had not left his office again.

The only thing you could think to do with all of the anxious energy you felt welling up inside of your stomach was the obvious. Wedding preparations would have to be canceled, and it was only proper to do so in person. Anything to save face that ahead of time, since you weren’t sure just how much of it you were set to lose.

In the car it plagued you, and you ran the day before through your head again and again. Yes you had shied away from his kiss, but you had done so a million times before. Truth be told you figured Tibor didn’t really have much love for you, but was ready to have the business end and a pretty wife.

So what had changed?

By lunchtime you still weren’t certain. But you were hungry and your father hadn’t made any attempt to contact you just yet.

You had previously arranged a lunch at a nice cafe for you and Tibor, and it did seem a shame to waste it now. Especially a high end cafe on the pier. To be able to get in you had to have connections, and a place like that called for a certain level of social decorum. Including not canceling unless the reason was something very serious.

The inside was cool, both in temperature and color. Tasteful cool, gray wallpaper helped the seating area feel comfortable even on the most warm of days. Large windows looked out into the water, giving just a little taste at the life of comfort and lazing about that one could have when you had enough money. It was one of the few perks that your social standing had that you didn’t hate. A little slice of quiet and clean that not just anyone could touch.

“Are you here for your reservation, Miss. [last name]?” the host had asked when you arrived. Was there an air of judgement? Were you being paranoid?

“Yes. I’ll be alone today. I am sure that won’t be too much of a problem?”

He gave the briefest shake of his head and bowed, putting his arm out towards the dining room in a universal sign of granted entry. With a slight bow you left the desk to find your table with the help of a waiter that appeared immediately to usher you to your waiting table.

It felt so normal, and with how you had been feeling all day normal wasn’t good or comforting. It was just strange. Like you were watching from another body as you daintily navigated the tables covered in fine white cloth, full of your colleagues and their loved ones. The polite smile on your lips that you didn’t even have to think about any more was plastered on and it felt like a scab wanting to be scraped off.

By the time the waiter pushed you into your seat you almost felt a touch feint from how strangely you were feeling. Both alive and not.

“Would you like today’s chef’s special miss?” the waiter asked, filling your water glass, almost startling you.

Not feeling enough like yourself to even look over a menu, you nodded. “That would be, lovely. Thank you.”

The waiter dipped his head once and collected the spare place setting before going. It was somehow more odd when you were sitting at a table that had been previously set for two. When had you last eaten alone? Had you ever?

This was a lot of internal reflection that you hadn’t been prepared for.

Quietly you slipped your phone from your pocket to check your messages again, but disappointingly you had none.

Fortunately you had reserved a seat by the windows that looked out over the nearby bay. Previously it had been by design to have something to look at while Tibor prattled on about whatever it was he wanted to drone about today. Now it served as your only company as you waited with your hands in your lap, feeling like a child lost at sea.

“What fortune.”

It took a moment to realize the voice was directed at you since you were so lost in your own loneliness. But something in the familiarity is what finally commanded your attention, and to say you were completely shocked would have been an understatement. Illumi stood next to your table, just a few steps away in fact, looking right at you. The small smile you had come to look for any time the assassin graced your presence was detectable, but almost impossible to see if one wasn’t looking for it.

But you were.

“Oh! Mr. Z-.... Illumi,” you corrected. While it seemed more polite to use his last name, it was a rare occasion that it felt more proper to not use it. No one in the world had that last name that wasn’t part of a notorious assassin family. You hadn’t felt encumbered with it before, since you had been privately wandering the gardens, but now it seemed a sin.

“Illumi is fine,” he assured you. “Did you say… what fortune?” You tried to keep the girlish excitement out of your voice that welled up so quickly upon seeing him

“Yes. I was hoping to run into you again. I didn’t think it would be so soon. I admit the timing isn’t preferable.”

“Oh!” You looked around the room that you could see without moving your head, wondering if he was here on a job. “Are you… here for business?”

A very soft chuckle responded, “In a sense.” “Would… would joining me be of assistance or just a distraction? I do have this whole table to myself after all. Though I am sure you have a table already…”

Illumi looked to consider this. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” you exclaimed a bit too loudly. You realized immediately and gave a bashful, apologetic look. “I apologize for my energy, I was just thinking some company might be nice is all.”

He raised a hand, making a waiter appear immediately. “I would like my meal sent to this table instead. That will be all.” Promptly he waved the man away who left with haste as Illumi sat down. “Simple enough to arrange.”

Your previously fake smile was genuine now. The excitement you felt bubbling inside of your stomach at seeing Illumi again was hard to repress and pretend to not exist.

“I’m glad you seem to be better today,” Illumi said, resting one arm on the table top. You must have seemed confused so he continued, “When I saw you yesterday afternoon you looked quite pale.”

“Oh that. Thank you I’m fine now. I guess it must have been warmer than I thought, though I can’t recall the last time the sun made me feel quite that faint.”

“I am surprised you are eating alone. No fiancé today it seems.”

You frowned. The feeling of the day you had been living creeping back into your emotions at the edges. Blurry and cold it felt, encroaching on the fresh and clear feelings you had just gotten back. “No. No fiancé at all. The arrangement was broken off.”

“Are you displeased?”

Even though you liked looking at Illumi, your eyes were drawn to the view outside once more for a moment before looking back to his face. His eyes were striking and it felt like they saw entirely through you. “No.” It was the first time you had thought so plainly of it. The worries about what had happened and what would happen going forward were entirely washed away in that moment and only the truth was laid bare inside of you. “He wasn’t worthy of my attention.”

Illumi seemed surprised by your brazien statement and you almost worried you had over stepped. “No. I don’t think he was.”

The waiter brought salad and for a time you two ate in silence. Mostly you didn’t want to bother Illumi when he was possibly working, watching a potential target. Yet it would be a lie that you also didn’t want to annoy him into leaving as you were enjoying his company so very much.

You didn’t turn your head to look about the room- even though it was very tempting- when Illumi’s eyes strayed from the table.

Some part of you wondered what it would be like to watch him actually kill someone.

“Do you have plans already this weekend, Miss. [last name]?”

Illumi’s question brought you back to immediate reality, salad fork half raised to your mouth. “I don’t believe so. A lot of my plans for this weekend are probably going to be very suddenly canceled,” you confessed. So much of your life was about being a socialite that now with all the calls and appearances on Tibor’s arm stricken from your planner you were temporarily left with ample time. “Why do you ask?”

Silently he put the fork on the salad plate to symbolize he was finished with it. “I have to attend another party and I would like to have a dance partner that knows how to move around the floor.”

You swallowed and put the fork down as quietly as you could, a mixture of excitement and nervousness washing over you like a tidal wave. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

“I believe that is supposed to be my line,” Illumi replied with a smile as he leaned on his arm. The movement was so casual, like some icy wall of formality was dripping a bit and you could see through it to the man on the other side for a moment.

Illumi’s eyes were so dark that it almost seemed as if no light could hope to warm them, and yet they themselves held a certain heat. They were focused on you and only you and it was exhilarating.

“I suppose there is no rule written that it cannot be both.”

He chuckled at your response. “Don’t let your food grow cold,” he said sitting back up with perfect posture once more. As his eyes lowered away from your face it felt as if you could breathe again.

Without your notice the salad plate had been taken and a fresh plate of warm food had taken its place. How had you missed that?

Lunch passed pleasantly. He asked about your siblings again- their ages and hobbies- and allowed a question about his own family in exchange. Revealing that essentially everyone in the family was part of the business. You tried to imagine what it must have been like to be a trained assassin from birth. Not surprisingly, it wasn’t easily pictured.

The check came all too soon for your liking, and surprisingly it was set in front of Illumi. “Let me pay. I asked you to sit here after all and I took up so much of your time. I worry you didn’t even have time to work properly.”

But Illumi hadn’t even listened to your entire plea before pulling cash out and placing it with the bill and handing it back to a waiter. “I got plenty done.”

Even if it was customary that the gentleman pay, it still made that girlish rush come back again. Now it felt a bit like a date. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. May I walk you out to your car again?”

You nodded and started to move to stand but he motioned for you to remain where you were. Doing as you were instructed you waited as Illumi came around the table and pulled your chair out for you making it easier to stand gracefully.

He was so natural in everything he did. It was a marvel to watch as he offered his arm out again for you to take. This time you didn’t have a sun hat to hide the pink that spread across your cheeks, and all you could do was hope that Illumi wouldn’t think little of you for it.

Walking back out of the cafe was nothing like going in. You felt so very much a part of your body that you were overly aware of it. All the natural grace that had been bred into you didn’t seem enough as you walked next to someone so gorgeous.

“I enjoyed lunch today,” he said as the two of you waited for your car to come around and pick you up.

A hot, foaming warmth filled your entire body, and finally you figured out what that bubbly feeling was. It was hope. Hope that just maybe this handsome killer found you interesting and attractive. And it was scary. “I did also. I’m glad we ran into each other,” you admitted, hand still on his forearm.

“I will send along details about the party this weekend to your home.” The black car slid up, stopping right in front of the two of you. Illumi opened the door and guided you into it easily. “I look forward to dancing with you again, Miss. [last name].” As a parting gesture he took your hand into his and laid the softest kiss upon your knuckles.

“I look forward to it as well,” you whispered, placing your hand reluctantly into your lap before Illumi shut the car door and your driver pulled away from the cafe. You were grateful for the darkened car windows, knowing Illumi wouldn’t be able to see as you turned around to look at him one last time while he watched your car go, touching the knuckles he had kissed with your fingertips as you did so.

The entire thing was too good to be true. And for the first time the process of canceling all the wedding plans wasn’t painful, blurry, and distant. Now it was enjoyable. That was until a few hours later when a horrible feeling of sickness came over you again.

You had to return home early due to the feeling, a cold sweat starting to come over you once more. The possibility that you were sick occurred to you as you passed your father’s closed office door.

And for the next several days you were home bound, tossing in your sleep from whatever illness had taken you and praying that it would alleviate by the weekend.

Each day you lived just for the hope of the weekend and the handsome assassin that waited for you.

[mischiefandmystics]

LFRP: Sun’ra Zhawn

B A S I C S .

FULL NAME: Śūn'ra Yatā PRONUNCIATION: SHoon-ra Ya-ta ALIAS: Sun’ra Zhawn NICKNAME(S): Blu, Sun, various epithets from various people AGE: 25 BIRTHDAY: 16th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon ETHNIC GROUP: Miqo’te/Keeper of the Moon NATIONALITY: Meracydian LANGUAGE(S): Common, Huntspeak, some sign language  SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Open to interpretation  ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Open to interpretation  RELATIONSHIP STATUS: In a relationship with Maril Hawker, but still a ho HOME TOWN/AREA: An island off the coast of the main Meracydian continent CURRENT HOME:  N/A, wanders and has several hideouts throughout Eorzea PROFESSION: Bandit, Street Pharmacist, Chef, Back Alley Surgeon

P H Y S I C A L .

HAIR: Cotton candy blue and pink, thick, coarse, and with the slightest of waves EYES: Bright, intense, and vivid violet in color. Almond shaped and often with constricted pupils FACE: Sharp, symmetrical, and expressive with a round, wide nose LIPS: Full, soft, and usually smirking COMPLEXION: Deep russet brown BLEMISHES: N/A SCARS: Rare, faded, but heavy around the hands and knuckles. There are none of any particular note or story. TATTOOS: Clan markings on his face HEIGHT: 5′8 WEIGHT: 162 BUILD: Muscular, athletic, compact, and broad shouldered. DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Clan markings, hair color, intense stare, facial and ear piercings ALLERGIES: N/A USUAL HAIR STYLE: Cut short or chin length at most, no particular style, left to do what it wills. USUAL FACE LOOK: Prone to sharp toothed grins, teasing or taunting glances, and focused, unblinking stares. USUAL CLOTHING: Fitted leather and cloth, or loose linen pieces in either black or bright and vibrant colors. COMMON ACCESSORIES: Black choker, fingerless gloves, gold bracelets, and gold sunglasses(if during the day)

P S Y C H O L O G Y .

FEAR(S): Dying ASPIRATION(S): Longevity in banditry, general hedonism, and to grow and synthesize the most potent drugs with the cleanest highs. POSITIVE TRAITS: Charming, Truthful, Diligent, Loyal, Creative, Patient, Astute NEGATIVE TRAITS: Unabashedly Evil, Excessively Violent, Cunningly Manipulative, Largely Unpredictable  MBTI: ENFJ-A  ZODIAC: Sagittarius TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine-Choleric  SOUL TYPE(S): The Warrior & The Sage ANIMAL(S): The Wolf & The Crocodile VICE HABIT(S): Murder, Fogweed, Sensation Seeking FAITH: Agnostic GHOSTS?: Unsure AFTERLIFE?: Unsure REINCARNATION?: Unsure ALIENS?: Yes POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Vaguely anarchist leaning, but otherwise unconcerned. EDUCATION LEVEL:  Homeschooled and private tutelage while young, various forms of apprenticeship after leaving home, and continues to study and practice his trade and interests as an adult.

F A M I L Y .

