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#L R writes
l-r-christian · 2 years
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Title: 'Beauty and her beast' part four
Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Human!Reader, Past!Elijah x Hayley
Warnings: Angst, angry!Elijah, Death, Fluff, soft!dad!Elijah
Tags: @casedoina @cleverzonkwombatsludge @bywie
Part one - part two - part three - part five
A/N: I did a sad and I wanna do more part
French translation
Je t'aime, ma douce âme sœur - I love you, my sweet soulmate
Je t'aime aussi, bien-aimé - I love you too, beloved
It was a little past midnight when Y/N's water broke waking both Y/N and Elijah as Davina had came to help Vincent with the birth of Elijah's child. Finn and Kol watched the noble vampire pace hearing Y/N in pain as she was in labor and Elijah wanted to comfort her. It was quite after nine hours of labor and Elijah was finally allow to see his soulmate, Y/N looked tired and sweaty as she held a baby.... his son as it made his heart flutter.
"Eli, meet Emilio....your son." Y/N said softly smiling watching Elijah gently taking hold of the new born boy softly rubbing his round cheek as he yawned looking up at his father. Emilio may have Elijah's warm eyes but Elijah found it quiet adorable that Emilio had Y/N's cute round face.
"He is a cute baby, elskan." Elijah says moving next to Y/N who smiled weakly laying her head on his shoulder feeling Elijah kiss her head before falling asleep. It happened in the morning that Y/N fell ill as Finn watched over his new born nephew while Davina and Vincent were trying to find out what was wrong Elijah held her hand rubbing her forehead with his thumb hating how weak she looked.
"The link is broken."
"Fix it Vincent." Elijah said looking at the witch as Y/N's breathing got shallow as Davina and Vincent looked at one another as Kol stepped forward knowing Elijah will not like the answer.
"It is going to take great magic to fix it, brother...."
"Whatever you need of me, Kol. I will do it, please do not allow her to die." Elijah said looking at his brother sounding broken as Kol swallowed nodding as he moved to help the witches.
"Eli....if I don't make it....please adore Emilio for me....it was an honor to be loved by you. Je t'aime, ma douce âme sœur."
"Je t'aime aussi, bien-aimé." Elijah whispered feeling Y/N's hand go limp as her heart slowed tears fell from Elijah's eyes as in the next room Camille covered her mouth. Davina hugged Kol while Finn hushed Emilio and Vincent looked down when they heard Elijah let out a heartbroken cry.
It took Klaus by surprise when out of nowhere Elijah slammed him against a wall with his hand in the hybrid's chest. It the attention of Rebekah and Freya as they ran down to see an angry Elijah squeezing the hybrid's heart.
"Elijah!" Rebekah shouted making the noble vampire throw Klaus as he growled looking right at Freya making Rebekah move in front of their sister.
"You killed her."
"Oh please Elijah, she was just was a human that you shared a soul link with." Klaus said getting up as Elijah looked at him with a dark look growling lowly. The three froze seeing that Elijah had opened his red door.
"No she wasn't! I let her in, I told her everything about myself. Told her things that not even you know about Klaus." Elijah said lowly as Klaus's eyes flashed with hurt as no matter how angry Elijah got with him. Elijah always called him by his birth name and to hear him call the hybrid Klaus....hurt.
"And you, Rebekah, how dare you stand beside the monster that had always ruined your love life. Freya, I can not believe you allow yourself to get on his level. Klaus, I am no longer your brother but an enemy. I do not want you anywhere near my son or our home."
"Elijah....what are..."
"I don't want to hear your apologies, excuses. The only thing that is keeping me from killing you, Klaus is Hope and I refuse to be like our father so consider me no longer family." Elijah says walking out passing Hayley as she moved to stop him but saw the rage in his eyes and took a step back watching Elijah leave.
"How....how is he, Finn?" Freya asked softly as it had been the first time in a month since she seen her brothers as Finn refused to be with his siblings choosing to stay with Elijah helping him with Emilio. Finn looked over at Elijah seeing him reading to the month old who squealed happily whenever Elijah would make silly voices as he read to his son.
"Doing well. He is still very angry....he is hurting Freya."
"And you don't think Hayley isn't?! She loved Elijah and he abandoned her." Freya whispered yelled looking over seeing her nephew and how much the boy looked like his mother, a gorgeous light bronze baby with dark curls and had Elijah's warm mocha eyes.
"You killed his soulmate."
The Nine covens were angry as the Ancestors had cut off the flow of magic as punishment for not protecting the soul link enough so in turn the covens cut Hope and Freya from their covens. Elijah was no where near forgiving his siblings as this oddly brought Elijah closer to Kol and Finn as Emilio loved his uncles as the month old was with at lest one of them always.
Klaus was angry and went to see Vincent with Hope to see Elijah with Emilio on his arm sucking on his pacifier playing with Elijah's tie. Elijah had came over to Vincent's when the witch called saying he had a few children books for the baby boy.
"Your witches seem to believe they can cut my daughter from their covens." Klaus said as Vincent rolled his eyes as the teen witch waved at her uncle as Elijah gave her a soft smile before Emilio grabbed his attention when the boy whined.
"That is because the Ancestors cut off the magic when you broke Elijah's soul link." Vincent tells Klaus giving a children's book to Elijah as Emilio grabbed it when Elijah showed it to his son. Klaus frowned looking over to Elijah who had been nothing but cold to the hybrid.
"So the witches take it out on Hope?"
"Look Klaus, I don't control the witches. I have to find away to get the Ancestors to allow the covens to use our magic." Vincent said as Klaus narrowed his eyes turning to see Hope next to Elijah meeting Emilio, her baby cousin and Klaus tune in on their conversation.
"Are you ever coming home uncle 'Lijah?"
"I don't think so Hope." Elijah says watching Emilio grab Hope's hand squealing as he made small noises. Hope frown as she missed her uncle her but understood that he was angry.
"Okay....mom is doing better...she is dating a guy named Declan, he is a great guy." Hope tells her uncle as Elijah paused his heart aching at the idea that Hayley got to be happy while he was hurting missing his other half.
"Does your father know?"
"He does....uncle 'Lijah I hope you come home soon." Hope said as Elijah smiled kissing her forehead before walking out leaving the teen with her father who was hurt that Elijah no longer looked to him.
Caroline and Stefan came to visit with Alaric and the twins as they heard what happen as the magic was also cut off to Bonnie and the girls. While the adults talked, Hope grabbed Lizzie and Josie pulling them into a room.
"I need your help." Hope tells the witches as they blinked before nodding as Hope had an idea to bring back Elijah's soul link as she wanted her uncle back but needed help to draw in powerful magic.
"Okay we will help."
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pastelhooman · 10 months
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[WVW Exchange Event 2023!]
"The kisses on your lash, your ears, on the nose that keeps scrunching. The kisses on your hand, on your cheeks, and the exchanging soft words waiting for the break of day."
----- ID under break -----
A total of 6 pages of comics, starting with a close up shots of vash kissing sleeping wolfwood's nose, eyes, lashes, and he furrows them a bit. an overhead shot of the two of them in a motel room, on the bed with vash leaning over wolfwood from the left, laying soft kisses on him. their legs tangled. their normal outfits are thrown haphazardly on the floor, instead donning comfortable clothes. on the outside, the very first ray of lights are yet to shine.
"what a face you're making pfft" - vash says as he grabs both of wolfwood's cheeks, squeezing them a bit. wolfwood mumbles, "There's something that keeps landing on my face, it tickles." he grabs the hand that is on his right cheek. "Well you're letting it happens anyways right?" Vash muses, bringing the hand up to kiss on its knuckles. "Good morning Wolfwood. It's almost dawn"
"… Isn't it way too soon?" - wolfwood asks, but keeps to himself the prayers he's sending to god because the the boy on top of him was such a sight to behold. Vash flops down onto him, leaving the hand hanging and lace his own hand into Wolfwood's hair, peppering kisses to the side of his face. "Yep" - he answers - "But you woke up on your own tho" - facetiously. He giggles, saying that it was a joke after a beat of silence. A sigh, "don't make me upside you first thing in the morning." Wolfwood closes his eyes, hand combing through golden strands. "Heh, how merciful~" "We have a meet up with Milly and Meryl today, remember?" Vash reminds him, which does raise some vague memory. wolfwood hums, the other hand reaching around vash's torso, hugging him. " So, the sooner we arrive, the less likely she'll chew through my head." - Vash adds. "riiiight. And you were SO urgent in waking me up." in wolfwood's hold, both of them slowly turn to the right, towards the edge of the bed.
Well, you were just soooo cute, I couldn't help it! didn't thinkk you'll actually wakE UAA-!"
the bed creaks under the sudden shift in weight as wolfwood tosses vash over and under him, arms firmly hugging him, one at his back and one at his head, hungrily dives down to kiss. "!! Wolf-! Wait-!" Vash yelps, leg instinctively curls around the other's man hip to hang on, trying his damnest to grip on his shirt as HE is now half airborne, barely has any contact with the bed on his upper body. However, wolfwood seems to have another idea as he keeps deepening the kiss, pointedly holding Vash close, hands spread guarding the back of his head as both of them are sliding off the soft fabric.
"THUD!" a resounding fall, possibly enough to wake the room downstairs, followed shortly by laboured breaths amist wet smacks of lips. Heaves and huffs of air exchanging between the two bodies when the need to breath made itself necessary. They press close, cradling each other, and are lost to their own world. After a while they had to part. Metal arm shifts through black locks, caressing down to his nape and they hold eye contacts there, with lidded eyes, strands of saliva thins then breaks.
Wolfwood pushes up on his arms, looking smugly down at his now disheveled partner: "Now this is how it's done, Needlenoggin." he remarks. Vash tries to wrangle his thoughts back in order, but strings of Wolfwood's name and a wonderous question keeps filling his mind, of whether he should risk it all and have fun for a bit more. Regardless, snapping out of his trance, Vash sourly asks, with a wry smile and an aching head: "But did you really need to roll off the bed?" "Wrong side, whoops" - Wolfwood anwers unseriously, laughing as he finds the situation quite amusing.
----- End of ID -----
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crystalflygeo · 5 months
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Last of her kind Emperor!Alpha!Zhongli + Omega!Dragoness!Reader-
cw/tags: This chapter has no smut but still contains highly suggestive themes and sexual implications. Mentions of slavery and past sexual abuse on fem!reader, A/B/O dynamics and heat mentions. fem!reader suffers with self-worth and bad memories, including past insults and abuse.
notes: After so long finally part 2!! EEEEEEEE I am so excited but also so nervous pls ;w; like if you want the first part can be read as a standalone and have a "happy ending" but now I am committed to the emotional roller coaster, A/B/O dynamics and LONG BURN PINING so yep >:3c hope this does justice to everyone's expectation tho. And hope you like it and accompany me on this tale hehe
As a lil sidenote brackets [] now indicate past actions/words and bad memories, regular italics for emphasis, inner thoughts or the little pinyin I sprinkled here (which btw is taken straight from genshin wiki so...).
<- Part 1.
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Being precious all of the sudden was… different.
Your hand subconsciously kept touching your bonding mark, as if to make sure it was still there, to soothe you.
After a quick meal just between Zhongli and you, consisting of some soft rice buns and delicious minced meat packaged inside a crispy pastry shell, you were then offered some new clothes. It was much more elaborate and certainly more layered than anything you’d worn before: a long skirt and flowy sleeves in a silky soft fabric, beautifully embroidered and hastily modified to make a hole for your tail to slip out. A sash keeping everything in place while accentuating your figure. You immediately loved it although it felt a little heavy and restricting.
Now, you quietly follow Zhongli as he leads you around the palace. He’s back to his former fully-human appearance, wearing an elegant attire, and everywhere you go, people bow at him and cast curious silent glances at you. It was rather unnerving.
It’s fine, you are used to being stared at, judged. You hold your tail up close for comfort.
The place is huge and you quickly get lost trying to map it out in your head, simply following along until you reach a large room with a few simple beds scattered around. Bookcases and cabinets stacked the walls, filled with all sorts of books, papers, jars and things. A pungent smell present in the air.
A green-haired man leans over a desk, glasses perched on his nose as he frantically scribbles some notes. What seems like powders and plants litter the space around him, along with a few more glass containers, incense, and a tea set with a steaming fresh cup.
“Baizhu.” Zhongli’s voice calls and you stiffen a little, hearing it again after a while of silence. It is still warm and deep but with a more reserved and regal tone like when he first met you.
The green-haired man (a Beta, you recognize) looks up and blinks in surprise, then smiles brightly and says some words you do not understand, you shuffle in place.
“Yes, this is her.” Zhongli replies. “I will ask you to speak in in common tongue so she can understand as well, I don’t want to unnecessarily unnerve her.”
Well, that is… very considerate. It eases you a little.
“Of course, your majesty.” He turns to you, his eyes were a bright amber, also with slitted pupils. Was it common in liyuens? “My name is Baizhu, the royal doctor and apothecary, pleased to meet you, empress.”
Empress?!
“E-Empress?!” You can’t help but blurt out.
“Why of courssse.” A high-pitched voice hisses and you almost jump when a white snake peaks her head from her coils at the desk, staring up at you. “You’re mated to hisss majesssty the emperor, sssso, it would be underssstood you’re now the empresssss.” Her split tongue flickers.
Baizhu chuckles. “Changsheng, be nice.”
You don’t know what to answer, mostly because you’re still reeling from the fact that you’re apparently now an empress, and because there’s a talking snake.
Liyue is weird…
“I decided to bring her here exactly because of that.” Zhongli turns to you and suddenly holds one of your hands, softly, staring at you with such affection it makes you melt. “Darling, would you let him check your bonding mark for a moment?”
You’re a little nervous, but it is not like you can refuse… right? You nod quietly.
Baizhu approaches and examines your neck and you fight the urge not to flinch or growl. No Omega likes it when a stranger is so close to such a sensitive spot. He hums and tilts his head but doesn’t touch you. “It seems it’s already healed due to her illuminated beast blood but the scar is present. I’d say the bond has been properly established, congratulations your majesty.” He smiles warmly.
