#like i looked up the cast and stared for a minute before going “FRANCIS!?!”

[sukibenders]

I always used to wonder how no one recognized that Clark Kent was Superman just with glasses, as the meer concept seemed laughable even by superhero standards (take this lightly). But I would soon understand because imagine my surprise when watching ADOW when I realized the main guy from Reign not only played in the show but was right in front of me the whole time!

#a discovery of witches #adowtv #adow #jack blackfriars #toby regbo #like i looked up the cast and stared for a minute before going “FRANCIS!?!” #it was embarrassing but i did not register that that was toby without the beard and change of hair

[hazbinextgeneration]

Hazbin Worlds Collide Ch29

(Mako, Tristan, Francis, and Velvet belongs to Palettepainter)

The more the moth stared and waited the more uneasy Francis felt in this situation. He opened his mouth..but shortly closed it afterwards. He wasn't sure how to actually answer this without sounding awkward. Hannibal leaned back and reached up to rub his head.

"Uh-....If y-you don't want to talk about it, I-it's ok. I understand. You don't have to tell me."

"N-No, I d-did agree to it..." Another awkward silence passed as the two sat there waiting for Francis to speak up.The small fawn casted his head down to avoid eye contact before gulping. "...I.I...M-M-My birthday came e-early? Like...really early"

Silence. There it was. Finally out in the open. He was expecting some kind of reaction but all that came was an "Oh....My sister was one too."

What?

He looked back up, blinking at the moth in front in him before asking in a confused tone. "W-What?"

"Maizy was a runt...Or at least that's what Queeny said." His antenna twitched in thought before he looked back to Francis. "She said she was small....My family has some issues."

"Oh."

Another awkward silence filled the room as the two sat there at the table. That is before Hannibal looked back to his and asked something.

"What's it like having a mom?"

He looked up at him in confusion. "Uh...W-What?"

"What's it like to have a mom?" Hannibal leaned on the table and held his head in his hand. "It must be nice having family like your sister."

Francis tilted his head a little at the strange question. "Don't you have a family? I mean you have like-" He stared up as if calculating something in his head. "...Four siblings and Ms. Vaggie and Da-....Uh-...M-Mr. Alastor?" He gulped mentioning the name.

Hannibal shrugged. " Queeny's been trying to get me to like them, but ....I don't think anyone but her actually care of me. I mean, she too care of me since she was six-"

"Six?! But she-....

"How old did you think she was?"

"I...N-never mind." Francis drummed his fingers against the table. "M-my..family is fine. I love my mom a lot. S-She's really caring." Internally he was begging Hannibal wouldn't ask about the other parent.

"Oh. That sounds....really nice.....Hey. Do you think Maizy would want the food now?"

Thank you whoever deity was listening! He sighed in relief- Wait. Maizy? He suddenly became a bit more nervous as he figited a bit.

"Uh..Actually, I think I'm tired. I wanna g-go to bed..."

"Oh..ok. I guess I can get Velvet for you. If you want?"

"I-Isn't she busy?"

"I'm pretty sure it's calmed down." Hannibal turned his head towards the direction of the bar. "I don't hear anything anymore."

There was silence. The two boys stared out the doorway towards the direction of the bar area, and waited but no other sound came from the previously chattering tense area. The two boys gave each other a look, before Hannibal slowly stood up and excused himself from the table, and slowly making his way over to the doorway. Francis watched as the moth stuck his head out the door and peeked out towards the group of demons alike. Which, to his surprise, no one was trying to tear themselves in half. Instead, what he saw was.....Maizy shaking the scary looking wolf's hand...

Said wolf was giving a look of what Hannibal could only describe as uncertainty, as the deer shook his paw. A disgruntled looking Wild-Card stood right behind her glaring daggers at the wolf, like he'd explode any minute. Angel-Cake looked pretty happy with whatever was going on at least.

"Hannibal-"

"HAH!" The moth let out a high pitched squeak and flinched back hard from the invader of his privacy. The other moth held up his hands as if not to intimidate the little one, "T-Tristan....D-Don't do that!"

His little squeal caught the attention of most everyone else in the room and someone chuckled followed by a small smack noise. Presumably to shut them up. Tristan bent down to be somewhat eye level with Hanny a face full of concern.

"Are you alright?"

"I-...Uh-...F-F-Francis wanted V-Velvet?" All the strangers' eyes on him was a uncomfortable feeling he didn't want to address and would rather not speak of. He heard Francis mumble something like 'I didn't really say that' behind him, but his main focus was on the crowd of strangers in the corner. A girl who looked a few years younger than Queeny stood up from next to an orange-blonde cat with wings and gave a look towards their direction. He guessed this must've been the Velvet Francis addressed earlier. She certainly looked like Alastor's child.

"Is he ok?," was her first question. To which he nodded at.

Without another word, the doe excused herself from the table of friends and made her way towards the kitchen area. She casted a curious glance at the small moth before exiting behind them. His wings came around to wrap around himself. Hopefully that was all over with.

"Hey...Is somethin' burning?" The wolf from before leaned out and sniffed the air a couple times before giving a snort. "And....has too much pepper?"

"Oh..That's lunch.....I-I hope you like it. Queeny taught me it."

He gave Hannibal a look as the moth gave an attempt at a smile. "Uh....yeah. It uh...smells sauce-y??"

Hell. He didn't know what to say now. Heaven knows he wasn't good with compliments. Like at all. Luckily Angel-Cake seemed to recognize this and pipe up.

"What he means is that it'll be delicious! Don't you worry about anything."

The young moth became a little more at ease, before Tristan said something to him and herded the little one back into the kitchen away from everyone's prying eyes. The wolf blinked before looking at his spider companion.

"That little bug's related to the crazy lady?"

Angel-Cake shrugged. "Yeah. And me. And Maize and Chesh over there." She nodded towards the rest of the people watching. "Just don't insult her too much in front of him. He looks up to her a lot. Oh. And uh. Just give your plate of lunch to Cedar when he's not looking. That animal will eat anything."

Mako blinked, but didn't question it further. He was lucky things didn't escalate when Maizy entered the room, as if nothing ever happened to her. But instead the crazy old gal came strutting up to him and thanked him of all things. He will admit he was caught off guard, but the disbelief faces Prince boy and Chesire gave off were too funny to ignore. But hey. It was better not to press the matter any more now that he's gotten off without a hitch. Speaking of which. All this forgiving stuff is making him thirsty. He reached behind him to grab the bottle of liqor Husk had left out for him and brought it to his mouth. Savoring the sweet but bitter smell of ferimented grapes and.....burnt spaghetti noodles with meat, sauce, and too much pepper?? What? He snorted and turned around to where practically everyone else was stari-

"...oh, no..."

He gave a questioning look over to notice old Prince Boy was going pale by the second then over to where he was looking at. Little Hannibal was back but this time holding a metal pan with thin tails of smoke leaking from it. He stood there with an uncertain look and Tristan patted his back encouragly while looking like he wasn't trying to puke or make a face that could upset the nervous boy.

"U-Um....A-Are you hungry?.."

#Hazbin

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 99: Risk

"No!" Harry said, shaking his head fervently before he started coughing.

Draco was up out of his seat in a heartbeat, bringing Harry the glass of water from the side table and easing him back against the mattress, "Relax."

He glared at Draco as he tried to regulate his breathing, his heart thudding and tripping disconcertingly in his chest. When he finally managed to get a breath in after taking a drink, he tried to find that calm, quiet place inside of him before he said, "It isn't worth the risk."

"It's not your decision," Draco replied. Then as Harry opened his mouth to argue he added, "Stay calm please, love."

Harry took a slow deep breath, controlling his breathing so that he wouldn't start coughing again. "I won't accept it." He could do that, he could tell the healers that he wouldn't accept the spell. Just let the curse he'd been hit with kill him.

He smiled at Harry, "Salazar, I love you," he murmured, "You're such a stubborn arse," he added, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead.

"I'm serious," Harry protested.

The corner of his mouth tipped up, "Right but eventually you'll go into cardiac arrest and then all of the decisions for your health care come to me."

"I'll have it changed," he said stubbornly.

"Do you know any other solicitors?" Draco teased.

"It's not funny," he pouted.

(Read more below the cut)

"I know, darling," Draco replied. "I know this is serious."

"I can't risk losing you," Harry said, "I'd rather die-"

"And you think I wouldn't?" he interrupted.

"But-"

Draco shook his head, "No buts. This is the best way, the only way that we might both make it."

Harry glared down at his hands folded in his lap. There had to be another way. There had to be.

"They know what they're doing Harry. And we both know if the roles were reversed you would have already knocked me out to be able to cast the spell to fix my heart." He brushed Harry's hair off his forehead.

"Promise me," Harry said, "If it starts to feel like you aren't going to be able to do it, that it's not going to work, you'll let me go."

"Cross my heart," Draco replied.

He rolled his eyes, "You're lying through your teeth."

Draco just gave him a little smile, "I'm going to fetch healer Francis, alright?"

"Kiss me first," Harry demanded.

"Oh if you insist," Draco replied, leaning over the bed so he could kiss Harry softly.

Harry wrapped his fingers in Draco's shirt, pulling him closer for a long moment. He tried not to let the fear he was feeling overwhelm him but it seemed to be a bit of a losing battle.

----------

Twenty minutes later, Healer Francis was standing at the end of Harry's bed, reviewing the procedure for casting the highly complex spell with Draco.

"Isn't there anyone else who could do it?" Harry asked.

"The directions clearly say the person who loves you best in all the world," Draco replied.

"I wasn't asking you," Harry said, rubbing a hand over his chest were a dull, throbbing ache had started to spread.

"I'm afraid he's correct Mr. Potter," the healer replied gently. "Your husband makes the most sense."

Harry stared at the healer, "If it comes down to saving one of us, you save Draco, alright?"

"Harry," Draco said softly, "It's time to let it go. Have a little faith, you're supposed to be good at that aren't you?" he teased.

"I am not afraid to die," Harry replied and the little grin on Draco's face dropped away. "But I am terrified of you dying."

"The feeling is mutual, my darling."

Harry started to cough, as a warning spell that had been monitoring his began blaring an alert.

"Alright, gentlemen," the healer said. "We need to get started, the window is closing for this to work. Mr. Potter please don't forget that you need to be very still and very calm no matter what; if you start to panic or break your husband's concentration it could kill both of you."

"Lovely," he rasped.

"Shut it," Draco said, kissing Harry on the tip of his nose. "Love you," he whispered.

"Love you, too."

Draco took a step back and drew his wand and the healer held the spell book for him to read. He took a deep breath and Harry watched as he began the complicated wand motions, saying "Cor meum ad te deserant circumda tibi, quia tu me sit vivere, aut mori."

The pressure on Harry's chest began to lift as though he'd been lying under a pile of bricks. He took a shuddering, gasping breath and watched in rapt fascination as gold ribbons of light trailed out of Draco's wand and into his chest.

Draco repeated, "Cor meum ad te deserant circumda tibi, quia tu me sit vivere, aut mori." as he continued to move his wand in the pattern necessary.

His rib cage opened up, expanding as he took the first truly deep breath he'd been able to take in days.

"Cor meum ad te deserant circum-" Draco started again before he broke of, his face tight with pain.

Francis held out a hand to stop Harry for moving, reminding him of what he'd said before.

After another heartbeat that seemed to last an eternity, Draco continued, "-da tibi, quia tu me sit vivere, aut mori."

The gold of the spell illuminated the entire room, one blinding flash of light that lasted far too long for Harry's liking, the burden that had settled on his chest lifted and he knew the curse was gone.

When the light from the spell began to dissipate, Harry blinked and saw that Draco was on the floor in a crumpled heap. Without thinking, he jumped out of bed and pulled the other man into his arms, "Draco?" he asked desperately, turning his face up so he could see him.

"It's alright," the other man rasped and Harry tugged him even closer. "I'm okay," he repeated.

"You scared me half to death."

"Only half?" Draco asked, "You must feel better than you have in a week, then."

"Shut up," he huffed.

The healer cleared his throat, "We need to run a few tests."

Harry wasn't quite ready to let go of Draco but the other man pressed a kiss to his shoulder and murmured, "We'll have all of the time in the world later."

---------------

Later, once they been declared healthy and fit to leave, they laid cuddled up in bed together, the duvet wrapping them up in a cozy cocoon, Harry asked, "What were the words of the incantation?" as he trailed his fingers over Draco's petal soft skin. "What did they mean?"

Draco smiled sleepily, his eyes closed, "You were always pants at Latin."

He huffed, "It's a dead language."

"Not for wizards."

He nudged Draco's nose with his own. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Cor meum ad te deserant circumda tibi, quia tu me sit vivere, aut mori." Draco repeated, "It means 'My own heart to thee I bind, that thou should live or I should die.'"

"What?" Harry asked, pulling back to look at his husband, his life, "That's horrible! I can't believe you said that!"

He hummed sleepily, apparently not at all perturbed. "Not to be dramatic," he broke off to yawn, "but a world without you in it isn't a world that I want to live in."

"You're a mad man," Harry grumbled feeling equal parts grateful and terrified at being loved that much.

"Mmm," Draco hummed, tugging Harry back down and into his arms. "You and I both know you would have said the same if the roles were reversed."

"They almost were," he said. "Seeing you on the ground-"

"I'm fine," he soothed, brushing his nose back and forth against Harry's. "I'm fine and you are too, and we're both going to live long lives. I have every intention of growing old with you."

He tightened his hold around Draco, "Me too, love. Me too."

------------

Day 98: Reading, Nervous, Unabashedly, and Shy | Day 100: Skinny Dipping

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #true love #hurt/comfort #sick fic #happy ending #love saves the day #drarry #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #husbands #established relationship

[bluejayblueskies]

Could you do either 3 or 74 with JMart for the kiss prompt?

kiss prompt list!

3 - drunk/sloppy kiss | 74 - Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap

I did both! cw for alcohol consumption and food

.

“Jon,” Martin says, amused. “What are you doing?”

 Jon mumbles something that Martin can’t quite catch, his face buried in the crook of Martin’s neck and his hands fisted in the front of Martin’s jumper.

 “Mm, I didn’t quite catch that, love.”

 Jon groans, low in his throat, and pulls back just enough to say, “I’m cold. Whoever built this house clearly did not have Scottish winters in mind.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Shoddy workmanship, that’s what this is.”

 Martin hums and wraps his arms around Jon, pulling him tightly to his chest. “Maybe Daisy just never got around to insulating the place.”

 Jon makes an unintelligible grumbling noise and buries his nose in Martin’s hair. Martin can picture the look on Jon’s face—that little furrow he gets between his eyes when he’s irritated, the way his nose wrinkles as he says words like shoddy—and he can’t help the fond smile that comes to his lips. He shifts and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jon’s head before saying, gently, “Do you want hot chocolate? I think I still have some of that dark chocolate you like in the cupboard.”

 “Yes,” Jon says slowly, “but that would require you going to the kitchen, and then I’d get cold again, which would quite defeat the purpose.”

 Martin pauses for a moment, considering. Then, with a conspiratorial grin on his face, he shifts his hands to Jon’s legs, ignoring Jon’s questioning noise, and stands, bringing Jon with him.

“Martin!” Jon yelps, a surprised laugh slipping free as he wraps his arms and legs around Martin like a limpet and grips tight enough to bruise. “What are you—Martin!”

 Martin pauses, halfway to the kitchen, and says, “Yes, love?”

 Jon makes an indignant, sputtering noise, but Martin catches a glimpse of a smile before Jon buries his face back into the crook of Martin’s neck and says, “Don’t- don’t drop me.”

 “Never,” Martin says easily before traversing the remainder of the distance to the kitchen and setting Jon down safely on the counter. He pulls back, despite Jon’s protest, presses a soft kiss to Jon’s forehead, and says, “Let me go get the cocoa ready.”

 As Martin pulls out the chocolate and the milk and switches on the old electric hob, Jon pulls the sleeves of his jumper—Martin’s jumper, actually, though they’re pretty much communal property by this point—over his hands and rests them on his knees. His feet swing gently, kicking up against the cabinets every so often, and the soft thud of a socked foot hitting wood endears Martin more than it has any right to.

 Martin can feel Jon’s eyes on him as he prepares perhaps the fastest batch of hot chocolate he’s ever made, partly because of his own desire to chase away the bite of December air filtering in through the lackluster wood slats of the cottage and partly because if he doesn’t get Jon back in his arms right now, he might actually die.

 Finally, finally, the chocolate is melted, and Martin mixes in a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg before switching off the hob and dividing the liquid between two mugs—a bright, cheery yellow for Jon, a swirl of dark green and blue for Martin. When he turns back to Jon, a mug in each hand, his eyes focus on something in Jon’s hand and a surprised laugh slips free.

 “Where did you get that?”

 “From the supermarket,” Jon quips, holding up the bottle of Baileys demonstratively. “You were there, if I recall.”

 “Mm, yes, but you can be very good at smuggling things through the checkout,” Martin says. “A whole bottle of alcohol, though—very sneaky.”

 “I’m really not trying to be,” Jon says, amused, before twisting off the top of the bottle with a flourish. He gestures toward the mugs with the bottle and says, “Yes or no?”

 Martin bites his lip, considering, before giving Jon a small shrug. “Yeah, why not? A little shouldn’t hurt.”

 Jon obligingly pours a dash of Baileys into Martin’s mug before adding a not-insubstantial amount to his own mug. They settle back onto the couch, mugs cradled between both hands. The gentle, flickering light from the fire reflects in Jon’s eyes and casts shadows across his cheeks and nose, and Martin feels affection swell within him, as warm and sweet as the cocoa in his hands.

 “How much did you put in there?” Martin says some time later with a small laugh, when Jon’s mug is empty and his eyes are hazy with intoxication. Jon’s on his lap again, his legs bracketing Martin’s and his hands resting firmly on Martin’s shoulders. Which Martin is definitely not complaining about.

 Jon shrugs and wiggles a bit closer, which is not helping the flush Martin can already feel creeping up the back of his neck. “Just a bit.” He gives Martin a smile a touch more lopsided than normal and says, “I… I will admit, my alcohol tolerance is… essentially non-existent.”

 “Yeah, I got that,” Martin says, the words jumping up in pitch near the end when Jon leans forward and, without warning, places a feather-light kiss on the side of Martin’s jaw. “Jon.”

 Jon shrugs and releases one of Martin’s shoulders so he can place his hand on Martin’s cheek. Martin feels every point of contact between them like pinpricks of static electricity, and he leans his face into Jon’s hand with a small, contented sigh. “I’ve been told that I get… touchy when I drink. And I’m already quite fond of touching you, so perhaps you can understand why I very strongly feel the need to kiss you right now.”

 Martin flushes deeply, and his hands tighten on Jon’s sides. “Oh,” he says, embarrassed at the way his voice squeaks around the word. “Well, I- I’m quite fond of touching you too, and ki—”

 The rest of Martin’s words are swallowed whole as Jon leans forward and kisses him, hot and fierce and a bit sloppy. Points for enthusiasm, Martin supposes, and he certainly isn’t going to complain about being kissed rather passionately by his very attractive boyfriend who he loves very much.