FATHER: Zai’zi Routak; Alive MOTHERS: Śūn Yatā; Alive SIBLINGS: 14 sisters and 4 brothers EXTENDED FAMILY: Various aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews, etc. PETS: A nutkin named Chip, a mameshiba named Bombo, and a war panther named Jean-Baptiste Sevigny. NAME MEANING(S): Fifth son of Śūn Yatā   HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: N/A.

F A V O R I T E S .

BOOK: The medical journals pertaining to anatomy and physiology from Maril’s library.  DEITY: Sophia HOLIDAY: Valentione's Day  MONTH: July SEASON: Summer PLACE:  Mor Dhona WEATHER: Sunshower SOUND(S): The cacophony of active voices in a crowded room, the rhythmic breaking of waves against the shore, and the sharp, surprised, intake of breath by a person once stabbed. SCENT(S): Petrichor, blood, medicinal herbs, and burning wood. TASTE(S): Sharp, hot, and spicy peppers, bitter and sour tastes like lemons, and the savory and rich flavor of spiced cinnamon. FEEL(S): Textures that are sticky or tacky like blood, or gritty like sand, or rough like calloused hands. ANIMAL(S): Coeurls, Nutkins, Dogs NUMBER(S): 16 COLOR(S): Red, Blue, Pink, Purple, and Yellow

E X T R A .

TALENT(S): Cooking, mathematics, sleight of hand, hand-eye coordination BAD AT:  Drawing, hiding emotions, magic TURN ONS: Competence, violence, passion, assertiveness, risk-taking, vulnerability TURN OFFS: Spinelessness, arrogance, dishonesty HOBBIES: Botany, singing and songwriting, playing guitar, stalking people, exploring ruins TROPES:  It Amused Me, Sadist, Pragmatic Villainy, No-Nonsense Nemesis, Because I’m Good At It, Machiavelli Was Wrong, Even Evil Can Be Loved, Even Evil Has Loved Ones QUOTE(S): N/A

T R A I T S .

extroverted / in between / introverted disorganized / in between / organized close minded / in between / open-minded  calm / in between / anxious disagreeable / in between / agreeable cautious / in between / reckless patient / in between / impatient outspoken / in between / reserved leader / in between / follower empathetic / in between / apathetic optimistic / in between / pessimistic traditional / in between / modern hard-working / in between / lazy cultured / in between / uncultured  loyal / in between/ disloyal faithful / in between/ unfaithful

P O S S I B L E   H O O K S .

Drug Dealer: Śūn’ra is a drug dealer, and a fairly good one at that. He has his own distinct wares to offer, but will also make the effort to procure whatever a client desires beyond his normal fare. This is however, with the exception of Somnus as he refuses to deal with that particular substance in any capacity. Still, if one is looking for a quick fix, or a reliable long term supplier, he is always happy to provide.

Banditry: What Śūn’ra considers as his main “job”, is the thing he’s been doing the longest, and what he finds himself to be really good at. He has been known to take advantage of the Ala Mhigan refugees outside of Ul’dah, the Doman refugees who once made their temporary home around Mor Dhona, the various downtrodden in Gyr Abania, and generally any random, lightly armored person or persons on a dark road in and around the various housing districts. If you want to be a victim, a hero, a like-minded individual, or simply heard curious, ominous rumors of people being robbed and/or murdered in the dark, feel free to explore the possibility.

Hired Hand: As he’s generally always on the search for or considering the potential of the next thrill, Śūn’ra tends to keep his ear to the underground when it comes to offerings of various “unsavory” jobs. Whether you need an assassin, a torturer, a kidnapper, or someone to shake down those indebted to you, he’s generally up for the task. Additionally, while the Keeper himself has no grandiose plans for mass destruction, conquest, or the like, he’s more than happy to help those who do - for a price, and for as long as going along with his employer’s ambitions is more thrilling than the escapades of those attempting to put a stop to them... 

Dungeon-Diving: Śūn’ra has found that he rather enjoys heading into various dungeons and ruins in search of relics to either keep for himself or to sell for overinflated prices. The threat of monsters, voidsent, and other ne'er-do-wells amuses and excites him. It is possible to run into him alone, scoping out a location for possible treasures, or to convince him to join your own expedition.

General Evil-doing: In simplest terms, Śūn’ra finds evil things to just generally be more fun than good things. He’d like to meet others of a similar mindset, and isn’t shy about tracking such individuals down if he catches wind of them.

L O O K I N G   F O R .

I am looking for both short and long term RP with villainous contacts, friends, and business collaborators for various dubious plotlines, one shots, and experimental campaigns. Ideally something long term, with characters willing to get their hands dirty and not prone to passivity. 

Rivals, enemies, and people to thwart and be thwarted by. It’s not fun if he always wins or gets his way. People who are able to stand up to him and hold their own are wanted too. Doesn’t have to be long running as I am open to heroic one shots as well.

Pretty much anything. There’s a wide world of RP out there to be had, and various types of plotlines. I’m always open to hear things out, and even if I’m not super into something, we can shape it into something that works well for the both of us. Śūn'ra as a character has a wide variety of interests and hobbies, and not everything has to be about violence or mayhem(though that is the main focus), so please, if you have an idea, let me know!

C O N T A C T .

Here! On Tumblr!

In game via: Sun’ra Zhawn@balmung

@ffxiv-crystal-rp​

[kashimos-hajime]

home | l.l.

Summary: “Come home to me, my love. Please, bring him home.”  You’re a youthful little creature, but anyone who knows that life’s most vibrant gifts are the ones most dangerous, knows to stay away.

WARNINGS: ANGST, but happy ending, blood, death, sacrificial rituals, mentions of suicide bc loki :( Pairing: pre-Thor to postTDW!Loki x sorceress!Reader Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Okay, so months ago, I entered a certain writing challenge, and forgot about it. Layla was kind enough to tell me to take my time, and now I have it completed! My prompt was: “Excuse my tantrum, can’t you see I’ve got my hands full.”

@wxntersoldiers, enjoy bb!! You deserve it :)

They've hidden you away on this war-hungry realm, where the blades are sharp and the shields are sharper. Shoved books and herbs and tutors every which way they think you will intercept them, so that they can mold you into a lady worthy of Asgard’s standards. Placed your blades out of reach, because Vanaheim is the peace to Asgard’s war. The country to Asgard’s city. Farmers to their rich.

They call you simple. You are your father’s daughter, after all, and he was merely a farmer before he was a king.

So, yes, you are the farmer’s daughter, who just happened to be lucky to marry the Prince of Asgard. The simple girl who is well-spoken, and polite, and trusting without a fault. The pretty, simple girl from a peaceful realm who doesn’t understand that their Prince will never love an idiot like you.

What you know as the truth is all that matters.

.

Your father is Freyr of Two Kingdoms. Of Vanaheim and Alfheim and you are to lead both. Your father reads aloud strategy instead of bedtime stories, and you paint with a sword instead of a brush. You grow up a battle-hardened warrior who has not yet lost a battle, and your father’s father sends his blessings to you. He tells you the ocean sings in your veins and the winds rest in your heart. He tells you that you are the tsunami’s rage and the torrential rains of fall.

But all the courtiers call you is farmer’s girl. Little peach.

A farmer’s girl who wields a scythe like a second arm, who’ll cut someone in two if it means it’ll make your father proud. A sweet little thing who has knives hidden in a smile. A fountain of limitless potential without a leash, a witch, if anyone’s ever seen one, without a master.

Your father’s sister amends that immediately.

She bleeds you over the fire, and teaches you things your father does not dare to speak of. Sorcery, and spells, and little tiny tricks that’ll tip the balance to your side. Black magic, they call it. You say it’s making use of what you are born with.

Little peach. Dark princess.

A little peach who is her mother’s daughter, shimmering and beautiful. 

You’re a youthful little creature, but anyone who knows that life’s most vibrant gifts are the ones most dangerous, knows to stay away.

.

It’s a shame, you realize, that an arranged marriage was made.

You’re quite sure that if you’d met Loki in any other circumstance, you’d love him and he’d love you. He’s quiet and polite, and not hard on the eyes at all. In fact, you’re quite sure he’s attracted to you, too. After all, there are worse brides in the nine realms. 

But, then he listens to what the court says, and you keep up the pretense that you’re nothing but the clouds in your head. Not that it’s hard. You simply don’t fight it, and let the people do the rest. You have no interest in defending yourself against opinions that don’t matter. You only care about one.

Your mother’s whispers tell you to paste that smile on your face. It’s not worth the trouble to fight what they think of you.

Your father’s glare demands you to show them who you are. You are my heir, and you will earn their respect.

Your lady aunt Freyja takes no side, but you can imagine her voice perfectly. My autumn child, you know what men do for a woman’s love.

You smile and open up a book as your betrothed enters the library. His eyes rake over you for a moment as you let out a soft hum, face turned away. The sun shines through the window, illuminating the dust that flickers through the air and you flip a page deliberately to catch his attention again.

“What are you reading?” he asks two shelves over.

“Some odd book about seiðr,” you respond and your gaze rises to see him pausing. He grabs the book he has floating somewhere between him and the shelf, and turns around, meeting your eyes. He searches for something deeper. You drop your eyes back to the book you’ve read countless times before.

He sits down on the opposite end of the window sill bench and you tuck your knees to your chest. You hold the book open, and his eyes flicker across your face, drinking you in. 

“Interesting?” he inquires. You send him a smile.

“Enough.”

No more words are said. He simply cracks open his book and you return to yours. You cannot help the smile that spreads across your face.

Many things, Aunt Freyja. People do many, many things for love.

.

That is your little hideaway, the library. Only Loki knows when to find you and where — that spot on the window sill bench, after dinner and before breakfast — and he comes to join you often.

Mostly, he asks questions. You smile and answer all of them willingly. You’ve let him come to you, and now you have him in your grasp, and you in his. The moment he finds out you also know how to use magic, know how to do things that not many on this war-hungry realm can, you feel something in your chest lurch at the very sight of him. Perhaps it’s the way his eyes spark when he reads something new, or the gentle way in which he smiles at you. 

No matter. You enjoy the games you play together.

You watch the way the sunlight hits the smooth apples of his cheeks and brow bones as you play with the magic at your fingertips. The two of you play a game where you must get pieces through hoops the other positions. It can be as outrageous as one’d like, but in the lazy setting sun and the fullness of supper, neither of you go farther than the distance between the two. 

He holds a hoop between the two of you and your lips twist as you telekinetically toss a piece through it. It lands in his lap and you smirk victoriously.

“Now, I get a question,” you announce. Loki leans back against the wall, a satisfied smile upon his face. “Lemon tarts or berry tarts?”

“You know I don’t like sweet things,” Loki deadpans and you smile, tucking your knees to your chest. You flick your fingers and retrieve the piece still in his lap as his own wooden blocks float around his fingers. “Lemon tarts.”

Taking your own hoop and holding it up above your head with a wave of your fingers, you feel the warm gush of power flow down your fingers. The wooden hoop shimmers with blue magic as you look up, making the final adjustments to its position.

“I’m ready,” you announce and Loki picks up a piece with his fingers. It soars through the air with a flick of his fingers and through the hoop, and he catches it before it can drop on your head. He smiles with a little ‘ahah’ and holds the little wooden piece in his fist as you lower the hoop onto your finger with an amused smile.

It seems only in the sanctuary that is the library does Loki smile like he does. You’ve been here quite a while to know that he’s not the favourite son. The Allfather tries his best not to make it so painstakingly obvious, but you can see it plain as day. 

He wears his smile in the court like a courtesy. Whilst you float around, a butterfly searching for nectar, he is the crow perched on leaves, wondering when he can return home to his murder — his flock. You’ve tried to draw that smile you know lurks within him out, but fail every time.

Here though, he blooms like the sweetest flower and you reach over to skim your fingertips over his knuckles. His eyes flicker down before meeting yours. 

“Why do you act like that in court?” he asks softly, and you tilt your head.

“Like what?”

“You know what I mean, my lady.”

“I know what they think of me,” you say with a cunning smile. “You can’t make people change their minds, and an advantage can only be used once. But why should I care about silly little opinions when only one truly matters?” Your magic dances across your fingertips and over Loki’s hand as he slowly turns it over to grasp your palm. His fingers slide over your wrist, feeling your pulse that beats in your ears.

“And whose opinion is that?” he asks, tone bemused. You roll your eyes, draw back, and gesture to one of the hoops he has floating around his head.

“One question per point,” you remind him, drawing your hand away. Pink stains his cheeks and you send him another sly smile. “Come on. A few more rounds before bed.”

“Bed?” he repeats with a glint of mischief. You fling a block at his nose which he deflects easily, and his smirk causes your lips to press into a flustered smile. “Too early for bed, isn’t it, my lady?”

“The night is still young.”

“Ah, you know that wasn’t what I meant.” 

“If you’re so eager, a request could be made to my father to move the wedding up a fortnight,” you chuckle. With the wedding only a month away, everything is falling into place. The few things you have left to deal with is the final fittings for the dress, and the final draft of the menu.

“I’ll resist the temptation, little witch. The wait will make it sweeter.”