A grateful bubbly feeling creeps up your chest. Properly established. So, it’s true.
You feel Zhongli’s hand squeeze yours lightly and look down at it, then back up at him. “Thank you, Baizhu. I will not keep you any longer. We still have a lot to do and I’m sure you do as well.”
Baizhu bows at him (at both of you, you realize) and then you’re on your way. Not before hearing the snake’s hissy whispers again
“A fine yin, hm…?”
--------------------------------------------
This is… your new home.
Zhongli shows you around some of the areas in what he called the “inner court” of the palace complex. Everything is so… large and open and lavish it has your head spinning, your eyes darting in every direction trying to take in all at once, walking fast on your new clothes. He guides you along the dining hall, a small temple, crosses through an enormous main hall where he explains audiences are held, and then a gorgeous outer garden that completely takes your breath away.
The wooden gilded architecture in golds and reds, the fresh wind and gentle sun. All sorts of new sounds and smells. The painted walls and high ceilings. The new plants and flowers. The chatters in a different language… everything is so distinct from the desert.
You soak in the new environment. Inhaling deeply.
It is both terrifying and exhilarating.
Finally, he guides you to another room, it looks similar to the nest room where you’d first been at, but larger. It is sparsely decorated with a large and comfy looking-bed, a desk, mirror and a small table with a couple chairs and a tea set. It smells nice enough.
You peek up at Zhongli.
“This will be your room.” He explains.
…What?
“We kept it simple for now but you are, of course, free to furnish and decorate it however you’d like. It’s close to my own room and anything you might need.”
Wait what?
Your ears lower down and you seem to deflate a little, disappointed. “H-Huh? But… I-I won’t be sleeping with you?” You ask softly.
Mated pairs sleep together, don’t they? They share living chambers and mix their scents together to symbolize their union. That’s what you’ve always been told. You are to always be near your Alpha, at his beck and call, warm up his bed and be ready to please.
Maybe things are different in Liyue? Or maybe it’s because he’s an emperor. Master didn’t tell you anything, so maybe you are just making a fool of yourself right now on your-
Zhongli clears his throat and looks at you a little surprised “I simply thought you’d be more comfortable having your own space, we… don’t really know each other very well yet, and I wouldn’t want to impose.”
Impose? As in order? But he’s your Alpha! “B-But I want to! Please! I-I mean… I thought that since we’re b-bonded…” You mumble shyly.
His cheeks turn a little pink, you like when that happens, he looks a lot less serious. He cups your cheek and you inhale looking up at those gorgeous golden eyes. “My dear dragoness. I don’t want you to feel forced to do anything you don’t want to. I know you were raised… differently, I cannot claim to understand your experiences, but listen to me: you are safe here.” He says the last part slowly, enunciating each word. “No one will scold you or punish you, least of all me. I want you to be free to speak and choose what you want.” He sighs. “Though I know it’ll be difficult...”
Furnish, impose, free… you don’t know any of those words.
But no punishment, to choose what you want, to be safe… it sounds surreal even.
What do you want?
His eyes soften at your nervous silence. “Let’s try this… do you really want to share my room, or would you like to stay here? I won’t be upset if you do.”
“I…” Your tail curls around you. “I want to stay with you. Sleep together. Like mates.” You mumble.
“Then it would be my honor, however, this room will stay ready if you change your mind, alright?” You glance around at the room again, and nod. “Now that that is settled, I have one last thing to do. I need to introduce you to a few very special people before I leave to-”
“Leave?!”
You didn’t mean to yelp like that.
“J-just to do my duties, I am not leaving you, I promise.” He corrects, a little taken aback. “I am sorry my dear, but as much as I’d like to spend every moment by your side right now, I have a few pressing matters to tend to. I know you’re nervous, everything is new and scary and overwhelming but I promise I’ll leave you in good hands and be back as soon as I can.”
You nod, now feeling a little embarrassed at the whole ordeal. You’d been feeling so at ease with his presence, showing you around, listening to his voice name and explain everything you saw that you’d almost forgotten. “You’re the emperor, I’m sure you’re very busy. No need to worry about me, I’ll behave, my lord.”
He frowns a little at that but says nothing, and you choose to say nothing else either.
Going back to the main hall, you immediately spot three people lined up looking at you with a mix of the already expected curiosity and excitement. One of them in particular immediately catches your attention, he’s an Alpha and you can’t help but feel a little nervous…
“Allow me to introduce you, these three are my most loyal and closest council members: Ping, Ganyu and Xiao.” Zhongli gestures at them and all three bow lightly. “Like you and I they all have the blood of xiānshòu, and you can ask them for anything should you need help or have questions. I hope you learn to trust them and feel at ease.”
You nod quietly, still a bit fixated on the other Alpha.
“Xiao, or general Alatus, is one of Liyue’s strongest, most resilient and skilled warriors. He usually keeps guard at the palace to ensure my wellbeing and now yours as well, if you ever feel danger call out his name and he’ll come.”
Ah, did they notice you were staring…?
With a gesture of his hand Xiao manifests a gorgeous Jade spear, crystalline green shards reflecting light as he taps it by his side, standing firm, you flinch in surprise. “My spear shall now serve you too, empress.” His eyes too are golden and sharp, filled with a certain rigidness and determination you can’t quite put your finger on.
“Thank you, Xiao, dismissed.”
Xiao hums quietly and promptly disappears in a burst of black and green smoke, you stand there a little startled, your hand clings to the brown fabric of Zhongli’s sleeve.
“He might be an Alpha as well, but I promise you he’ll cause you no harm.” Your alpha murmurs softly towards you.
“O-okay…” You squeak, a bit embarrassed.
“Ganyu here is one of the most reliable people in the palace, perhaps the entirety of Liyue. Everything of importance reaches her ears and passes through her eyes. She’s able to organize meetings, events, report, compile information and assist every negotiation and decision of this palace with stunning efficiency. She too will help you with anything you need and might be in charge of a little logistics regarding you settling in for the next few days.” Zhongli smiles.
The young woman with long blue hair and… horns? chuckles and blushes a little. “Your majesty, you're too kind, I merely love doing my job.” She puts her hands together and beams at you, sunset eyes bright. “I’m so honored to meet you, rest assured I’ll take care of anything you need. I hope you feel comfortable and welcome at the palace!”
That sounded like a lot. You weren’t used to people coddling you like this. You didn’t want to give anyone trouble or work. “T-that’s alright, thank you.”
“Now, Ping is probably going to spend the most time with you, she’s very knowledgeable in culture, history and the inner workings of the palace amongst other things. She has graciously offered to teach you liyuen and anything else you’d be interested in.”
Unlike the other two Ping has a certain calm aura to her, contrasting Xiao’s seriousness and Ganyu’s excited energy. You can tell she’s a gentle old soul as she approaches you with a soft wrinkled smile and graying hair.
“Don’t worry young empress, while Lord Morax here is regrettably busy with a work-packed schedule,” She gives him a playful side stare “You and I will have some fun. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” She takes your hand and pats it comfortingly. It’s kind of an awkward gesture for you, but you still welcome the warmth and good intentions.
Zhongli chuckles quietly. “In that case, I’ll leave you in her care and see you at night for dinner, alright?” He seems to hesitate for a moment but then cups your face in his hands and places a soft kiss at your forehead. The unexpected gesture has you blushing scarlet and your heart speeding up like crazy. His thumb brushes at the scales under your eyes, so affectionate in the smallest ways… “I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine, yes?”
You stare at his golden eyes, the red lines, his handsome face framed with dark hair, his serene smile.
You don’t like this. You don’t want him to leave. The idea makes you uncomfortable.
But it’s not like you can say no.
You nod.
“Thank you, Ping.” Both of them exchange a glance and then he turns to the blue-haired woman still in the room. “Ganyu, if you will.”    
“Right away your majesty!” She scurries after him, talking quickly in foreign tongue while both walk away.
You stare after him for a moment longer.
“It’s a little difficult, isn’t it?”
You quickly turn back to Ping and then look down, ears folding back.
She laughs softly. “No need to be ashamed dear, it is understandable that you are unsure with all this, it’s a lot of changes for such a short time and you bond is still fresh, but let’s take it easy.”
Your hand brushes at Zhongli’s bonding mark again. “O-Okay…”
“Are you hungry? Tired? Perhaps you want to rest a little?”
You want to scurry away to your mate’s room and curl up there, that’s what you want, but…
“Um, aren’t you… going to train me?”
Ping blinks a little taken aback “Train? Oh! Teach?”
Same thing.
“Well, yes. I did offer, but only if you’re feeling up to it young empress. You can take your time, we don’t have to start right away. And like I said, take it easy, it's only your second day here.” She explains. “You won’t be absorbing any information if you are uncomfortable and jittery like this.”
“S-sorry-”
“No need to apologize at all. Now tell me, is there anything you’ve seen or heard today that you’re curious about, anything you want to do?”
What you want…
You think back a few hours earlier. The infirmary, the small temple, the grand hall, and…
“The garden.” You speak. “Can we go outside and see?”
Ping smiles brightly. “Of course! I’m sure there are a lot of things there that will catch your interest and cheer you up.”
Your tail sways a little after you as you follow the old lady along the corridors.
------------------------         
The garden is breathtaking.
More than a garden it feels like a whole different world. Bright and exciting and colorful, full of life. It reminds you of an Oasis, but just… more!
A grand pond with multicolored fishes and a couple of turtles sunbathing. Walk paths made of stone, plants everywhere you see: in trees with vibrant yellows, oranges and all shades of greens, in flowers with soft colors and small petals, in thick bushes. The light filters through the leaves and there’s the soft tweets of small birds.
“It’s… so pretty!” You exclaim happily.
“I’m glad you think so. Gardens like this are carefully cared for and preserved to impress, but they also represent beauty, abundance a sense of harmony.” Ping explains as she is now the one following after you, skipping along the path. “These trees you see are sandbearers, and that one is a ginkgo tree, you can tell the difference by the shapes of their leaves.” She points at each one and you follow with your gaze, picking a small leaf from the floor, golden and fan-shaped.
“Ooh…”
“See those smaller fishes? They’re goldfishes. The bigger ones are kois.” She gestures at the animals freely swimming around. Some of them are huge!
“What do they eat?” You blurt out.
“Well, usually algae and wheat. We can get some another day and you can feed them.”
“Really?!”
“Of course.”
“Oh! Is that a koi too? It’s so… long and pretty.”
“Ah, that one is a golden koi. Lord Morax has a few of them here. They are also called Jīnchì Jiǎlóng or ‘false dragons’ you know? For the small horns and long bodies. They do resemble your tail a little, don’t they?”
You move your tail forward and stare at it, then stare at the serpentine fish.     
“Yes, sort of… Jin chi… jia long.” You mumble.
“Here, I think you’ll like these ones. Come with me.” You eagerly follow after Ping as she rounds the pond and guides you towards a few red bushes. They’re dotted with pink round flowers. “These are silk flowers, Nícháng-huā, usually harvested to make clothes, but there are many special ornamental variants and between us both, your dear mate has a weak spot for these so he has quite the collection.” She chuckles.
“Orna…metal?”
“Ornamental, it means mostly for decoration.”
“Oh!” Suddenly you feel dumb, you’d thought for a second that was a liyuen word too. “I’m sorry… I don’t even know common tongue very well.” How could you even expect to learn liyuen?
“No worries, dear, learning a new language is a daunting task, it takes a bit of work every day. If you keep learning, using and practicing words, you’ll get there.”
You smiled softly. Ping was so… patient and supportive.
So much different from…
[You have to try harder.]
[Tch that is not good enough.]
[Are you stupid?!]
[Useless omega.]
You looked at the budding silk flowers and blinked. Once. Twice. Why was your vision blurry now? What was this feeling?
“Oh, oh young empress please don’t cry. It’s alright” Ping’s alarmed remark helps you understand. She fusses over you. “Are you ok?”
You wipe at your tears and smile, a genuine bright smile.
“I’m fine.”
And this time, you truly mean it.
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After a rather fancy bath (the kind of like you used to take before being presented to Alphas, with bubbles and scented oils...) and a good dinner Zhongli and you headed over for his chambers for the night. You couldn’t help but be a little… nervous.
This is stupid. He’s your Alpha.
He’s been nothing but kind to you.
What if he wants to… d-do things?
Then you’ll do it. He’s your mate. It’s your obligation.
You were the one who chose this anyway.
Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, anxiety creeping up your chest. Were your fingers trembling? Was the room suddenly cold?
As expected, the bedroom was quite matching his style. Golds, browns and a bit of red and black here and there. Dragon imagery adorning some of the walls, a tea cabinet with a small table and shelves filled with all sorts of trinkets from precious stones and books to a beautiful fan and a tea set.
And then there was the bed.
A large canopy bed, enough to probably have your body and tail fully stretched across and still fit in the mattress, beautifully decorated and filled with fabrics and pillows.
The scent of Zhongli’s Alpha pheromones was definitely strong.
He yawns and runs a hand along his forehead, combing along his hair before pulling out the clip on it, letting his long dark locks spill free. He takes off his robe revealing his naked torso and you jolt.
It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.           
You undress as well into your light sleeping clothes and gingerly slip into his bed, curling up around his pillows, surrounded by his scent.
His.
You are his.
It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine-
“Darling, is everything alright? Are you uncomfortable?” He asks concerned, climbing on the bed as well and reaching out to touch your arm. You squeak. “You’re… terrified, what’s wrong?” Then Zhongli’s eyes widen a little. “Oh. The scent… I completely overlooked that, my apologies. Is it too strong? Are you ok? Should have given you some things earlier for you to scent and include them here. This is no good…” He rambles a bit to himself as he sits up and crosses his arms thoughtfully.
You stare at him, anxiety still surging through your veins but now mixed in with confusion.
“Would you like to sleep in the other room we prepared for you instead?” He sighs.
“I… t-this is… you… would just let me leave?”