 For a few minutes, there’s just this: Jon’s mouth hot on Martin’s, his hands tangling in Martin’s hair and pulling in a way that has Martin making little bitten-off noises against Jon’s lips, Martin’s hands gripping Jon’s hips tightly and his thumbs rubbing little circles across Jon’s sides. At some point, Jon shifts and knocks his empty mug off the couch and onto the rug. He breaks the kiss with a frown and twists to stare at the mug. After a moment, he shrugs and says, “It’s not broken,” before turning back and capturing Martin’s lips with his again, pushing Martin back against the couch as he does so.

 Finally, out of necessity more than anything, Jon pulls back with a contented noise, just far enough to rest his forehead against Martin’s. His breaths ghost across Martin’s lips, quick and labored like he’s just run a marathon, and after a moment, he says, hoarsely, “I’ve decided, after considering all of the variables and conducting quite thorough research, that kissing you is unequivocally my favorite pastime.”

 Something in Martin’s chest flutters at that, and he says with a wide smile, “Oh? Even more than reading? I’m honored.”

 “Mm,” Jon says in affirmation. He pulls back further as a yawn splits his face in two before curling into Martin’s chest and resting his head against Martin’s shoulder. “I could tell you to ask again tomorrow, when I’m once again fully in possession of my faculties, but my answer isn’t going to change.” He turns his head, presses a kiss to Martin’s collarbone, and says teasingly, “It’s official: I love you more than books.”

 “Is that so?” Martin says, amused. He runs his hands down Jon’s back, lingering on his shoulder blades and the knobs of his spine before settling on Jon’s lower back and kneading that spot where Jon always caries tension. Jon makes a low, contented noise and somehow burrows further into the fabric of Martin’s jumper. “Well, then, I suppose I should inform you that I love you more than poetry.” After a moment of consideration: “I love you more than the cows.”

 Jon lets out an exaggerated gasp and pulls back to give Martin an affronted look. “No, not the cows! They’re good cows, Martin. You said so yourself; I distinctly recall it.”

 Martin laughs and leans forward to press a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. “You’re right, how rude of me. I retract my statement entirely; if we’re going in order, I love Martha the cow, then Francis the cow, then you.”

 “Much better,” Jon says with faux severity. After a moment, though, his lips curl into a soft, affectionate smile and he moves his hands from Martin’s shoulders to the sides of his face, rubbing his thumbs gently over the top of Martin’s cheeks. “I do, though. Love you. Very much so, in fact.”

 Around the sudden tightness in his throat—no, he will not cry, no matter how much the words make his heart swell with unbelievable fondness—Martin whispers, “I love you too. With all I have.”

 The smile Jon gives him, unabashedly tender yet still shy around the edges, melts Martin utterly. Jon leans forward and presses another lingering kiss against Martin’s mouth before wrapping his arms around Martin’s neck and resting his forehead against Martin’s. “Bed?” he says softly, voice rough and weary around the edges.

 “Bed,” Martin agrees.

 And the surprised noise Jon makes when Martin sweeps him up in his arms again and carries him to the bedroom is like birdsong and windchimes and the rustle of leaves, stunningly beautiful and tucked safely next to Martin’s heart.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing #anon #thank you for the prompt!

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | Chapter Five

Chapter Five

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Summary: (fluff only) weekly Saturday reading only they are joined by an extra 15 lost boys, not just Spencer

Warnings (adding as they happen): fluff, hurt/comfort, depressed spencer, reader has a daughter, falling in love, strangers to lovers, library smut, oral (female receiving) lots and lots of fluff

word count: 3K

from the beginning <3

He woke up Saturday morning to the sound of a bunch of voices coming from beyond the walls of his room. Only it wasn’t his room, it was the room he slept in when he stayed with Y/N and Amoreena, he hasn’t left since he arrived on Thursday and he had no plan to either.

They still hadn’t told her about their relationship, not wanting her to come crawling into bed with her mom in the morning to find Spencer there too. She wasn’t ready to explain to Amoreena what it meant for Spencer to be in her bed, how they were in love and that she might need to learn how to knock before entering.

So he slept in the spare room, completely contently because he knew she was only on the other side of the wall, instead of 30 minutes away like she would be when he slept at his own apartment.

It had been a week since he saw them reading in the park, and now they were his family. It was incredibly fast, anyone who heard the news would say so. But that’s how his life worked, he blew through everything incredibly fast, it only made sense for him to skip every step in the book and become a stepdad overnight.

He woke up then, missing Y/N and Amoreena as he thought about the last week. Finally getting dressed and peaking outside, through the crack in the blinds, to see what was going on on the farm.

There were a bunch of men in the field with the cows dropping new cattle off in a big truck as a bunch of children ran around the yard. Y/N wasn’t kidding when she said her 7 siblings had produced 15 cousins for Amoreena to play with. Children all between the ages of toddler and 7-years-old, screaming while they ran after Rufus and the cats, it was a pure dopamine rush to witness.

He found Y/N in the living room, a book in one hand and a coffee in the other, “good morning cutie, all the ruckus on the farm wake you up?” She did her best fake southern accent as she smiled at him. Beautiful as ever in the early morning sunshine.

He nodded with a yawn, sitting beside her and snuggling into her shoulder. She placed her mug in his hands so she could wrap an arm around him and pull him in closer, letting him take a sip of coffee and become a real person again.

He noticed she was reading a book he had never seen before, reading the pages and not know the words. It was a first for him.

“What’s that one about?”

Y/N closed it to let him look at the cover. It was a hand-bound book, wrapped in green fabric that was at least 30 years old and in well-loved condition. The gold lettering reading Amoreena, along with a pressed gold rose and the author's name. He had never heard of it before.

“My grandma was an aspiring writer and the reason I love books so much, her name was Peggy and she had a dream once about a wonderful little girl named Amoreena and the magical life she created for herself. She wrote it all down and my grandpa had it typed and bound for her, she was so proud of this book,” Y/N gushed, smiling as she held it to her chest softly, thinking of all the memories Spencer didn’t know yet.

“Really?” Spencer couldn’t help but smile at her.

She nodded softly, “she loved Elton John, so much so that when my sister Ashley came out she threw her a party. Almost all those kids out there are Ashley's, by the way, she went down the adoption and foster root after I did IVF.”

She pointed out the front window at all the people gathered on her land, “Ben and Dylan dropped their kids off too while they help dad and Evan with the farm. Those are my brothers in case you didn’t know their names yet, there’s also Carver and Francis but they don’t live as close.”

Her little life was just so perfect, “did they want to come with us to read this afternoon? We need some lost boys.”

“They’d love that, are you sure you can handle 16 kids between the two of us?” she smiled, pure love spreading through her body as she held him.

“They’re not so different from psychopaths right?” He teased, watching her settle against him even more as they enjoyed their Saturday together.

“What else can you tell me about your grandma?” He snuggled into her more as he asked, wanting to know as much about her happiness as possible.

“She was always listening to music, she loved Elton's song Amoreena the most. It was the song she played for the majority of my childhood. It only made sense for me to name my little miracle Amoreena too, cause I wouldn’t have her unless nanny suggested I have a baby.”

“I would have loved to meet her.”

Y/N’s smile changed then, “she would have loved you and your big mind.”

“My mom wants to meet you and Amoreena,” he announces softly, he hasn’t really told her anything about his family yet.

“What’s she like?”

“She has schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s and she lives in a care home in DC right now, I try and see her when I can but she has her own schedule so I have to fit around when she’s having a good day,” it was hard to explain it to most people, but not to her. He didn’t feel any shame or fear in introducing them. Y/N was the most loving human, and Amoreena was just the same.

“When is she free next?” A simple question that made him feel incredibly giddy.

“Tuesday from 3-5,” he snuggled in closer to her as she wraps her arm around him.

“We’ll pick Amoreena up from school after work and take her over,” Y/N agreed, their lives intertwining like they were always meant to.

Like she was the ivy on his old cottage, she took him in and made him her own, wrapping herself all around him and never letting him go again.

He basically finishes her coffee while she holds him on the couch. The sound of the kids outside making them laugh every once in a while, dogs barking and cows mooing, the farm was alive and roaring while they enjoyed each other's company.

“Did you bring your costume for the reading today?”

He sat right up then, looking at her like she lost her mind, “of course I did, I wouldn’t have Penelope spend a week tracking down a Captain Hook costume just to forget it.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, “you didn’t?!”

He simply nodded with a cheeky grin, “come on Tinker Bell, everyone knows she had a thing for Hook.”

“Who didn’t? He was the first and last bad boy I was interested in, I typically go more for Milo’s and Ariel’s; full of adventure and always learning something new,” Y/N teased him.

“Mhm, I always had a thing for Aladdin and Belle in search of far off lands and happy endings,” he mused, making her smile just as much as he was, “but for real it was between Hook and Wendy for my costume,” he made her laugh again, wanting to hear it for the rest of time.

“You still can, I have a blue nightgown you can borrow,” it was so easy for them to flirt, it fit into their conversation so simply it felt like they had been together forever.

He couldn’t help leaning in to kiss her, resting her back against the couch softly as she held onto him. He loved kissing her, she tasted like coffee and happiness every single time. She made the cutest sounds when they would make out like she was surprised by it or she wasn’t used to it at all.

She made him feel like he was young again like he was 21 and in love for the first time. All his trauma disappeared and that Spencer who used to stare back at him in the mirror was gone now. That guy packed his bags and left the farm to never be seen again.

Good fucking riddance is all he had to say.

He was happy, he enjoyed being happy and he was going to stay happy. It was the only goal he had going forward, and as long as he was in her embrace, surround by the laugher of her child and family, he knew it would be possible.

Amoreena came running inside then, finding the two of them making out on the couch before they could part from each other.

“Ewww!” She cried, jumping on top of the two of them and knocking the wind out of Spencer.

“Get off,” Y/N tried to speak as she was crushed by the two of them. “Mom down!”

Spencer picks Amoreena up then, taking her away from the couch and spinning her around like she’s an airplane. She cheers and cheers and doesn’t want him to put her down because it’s so fun. The next thing he knows he’s being dragged outside to twirl all the kids around like they’re Peter Pan, flying through the air on their way to Neverland.

He’s surrounded by giggles and tickles fights, he’s tackled down against the dirt as a herd of tiny children dog pilled him. Laughing until he cried, feeling more joy than humanly possible and then Y/N’s telling them all to get ready to he’d to the park.

Coming down the stairs in a pirate costume to a bunch of screaming kids was an experience and a half. Spencer couldn’t believe how happy it made them all to imagine Captain Hook had broken into the house and Amoreena, or Peter Pan as she corrected him, chased him outside with all the lost boys.

He took a moment to learn all their names, all 15 of them, however, unlike the cats, they had relatively normal people names.

Kate, Cade, Jet, Lauren, Cassie, Sara, Evan, Benny, Olivia, Jessie, Owen, Maddie, Gwen, August, and Parker, were the cutest little family of cousins. some looked like Amoreena, some looked like their own mothers, a handful of them were adopted out of the country, they were the most perfect cast of lost boys.

He's never had any cousins, no pets, no siblings. His life never felt lonely until he realized what he missed out on.

“Dad,” Amoreena whispered as she tugged on his shirt lightly, “look!”

She pointed towards the house where Y/N was standing. When she said she was going as Tinker Bell he really didn’t think she meant looking exactly like Julia Roberts at the end of Hook.

She looked magical in her beautiful white dress, curly hair with the most perfectly placed flowers and flawless wings wrapped around her shoulders. She was a vision standing on the porch, waiting for him to pick his jaw up off the floor and compliment her.

“Tink,” the words are more like air, soft and barely there.

“Is Captain Hook being nice? Or should we take him to the pond and let the Alligators deal with him?” Y/N teased, marching down the stairs and poking Spencer's chest.

“Ouch,” he teased her, holding his hand over his heart to make her feel bad.

But she didn’t, “some Pirate you are,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him before taking Amoreena’s hand and running off down the trail towards the main house, everyone following her lead.

Nanny packed enough snacks for all 16 kids, and a little extra just in case. Spencer slipped the lunch box over his shoulder and they made their way towards the adventure. Y/N pulling a wagon just in case the littlest ones didn’t want to walk anymore. It was spectacular.

Y/N stopped then, pretending to stand like an army man turning around abruptly to look at the troop. “Lost boys, are we ready?”

“Yes, Tinker Bell!” They cheered back.

“On my lead, 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4,” she marched, bringing her knees up high as they all followed her down the path. “We’re following the leader, the leader, the leader,” she began to sing.

Spencer was in awe, his heart felt like it was going to explode as he watched everyone follow her. Singing along as they marched their tiny little butts down to the park.

“We’re following the leader wherever she may go!” Amoreena yelled the lyrics back, leading the pack as Peter Pan should.

“Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee day Tee dum, tee dee, it's part of the game we play Tee dum, tee dee, the words are easy to say Just a teedle ee dum, a teedle ee do tee day

Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee dum We're one for all, and all of us out for fun We march in line and follow the other one With a teedle ee do, a teedle ee do tee dum”

It was like magic, they all knew the words and they sang the whole way down the path. Every verse and then repeating it. Not a single kid strayed from the path, no one complained about sore feet or hot backs, they loved their Aunty Y/N and so did Spencer.

“We’re off on an adventure, adventure, adventure,” Y/N changed the words, making him smile as she brought happiness into the world. “We’re off on an adventure to read out in the sun! Tee dum, tee dee, a teedle ee do tee day…”

Every single time he thought she had given him the best day of his life, she manages to outdo herself.

—

They barely listened to the story, it was a disaster of epic proportions but they tried. 15 kids is a lot to handle as an ex FBI agent and a librarian, they had lunch and instead ran around the field playing lost boys instead. It was still an amazing afternoon.

He was going to be covered in bruises the next morning. He had been kicked, poked, trampled, jumped on, the whole 9 yards. They were the most energetic bunch in the whole world, and then they came home to ice cream.

“Y/N,” Spencer finally pulled her aside when all the kids were preoccupied with their cold snack after a hot day.

“Yes, cutie?” It was a nickname that was sticking, much like pretty boy, and he didn’t mind it at all.

“We’re going to need more than 2 songs tonight to get her to go to bed,” he teased, stepping into that step-dad role with ease.

She couldn’t stop smiling at him, wrapping him up in her arms gently so he didn’t crush her fairy wings. “We’ll take her swimming, that’ll tire her out instead. Are you lookin’ for some alone time?”

“I love her dearly, but I can’t kiss you as much when she’s around,” he whispered before pecking her quickly and hearing the group of lost boys pretend to be sick.

“Just because he’s my dad doesn’t mean you have to be gross like your mom and dad, mom,” Amoreena’s smart mouth making them both shake their heads and laugh.

“What would you do if I did this?” Y/N teased before dipping Spencer back like a princess and kissing him, he stuck his foot out in shock as she held him there.

“Ewww!!” All the kids yelled as she returned him to his feet.

“Or this?” Y/N pulled him into another kiss, her leg popping like Princess Mia’s in the princess diaries.

Amoreena and her cousins were all screaming then, laughing at how gross their aunt and her new boyfriend were being. Used to it clearly, their grandparents were just as in love and watching from the porch as they held each other on the swing.

“I love you,” Spencer announced, loud enough for all to hear without a care in the world.

“You better,” she smiled. “I love you too, cutie,” she added before kissing him one last time.

His life felt perfectly complete.

Y/N’s brothers were incredibly kind just like her. He learned that Ashley was the oldest with 5 kids and her wife Susie, then Ben who was 46 and his wife Shannon, they had 3 kids. Dylan and Laurie had 4 and Even, her twin brother had 3.

Turns out her mom had 2 sets of twins back to back, 7 children and only 5 pregnancies. It felt crazy for him to think about having that many people in his life for his whole life, he wouldn’t have known what to do with anyone more than just his mother growing up.

Spencer helped Bob with the barbecue, they made burgers and hotdogs for all 16 of the children while they continued to run through the fields. They had enough energy to last them 5 straight days of chaos. It was amazing.

Y/N and Spencer managed to wander off while all the kids ate, sitting under a tree with their dinner so they could finally have some time alone together.

She was beautiful, sitting in the afternoon amber glow as she tried to keep her hair from blowing in her face. Tucking the strands behind her ears so she could eat her dinner in peace before spencer handed her the hair tie on his wrist. Then she got ketchup on her cheek, seemingly on purpose as she smiled at him and laughing as Spencer wiped it off with his thumb. He was so in love he felt stupid, smiling at her like he’s never seen another person before, absolutely enamoured.

“Derek and his wife wanted to come over tomorrow and have his son meet Amoreena if that’s okay?”

Her face lit up, “his son is the one named after you right? Not your godson?”

He nodded with yet another smile, his lips were going to fall off at this point. “Yeah, he’s the sweetest little guy, Hank’s never been to a farm before.”

“You tell them our gates are always own to new minds and pure hearts,” she smiled. “That’s what nanny used to say.”

He leans in and kisses her then, resting his forehead against hers as she held his cheek in her free hand, smiling ever so softly as she stared into his eyes, they didn’t need words, he knew she loved him too. A week of pure bliss had passed within the blink of an eye, and they still had forever to go.

Taglist: @shemarmooresfedora @spookyspence @spencers-dria @manuosorioh @reidsfish @mochionly (send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list, I don't always see every reply! i love you guys thank you so much for reading)

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #amoreena

[perriewinklenerdie]

Waiting (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 2,4 k

Summary: OH3 Chapter 5 added scene. Ethan and Tobias talk as they wait for the surgery to be over. ft. cute moments between Ethan and Claire

Warnings: None

A/N: Tobias and Ethan friendship will happen. If PB won’t let me make this happen (they will but still), then Imma make it happen myself.

Tobias took a deep breath as the air of the early autumn ruffled his hair. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm light on his face. He dug his hands into the pockets of his white coat, closing his eyes for a moment. A slight smirk tugged on the corners of his lips at the memory of the meeting he just got out of. He’s always enjoyed teasing Ethan and at some point, that teasing escalated to arguing and one-upping him – he enjoyed the latter even more.

A surprised shriek pulled him out of his wonder, prompting his eyes to open. The sound was filled to the brim with happiness, not raising the alert in his mind, so he calmly looked around in search of the source. And found it rather quickly.

His eyes fell onto a couple, standing in the middle of the garden near the hospital. The man had his arm wrapped tightly around the woman, keeping her close to him. His shoulders shook slightly as he laughed at something she said, then their lips met in a kiss so intense that it made Tobias want to look away. But he didn’t.

Because it might have been the very first time he’s ever seen Ethan Ramsey this relaxed around someone. This happy. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, but upon blinking a couple of times, he was sure – it was Claire and Ethan.

They pulled apart slightly, enough for Tobias to see a wide grin on Ethan’s face as he said something to her, staring into her eyes. He dove towards her right after, caressing the side of her neck tenderly, his other hand gripping the fabric of her white coat at her back.

Their lips meet again, softer this time, gentler, like he was savoring the taste and the feel of her by his side. Come to think of it, he probably was – Tobias himself knew that these two had their fair share of experiences, so it wasn’t all that surprising that Ethan would behave like this, even if it wasn’t what Tobias came to expect from him.