Your heart beats a little faster. By his little self-satisfied smirk, you know he knows, and you curse Loki for being able to turn the tides of your little battle against you.

.

The day of the wedding is scheduled for the first day of autumn, and gentle wind kisses your cheeks as you walk through the gardens. A spiral of orange and yellow, red and brown, follow your steps as your father walks you through one last time.

“You’ll return home, then? Once the wedding is over?” you ask softly. The sparrows chirp overhead, flitting from one branch to another. You smile at the sweet songs, leaning against your battle-worn father. He wears a handsome grey pelt around his shoulders, his cape dragging behind on the cobblestone road as you tilt your head to the grey-blue sky. 

“Yes. Once I’m sure you’ve settled in, and you’re comfortable here.” Autumn blossoms sprinkle the pathway as you ascend the steps to the Great Hall and you turn to your father with a smile reserved only for him. 

“I am happy here. If they’d let me bring out my sword once in a while, then it’ll be perfect.” 

He nods, cupping your face and tilting your chin up towards him. His dark eyes flicker over your face, thumb stroking your jaw and you smile bittersweetly. You know what he sees — his little girl.

“Thank you, Father.” 

And at last, he smiles. It vanishes a second later, but the love that swells in your chest does not as he sends the guards a nod.

The doors open, and you are presented to the people who are to be yours.

Loki wears his ceremonial armor, golden horns glinting in the morning sunlight that streams through the open ceiling. Rich green spills from his shoulders, his cape pooling around his leather boots as he turns to look at you. A reverent silence hangs in the air, filled by the soft lull of harps and choir voices, and you lower your eyes to avoid the evident smile that’ll occupy your face as soon as you see him.

When you reach the altar, you turn to gather up your dress that tumbles on for miles to see attendants already holding onto it, adjusting it so it flows prettily down the golden stairs. Your father watches with a hard stare, making sure you look as beautiful as you can be and you place your hands on your father’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Papa. For everything.” 

He nods once, and then takes hold of your hands with his rough ones. His thumbs brush over your knuckles as he turns to Loki, who holds out his own hands.

You look at the man who is to be your husband in mere moments, and he hides a smile beneath that helmet of his. Your father places your hands in Loki’s, giving you away, before descending down the steps and standing next to your Aunt Freyja who hides a clever smile behind her hands.

.

Marital bliss lasts for centuries. The both of you are in no rush for children, still young and eager to learn about the world and each other. 

“If it comes, then we let it come,” Loki whispers into your neck one night before bed. You press your whole body against his, wrapping him in a tight hug as his arm drapes over your waist. He kisses your jaw and brushes hair away from your face, eyes dark in the shadows of your shared rooms. “But in the meantime, I’d like to get in a lot of practice.”

“Practice, hm?” Your face is flush against his chest, and you press soft, tiny kisses against the bare skin you find there, fingers tracing shapes along his back. He sighs, his hand trailing up and down your side as he takes you in. Your eyes peer up at him modestly, and you reach up to touch his face. You feel his smile warm against your palm, and you wonder how it is that you’ve fallen in love with the man when he’s the one who is supposed under your spell. 

You suppose it isn’t hard to wonder why.

“Oh, yes. Lots and lots of practice.” His nose wrinkles against your cheek and your laughter is silenced by his kisses as you wrap your arms around his neck. The sheets twist around your body as you slide a leg between his. The burn of his skin spreads delightfully into your bones as you sigh, brushing fingers over his cheeks.

“I adore you, you know that?” 

“Of course I do,” he whispers, and he seals that promise with a kiss.

.

Your first is a daughter, and the birth is difficult. You think it’s the stress — the whole ordeal has been a hellish year, and the fact that Thor has been banished such a short time ago. 

Loki has been exiled to pace outside your room to let the midwives work as you let out a torrential scream. Outside, Asgard faces a storm, bullet rain that dents metal with every one of your pained shouts as wet wind carries the fate of your child to all corners of the realm. There is blood, so much blood that they have to change the towels beneath your waist twice.

And even then, it’s a struggle.

Frigga brings you sustenance — filling soup and water — as well as updates on your husband.

“He’s going positively mad,” your mother-by-law whispers and you let out a breathless laugh as another contraction rips through you. Something tears and you grip onto whatever is closest, clamping down with all your might. The midwives murmur amongst themselves but you cannot see through your tears to bother asking what’s wrong.

The labour continues on for another day and a half before you can rest. Frigga departs your bedside to go look and you raise your head blearily. You’re quite light-headed, and you wonder why there is such a silence. You can hear the gurgles of a child, the tiny little wails but otherwise, nothing.

“What’s wrong?” you croak, blinking. You need to see your baby. You gave your life and soul to this child and now they won’t even tell you what’s wrong. “Is it a boy, or a girl?” Nothing. “Answer me!”

“We… we don’t know, Princess.”

Your whole world shatters. You try to sit up but Frigga stops you as agony rips between your legs mercilessly. Groaning, you slide back down as she cups your face. Your blown eyes search hers, and you feel the tears coming before you can stop them. Hair sticks to the sweat on your skin as you let out a quivering breath, trying to stop yourself from sobbing.

“What’s wrong with my child?” you ask weakly, closing your eyes as tears burn hotter than the flames surrounding you. Frigga shushes you and you feel the shift of the bed as she turns to the midwives.

“You do not speak of this moment. You do so, and you will not wake up from your sleep. Leave.”

The door opens and closes. A soft bundle is pressed into your arms. Frigga stuffs pillows beneath your head and urges you to open your eyes.

“There’s a secret we’ve been hiding from Loki his whole life,” the Queen whispers as your eyes peel open. Tears blur your vision instantly but you blink them away. With a weak finger, you pull the towel away from your child’s face. “Something we should’ve told him long before he met you.”

“Boy or girl?” you ask quietly. The child turns in your arms, eyes squeezed shut and a closed fist hitting your finger softly. 

“You have a sweet little daughter.”

Nodding to yourself, you feel your fingers go numb as you stare at your tiny little daughter. She’s so small, so gentle, and yet she already has such a climb in front of her. Your heart swells for your firstborn child, and you hold her to your forehead, breathing in her scent as you stroke her tiny chest.

You kiss her blue, marked cheek, and her tiny blue knuckles, play with her creamy little fingers and brush a knuckle down the unmarked side of her face. You watch as your half-blue daughter searches for food, and you swallow a hard knot. Bearing your breast, you let her feed and try not to cry once again. 

“When will you tell him?” you ask. Frigga looks on with guilt, with shame. Your eyes stare frostily at her, and you wonder if this is why the Allfather favours Thor over him. “I won’t hide this from him.” The Queen has no answer, and a wave of nausea crashes over your head as you turn to look at your daughter. The birthing pains have faded, replaced by new, deeper cuts on your heart. “Please bring him in.”

When Loki meets his tiny little daughter, blue and cream, frost giant markings along her face and body, he confesses that he knows. Knows he’s a monster.

You tell him with every ounce of yourself that he is not even though you know he won’t believe you. So you tell him you love him instead, because he knows that that will never change.

.

“Thor! You’re back!” You rush to him, pulling him into your rooms as you admire your brother. His golden hair shines in the candlelight and he wears a fatigued smile as you go to pour him some tea. 

“There’s no need for that,” he says with a wave and you send him a strange look. Something about him seems off. He’s no longer the jovial man you know, or perhaps, something has happened. Before you can entertain that thought, though, a shrill cry pierces the air and you go to the cradle beside your bed. 

Your daughter squirms and wiggles, and you pick her up, shushing her quietly as you turn to look at Thor. He stares at your daughter for half a moment, and you smile sadly.

“They hid the secret from you, too,” you begin and he rips his gaze to you. “Sweet brother, Loki has been raised in a lie.”

And that is what makes the next bit of news so utterly horrible.

“Where is he, anyhow?” you ask. You gently rock your daughter in your arms, hoping that’ll soothe her to sleep but with a newborn, you’re only learning more and more everyday. Thor grimaces, fingers slotting together as if he’s trying to figure out the right words to say. You go to your balcony, looking at where the bridge has shattered. You arch an eyebrow, tilting your head and absently stroking your daughter’s cheek. “The Bifrost was glowing awfully bright before you returned.”

“Autumn sister,” he whispers, and his voice has grown thick. You turn to him, the wind tugging at the skirts around your ankles as he steps onto the balcony with you. The moon casts you both in silver, and you swallow. 

“Bad news?” Your voice shakes and you try to pretend it’s from the cold that does not bother you, not the fear that seizes your heart and threatens to crush it into tiny pieces of dust. When Thor does not answer, you shake your head and whip around, holding your child to your face. Yours and Loki’s. Our daughter.

“I’m sorry—”

“No. No, please don’t tell me,” you whisper. Kissing her cheek, you hold the child close to you in hopes that it’ll fend off whatever words Thor will say. “Don’t tell me, please.”

“He let go of my hand,” Thor whispers and you close your eyes, breath rattling in your throat. “He let go, and he fell.”

“No. He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

A myriad of emotions digs into your heart, splitting it with a chisel and hammer, carving it into something that resembles a broken heart. You wilt, sinking to your knees and holding your daughter close. The last pieces of Loki you have left.

“Was I not enough?” you ask to the winds. Thor drapes his cloak around your shoulders, gently touches your daughter’s cheek who meets her uncle for the first time, and shakes his head. “Was our daughter not enough?”

“It was never anything you did,” he whispers, hugging you tight. You close your eyes, and tears trace over onyx armor as he presses a tight kiss to your temple. “Some secrets never should have been secrets.”

.

“You’re sending Thor to Midgard, but not me?” You throw open the doors with a slam, storming into the throne room. Odin Allfather sits up in his chair, his conversation with his wife all but broken as you stop. Blue autumn winds follow after you, brushing against your skirts, your hands, curling around your fingers. “I’m his wife, if you don’t remember.”

“You have a daughter. I don’t want young Hela to lose two parents,” he replies, an easy response, a trained one. You sneer, hands curling into knuckle-white fists. Magic rushes to your fingertips, but before you can protest, he slams Gungnir into the floor. “My decision is final.”

Frigga’s, however, is not. With a promise to take care of your daughter, she sneaks you into the Observatory. Thor flies you in, and the two of you hold on tight to each other as Frigga waves farewell.

“I need to return before he thinks anything’s amiss,” the Queen Mother explains with a slight smile. “Bring him home.”

“We will,” the two of you promise. 

When Odin’s dark magic powers the Observatory for the first time in centuries, he sends not one but two warriors down to Midgard.

.

“Loki?” you whisper, and he wilts under your stare. Something flickers in your eyes as you press your hands against the glass. He’s trapped in some sort of cage, and you paste on that smile of yours as he walks towards the thick walls.

He places his hands deliberately to cover yours, and you lean forward, your forehead touching his. The soft thunk tells you he does the same and you close your eyes. You can nearly feel the heat of him. Almost, not quite, maybe.

“What have they done to you?” you ask as your heart tries to touch his. It wrenches out of your chest, and you open your eyes to meet his, smokey blue, a gaze you don’t know. “Who did this to you?”

There is no answer. He merely backs away into the end of the glass container like you’d shocked him.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill whoever did this to you,” you promise. The glass begins to bend under your burning hands and the blue magic under your fingertips phases through the glass. The rest of you follows, and you are in the cell with him. He watches you like an injured dog, and your heart cracks as you open your arms.

“Stay back, wife,” he spits, but you don’t care. His poison has never touched you. You continue towards him.

“I’ll kill them all,” you repeat as the uncertainty in Loki’s eyes grows. “I promise you. I promise I will do whatever they’ve done to you to them tenfold. I will bring you home to our daughter.” You think of little Hela back home, and you smile. “She’s missed you. She’s your little girl.”

“She’s a monster,” he whispers harshly. You falter and your arms drop to your sides. “Don’t you see?”

“I’ve never cared much for monsters.” Blue mist spills into the air, tasting like cold starlight and warm spices as you reach out one hand to him. “And I know how to love one with everything I have.”

Tendrils of magic weave from your fingers out to Loki, who has half-turned away from you. It caresses his face and whispers over his jaws, taking hold and turning his cheek towards you. His eyes meet yours and you smile. 

“Come home to me, Loki.”

He takes a step towards you and your heart swells in your chest. Your fingers strain for his cheek and your smile grows as he walks into your reach. Your hand cups his face, and you let out a relieved laugh. You absorb every inch of him, the sunken quality of his eyes, the hollowness in his cheeks. My husband. 

Your arms wrap around his neck and suddenly, he’s embracing you back desperately. His arms clutch at the leather that binds your armor together and you kiss his neck softly.

“She looks so much like you,” you whisper, tracing shapes on the plane of his shoulder. “Come home to me.”

“I will. When the work is done, I will.”

“What?” Your head raises off the crook of his neck and shoulder, and you stare into his eyes. Swallowing, you open your mouth to speak but then he pushes you hard, blasting you through the glass and onto the metal floor. “Loki—”

“Trust me, wife,” he says with a sly smirk. In between the lines of his face, you can read him like any book in the library.  “It won't take long.” Dusting yourself off, you nod and swallow the hard knot of fear in your throat.