Zhongli tilts his head slightly, now he looks confused.
“I promised you that the room would be available-”
“So, you don’t want to mate?”
Silence.
He stares at you for a moment as you grip at the bedsheets, still tense.
His eyes widen as realization settles in.
Ah. The pink dusting in his cheeks is back.
“Y-You thought that… no! My dear, no, no, no…” He coughs into his fist awkwardly. “I apologize if I gave you the wrong idea. A-As I said before I want you to be comfortable and feel safe. No Alpha will force you to do anything you don’t want. Not even me. And you don’t have to feel forced to do things you don’t want to, either.”
You look down. Although you feel slightly more relieved.
“I want to stay here. A-and if you want to, I’ll service you, my lord. I was just… nervous, sorry.”
“I assure you there is no need for any of that.” He says softly. “Here.”
He pulls the covers and slips them over you both, lying down facing you but still keeping a little distance. You do the same, curled up face to face with him.
He’s so effortlessly handsome.
And kind.
And you like him.
But he’s still an Alpha.
“Is this alright? We’re just going to sleep, I promise.” He brushes some hair away from your face.
You nod.
“Is there… anything you want to talk about or ask me?”
You... don’t know.
You shake your head.
“Hmmm. Want to share about your day? What were you up to with Ping?” He gives you a playful smile. Suddenly he feels less like an imposing strict emperor, or like a scary Alpha. He’s just your Zhongli.
“She… showed me the garden. I wanted to see.”
“Ah, the royal garden has many fascinating sights and it’s a beautiful landscape to retreat to and ease one’s mind. I had the feeling you’d be interested.”
“There were so many beautiful things. She taught me about the silk flowers, nícháng-huā. And all the trees and fishes and birds.”
“Oh? Are these your first words in liyuen, my dear?”
You giggle. “I… suppose they are. She also showed me your turtles Jiàn and Fù and told me what their names mean, they are so cute. Oh! And we saw the liúlí bah… bai… bǎihé! I sang to them and they bloomed! It was... amazing.”
“I see. Not everyone can achieve that, I’ll admit I’m quite hopeless at singing.” He chuckles “What more did you learn?”
Feeling much more content and at ease you continue retelling all the new things you had experienced and the vocabulary you had learned including how to introduce yourself and some greetings and basic words. Talking for what felt like hours until weariness and sleep claimed you both.
Zhongli simply listened and stared at you, captivated. He seemed content as well.
It made you happy.
------------------------------------------
For the next couple of months, you established a sort of routine.
You’d wake up early alongside Zhongli, even though you didn’t need to, you simply enjoyed having some morning tea and breakfast with him. Afterwards he’d go tend to some of his official duties and you’d stay with Ping Lǎolao, learning more and more each day. By now you could even follow some basic conversation (provided the other person didn’t speak too fast) although reading and writing was still extremely difficult.
You’d expressed interest in some gardening and even headed to the kitchens to prepare some food by yourself. The maids claimed there was no need for the empress to do such ‘menial tasks’ but as an Omega you pride yourself in certain things, and cooking for your Alpha was something you’d yearned to do.
You were overjoyed when Zhongli praised your Jade parcels.
You’d always have lunch with him and some days he’d accompany you for a stroll or you’d stay at his study for some leisure time, or even at some meetings. It had been a little unnerving at first but you also knew it was important to know others and be known in the council, as well as understand Liyue outside of the palace walls. After all, you are an empress now.
At night, you slept close to him. The initial awkwardness of sleeping at opposite sides of the bed soon traded for a much cuddlier approach, often with you curled up to Zhongli’s chest or him spooning you, tails often intertwined together. The bed and the entire room now have a mix of your combined scents, like true mates.
And so, life was good…
------------------------------------------  
You’re slowly pulled out of your sleep as Zhongli stirs in the bed. You grumble a little and yawn, already missing his warmth. It was so pleasant…
“Good morning, my dear dragoness.”
“Morning…” You mumble, not opening your eyes and instead blindly reaching for his pillow to hug and cling to. “Can we stay for longer?” You whine.
“You definitely can, but I have to go.” He kisses your forehead “Rest, my dear.”
You pout but say nothing. Squeezing at the pillow and burying your face in it.
It smells so good…
------------------------------------------  
“Hmm… is it warmer today?” You wonder aloud as the maids help you up with the layers of your hanfu. The clothes still hot and heavy in contrast to what you used to wear at the desert, but today seemingly more so… the sash feels more constricting than usual. “I-I think I’d like to wear something a little lighter… if possible.”
“Of course, your majesty, no problem.”
You smile at them, grateful.
 --------------------------------------------
Sitting at Zhongli’s study room you practice some basic liyuen calligraphy while he seemingly goes over some important documents. The silence is comfortable and a warm cup of Qixing tea steams at both desks. Yet, something keeps bothering you.
You huff lightly, scratching and picking at the scales of your tail, irritated with the uncomfortable feeling. Why is it so itchy? A couple of them fall off, revealing new glossy ones underneath.
“Ah…” So that means…
You stop for a moment. The feverish feeling, scents being stronger on your nose, the urge to nest and cling to your mate.
Hmm… part of you is a little excited. And yet, there is fear.
------------------------------------------  
“You have quite the appetite today, dear. Eat slowly, the food won’t go anywhere.” Ping chuckles as you practically pick a little of every dish while still trying to keep some modicum of elegance. Chopsticks weren’t that easy after all.
“Yes… I think… I think it’s my pre-heat hormones.” You sigh before munching on a shrimp ball.
Your heat…
Your first heat with Zhongli. With any Alpha to be honest. You’d always had to endure them on your own (Master couldn’t have you get pregnant) and they were excruciating and debilitating, crying out for days with your skin burning and itching, trying to sate yourself with your fingers and humping pillows. But now… you’re happily bonded.
Would it… feel good again?
Like, that first time you two mated…
You feel your cheeks heat up.
“Excuse me?”
“Hm?”
You’re brought back to reality to see Ping staring at you seemingly a little alarmed.
“Pre-heat? Young empress, are you going into heat soon?”
“Y-yeah? Probably um, tonight…? Or tomorrow.” The onsets are always so quick, and your cycle has always been more or less stable.
The elder places her chopsticks down. “Have you told Lord Morax?”
“Um. N-No, not yet. But… m-maybe he already caught on...” You tilt your head.
…Right?
Then again even you took a couple of days to identify the signs, and now for sure you were at the brink of it. Maybe he’ll mate you tonight…
Hm… how will Zhongli react to your heat scent?
You have to do your best!
[Be a good omega.]
Ping stands up, her expression still gentle but with a sort of urgency to it, your instincts catch the feeling she’s worried about something.
“I have to inform about this, please stay here dear.”
Now you’re nervous. You nod slowly.
Why does it feel like you did something wrong…?
------------------------------------------
After that, things get… chaotic.
It’s only a while later that you find yourself at the infirmary. Ganyu and Zhongli are also there and everyone’s anxious pheromones in the air do not sit well with you (subtle as they are, your nose is hyperaware right now).
“I’m sorry the symptoms are already settled in. At this point it is simply not feasible to give her suppressants, she has to go through this heat.” Baizhu says, looking troubled.
Feasible? Suppressants? More unknown words but…
Is there something wrong with your heat?
Ganyu scurries off and Ping starts talking with Baizhu on the other side of the room. You cling to Zhongli’s robe, trying to soothe yourself with his presence but his scent is… agitated.
You whine to call out to him. You’re scared.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Zhongli pulls you close, cupping your face again, staring straight at you. “No… no my dear dragoness, of course you didn’t, it’s just…” He steels himself searching for the right words, it doesn’t ease you in the slightest. “We didn’t expect your heat so soon. I should have known, noticed… I’m sorry.”
Why is your alpha apologizing to you? That is ridiculous.
“Is it a bad thing?”
“It’s… not the right time.”
You’re so confused.
Don’t Alphas like it when Omegas are in heat? Soft, pliant, warm, needy and ready to breed.
“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to do this…” He says. “And… you could trigger my rut, you could end up pregnant. I don’t want to… scare you, or hurt you. It’s much too soon for us to share your heat. I thought we’d have more time for you to get acclimated to Liyue or…” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. For the next few days you’ll be in a separate room, yes? No one will disturb you during your heat, I promise.”
“B-But then… I… what…?”
Alone?
“Usually omegas take suppressants, like a type of medicine, to stave off their heats so they don’t have to face these risks or suffer them alone, and then when they’re ready, when they want, they choose to share heats with their partners.” He explains.
“But I want to! I… I’ll be good!”
Zhongli sighs. “Darling you are good, you are precious to me. You don’t need to prove anything or do things because they are ‘expected’ of you.”
He’s not listening!
He asks you what you want. He says you can choose. But now that you tell him, ask him, beg him even… he denies you?
How come you’re always making the wrong choice?
Was it all a lie then?
“But I- T-then- Why-… YOU’RE CONFUSING ME!!” You yell, tears stinging in your eyes.
There are a few gasps and you see not only Baizhu and Ping, but Ganyu and some of the maids staring at you in shock. You cover your mouth, eyes wide at the sudden burst of fierceness and emotion.
You yelled at him.
You talked back.
You should be punished.
He stares at you, frozen like a statue for a few moments. You stare at him, pitiful, your eyes begging. A whimper leaves you and Zhongli lets out a shuddering breath.
Oh, your Alpha wants you, you know it.
"Please..." You mumble, voice so small.
"I'm sorry my dear, it's better this way." His hand moves towards you, to cup your face again or brush at your hair you're not sure, but he stops himself before you can find out. He sighs, averting his gaze and looking conflicted, and then turns around.
This is your punishment.
"It'll be just a few days, you'll be well-cared for. This is for the best." He says sternly, voice pinched.
And then he leaves.
Your heart shatters.
Everything is a blur after that. You’re gently guided along towards an empty nest room, the same one you'd first met him at, there are some things with both your scents on it but they feel sterile, washed anew.
Your hands start trembling. Your eyes start to water. Your lips quiver. Your throat feels tight, choked and dry. Your body feels feverish, hot and restless.
Zhongli rejected you.
“Your majesty please calm down."
[Useless.]
[Moron.]
[Whore.]
You could no longer breathe, hear nor see. You feel like you're drowning, unable to process what just happened. Your mate…your precious mate…he…he…
He abandoned you.
“Your majesty…?"
You scream.
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sugurustattoo · 1 month
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vampire!choso who likes watching humans bc he thinks their lives r interesting, but he finds u especially beautiful :3
he doesn't hide his vampire side from anyone, but it's not like he could if he wanted to. he's pale asf, dark eyeshadow around his eyes, dark stringy hair, and has fangs. it's pretty obvious lol
despite that, he doesn't wanna scare u away. so he makes sure to try and hide his fangs, to look a little more alive and less corpse-y, and he does his absolute best not to stare at your throat. he really, really does. he can't help a little glance every once in a while tho bc it just looks so yummy n enticing, kind of like the pastries he watches u take bites out of
n its rlly awkward bc u can tell he's trying not to smile w his teeth but u don't really get why. vampires r kinda like myth n nobody takes them too srsly bc theyre never out and about. thankfully for choso u find his awkward smiles and absolutely dead, pale complexion a little endearing
u also notice him staring super hard at ur neck sometimes and u have to go "???" before he snaps out of it with a buncha apologies. kinda weird dude but ok!
anyway hes just a silly little vampire guy who has a crush on u pls give him a chance. pls.
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la-pheacienne · 2 months
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People that still blame Ned for telling Cersei of his plans are the same people that say they wouldn't have turned if they were Orpheus, and the common denominator between these two categories of people is how fucking BORING they are. Imagine trying to analyze Oedipus Rex through the prism of how stupid Oedipus was. STOP for the love of god
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rosepompadour · 11 months
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Although everybody rejoices at the execution of the putain, there are some who murmur at the mode of procedure against her and the others, and people speak variously of the King. It will not pacify the world when it is known what has passed and is passing between him and [Jane Seymour]. Already it sounds ill in the ears of the people that the King, having received such ignominy, has shown himself more glad than ever since [Anne's] arrest; for he has been going about banqueting with ladies, sometimes remaining after midnight, and returning by the river. His delight at getting rid of a “maigre vieille et mechante bague,” with hope of change, is a thing specially agreeable to this King. He shows an extravagant joy, and [says that] he had long expected the issue of these affairs. He composed a tragedy [about it], which he carried with him, a little book written in his own hand. - EUSTACE CHAPUYS in a letter to CHARLES V, May 1536
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razzle-zazzle · 2 months
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Brothers
9650 Words; Between AU, pre-canon
TW for death
AO3 ver
Gristle Junior was seven months and eleven days old on the day of his first Trollstice.
Or rather, he was seven months and eleven days old on what would have been his first Trollstice, were it not for the lack of trolls. And the day had started so well, too, anticipation electric in his veins as he bounced around his father’s room. He had been so ready to taste true happiness!
But the Trolls were gone, fleeing underground despite the best efforts of Chef’s underlings. Not a single Troll had been recovered, Gristle had been told, and from what little he had been able to see of the commotion—from the swinging shovels and pickaxes he had glimpsed in the plaza as he was being shuffled away from the action—supported that notion. Surely, if Trolls were being found, then surely there would be much less frustration.
But the day passed without a single Troll eaten. Gristle’s father, for who he had been named, had taken him aside to calmly explain that with no Trolls, Gristle would never be happy. Not ever. Nothing else could possibly work.
To a Bergen less than a year old, such words were absolute. And why should Gristle doubt his father? The King had lived for decades, an extent of time which felt like an eternity to Gristle Junior. Surely, if there was anyone who could know everything, it would be the King.
Gristle was seven months and eleven days old on the last chance he would ever have to know true happiness. The date clung to his mind, the damnation of eternal misery heavy in his chest. To a Bergen so young and inexperienced with the world, there could be nothing worse.