The same intensity, coupled with softness, could easily be found in the way Claire’s arms wrapped around Ethan’s neck, pulling him downwards so they were at a similar height. That made him laugh, breaking the kiss for a second before he adjusted his grip, pulling her upwards, the tips of her shoes barely touching the ground.

When they eventually separated for good, Tobias could very clearly notice their heavy breathing and how they held onto one another despite the fact that the intense moment was behind them. What was left was the tenderness in their smiles and the gentleness of Ethan’s touch when he traced the corner of Claire’s lips with his thumb.

Tobias didn’t need to observe the pair any longer, feeling not like he was invading their privacy – they were making out in the middle of the public garden, for god’s sake – but like he’s seen enough. He’d tease his old friend about this later. With one final look at the pair, he turned back around and went into the hospital.

~

Ethan walked back to the table in the office, balancing three cups of coffee in his hold. They’ve been waiting for two hours already, with no news regarding Francis. He stopped by Claire’s side, letting her take two cups out of his hands before he turned to Tobias, handing him the third one. His old friend eyed the coffee, then looked up at him with surprise in his eyes and hesitation in every move he did and didn’t make. A short while later, he accepted the cup with a nod, watching Ethan as he walked back to his seat.

Knowingly to both men or not, Claire seated herself between them for a reason. If they were supposed to spend the next couple of hours in that office, they needed to not kill one another in the meantime. If she had to be a buffer, then so be it.

Sitting down, Ethan took his coffee from his girlfriend, her inviting smile eliciting one of his own. The rich flavor helped his tired body wake up a bit, caffeine speeding up his heartbeat a little. He heard a soft hum of appreciation and approval from Claire, his lips curling upwards at the sound.

None of them said a word for the next couple of minutes, finishing their drinks in silence. It allowed Ethan to finally sit down and process what happened that day.

He’s working with Tobias again.

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have come up with such an idea. Nightmares, sure, though he didn’t let such ridiculous notions occupy his mind. Tobias would be the last person he’d consider for a spot on his team, considering both their professional turmoil and the personal one. If they couldn’t hold a civilized conversation outside of work, how the hell were they supposed to put everything that’s happened aside to work together as a team?

He should have known that Bloom would pull something like this – he’s never trusted the man. He wouldn’t trust him with his coffee order, not to mention something as integral as the choice of the member of the team. Every time his new boss inserted himself into their work, despite not knowing a damn thing about it, he wanted to shove a piece of paper down his throat. But he couldn’t – and Claire wouldn’t let him, no matter how much she agreed with him that Bloom deserved that and so much more.

But he didn’t have any choice in that matter now. Tobias was the member of the team. Whether he liked it or not, they would be seeing each other every day and they would have to put their differences aside. If not for the sake of their sanities, then for the sake of their patients.

Perhaps it was time to finally sit down and have a mature conversation about everything that went down all those years ago, like he wanted to do before. They will never go back to what their friendship used to be, too many things have happened. What they could do was resolve the past and try to move forward – Claire’s advice rang in his ears at that idea.

All that would have to wait, however, because in that moment, they had bigger issues than their personal problems. Francis was lying on the table in the OR as Harper raced against the time, and all they could do was wait – he always loathed that part.

His attention has been stolen by the subtle movement near his hand. Claire took his empty cup out of his hand, standing up to take Tobias’s too to get rid of them. Ethan’s eyes followed her as she deposited them on the tray by the coffee machine and walked back to her seat. As soon as she was within his reach, he took her hand into his, tangling their fingers together and giving them a gentle squeeze. She smiled at him, turning her body towards him wordlessly. Her thumb traced the line of his bones, the motion soothing him.

“I can’t decide if I’m tired or restless.” Tobias breathed out deeply, drumming his fingers on the table. The break of silence was welcomed by his other two companions – they were all getting tired of the quiet tension that filled the room to the brim, getting thicker by the minute, making it harder to breathe.

“I’m stressing out, but I don’t think I can keep my eyes open any longer.” Claire concluded, letting her head fall onto Ethan’s shoulder softly. He wrapped his arm around her pulling her into his embrace, a hint of a helpless grin stretching his features.

“You just drank coffee.” He argued, turning his head to look at her. She glanced up at him, scrunching her nose adorably.

“That’s the best way to have a powernap. Scientifically proven.”

“By who?” Tobias asked, smirking suspiciously at the younger woman. She retorted without missing a beat, turning around and leaning out of her seat to look at him.

“By me. Works wonders.” Having finished her line, she fell back into Ethan’s waiting arms, nesting herself into her boyfriend’s embrace once more. He nudged her head with his nose as he mused under his breath.

“If you say so.”

Not much later, her breathing evened out and she fell into a light slumber, burying her face into his neck. Ethan looked down at her with adoration sparkling in his eyes, closing his own eyes for a moment. It didn’t last long, though.

“If you told me years ago that we’d both be on the Diagnostic Team together, I’d call you an idiot.” Tobias started speaking, seemingly innocently, but there was something to his tone that indicated that it was only the beginning.

“If you told me I’d have to work with you despite everything you’ve done, I would have called you an idiot too. Or perhaps something else, more suitable for the occasion.”

“Hey now, E, there’s no need to be so dramatic. If we’re going to be seeing each other every day, we need to be friendly.” He grinned brightly, his eyes falling onto the woman in Ethan’s arms. “Look at Herondale and I, we can be very friendly.”

Ethan scoffed at him, trying to ignore the pang he felt at the last words. He adjusted his grip on her, hugging her just a tiny bit tighter, more securely.

“We have to be civil long enough to get our work done, but don’t think that you walking in here, smiling, will erase the stunts you’ve been pulling all those years. It doesn’t work like that.”

Silence hung between them as their stares tried one another, daring the other to break first. For what must have been the first time, Tobias relented, looking away with tension in his eyes.

“I am aware of that.”

Ethan, convinced that it was the end of the conversation, twisted his frame the slightest bit, allowing Claire to get more comfortable in her sleep. He gazed at their joined hands, her grip secure despite not being aware of that. Her closeness relaxed him like nothing else, his exchange with Tobias suddenly a thousand miles away from his mind. With a private smile, he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, letting out a deep breath.

Tobias watched the pair silently – not for the first time. But it was the first time that he got to see them from such a close proximity. Even in a situation as tense as the one they all were in right now, they somehow managed to find peace in each other. He’s known Ethan for over a decade and he’s never met a person that was able to lead him away from seeing red with just one look. It’s like she somehow put a spell on him, and to Tobias, it seemed that Ethan was well aware of that – and did nothing to change it. He welcomed it with open arms. “She really got you good, huh?”

Ethan slowly turned his head to face him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, come on. Ethan Ramsey, the notorious workaholic, going home after work on time every single day? Walking around the hospital with a grin on his face?” he started pointing out everything he’s noticed during only his first day of working on the team, as well as things he’s heard from the nurses. Ethan remained silent, unsure where this was going.

“Making out with his girlfriend when he thinks no one’s looking?” at that, Ethan’s eyes widened slightly, a hint of a blush climbing onto his cheeks. “Yeah, we all saw your little escapade yesterday. Very charming scenery, red roses suit her.” Tobias nodded towards Claire, then looked at his old friend again. “Not you, though. Red is not exactly your color – I would know, since that’s exactly the color of your cheeks right now.”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you.”

“We both know that I am, E.”

They shared a look and for a moment, they were back at university, thick as thieves. Two friends who could talk about everything. Then the reality caught up to them and Tobias cleared his throat, falling quiet immediately after. The next time the silence was broken, it was Ethan who did it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you.” his voice was deep and low, overcame by emotions of unknown to Tobias origin.

“For what?”

“For saving her.”

Both men looked at Claire, sleeping, blissfully unaware of the conversation that was happening right over her head. Ethan’s eyes softened at the sight of her, safe and sound in his arms.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I lost her.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Tobias responded, his hand rising on its own to pat Ethan’s shoulder, but he refrained from doing so. Instead, he offered a timid smile that was accepted and eventually mirrored.

“Just… do yourself a favor – hold onto her. And hold on tight.” He continued, saying all the things Ethan already knew. “She’s an amazing woman and, god help her, she sure wants you.”

“Believe me, I don’t know what I did to get this lucky either.” Blue-eyed attending sighed thoughtfully, choosing to ignore the obvious dig directed at him, staring at his girlfriend with a look of wonder in his eyes instead. The new doctor in the team gave him a moment to himself, focusing on the wall in front of him.

And then, in true Tobias Carrick fashion, he threw in a line to break the tension. “She could make any man feel like he’s on top of the world, so I’d watch out if I were you.”

“You’re no competition for me.” Ethan countered, grinning at his old friend, letting the wave of nostalgia wash other them both. Tobias punched his shoulder lightly, faking offense at the words. For hours, they would wait for Harper to emerge from the OR, talking quietly about old and new times as the youngest member of the team lied in her boyfriend’s arms, having heard every word since she closed her eyes.

Notes

The trick actually works wonders, I would know, it saved my ass more times than I care to admit. Well, it works 9 out of 10 times. My girl C landed herself in that 10%. Good for her, some delicious subjects were discussed :D

Tagging separately

#ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart #fic #playchoices

[needcake]

day 4: cardverse

Arthur/Teo, PG-15 (for some violence), 2k.

@engportevents

Three times the Queen of Spades almost caught the Diamond Bandit, and one time he did (sort of)

.

.

.

There had been talk – rumors – of a band of bandits roaming the borders between the four kingdoms for months. Their usual targets were trains loaded with gold and silver and the occasional rich traveler going from one kingdom to the other.

Arthur, currently, was the latter.

“Can’t you make the horses go faster?!” he shouted at the conductor who yelled back something he didn’t quite catch over the noise of the fighting in the carriages behind them where the rest of his security detail was being held back instead of doing their job of protecting him!

He shut the small partition between him and the conductor with a violent shove and noticed the inside of the cabin now smelled of lavender.

When he turned back on his seat, the Diamond Bandit was smiling at him, sitting with far too familiarity with his arms spread open over the back of the cushions and his legs crossed.

“My, so you’re the next Queen of Spades?”

Arthur breathed deeply. His powers had not fully developed yet and the masked man he had seen in the wanted posters all over the towns in the Diamonds Kingdom was very much not a rumor.

“What of it?” he asked, trying to buy himself some time while summoning enough energy in his hand to blast the damn smile off the man’s face.

The bandit shrugged, that idiot smile still plastered on his partially covered face.

“Does your future husband know?” he asked and Arthur could feel the small ball of pure energy in his hand growing even smaller and denser. It needed to be as small as the head of a pin before he could cast it and cause any real damage.

“Know what?” He needed more time, just a little more time and concentration.

The bandit leaped onto his lap and pressed a dagger to his throat. His smile turned wicked. “That you’re no longer a virgin,” he whispered in his ear and Arthur’s concentration evaporated, the energy in his hand expanding until it blew up like a firecracker and blinding white smoke filled the cabin.

The pressure of another body over his was gone. Along with his engagement ring.

When the smoke cleared, the conductor announced the bandits had retreated and they were safe now. Arthur nodded and pressed a hand to his chest. How had he known…?

-

Next he saw him was during a ball in the Clubs Kingdom to celebrate the Queen’s birthday. Clubs was a Northern kingdom with a long and proud tradition of horseback fighting and hunting, and Arthur was trying very hard not to look directly at the animals’ heads hung on the walls around the room.

The music changed and his dancing partner – an older gentleman and high-ranking noble, probably belonging to the House of 8 – was shoved out of the way to make room for a younger and more vigorous partner who strode across the ballroom with Arthur in his arms, barely giving him time to keep up.

“Watch it!” he scolded when his feet almost stepped over his.

“Are you going to throw another feeble spark at me?” the man laughed and Arthur only had time to catch a glimpse of pale green eyes and a dark mole beneath the right eye before the entire room went dark and a myriad of gasps and faint exclamations of fright and surprise replaced the music.

“It’s you!” Arthur hissed and felt strong hands hold him tighter against a firm chest.

“Does anyone in this room know, dear Queen?” the bandit asked in a whisper and Arthur felt his entire body shiver with the proximity and the smell of lavender. “Have you told anyone that you used to be just another one of the butcher’s kids until you began manifesting the powers of a Queen?”

Arthur’s anger grew white and hot and powerful, and when he shoved him away and flicked his wrists the entire room exploded in searing light.

He had to blink several times before the room had regained color again, the servants hurrying to light the candles again. Nobles and monarchs were looking at each other with surprise and astonishment. A lady clutched at her neck only to find it bare.

Her scream pierced through the night, followed by many others like hers.

-

The situation had to be dealt with. The Diamond Bandit could not just steal from under their noses and be allowed to go unpunished. After what happened in the ball, the King of Clubs raised the reward on the Bandit’s head and the Queen of Hearts volunteered to bring the man and the rest of his band to justice.

Arthur approached Kiku afterwards and asked to be a part of the task force. Kiku only looked him over once before acquiescing silently.

It took them a month to gather the information that led them to the humble stone house where the bandits were hiding deep in the Diamond countryside near the border with Spades. Kiku and his men went after the larger group while Arthur was left alone to chase their leader into the forest.

He aimed a single arrow at him when he had him in his sight and the Diamond Bandit fell to the forest ground, clutching at his shoulder and crying out in pain.

Arthur approached him slowly and balled up magical energy in his hand. He had trained for this moment. He was now so much better at it than when they first met.

The bandit smiled through the pain, writhing on the ground beneath him. His mask was slipping; the shape of his nose oddly familiar.

“Is your mother still the best seamstress in Spades?” he asked, grinding his teeth as blood flowed down between his fingers. “Does she still bake the most awful scones?”

Arthur stepped on his hand and he screamed. The ball of energy in his palm shrunk to an impossible miniature size, no bigger than an ant, more lethal than any weapon.

“How do you know that?” he hissed.

Green eyes looked up at him. “Have you forgotten about her too?”

Kiku’s horse distracted him as it rode with its master into the space they were in, and when Arthur looked back at him there was only a small pool of blood seeping into the earth in his place. Kiku dismounted and came closer, inspecting the blood.

“He has some sort of magic,” Arthur tried to explain even if he himself didn’t entirely understand. “He disappears.”

“Not disappear,” Kiku corrected him lightly. “He changes. A tanuki.”

He pointed at a small trail of blood, droplets that went further into the forest. Arthur looked at his friend. “Only Diamond high nobility can shape shift.”

Kiku nodded. “You should pay Francis a visit.”

-

It was not hard to convince his husband to send a letter to the King of Diamonds. It was hard, however, to sit at his table and pretend to enjoy the dinner when all he wanted to do was to strangle Francis’ neck between his hands.

“I see you have a new Jack,” Alfred said politely, raising his glass at the man on the other side of the long table and Basch raised his own politely in return. “What happened to the last one?” he asked Francis beside him.

“He died,” Arthur supplied in a dry tone and Alfred looked between him and Francis, noticing Arthur’s glare and Francis’ cold demeanor.

“His ship sank during the war,” Francis said and took a sip of his wine. “What kind of a Jack would he be if he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice himself for King and country?”

Arthur got up. His hands shook beside him with uncontrolled energy that seeped light between his clenched fingers. He stormed out of the dinning hall before he lost control. He left and did not come back, forgoing what he had come all this way for.

“Did you know the guy that died in the war?” Alfred asked him late that night after Arthur had forced them to pack up their things and take their carriage back to their kingdom.

“I did,” he said, staring out at the dark through the carriage window. “He was my best friend.”

-

Arthur woke up with a draft coming into his room through the open windows.

“You’re not too heavily guarded for a Queen,” the Diamond Bandit said, smiling at him under the moonlight.

He sat up on the bed and clutched the sheets to his chest. “What do you want from me?”

The man took a step forward in his direction and froze on the spot. A circle of light with intricate runes glowed beneath his feet.

“I see you’ve gotten better at magic.”

Arthur threw the sheets aside to reveal himself fully clothed and stood in front of him. He could already hear the guards coming closer, alerted by his spell. “Who are you?”

“Do you still remember when we first kissed?” he asked, still smiling despite having been caught. “Behind the house while my mother tried on dresses in your living room?”

The guards came into the room and took him away. Arthur prided himself for not collapsing to the ground until he heard their steps on the far end of the corridor. It was where Alfred found him minutes later, when he held him until he stopped crying, not understanding why since they were safe now. The bad guy had been caught.

-

The rest of the group had been hanged in the early hours in a secluded location as not to distract the people from the main event. Only the Diamond Bandit was to be given a public execution under the eyes of the four monarchs and the people gathered at the central square in the Spades capital.

Arthur had to give out a few golden coins, but he did manage to have the room alone with the Bandit before they took him to the gallows. Teo had his head down, his shirt had been removed along with his mask and his long hair hung over his shoulders, barely concealing the fresh bruises and cuts the guards had given him since he had been brought to their care.

“Did your companions know that you cheat at cards and that you once spilled black tea on your mother’s new dress and blamed your little brother?” he asked and Teo laughed, coughed, spat out blood. Arthur came closer to the bars separating them. “How did you survive?”

“The sea didn’t want me,” he said, his shoulders rising and falling as he spoke. “I floated to the surface with the debris and the enemy ship rescued me.”

“Francis would have paid the ransom.”

Teo laughed again, wet and raspy. “They tried that.” He looked up at him, green eyes almost swollen shut and Arthur felt his chin tremble at the sight of his mangled face. “He said he didn’t negotiate with barbarians.”

He curled his hands around the bars, pressed his face between them. “Then why? Why come back?”

Teo smiled. “You know why.”

-

Arthur sat beside his King and they watched as the Diamond Bandit was brought out. The crowd watched in silence. No cheering, no murmurs.

They put a sack over his head and a noose around his neck.

When the trap door opened, Arthur shut his eyes and flicked his wrist. Something small, smaller than a grain of sand, shot out from his palm.

The crowd gasped, someone screamed. When he looked again, the Bandit had disappeared.

-

Arthur came into his room followed by a chambermaid who was frantically trying to undress him while he gave her no attention and went on talking to his secretary about the seating arrangements for the banquet next week. The other kingdoms’ delegations should be arriving soon and their rooms and accommodations had to be prepared ahead of time, there was no time to waste.

He stopped when he noticed the open window over his desk.

On top of his books, there was a single stalk of lavender.

He smiled.

.

#engport #hws portugal #hws england #aph portugal #aph england #hetalia #engportweekevent #a wild fic appears #this feels a little rushed and i apologize ;_; #i do want to revisit this universe one day and expand on the themes and the worldbuilding #maybe probably #cardverse

[charlottemadison42]

Timepiece

A new short story on AO3, 2.3k words, rated G, dedicated to the very dear @musegnome!

----

Crowley got a new watch at least once a year.

He liked them sharp and cutting-edge, bespoke and exclusive and expensive. By the time anyone else heard of the craftsman or the brand, he was ready to cast it off and find something better. From the first decorative clunkers of the early 1500's to the quartz revolution, he was always up to speed on the best of the best. Connoisseurs in Geneva and Tokyo and Dubai kept a lookout on his behalf these days. When they called, doubtless raving about a new mechanism or a new maker, he always picked up.

He didn't think about why he liked watches. If anyone had ever asked Crowley (nobody did) he'd have shrugged. His corvid instinct to collect shiny status markers was reason enough.