.

Safe in his chains and muzzle, he presses his forehead against your cheek and in your mind you can hear one name.

Thanos.

The frost that crawls down your spine is not from the cold. You hold your husband tight against you as Thor twists the glass cylinder containing the Tesseract. Blue cosmic energy washes over you and you return home to your daughter, who cries when she sees her father.

.

You bring your daughter to his cell, sit on the lip of the stone and hold her up in your lap as he sits on the other side of the golden barrier. A tiny grin encompasses his face and makes him glow as Hela reaches forward.

“Hello, darling,” he whispers as you pull her back from the barrier. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Loki.” You sigh, fingers scratching the stone you sit upon as you wrap an arm around your daughter. “She took her first steps today.”

“Really? She’s a quick learner, then,” Loki praises and you smile sadly. You press your hand against the barrier despite the tingling electricity burning beneath your palm as a blue shockwave ripples over the gold. 

“You should have been there to see it,” you whisper over your blistering skin and Loki’s eyes widen. Tears burn into your eyes as your burning hand curls into a fist. “Loki, I can’t do this. You should be here—”

“Hold fast, my love.”

“This is no way for us to live.”

He places a hand against the burning barrier, and you close your eyes the tears race down your face. Hela’s soft hand wipes them away unknowingly and you open your eyes to gaze at your daughter. You see so much of your husband in her that it makes everything ache.

“No one ever said this was fair.” You look up again to see his palm, black and white instead of cream. There is no wince or flinch at the blood that pours down his wrist and you glance down at your own hand. The burns have already begun to fade, but the ones on your heart will forever remain raw.

.

“I need your help,” Thor whispers, tugging you away from the harbour. You’re torn away from Frigga’s funeral jarringly, blinking as you collide with people although Thor makes a clear enough path as you reach a small archway in an alley of some street. You thrash your arm out of his grip, backing to the opposite end of the archway. He stands there, stung, but all you can muster is a glare. The candlelight illuminates half of his face, the other cast in shadow, and your fist clenches.

The fires heighten, burn blue.

“What do you want from me?”

“We need to end this threat. We need to find Malekith and destroy him before he comes for the Aether.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You cross your arms, jaw stiff as you take another step back to his step forward. 

“Promise me you’ll help me. I need you.”

“Why should I?” you snarl, poison biting at your words. “Have you ever gone to see your brother? He rots in a cell whilst you come bringing you little lady love to Asgard.” Thor’s mouth opens and you raise a hand to silence him. “Save it. I want to hear nothing from you.”

.

“I told you I wouldn’t help you.”

“You’re being childish.” Thor enters your rooms. You spin around from where you’re holding your daughter, mouth open in protest. “You act like some simple girl who doesn’t understand the consequences. If Malekith gets his hands on the Aether—”

“Excuse me if I’m having a bit of a tantrum. Can’t you see I’ve got my hands full?” you snap. You send a wicked glare at your brother-by-law who seems to wilt underneath your stare and you inhale sharply. “What do you want, Thor?”

“Convince him to help me.” 

Your eyebrows furrow together, and you frown deeply. “Why should either of us help you?” you ask breathlessly and Thor looks away. “You imprison your brother who was tortured, manipulated—”

“You want revenge for Frigga?”

Your heart breaks into shatters at the mention of her, and your breath catches in your throat. “You know I do.”

“Then, what other reason do you have to help me?” Thor’s eyebrows raise in sympathy and he extends a hand to you. “Your daughter will be cared for, I promise you.” You kiss your daughter’s cheek, gaze into her red and blue eyes, before nodding.

“Fine.”

.

“Move!” You run away from Jane whom you’d been protecting and scream, blue magic flaring around your fingertips as you push Thor away. No, no, no. “Let me see him.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers painfully and you let out a horrified breath as he clutches as your sleeves. Blood spills over the soil as you bow your head, pressing your face against Loki’s. “I’m sorry, wife.”

“Loki, no. Hold on, sweetheart,” you tell him, placing a hand over the wound, fingers bending as you search for the source of blood. A poisoned blade, cursed with something dark. You can fix this — you can fix this if you have time— 

Loki’s fingers let go of your sleeve, slip off your hands as the pale blue of his heritage overtakes every part of him.

“No. Loki, no!” You cup his face, but his head rolls away at the force and you let out an outraged scream. “No, no, no!” Slamming a fist against the dirt, pure cosmic energy flares between the cracks of the dirt as a pair of hands reach for your shoulders. With one hand holding Loki’s body towards you, you twist to slap Thor away. “Stay away from me!”

“We need to find him,” Thor whispers through a thick, tear-ridden voice. “Malekith is still out there.”

“You killed him! Why should I help you?” you scream, skirting towards your husband’s body, holding his head in your lap. You brush the hair away from his face and sniff through your blurring vision. Hot tears drop to the soil and onto Loki’s pale face as you bow your head. Agony rips your heart to shreds as it collapses in your chest, and you struggle to breathe through your clogged throat. You tear your gaze wretchedly to him.

“Y/N—”

“Go! Leave!” What little air you can breathe rattles between your teeth as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to cleanse the image of your husband from your mind as you run stiff fingers through his hair. “Leave me!”

“I’m sorry.” The words whisper at your ears, but you shake your head. Forcing your eyes open, you reach a hand to the wound. And here you thought you’d never need what you’ve been taught ever again.

Dragonsroot, heartsbane. You’ll need a warm fire, fresh, young blood.

For the first time in so long, Freyja’s voice sings in your mind and you press your lips together. The magic tendrils stitch Loki back together from within and you use your other hand to pull the poison from his blood as you pray to your father. You haven’t in so long, that you wonder if he’ll still hear you. Vile, black magic stains your blue and you toss it aside, letting it curl and sink into the dirt.

Take me home, Father. Grant me safe winds, Grandfather, and blessed waves. Bring me home.

There is movement under Loki’s eyes, so quick that you think you must have hallucinated it and you blink the tears from your eyes. “Loki?” you whisper, brushing your hands over his tear-stained cheeks.

“Is that any way to greet your father?” 

Whipping around, you let out a breathless laugh upon seeing your father. How long has it been? Decades? Centuries? He looks older now than he did before, but no less strong. The mere image of him grants you strength and your heart mends momentarily with sticky sap and pure spite.

His flintstone eyes widen upon seeing his child on this foreign realm, holding onto the dead prince of Asgard and he walks to you, falling to his knees. Trying to hold back your tears, your throat blooms in pain as you throw your arms around him.

“Please, help me,” you sob, your forehead pressing against your father’s broad shoulder. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Little one,” he whispers, holding you tight, “we know someone who does.”

.

In a pyre built by you and you alone, Loki burns.

The smell of burnt leather and hair fills the air, no matter how many flowers and sweet fruits loiter in the clearing you do this in. 

Your aunt’s instructions echo in your ears and you turn back to look at the castle over your shoulder where your daughter awaits. She’d been rescued by your father earlier that day whilst your aunt aided you in gathering what you need.

She stands on the edge of the clearing now, waiting, watching.

“This is your last chance,” Freyja calls softly and you shake your head. You need to do this, even if you aren’t sure it’ll work, even if it might kill you. Holding out a hand, you close your eyes and blow out a breath between your lips. The wooden handle of your knife is pressed firmly into your palm and you drag the silver tip over your fingers, not cutting the skin.

You toss a glance to your lady aunt, who nods and gathers the two bowls. In them, grinded heartsbane and chopped dragonsroot you’d prepared yourself. She walks to the back of the pyre, throwing them into the flames. 

Immediately, it bursts white, flickers of other colours you’d never seen before burning into your eyes as you walk up the pyre. The wood trembles beneath your bare feet and the fire licks at your skin greedily as you close your eyes. As your skin begins to blister, you stuff down the mortal throes that make you want to scream until you bleed and walk deeper into the fire. 

You can barely see through the white flames and you fall to your knees, blood clotting in your throat as you reach blindly for his body. He is yet untouched, covered in oils and blessings, and his skin is smooth and cold to your touch as you reaffirm your grip on the knife.

Say his name, then your wish. Give your blood, your sweat, your tears. Show them you are worthy. Spirits more powerful than us will decide.

“Loki,” you whisper and the flames twist and flicker. You trail your hand down his shoulder to his chest to the scar on his abdomen you’d tried your hardest to heal. “Come back to me, my love.” A rush of magic, threads of sorcery, run down your arms and flows down the knife, burning orange in the fire. “Come home.” Your teeth clench together and you peel open your eyes.

You are all ash and bones, black peeling skin, blood and tears, and what is left of your strength is visible in the magic that whispers over your skin. Bringing the knife to your stomach, you inhale flames and ash.

Please, bring him home.

And you sheathe the knife in your stomach, in the exact placement as the scar on Loki’s body. Blood rushes forward as you yank the knife out breathlessly. You drop the knife, and it slips between the wood of the pyre.

“It’s not his time,” you whisper through the blood rising in your throat. It bubbles between your lips, burning blue under your skin and you bow your head. Closing your eyes, you let the fire wash over your blackened body and lay down next to your husband. Your hands touch his cool skin, and you sigh blissfully. The air is thick, humid, and a wave of exhaustion hits you.

The simple princess, you think as you fall asleep. There is movement beside you, but you hold Loki closer, eyes shut against the bright white flames that purr against your skin. You think you can feel cold hands touch your waist where silk has burned away, and the fire begin to die. The only one that burns now is the one inside your heart.

Little peach. 

Farmer’s girl.

Yes, that is all I am.

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped Part 26

Ao3

Hiccup has had one other psychological evaluation.  It was when he got out of the hospital, and it went about the same as this one. 

In other words, not well. 

It turns out that being a white male with a rough relationship with an impossible to please, now absent father figure who also happens to have a long history of childhood bullying raises some red flags.  At least last time he was fifteen and still theoretically moldable, instead of a twenty-five-year-old serial murder suspect who just happened to spend the last few years giving nightly tours about the very murders he allegedly copied. 

So maybe it went worse this time. 

The one bright point was probably the crack in the psychologist’s clinical veneer when Hiccup assured her that no, in fact, he did not have any history of killing animals and he actually loved his childhood cat very much until it died at the ripe old age of eighteen.  Of natural causes. 

When assuring a mental health professional that he does not now and never has enjoyed torturing animals is a high point, it’s safe to say that this has been a long week.  A long month, really.  A long year. 

Hell, a long life. 

Jail has a way of stretching minutes into hours and squeezing hours into dull, ceaseless blinks of an eye.  He understands now why people used to mark the dungeon walls when they got fed or caught a glimpse of the sun, because the days blurring together is enough to make Hiccup feel as crazy as the psychiatrist assumed he was. 

Not that his version of crazy would ever mean killing cats.  His version of crazy appears to mean long, elaborate daydreams of a private shower with a locking door, and also practically unfettered glee when he sees his lawyer because that means he gets to go to a room with a comfortable chair for a while and talk to someone not assuming his guilt. 

A straight-faced guard in an NWF uniform walks Hiccup down to the long bank of stalls along a plexiglass barrier.  The guard gestures to the last stall and Hiccup sits down in the office chair that might as well be a throne of perfectly fluffed pillows after sitting on his thin mattress all day.  His back relaxes enough to hurt, and he exhales a long, slow breath and focuses on Eretson filling out a form before taking the seat on the other side of the plexiglass and picking up the dingy white plastic phone. 

“How are you?” Eretson asks out of politeness, not expecting a real answer. 

Hiccup almost gives him one anyway, but he doesn’t think it would make him feel any better to say that he’s in jail, it’s miserable, he’s been terrified for so long that he’s mostly just exhausted, and he doesn’t think the psychiatrist liked him very much because she didn’t laugh at any of his jokes. 

He settles instead for, “I’m here.” 

“How is everything going?” Eretson asks, writing on a legal pad in neat, oversized block letters.  Grisly?

They can’t be sure if anything is being recorded on the ancient phone system, but silence is suspicious too. 

“Oh, you know, I’m just being in jail.  It’s pretty lonely not talking to anyone but your lawyer,” Hiccup laughs, not explicitly trying to sound tired but not holding it back either. 

“Any family that you want to visit?  I know your mom has been in contact.” 

Hiccup swallows hard, “it’s a long flight, she doesn’t need to spend the money just to see me make a fashion statement in orange.”  It doesn’t stop him from thinking about her though, how confused she’d be.  How angry she’d be if she knew the truth. 

His mom is the only woman who ever made his dad back down from an argument and for a second, he lets himself imagine that she could save him.  Yell at Grisly, start a picket line, demand reform. 

But Grisly isn’t someone to yell at.  He’d have no issue adding to his body count. 

It makes Hiccup want to scream, and rave, and get a poster-board at a busy intersection to help him spread the truth, and if it were his own life he was risking, he’d do it.  But it’s not. 

“How is everyone?”  He asks, and if Eretson knows who he’s really asking about, he doesn’t show it.  His poker face is exhausting, adding to the dreary blur of days in jail.  If Hiccup had been making marks on the dungeon wall for every time he won a reaction out of someone, he’d have a single mark made immediately after being placed in his cell, awarded for getting under Grisly’s skin during processing. 