Chef was disgraced. Not a single Troll recovered, in all of that mess? Her exile was quick and loud—Gristle watched from the castle door with his father as Chef was bodily thrown through the gates, shouting curses he strained to hear. With a sigh, Gristle moved to turn away from the door, prepared to ready himself for bed.
“Your Majesty!” Two Bergens hailed down his father, bowing the moment the King’s eyes were on them. “We found…” The Bergen on the left had his hands cupped together oddly, perfectly concealing whatever would be inside. With a nudge from his partner, he bowed again, holding out whatever it was to the King. “We found this at the tree’s edge.”
Gristle Junior turned back towards the door, pressing against his father’s legs to peer at what was so urgent it couldn’t wait for daylight. The air was thick with anticipation as the Bergen’s fingers slowly parted, revealing what was delicately clasped in his hands.
It was a Troll.
Gristle’s eyes widened. His father inhaled sharply, peering down at the tiny shape curled in the palm.
The Troll stared up at them with wide eyes, curled in on itself and shaking. It was so small. How did creatures that small even exist?
The King hummed, leaning in further. Gristle Junior was quick to imitate, peering at the tiny Troll even more intently. This brought to light a detail that had been previously overlooked—a detail that seven month and eleven day old Gristle had no filter against pointing out.
“It’s gray.” Gristle said, peering down at the thing. Tiny, too. Could something so little really bring him happiness? “Is it sick?” He poked at the Troll, and it flinched back with a hiss, tail clutched in its paws.
“Inedible.” Gristle Senior growled out. He turned bared teeth to the pair before them. “Your effort is appreciated.” He said, “But there’s no use for a Troll that’s gone bad.” The King sighed, moving to reenter the castle. “Do as you wish with it.” He dismissed. “My son and I…”
Gristle Junior reached for the Troll. “It’s so small.” He whispered, staring down at it. Small and gray and baring blunted teeth in an approximation of a snarl… He looked up at the pair, eyes wide. “Can I have it?”
The Bergen holding the Troll hesitated, before tilting his hands towards Gristle. The Troll squeaked as Gristle scooped it up, voice tiny. Gristle squealed, clutching the Troll and running back inside, the rest of the world forgotten.
The Troll turned bewildered eyes up to Gristle. It trembled, shouting as Gristle turned a corner, but Gristle paid no heed to anything but the sheer novelty of his idea. His very own Troll! There was hardly much of a plan in the toddler’s head, but a simple idea was all Gristle really needed at his age.
Gristle bounced into his bedroom, Troll in hand. He moved to set the Troll down on the desk—
“Son!” Gristle Senior’s voice was seldom so loud—but when it was, it commanded attention from everyone in the area. And indeed, Gristle Junior turned his attention to his father, the Troll still squirming in his hand. “What are you doing?” Gristle had never heard his father at such a loss.
“Keeping it.” Gristle Junior said.
Gristle Senior walked across the room and peered down at the Troll on the desk, trapped between Gristle Junior’s hands. “A pet is a lot of responsibility, son.” He pointed out.
“You say the same about being Prince.” Gristle Junior responded.
Gristle Senior jolted slightly, taken aback. “That… is true.” He conceded. “But it’s a Troll.” He poked the Troll in question, sending it stumbling backwards onto the ground. “It will just get eaten.”
“But you said gray Trolls are inebidable!” Gristle Junior lifted the Troll—his Troll, up with cradled hands, pressing it against his chest. “That they’ve got no use, which means that eating them can’t do anything!”
“Inedible.” Gristle Senior corrected gently. He lowered down, to be closer to his son’s eye level. “Son, be realistic. The kingdom just lost all of its Trolls. Trollstice has been a tradition for more than a century. The shock of no more Trollstices will make the people desperate.”
The Troll stared up from Gristle Junior’s hands with wide eyes. Tiny claws too small to do any damage dug into Gristle Junior’s hand.
Gristle Junior huffed. “But they gotta listen to you, Daddy. You’re the King.” The people had listened when the King declared Chef exiled; Gristle had witnessed just that less than an hour ago. “If you say that my Troll is inedidible then nobody will eat it!”
The King sighed, tired and heavy. “You’ll need something to keep it in.” He advised. As his son cheered, he turned to the door, and made his way across the room. Once Gristle Senior reached the doorframe, he turned back to his son one more time.
“If I wake up tomorrow and find that thing is running around the castle, I will feed it to Barnabus.” He threatened. His face immediately lightened, and he left the room with a single, cheery, “Goodnight, son!”
Gristle Junior nodded at the closed door with the utmost seriousness. He turned back to his Troll, who he set on the desk gently. “Hear that?” He asked. “You stay in here, or else.” With that, Gristle propped his face up in his hands, leaning forwards. “My name’s Gristle. Yours?”
The Troll crossed tiny Troll arms and glared up at him. “I’m not telling.” It said, in a voice that reminded Gristle of the mice Barnabus ate.
“Then I’ll just give you one!” Gristle chirped. “How about… Trolly!”
“No.”
Gristle frowned. “You’re getting a name, no matter what.” He huffed, poking his Troll in the side. The Troll stumbled a bit, but remained standing. “You’re so grumpy.” Gristle noticed. “Just like… a Bergen…” He trailed off, something approaching realization creeping up his throat.
The Troll snarled. “Not a Bergen!” It insisted, tail smacking the desk.
Gristle stared. “You…” His eyes lit up. “You and I are gonna be best friends.” Gristle decided, poking his Troll again.
The Troll’s response was simple. Gristle yelped, yanking his hand back. The Troll fell over, rubbing at its mouth with tiny paws, and Gristle stared at the tiny teeth marks on his finger.
The Troll glared mutinously, as if daring Gristle to come within biting range again.
Gristle nodded. “Yep! Best friends!”
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was nine months and two days old when he learned the Troll’s name. He had been poring through a pet care magazine, oo-ing and ah-ing over the different kinds of pets that Bergens kept. From alligator-dogs like Barnabus to even frog-crows!
He had hit the section for small pets, though none of the kinds commonly kept by Bergens were as small as a Troll. He looked over at the custom cage his father had had commissioned for his Troll, from the pod taken from the abandoned Troll Tree to the sandy substrate in the basin. As usual, his Troll was down on the substrate, pressed into the corner while it worked its way through safflower seeds.
“Look!” Gristle held the magazine right up against the cage bars, pointing at the circled bird perch. “How does a swing sound? I bet you’d have a lot of fun with it, Trolly.” He didn’t expect a response—the Troll rarely ever spoke back, content with glaring and darting away when Gristle reached into the cage.
Which meant it surprised him all the more when the tiny creature spoke. “Branch.”
Gristle opened his mouth to continue speaking—stopped. “What?”
“Branch.” The Troll repeated. “My name is Branch.” Its eyes were locked resolutely on the sandy substrate, shoulders hunched and tail thwap-thwap-thwapping against the corner.
Gristle gasped. “Oh!” He’d never thought—he—Branch—
“That’s a weird name.” Gristle finally decided, leaning in. “Are all Trolls named like that?” He couldn’t quite read well enough to digest all the books he’d found about Trolls (or that had Trolls on the covers), so his only real source of information was what former Troll-handlers Chad and Todd (or was it Todd and Chad?) could tell him, when he saw them. Which wasn’t often.
Branch gave Gristle a deer in headlights look, a helpless sort of “how-would-I-know” conveyed through body language alone. Paws clenched and unclenched against the seed held between them.
Gristle shrugged, and went back to the magazine. “So,” He said, “You never said if you wanted a swing.”
“Don’t bother.” Branch huffed. “I won’t use it.”
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was five years old when his father led him into his study for the first time. The younger marveled at the book-filled shelves and neatly organized desk, at the candle holders set into the wall and the banners hanging down—this room was his future.
“My son,” Gristle Senior began. “What you will be starting today is a time-honored tradition of Bergen Royalty.” His voice had a practiced lilt, a deep timbre made of years of self-assurance. “For no Monarch rules Bergentown alone—it is the duty of Princes and Princesses to run the kingdom in concert with the reigning monarch.”
“Whoaaa…” Gristle Junior hopped up and down to see atop the desk. “I’m a Prince!” He realized, whirling around to face his father. “So I have to help you run!”
Gristle Senior chuffed. When he spoke, there was pride in his voice. “And that is exactly what you will start learning today.” He lifted his son with one arm, sitting down behind the desk and settling Gristle Junior in his lap. “Now,” He pushed a stack of books from the edge of the desk to the center. “Here are the best volumes to start with…”
The lesson continued on throughout the rest of the morning. After lunch with his father, Gristle Junior returned to his room with the stack of books he had been given, ready and willing to learn. He pushed open the door, and made his way over to the desk right next to his bed.
“There’s so many books I need to read!” Gristle lamented. “How am I ever going to learn it all?” He’d have to, though, to be a proper Prince of Bergentown. And he would! Bergens were tough, and royal Bergens were said to be the toughest of all! So Gristle would be the best Prince! No book could defeat someone as tough as him!
He was starting with history. But there was so much! He held out the book to Branch’s cage, showing off just how thick it was—and it was all pre-Trollstice, too!
Branch squinted at the tome, then returned to his digging. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. Which was weird, because Trolls were supposed to live in trees—every book Gristle had read on them said so. But the pod in Branch’s cage—taken directly from the Troll Tree, no less—remained just as empty as it always had. There was even dust building up along the top!
“I mean, how in the world am I ever going to remember all this?” Gristle slammed the book down on his desk, prying it open. He was glad for Branch—the Troll was a good listener, in the five year old’s eyes.
The Troll in question poked his head back up, ears twitching. “Are you going to read it, or are you just gonna complain?” He asked, before going back to the hole.
“Right.” Gristle turned his attention back to the book. Slowly, he began, sounding out the words as best he could.
“The first re-cor-did history of Bergenkind dates back to… three… fow-sand years ago.” He began. “When Fow-ler the First wrote the… the first ever Law.” He continued reading, stumbling over words while Branch continued digging. Gristle let the history wash over him, entranced in the task set before him. Hours passed, and Gristle found himself being called down to dinner before he even registered that so much time had passed.
Three days later, Gristle found himself staring at a worksheet in frustration. He was supposed to fill it out without looking at his books, and he was struggling.
“UGH!” Gristle threw his head back, clutching at his hair as he seethed. “How can I remember the name of the first Bergen to write a law but not when?!” He smacked his head against the desk, groaning in frustration. The urge to go to his shelf and pull out the relevant book itched down his spine—but he had to hold strong! A good Prince knew how to look things up, but a great Prince could recall whatever detail was needed when it was needed.
Oh, how was Gristle ever supposed to be a great Prince?
“The first recorded history of Bergenkind dates back to three thousand years ago.” Branch said, casually breaking the frustrated silence. “That’s what your book said.”
Gristle looked at Branch’s cage, where the Troll was busy jotting stuff down on a scrap of paper. Gristle then looked over to the book on his shelf. Slowly, he pushed out his chair and went over to the shelf, opening the book to the first page.
“That’s…” He turned back to Branch. “You’ve got a good memory.” He said, returning the book to the shelf.
Branch muttered something that Gristle didn’t quite catch. Gristle shrugged, and went back to his worksheet. He’d have to read aloud to Branch more often, if Branch could remember stuff so well.
With a hum, Gristle continued on with the worksheet. It probably wasn’t in the spirit of the challenge to have a friend who could remember a lot of words, but Gristle wasn’t concerned at all with that notion.
He continued to talk to Branch as he worked, something light in his chest with the knowledge that Branch really was listening.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was six years old, and he and Branch were having a real good row. The kind of row that, had they been proper siblings, would have only been able to be settled by some proper Bergen roughhousing, with weapons and property destruction. A real riot-causing dispute.
It was hardly their first disagreement—Gristle had the faint bite scars all over his fingers to prove it. But it was certainly frustrating, born from weeks of buildup over a simple fact.
“It’s not healthy! Trolls are supposed to sing!” Gristle gestured to the book in his hand, which was way more useful than all the cookbooks he’d found. It actually went a bit into Troll health and growth, detailing all the ways and times that Trolls could become inedible. As Branch was, and had always been gray—or at least, as long as Gristle had known him—the book in question proved very useful.
“Well I don’t!” And that was the crux of the situation, the simple fact from which all of this had spawned. “And I never will!” Branch’s stand was resolute, unshakeable, even in the face of all of Gristle’s Princely Rage.
“But you have to!” Gristle insisted, gesturing again to the page he had the book opened to. “Trolls that don’t sing—this book isn’t very nice about them!” He was fumbling, he knew, but he didn’t know how else to say it. The book said that gray Trolls were to be removed from the Troll Tree and disposed of immediately. It didn’t say why, and Gristle was still a child—he didn’t question the words presented as fact. As far as he could tell, a Troll that had gone gray was just… it wasn’t right!
“You’re supposed to be happy.” Gristle pushed. “You’re supposed to sing, like a regular Troll.”
“Never gonna happen.” Branch insisted. “I’ll stay unhappy, just you watch!” He crossed his arms with a huff, tail twitching angrily.
“That’s not good!” Gristle responded. “You have to get your color back eventually!” The book said nothing about whether Trolls could regain their color after losing it. But it wasn’t right, for a creature so intertwined with music to never make a single note. And if the book said to get rid of gray Trolls…
Gristle cared about Branch, more than he could feasibly admit. The castle staff were fine, and his father was his father, but Branch—Branch was a friend. Someone Gristle could talk to who would actually listen, no matter what it was.
The book said it wasn’t healthy for a Troll to go gray. Gristle was going to be King someday, in the far distant future, and he’d be responsible for all of Bergentown. Even sooner, he would be a fully fledged Prince, responsible for helping his father with Bergentown. If Gristle couldn’t even take care of one tiny troll, then what were his chances of ever being good at what he was literally meant to do?
“And then what?” Branch gripped the bars of his cage, rage in every inch of his body. “You’ll eat me?”
“Of course not!” Gristle could never! Branch was… Branch was his friend! Inedible by Royal Decree! Gristle would sooner eat Barnabus!