(And if every skip of the second hand offered proof of his progress away from the fourteenth century -- one step farther from Golgotha, farther from the flood, farther from the Fall -- that thought was seldom admitted entry to the fortress of his mind. Crowley looked forward, not back.)

Aziraphale had owned a total of four watches in his life thus far.

He liked the kind of timepiece that required winding by hand, with a little key, although he often forgot to. Luckily when he needed to know the exact time, his watch obliged him anyway.

It was conceivable that Aziraphale enjoyed the sensation of suddenly remembering, "Oh! I forgot to wind my pocketwatch!" because he delighted in having some small duty to do, a simple task at which he could not fail, a way he could help the world tick along.

For -- what was a mechanical pocketwatch, if not an elegant dynamic sculpture of the universe as humans experienced it? Aziraphale waxed philosophical about such things in the comfort of his favorite reading chair, while he smoothed the shiny etched surface with his thumb til he knew every groove. He meditated often and fondly about his watch as a Metaphor for Things.

(But the angel never asked where it might be leading him. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at history with a loving melancholy sigh, watchfully guarding over the sum of human experience. But he did not look ahead. He hated endings.)

+++

Warlock Dowling went through an especially rambunctious phase at age six. He was old enough that his parents' neglect was starting to emerge from the background of his young reality into a Phenomenon that he Noticed. And the more Warlock Noticed it, the more he Did Not Like it, and he took it out on everyone within reach.

Nanny Ashtoreth's attempts to dress him resulted in arching and kicking and flailing fists. Brother Francis's nature walks ended with tantrums in the dirt. Warlock began to enjoy ruining things when he learned that he could: tearing up his own drawings, ripping leaves off the tulips and ferns, pouring grape juice on white linens, breaking toys. It made him feel powerful.

"Hell could learn a thing or two from this one," Crowley muttered.

"I expect they're going to, since he'll be running the show if we fail to do something about this," Aziraphale snapped in reply.

Neither angel nor demon had been prepared for the inexhaustible physical frenzy of an outraged six-year-old Antichrist.

But when Warlock finally smashed Aziraphale's pocketwatch on a paving stone in a fit of rage, the poor child broke through something else, too.

Warlock stared at the pieces of glass and the crushed face on the ground, at the minute hand all bent out of shape. He looked up at Brother Francis. He looked at Nanny, running across the lawn toward them.

And he started bawling. ...

[Click through to read more or finish on AO3]

Warlock knew that watch was special. He knew it was very old and delicate. In fact, the watch was the reason he'd learned the definitions of "fragile" and "breakable" and "irreplaceable." Once he had command of those words, he'd been allowed to hold it while seated on Brother Francis's lap. He'd even learned how to wind it, awestruck by the action and the shine. He always included the watch when he drew pictures of Brother Francis, attached by a chain of lumpy circles to the pocket of his baggy trousers.

Now the fragile breakable irreplaceable thing lay in pieces on the garden path.

Aziraphale was terrible at hiding his feelings. He was shocked and saddened, and it showed all over his face, though he did his best to suppress it. Every time Warlock looked up at him, the child cried harder.

Aziraphale was rapidly realizing that if he miracled his watch back together, even discreetly, Warlock was old enough that he would notice its reappearance. Warlock noticed everything. So the watch would have to stay at home, unworn, for several years at least -- perhaps until the end of the world. It had survived the Blitz, the trenches, the Seven Years' War, the Crimean War, and a number of unfortunate dining mishaps (though it was perhaps helped along by a few frivolous miracles). Aziraphale had not gone without it since he purchased it from the watchmaker himself back in 1689, in a dim workshop on the outskirts of Zürich. The angel felt some epoch ending. Endings made him sad. Especially these days, when they reminded him of The End.

But Crowley was there; of course Crowley was there. She scooped Warlock up in her arms even though he was getting big for that. She held him tight as he sobbed.

"Here's a how-de-do," she groaned, assessing the situation.

Aziraphale had been crouched over the ruined watch for so long now that his knees were stiff. He stood up and sighed heavily. "I suppose it's...it's only a watch," he said, dispirited. "I shouldn't grow so attached to worldly goods. ...And it's an opportunity to teach compassion, model forgiveness, and discuss respect for others' things, as well." He was letting the accent slip in his sadness, but Warlock was as far from paying attention as he could be.

"He's six! He can't track all that!" huffed Crowley.

"Well he's certainly tracking the bit about crushing the world under his heel!"

"Nnnnnrrrrrrgh," Crowley snarled in frustration. She was caught between her mandate to teach Warlock to be fantastically evil and her fear that succeeding would bring about the end of the world.

In the end, though, Warlock surprised them both by doing something entirely human, entirely his own. He cried himself out for several minutes on the lawn, and once he could speak again, he asked Aziraphale:

"Brother Francis, why did I do that?"

Then he looked to his Nanny, silently repeating the question to her with his bleary eyes.

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at one another, blinking.

"Um," said Crowley.

"...Why d'you think ye did, me lad?" asked Aziraphale, retreating from his hurt feelings into his ridiculous bucktoothed persona.

Warlock sniffed. "I don't know. I din't think it would feel like that." He squatted and poked the exposed paper of the clock face.

Crowley knelt down next to him. "Can you put it back together?" she asked.

"No."

"So what do you think you should do now?"

"Nnnno!"

"That's not even...nngh." Crowley looked helplessly to the angel. But they were both at a loss.

"Can we go inside?" Warlock finally pleaded.

And so they did. As Nanny and Warlock walked away, Crowley restored the pocketwatch with a snap of her fingers without even looking back. It was good as new once again.

But Aziraphale knew that its time had come. He picked it up, enjoying the way it fit just so in his palm -- the comfort of a handful of crystallized time -- and then he clicked it shut and sent it back home to the bookshop, where it would have to stay for now.

That evening, just before supper, Warlock showed up on the porch of the greenhouse with Nanny in tow. His little face was wrinkled up in concern and contrition and other Very Grown-Up Feelings as he presented Brother Francis with a card. It featured a colored pencil drawing of all three of them holding hands, and yellow triangles on the ground to represent the afternoon's event. The unsteady lettering inside read "soRRY for yuor wAtch From wARLock."

"I made you this," said Warlock, and he handed over the most awkward little handcrafted project. It was roughly disc-shaped, and it featured play-doh, pipe cleaners, and glitter glue. The face was sharpied directly onto the half-dried crumbling clay, and the chain was made of taped rings of construction paper.

It plucked every heartstring the angel had. He melted on the spot.

Crowley rolled her eyes as Aziraphale poured out fond words of thanks for his new watch and forgiveness for the old one, embracing Warlock between tearful phrases. But Crowley also had her least cruel smirk on, the one that was very nearly affectionate.

Before they left, Crowley also noted in a low voice that there had been no more trouble with kicking and screaming and tearing up houseplants today. Warlock had been upset twice, but had managed to calm himself down without help both times.

After she took Warlock away, Aziraphale tried to miracle protection over his new handmade treasure so that the play-doh wouldn't crumble and the paper wouldn't crush -- only to find that Crowley had already done so.

+++

Two nights later, on a crosstown bus bound for Soho, Aziraphale noticed that the lanky redheaded passenger in front of him happened to leave behind a small shopping bag when he disembarked. Aziraphale folded up his newspaper and slipped into the empty seat to take a closer look. Inside was a wooden box wrapped in plain black paper. It was marked "AZ" in black ink that was only detectable by its slightly more reflective shine.

Aziraphale opened it right there, and of course, of course it was a new pocketwatch. From Crowley. Crowley knew watches. And Crowley knew Aziraphale.

It was hard to date this one exactly, but he estimated the 1820's, and English-made; it was thin and modern and elegant, much lighter than the other. It was in excellent condition, although pleasantly worn with time. He spent the rest of the bus ride home admiring it, listening to it, growing familiar with the new face, wondering who it might have belonged to before. When he reached his stop, he slipped it into the waistcoat pocket meant for the purpose, and he felt like a new angel.

Gifts. How strange. A gift from Warlock, and a gift from Crowley. Gifts of time, restored.

Perhaps there was still time enough before the end of the world. Perhaps there might be time, after.

Aziraphale set the new pocketwatch down on his desk back at the bookshop, right next to his old favorite of several hundred years and his handcrafted masterpiece from Warlock. He had never thought to own more than one pocketwatch at a time. Now he had three.

He picked up the telephone to call the responsible party and offer sincerest thanks, but after some dithering, he decided not to. Crowley hated thanks. Crowley could even be endangered by thanks, if the two of them weren't careful.

Perhaps, instead, Brother Francis could show the new timepiece to Warlock and Nanny in the morning. He could explain how precious this watch was, since it was a gift from a friend. He could say that breaking something irreplaceable was sad, but it was not the end, not as long as the world spun on. He could talk about the way new things follow old ones -- and though the new things might be different, they could be lovely too. New things were worth holding out hope for, and worth learning to treasure, given time.

And after explaining all of that to Warlock, he could give Crowley a wink.

Which would communicate his thanks for the gift far better than any phone call.

+++

Over the next few years, Crowley found himself browsing for new wristwatches more and more often in his spare time. He bought them at a faster clip, too -- three in the year Warlock turned seven, six the year after that. Each was sturdier than the last, made to withstand impacts and temperatures and pressure that no watch was likely to encounter in the wild. But Crowley could feel the world running down, he could see the future he looked forward to contracting into nothing, and he burned with protective instincts as everything in him rebelled.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale spent more and more time with his books, especially history and memoirs. As he looked back over the story of humanity that he loved, the story he'd spent so much time recording and remembering, he felt it all spinning up to something awful indeed: The End. When Warlock turned nine, Aziraphale turned to his books of prophecy, feeling no small amount of distress. Looking ahead was painful for him, especially now. The future was unsafe, it was wild, it was ineffable, and unfortunately it looked to be very very short. Aziraphale did not forget to wind his pocketwatch anymore. It was a tool now more than a treasure, as The End drew near. It seemed important to remember what time it was, these days.

+++

As it happened, Aziraphale almost didn't notice when his fourth watch joined the collection.

In his defense, it was rather a busy day.

And since the new pocketwatch was identical to the one that Crowley had given him, down to the last molecule, it was unsurprising that making the connection took the angel a little time.

But some weeks after the End of All Things didn’t quite, Aziraphale realized that the watch in his waistcoat pocket was a gift as well. And this time it wasn't from Crowley.

When the thought occurred to him, sitting in his favorite chair in his restored bookshop, Aziraphale gasped faintly and set aside his well-worn copy of Now We Are Six. He had been revisiting children's literature lately for some reason. The Just William books had set him on a roll.

"Crowley, dear," he said.

"Nnnnghm?" Crowley hummed from the couch, where he sprawled limbless and relaxed as a squashed spider might if it were sort of into being squashed.

"We really ought to go and visit Tadfield sometime soon, don't you think?"

"Ngk."

"I have a great deal to thank Adam for, after all. And we should check in on everyone."

"Mmf."

Aziraphale palmed the fourth watch he had ever owned and ran his thumb over the back. "Do you think a wristwatch would be an appropriate belated birthday gift for someone Adam's age?" he asked absently.

Crowley windmilled himself up off the couch and sauntered over to give Aziraphale a peck on the cheek. "Hell if I know. Prob'ly. Maybe. More tea?"

"Yes, it's about that time, isn't it? Thank you, darling. Ever so."

#good omens #promptposal #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale #crowley #fanfic #ao3 #crowley's ridiculous deep sea diving watch was one of many #warlock #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #good omens anniversary

[zeplerfer]

Hidden Depths - chapter 5

[Read it on AO3]

- Summer -

Arthur stared into the mirror and nervously brushed back his hair for the fifth time in the past minute. He examined his reflection critically. He wore a double-breasted tunic in dark gray, with matching trousers and an elegant green cloak tied around his neck. The rest of him could use a little work. His hair was a mess, dark circles hung under his eyes, and even his eyebrows seemed shaggier than usual.

“Perhaps I should just skip it,” Arthur murmured to his cat. She meowed at him and then tried to get into the basket filled with scones. Arthur scooped the basket up by its handle and lifted it out of the cat’s reach. “Those aren’t for you!” he chided. He looked down at the basket and made up his mind. “Well, no sense letting them go to waste.”

Arthur straightened his back and headed outside to the King’s Day celebration. The mage’s ball was an elegant affair held in the ballroom with dancing and dainty cocktails. Alfred, however, preferred the raucous celebration outside with fireworks, roasted hogs, and folk dancing. So that was where Arthur headed—to what Alfred called the real party.

It was certainly noisier, with more food and many free-flowing kegs of beer. Arthur contemplated the kegs as he walked past. The idea of drinking until his heart stopped aching was certainly tempting, but he had a present to deliver first.

Arthur winded his way through the crowd. He nearly bumped into the captain of the guard as she walked past. She gave Arthur a double-take. Arthur just nodded and continued pressing his way forward to the banquet tables. The tables brimmed with a multitude of contributions to the potluck feast.

There was an empty spot on the baked goods table, perfect for Arthur’s basket of scones. He was headed directly for it when he noticed two familiar figures nearby. Francis held a beautifully decorated cake and he was happily chatting with Alfred as he set it on the table. The people nearby watched hungrily, waiting for Francis to move so they could swoop in and eat a slice.

Arthur froze and looked down at his scones. They were tasty, yes, but they were nothing compared to Francis’s magnificent culinary contribution. Had Francis known about Arthur’s plan and connived a way to upstage him or was it just a horrible coincidence? Arthur set his scones on the table and slunk away. It had been a stupid plan anyway.

He headed for the kegs and was halfway through a stein when Alfred appeared in front of him, happily snarfing down a scone. “There you are. Knew you had to be around here somewhere.”

“Uh, yes,” Arthur replied lamely as he took a moment to gaze his fill. Alfred’s tunic had some wrinkles and creases, but they were barely noticeable compared to Alfred’s bright eyes, dazzling smile, and sun-kissed skin. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” Arthur added, once he managed to untie his tongue.

Alfred beamed back at Arthur and for a moment it felt like they were the only two people in the world. The commotion surrounding them disappeared into background noise.

Reality reasserted itself a few seconds later as a group of tipsy cooks nudged Arthur to the side to fill their steins from the keg. Arthur stepped away from the crowd to a quieter area of the courtyard and Alfred walked alongside him.

“Heard you apologized to Edmund,” Alfred said once he had finished off his scone.

“Yes, well, it was good to see his eyebrows had grown back.” Arthur gazed at Alfred out of corner of his eye. “So… how have things been with Lukas?”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Boring. He can travel for hours without talking.”

“That must be killing you.”

“You have no idea! At least we always had something to argue about.” Alfred stopped walking as they reached the field filled with spectators for the fireworks show. “I, uh, heard you weren’t getting anyone new.” A look of contrition crossed his face.

“Yes, everyone assumes I did something unspeakable, given that you refuse to speak of it.”

Alfred crossed his arms. “Would you rather I told them the truth?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with what I did. I cast a spell to find my soulmate, discovered him, and was thoroughly rebuffed.”

“If that place actually worked every mage would use it,” Alfred retorted. “You just don’t want to admit that magic can’t solve every problem.”

Arthur sighed. “I’m painfully aware that magic can’t solve every problem. But I didn’t come here to fight with you on your birthday.” He gestured to the center of the meadow, where an apprentice mage was casting a few dancing lights in the air. The apprentice’s paltry efforts drew appreciative oohs and ahhs from the audience. An idea occurred to Arthur and he smirked. Magic couldn’t solve this problem, but perhaps it could nudge it in a better direction. “How would you like some better fireworks?” he asked.

Alfred slowly grinned. “You know I would.”

Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated. The next set of lights exploded in the air in an intricate geometric pattern. The lights flashed through all the colors of the rainbow and then cascaded to the ground in streams of sparkling light.

The apprentice mage stared at the sky in absolute shock as the crowd cheered with delight.

“Wow.” Alfred gazed up into the sky and his eyes sparkled with happiness and the reflection of colorful lights. Arthur smiled up at the starry sky as they enjoyed the rest of the enhanced fireworks show on a sultry summer evening. Alfred was never one to admit when he had made a mistake, so Arthur intended to woo him back slowly. They were soulmates, after all; he had all the time in the world.

- Fall -

The red and orange leaves of the forest blurred past as Alfred pushed his mare to her fastest gallop. She raced forward along the dirt road, frothing with sweat as gusts of air whipped Alfred’s hair. He hunched over the saddle, staying as low as he could.

Lukas was probably miles behind him now, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was finding Arthur. Mages were a unstoppable force of nature, but once they had exhausted their magic, they were utterly helpless.

Alfred crested a hill and the vision below him was more awful than his worst nightmares. The village of Keld lay in ruin and flame beneath a horde of unsightly creatures that resembled fat, misshapen spiders. Alfred desperately scanned the buildings for any sign of life. He spotted a throng of mages and guards fighting on the empty fields of nearby farm. Alfred headed toward the group until he noticed another fray on the other side of the town. A short mage stood on top of a waist-high stone wall, a lone island in a sea of monsters. He held them at bay with a raging inferno he unleashed from his fingertips.

With nary a second thought, Alfred urged his mount toward the lone mage. It had to be Arthur. It had to be. Alfred rode around the edges of the fray, hacking and slashing any monster that tried to attack as he galloped past. Soon, he was close enough to recognize the familiar figure.

“Arthur!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. A second later Alfred screamed in pain as one of the spiders slipped beneath his sword and stabbed through his leather boot and into Alfred’s calf with a sharp claw. "Ahhhh!"

Arthur whirled around. His eyes widened and then scrunched together with fury. He hit the creature that had injured Alfred with a bolt of lightning. The lightning hopped from one creature to another, stunning them and knocking them to the ground.

Wincing against the pain, Alfred urged his mount down the cleared path. He pulled alongside the stone wall and shifted backward on the saddle to make room.

Arthur agilely maneuvered off the waist-high wall and directly onto the saddle in front of Alfred. By then, the monsters had time to regroup and surround them. “Head to the church,” Arthur said, pointing to the nearby stone structure.

Alfred spurred his horse onward while Arthur cleared a path with fire. They galloped up the stone steps amidst the glowing embers that surrounded them. Alfred dismounted in front of the wooden church door and nearly collapsed as pain shot up his wounded leg. He swung his sword at an approaching monster and then managed to open the wooden door. Alfred staggered inside as Arthur quickly led the horse in behind them and slammed the door shut. Grunting with pain, Alfred pushed a nearby pew against the door to barricade it for a moment. Limping, he managed to push two more pews against the door before collapsing on the ground.

Arthur appeared at his side with a field dressing. He pressed the cloth against the wound to staunch the bleeding and then wrapped more cloth around Alfred’s boot to hold the dressing in place. He murmured an incantation and Alfred’s pain eased, but didn’t disappear. “I never had the knack for healing,” Arthur muttered angrily to himself.

Alfred smiled wanly. “Even you can’t be good at everything.”

Monsters pounded on the door, but the barricade held—for the moment. Arthur watched the door warily. “The hallowed ground should hold them for a bit, but I’m not sure how much time we have left.”