“Everything is fine,” Eretson could be lying and Hiccup probably wouldn’t know it, but the thought of something happening to Snotlout or Astrid and not even knowing is too much to even speculate on.  It’s the kind of thought that keeps him up at night, counting dimples in the popcorn ceiling to fill the dead space in his mind.  “I do want to talk about your options moving towards a trial.” 

“Oh God, did the profiler tell you that I’m crazy?”  Hiccup laughs under his breath, “because I think she confused my attempts at humor for debilitating psychological issues.”  He continues babbling when Eretson doesn’t laugh, “not that I know anything about that.  I’m just speaking from what I’ve seen on TV.” 

“The profile is just one piece of the case,” Eretson assures, “and you don’t quite fit the profile of a serial murderer.” 

“What does ‘not quite’ mean?  Is it just the white male, daddy issues thing or did some of my answers partially fit the serial murderer profile?” 

“For future reference, saying that Viggo Grimborn is a ‘hobby’ is a bit suspicious.” 

“I’ll file that away for the next time I get criminally profiled,” Hiccup nods, “with my luck I’ll probably need it.  Should I have said that I actually picked up yoga like my doctor told me to?” 

“I finally got access to Grisly’s evidence file,” Eretson changes the subject and Hiccup bites the inside of his cheek to keep from asking if he’s ever laughed, even once, “and it’s going to take a while to look through it all and compare it to my own, but so far it’s more airtight than I would have expected.” 

Hiccup has never been very good at not saying what he feels, or even delaying saying what he feels, but glancing at the NWF guard out of the corner of his eye helps him shove his rant back down. 

“Oh.” 

“Of course, forensics is still working, but that could take months—”

“Months?”  Hiccup knows the theory of the word, in that the year is broken into twelve more or less even pieces consisting of approximately thirty days each.  There’s something about the moon in there too.  But in practice?  The concept of spending months in this limbo is foreign and impossible, defying some belief held so strongly that it feels like a physical law.  “How long have I been in here?” 

“Five days.” 

“And you’re saying months until a trial.” 

“Under current timelines, yes.”  Eretson goes to make another note but then decides against it, speaking carefully instead.  “And given the unique circumstances of your situation, I don’t believe that waiting months is the best path forward.” 

Hiccup hears the truth between the words:  Leaving Grisly to his own devices for months gives him more time to bulletproof his lies and clean up his evidence.   His throat tightens when he thinks of Astrid and how much danger she’s in. 

“Have you told anyone what I told you about…the case?”  He tries, “you know, about their um, continued involvement in the case as it progresses?”  His eyes scream about Grisly’s threats and Eretson must get the message because he shakes his head. 

“No, I haven’t, I think it’s best to minimize Miss Hofferson’s involvement at this point, given all how many times her name comes up in the file.” 

Hiccup doesn’t know Miss Hofferson.  Miss Hofferson threatened a harassment claim at one point, sure, but she ceased to exist when Astrid came into the picture.  Astrid with her glares and her bony fists and misty eyes when she looks at old books.  Astrid impatient for the truth, impatient for the point of a roundabout story, always moving and trying and inviting him to try too. 

“Don’t you think…I mean, wouldn’t it be better for her to know the situation?”  His throat is dry, and swallowing doesn’t seem to help. 

“I thought of something that could potentially move the process along faster,” Eretson ignores Hiccup’s question, not unkindly just devoted to keeping the meeting on track, and Hiccup presses the phone closer to his face, forcing himself to focus. “We haven’t considered a plea deal.” 

“A plea deal?  Like taking a driving course to knock a few points off of a driving ticket?” 

“In this case, a confession and promise to divulge information about anyone else involved in the case in exchange for a reduced sentence.”  Eretson writes on the pad, Grisly coerced you into the last murder, then turned on you. 

Hiccup’s heart pounds in his ears.  One murder, not four.  It would be a better ratio if they were talking about any other crime.  One car stolen, not four.  One house broken into, not four.  But as someone who has committed zero murders, confessing to one feels monumental and terrifying and stupid. 

While he can’t honestly say he’s spent much time trying to be successful, he has made a conscious effort to not absolutely ruin his life, and confessing to a murder he didn’t commit in order to tell a bunch of lies connecting him to the man who did sounds like a very quick way to undo all of that. 

“Reduced sentence, not no sentence.” 

“It gives us leverage too,” Eretson insists, “we can argue the conditions of you coming forward with information and include minimum sentence before appeal for probation or insist on a certain facility that’s better than here.” 

“So trading months waiting for trial for some as of yet unspecified amount of time in a different cell?”  Hiccup snorts, “is there a catalog?  Do I get to choose my bedsheets and pick out a plant for the window?” 

“The prosecution would no longer have months to prepare for a trial.  As it is, they have plenty of time to build their case.”  The ‘and do other things like horribly murder your remaining loved ones’ is an unspoken addition. 

“Do you think it would work?”  Hiccup lets himself think about it, glazing over the moment he’d have to sit in front of his father’s oldest frenemy and say that he took someone’s life. 

How deep can Grisly’s cover really go?  He thinks of the man’s empty office, his horde of creepy guards seamlessly integrating with multiple levels of law enforcement.  How long would someone have to dig to find something wrong?  Would a name brought up in a plea deal be enough? 

“I have witnesses,” Eretson says, scrawling Jorgenson in purposeful letters on the pad. 

“The benefit then, is that we have a chance to direct the investigation.” 

“Towards the truth, of course.” 

“Right, the truth.”  As much as Hiccup has played fast and loose with the rules, he’s always had a steady commitment to the truth, but telling it didn’t save him.  Hell, telling the truth now would get people killed, and the silence is starting to be so deafening he’s wondering if the affects will be permanent. 

“Think about it,” Eretson starts to stand up and Hiccup fumbles for something else to talk about, anything to get some more time out of character as ‘obedient inmate’, but he’s too slow and Eretson hangs up the phone. 

He almost knocks on the plexiglass to get his attention before remembering that’s strictly against the rules, and his hand freezes mid-air when he looks over Eretson’s shoulder and sees who’s turning away from the front desk after filling out a form. 

It’s Astrid. 

She’s wearing a glare that could melt the barrier between them if she aimed it his direction instead of at Eretson and a jacket she must have borrowed from Hiccup’s coat closet.  Her arms fly out from her sides as she argues then she shoves her hands in her pockets and narrows her eyes, an expression he instantly recognizes as seething doubt.  She was clearly asking for something she thought she wasn’t going to get, and now that she’s won it, she’s unsure if it’s real. 

Then, she looks at him and her eyes widen as her shoulders slump, relief that he can hardly fathom having anything to do with him flooding across her features. 

He smiles the first real smile he’s had since she was tangled in his hoarded sheets and everything seemed like it would be ok and waves and she waves back, one half limp hand raised to shoulder height. 

Eretson crosses his arms, shoulders rigid then relaxing as he points at the chair he just vacated, saying something else that makes Astrid shoot him a sharp look before hurrying to the other side of the glass.  She practically falls into the chair, picking up the phone with shaking fingers and holding it to her ear. 

He loves her.

“Hi,” Hiccup starts, anticlimactic, and Astrid’s mouth splits into a wide, tired smile. 

He loves her and she isn’t safe here.  Not with the NWF guard at the door, not with Grisly just a buzz away. 

“Hi,” she bites her lower lip and leans forward on her elbows on the ledge in front of the window, and if it weren’t for the plexiglass, he could kiss her.  “Eretson isn’t happy that I’m here, he told me not to follow him because visiting hours were over, but I checked online and, well—”

“And you’re here.”  And he loves her, and he doesn’t want to tell her in an itchy jumpsuit over a dirty jail phone, but it’s so true and so much that he’s not sure he’ll have a choice.  “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“I’ve been told ten minutes and no discussions of ‘substance’,” she air-quotes around the word and his palms itch with how much he wants to touch her. 

Eretson is standing by the door and Hiccup idly wonders if he has his gun or if he had to turn that in to step into his lawyer shoes.  Either way, his presence feels protective, and Hiccup already told Astrid once that she shouldn’t be here, he can’t be expected to do that again.  Not when she’s right across from him, not when it’s been so long since he’s seen a friendly face. 

“That works for me, I don’t have anything of substance to talk about.”  He shrugs and she smiles, soft and fond in a way he definitely doesn’t deserve.  She’s obviously exhausted, the dark circles under her eyes making his chest ache even as the sight of her in his jacket lets him feel like he’s protecting her in some tiny way while he can’t do anything else.  “How are you?” 

“I’m fine, you?” 

“I’m here.”  It hurts more the second time. 

“Yeah,” she looks back at Eretson for a second before scooting her chair closer to the glass, “that was a stupid question.  You look like hell.” 

“Thanks,” he wipes a hand over his stubble and his cheeks heat up. 

“No, not—the beard is fine,” her smile is faint and secret and too far away, “it’s more just…” She waves her hand at him and he rolls his eyes. 

“You just gestured to all of me.” 

“All of you except your beard,” she clarifies before checking on Eretson again.  She’s not built for levity in this kind of situation and he can see a serious depth sneaking back into her eyes.  “Everything’s a mess.” 

“Hey now, that sounds like ‘substance’,” he redirects, “how’s Snotlout?” 

“When his shoulder is better to the point that I won’t literally kill him, I’m going to hit him sixty-seven separate times,” she sets her chin, resolute, “I have a tally.” 

“Are you sure he’s ok?  That sounds a little low.”

She laughs, a tinge of mischief clouding the worry in her expression, “he’s ok.  He made a point yesterday to tell me his favorite story about you.” 

“Oh God,” Hiccup’s stomach falls as his eyes widen, “what favorite story is that?” 

“You know,” she tucks her hair behind her ear but it doesn’t stay, falling back against her flushing cheek, “some girl called you ‘Viggo’ and—”

“Yep, that one.”  If Grisly came in right now and offered to kill him to make this easier, he might just let him.  “Which version was it?” 

“There are different versions?” 

“No,” he drags his palm down his face, “not—I wish there were, every other Snotlout story is blown out of proportion so much it’s easy to call bullshit, but that one…he tells that story with unflinching accuracy and dedication to the truth.”  He shakes is head, wishing he had a bucket of ice to put out the fire on his face, “sometimes there are sound effects, I’m shocked you’re here.” 

“No sound effects,” she shakes her head, “maybe he’ll do those in court though, he seems to think he can prove your innocence.” 

“I think I’d rather plead guilty than listen to Snotlout tell that story in court.”  He laughs, but it brings Eretson’s plea deal back into his conscious mind.  Just as a concept to get used to, as something neutral that takes up space in his brain until he decides what to do about it. 

“Don’t even joke about that,” she whispers, crossing her legs and tapping an anxious foot in the air.  “I’ve been looking at this from every angle and I haven’t found anything yet.” 

“That’s definitely substance—”

“Eretson isn’t listening,” she mutters, “and if I don’t do something useful, I’m going to scream, I—”

“Hey, it’s ok,” he lies, and he can’t help thinking of Grisly’s promise, “you’re safe, that’s what matters—”

“That’s a copout,” she glares, tired and alive and his chest throbs, “there has to be something that we can do.” 

“I can’t do anything,” he hates how bitter he sounds, honest for the first time in days, and something about Astrid’s solid expression is almost shocked, like she expected better or at least different of him.  “I can barely keep the days straight, I—Hell, I told a psychologist that Viggo Grimborn is a hobby and now they think—well, I guess they already thought given that I’m here—”

“Hiccup,” she sighs, palm on the plexiglass, fingertips that he can’t touch smudged with ink and library dust. 

“Eretson said that a trial could take months,” he leans his head on his hand, “and I know that, rationally.  I know that big, newsworthy trials for serial killers take months to put together, but I guess—I don’t want to do this here.” 

“Do what?” 

“Anything.”  Even he thinks he sounds pathetic now and Astrid’s frown turns disappointed, which is worse than just sad.  “I just feel useless.” 

“I can see that.”  If it were pity in her voice, it would shut him down, but it’s not.  It’s something different, something stronger.  Something annoyed, and he realizes for the first time, she’s dragging him along a path of her choice, and him digging in his heel isn’t going to stop her. 

He looks at her hand and his jumpsuit and his blurry reflection that he can see superimposed over her face on the plexiglass if he stares hard enough.  He loves her.  He thinks about that ill-fated breakfast run and what he’d be doing now if things had gone differently. 

“I guess…I spent the last few years in complete stasis, just giving tours and knowing what every day would look like before it began.  And then, well, you.”  Then he fell in love with her.  No, she changed everything before he did that, but that doesn’t make it sound any less corny.  He wouldn’t have thought she was in the mood for corny, but her eyes soften slightly even as she holds her frown in place.  He forces himself to keep talking so that he doesn’t backtrack over anything he hasn’t decided to say yet, “and I think for the first time in a while, I thought these next few months were going to be different.” 

“How?”  Of course she asks the question most likely to make him look like an idiot. 