“You’re lying!” Branch yelled back. “The moment I become edible you or some other Bergen will be serving me up on a silver platter!” His tail lashed about wildly, tears bubbling up at the corners of his eyes. “Because that’s all Trolls are to you!”
Gristle flinched back. He… he refused to admit it, but Branch had a point. Trolls were the only way that Bergens could ever be happy, and they had spent generations with a holiday dedicated to that very thing. But…
“You’re different.” Gristle insisted. Branch was his friend. “You’re not… you never sing and you’re always unhappy.” He huffed. “It’s like you’re barely a Troll at all!”
This time it was Branch’s turn to flinch, tail falling flat against the ground. “Maybe you’re right.” He said quietly, turning away from the bars.
“Branch, I—” Gristle reached out, only for his hand to fall back down when Branch glared at him.
“Fine, then.” Gristle grumbled. “We’ll just be unhappy together.” Between the two of them, Branch was the only one who had even a chance to ever be happy—Gristle would never get to eat a Troll with all of them gone, but Branch… Branch was a Troll. If anyone would ever get to be happy, it would be the creature who was quite literally made of the stuff.
“Fine!” Branch sat down hard on the substrate, arms crossed and turned away from Gristle. “Unhappy together!”
It felt like a promise, like a finality.
It felt like Gristle was failing hard at this whole “taking care of others” thing.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was seven years old with a form in his hand. He stood before Branch’s cage, expanded over the years to include deeper substrate and a small climbing tree. The… well, it felt weird to call him a Troll, when he was nothing like Gristle’s books, but what else could he be called?
A Bergen. At least, that was what he’d be if Gristle’s idea went through.
“I’ve been learning about law.” Gristle began, with no real preamble. Branch looked up from his orange slice, ears twitching, but made no comment. “And I found out something interesting.” He took a deep breath, and glanced at the memo in his hand. “Adoption Laws, Section Two. In the case of a non-Bergen being adopted by a Bergen or other being of Bergen citizenry…” Gristle hurriedly looked at the memo again, “They are considered, in all aspects of the law, a Bergen, with all of the rights and restrictions that such a designation entails.” He let the memo flutter down to the floor and looked down at Branch, who was staring up at him with wide eyes.
Branch clenched and unclenched his paws against the half-eaten orange slice in his lap, tail flicking behind him. “...what.”
“Listen.” Gristle leaned in close, holding up the form in his other hand. “If I adopt you, then you wouldn’t be in any more danger of being eaten!”
Branch squinted. “Aren’t you a little young to be a parent?” He asked, orange slice seemingly forgotten in his lap. “And I’m older than you.” He pointed out, somewhat bitterly.
“Ew! No! Not as a son!” Gristle waved his arms wildly, then pressed the form against the bars again. “As a brother.” He clarified. “Because… you’re more of a friend than a pet,” Gristle explained, “And it’s not fair to keep treating you like one. A pet.” He carefully gaged Branch’s expressions, watching as his face flickered through a series of emotions. “All you’d need to do is sign on this line…”
“It can’t be that easy.” Branch groused, tail flicking faster. “Bergens don’t do ‘easy’.”
“Well,” Gristle rubbed at the back of his neck, “We would have to get approval from Dad for it to go through.” He rallied, clenching his free hand in a fist. “But that’s easy! I mean, he let me keep you!”
“As a pet.” Branch stressed. He set the orange slice aside, brushing off his paws as he stood. “That’s totally different.”
“And that’s why I want to do this!” Gristle unlatched the cage door, not bothering to reach in—he had long since learned that Branch hated being picked up unexpectedly. Better to let Branch come out of the cage on his own terms. “Because what kind of Prince treats his friend like a pet?”
Branch’s expression fell, his shoulders hunching. His paws clenched and unclenched in the rhythmic way they often did, his tail flicking. Carefully, slowly, Branch clambered out of the cage, climbing down the flipped out door to settle on the smooth wood of the shelf. Gristle held out his hand, palm up, and Branch hopped onto it, letting himself be lifted over to the desk.
Gristle laid out the form. He’d double-checked every word to make sure it was exactly what he needed, and all that was left was to sign it and have it approved. Gristle had already signed it, his name penned in only slightly messy ink. Penmanship win!
Branch pulled a tiny quill from his hair, hopping up to gently dab it in the inkwell on the desk. As Gristle watched, Branch kneeled down in front of his line, and carefully signed his name.
“Think that’ll be enough?” Gristle asked.
Branch hummed. “Maybe…” He tucked the quill away and went back to the inkwell, hopping up and leaning so far in that for a moment Gristle feared he’d fall in. Branch kicked the side and lifted himself back and out, clambering over to the form and slapping right next to his name with his paws.
Two inky paw prints, right next to his name. “That should do it.” Branch decided, satisfied.
Gristle nodded, offering his hand again. As Branch hopped onto his palm and clambered up Gristle’s arm to his shoulder, Gristle grabbed the form carefully, blowing a bit to make the ink dry faster.
“Let’s get this done!” Gristle declared, running off to go find his father. It wasn’t the first time Branch had left Gristle’s room, nor the first time that Branch had ridden on Gristle’s shoulder. But it was the first time since the belled harness had been made that Branch had left the room without the jingle of bells signaling his every movement. Gristle realized it was weird, actually, to feel the weight on his shoulder and not hear the sound of bells he’d come to associate with that weight. But the harness was from when Branch was still a pet in everyone’s eyes—it wouldn’t do to make Branch wear it now.
And really, Branch was like a Bergen, in a lot of ways. He never sang or danced, he was disagreeable—even the gray of his short fur was similar to the average Bergen’s dull tones. Whenever he had something to work on, be it the den he’d dug or even old worksheets Gristle tried to downsize for him, he took to working on it just like a Bergen: with a grumble and the focused spirit that allowed Bergens to create sturdy walls and buildings. And he had interesting insights, too—Bergens disliked great heights, so even the castle couldn’t get very tall, but it was Branch who gave Gristle the idea to suggest subterranean expansion when the King presented the age-old issue of expansion logistics. Which was just funny, because Trolls lived in trees—yet Branch never once touched the dusty pod hanging in his cage.
Branch settled down on Gristle Junior’s shoulder, tucked just below Gristle’s ear. Gristle found a sudden bounce in his step, a mix of anticipation and excitement in his veins. Yeah, this whole adoption thing was a great idea! Maybe even the best Gristle had ever had!
Finding the King was easy—it was just before lunch, so King Gristle Senior would be just finishing up with the final petitioners in the biweekly levee. Normally, Gristle Junior would be sitting in his own princely throne beside his father, to listen and watch and get a general idea of how a levee worked—but he had… kinda skipped it, what with how eager he was to try out the adoption idea. Not that that was a major issue—Gristle Junior wasn’t meant to fully step into his duties as Prince until he was ten.
Still…
“Ah, there you are.” King Gristle Senior groused, shifting slightly in his throne. “Care to explain why you missed today’s levee?”
Gristle Junior stopped short, nodding his head in a bow. “My apologies, Father.” He kept his tone careful, regal, like he’d been taught. “I found something that needed attending to.” He explained, head still down.
Gristle Senior snorted. “Well, out with it, then.” He waved his hand encouragingly as his son looked up. “What grand idea did you come up with this time?”
Gristle Junior’s mouth pulled back in an odd way, and he fought the strange expression off of his face. With a simple flourish, he drew out the form, holding it out towards his father. “This.”
Gristle Senior took the form, glancing it over. His expression remained neutr—his eyes widened, as the contents of the form properly registered. The King’s expression scrunched, turning thunderous, before going down to mere annoyance. He turned that annoyance upon his son, and all but sputtered out, “What in the name of Berg is the meaning of this?!”
“It’s an adoption form.” Gristle Junior explained, pressing his hands together. He felt Branch shift slightly on his shoulder, and he held out a palm. Branch took the offer, sliding down Gristle’s arm to stand upon his hand, small and gray and steady.
“I can… see that.” Gristle Senior hissed through ground teeth. “But…” His expression became just as lost as the night that Gristle Junior had first met Branch. With a deep sigh, Gristle Senior looked down at his son and the Troll.
“Letting you keep a Troll as a pet is one thing,” The King began, “But adoption? Of a Troll? Are you insane?”
Gristle Junior felt oddly gobsmacked. “It makes sense.” He tried, unable to keep childish uncertainty from his voice. “Branch is the most unTroll Troll ever, he’s just like a Bergen and I think it’d be best if he was called as such, because then nobody would even think to eat him!”
Gristle Senior sighed, heavy and tired. “That’s not a good enough reason.” He started. “Son, do you have any idea what would happen if that… thing were to become your brother?”
“It’d be a serious crime to eat him.” Gristle Junior responded easily.
Gristle Senior brought up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, grumbling too low for Gristle Junior to make out the words. “...of all the—” With a rumbling groan, Gristle Senior regarded his son with a firm—but not wholly uncaring—expression. “You’re a Prince, my son. You can’t just go adopting every creature you see fit.”
“It’s just Branch.” Gristle Junior pushed back, “He’s already close enough to a Bergen, what’s adding the legal distinction going to do?” He shook his head. “This will all work out, Dad, I know it. I just need you to trust me.”
“Son, be realistic.” The King groused. “If that thing becomes your brother, then that makes it a Prince. There’s no way a Troll could be a Bergen Prince! Trolls are all about loud parties and sugar and silly games—they’re simply unsuited to laws and regulations and the hard work required to run a kingdom!”
Gristle Junior’s mouth opened—to say what, he wasn’t sure, but air was being forced up from his lungs and defiance was roaring in his heart, ready to burst out what would surely be a useful and clever retort—
“I can do it.”
As one, Gristle Junior and Senior turned to look at Branch. Branch took the combined attention with hunched shoulders, his tail clasped in his paws. “You want me to learn how to help run a kingdom? Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll learn.” He dropped his tail and crossed his arms, expression firm.
“I don’t want you doing anything of the sort.” Gristle Senior growled, but Gristle Junior was already rallying.
“He can! Branch is smart, Dad, he’s where I got the idea for underground expansions from! He remembers all the stuff I read, and he listens, and he’d make a good Prince!” All of his reasons were true and proven—which meant a lot, for seven year old Gristle Junior.
“Preposterous!” Gristle Senior began—
“If you think it’s so preposterous,” Branch’s voice cut through the room like alligator-dog teeth through mice. “Then why not bet on it?”
Those three words echoed in the sudden silence of the room, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling and tangling up in the eaves. If there was one thing Gristle Junior knew his father could not resist, it was a wager.
Indeed, Gristle Senior’s face had turned contemplative, his hands steepled before him. “A bet, you say?” Something like satisfaction slithered its way onto his face. “Hmm, I think I see what you mean. A trial period, of sorts, is that it? To find out if you could even come close to being a Prince?”
Branch nodded.
“Yeah!” Gristle Junior agreed. “If Branch can prove himself then you have to let the adoption go through!”
Gristle Senior snorted. “Sure, fine.” He waved his hand dismissively, before turning his attention to Branch. “But when that little creature fails to keep up the pace, I’m burning that form and you’re going to put any wild ideas of adopting Trolls out of your head for good.” He glared down at the pair, lips curled in a derisive snarl.
“You have three weeks.” Gristle Senior declared. “Better get started.”
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was seven years old when he became a brother.
The wager had been… not as hard as Gristle expected. Branch had thrown himself into the challenge with a fervor that was only seen with master artisans undergoing hefty commissions. It had taken a lot of work, in those three weeks, but at the end of it all—
The cage had to be redone, renovated into a proper bedroom. The castle staff found itself expanded by two—Bernice and Groth, who had been hired to aid in the fiddly and sometimes frustrating art of turning tiny, Troll-sized writings into something that could be read by the average Bergen. Branch needed new clothes, and a proper bed, and a shelf for all of the Troll-sized copies he’d made and was making of the various books on Law and history and regulations, and had to attend meals and levees and lessons with Gristle, and—
It was so much. Gristle had known, when he had drafted that first attempt at an adoption form in the castle library, that things would change—but he had never quite imagined the sheer scope of it all. Suddenly, his brother was accompanying him everywhere, riding on Gristle’s shoulder or flinging himself through the halls with his hair. Gristle had heard some of the staff discussing pathways for Branch, where he’d be safe from being stepped on—
There was so much.
But…
Gristle had never had a brother. He had had a friend, in Branch, but it had taken so long for them to really get there. And now, despite how it had felt like the world was ending on that fateful failed Trollstice, all those years ago—
Gristle couldn’t imagine that day going any other way. He didn’t want to imagine a world in which he never met Branch, who was surely a Bergen in Troll skin. Branch was his friend—no, his brother.
“Hey, Branch?” Gristle rolled over and looked at the shelf that Branch’s things currently resided on, at the cage hurriedly covered with a sheet in an approximation of a proper room with real privacy. Late at night, in his unlit room, it barely looked like a cage at all. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”
Branch’s voice filtered down from the shelf. “Not really.” He admitted. “Why should I?” There was something oddly bitter in his voice. “It’s the day I was left behind. Again.”
Gristle Junior wasn’t sure how to unpack that. Or if he ever should. “I won’t leave you behind.” He promised, “‘Cause brothers stick together.” It felt like such a simple truth, to the seven year old Bergen.
There was silence from the shelf. It stretched on, almost uncomfortably so, feeding into the static of the darkness filling the room.
Gristle huffed. “You really are just like a Bergen.” He commented, “Always miserable.” He chuffed, something light in his chest that he didn’t fully register. “And that’s why you know we’ll always stick together.” He said, staring up at the darkness clinging to the ceiling.
“Unhappy together, then.” There was something soft in Branch’s voice—he must have been tired after such a long day.
Gristle sighed. Unhappy together. It sounded like a promise, like a finality.
It sounded like he was finally getting the hang of this whole “taking care of people” thing.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was ten years old when he was properly crowned Prince.
The day had been rife with tradition, from a breakfast banquet stocked with imported delicacies to the event itself out in the plaza. The old Troll Tree, withered from its abandonment, stood tall in the center of the space, dominating the whole scene no matter how Gristle Junior tried to look at it.