Alfred reached for Arthur’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Arthur’s robes were singed, soot covered his face, his hair was a wild bird’s nest, and he still looked absolutely stunning. Alfred had always believed it was normal for a guard to care strongly about his mage—to want to hold him and protect him. But he had just deserted Lukas and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. The depth of his feelings wasn’t part of the normal guard-mage partnership. It was something special he had shared with Arthur and he had thrown it away. “Shit,” Alfred muttered to himself.

“I know.” Arthur sighed and nodded.

“I’m an idiot.”

Arthur chuckled humorlessly. “I know.”

“I guess you were right about the soulmate spell,” Alfred finally admitted.

“I…” Arthur blinked in surprise. A soft smile crossed his face, to be replaced by a scowl a moment later. “I can’t believe how terrible your timing is.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure I arrived just in the nick of time to save your butt a few times.”

“Please. You always swoop in at the last minute and claim victory, even though I did all the work.” The pounding on the door grew louder. Arthur huffed, grabbed Alfred by the front of his tunic, and kissed him passionately on the lips. Then Arthur climbed to his feet and turned to face the oncoming horde.

The monstrous spiders burst through the barricade. They shrieked in pain as they stepped onto the sanctified ground. Arthur stretched out his hands and unleashed a powerful inferno that incinerated the monsters to a crisp. Ash littered the stone floor of the church.

Grunting with effort, Alfred staggered up on one foot. Using his sword as a cane, he hopped closer. Despite the pain, he stood next to Arthur and guarded him from the few monsters that had escaped the inferno. He held them back as Arthur unleashed another fiery wave.

Alfred sweated from the heat and his leg throbbed painfully. He glanced over at Arthur. After casting a relentless barrage of powerful spells, the mage was white as a sheet. Arthur swayed and collapsed to his knees, but managed to send one last firebolt against the oncoming monsters before he slumped backward on the stone floor. Alfred grit his teeth and hacked off the legs of the few remaining creatures that dared approach. He waited for a fresh wave to come and kill them both, but it seemed Arthur had managed to finish off the entire horde.

Ignoring the pain shooting up from his leg, Alfred knelt down next to Arthur. He scooped the mage up into his arms and managed to lift Arthur onto his horse. Alfred climbed up behind Arthur, who was slumped forward across the pommel of the saddle. Clutching the mage to his chest, Alfred rode through the few remaining wooden splinters of the church door and galloped out of the village.

- Winter -

Arthur’s teeth chattered as he curled up next to Alfred beneath the bedroll. Alfred cupped Arthur’s hands in his own and warmed them with his breath. Even with their tent protecting them from the howling blizzard, it was still freezing cold.

“There’s got to be a spell for this,” Alfred muttered as he rubbed his legs together.

“I could set the tent on fire, if you like,” Arthur testily replied. “We would be toasty for the remainder of our lives.”

“But you made food stay warm!”

“That required significant trial and error. And the worst that happens if I raise the temperature of bread too much is a burnt scone.”

Alfred sighed and cuddled closer. Suddenly, his eyes flew open. “What about water?”

“What about…” Arthur’s eyes widened. “Of course! It’ll boil, not catch on fire.”

“I’ll get the kettle,” Alfred replied. Arthur mourned the loss of Alfred’s body heat as Alfred grabbed the kettle and a flask of water. Alfred poured the water into the kettle and set it next to the bedroll, then crawled back in, even colder than before.

Arthur shivered and concentrated. The change was almost imperceptible at first. Soon, he heard the water boiling. The air felt a little warmer in the tent.

“You know, you can be rather clever sometimes,” Arthur said admiringly. The only response from Alfred was a yawn and a smile as they cuddled together for warmth in their shared bedroll while the blizzard raged outside.

- Spring -

Alfred paced along a quaint wooden bridge over a babbling stream. He glanced toward the forest on one side of the stream and the meadow of wildflowers on the other, but Arthur was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like the mage to be late.

“Arthur?” he called, wondering if the mage had perfected an invisibility spell and forgotten to mention it.

A frog ribbited at Alfred’s feet and hopped toward him on the bridge. Alfred ignored him and turned to look at the meadow as a movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It was just a rabbit hopping through the colorful wildflowers.

The frog ribbited again and hopped onto Alfred’s boot.

Alfred frowned thoughtfully. He knew Arthur had mastered a spell to turn a person into a frog because he used it on Francis back during one of their mage prank wars. But he couldn’t imagine any reason why Arthur would use the spell on himself.

“Is that you, Arthur?” Alfred asked, bending down to get a good look at the frog. “Croak twice if it’s you.” The frog ribbited and then ribbited again.

Alfred quickly scooped up the frog and held it gently in his hands.

“I guess I should probably take you to Francis, right?” he wondered aloud. “I mean, he knows the counterspell. Unless…” Alfred knitted his eyebrows together. Arthur wasn’t a prince, but everyone knew that true love’s kiss could counter any spell. It was worth a shot, especially since Arthur would hate asking Francis for help. Alfred lifted the frog up to face level, pressed his lips together, and leaned in.

“Is there a reason you’re cheating on me with a frog?” Arthur asked from behind him.

Alfred startled and nearly dropped the frog. He spun around. “Arthur!” he cried excitedly. “You’re okay!”

Arthur frowned in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I thought you were the frog,” Alfred explained. “He ribbited when I asked if he was you.”

“Yes, that’s what frogs do.” Arthur tilted his head to the side. “Why in the heavens would I transform myself into a frog?”

“I don’t know. Testing out a new spell?”

Arthur shook his head fondly. “And you decided a kiss was the best counterspell.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on Alfred’s cheek. Still chuckling to himself, Arthur headed over to the meadow. He unloaded a blanket from the basket he was carrying and spread it out on the grass. He sat down and patted the space next to him.

Alfred hurried over and plopped down on the blanket next to Arthur. He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky. A light breeze ruffled the nearby grass, causing the wildflowers to dance in the wind. “So what took you so long to get here?” Alfred asked.

“I said to meet at the north branch of the creak and this, my dear, is the south branch.”

“Oops.” Alfred grinned sheepishly. “And here I thought you were late.”

“A mage is never late. He always arrives precisely when he intends to,” Arthur corrected him. He lay down on his side next to Alfred and wrapped his arm around Alfred’s waist. “As opposed to his guard, who is always late, but arrives just in the nick of time.”

Arthur leaned over to give Alfred a kiss and then they said nothing more for quite some time.

#usukweek #prompt: seasons #tw: blood #tw: violence #usuk

[saidelia-draconis]

✖ - a repressed memory

  A strange, guttural retch. The searing light. The promise of new opportunity and a new day. The man recoiled as sunlight crept into the room and flooded his vision. It made him ill. As did everything at this hour. He could hear the chirp of birds and the whirring of insects deep within his skull. The sounds rattled through him, leaving an uncomfortable buzzing sensation. The pillow beneath him that smells of sweat was especially pungent. He felt unsettled. He felt like retching.

  With the delicacy of a wounded man, he pushed himself to his feet, stumbling to the washroom. The basin laid out the night before still held the tepid waters within. He cast a nervous glance down at it. He cupped his hands, bringing the cool water up to his face, attempting to wash away the events of the night before. The water was tinged slightly red as it ran down his wrists, giving him pause. He allowed the bowl to steady, examining himself in the reflection of the small pool. Shrewd and glowering, beady little eyes stared back at him. A broad, and high forehead. What little hair he had left was thinning, and disheveled. Wide, rosy cheeks, and a bulbous red nose. A visage he hardly recognized any longer. Barely a man in his early thirties, he had aged years in a short span.

  What drew his attention this morning was the unusual turn his nose took. Black blood dried on his upper lip. He hadn’t the faintest idea who, or what had been so cross with him as to knock him across the face. He only knew it was likely justified. A wave of shame washed over him. For a time, it almost distracted him from his splitting headache. He finished washing, no longer interested in the face staring back at him. When he had finished, he clasped the neck of a bottle, gazing down at the soft, amber liquid inside. ‘Next week,’ he told himself with a resigned sigh. He would have time to prepare that way.

  He raised the bottle to his lips, choking back several mouthfuls of the acrid liquid, wiping his mouth. He also dashed a bit of the liquid over his nose. He nearly dropped the bottle. Tears welled up in his eyes. He clutched his nose, stopping short of touching the injured tissue. He balled up a fist, pounding the wall to distract himself from the pain. With slow, measured breaths, he recovered from the ordeal to find a figure standing half in, half out of the doorway. A wave of guilt washed over him. No doubt she had thought his fist in the wall was him trying to summon her.

“Papa? I heard you knocking. Are we going to the stable?”

  He crouched down to her level, his eyes trying to meet hers. Her gaze remained downcast. The resentment she carried was almost palpable, though she would never voice it. She was six, maybe seven. He had lost count. The vibrant red hair that framed her face made him sad, bitter and, nostalgic all at once. Still, he quashed the ill feelings in favor of magnanimity. Or at least, as much as he was capable. He dropped his hand from his nose, holding his arms open. She did not approach.

“No, Sadie, I’m sorry. That wasn’t to you, I was...”

  He stopped short, having no excuse.

“Never mind, I’m sorry, Sadie. I’ll be ready in a minute. Are you ready to get to the stables with me?”

“Yes, papa.”

  He hardly stopped to dress. The clothes from the previous night hadn’t many more stains on them than the rest of his wardrobe. He threw on his drab overcoat, slipping the bottle into a sewn pocket inside. Just enough to carry him to the day’s end. He tried to take the girl’s hand as the two left the semi-dilapidated shack. She recoiled from his touch. He did not pursue.

  The pair trod the dirt path towards the stable in silence, Oreyn still left with a gutted feeling. Worse still that he had none other to blame than himself. The bottle kept hitting him in the belly as he walked, a near-constant reminder. They were heralded with the stench of horses shortly before their arrival. The pair changed their boots in silence, stepping into the stable. The smell of horses only caused Oreyn’s stomach to turn. He handed Saidelia her shovel, nodding stiffly.

“You start with the new arrivals. I’ll start in the back.”

  He left the girl to tend to half of his work. The easier half, he told himself. It did little to make him feel better. She should have started schooling recently. But it was a worry for times more plentiful. Holing himself up in the pen with the mare, he fidgeted with his coat, choking back more of the bottle in secret before starting. It did little to help his work, but the disquiet in his stomach was stilled for at least another few moments. Though it’d be back. It always was.

  He worked in silence, the bottle stowed in a netting with nearby equipment. He took nips throughout his work as needed. Little by little, his troubles seemed less poignant. He felt better, less worried by his surroundings and his situation. He smelled the stables less. Instead, that sour, sterile smell that hissed in vapors up from his mouth to his nose. Before long, he was back in stride.

  Without the little distractions, he worked tirelessly. Perhaps not efficiently, though he could muck the stables adeptly enough not to draw the ire of the stablemaster. He doubled back, checking the girl’s progress. Less than halfway done, he found her in the midst of trying to push the last of the soiled sawdust out of a pen. He felt a twinge of anger. What had she been doing all this time? He worked nearly half as fast as her, and she hadn’t woken up in any state similar to hers. He hit the head of his muckrake against the stone floor to get her attention. She jumped, dropping hers. It was several times taller than her. He tried patients, ultimately failing. His eyes scrutinizing her.

“Saidelia. I’ve gotten all my pens done by now, what the fuck is the holdup?”

“Sorry, papa. I--”

“You what? They’re either done, or they’re not. Are they done, or are they not?”

“Not, papa...”

“We’ve got shit to get done after this, pick up the pace.”

  He shook his head, wandering down the rows of pens. He revisited his first stable, retrieving his bottle and taking another hearty slug before pocketing it. On his way back, he was approached by a lanky, tired-looking man in a tailored suit. He had wispy grey hair and a semi-permanent scowl. His face was contorted into a look of disgust as he surveyed the stablehand. His bloodied shirt, the various other stains that decorated his clothes.

“Draconis.”

“Mister Harrington. You need something?”

“I take it you didn’t receive my note, then.”

“I got shit to do, Harrington. Spit it out, or let me get back to it, yeah?”

“Very well. Since you evidently can’t work it out on your own, pepper was to be saddled and hitched prior to my arrival.”

  He reached towards Oreyn, snapping his fingers inches away from the man’s face.

“That means get off of your pickled ass and get to work before I have words with Mr. Tember about the discrepancy of your instructions and your work.”

  The rage within Oreyn roiled once again as he was ordered about by the domineering man. Unlike the child, Harrington posed a threat to him. He settled for sloppily applying the saddle, leading the horse to the post and handing the reins off to the scowling man. He thrust the bridle into the man’s chest with a venomous glare. Harrington smirked, starting the process of mounting his horse. Oreyn elected not to help.

“You know what I find so amusing about you, Draconis?”

He did not answer.

“You seem insistent that you’re above your station. Your... Noble heritage, as it was. Myself? I was the son of a cheesemonger. You were the son of some Grand Alliance general. Now I have business to tend to that involves more gold than you make in a year. And you? You stink of cheap bourbon when you wake up late in the morning. Not to mention your business with that fisherman last night... What is his name, Francis? You don’t even fight like you used to be a guard. But I suppose that’s hard when you’re piss drunk. Have a good day, Oreyn. Give my best to that little one of yours. Light knows she doesn’t deserve to have you.”

  Harrington departed before Oreyn could retaliate. Just as well. He ran after the man, shouting curses that seemed to go either unheeded or unheard. He was left alone in the road, feeling foolish. He turned back to the stables, finishing his day with little more than a few murmurs of discontentment. It seemed that the girl was actively avoiding him now, not that he cared at this point.

  The setting of the sun was sign enough that the day was over, the two of them walking back home together at a distance. The door swung open and shut with a loud clatter, almost threatening to fall off its hinges. The man ignored it, shaking his head. Instead, he rummaged about in the cupboards, pulling out anything he could make for dinner. Saidelia glanced up at him nervously, stepping out of arm’s reach. Her voice was uncertain. He paid her little mind, having given up on dinner, sitting at the table.

“Papa? Do we have dinner tonight?”

“No. Get your shit and go see Esther and Francis. I’ll figure it out tonight.”

  He took a pull from his bottle as he waved her away. She didn’t need to be told twice. The sound of the door opening, and clattering against the frame once again. He didn’t bother to check for her, finally content with his solitude.

“Fuck sakes... Why’d you do this to me, Candice? Out in the boondocks, and I have to raise a kid by myself. I didn’t ask for this shit. I never even wanted the girl.”

  The door opened once again. Saidelia had forgotten to grab the grubby blanket off of her bed. The man turned, realizing his error. Saidelia was already gone. The door clattered against the frame once again leaving the man sitting alone at the table with a fresh wave of guilt. Even in his haze, it managed to sting. He took another swig off of the bottle. He could only hope that the girl wouldn’t remember his remark. Neither of them would.

(Thanks for the ask, @kevyn-thornrough-deactivated202! I hope you come back to us soon.)

#Asks #Backstory #Prompts #Writing

[the-delta-42]

Taken to be Returned

Inspired by This by @lenoreofraven

This one-shot will have mentions of torture, death and assault, read at your own risk.

Taken to be returned

“M’Lady, I know that this may be a bad time, given we’re in the middle of dealing with an Akuma and,” Chat dodged a rock thrown at him, “My Girlfriend and I were talking and we were thinking of expanding our relationship.”

“That nice.” Muttered Ladybug, ducking a rock, “Why are you bringing it up?”

“Well, she and I were talking and there’s this other girl that we both like and we don’t know how to tell her.” Said Chat, jumping from roof to roof.

“Have a normal conversation with her, ask her if she wants to join you two.” Said Ladybug, ignoring the sharp pang in her chest.

“Do you think Marinette will really want to?” Asked Chat, making Ladybug stumble and nearly fall off the roof.

Before Ladybug could recover, an arm wrapped around her neck. Her blood ran cold as the mocking laughter of Hawkmoth rang out.

“Oh, this was too easy.” Sneered Hawkmoth, as he started to drag Ladybug away.

Ladybug thrashed and screamed and bit Hawkmoth, who only tightened his hold around her neck, squeezing until she passed out.

TtbR

Ladybug woke to a cage inside a big plastic cube, inside another cage. Her hands immediately went to her ears, finding them bare. A lump started to form in Marinette’s throat, Hawkmoth now had Tikki. Marinette’s heart then froze when she realised that Hawkmoth now knew who she was, he could target her friends and family at any time.

“I hope you find your accommodations suitable,” Said Hawkmoth, as he walked into the room, “Having this built wasn’t easy.”

“Where’s Tikki?” Demanded Marinette, jumping to her feet, “What have you done to her?”

“It is where it belongs, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.” Said Hawkmoth, as the door unlocked, allowing him to stalk towards her, “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about myself.”

Marinette smirked at him, “I guess that was sets us apart, you only care about yourself and how it’ll benefit you, I much prefer to have others experiencing things with me.”

Hawkmoth Glared, before drawing his hand back and hitting Marinette, knocking her on her to the ground.

“Where’s the Miracle box?” Demanded Hawkmoth, as he stood over her, “I know the Guardian left it with you and I know it’s not in your room, because I would’ve found it.”

Marinette suddenly felt violated, having Hawkmoth tell her that he’d been in her room. It also told her that he didn’t look very hard.

“You really think I’d tell you?” Asked Marinette, her face set in complete defiance.

“You will.” Said Hawkmoth, as he drew his leg back.

The beating Hawkmoth gave her lasted at least three hours, Marinette was satisfied that she had managed to get a few hits back on him.

A couple of hours later Mayura walked into the room, presumably to continue Hawkmoth’s work.

The next day the beatings continued, then the next week they started to electrocute her, burn her, cut into her, stripped her, jam two very hot needles into her back and near drown her. Marinette coughed up water, as Mayura stared down at her. Hawkmoth had to leave because Marinette bit down on him.

“You know that if you just tell us, all this will stop.” Said Mayura, running her hand along Marinette’s back, “Just tell us where the box is, and we’ll let you go.”

“Fuck off.” Marinette grumbled, trying not to shiver.

“Well, you can’t say you weren’t offered an alternative.” Said Mayura, drawing her hand back.

TtbR

Marinette lied on her side as Mayura entered the cell, she had been stuck here for over a month and yesterday they made the mistake of giving her a metal knife and fork. If she recalled correctly, Mayura was bringing her food today. Marinette heard a tray be set down.

“You’re lucky.” Growled Mayura, “Hawkmoth is on a business trip, so you won’t be getting your usual treatment this week.”

Marinette heard Mayura walk closer, before she quickly rolled over and jammed the fork into Mayura’s ankle. Mayura screamed as her leg buckled, allowing Marinette to repeatedly punch her in the face, before she grabbed the Peacock Miraculous and tore it off her. Marinette then slammed her head against the wall, until she was certain Mayura wasn’t going to get up again any time soon.

Marinette looked down at herself, before she decided to take Mayura’s clothes. Marinette rolled Mayrua over and recoiled at the sight of Nathalie Sancouer, Gabriel Agreste’s Assistant. Marinette quickly put the pieces together in her head and started removing Nathalie of her clothes and putting them on herself.

Marinette though she looked ridiculous, since the clothes were slightly too big for her, before holding the Peacock Miraculous tightly in her hand and limping out of the cell. Marinette wandered through the labyrinth of corridors, before she came across the door. She struggled to get it open, carefully ramming her shoulder against it, until it suddenly swung open before she could make contact with it again.