“Aside from well, you maybe being around I hope, umm,” he clears his throat and presses the phone closer to his ear to continue, “and well, I guess I have to finally figure out what I’m going to do with my life?  Because it isn’t sensationalizing murders that are still destroying everything I love about this city even a hundred years on, and,” he swallows hard and laughs, a sharp, surprised sound, “and I think I was looking forward to it, almost.  But now that’s not happening because my next few months are all booked up.  Literally.” 

“Well, you have plenty of time to think about it,” she tries and fails to cushion the statement and it makes him smile even as his heart sinks, heavy and exhausted and desperate. 

What are the chances she’s still going to look at him like that after months? 

“That’s true.” 

“I’ll figure out how to book a conjugal trailer and we can work on your resume,” she offers, evidently satisfied with his suggested path forward.  “

“You shouldn’t,” he tries to swallow against the knot in his throat when he thinks about her on jail property, alone with him, and Grisly’s promised intent rings in his ears.  Months.  What are the chances she can evade Grisly for months if she can’t go five days without ending up here?  “It’s not safe.” 

“I obviously need to, just a few days of this and you sound like Eretson.” 

“Eretson’s right, Astrid.”  He sighs and rubs his hand over his face.  He could tell her.  The NWF guard behind him couldn’t make a move with cameras and Eretson standing right there in the lobby.  If he told her, then she’d know to run far away and—and he doesn’t now how deep Grisly’s cover goes.  

“I can take care of myself.”  Plus, looking at her fierce blue eyes, he knows that she wouldn’t run. 

Months.  Months of chances.  Months of not seeing her every day, or at all, if she’s doing what’s best for herself.  Months of limited information and fear that the next snippet that makes it through the bars on his cell will be bad. 

He’s right, it is time to figure out what he’s going to do with his life, and while he has decidedly fewer choices than he thought he would, the answer is still obvious. 

“Eretson’s right about a lot of things,” he sighs, hoping she’ll go easy on him and knowing that’s impossible, “he thinks I should take a plea deal.” 

“I told you not to joke about that—”

“I’m not joking.”  He shakes his head, taking in her furious expression.  It’s slower blooming than normal, jaw flexing and setting forward before the blue fire is truly lit in her eyes.  She’s tired, after five days, and she doesn’t now half of the truth.  He loves her, and the only draw to finally getting his shit together is that he’d be doing it with her.  He doesn’t get to do that now, but he can do something for her. 

He could tell himself that he’s doing it for Snotlout or for whoever would be unlucky enough to cross Grisly’s path next, but since he’s already planning to lie himself into a prison sentence for a murder he didn’t commit, he should probably stick to the truth, at least internally. 

“That decision is going to last more than months, Hiccup—”

“Yeah, and it’s about more than time.”  He almost tells her then, but he’s not sure what good it would do when she’s staring at him with something like hatred.  Too shocked, too sad, too helpless.  She looks like she wants to smack some sense into him and he’d let her if it meant he could touch her before he takes this step he knows he can’t retreat from. 

He wonders, briefly, if the real Viggo Grimborn ever thought about turning himself in.  When the fervor died down and no one mentioned him in the paper anymore.  Maybe he took a Victorian plea deal and got arrested for something else, something smaller, something forgiveable, but barely.  And only to some. 

If only Astrid didn’t forgive him for harassment, then he might have that ‘get out of trouble free’ card to spend now. 

Except he wouldn’t need it then, because he would have done his community service and gone right back to giving tours, staying across the street to respect a fifty-yard boundary.  No matter what, Astrid was destined to disrupt the monotony of his life, he just hoped one of the roads didn’t lead to a courtroom. 

“Hiccup,” she says his name in a tone he doesn’t recognize, half-pleading and half-insulting, both uncomfortable for her.  She opens her mouth again wordlessly, obviously unsure what to say to bring her pep talk back on track. 

“You were right, there is something I can do.” 

“No—”

“Visiting hours are over,” the NWF guard appears behind Hiccup, heavy hand on his shoulder as he looks at Astrid, recognition flickering in his otherwise brainwashed eyes.  “Time’s up.” 

“I’m not done here,” Astrid stands up, phone still pressed to her ear, glare dialed to the maximum even as Eretson steps into the room behind her and says something to get her attention. 

“Let Eretson give you a ride,” Hiccup says, memorizing how her eyes on him feel, even through plexiglass, even furious and confused, “please.” 

His cell is smaller than before.  The bed is less comfortable, the walls colder, the single light in the ceiling flickering at just the right frequency to prevent him from thinking.  His jumpsuit is itchy and his back is either too tense to hurt, or the sensation is entirely drowned out by the dull throbbing in his chest.  Most of the time, when people sacrifice themselves for the greater good, it’s faster than this.  It’s jumping in front of a bullet, not waiting alone for hours to invoke due process like a spell. 

He can’t say he’s surprised when the door to the hallway opens, and he’s definitely not surprised to see Grisly, monochromatic and rigid, danger stuffed carefully out of sight for the time being.  Hiccup’s relief is palpable and gruesome, he hates knowing what the man looks like after a kill, but he’s glad to know that this sober expression isn’t it. 

“I heard Astrid visited today,” Grisly’s smile blooms slowly as he steps out of range of the hallway cameras and Hiccup rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah?  Did a little birdie tell you?” 

“I trust you didn’t tell her anything sensitive,” he gloats, a cat pinning a mouse’s tail down and watching it struggle. 

But Hiccup isn’t struggling, not anymore.  He’s not trying to escape, he’s steering into the skid.  He’s a mouse full of rat poison, ready to dive into the belly of the beast. 

“Oh, so you can’t get the recordings from those visiting phones?  Eretson was wondering about that, thanks for the tip.”  He jokes, voice even, and Grisly straightens his uniform.  Hiccup wonders if he designed the NWF uniforms himself, and the thought strikes him as kind of pathetic.  Less of a wolf in sheep’s clothing and more of an institutional fanboy, a blatant self-insert too self-conscious to be believable. 

At least when Hiccup puts on an act, he gets real antiques.  He commits.

“I just thought I’d remind you of her…precarious situation.”  It’s bluster, painted on thick and smudged before it could dry into armor. 

“Trust me, I couldn’t forget it if I tried.” 

“Good,” Grisly’s smile is cracked around the edges, veneer wearing thin after a long day at an office job he hates, “you seem to be taking something seriously for once.  You know, maybe all of this has been good for you.” 

“The legal system is supposed to rehabilitate people after all,” Hiccup shrugs, on the weird end of a paternal lecture from someone he respects so little that he feels the need to make it clear.  “Maybe I’ll finally be an upstanding citizen when this is all over.” 

“Upstanding,” Grisly’s lip curls, eyes manic and alive for just a second before he wipes has hands on his pants and selects one key off of his keyring, “if it keeps your spirits up…” 

“Oh yeah, I’m downright chipper,” Hiccup nods, “catching up on my sleep. So, if you don’t mind,” he points at the evening sky outside and fakes a yawn. 

Grisly grits his teeth, feral for a second, canine too sharp, “of course.  Can I get you anything else while I’m being so accommodating?”

“I think I’m good for now,” Hiccup waves him towards the door, “I’ll let you know though.” 

Grisly leaves then, shoulders rigid, and Hiccup hates how the silence makes him wish he’d dragged out the conversation longer.  He tells himself that this will be over soon and tries to think about his new tour, a thrilling, courtroom-based tale of murder and eventual, inevitable betrayal.  

[queenofcats17]

And They Were Schoolmates

@insane-control-room and I wrote a story about our Joey’s being little kids and going to school together. 

It also takes place in a universe where Johan was adopted by @startistdoodles Jekyll and Charlotte.

AO3 link is here.

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The young children were in school, as most children should be. Johan was one of those students that, if placed near a window, would never pay attention to the class, but he would certainly struggle and try to. He also was a nervous boy in class, especially because he was coming into the school year late, being that he had just been recently adopted into the Drew family. He was nervous about going into a new school, to a new class, in a new city. So he trembled a little bit as the teacher began to introduce him, and she paused, and he held his breath, anticipating the question.

“How do you pronounce your name, dear?” she asked him, and he sighed, “Jo-han or Yo-han, it doesn’t matter.”

“So, everyone, welcome….”

“Johan R-Ramirez. Um. Drew.”

From across the room, another young boy had his eyes glued to the new student. He was slumped over his desk in an attempt to get as far forward in his seat as he could so that he would be able to get a good look at the new boy. This young boy was also named Joey Drew, which was a point of pride for him. 

“I’m gonna be just like Mr. Drew when I’m older,” he would often proclaim. “We’ve got the same name and everything!” He could often be found in a corner, furiously drawing Bendy, Ivy, Alice, and Boris. He wanted to be an artist just like the older Joey Drew. He was not entirely sure if this new boy had a connection to the famous studio head, but he certainly hoped Johan was interested in art too. He did not have a lot of people to draw with.

“What’re you staring at the new kid so much for?” one of the boys in the desk next to him snickered. “You wanna marry him, Freckle?” The reason for this nickname was obvious.

“Fuck off!” Freckle snapped. 

“Joseph! We do not use that sort of language in school!” The teacher’s attention snapped to the freckled boy with the cloud of dark hair. However, Johan, still standing up front, lit up with a bright grin, eyes squinting with awe. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Freckle mumbled, his face going red as he sunk in his seat. Well, there went any chance of the new kid thinking he was cool. The boy who had antagonized him snickered and elbowed his friends, who all laughed as well. Freckle glared at them out of the corner of his eye. The joke was on them. Esther would totally beat them up later. Or maybe not. She was always so worried about getting in trouble lately.

The teacher sighed and shook her head. The only open desk was right next to Joey, and so she gestured to the desk. Johan, a little small for his age, climbed onto his seat, fiddling with his pencils. Freckle immediately forgot his irritation at the other boys, turning his attention instantly onto Johan. Johan smiled at him, winked, then turned sharply to face the boys who had made fun of Freckle with a look in his red eyes that spelled murder, still bearing that adorable small smile, but, his canine teeth seemed sharper than at first glance. Something about him flared danger, an apex predator in the midst of humans, but… was he not simply adorable? The boys shifted in their seats uncomfortably, some long-forgotten survival instinct sparking.

“Whoa,” Freckle whispered, his eyes shining. This boy was going to be his friend, he decided. Because not only had he just stood up for him, but he was also the prettiest person Freckle had ever seen in his life. Freckle thought a lot of boys were pretty, but not like Johan. Johan had eyes that looked like rubies and blue hair! Freckle had never met anyone with blue hair before!

Surreptitiously, Freckle took a piece of notebook paper out of his folder and scribbled a message before crumpling it up and sneakily passing it Johan when the teacher was not looking.

Johan rose an eyebrow, and picked it up, carefully unfolding it and squinting a little to read it.

Written inside, in rather messy handwriting, was:

Do you want to be my friend? 

Yes  No  Maybe

There was a little box beside each answer for Johan to mark.

Johan giggled, but seemed a little nervous. While he read, Freckle watched him intently, with absolutely no subtlety. Johan glanced at him, and blinked, then checked the maybe. He then made a small paper airplane out of it and blew on it to land precisely on Freckle’s desk, right in front of him.

Immediately, Freckle snatched up the paper, scanning the lines for his answer. The ‘maybe’ made butterflies flutter in his stomach. He would have to talk to Johan at lunch, he decided. He let out a small dreamy sigh.

“Joseph? Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” the teacher asked, finally noticing that Freckle did not seem to be paying attention at all. Freckle froze, the paper still in his hands. 

“Joseph.” The teacher began to make her way through the desks. “What do you have?”

He could not let her see. Everyone would make fun of him even more! Freckle began to hyperventilate a bit. His first instinct was to shove it in his mouth. But she was almost there! He didn’t have time! Johan glanced at him again, snatched the note, and ate it, in the span of a fraction of a moment, far faster than any other child or person.

The look he gave the teacher was so innocent, with wide eyes and it seemed as though he did not move at all.

“Ma’am, I do believe you’re imagining things,” he said with full respect, his big eyes truthful. “He doesn’t have anything.”

“Well… alright.” She frowned and turned away, heading back to the board. She thought of making an appointment with her psychologist again. These children had an incredible ability to slowly grind away at her sanity with their antics. She picked up her marker and resumed teaching.

The rest of the day up until lunch was rather boring. It involved the usual lessons and worksheets. Freckle could hardly pay attention. Then again, he generally had a hard time paying attention. Johan seemed to do well, until it came to math, and the boy pushed aside his paperwork after looking at it for a few moments, making up in his mind to ask Charlotte for help. They were starting to get into long division and memorizing multiplication tables, which was all rather complicated, and for Johan, whose strong suit was never really mathematics, it was pure gibberish. Freckle was almost wriggling out of his seat by the time the teacher announced it was time for lunch. 

“Everyone form a single file line,” she said. “If you brought your lunch today, get your lunchboxes from your lockers.”

Freckle scrambled out of his desk to get his lunch box before getting over to Johan as fast as he could. 

“Do you wanna eat lunch with me?” he asked. “I wanna get to know you.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, his cheeks pink with excitement. He too was small for his age, so he was not much bigger than Johan. He had a sickly and awkward air to him, as though he was not exactly sure of himself at any point. 