He fiddled with the clasp on his cape—his Princely cape, paired with his new crown to signify the change in status. The festivities weren’t exactly celebratory—the whole ceremony amounted to more of a town meeting, but with the best catering the royal kitchens could provide. Bergens of all kinds wandered about the plaza, taking advantage of the free food while Gristle Junior—Prince Gristle Junior watched on from his father’s side.
Branch—no, it was Prince Branch, now—stood to Gristle’s side, on a small platform made entirely for the occasion. His own blue cape and silver crown had to be custom-made, instead of passed down, but neither of the brothers were bothered by that fact.
“I still don’t understand how Glixry managed such tiny details.” Gristle commented, focusing in on the silver metal of Branch’s crown. “It even has tiny metal leaves!”
Branch reached up, touching the edges delicately. “It feels so weird.” He decided. “But… not bad.”
“Of course not! You’re a Prince now!” Gristle assured him. “Stand tall and proud, like a proper Bergen.” Gristle commanded, repeating the words he had heard so many times.
“Yeah…” Branch let his paws fall back to his sides, almost hidden under the edges of his cape—but Gristle didn’t miss the way they clenched and unclenched repeatedly.
Branch was older than Gristle, true. But the fact remained that he had started learning later, so it had been decided to crown them both when Gristle came of age, and not a moment sooner. So here they were, brothers crowned together, all of Bergentown around them.
There would be so many more responsibilities, now—Princes helped the reigning monarch run the kingdom, after all. They’d still have to learn as they went, but—
Gristle breathed in deeply. The Bergens—his people—they were all miserable. But they were hardworking and honest, and Gristle would do his best to be the Prince they deserved.
Gristle turned to look back at his brother, who was fiddling with his own cape clasp. Glixry had repurposed one of the bells from Branch’s old harness for the clasp, and even now it still faintly rung as Branch slowly paced around his little platform.
There was an odd expression on Branch’s face, satisfaction and an oddly melancholy contemplation firming his brow. Gristle huffed, snapping his little-big brother from whatever thoughts he was lost in. Gristle offered his hand, and Branch rolled his eyes before hopping onto Gristle’s palm.
As Gristle lifted his brother high above his head, something proud surged in his chest, light and electric in his veins. His face twitched in that odd way it sometimes did, but Gristle ignored the feeling in favor of looking out over his people once more.
He was going to be the best Prince Bergentown had ever seen! He and his brother both!
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was eleven years old when Branch finally pupated.
His book on Troll growth said that Trolls pupated when they were twelve or thirteen. It also went on about how Trolls were utterly inedible in this state, wrapped in their cocoons as their bodies changed and matured.
That Branch’s pupation had come late according to the books was worrying. That it had come at all was a stark reminder of the fact that, for all of his Bergen-like traits, Branch was in some small way still a Troll.
Gristle peered at the dark gray hair cocoon for the umpteenth time. None of his books said anything about whether Trolls could still hear in there, or even what really happened to them outside of “maturation”—all the book really cared to go over was how to identify a pupation cocoon, and that they couldn’t be eaten.
“Even if you can’t hear me,” Gristle began, settling back down with an interesting book he’d found—some kind of romance novel where none of the characters actually got together in the end. He’d heard the librarian going on about how it was a contemplative piece about the nature of connections, so he’d picked it up to go through. “But if you can’t then I’ll just read this book to you all over again when you’re out.”
The cocoon gave no discernible response. Gristle decided that that was fine, and began to read. He made it through a chapter and a half before being summoned for dinner with his father, and he gave the cocoon one final glance as he left the room.
“I see your… brother isn’t joining us again tonight.” Gristle Senior commented, as the first course was brought out.
“I told you, Dad, he’s pupating.” Gristle Junior huffed, licking sticky roe off of his fingers.
“Yes,” Gristle Senior nodded. “Trolls do do that, I’ve heard.” He went silent as the second course arrived, digging in with royal fervor. A few moments later, and he spoke again. “Hopefully this whole thing doesn’t set him too far back.” He commented airily, dabbing at his face with a napkin.
Gristle Junior scowled over his plate as a servant exchanged it for the bowl of soup acting as the third course. “Branch always keeps up.” He asserted. “And we won that bet fair and square, so you can’t go back on your end no matter what.” He sipped from his spoon with a pointedly royal slurp.
“And I have no intentions of backing out.” Gristle Senior slurped just a little harder. “I’m just curious.” And with that, the conversation was over.
Gristle stared down at his soup. Branch would keep up. He would. He always did.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle was eleven years old, and he was getting concerned.
Nineteen days. The books said that Trolls only pupated for a week, tops. But it had been nineteen days since Branch had disappeared into the spun cocoon, eyes glassy and unfocused. Nineteen days of a silent cocoon.
Gristle had long since finished that first romance novel, and the book on fence safety regulations, and was almost halfway into a book on the history of anchovy farming. And the cocoon still remained!
The worry was starting to affect his Princely duties, too. Maybe it was because he was used to working alongside Branch, and the absence was getting to him, but there was no denying it: Gristle was concerned. But what if trying to crack the cocoon open early ruined everything? What if he was supposed to crack it open, and he’d missed the deadline? What if being gray really was bad, and Branch…
Gristle didn’t want to think about it. He really, really didn’t.
The sun had long gone down when Gristle finally put his books away and retired to his bed. He glanced at the cocoon one last time before extinguishing the lights, worry like a rock in his gut.
The night passed. The sun rose again, creeping into Gristle’s bedroom through the window until it smacked against his eyes. With a groan, the eleven year old sat up, shading his eyes with a hand. He glared at the offending celestial body. “Every day.” He muttered. “Every day, you do this.” He was about to continue—
“Are you yelling at the sun again? Really?”
Gristle yelped, jolting hard enough to fall off of his bed entirely. He flailed wildly, scrambling to clamber back to his feet, frenetic energy in every inch of his suddenly-impossibly-awkward limbs.
“Branch!” Gristle leaned up against the shelf, examining the shredded remains of the cocoon through the door of his brother’s room. His little-big brother stood beside it, already having pulled on some pants. “You’re okay! You were in there for really long!”
Branch shrugged, walking over to his wardrobe. “Well, I’m here, so you can quit your whining.” There was a fondness in his voice that had Gristle rolling his eyes.
“Your tail’s still gone.” Gristle noticed. A lump settled in his gut, hard and heavy. “Branch…”
Branch turned around, twisting to look and confirm Gristle’s words. “Eh.” He shrugged, and turned his attention back to his wardrobe. “‘S not like it matters.” He decided, picking out a shirt to wear under his cape. “Bergens aren’t supposed to have tails anyway.”
Gristle winced. It was true, Bergens were tailless—but if they had tails, they certainly wouldn’t—
Gristle shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. “Sooo,” He started, as Branch was securing the belled clasp of his cape. “How do you feel?”
Branch carefully placed his crown back upon his head, then walked in a small circle. “I don’t know, stronger?” He tried, holding his paws out in front of himself and examining them. “I think my balance is better, actually.” He noted. As if to illustrate the point, he did a twirl, his cape flaring slightly with the motion. “My face feels kinda… hm.” Branch pressed at his jaw with his paws, before shrugging it off. “Whatever. Are you gonna get ready, or am I doing all your work for you today?”
“Oh!” Gristle whipped back around, running for his own wardrobe. “Right!” As he shrugged on his own cape, clicking the clasp into place, he turned back to glance at the shelf holding his brother’s room.
Gristle sighed, all of his worries abated. Why would he ever worry? His family was just fine, and would be for a long, long time.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was thirteen years old when he finally had to admit it.
He’d always hoped he’d get his father’s height, that he’d be able to stand as tall as the average Bergen in his adult years. But it had become clear that he would always be half average height, always doomed to needing steps to get onto the taller chairs.
It wasn’t the end of the world; Bergens could come in a range of shapes and sizes. That Gristle was so short wasn’t that big of an issue.
But Berg, did it feel like it! Gristle had spent his whole life looking up to his father—metaphorically and literally! And he was probably going to be stuck looking up forever!
“What are you moping about now?” And there was Gristle’s little-big brother, padding along one of the many paths set into the castle walls. The masons and carpenters had done good work with those paths—when Branch wasn’t running along them, they looked like simple wall decoration. It was real classy.
“I’m never gonna be tall.” Gristle grumbled, allowing himself a moment to lean against the wall in despair. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and hurriedly pulled away, flailing his hands as he tried to recover. “I mean—not that being short is a bad thing—”
“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Branch groused, holding out a paw. “Because from where I’m standing, you are not short.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.
“I am, though.” Gristle lamented. “Most Bergens are twice my size. I mean, just look at Dad!”
Branch rolled his eyes. “At least you’re not Troll-sized.” He hopped down from the path along the wall to land atop Gristle’s head, just next to the crown. “Gotta count your blessings there.”
“I dunno,” Gristle started, swiping at his brother as the tiny Bergen pattered about on his head and ruffled his hair, “Maybe being Troll-sized would be nice. I could ride Barnabus around the halls with you.” He didn’t fully mean it—being the size of a Troll in a castle made for Bergens constantly forced Branch to find workarounds to even the simplest of things. But if anyone could manage it, it’d be Branch.
And Gristle had to admit: the idea of being able to ride on an alligator-dog, even one as old as Barnabus, was really cool. But Gristle was too big for that, and too big for his old trikes—all while being too small in so many other ways. It was like he was caught between, stuck at a size that would annoy him forever.
Branch dodged away from Gristle’s hand easily, chuffing when Gristle accidentally sent his own crown flying down the hall. Gristle growled, running after it, shaking his head in an attempt to throw Branch off. But his brother held on easily, always infuriatingly good at roughhousing despite his size.
It just wasn’t fair.
But, as Gristle replaced his crown on his head, and as Branch slid down to settle on Gristle’s shoulder, Gristle brushed away the annoyance.
It wasn’t the end of the world. Not by a long shot.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the unthinkable happened.
His father, King Gristle Senior, who had always been an unshakeable force, strong and proud in a kingdom full of strong and proud Bergens—
Gristle Junior couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. It just—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this!
But there was nothing that could be done. His father had fallen ill three months ago, and, despite every effort from every doctor in Bergentown, despite all of the King’s strength—
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father passed from illness, gone overnight like a snuffed candle flame. Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the title of King passed onto him, far too soon—he should have remained a Prince until he was a proper adult, until he was married with children who would become the Princes and Princesses that would help him run the kingdom—
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his world shattered for the second time. The funeral was held out in the plaza, barely a week after his father’s passing. The same plaza as Gristle’s first and final Trollstice, as his and Branch’s official crowning as Princes. It felt as though every major life-changing event in Gristle’s life happened here, the caged tree looming over it all like a shadow.
It still… it just couldn’t be possible. His father couldn’t just be… gone.
Gristle returned to the castle in a daze. Some distant part of him knew that he would have no choice but to take up his father’s crown, and soon, but—
The rest of him was sinking slowly, the grief thick in his throat and veins and head. The fog was all-consuming, pulling Gristle into depths of unhappiness he’d never thought possible.
Gristle had believed his first and last Trollstice, the day where he lost any chance to ever be happy, would be the worst day of his life. Oh, how wrong he was.
Gristle didn’t know how long he laid like that, staring up at the ceiling of his room without seeing anything at all. It was as though the world around him had well and truly shattered, and now the pieces had all fallen away out of his reach. Gristle floated on the nothing for what felt like an eternity and now time at all, the mire in his head growing thicker with every passing second.
“Hey.”
Gristle rolled over on his bed, pressing his face into the comforter to block out the rest of the world.
“Hey.”
What was the point? Gristle was never supposed to be King at fifteen. He’d probably mess it up, bungle the whole thing, and then all of Bergentown would be just as dead as his father.
“Hey!”
Gristle groaned, shoving his face into the comforter. He didn’t have the time or patience for this, his whole world was falling apart, why couldn’t he have a good cry about it in peace—
Something small landed inches away from Gristle’s head. He didn’t even need to look to know who it was—only his little-big brother could land so lightly.
“Hey, idiot.” Branch pushed at Gristle’s chin, lifting the Bergen’s head off the bed by a few inches. “Chin up.” He demanded, baring his teeth.
Gristle forced his head back down onto the comforter. “Leave me alone.” He growled.
“Mm, nope.” Branch declared, moving around to pull at Gristle’s ear. “You’ve been in here long enough,” he sniffed, “And you need a shower. C’mon.” He pulled, and Gristle had to put effort into staying in place.
“No.” Gristle grumbled. “Just let me rot.” Every inch of his body ached with the grief clinging to his bones, and the very thought of getting up and doing anything made him want to vomit. The whole world made him want to vomit.
“Can’t let you,” Branch said, his voice edging into genuine worry. “C’mon, at least eat something?” He tugged at Gristle’s ear again, darting away as Gristle irritably swiped at him.
“I said,” Gristle pushed himself up ever so slightly, just so he could look Branch in the eye, “leave me alone!”
Branch shook his head, paws clenching and unclenching. “You’ve been alone.” He said. “I can’t leave you. Brothers stick together.” There was something heavy in his words, some deeper meaning than a childhood promise.
“And how are you supposed to help?” Gristle asked, sitting up fully. “What could you possibly do to make this better?”
“Not let you smell like a rotting carcass, for one.” Branch snarked. His expression immediately softened. “You need to take better care of yourself.” He urged. “Letting yourself rot only makes it hurt worse. Please.”
“And what would you know?” Gristle accused. “You and Dad barely even liked each other!”
“You think I don’t know what grief feels like?” Branch spread his arms wide, tears beginning to bubble up in his eyes. “My Grandmother was eaten on Trollstice before you were even born! DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO GRIEVE!”
Gristle flinched back. All of his vitriol drained as Branch panted. “You…” Branch never talked about that, about those four years he’d spent in the Troll Tree. Gristle’s throat tightened as a wave of emotion hit him anew, his eyes beginning to sting.
“It hurts.” He sobbed, for lack of anything better to say.