TtbR

“Okay,” Said Alya, as most of the class and Kagami sat in Gabriel Agreste’s office, “so, Ladybug has been missing for what, six weeks?”

“Six weeks, three days, 12 hours, nine minutes and seventeen seconds.” Said Max, looking up from his laptop.

“And Marinette’s been ‘on a trip’ for roughly the same amount of time.” Said Alya, “We can’t look for Marinette because,”

“The Police don’t know she’s missing and will try and fine us if we walk around with her picture.” Said Sabrina, her arms folded, ever since Chloe had been placed under house arrest, Marinette had been her main friend.

“And someone will eventually realise that maybe there’s a correlation between two missing girls and say ‘Hey, I found Ladybug’s identity!’.” Said Alya, as Adrien looked up from his father’s safe.

“Alya, I had to tell you and even then, you didn’t believe me.” Deadpanned Adrien, as he started looking back into his father’s safe.

“Along with the official story of Marinette being on a trip to her aunt being a reasonable cover, seeing how we met her Aunt Maeve a couple months back.” Said Mylene, before Alix shushed her.

“I hear something.” Said Alix, as a soft thump came from the other side of the painting of Adrien’s mother.

“Okay, that one leads to a safe, where does that on lead to?” Demanded Alix, pointing at another portrait of Emilie Agreste.

“No idea.” Said Adrien, as he slowly approached the painting. A few more thumps sounded, before he grabbed the corner and tugged at it, before he quickly grabbed the other side and tugged, making it swing wide open, allowing a certain French-Asian girl to topple through.

“MARINETTE!” Yelled a multitude of voices.

“Wow, she looks like hell.” Said Alix, as Marinette struggled to get up.

“Earrings.” Marinette rasped, as she tried to look around.

“Hey, hey,” Said Adrien, fishing the studs from his pocket, “I have them here, see?” He held his hand out, presenting the earrings to Marinette, which flickered as she touched them, allowing Tikki to take form.

“I already told you, I’m not going to serve someone who- MARINETTE!” Tikki shrieked as she caught sight of her chosen.

Marinette’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and her world went dark.

TtbR

The heart monitor that was linked up to Marinette held a steady beat, as orderly’s and other medical practitioners walked around the room.

“Multiple burn wounds, possible nerve damage,” One orderly listed for the doctor, “There seems to be some tearing around her genitals, but we haven’t checked any further. The x-rays show that she’s had some broken bones, along with some severe fractures along her arms and legs, some minor internal bleeding. The police are going to want a full report on this, since it’s doubtful that she was alone.”

The doctor frowned, casting an eye over the girl, “Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, 18 years old, currently studying at College Francis Dupont, at least that’s what I’ve managed to find out about her. Is she a frequent patient?”

“No, the last time anyone remembers seeing her here was ten years ago when she broke her arm falling out of a tree.” Replied an orderly, “She’s had quite a few visitors, mind you, Classmates, friends, extended family, I hear that even her brothers and sister have come back.”

“You’re familiar with the family?” Questioned the Doctor.

“Yeah, Toby and I go way back, long before he caught the travelling bug from his grandmother and took off to see the world.” Responded the orderly, before they cast a quick look around and leaning towards the doctor, “Although, mind you, there have been rumours that this girl isn’t, um, how do you say it? Not all there.”

Before the doctor could respond, a nurse stuck her head in the door, “The police and Dupain-Cheng’s are here to get the diagnosis for the patient.”

The doctor sighed, he hated being the barer of bad news for families.

TtbR

Everyone was packed into the lounge when Tom and Sabine returned, the door closing with a slam, making everyone jump.

Tom stormed past them and towards a cupboard, while Sabine shuffled into the room. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“What’s the damage?” Asked Alix, her tone sombre.

“Marinette might not be able to see or hear out of her right side anymore,” Snarled Tom, “She’s going to have some trouble standing once her leg’s fixed and that’s not counting any of the psychological issues she’ll have to deal with.”

“T-they also believe that she m-may have been r-r-” Sabine was cut off by Ivan.

“They think she was raped.” His tone was level, but his face showed a storm that was brewing underneath his wall.

Sabine let out a choked sob, as the air in the room grew thick.

“Where did you all find her?” Asked Tom, looking at the class.

Everyone was silent, unsure how to break the news to the pair.

Adrien broke the silence, “My father made alterations to the mansion.”

Tom stilled, before he slowly turned and looked at Adrien.

“Your father,” Said Tom, slowly, “had her?”

“Nathalie knew, although I haven’t seen or heard from her all day, which is weird,” Said Adrien, his mind deviating slightly, “but she was being kept in a room hidden by a painting of my mum, we wouldn’t’ve found her if Alix wasn’t there.”

Tom looked at Alix, before looking back at Adrien, his expression darkening.

“If I find out that you knew, I’ll-” Tom was interrupted.

“Adrien didn’t know about the doorway,” Alya interrupted, making Tom switch from Adrien to Alya, “he was the one that actually started the search, especially considering the little fact that he told us.”

“Fact?” Demanded Tom, his gaze back on Adrien.

“In my defence, I only found out by accident, I saw Marinette de-transforming and-”

“De-what?” Asked Tom completely lost.

“Wait, you don’t know?” Came Adrien’s response.

“Know what?” Asked Sabine, looking at the boy.

There was a continuous silence, which was broken by a cackle.

Everyone jumped at the sudden noise, before a small black cat floated out of Adrien’s chest. The noise was almost nasally, cackling away as they floated to the centre of the room.

“I have to say, kid,” Laughed the creature, “telling the Ladyblogger pigtails is Ladybug is one thing but outing her identity to her parents takes the camembert.”

“I thought they knew, Marinette has a great bond with her parents, she would’ve told them!” Adrien protested, his face going red in shame and embarrassment.

The creature only continued to laugh, while Adrien tried to hide in his own shirt.

TtbR

Marinette took a sharp intake of breath, she cast her eyes around the room she was in. It looked like a standard hospital room, completely filled with flowers, chocolates and other gifts. What drew Marinette’s attention was the sight of Kagami sleeping in the chair next to the bed.

Marinette tried to sit up, only to get a sharp sting racing through her nerves, making her let out a grunt of pain. Kagami jump and looked straight at Marinette.

“You’re awake!” Cried Kagami, throwing her arms around Marinette, who let out another grunt, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“What happened?” Rasped Marinette, making Kagami disappear and reappear with a cup of water.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Asked Kagami, leaning forwards.

Marinette thought back, “Tikki.”

Marinette froze, before she started looking around the room frantically, moving to get out of the bed.

“The earrings are safe, they’re with Adrien.” Kagami exclaimed, trying to get Marinette to lie back down, “Adrien is with your parents and they’ll be here later.”

There was a cough from the doorway, making the two girls look over. Adrien stood awkwardly in the door, looking as if he had a gun placed against his back.

“H-hi, Marinette.” Stuttered Adrien, making Marinette cock her head.

“Adrien,” Stated Marinette, “is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah, everything’s fine.” Adrien stammered, “W-why do you ask?”

“Because you look like you’ve had a vibrator set to its highest setting shoved up your butt and you’re trying to hold a conversation.” Came the deadpan reply.

There was a little giggle behind Adrien, which then turned into a snorting laughter. Marinette looked behind Adrien, spotting the majority of the class standing behind him. Alix was snorting away, while Adrien tried to keep his face from going red.

TtbR

“Okay, so,” Said Marinette, looking around her, “you guys couldn’t look for me, because I wasn’t listed as missing, Adrien found out my identity and blurted it out to Alya, who in turn told everyone else and then they found out Agreste was Hawkmoth.”

“More or less.” Said Nino, who shifted uneasily, “Luka wanted to be here, but his job wouldn’t let him.”

Marinette absently nodded, before her eyes widened, “Shit, Adrien, you need to get home, Nathalie has a concussion from when I smashed her head against a wall.”

Adrien was silent, Nathalie had been removed when the Police had searched the house and it’s many hidden areas, he didn’t have the heart to tell her that Nathalie was dead, Marinette’s mental state was fragile enough as it is.

Marinette picked up on the shift in tone, “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Everyone remained silent, not sure how to respond.

“W-well, the police are classing it a self-defence a-and aren’t going to charge you with anything.” Said Sabrina, trying to sound optimistic.

“Are you alright?” Asked Rose, staring at Marinette with concern.

“Y-yeah, I, um,” Marinette whispered, “I think I’d like to be alone for a while please.”

No one wanted to leave but allow themselves to be herded out when Marinette had repeated her request. Marinette was staring down at her hands while everyone left the room. She’d killed someone, sure it was one of her captors who had violated her on a personal level, but she didn’t want to kill her. Her hands had turned red, Marinette first thought that it was her suit, only to notice the lack of spots, then she saw how it smeared. Marinette then knew what it was, blood. Marinette started rubbing her hands together, slowly picking up the pace, until she was frantically scrubbing away at her hands, everything was becoming blurry, then the world went dark.

TtbR

Marinette woke up to her parents next to her, how could they look so calm? Why weren’t they repulsed that their own child was a murderer?

Marinette started to curl up into a ball, as her frame started trembling, her mouth speaking without her thinking, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” repeating continuously, until they could get a doctor in to sedate her.

Tom and Sabine shared a look, this was going to a long and painful process.

Adrien had heard Marinette from outside the room, he had agreed to helping the police try and get his father back into the country. They hoped that he’d fall for it.

TtbR

Kagami and Adrien were sat on the bed next to Marinette, with Marinette in between them, they found that Marinette slept better when someone was with her. Adrien didn’t know how he was going to bring the relationship idea up to her again, since he didn’t know how she was going to react. Marinette stirred slightly, Kagami scooting down to place and arm around Marinette, who started to settle back down.

“Have you told her yet?” Asked Kagami, looking up at Adrien.

“I told her who I was, and I think she connected the dots on her own.” Adrien replied, “I don’t know what her answer is, though.”

“Did you tell her that I knew?” Kagami questioned, making Marinette sit bolt upright.

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

Adrien and Kagami winced and covered their ears, while Marinette gaped at them.

“Marinette,” Squeaked Adrien, his face pale, “I thought you were asleep.”

“You revealed your identity to a civilian.” Said Marinette, her jaw agape.

“Actually, she figured it out on her own.” Adrien lied, getting a thump from Marinette, “OW!”

“Don’t. Lie.” Marinette seethed, rolling over, facing away from Adrien.

“Are we going to get an answer?” Asked Kagami, looking down at Marinette’s head.

“Yes.” Came the muffled reply, before Marinette tugged them down.

TtbR

Marinette nervously shifted as the car pulled up at the Bakery, she had just been discharged from hospital. The doctors had said that most of the issues now were psychological and had arranged for a counsellor to be placed at the school for her. There was the odd stare from a random passer-by, apparently someone had leaked that she had been missing. Which of course blew up with theories and speculation, with no one willing to give any answers.

Marinette let out a little whimper, as the paparazzi photographed the car.

“Well, this is going well.” Kagami commented, idly, “Let’s wait for the crowd to clear up.”

There was a sound reminiscent of a gunshot, making everyone duck.

“That’s our que.” Said Adrien, he and Kagami grabbing hold of Marinette and running into the Bakery, where Marinette saw Michael holding a rifle.

The door closed rather noisily on a reporter’s face, with Michael giving a smug grin and wave to them.

“Idiots.” Muttered Michael, as Marinette was guided up the stairs.

Adrien pushed the door open, Kagami gently ushered Marinette in, everyone getting to their feet. Alya rushed towards Marinette, wrapping her arms around the French-Asian girl, it wasn’t long before Marinette broke down.

Adrien’s phone buzzed with a text message, glancing down, his father was demanding where he was and where Nathalie was. Cold hatred coiled in Adrien’s gut. Gabriel had kidnapped Marinette, beaten her, assaulted her, tortured her within an inch of her life and performed unspeakable acts on her, just because he felt he had the right over everyone else.

Adrien ignored his father’s text, quietly sending a message to Officer Raincomprix, telling the Police Officer that his father was at the Mansion.

Kagami held onto Marinette, gently caressing her hair.

“Can someone turn the tv on?” Asked Adrien, “I want to watch the news.”

“Why?” Demanded Alix, “Marinette’s just come home and the news is going to be in the paper tomorrow.”

“I think this is something Marinette is going to want to see.” Said Adrien, as the tv turned on.

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just news,” Said Nadja, as she appeared on screen, “Earlier this evening, Police received an anonymous tip that the location of Hawkmoth has been found. Hawkmoth has terrorised Paris for the past five years and has managed to evade both the Police and our resident Super-heroes, Ladybug and Chat Noir, he has also killed thirteen people in the past two months, since he abducted Ladybug during one of his Akuma attacks.”

The room was tense.

“It is unknown if Ladybug is still alive, but Police are converging on the docks of Paris, in the hopes of cornering Hawkmoth, with the intention to bring him to justice. Chat Noir has refused to give a statement on the matter, as have the three new heroes who arrived to assist him since Ladybug’s abduction.” Nadja looked directly into the camera, “I say this now as a citizen of Paris, not as a News caster, Hawkmoth, if Ladybug isn’t alive, then there will be blood.”

“The fun fact is, the Police aren’t going to the docks,” Said Adrien, leaning back in his chair, “Gabriel isn’t going to know what hit him when he gets home.”

“Unfortunately, more of Hawkmoth’s minions are being routed out, as well as the number of dead growing.” Said Nadja, “The list of Hawkmoth’s minions now includes Andre Glacier, Lila Rossi, Samuel Marcus, Richard Allen, Felix de Graham-Villani, Hector Damocles, Simon Jonas, Jalil Kubdel and, the now deceased, Nathalie Sancoeur.”

Marinette flinched, making Kagami and Adrien wrap an arm around her.

“Nathalie Sancoeur was killed when a previous captive managed to break free, that captive has not been named, nor will they be prosecuted, as they were acting in self-defence, they were found in an alley not far from College Francis Dupont. They are currently still in hospital with both Police and Medical professionals monitoring them, as of yet, they have not woken or shown any sign of waking up. Sancoeur’s body was found not far from where the captive was found, with a Miraculous in her possession, Chat Noir has been reported to believe that Ms. Sancoeur was Mayura and aided Hawkmoth in his abductions.” Nadja continued to report, “The List of the dead now include Otis Césaire, Rolland Dupain, Andre Bourgeois, Amelie de Graham-Villani, Christopher Lahiffe, Fredrick Haprele, Wang Fu, Marianne Lenoire, Wang Cheng, Man-Manon Chamack,” Nadja’s voice cracked, “and Xavier Ramier. Marlena, Nora, Etta and Ella Césaire are still in hospital in critical condition, and Tomoe Tsurugi, Gina Dupain, Caline Bustier, Audrey and Chloe Bourgeois and Anarka Couffaine have all be stabilized and are recovering.”

“Hawkmoth’s started planting bombs.” Said Kim, “Every time a minion of his is found, another one goes off. The most recent one was at School, during the PTC.”

“And that’s not counting those attacks in the streets, that’s how they got Ramier.” Said Alya, bitterly, “How they got my family.”

“Apparently, Lila had been feeding Hawkmoth information, when she was caught, the number of attacks reduced, but not enough to save more people.” Murmured Nino, “They say the full list is a good fifty-one-hundred and fifty people, they actually brought the army in.”

“Lila’s parents have practically disowned her, given her connections with Hawkmoth.” Said Rose, her voice quiet, “This is possibly the best news we’ve had since all this started.”

“What is?” Asked Marinette, looking at them.

“You came back.” Said Mylene, “We all thought that you were one of the first victims, but Adrien said, ‘no body, not dead’, every time it was brought up.”

“They’re talking about setting up support groups to help the traumatized,” Said Michael, leaning into the room, “And anyone else who’s been fortunate enough to survive, although they may not see it that way.”

“Do we know who else is missing?” Asked Marinette, looking at the class.

“Madame Mendeleiev, Marc, Mirelle, Aurore, a couple of people from Adrien’s fencing group and some others from the higher and lower years.” Responded Alix, “We think they were taken because they either tried to intervene or because they’re close to you.”

“He was demanding to know where the Miracle Box was.” Marinette murmured, “He didn’t look very well, since he said he couldn’t find it in my room.”

“Because it’s not there.” Said Adrien, “After you were taken, Kagami and I snuck in and hid it somewhere.”

Marinette stared at the two, “Where did you hide it?”

Kagami looked over at a basket next to the sofa. Marinette shuffle-limped over and lifted the lid, spotting the Miracle Box, unopened.

“Your room was trashed, by the way.” Said Kagami, moving to stand next to Marinette.

“I think I’m just glad it’s still here.” Said Marinette, looking down at the box.

“News just in,” Came Nadja’s voice, making everyone look at the screen, “Gabriel Agreste has been arrested in the charges of being Hawkmoth. Police observed Mr. Agreste entering a hidden room in his home, before he became Hawkmoth, Police were alerted to Mr. Agreste being Hawkmoth by his son, Adrien, after he stumbled across the room whilst exploring the house. Adrien alerted Police and Emergency Medical services after he discovered one of the missing people, as well as the body of Ms. Nathalie Sancoeur. Mr. Agreste has been loudly protesting his arrest, claiming that he needed the Miraculous to being back his wife. Mrs. Emilie Agreste has been missing, and presumed dead, for six years, more information will be given as the situation unfolds.”

“Game, set and match.” Said Adrien, folding his arms, “What do you think will happen to him?”

“Life in prison.”

“Give everything up.”

“Get a light slap on the wrist and placed under police protection.”

Everyone looked at Alix.

“Alix wins?”

There were mutterings of agreement.

“Now what do we do?” Asked Marinette, making Adrien and Kagami appear either side of her.

“You go up to bed and get some rest.” Said Adrien, as he and Kagami linked arms with Marinette and led her up the stairs.

TtbR

Marinette looked around the school.

“They’ve redecorated.” Said Marinette, looking at a poster, “I don’t like it.”

“I’m amazed that they pulled everything together so quickly.” Said Alya, making Marinette blush, “You had something to do with that, didn’t you?”

“Well, I couldn’t bring the dead back, so I figured that I could at least help with the repairs.” Mumbled Marinette, twisting her fingers together.

“I suppose Adrien and Kagami couldn’t stop you.” Stated Alya, “How long have you been helping out?”

“…three and a half months?” Came the sheepish reply.

“Girl, you are going to be the death of us all.”

“I hope not, I like you being alive.”

“Hey.” Marinette and Alya turned around and spotted Chloe as she wheeled towards them.

Chloe had been rendered paraplegic from the explosion that killed her father, ironically it had been the same explosion that pushed Chloe and her mother closer together.

“Did you see what happened yesterday?” Asked Chloe, as Sabrina hurried up to her.

“If you’re referring to Adrien almost killing Gabriel, I was there in person.” Said Marinette, “Luka still has the black eye.”

“Adrien punched Luka?” Asked Sabrina, cocking her head.

“No, security punched Luka, he was helping Adrien.” Said Marinette, folding her arms, “Kagami wasn’t sure whether she should punch them or if she should kiss them.”

Chloe nodded, “And, how are you?”

Marinette nervously shifted from one foot to the other, “I’m getting better, I’m still relegated to behind the scenes work, since the last impression I left on that guy.”