Johan gripped the little bag of lunch he held, and shrugged. In a quiet voice, he answered him, “sure.”

Freckle lit up. “Cool!” he said. He almost could barely contain himself. He really did not have a lot of friends, especially not after the stunt he had pulled last year where he had bitten another kid for saying mean things about Esther. And that other time he had thrown a dodgeball too hard at a kid and given them a nosebleed because they had called him a mean name. And the time he had punched a kid for throwing his sketchbook in the mud. There was a reason the teachers called him a ‘problem child’. His parents were trying to find ways he could channel his anger more effectively.

“So, why’re here?” Freckle asked as they started to walk out of the classroom. “I mean, why’d you transfer in the middle of the year?” He knew he asked too many questions sometimes, and he hoped that would not drive his new potential friend away.

“I… didn’t t-transfer,” Johan picked his words carefully. “I wasn’t in any school this year yet.”

“Oh.” Freckle kept walking, frowning a bit. He was not sure what that meant. 

“How, um, how are the classes h-here?” Johan asked politely, crunching and unclenching the end of his lunch bag. He was frightened by the entire school, especially since he worried that he might disappoint his new parents. “And are the teachers n-nice?”

“The classes are fine, I guess.” Freckle shrugged. “Y’know, music and math and history and stuff. The teachers...” He paused and wrinkled his nose. “Most of ‘em are okay. Some of them are buttheads, though.”

Johan giggled. “You’re funny.”

“Good funny or weird funny?” Freckle asked, a frown descending over his features. “‘Cause sometimes people just say that when they think I’m weird.”

“I think all funny is good, but…” Johan shrugged. “Good? I guess?”

“Okay!” Freckle immediately brightened, swinging his lunchbox back and forth. “Thank you! I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever met!”

Johan blinked with surprise. He had never been called pretty before. He blushed, looking at his shoes. “Um… thank you….”

“You’re welcome!” Freckle gave him a big grin, showcasing his missing front teeth. He and Johan then entered the lunchroom, and sat next to each other. Johan paused with something akin to nervousness before opening his lunch bag, letting out a bated breath in relief. Freckle leaned over his shoulder to peek. “Whatcha got?”

“Uh… a peanut butter and j-jelly sandwich, an apple, and chips,” Johan said, trying to keep the delight from his voice. He loved chips very much, and normally his father would never let him have them, but… Johan’s smile faltered as he recalled the very reason why he was there. He picked up his sandwich and tried to take a bite, not feeling very hungry. He tried to stir up conversation with Freckle, to detract from himself. “A-and what about you?”

“Mmmm...” Freckle opened his lunchbox to check. “Carrot sticks, kosher hotdog, and a cookie!” 

His mother had also included a little note telling him she hoped he had a good day and had drawn a clumsy Bendy in the corner. He giggled to himself at the note. He appreciated that his mother tried to draw Bendy, even if she wasn’t all that good at it.

Johan spotted the little demon, and he focused his gaze on his own apple, nibbling on it.

“So… do you like drawing?” Freckle asked as he started munching on his carrot sticks. “Or movies?”

“Um… my… um…” Johan tried to think of what to say, not able to use one word, not desiring to use another. “I was p-put into a lot of art classes.”

“Okay. But do you like it?” Freckle repeated. 

Johan shrugged. He did not really know what he liked any more. The social worker told him that it was the shock, and when it would wear off, he would start to feel better, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. “Maybe. I guess.”

“Oh...Okay.” Freckle’s face fell a bit. “Well, I like drawing. I kinda hoped I could make an art friend. But it’s okay if you don’t!” He quickly added. “I don’t wanna force you to like stuff or anything. That’s mean.”

“I’m just a little… um, t-tired,” Johan excused himself. “I’ve had some r-really busy days lately.”

“Oooh.” Freckle nodded sagely. “That makes sense. My sister gets all vague when she’s tired too.”

Johan finished his apple, throwing the core away.

“I don’t have any siblings,” he said softly, opening his sandwich bag and eating it rather quickly. “I might get one later, but I don’t know.”

“Oh...” Freckle paused, carrot stick halfway to his mouth. “Um...Sorry?” He wasn’t really sure if he needed to apologize for Johan not having siblings, but Johan seemed really sad so he thought it would be good. 

Johan’s sandwich vanished as he ate the last bits. He would have to as Charl- his mother. Mother. For more food for the next time. 

Freckle ate another carrot stick. “Do you want some of my cookie?” he asked. It looked like Johan was almost done with his food, and his mother had always said sharing was good for making friends.

Johan shook his head, and pointed at his chips. 

“I still have some food left. I’m good.”

“Okay.” Freckle had finished his carrots now and was working on the hot dog.

Johan felt weird talking. He had not talked much since… it happened. He never even talked much before then. He quietly ate his chips, eating one at a time, almost mechanically.

Freckle watched him, kicking his feet back and forth. He felt like something was going on with Johan, something big and important. He wanted to know what it was. But he definitely did not want to push Johan, if only for fear of driving him away. 

The bell to go outside rang just as Johan finished the last of his food. Freckle sprang to his feet, scrambling to pack up the remains of his lunch. 

“I gotta show you the playground!” he said, bouncing up and down. Johan shrugged and followed after him. The playground was spacious, and Johan’s ears tilted back with the noise. Freckle was fully ready to charge ahead, until he noticed Johan hanging back. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“It’s just a little loud…” he smiled shakily.

“Oh...” Freckle looked around, face screwed up in concentration. “Well...There’s a tree that’s a little ways away. We can hang out there. It’s pretty quiet.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Johan assured him, moving on. “I’ll get used to it in a m-minute.”

“Okay.” Freckle kept frowning, bouncing on his heels. “Just tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Johan did not know what to say, so he thought it wise to simply nod. 

Freckle kept bouncing on his heels, starting to hum to himself. Pretty soon he was just straight up dancing in place, completely caught up in the song he was remembering. Johan vibrated along. It was a minute or two before Freckle realized what he was doing. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he mumbled, going bright red. “Kinda… kinda forgot I wasn’t alone.”

“That’s ok,” Johan assured him. “We all do, s-sometimes.”

“Okay...” Freckle smiled shyly. “So… Uh… wanna play on the swings?”

“Sure,” Johan felt like he was being very bland.

“Cool!” Freckle made a beeline for the swings. He was getting excited again.

“You wanna have a contest to see who can swing higher?” he asked. Johan just nodded, though he worried a little. His… He was told not to over exert himself. Would this count?

Freckle started to swing, pumping his legs back and forth in order to swing higher and higher. Once again, he did not notice Johan’s hesitation. He always seemed to get tunnel vision when he was excited about something. Johan slowly swung to and fro, trying very hard to keep up, but also trying very hard to enjoy it. Freckle was far more energetic than he, and caught in the wind, going faster and faster. Johan felt his back begin to throb, and his legs started to ache. He slowed down even more, letting the velocity and momentum carry him. He watched Freckle swing as he crawled to a stop. It took a bit for Freckle to notice that Johan was slowing down. Once he did, he slowed down as well. 

“You okay?” he asked. His heartbeat began to speed up as a thought occurred to him. He hadn’t pegged Johan as the sickly type, but if he was… had Freckle been pushing him past his limit?

Johan smiled weakly, and coughed into his elbow, then spoke, his voice a little raspy, “Yeah. J-just tired.”

“Okay...” Freckle frowned. “Are you sick?”

“I-I’m not sick!” Johan’s already vast eyes widened. “Just… just, um. Tired.”

“I get it if you are,” Freckle said. “I used to be really sick too. The doctors said it was a compromised immune system or something.” He was better now, mostly, but there had been a point when he had been really little when he had been sick all the time. 

“I’m n-not.” Johan repeated, on the defensive. He never liked talking about his health. Not even with him. And now, especially not, now that he was gone. “Just tired.”

“Okay...” Freckle looked down at his feet, kicking a bit. “‘M sorry for pushing. Essie says I gotta stop doing that. She says I ask too many questions.” 

“Questions are g-good,” Johan mumbled. “They keep us th-thinking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are.” Freckle smiled a bit. “Thanks!”

“No problem.” Johan answered quietly, wondering what on earth Freckle was thanking him for.

“I mean, uh, thanks for not saying I’m stupid or annoying.” Freckle blushed, looking quickly away. 

“But you’re not,” Johan seemed perplexed. “Why would I s-say that?”

“I dunno...” Freckle shrugged. “People just say I’m annoying or stupid. Like the teachers or the other kids.” He kicked the air. “‘Cause I don’t pay attention in class or I talk too loud or too much.”

“That’s not nice.” Johan firmly stated.

“My parents say that too. That it’s not nice. Doesn’t stop people from doing it.” Freckle’s expression had darkened as he watched the ground. “It’s not fair. But no one gives a shit.” He knew he wasn’t supposed to use that word, but he didn’t care.

“My… um. Someone I knew said that life doesn’t like being f-fair,” Johan offered. “I dunno what he meant by that, c-cause life isn't, you know, a-a person. Life is… well, life.”

“I mean, people believe in gods and stuff,” Freckle said. “They think gods control life. In, like, pagan religions and stuff. My family just believes in one god though. My dad says God’s a dick sometimes and that’s why life’s not fair.” Still he smiled at Johan’s attempt to make him feel better. Johan was really nice.

“...” Johan did not know what to say to that. He, personally, was conflicted, but always felt… safe. No matter what, it always felt, to him, that he was being watched over, no matter how bad it got or what happened.

“Sorry. I guess I got kind of dark,” Freckle laughed weakly. “I didn’t make you sad, did I?”

“No,” Johan looked away. “You didn’t.”

“Okay.” Freckle went back to kicking at the air. “Do you wanna talk about other stuff now?”

“Um… like what?” Johan’s ears tilted back. He felt out of place. 

“Like art?” Freckle suggested hopefully. “I like drawing stuff.”

“M… My new dad is an a-artist,” Johan quietly admitted. 

“That’s really cool. I think art is awesome. I wanna be an artist when I get older.” Freckle puffed out his chest proudly. “Like Joey Drew, the guy who runs the cartoon studio. ‘Cause my name’s Joey Drew too! So I’m gonna be like him and make cartoons!”

“Yeah…” Johan looked to his toes, his shoes polished and pristine, the way she made him clean them constantly. Not a single mar would be allowed on them. Charlotte hopefully would be different, but he did not want to risk finding out. He did not know if he should tell his new friend the identity of his adoptive father. What if they did not like him and he would have to go back to the orphanage? Why should he spark false hope?

Freckle looked over him, getting worried all over again. Johan just seemed really sad and he was not sure why. He did not know if it was his fault and he was starting to get worried. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem really sad. Just, like, in general.” 

“O-Oh… I’m fine,” Johan tried to assure him. He exhaled a little bit. “Just tired.”

“It’s not something I’m doing, is it?” Anxiety was painted all over Freckle’s features. “I mean, I get it if it is my fault. I’m sorry if I’m pushing you too hard or something. You just seem really cool and I really want to be your friend ‘cause I don’t have a lot of friends and I’m really sorry if I’m doing something wrong.” 

His breathing began to speed up as his anxious thoughts began to close in. He was driving away another potential friend. He always did this. He always drove everyone away. And then, he would drive his family away eventually too. Sure, they said they would always love him, but they would have to abandon him too, sooner or later. Esther was already starting to draw away. She did not have time to beat up his bullies anymore. She had high school stuff to worry about and a job and a boyfriend. 

“It’s not your fault,” Johan stated, his voice like the tolling of a death knell. “It’s just things happening at bad times. It’s not you.”

“Okay...” Freckle kept his gaze on his shoes. He’d drawn on the sides with Sharpie when he was bored, all the drawings crowded and overlapping each other. “Sorry for freaking out.”

“It’s okay,” Johan replied, not knowing what else to say. He wished he had some guidance, or at the very least, was not afraid to ask for it. 

“If you’ve got stuff going on, maybe you should go to a therapist or something,” Freckle said, although his voice wavered a bit. “My parents have been trying to get me to go to one.” He did not want to go to a therapist, but his parents kept gently bringing up the subject. They were worried about him. He knew that. But he felt like if he went it would be admitting that there was something wrong with him. The other kids would have a field day if they heard he was going to therapy. Especially some of the meaner ones. His parents seemed so sure it would help, though.

“I wanna figure this out on m-my own a little,” Johan quietly mumbled.

“It’s okay to ask for help, y’know.” Freckle glanced over at him. “We’re kids. We can’t really do everything on our own.” His expression was unsure, almost scared. He’d just felt a lot of feelings and was a little vulnerable. 

“I know,” Johan’s hands trembled a little, he feeling slightly overwhelmed. “If I n-need help I’ll ask for it.”

“Okay.” Freckle went silent for a bit, watching him. He was still worried about Johan. Johan still did not look okay.

The bell to go back inside rang.

“I guess we gotta go in.” Freckle hopped off the swing. He was a bit disappointed. He had hoped recess would be more fun. So far, all it seemed that he had managed to do was make his new friend sad.

“Hey…” Johan studied him closely. “Don’t worry a bit ‘bout me. I’ll be ok in a j-jiffy. Just n-need a little time and rest.”