Branch’s anger melted away. “I know.” He said, sitting down. “It hurts, and you want so badly to just curl into a ball and wish the world away—”
“But you have to pick yourself back up.” Gristle finished. “Because people are counting on you.”
“Because nobody else will.” Branch added softly.
Gristle sobbed, breathy and uneven. “I miss him so much, Branch.”
Branch nodded. “I know.”
“I’m not ready to be King!” Gristle’s face was wet, now, hot and sticky with snot and tears.
Branch nodded again. “I know.”
Gristle sobbed again, his whole body shaking with the motion. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
“It’s not okay,” Branch offered into the silence, scooting forwards, “And that’s okay.”
“It hurts.” Gristle whispered.
Branch nodded. No more words came, and Gristle continued to cry. All of his misery poured out, raw and real and painful, and Branch remained right in front of him the entire time. When Gristle finally ran out of tears to cry, he flopped back down onto the bed, and two paws pressed against his cheek.
The silence stretched.
Slowly, Gristle breathed. In, and out. His chest was still strung taut and raw, his face was cold and sticky, and his throat stung from the effort of crying so much. He had never felt so low. He knew the grief was far from over.
As Gristle breathed, Branch clambered up onto his chest. He kneeled down, and held out a paw.
“Unhappy together.” Branch offered. “Shit sucks, but it sucks less when we work together.”
Gristle inhaled, his breath choppy and uneven. “Unhappy together.” He agreed, offering his finger for Branch to shake. He sobbed again, and Branch wrapped his arms around as much of Gristle’s hand as he could manage.
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father died. And it sucked, and hurt, and Gristle wasn’t sure he’d ever really stop grieving.
But, at the very least, he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t much, but that simple fact helped.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was twenty years old when Chef returned.
The day started as any other, really. Wake up, get cleaned and dressed, find his brother already awake and poring over details from the latest construction updates in the new quarter. Have breakfast, Branch darting about to steal off of his plate as he stole from Branch’s, like proper brothers would do. Go through the castle halls greeting everyone, Branch walking along the various small walkways lining the walls and arching up across hallways like tiny bridges. Prepare for the biweekly levee in the throne room.
It was as the final petitioner was leaving that it happened. A Bergen that Gristle only vaguely recognized emerged from behind a potted plant, swishing her cloak ominously as she all but marched towards the throne.
And then Gristle recognized her. The chef’s hat, the lavender tint, the wicked gleam in her eyes. He glanced to the throne beside his, and anxiety germinated in his chest at the sight of Branch still as a statue, eyes wide and locked onto Chef.
“Were you behind that plant the whole time?” Gristle asked, for lack of anything else to say. He realized immediately how stupid that sounded—but Branch made no comment on it, which was so unlike him that Gristle’s uncertainty ratcheted up another notch.
Chef grinned as she reached for the zipper on her fannypack. Slowly, she opened it, and a sweet harmony emerged from within.
Gristle gasped, the rest of the world forgotten. If Branch had any reaction, Gristle didn’t notice it, too entranced with the sight before him.
For in Chef’s fannypack was a handful of Trolls, bright and colorful and singing.
This… this could change everything.
No—this would change everything. For all of Bergentown! Finally, Gristle Junior could live up to his title, could be the King that brought happiness back to his people!
If he had bothered to look back at the thrones, he would have seen Chef glaring daggers into his back.
More importantly, he would have seen the look of utter uncertainty on Branch’s face.
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linjingshu · 10 months
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It’s easy to figure out what Wu Tong is thinking, but you... what goes on through your head everyday?
LOVE AND REDEMPTION 琉璃 (2020)
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longclawshilt · 5 months
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So I did a thing....
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idk I think I’ve cracked the code 🤔💭
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raineandsky · 6 months
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#66
tw: divorce
“Ugh, did you have to come?” the villain demands with a scowl.
The hero’s expression is a perfect mirror of theirs. “You think I wanted to?”
“I don’t know, maybe!” The villain turns away from them, unable to bear having to look at them any longer. “Maybe you’re here to rub it in my face!”
“Rub what in your face?” the hero spits.
“You still have the house, for one.”
The hero scoffs dramatically. “Maybe you should’ve considered your job title before you tried to take everything in court. You have Toby, anyway.”
“Toby is a dog. You have a house.” The villain’s scowl deepens, but the hero can’t see it from here anyway. “I didn’t think having a cool job would make a divorce lawyer choose you.”
“Do you wanna… swap?” the hero asks with surprising shyness. “You take the house, I have Toby. Courts did say we could settle things outside.”
The villain turns back to them, borderline shocked. “You want to give me the house?”
The hero shrugs. “My parents have a spare bedroom. Think they have a dog bed, too.”
“That’s—” The villain’s voice catches in their throat for a moment. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve done for me in years.”
A frown brushes across the hero’s face. “We got this settled less than two months ago.”
“Exactly.” The villain forces a slightly shaky grin, shuffling into a fighting stance. “And I’m about to be really, really mean.”
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PLEASE can I say “argument” for an avatrice prompt I need it
[for @unicyclehippo — bea gets hurt (& gets better)]
//
you forget, often, most days now, what terror truly feels like. 
it’s too fast and too slow and you remember: beatrice’s body — lithe and tough and small, all things considered — flies through the air after a bomb goes off, too close to her, too fast for you to step in front of it. everything flashes before your eyes, the life you’ve built together in your warm, airy house by the sea in the city of angels; where beatrice teaches aikido with a bo that isn’t lethal and smiles at her students; where you bartend part-time at a little mezcal spot near your home, just for fun. where you get to wake up to her every day, her tan skin dotted with freckles like constellations that you trace as the sun floats through the curtains before she’s willing to humor your early rising. where you’re reading in the late afternoon light and she sees you and smiles and puts aside your book and kisses you and fucks you on the couch. where she tenderly does your laundry and you steal her soft, big sweaters and trade who puts away the dishes from the dishwasher, still warm. where you squabble over takeout and what show to watch on netflix and whether or not you should make the bed on sundays — where you love her, and are loved by her, more than you ever could have dreamed.
but beatrice is human, part of the painful and absolute miracle of her love: she needed stitches a few months ago when she cut her hand open trying to pit an avocado; she fell surfing and got caught in a rip near the pier and you had watched in horror — having just been reading and relaxing, mostly to enjoy when she finishes and walks toward you with her wetsuit down around her hips — as a lifeguard fished her out and turned her on her side in the sand, as she coughed up water and took in frantic, ragged breaths, had a cold for days and slept. she is so human, and so fleeting, and so fragile; she’s strong and precise and hasn’t lost a step — but she’s human. sometimes you forget: beatrice can die.
it’s hard to tell all of the damage, really, as you phase over to her and then kneel, send out a halo pulse as hard as you can to buy you time. you hadn’t had to fight in a few months; battles pop up rarely now, and are usually not particularly dangerous. mary is kneeling by your side in an instant and takes over from where your shaking hands had been ineffectively flitting over bea’s still body. there’s shrapnel — metal, sharp and jagged — lodged above her left hip, through her armor; it’s clear one of her legs is at an angle it shouldn’t be, her femur bent impossibly. but worse than that, so much worse, is that she isn’t opening her eyes when you say her name, frantically and loudly: there’s blood coming out of her nose and her ears, and her face is peaceful. you wish, you pray now, more than willing to believe in anything you have to, when you bring your finger to her pulse point, her favorite place for you to kiss, and, consecrate, feel a flutter there. it’s fast, and faint, but it’s there.
‘she’s alive,’ you say. 
mary squeezes your shoulder. ‘yes, ava, she’s alive.’
lilith is beside you soon, and takes one look at your face and the shrapnel and blood — beatrice’s blood — and then nods once.
‘i’ll take care of things here,’ mary says. ‘i think you got all the demons, ava. let lilith take you.’
you don’t really give a fuck about demons at this point, and you trust lilith’s care of beatrice, if not for you, enough to know it’s by far the best option. you’re worried about fractures in beatrice’s back or ribs, but you don’t have much of a choice. ‘yeah, okay.’
you haven’t been to jillian’s in a while; you ripple through space and time with bea’s limp body in your arms. jillian has doctors who work with her now, a trauma surgeon on call whenever there are battles, because it’s safest for anyone from the ocs to go here when things are bad. everyone rushes into action next to you — calm, sure, urgent — and secure bea’s airway and breathing once she’s on a gurney, put a c-collar around her neck and cut off her armor. lilith tries to drag you away, and she could, probably, but, in the same way you cannot, under any circumstances, watch beatrice die, you also could never, ever forgive yourself, in this life or any to follow, if you left the room and she doesn’t, eventually, come home with you.
the doctors put gauze around the metal in bea’s side, not taking it out yet. jillian has all kind of fancy technology that lets them do whatever scans they need — beatrice’s leg is broken; her spleen is bleeding; there’s a laceration to her liver; luckily, her skull isn’t fractured and they don’t see any bleeding in her brain, although there is a deep bruise along where her head had hit the wall.
‘we need to get the shrapnel out,’ jillian explains to you, after lilith has bullied you into a chair on the edge of the room. ‘and then we’ll repair her liver and spleen, then her femur. dr. sanders is confident that she’ll be able to fix everything safely.’
everything she’s telling you comes through like you’re underwater, and lilith waits for a moment before she rolls her eyes, mostly for posterity, and explains, ‘she’s going to be okay, ava. we got her here in time.’
‘yeah?’
‘yes,’ jillian says, a gentle smile sent your way. ‘you can see her, for a moment, before we take her back to the operating room.’
your legs feel shaky and you hate it, the splint on her leg and the light blue of the hospital gown they’d put over her and how her eyes are still closed. ‘hey bea,’ you say, pick up the hand that doesn’t have an iv in the top of it, and kiss her knuckles. you brush your thumb along her cheekbone, where her eyes are already bruising blue, and then run your fingers gently through her hair — buzzed on the sides, short and textured on top, dark and neat and soft; she’d cut it a few months ago after waiting for a long time to work herself up to it, and come home from the salon with an unspoken weight off her shoulders, unable to hold back a smile, so beautiful and so handsome and sexy as hell, a gradual becoming that always makes you so proud, and you kissed her and like always, love her more, and more, and more. ’i’m sorry.’ your voice shakes; you will it to be steady: even if she can’t hear you, you don’t want her to be scared. ‘you’ll be okay, baby. it’ll be okay,’ you tell her now. ‘i love you. in this life, okay?’
of course, there’s no response other than her steady, shallow breath, her eyelashes long enough to rest against her cheeks, and mary, somehow fetched by lilith, probably, touches your elbow.
‘ava, let’s go wait in the garden, yeah?’
you clench your jaw but you know she’s right; you let her lead you to a bedroom first, not the same one that you had shared with beatrice, all those years ago, back before you’d kissed her and died for her and come back for her, back before you knew how it felt to touch her in the tender light of the morning. mary leads you by the shoulders into the bathroom, and gestures toward the shower. you hadn’t realized, but when you look down, there’s beatrice’s blood all over your front, all over your hands, dried and dark and flaky, and it makes you sick. you take off your clothes as quickly as possible, a little frantic and your breath coming so fast. 
‘ava,’ mary says from outside the door, and then softer: ‘ava.’
it helps you steady yourself; you look around like you’d practiced so many times in therapy and name, to yourself, how many tiles there are above the sink, how you see shampoo and conditioner in the shower, how there are three toilet paper rolls stacked neatly in a little holder by the toilet. 
‘i’m okay,’ you say, your voice less shaky than you had feared, and you wait for the water in the shower to warm up and then step in. you know mary is right outside, and you wash the blood off as quickly as possible, not bothering with washing your hair or caring about anything else, having no real desire to take a long time — nothing will be soothing to you right now, so it’s probably better for you and for the sake of the world, the halo smoldering in distress between your shoulder blades — to sit with mary, and probably mother superion, who you imagine is on her way and close already.
‘i’m leaving some clothes,’ mary calls to you. ‘i’ll be waiting outside.’
you dry off in a daze and put on the comfortable clothes mary had brought — a light, loose pair of pants, a comfortable t-shirt, a thick, cotton sweater — and tuck your hair behind your ears before you walk out and find her literally right next to the doorway in the hall. she smiles at you and then takes off in the direction of the garden, where you’re unsurprised to see mother superion, who gives you a tight hug. when she puts her hand to the back of your head, you finally start to cry. you’re angry, because you’ve built your whole entire life with another person: weekly trips to the farmer’s market and a regular sushi place and champagne to celebrate birthdays and fresh flowers, every week, in a vase on your kitchen island. you’re angry because you want to marry bea, because you want her to be your wife. you’re angry because, more than anything in any universe, you want to grow old with her. you want, so badly, to grow old with her.
you don’t need to say any of that; you hold the engagement ring — a simple, thick, expensive white gold band with a small diamond imbedded flat into it — that had been on her finger for the past five months in the palm of your hand. you don’t squeeze it too tight because you don’t trust the halo right now: you’re too emotional, and the last thing you want is to squish and warp an engagement ring and not be able to put it back on beatrice’s pretty hand when she’s out of surgery. when she’s okay, and alive, and inevitably stubborn and grumpy as she heals.
mother superion understands, as she has for a long time, and, especially once camila joins you, chatters on and on about new recruits, and the tech they’re developing, and the small garden of herbs they’ve managed, in tandem, to keep alive. someone brings all of you food, and you force down half a turkey sandwich under everyone’s watchful gaze, although it’s difficult and it makes you want to gag a few times. eventually — like heaven’s gates fucking opening, or bea kissing you for the first time when you came back from the other realm, or three days ago when you’d listened to a new record, lying on the floor together in front of your fireplace — jillian finds you and tells you that beatrice did well. the shrapnel is out, and all of her internal bleeding had been taken care of; they’d put a rod down her femur, a relatively easy repair that, in the long run, shouldn’t bother her much. 
‘i’ll set up a cot in her room,’ she says. ‘she should wake up in the next hour. she’s on a lot of pain meds, so she’ll be groggy, but things look good, ava.’