“I heard his brains were leaking out.” Said Alix, as she appeared next to them.

“No, they weren’t.” Said Marinette, folding her arms.

Everyone was silent.

“Do you think anything will happen?”

“To what? The school? The city?”

“To us.”

Marinette was silent as she pondered on Sabrina’s question.

“I think that past few months have shown what would happen, and besides, we still have a few more things to clear up.” Said Marinette, “I hear that we’re merging with another school.”

“Makes sense, since our Principle preferred to bend over backwards for the rich and the Head of IT was a paedophile,” Said Alix, “I heard that they were going through with this because they were broke.”

“building wise or money wise?” Asked Alya, looking at the pink haired girl.

“Dunno.” Shrugged Alix, folding her arms, “I just know that all the teachers are doing a refresher course to bring them up to date with the common practices.”

They were silent.

“So, what happens now?” Asked Alya, as the rest of the class started to file in.

“We move on, rebuild,” Said Marinette, leaning against Adrien as he sat down, “We heal.”

Okay, I just spotted an error in this, I listed Marinette's age as 16 but then said Hawkmoth had been active for five years, which would have then made her 18, so I changed Marinette's from 16 to 18 to keep the continuity, because otherwise it would mean she became Ladybug when she was 11

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #Kagami Tsurugi #adrigaminette #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #sabrina raincomprix #chloe bourgeois #alix kubdel #tom dupain #sabine cheng #class #luka couffaine #tikki #plagg #delta writes #rewrite history #tw; non consensual touching #tw; violence #tw; panic attack #tw; character death #tw; torture #tw; mentions of torture #tw; mentions of rape

[mandelene]

Hey Mandy! I was wondering if I could get some hurt/comfort of the FACE fam?

Sorry for not posting this sooner! I started it two days ago and then my mind flew elsewhere lol. I hope you enjoy it! :) I figured since I tortured Madeline, Francis, and Arthur all pretty recently, it’s time to torture Alfred. (And it seems that the only fics I can write during quarantine are sickfics, unsurprisingly.)

Next to You

Word Count: 1118

Six years of being a parent and his heart still drops to his gut every time he hears one of the children crying. He panics. Every time. Even at the smallest hushed whimper.

It’s the middle of the night, 12:42 AM to be exact. The wailing startles Arthur awake and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Worst-case scenarios flood his mind – there’s a fire, we’re being robbed, someone needs an ambulance. He rolls out of bed in a daze to investigate, and that’s when Francis begins to rouse as well.

“What’s going on?” Francis asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He kicks the covers away and searches for his slippers.

Arthur has had a few seconds to process the situation. “I think it’s Alfred.” 

“He must be feeling worse.” 

Alfred’s been fighting a virus for three days now. It appeared as a cold at first, but has since progressed into a barking cough and fever—symptoms consistent with croup. They’ve been doing their best to keep him comfortable by turning on a humidifier in his room and supplying him with fluids and cough syrup, but clearly, it hasn’t been enough.

Arthur grabs his stethoscope and a thermometer before zipping across the hall. Check for high fever, wheezing, obstruction in the lungs. Encourage postural drainage…

Midway through his mental list, he runs into a concerned Matthew, who is already stationed outside of Alfred’s room in his polar bear pajamas.

“Don’t worry, I’ll check on him, love. You shouldn’t get too close—he’s likely contagious.”

Matthew chews on his bottom lip and looks up at him with somber eyes. “Will he get better soon?” 

Before Arthur can have a chance to respond, Francis tiptoes over and wraps his arms around Matthew, trapping him in a hug.

“We’ll take good care of him,” Francis promises.

With that, Arthur lets himself into Alfred’s room and takes in the scene. In the middle of the twin-sized bed decorated with matching astronaut and galaxy themed sheets, Alfred is curled up under his star and moon duvet. He trembles from the force of his sobs and is interrupted by an occasional cough.

“Don’t cry, poppet,” is the first thing Arthur says as he immediately sits himself down next to the boy. He rubs soothing circles into his back and wipes his face clean with several tissues. “What’s wrong?” 

“I feel bad!” Alfred whines, tears dripping from his chin.

“I know, love. Let’s take your temperature again, all right? Please, don’t cry. You’ll just aggravate your cough even more,” Arthur murmurs. He places the thermometer he brought with him under Alfred’s tongue and holds it in place with one hand while his other hand pets his head.

“Maybe we should bring him into our room for the night, Arthur,” Francis suggests, still standing in the doorway with Matthew at his side.

“If that’ll help him rest…100.6 degrees. Not worrisome, but certainly high enough to cause some discomfort,” Arthur says, setting the thermometer aside. He puts his stethoscope on and listens to Alfred’s lungs and comes to a similar conclusion—he’s not in any real danger, but it’s obvious why he’s fussing. The small fever and cough must be debilitating. 

“Fix it!” Alfred bawls before suffering through another string of painful-sounding coughs.

“I know just the remedy for this,” Arthur assures him with a gentle smile. He tells Francis to lead Matthew back to bed and takes Alfred by the hand. “Come, love.”

He guides Alfred into the bathroom and turns on the showerhead. He turns the knob to the hottest possible setting it’ll go to and closes the door. 

“I had a bath already, Dad!”

“You’re not getting a shower or bath. You’re just going to breathe in the steam,” Arthur explains before plopping himself on the tiled floor and motioning for Alfred to sit in his lap. “It’ll help you cough up the mucus in your lungs.” 

Alfred gives him a teary-eyed frown but climbs into his lap anyway. “I don’t wanna cough. I’m tired of coughing.” 

 “I know, but coughing is very important. You don’t want the mucus to sit in your lungs because it can give you pneumonia and make you even more ill.”

Alfred curls up against Arthur’s chest and holds onto him tightly. Another soft sob escapes him.

“You’ll feel better soon,” Arthur says, cupping a hand around the back of his head protectively. 

 “Promise?” 

 “Have I ever lied to you?” 

 “Yeah. You told me last year that if I didn’t eat my vegetables, I would turn into a zombie.” 

 “That wasn’t a lie.” 

 “I asked my art teacher and she said that’s not possible.” 

“Well, I’ve seen many children turn into zombies from a vegetable deficiency.” 

 “Really?”

“Mmhmm. Quite common.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re a liar!” 

Arthur suppresses a chuckle and feigns offense when Alfred turns around to give him an incredulous look. “You don’t trust your own father?” 

“No!”

“Why, the nerve—!” Arthur exclaims before tickling Alfred’s sides.

Alfred squeals with laughter, and some of the light returns to his ocean blue eyes. The laughter, however, triggers his cough, and he starts to hack up phlegm.

“Good. Don’t hold it in, love,” Arthur says, becoming serious once more. He hands Alfred a plastic cup to spit into and firmly claps him on the back.

When he’s done, Alfred stares into the cup and grimaces. “Yuck.” 

“Better out than in.”

They stay in the steam-filled bathroom for another 15 minutes, by which point Alfred is too physically drained to move his limbs. Arthur lifts him with a little complaint about how the six-year-old is getting too heavy and carries him back into his and Francis’s room.

“Mon lapin! How are you feeling now?” Francis asks, still awake. He makes space in the middle of the bed for him.

“He’s all right, just very worn out,” Arthur responds, laying an exhausted Alfred down and tucking the duvet around him.

Francis makes a noise of sympathy and brushes a hand against Alfred’s forehead, casting his bangs aside. “Poor thing…We’ll nurse you back to health.”

Arthur occupies the other side of the bed, leaving Alfred between them. “Croup is always worse at night. He should feel much better in the morning. Did Matthew go back to sleep?”

“Oui, and I promised him we’ll let him know if Alfred feels worse. Our boys are attached at the hip.” 

Alfred gives another little whine, and both Arthur and Francis cuddle him on either side, offering whatever reassurance they can.

“Rest, mon chou.”  

“It’s all right, poppet.” 

At last, Alfred calms down and allows sleep to reel him in.

With both of his parents beside him, nothing can hurt him.

#hetalia #aph america #aph canada #aph england #aph france #aph face family #face family #hurt comfort #fluff #sickfic #drabbles

[tamorasky]

Mistress Anna Chapter 9

Rating: M

Summary: It wasn’t uncommon for the women to be eventually cast aside, Anna was just naive enough to believe it would never happen to her.

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Anna/Hans (ew)

Words: 3407 

Canadian Frontier Au.

AO3

Masterlist

Notes:  Once again I know nothing of children so if I screw up milestones please let me know!

Much thanks to Molly for talking through bits of this chapter with me!! And to Liv giving me the idea to make this chapter a sorta montage!

This chapter has lots of time skips, kinda a transitioning chapter so it takes over the course of the nine months Hans has been gone.

The Cree make their way into Arendelle during the middle of October, the roads are lined with people and horses attached to travois’ as a portion of the encampment make their way south.

Anna watches from the veranda, clutching her shawl close to her chest as company men urge the visitors forward, trying to clear them from Arendelle’s vicinity. The tribe would undoubtable set up camp outside of the fort walls while negotiations between the company and the Cree take place over these next few weeks.

Looking back at the house, Anna decides to walk through the roads. She had put Eliza down for the afternoon and the three-month-old would sleep for the majority of the day. She descends the steps, picking up the skirt of her blue calico dress as she steps onto the earth.  

The young woman makes her way through the various people, weaving between them as she walks to the trading post where her father would undoubtedly be. A firm hand grabs her elbow, stopping her in the middle of the road. She turns to see Francis Klausen pulling her close. “Mistress Anna, I would suggest you return to your home immediately.”

“I’ll be fine, Mr. Klausen. I’m going to see my father.” Anna pulls herself out of the man’s grasp, continuing down the road. Still aware that the brunette man follows close behind her. As the two of them walk, Anna hears the man beside her scoff.

“Can you believe these savages? Never staying in one spot at a time. How on earth can a society function like that?”

“They go south in the winter to seek shelter. The foothills are closer to the medicine line.” Anna comments, knowing that many of the tribes north make their way to the foothills as they provide shelter from the cold winter winds.

“Then, they could do us a favour and stay south throughout the year.” Francis curses. Staring at the man next to her, Anna isn’t sure if he understood how the Hudson’s Bay company profited.

“The Cree supports Fort Arendelle. If they were to stay south, how would you suggest the company make a profit?” Anna inquires, increasingly growing tired of the man next to her.

“The Cree are drunk off their asses half the time; they aren’t the most lucrative partners the company has. Most of the money we make is in London anyhow.”     “Well, then perhaps you should all return to London and make your money there.” She stops to look at the man. “Mr. Klausen, if that is all, I can see my father right over there. So, I will be bidding you a good day.”

Anna shoves past the company man without another word; she hates interacting with the horrid oaf. As she approaches the trading post, Anna sees her father meeting with, who she would assume to be, the chief of this encampment.

Watching as the two men exchange items, Anna notices an older woman standing next to the Cree man. Her long white hair braided loosely, and her mouth set in a hard line as she watches Agnarr exchange gifts with the chief.  

Agnarr’s eyes flicker to where his daughter stands, his smile growing wider as he encourages her to come over. Hesitantly Anna steps forward, taking her place beside her father.

“Chief Big Pine, may I introduce to you my daughter Anna,” Agnarr states, placing a hand on her back.

The elderly Cree man smiles at Anna warmly. “It is nice to see you again Anna.”  

Staring at the Cree chief, Anna is unsure where she might have met him before and is unable to recall his face or place his name. The woman standing behind Big Pine stares at the auburn-haired girl.

“You are Iduna’s daughter, are you not?” The woman questions, raising an eyebrow at the young woman. Anna nods, staring back into the woman’s chestnut eyes as they regard one another.

“How do you know my mother?” The older Cree woman’s eyes flicker to Agnarr before walking away from the men, urging Anna to follow her.

“I’ve known your mother since she was a babe. I helped your Kokum birth her. As I helped your mother birth you in Ahtohallan all those years ago. I have not seen you since you were a small girl, running wildly through the camp.”

Anna looks down at her hands. “What is your name?” desperately trying to remember these people who had knew her as a child.

“Yelena.” The older woman responds. “Your mother was always good to our community. I was sorry to hear of her passing.”

At her name Anna vaguely recalls these people. The birth she had attended as a child, watching Yelena and Iduna bring the child into this world. The people her mother tried to help shortly before her passing.

“Thank you,” Anna replies solemnly. Yelena nods, removing herself from the young woman’s side to return to the negotiations taking place between the Chief and the Chief Factor. Looking around, Anna smiles as she watches young Cree mothers, like herself, chase after their little ones in the road.

Anna notices Sokanan standing on the other side of the road with a young woman. Her hands cup the young woman’s face as she speaks, causing the younger woman to laugh.

Anna’s gaze tears away from Sokanon and the brunette woman as a shout echoes through the street. “Nikawi!” mother.

A young man dismounts from his horse, running towards Sokanon, enveloping the older woman in an embrace as he reaches her. The older Cree woman holds him out, peppering kisses across his freckled face.

Anna smiles as she watches this; she has never seen Sokanon so affectionate before. She didn’t know that the raven-haired maid had children. The young woman, Sokanon’s daughter, Anna assumes, spots the auburn-haired woman staring at the scene before her.

The brunette makes her way across the road. Anna blinks in surprise as the brunette calls out to greet her. “Tanisi.”

Anna looks behind her to ensure there was no one standing behind her that the woman could be talking to. “O-oh! Me? Tanisi,” Anna repeats shyly, smiling politely at the young woman before her while tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear..

The brunette stares at Anna, regarding her for a moment. “Are you Anna Arnesen?”

“I…I am,” Anna confirms hesitantly, wondering how this woman would know her name. Assuming that Sokanon would not have spoken about her, considering that the older woman didn’t even speak about her children.

“My name is Honeymaren.” The woman smiles kindly. “I know your sister, Elsa.”

“You do?” Anna asks, stepping towards the Cree woman with excitement at the mention of her sister.

“We’re close to one another. We trap and hunt in the summers.” Honeymaren confirms with a kind smile.

“How is she?” Anna nearly interrupts the other woman, desperate to know anything about her sister. Honeymaren takes Anna by the hands, getting the Metis woman to stop her fiddling.

“She is well. She misses you every day” Anna feels tears beginning to prick in her eyes, relieved that her sister thought of her as often as she does.

“T-thank you.” Anna stutters. “I need to be going home now. It was nice to meet you, Honeymaren.”

Walking away from the brunette without another word Anna wipes her tears, still overwhelmed at the news of her sister. Anna meanders through her house silently to Eliza’s room. Picking the sleeping baby up from her bassinet Anna sits in the wooden chair, cuddling into her daughter while tears fall down her cheeks. ……

Anna doesn’t bother putting Eliza in her mossbag when she leaves the house that afternoon. She bundles her daughter tightly in a warm woollen blanket to protect her from the cold November weather.

Holding her four-month-old in her arms, Anna leaves the house without saying a word to Hilde, deciding the maid could ascertain that they had left for the afternoon. As she walks through the streets, Anna can feel her feet growing colder by the minute as she trudges through the snow.  

This winter was by far the coldest year Anna had seen in a long while, recalling the winter when she was thirteen being quite horrid as well. She and Elsa had remained inside for the majority of the season, huddling around the stove while their mother boiled water for them to stick their feet in for warmth. The three of them had shared a bed that winter as well to keep warm at night.  

Anna smiles as she recalls lying in bed with her mother and Elsa; the two girls wiggling their feet against one another and giggling while Iduna would either tell them to settle down or tickle one of them, filling the small cottage with laughter.

Looking down at Eliza in her arms, Anna hopes that her daughter will be close to any siblings that were to come. For Eliza to have a friendship with a sister the way Anna and Elsa used to have, nothing like they were now and nothing like Hans’ relationships with his brothers.

As Anna reaches her father’s home, she kicks her feet against the veranda stairs, hoping to be rid of the snow which clung to the bottom of her boots. Ascending the steps, Anna pushes the door open with her hip, adjusting Eliza on her other.

“Hello.” She calls, walking through the threshold.

“Close that door, you’re letting the heat out,” Sokanon calls back, emerging from the sitting room in her stuffy maid’s uniform. Anna chuckles, closing the door securely behind her.

“We were out for a walk and it’s a bit too cold out, so we thought to pay you a visit.” Anna comments, bouncing Eliza, who was currently sucking on her fingers.

“Take those boots off. Your feet must be freezing.” The Cree woman moves towards them, taking the baby into her arms with a small smile. “There are moccasins in that chest.”

Looking to her right, Anna notices a small wooden chest next to the door. Upon opening it, she finds a pair of women’s moccasins sitting at the top. “Why do you have these here?”

Sokanon shrugs, freeing Eliza from the bundle of blankets. “My feet get tired in the ridiculous shoes your father makes me wear.”

“You’re letting me use your moccasins? What about you?”

“You think those are my only pair?” Sokanon rolls her eyes, lifting her skirt to reveal a pair of deer hide moccasins under the black fabric. Anna smiles at the maid’s revelation as she peels off the wet leather boots, replacing them with the soft footwear that was so strange, but so familiar to her.

Sokanon disappears into the sitting room with Eliza, still on her hip as Anna stands from the chest. She giggles following after the two, watching from the doorway as Sokanon comes to stand in front of the fireplace.

"There that's a little warmer, isn't it?" The Cree woman asks, bouncing the baby.

Anna pulls away from the door, sitting in the armchair that faces the fireplace. "Is father at work?"

"He left early this morning." Sokanon pulls away from the fireplace to hand the baby back to the auburn-haired woman. Anna takes her daughter back with joy, holding Eliza up by the armpits as the baby bares all of her weight on her mother’s thighs.

“Hi Baby!” Anna coos, kissing Eliza’s slowly fattening cheeks as Sokanon sits across from the young mother. Looking back at the maid, Anna allows her daughter to fall against her chest gently. “I’m surprised the Cree are camped so close this late in the season.”

“It’s been too cold for them to travel across the grasslands. The land is flat between here and Manâtakâw. We’ll travel when the winds come off of the mountains.”

Anna’s forehead creases at the maid’s words, cocking her head left as she stares at the raven-haired woman. “We?”

Sokanon sighs. “I’m going south with the tribe this year and…I don’t plan on returning to Arendelle once we return North next spring.”

“I see.” Anna’s face falls, shifting Eliza to sit in her lap.

“I have three children Anna. It’s time for me to return to them. My eldest is pregnant with her first child, and I want to be there for nôsisim. My second daughter is finding her way in life, but my son is still only a boy. He needs me.” Sokanon explains.

The young woman nods, understanding the need for a mother to be with her child. “When do you leave?”

“I’ll be leaving your father’s employment next week.”

“Well, we will be over every day to spend time with you.” Anna teases, knowing that the maid likes to spend most of her time alone.

“I’ll lock the doors.” Sokanon retorts, standing from the armchair to continue her daily tasks. Anna chuckles as she watches the woman, she has come to regard as a friend, leave the sitting room, her smile slipping.

She tears her eyes away from the doorway as Eliza begins to babble, trying to get her mother’s attention. Anna smiles as she tickles her daughter’s belly, earning a smile from the little girl.

Staring at her daughter Anna knows Sokanon was doing the right thing by returning home to be with her children. She knows she would have never left Eliza in the first place. Sokanon’s children needed her, and she needed them; this is something Anna can understand. ……..