“Well...Okay.” Freckle pouted a bit. “But I do wanna be your friend. If that’s okay.” He added the last part quickly at the end. “Like I said, I get if you don’t wanna be my friend. But, um, I think you’re really cool and I do wanna be friends.”

Then he ran back inside. Johan followed, slower, more deliberate, but nonetheless, followed him back into their classroom.

At the end of the day, Freckle approached him once more. 

“Um, I know this is kinda weird...” he said, playing with the straps of his backpack. “But do you wanna come over to my house? To like...work on homework or whatever?”

Johan shifted uncomfortably. He did! He really did! But, he knew he should go home. He did not want Charlotte or J- his parents to worry. So, he inhaled slowly, and then spoke.

“I don’t think it’s a g-good idea yet,” he answered quietly. He looked to his shoes. “I gotta go home for now, but m-maybe in a little bit from now? Like… a week or s-so?”

“Oh...Okay.” Freckle’s face fell briefly, but he quickly smiled again. “I’ll ask again later.” He was disappointed that Johan had said no, but Johan had also said he could ask again later! So he still had a chance to befriend this boy! Even though they already were more or less friends already… but him coming over would solidify their friendship.

Johan gave him a small smile, then turned to hurry home. Freckle turned away and did the same, grinning to himself. 

And so, Freckle dutifully waited, continuing to talk to Johan in school and share his interests with the other boy. He delightfully discovered that Johan did enjoy drawing, but it took the boy a few days for his spark to come back. Freckle was absolutely ecstatic when he discovered this, bringing in lots of colored pencils and markers for them to draw with. He felt comfortable chattering on excitedly to Johan about the Bendy cartoons. Which, for some reason, made Johan very quiet. Freckle was not sure whether to ask about it or not. He decided not to for the moment. He stopped talking about Bendy so much, talking about other things that did not make Johan sad. 

A few weeks later, Freckle asked again.

“Do you wanna come over to my house?”

“I can a-ask my mom for tomorrow,” Johan replied after a moment. “We t-talked a little and she said that I sh-should ask in advance.”

“Okay! Cool!” Freckle lit up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. This was going to be so much fun! He could show Johan his room, they could play games. Hopefully Esther wouldn’t be in one of her moods. She was always so cranky.

The next day, when Johan sat beside him waiting for class to start, he smiled at him.

“My mom said that it’s alright if I come to your place today.” he informed him. 

Freckle burst into a wide grin, replying with an exclamation of, “Great!” It was finally happening. He was finally bringing a friend home!

After school, the two lads walked with Freckle’s older sister. Esther always picked Freckle up so they could walk home after school. Their parents worried about Freckle getting distracted and getting lost. Mostly because it had happened more than once. Esther had initially been a bit suspicious of this new boy, but upon seeing him she had decided he was absolutely no threat at all. He was rather small and shy, letting Freckle take the reins, which was good concerning Freckle’s slightly overbearing tendencies.

“This is Johan!” Freckle announced, pointing excitedly to his new friend. “He’s coming over!” 

“Nice to meet you.” Esther gave him a gentle smile. “I’m Esther.” What had she been worried about? There was no way this kid was out to hurt Freckle. He was so cute. She kind of wanted to pinch his cheeks. But that would be weird. 

“H-Hello, señorita,” he said softly with a quiet trill in his voice. “Pleasure to meet you. Freckle is a very nice friend.”

“I’m glad he’s been behaving himself,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Freckle protested, stamping his foot and folding his arms.

“It means you’re a little terror sometimes.” Esther ruffled his hair.  Freckle whined and hunched his shoulders. He was not a little terror! 

Esther turned her attention to Johan. “Anyway, c’mon. Ma gets worried when we take too long getting home, and we’ve done enough dallying.”

“Mm.” Johan did not quite know if Ch- his mom would worry if he was late. He was a very punctual lad as was, but he felt pretty certain that she would worry. It made him happy, in an odd way, to know she would care about him like that.

And so they set off toward the Drew household. Specifically the Drew household of Freckle and Esther. Freckle chattered happily to Esther about what he had done that day and all the things he wanted to do with Johan at the house. Esther just nodded, listening to Freckle while keeping an eye on both of the boys. She did not want Johan to get accidentally left behind, though he curiously seemed to be one step ahead of the siblings.

When they reached the Drew house, Freckle and Esther’s mother Miriam was waiting for them. Freckle’s father Ethan was still at work. He worked in construction. Miriam was a tall and slender woman, who Esther took after in body type and chestnut brown hair color. Freckle had his father’s dark hair and short stature, although wasn’t nearly as solidly built. The freckles came from Miriam as well. Freckle thought she was the prettiest woman ever and was not at all shy about telling everyone.

“We’re back!” Esther yelled as she unlocked the door and walked in with her brother and Johan. 

“Welcome back!” Miriam appeared from the living room. She had an embroidery project in her hands. 

“Hello, ma’am,” Johan shyly waved, looking to the floor.

“Oh, hello there.” Miriam’s face lit up upon seeing Johan. “You must be Jojo’s new friend, Johan. It’s very nice to meet you, little one.” She was slightly relieved upon seeing Johan. She too had been rather worried about who this new friend of Freckle’s might be. But Johan seemed like a nice child.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Johan mumbled, not very certain about what he should say or do. The friends his madre used to have over, well, she made him bow to them and talk all proper, but he found out that that was not normal.

“Are you hungry?” Miriam asked. “I was just about to start fixing some snacks for Esther and Joey.”

“Oh, um, no thank you,” Johan replied. He never really did feel hungry, or maybe he always did, just not intensely? “I’m good.”

“Alright, well, tell me if you need anything,” Miriam said. “Or ask Jojo. I’ll be in the living room.” She gave him a smile and returned to where she had been working on her embroidery project. She just needed to do a few more stitches, and then she would finish the snacks. 

“My room’s upstairs!” Freckle tugged on Johan’s arm. He had already discarded his shoes and backpack and was bouncing up and down with excitement at the prospect of showing his new friend his room. “C’mon!” 

Johan smiled slightly and followed the other youngster up to his room, and settled himself on the floor. He was not quite sure what they would be doing, and so allowed the other boy to pick for them.

Freckle’s room was covered in posters from various movies, as well as some promotional posters for the Bendy Show. There were books and paper everywhere. Most of the papers were drawings Freckle had done of cartoon characters, animals, and his family. Freckle himself was rummaging in a box that was marked, ‘art supplies’. Finally, he found what he was looking for. 

“This is for you!” He announced, holding out a pack of colored pencils. It was brand new and unopened. He had been saving these colored pencils for when he made a friend. They were really nice and he did not dare use them himself. 

Johan accepted them with a quiet thank you and large eyes. His deft fingers ran over the smooth cylindrical facets, and a spark grew in his eye, inspiration struck. Those years of training his… first father had put him through in the arts, all that skill he acquired, it all seemed to seep back into him. He looked up at Freckle, biting his lip nervously in a silent askance. 

Freckle smiled at him assuringly. “You can draw anything you want, Jo.”

Hesitantly, he began to sketch. Johan never quite liked anything permanent, and sketching - ‘twas something able to be done and done again. Freckle watched over his shoulder, at first with pure curiosity, but then it morphed into something more along the lines of awe. He had never known Johan knew how to draw so well.

There was a mansion of finecut masonry, vines trailing up the sides in nigh perfect symmetry. Horse stables were clearly just a few meters to the side, easily accessed. The mansion was vast, dominating, encompassing. Soon, the sounds of graphite etching on paper slowed and came to a stop, the drawing complete in the eyes of its maker. Freckle stared at it, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

“That’s really good,” he told Johan, startling him out of his concentration. “Oh! Sorry I scared you, Mom says that sometimes I say things too quick.”

“It’s o-okay,” Johan replied, trying to smile, but his eyes kept landing on the picture. After a moment of silence, he shifted, and flipped the paper over. “Just… was thinkin’ about some stuff, I guess. I’m okay, n-now.”

“What were you thinking about?” Freckle tilted his head to the side. Something seemed like it was wrong, although he was not quite sure what it could be. He wondered if it was the drawing Johan had done. To draw something like that out of nowhere… it had to have been someplace important to Johan. Maybe it had been where Johan had lived before. Johan had just moved to this town, after all. He had to have been someplace else first. 

“Was that….” He began to ask, only to trail off unsure of whether to continue.

“That’s my old house.” Johan quietly said. He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. “I dunno why I drew it. It’s not like I’ve had a lot of good memories there.”

“Oh.” Freckle could only wonder at what he meant. Johan looked sad now and he was rather worried. He did not want Johan to be sad. He moved closer. 

“Can I hug you?” He asked. “When I’m sad, I like getting hugs.”

“S-sure,” Johan sighed, holding his hands tightly. Freckle smiled and wrapped his arms around Johan, giving him a big hug. He knew he couldn’t fix whatever was bothering Johan, but he hoped this would help.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “But I’m here if you wanna talk. Mom says talking helps sometimes. But you don’t have to.” 

He wanted to ask a dozen questions and was trying very hard not to. This was not a time for asking questions. This was a time for just being there and supporting his friend.

Johan sniffed, hugging him back. “I dunno what’s gotten into me….”

“It’s okay,” Freckle tried to reassure him. “Mom says sometimes people get sad sometimes. There doesn’t have to be a reason for it.” He bit his lip. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? Other than, um, the hugging.”

Before Johan could answer, though, Miriam’s voice came from downstairs. 

“Snacks are ready if any of you are hungry!”

There was a collection of thumps and the sound of a door being wrenched open as Esther scrambled out of her room and down the stairs to get some of the snacks before Freckle could monopolize them.

“You want some food?” Freckle asked. “I dunno what Mom made, but it’s probably good.” 

It certainly smelled good. Judging from the sweet and tangy cinnamon scent, it was probably cinnamon raisin muffins or cinnamon buns. Freckle loved his mother’s cinnamon buns. Johan nodded, but then hesitated.

“I c-can’t have milk stuff, though,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed. “It makes me sick.”

“Oooh.” Freckle nodded sagely. “I’ll go ask Mom.” He got up and went to go ask if they had anything that didn’t have milk in it so that Johan could have it. 

He returned a bit later with some crackers and fruit. He put the food on the floor between the two of them, looking expectantly at Johan. 

“We also have vegetables,” he added. 

Most of the fruit was gone very quickly. Johan paused, holding his sixth apple slice, mouth ajar. 

“Uh.” was all he could say. “I think I’m good.”

“Okay!” Freckle said brightly.

The boys continued playing upstairs, Freckle’s earth shattering laughter accompanied by Johan’s quieter giggles. They played for around two hours, pausing in the middle to work on their homework, until there was a knock on the door. 

Johan stopped first, ears perking up, listening as Miriam opened the door. He was a little nervous - he knew his dad was the one picking him up, they had agreed that he would come by after work, but he was nervous about Freckle’s reaction, though he knew he should not be. Anticipative. The word was whispered into his mind, and it fit like a key into a lock. That is what he was. Anticipative.

The adults spoke for a moment, and Johan could hear the surprise in Miriam’s voice, and then she called; “Johan, you’re father’s here.”

He breathed in, preparing himself, smiling as he went down the stairs, excited to see him. Running over, he hugged his tan pant leg, squishing his face against it. 

“Hullo Jo,” Jekyll chuckled, leaning down to pat his head. “How was your playdate?”

“Good,” he replied, but did not let go. He was too comfortable. And happy. “How was your day, da? Did Mr. Lawrence cause a ruckus again?”

Before he could respond, Freckle’s awestruck voice cut in. 

“Joey Drew is your dad!?”

“Jojo, inside voice,” Miriam said gently. But Freckle was not really listening. His eyes were as wide as they could go, his mouth hanging open. This was officially the best day of his life. His new friend’s dad was THE Joey Drew. 

But...Oh...He suddenly deflated a bit. What if Johan thought Freckle was being only friends with him to get to his dad? He did not want that. He really did like Johan a lot. 

He cleared his throat, doing his best to seem mature and act like he had not just been having a fanboy reaction. 

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” he said. Miriam frowned slightly, giving Freckle a look as if asking he was alright.

Jekyll, who loved children, smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you too. Johan told me you’re also a Joey, and go by Freckle, and you like Bendy very much. I’m very glad to hear that.”

Freckle felt his face start to get warm and could not help but giggle. Johan had talked about him. Johan had talked about him to Joey Drew. 

“Oh, um, thanks,” he mumbled, his ‘mature’ act vanishing as he turned back into a mildly embarrassed and giddy child. 

Miriam stifled a giggle of her own. “It’s been a pleasure to have Johan here,” she said, turning to Jekyll. “He’s a very sweet child.”

Jekyll’s expression softened.

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling gently. Having Johan around really changed things in their home, for the better. “He really is. And it is also nearing his bedtime, isn't it, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Johan smiled up at him, then at Freckle. “See you tomorrow?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Freckle nodded fervently. “It was really nice having you over! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Johan waved as he and Jekyll set off towards their home, neither talking much, but feeling comfortable in the quiet.

Jekyll really was glad that Johan had a friend.