/
mother superion walks you there, after mary and camila take their leave to go settle into their own rooms for the night. 
‘beatrice is strong,’ she says.
‘i wish she didn’t have to be.’ it’s an hurt that’s filled your chest for so long, practically since you’d first met her: you love her now, and know everything important about her. bea had shoved everything precious and holy about herself down, and down, and down, so that there were no decisions to be made about pleasure, or happiness: only service, and sacrifice, and the desperate absence of want. and now she wants you, and she shows you, and she loves you.
mother superion nods. ’i trust that you will take care of her, to help her heal.’ it’s a sort of benediction: you have for years, now, given beatrice the space to feel and desire and laugh and hurt and get better — to wear pants she loves and sleep in and watch stupid tv and cut her hair. ‘once she’s stable, lilith can take you back to your home. camila and i are happy to stay, if you’d like.’
‘i would,’ you agree immediately, because it’s true. you love your family around, especially when you’re scared, especially when it’s hard to remember that this is temporary: stitches and a broken leg and small fractures that will knit themselves back together. ‘thank you.’
‘of course, ava,’ she says, and then hugs you tightly outside of the closed door to beatrice’s room. ‘we’ll be around, if you need.’
‘thank you.’
you take a deep breath and then open the door, and, although bea is covered in tubes and wires and bandages and bruises and stitches, her face is full of color again and her breathing is deep and easy. her head rests softly on a pillow and her hands — when you walk to the side of the bed and lace your fingers together — are warm, and clean, and steady. your adrenaline starts to wear off and you thank the nurse who introduces himself and then brings in a cot; there’s nothing in the entire world that would make you let go of her hand and lie down right now, but eventually it’ll come in handy. 
a blessing, though: after about an hour, bea’s eyes flutter open, and you scramble to sit up fully.
‘hi baby.’
she swallows and then squeezes your hand. ‘hey.’
you get the cup of water with a straw from the table nearby, offer it to her, and she takes a few sips before lying back. 
‘anything really bad?’ she asks, and her eyes are gold and so beautiful and a little tuft of her hair sticks up behind the gauze wrapped around her head. 
you list her injuries, because you know she’ll want to understand.
‘nothing i won’t get better from.’ she says it for you and for herself, then nods seriously. ’i’m really high.’
you pause, just for a second, and then laugh. it feels so good, like stars or the first time you’d eaten a pomegranate. ‘that’s okay.’
‘can we go home soon?’ 
‘yeah,’ you say, trying not to laugh too hard at her slurred words. ‘once you’re feeling a little better, lilith can take us home.’
she smiles. ‘that sounds good.’
‘yeah?’
‘mhm.’ she lets her eyes fall closed. ‘don’t go anywhere, please.’
‘i’ll be right here the whole time, bea.’ you lean forward and kiss her, so gently, and it makes her hum; you take put her engagement band back on her finger. ‘there’s nowhere else i’d rather be.’
/
it makes your chest ache as you walk slowly through jillian’s mansion with beatrice, two days later. she shuffles with a big brace on her leg and a walker, a physical therapist on her other side. lilith had — disconcertingly, just a little — brought a duffel of clothes for the both of you yesterday morning. it means that lilith had probably rifled through everything in your entire house, but she had packed all of your toiletries and comfortable shorts, sweaters, t-shirts, and joggers, a pair of birkenstocks bea wears often. 
earlier, you’d helped bea into a pair of boxers, running shorts, and a hoodie, carefully pulled warm socks onto her feet, and she’d grimaced and set her jaw and nodded when the physical therapist explained how they were going to get her up and walking, if she wasn’t in too much pain. 
‘what’s you pain level?’ she checks in.
bea’s brow is furrowed and her knuckles are white around the handles of the walker. ‘i can keep going.’
‘beatrice,’ you say, a little harsh, and then, softer: ‘please.’
she pauses her slow steps. ‘i — an 8.’
her physical therapist frowns. ‘ideally, we don’t want you above a 5, a 6 at most. i’d like to get a wheelchair to get you back to the room.’
she looks down at her hands.
‘bea,’ you say softly. ‘it’s — it’s okay.’ you’ll get better; we have time, we have time, we have time; i love you.
‘okay,’ she relents, and you stand for half a minute and then her physical therapist comes back with a chair and helps her sit safely. once she’s back situated in bed, you go to the bathroom and let the water warm up and wet a washcloth. you want to cry with overwhelm: you’d been treated so cruelly, for so long, when you needed to be cared for; it is a gift, such a fucking gift, to get to care for the person you love. 
‘i figured you might want to wash your face, maybe put some new deodorant on?’
she waits a second, a little unsure, but then smiles. ‘are you saying i stink?’
her small joke lets what feels like a whoosh of air back into your lungs. ‘i would never.’
she squeezes your hand. ‘thank you ava.’
‘of course.’ you show her the washcloth and her facewash that lilith had brought, and you wait for her nod before you carefully wipe her face and then get the facewash to foam before you smooth it gently into her skin before you wipe her face clean. ‘i can do all of your serums for you. a little facial? spa de ava?’ you smile and run a finger along her brow. ‘but i wont do anything you don’t want.’
‘that sounds… really nice. ava.’
you get all of her little skincare serums lined up in the order she usually does them, which you had specifically requested from lilith, and then tell her to close her eyes. it’s not perfect, because she’s in a hospital bed and there’s a big incision down her abdomen, stapled together, that her surgeon had nodded at this morning when she changed the bandage, pleased. 
you’re as gentle as you can be, and a nurse brings bea a paid med, and then she’s sighing under your fingertips as you touch her gently, massage her temples, trace a gentle line down her jaw. she falls asleep as you scratch her scalp, just like normal. 
she’s so beautiful, as the sunlight filters through the window in the early afternoon. there’s her freckles and her strong wrists and the miracle of her jaw. you realize, all of a sudden, that you haven’t slept in… at least a day and a half, at this point. she’s safe; she’s safe. bea walked today, slowly and painfully and just down the ball, but still — and she let you care for her. 
you change into comfortable clothes — one of bea’s thick cotton t-shirts, oversized and expensive and soft, that smells like her cologne; a pair of joggers that fall just at your ankles — and allow yourself to sit on the cot. it’s a blessing, another in a long string of blessings, when camila knocks at the door. 
you wave her in and she smiles. ‘i can sit with her, in case she wakes up, if you’d like to sleep,’ she whispers. 
‘that would be awesome,’ you tell her quietly, snuggle down underneath the blankets on the cot, and fall asleep, warm and safe, with camila sitting calmly by bea.
/
it’s true: there is nowhere else you’d rather be than be her side on the couch in your breezy living room, with its perfect fabric and the high ceilings with gorgeous exposed beams, the sea stormy outside. there’s nowhere you’d rather be but you also might fucking lose your goddamn mind. 
‘i know you’re bored,’ you say, an argument you’d quietly been having for the past few days since lilith brought you home, ‘but we really can’t go for a long walk just yet. you’re not even really supposed to be out of bed.’
‘i cannot stay in that bed another minute, ava.’
‘oh, come on,’ you say, wiggle your brows in an effort to get her to cheer up, even a little, ‘i’ve never heard you complain about that bed before, especially with me included.’
it works: she humors you with a little eye roll and a huff of a laugh.
you curl a little closer and kiss the top of her head, her short hair clean and soft after she’d finally gotten to take a shower this morning. you run your hand against the grain of it on the side like you’ve learned soothed her in the past few months, and, unsurprisingly, it works — she sighs. ‘i’m sorry you’re so bored. believe me, i know how boring it can be to not be able to do everything you’re used to.’
she frowns. ‘i’m sorry.’
you shake your head. ‘no, i didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. i just mean — it really sucks. there’s only so many puzzles you can do and episodes of housewives you can watch before you start to feel a little crazy.’
she smiles into your shoulder. 
‘i know you have a bunch of ramped up physical therapy starting tomorrow, but maybe, if you feel up to it, we could have dinner on the beach tonight, watch the sunset? it’s not much different from eating on the balcony, but you could move around a little. i know you’re a little crazy so maybe it’ll be fun to crutch through the sand.’
‘that sounds wonderful, darling.’ she leans up to kiss you and you do your best to not get lost in it: she may be feeling better, a few weeks after, but you’d gone with her to her post-op appointment yesterday. you’d seen the long scar, just barely healed, running down her abdomen, the jagged, shiny red line above her hip where they’d pulled the shrapnel out and stitched the skin together. there’s bruising, still, all along her back, faded greens and yellows, and she gets headaches if it’s too bright. the brace on her leg is snug and she still puts weight on it carefully, like she’s afraid to fall, even if she won’t say it aloud. 
‘you have to promise that you’ll tell me if you’re hurting, okay?’
‘i will, ava,’ she says, extremely solemn, and it makes you want to laugh. 
you set up a whole little picnic with her favorite finger foods — aged sharp cheddar, olives, rosemary and sea salt crackers, crisp grapes, a good bottle of pinot noir — and a soft blanket on the beach, and then go back inside. she’s put on sunglasses and a beanie, a warm crewneck. it’s slow going through the sand but you make it, not all that far a distance, and you watch beatrice sit down carefully before you settle down beside her. the sun drifts, slow and lazy, below the waves. you kiss her and she tastes like wine, like bread: the sun drifts and it’s a sacrament, to love her, to have her here. 
/
‘you’re kidding me.’
‘it’ll be easier to breathe if you stand tall,’ bea says, barely sweating at all, the incision in the middle of her abs faded and calm below her sports bra. 
‘i swear to god, how are you so fast? it seems like just six weeks ago you’d been cleared to run.’
‘it’s been five weeks and six days,’ she says.
‘oh, my bad. that’s so so so different, sorry.’
she blushes; you can tell, even though it’s warm and sunny out and her skin is flushed from the two miles you’d run along the path on the far edge of the beach. 
‘anyway, why don’t we just, you know, get a coffee and a donut and take our shoes off and walk home along the water?’
‘we’re supposed to run home, ava. this was just where we turn around.’
you pretend like you’re thinking about it, deeply, and you wait to see if beatrice will crack first; you’re delighted when she does. 
‘fine,’ she says, and you jump up and down in victory, which, after a beat, makes her laugh. you beam at her, in her little men’s running tank and a fresh haircut, gold eyes and freckles, pristine white running shoes and a smile, big and bright, just for you. 
‘i fucking love you, you know that?’
she laces your fingers together and strides off in the direction of the coffee shop. ‘i love you too, ava,’ she says, ‘very much.’
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azucarera-art · 2 years
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I bet baby Jon gave Ned regularly scheduled heart attacks just by doing normal baby things.
Jon: *cuddles a red & black blankie instead of a grey one*
Ned, sweating & suffering from indigestion: oh gods his father's side is showing does anyone suspect anything???
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fanpersoningfox · 7 months
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Es ist vollbracht.
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pine-the-mighty · 5 months
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Guys I had a random stroke of inspiration to make a lesbian flag
Forgot to include it but the meaning for that last stripe should include GNC lesbians/gender nonconformity as a whole!
Pretty proud of it!
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saintchaser · 11 months
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random lyall lupin headcanons because l&r fest is coming to an end soon <3
owns an old typewriter, and most of his letters are typed out. he only ever writes to remus, because he wants their letters to feel special
he's a smoker, but he never finishes his cigarettes (credits for this headcanon and the previous one to @bugboyremus)
his favorite fruit are apples. he accidentally swallowed a seed once and thought an apple tree was going to grow in him and he was going to die
he was really interested in muggle trinkets, a little bit like arthur weasley. (the two of them met in the ministry and became pretty good friends, despite the age gap between their children, the smallest (age gap) being ten years)
he's a natural ginger
despite the fact that he's very tall (i was thinking around or over one hundred ninety cms) and gangly, i feel like he has a very... intimidating look to him. the marauders were scared of him for a bit, and whrn they told remus he literally started laughing
has a really quiet, almost a chuckle kind of laugh
absolutely adores hope. worships the ground she walks on; to me, they almost feel like the barbie movie because he, too, is just there (we love him though)
really big fan of black tea, and in their family, he's the only one who likes it
doesn't like dogs. he's through and through a cat person, and they have an old, ginger cat named emilie
he's also a big fan of sheep
most of remus' sweaters are actually lyall's. his whole wardrobe consists of sweaters, turtlenecks, shirts, jackets (by jackets i mean those old, shabby ones that are more patches than jacket), coats, very worn out jeans and corduroy pants
highlighting in books is his worst enemy
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hershelwidget · 8 months
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wait hang on
HANG ON
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DO YOU SEE MY VISION
#professor inkling#count bleck#TELL ME YOU SEE IT. IM NOT CRAZY#*writes yet another octonauts crossover au-*#OK BUT LISTEN HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT#H E A R ME  O U T#in case you're wondering if it's just the monocles NO IT RUNS DEEPER THAN THAT I PROMISE#1. both have been around a long time and founded some sort of group to further their goals (octonauts & team bleck)#2. fancy clothes (yeah inkling's in just a bowtie but remember he's straight up an octopus) that stand out among their peers#3. speaking of that last point: unusual anatomy (one does NOT look a fish and the other is a head torso and floating hands. nothin else)#4. i kinda don't wanna have to pull the mafia au card on this one but if I WAS then: tragic backstories and tragic motives#though then again do we REALLY know anything about inkling- like do we R E A L L Y?? his backstory could be tragic they just aint tellin..#5. avid book readers (bleck let a book tell him how his life was supposed to go this man is clinically into books)#6. defense mechanism that involves darkness (octopus ink & a bLaCk HOLE-)#7. if you see either of them walking it Don't Look Right#8. this is more of an implied thing for them but: knows a LOT about the people they gathered for their causes#9. both from children's media that gets DARK sometimes without warning#10. sometimes they say things and the people around them are just ''what''#11. love interests (ones outright saying it and the other is again just implied but STILL ITS ANOTHER POINT SOOO)#12. ok fine. yes it was the monocles at first but then i thought about it MORE so HA#feel free to add on if i missed something
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