Eliza has been fussing all morning, her cries echoing through the house. Hilde has scolded Anna multiple times during morning about the baby’s cries. The young woman has had enough of it by the third time Hilde storms into the blue room.

“You need to get her to be quiet. She’s giving me a headache.” Hilde comments, slamming the door behind her, further agitating the 8-month-old. Anna huffs in frustration at the increase of cries.

Placing her on the bed, Anna bundles the unwilling baby into her mossbag, Eliza’s face red as she wails loudly. Anna is thankful that she no longer needs to add an extra blanket to make Eliza fit in her mossbag; it will at least stop her from moving around.

Now that Eliza is beginning to crawl, the baby was becoming unstoppable. Anna is always watches her daughter like a hawk ensuring she’s safe and doesn’t break anything.

Carrying Eliza in her arms, Anna strides through the house, trying to get out of the building before Hilde can scold them again.

She doesn’t know where they are going, an overwhelming need to get out of the village and escape from it all slowly builds inside of her. Eliza continues to cry as Anna unknowingly walks towards the river, the only place where she found comfort these days.

She misses Hans so much, not that he helps with Eliza. However, he still provided her with some comfort, which used to remind her why she stays in Arendelle. Now she isn’t so sure anymore. She’s trapped in the house most days, the only other women willing to speak to her are the other country wives, the men treat her as if she was an ignorant uneducated savage, and Hilde was by far the most uncaring and flippant woman Anna has ever had the displeasure of knowing.

Anna sits by the river in the grass, unbinding the screaming child from the mossbag. She pulls Eliza onto her lap, attempting to quiet her.

“Please.” She pleads, bouncing her child on her lap. Closing her eyes, Anna tries to stop the tears of frustration forming in her eyes.

Then it is silent.

Anna’s eyes jolt open at the sudden silence, looking down at her daughter to ensure she was okay. Eliza’s bright blue eyes stare forward, transfixed on the sight before her. Furrowing her brows, Anna looks forward to see what has her daughter so intrigued.

In front of them were four ducks, one mother with her three babies. “You like those?” Anna questions, readjusting Eliza on her lap.

Eliza squeals with delight as the mother duck quakes at the three little ducklings. “They were my favourite too.” Anna presses a kiss to the soft auburn hair on her daughter’s head. Thankful that she had finally quieted.

The young mother moves closer to the water, putting her feet into the river, still cold from the March morning.

“We should’ve brought sweets for the Mamakwasesak, too bad we have nothing for them to steal.” She begins to tickle Eliza’s sides, finally causing the baby to laugh much to Anna’s relief.

As she cuddles with her daughter, Anna realizes she has never told Eliza any of the myths she had grown up with. Eliza has never learned about the Mamakwasesak, Raven, or Coyote; the trickster characters who were always Anna’s favourites as a child.

Of course, she would have to wait until Eliza was older to tell her of Paakuk and Roogaroo, both evil spirits who consume human flesh. Similar to the Wendigo spirit, the Ojibwe believe.

Eliza coos as she sees a beaver float down the river, jumping slightly when the animal slaps its flat tail against the water. Anna smiles as the fat animal floats, carrying a stick in its mouth.

Pressing her cheek against Eliza’s head, Anna smiles, enjoying spending time with her daughter, wanting to teach her everything Anna could recall from her childhood. Iduna would have wanted her grandchild to grow up knowing about Metis culture and beliefs.

Anna would see that her daughter knows about her heritage.

………

The sun shone through her window, waking Anna early in the morning. The young woman has become accustomed to sleeping in the middle of their bed. Knowing it will be a hard habit to break once Hans returns to Arendelle.

He had sent a letter at the end of May, informing her of his departure from London. She is excited to see her lover again. Eliza is almost a year now, and Anna is excited to show Hans how much she has grown over these long nine months.

Staring up at the ceiling, Anna sighs, wishing Hans had left England earlier so he could’ve been here for her birthday; she is nineteen as of this morning. Not that it matters. For the last year of her life, Anna’s birthday has come and gone without a fuss.

Swinging her feet off the bed, Anna makes her way over to her vanity, where a basin sat with warm water. She sighs as the warm cloth rubs against her face, enjoying the warmth against her eyes.  

Anna places the white cloth on the lip of the basin, cursing as her foot collides with a heavy object under her vanity. She has never taken notice of what sat under the surface. The young woman kneels on the hardwood floor, pulling the massive chest out from under the vanity.

Her trunk from Ahtohallan. The chest which has sat untouched for eighteen months. She runs her hand against the top, brushing away the dust layer that has collected on the chest. Anna slowly lifts the lid, revealing to her several pieces of clothing she had packed for her departure.

She smiles as she pulls out the nightgown that is haphazardly placed on top, the dirt stains on the back are still visible. Pulling out garment after garment Anna reflects on her clothing, the fabric rough compared to the dresses Hans has gifted to her over these years.

Her hands hover over the last piece of clothing tucked away at the bottom. It is her green shawl her mother had made for her years ago. Picking it up, Anna rests the garment on her lap, inspecting the beaded flowers and running her fingers through the fringe.

As she unfolds the shawl, a loud thud echoes throughout the room. Anna looks towards the source of the noise, noticing a small stone resting on the floor. She picks up the rock, grey with white marbled through the strata.

She can’t recall putting the rock in her trunk. The thought wouldn’t have crossed her mind. Starting at the stone, Anna tries to remember what her mother told her about stones, but nothing comes to mind.

From down the hall, she can hear Eliza’s babbling, indicating the little girl is awake. Anna quickly gathers all of the clothes, throwing them into her trunk, her shawl resting on top of the others. She closes the chest’s lid, pushing it back under her vanity with the stone still in her hand.

For a moment, the young woman considers throwing away the stone. Instead, she places it on the corner of her vanity as she stands. Anna ambles towards Eliza’s bedroom, smiling as she sees her daughter standing in her crib, bouncing at the sight of her mother.

“Hello baby!” Anna greets with a smile as she picks up her daughter. Resting Eliza on her hip, Anna walks over to the window, staring out at the sky with the baby.

“Your father will be home soon. Can you say ‘dada’?” Anna asks, trying to get her daughter to mimic her. Eliza shakes her head, burying herself into the crook of Anna’s neck. The young woman giggles, running a hand against her daughter’s back and pressing a kiss to her temple.

Anna becomes giddy as she stares out of the window, knowing that Hans would soon be back by her side, and hopefully, they would add a new member to their family.    

#kristanna #kristoff bjorgman #anna of arendelle #frozen #frozen 2 #Canadian Frontier Au #Fur Trade au #kristoff #queen anna #fanfic #Mistress Anna

[homiegeesus]

The Year of Magical Thinking, Ch. 4

Summary:  Francis Sinclair believed Arthur Morgan had not finished living. In a second chance at life, Arthur discovers what it means to love himself.

At the edge of a precipice and nowhere to run, Arthur concedes defeat. In an extraordinary turn of events, he is sent through the ether to another time where his path crosses with a group not too unlike his own family. After discovering the fate of those he loved before, he races to find a way back. But what if he realizes that there is something worth staying for in this new world? Can two people separated by nearly a hundred and twenty years of living find their happily ever after?

AO3 Link

Author’s Note: First of all, thank you TheTiniestTortoise AKA @shallow-gravy for betaing this mess of a story! Your insight has been invaluable! 

So sorry for the wait. I got sick last week then had to play makeup at work so life has been busy. Things should start slowing down during the holidays, and I'll have more time to post. I already started the next chapter and should have it up very soon. The chapters should be longer in the future as I start to get into the nitty-gritty of the plot. 

Thank y'all so much for reading. Constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated.

The Year of Magical Thinking

Chapter 4 - Pace Post Bellum

“I loved you when I saw you today and I loved you always but I never saw you before.” - Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

In the serenity of a quiet meadow, a buck dips his massive twelve-point head into the calmly moving spring. The early morning sun casts an ethereal glow on its surroundings. A branch breaks in the distance causing the buck to lift his head in an abrupt movement.

 A rifle shot resounds.

Arthur’s eyes opened as he took a deep, unsteady breath. The fog of sleep leaving him, he sat up straighter as he remembered where he was. A faint melody wafted through the air, a sad-sounding duo singing about a girl from the north country. This was more to his taste, if he had one, than the ear-killing music that had assaulted him earlier.

Cool air flowed over Arthur’s face and arms, a nice contrast from the heat outside. He felt grimy and so tired, the old wound in his shoulder irritated from sitting in one position unmoved. He glanced at his traveling companion. Steven, head leaning back against the seat, hummed the tune quietly, seemingly unaware he was being observed.

Good-looking enough, Arthur admitted, with a strong jaw and dimples when he smiled. The man had a kind face. Too trusting in the eyes, the outlaw noticed, inadvertently looking for any crack in the young doctor’s façade that he could exploit. Inwardly chastising himself he thought,  not this man; he’s been kind to you, ya fool . Looking away from Steven in self-disgust, he took in the surrounding environs outside the vehicle. Tall pines had given way to flat, mostly empty fields smattered with oak trees dotting the landscape. Random buildings, some large, passed by in a blur before he could describe their features. A lake that Arthur remembered well came into view along the horizon. Steven finally noticed the other man was awake.

“Hey, you get any rest?” He asked.

Arthur nodded, “Yeah. ‘M fine.”

Looking towards the fast-approaching Flat Iron Lake, Arthur glanced at the other man.

“We gonna catch a ferry, or –,” he trailed off.

Steven just shook his head. “Nah, they built a bridge a while back.”

“’Cross the whole lake?” The outlaw replied, a little amazed at the ingenuity of such a feat.

The other man shrugged, “At least the fork part of it, or whatever.”

Silence eclipsed the cabin as both men looked across the lake. Arthur, lost in thought and a little mesmerized by the passing water, didn’t hear when Steven began speaking again.

He turned his head, “What’s that?”

“I said that I spoke with that friend of mine, while you were sleeping.”

“Okay,” Arthur nodded. “And?”

Glancing between the road and his passenger, Steven elaborated, “she said to come on over.” He huffed out a small laugh. “Ada’s like that, ya know, taking in strays and such.”

What an apt description of himself, Arthur thought. The only thing close to a home he’d ever found was with his people, and even that had sometimes seemed alien. 

“She’s a sweet girl,” Steven continued. “Quick-tempered if you rile her, but a good person.” He regarded Arthur with a look the outlaw knew well.  Distrust and wariness. “She’s like a sister to me, more family than my own blood.”

The tone and intent was loud and clear:  don’t you think about hurting her . Holding his stare for a moment, Steven finally looked back to the road. Silence once again descended. Arthur had only a few minutes to wallow in shame before they crossed the long bridge. That’s when a sight that would stick with him for a long while came into view.

In the distance, buildings even taller than those he had seen in Chicago once upon a time. Standing upon the horizon like eerie monoliths, they were a testament to progress.

Arthur leaned forward in his seat. He exhaled a breath, “What the –”

Steven looked over at him. “Yeah. They’re somethin’, aren’t they?” Receiving no response, he continued, “That’s downtown Blackwater.” 

Peeling his eyes from the skyline, Arthur turned his head to the other man. “Yer kiddin’,” he replied, unbelieving.

One corner of Steven’s mouth ticked up, but he said nothing.

             ____________________________________________________

Arthur could hardly believe the sheer amount of people that now populated Blackwater. Steven had explained that an oil boom in the early to mid-1900s had caused rapid economic growth in the area. With all that money came all the people. And good God, there were a lot of them. Blackwater had become a veritable center of industry in the midst of the otherwise empty Midwest. 

Feeling out of his depth and overwhelmed by all the visual stimuli, he breathed a silent sigh of relief when they drove away from downtown to a calmer, tree-filled neighborhood. Great big old-growth live oaks and pecans littered each oversized front lawn, while a mix of attractive Victorian and newer build homes sat far from the curb of the street.

“It’s a really old neighborhood,” Steven said. “A lot of the houses are from your time, some early twentieth century.”

He explained that this Ada woman had inherited her house from her now-deceased grandmother. When Steven spoke of this girl that would take him in, Arthur could not help but imagine her as a well-to-do heiress, riding the coattails of previous generations’ success. Dutch’s populist ideals had been ingrained into him from a young age, and despite all his good intentions, Arthur could not shake them.

They stopped in front of a pretty little house with a small balustraded stairway that led up to a semi-wrap-around porch and a stark red door. The porch started in the center of the house and continued to wrap around to the left. To the right was a bay of double-pane windows with the upper halves decorated in a simple stained glass. Unadorned brackets dotted the eaves of the house, with two high-peaked gables holding small single-paned windows. Light beige siding with white trim made the blood-red entry stand out all the more. Looking familiar to any city house he would have encountered in his time, Arthur felt an iota of comfort.

He glanced at Steven, waiting for an indication that they should exit the car. The other man turned the vehicle off, removed the key and leaned slightly back in the seat. He looked over to Arthur and asked, “You ready?”

No, he wanted to say, I ain’t ready for any of this. False courage won out. “Sure.”

Apparently reading Arthur’s mind, Steven gave him an encouraging smile. 

“Trust me when I say she’s a good person. I mean, she’s been through shit of her own. You should get along famously.” Steven was obviously trying to reassure him, but Arthur took no comfort in his words; he wondered if trust would ever come easy to someone like him. Still, the young doctor pressed on. “How ‘bout this? You have any reservations when you go in, I’ll take you to get a room at a hotel. I just really think you should have someone with you, ya know?”

Embarrassed and feeling like a child, Arthur grumbled, “Nah. This is fine.”

Steven nodded, “Good.” He waved a hand, “Come on, let’s go then.”

Exiting the vehicle, Arthur followed the other man down the walkway towards the stairs. Before they could reach the door, it opened. If the old outlaw had been drinking at that moment, he would have unceremoniously spewed it all over this nice porch. He immediately recognized the girl from his would-be memories seen during his journey to this place. She had painted nearly every frame, with her long blonde hair, bright smile and apple cheeks. Though the visions had not done her justice. Even from a distance, her moss-colored eyes stood out underneath fine brows. Plump lips thinned with her toothy smile below a button nose, all encased in an attractive oval face. 

Arthur distantly heard someone say his name. Realizing he was staring at the poor woman like a degenerate, he cleared his throat and looked to his boots. He felt a slight annoyance at Steven’s light chuckle.

“Did y’all stop at the Stockyards in Cowtown on the way here, or is it already Halloween?” The girl joked in obvious sarcasm. 

Arthur lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. I ain’t no cowboy, he wanted to say. Well, not really.

Steven motioned between the outlaw and the girl. “Ada, this is Arthur. Arthur, Ada.”

“Ma’am,” was all Arthur said with a slight nod. 

The blonde smirked. “You can call me Ada,” she laughed lightly, making Arthur feel a fool before pointing over her shoulder. “Come on in.”

Following the pair, Arthur crossed the entry into a narrow foyer. He was immediately hit with the scent of baking bread. Nearly salivating at the smell, he’d only realized in this moment that he was starving. Passing by stairs to the left and a cozy sitting room to the right, they stopped near the rear of the house. A large open kitchen, with different strange-looking metal contraptions, sat next to a living room full of drape-covered floor-to-ceiling windows. A single door seemed to lead to a porch out back.

“Dinner’s about ready if you’re hungry.” 

Arthur stopped his observance of his surroundings and looked to Ada. Realizing she was staring expectantly at him, he gave her a small nod. 

She turned to Steven, “You sure you can’t stay? I made plenty.”

Steven gave her a reproachful smile, “Nah, sorry I can’t. Nick would kill me if I stood him up.” He then tilted his head towards the back door. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Ada glanced between the two men, “Sure. Arthur, make yourself at home.” She gestured to the open living room before walking out the door onto the back porch outside.

Steven paused for a moment before addressing Arthur, “We’ll just be a minute.” 

The outlaw nodded, and the other man walked out and closed the door behind him. 

Itching for a cigarette to calm his nerves, his hand once again went to his side and found nothing. Looking for another outlet for his anxiety, he decided to look around. Forgoing the couch, Arthur spotted some photographs on the mantle of a fireplace sat between windows facing the backyard. He walked over to get a better look, boots sounding heavy on the dark wood floors in the quietness of the room. Photographs of all shapes and sizes crowded the shelf, but a solitary unframed picture caught his eye. Picking it up carefully as not to disturb the others, he looked closer. An older woman with long silver hair and a kind, cheeky smile sat wrapped in the arms of a younger version of the girl he had just met. Ada had that same look that Arthur had seen in his visions and had haunted him since; in brilliant color a smile so bright, he hardly believed anybody could be that happy. 

He flipped the photograph over. Written in a distinctly feminine script: Gramma Signy & Adeline, ’08. It took his mind a moment to register that it meant 2008, not 1908.

Eyes automatically going to the girl in question through the window, he found her looking right back. Feeling as if he’d been caught doing something nefarious, he immediately returned the photograph to its place. He turned and marched straight to the plush couch and took a seat to wait for the two friends to finish their talk.

About ten minutes later, Steven and Ada walked back into the house. Standing up from his spot on the couch, Arthur looked to the other man for a clue on how the talk went but found only a dimpled smile.

“Well, I’m gonna head out. Have to get to Uptown in, like, an hour.”

“That far away?” Arthur had no sense of direction in this place.

Steven shook his head. “Nah, ‘bout thirty minutes in traffic.”

Arthur nodded and then turned his attention to Ada. It seemed in the last fifteen minutes she had developed a semi-permanent furrow in her brow. She looked at him like he was alien, and maybe he was. Made uncomfortable by her stare, Arthur averted his gaze. 

Steven cleared his throat. “Uh – well – if everything’s all set here, I’m gonna head out,” he repeated.

Arthur remembered his gun belt. “I’m gonna need to get my – er –  things  outta yer automobile.”

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh, follow me out then,” Steven replied.

They stepped outside, Ada only following to the doorstep. Steven had given her a tight hug, and Arthur had barely heard her whisper “I trust you” into the other man’s ear. Feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, he continued the walk towards the vehicle. 

Steven appeared beside him a moment later. The younger man took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips. Staring straight ahead, Steven addressed the man to his right. “Ada’s like a sister to me.” He finally turned to look at the outlaw, “I don’t know what I’d do without her.” 

Understanding where this conversation was going, Arthur's gaze lowered to his boots. 

Steven continued, “I’m trusting that you’re a decent man – considering.”

“Not gonna lie to ya. I ain’t a good man.” He looked up at Steven. “But, I don’t bite the hand that feeds me if ya get my meanin’. And I sure as hell ain’t gonna hurt no woman.”

Steven smirked and nodded. “Well, you might think differently after a day or two,” he said with a small laugh as he lightly slapped Arthur’s shoulder. “Let’s get your stuff.”

After retrieving his gun belt and shaking hands in that ancient show of masculinity, Steven was off. Looking up at the darkening cloudless sky, Arthur could not see any stars. Just as he had imagined, the developed world had blotted out the heavens and replaced it with a colorless haze. An unconscious yearning for belonging came over him, and Arthur felt his gaze being pulled towards the house. Ada stood in the doorway, waiting for him. Watching each other for a moment longer, a small smile pulled at her lips. With a motion of her hand, she beckoned him inside and he followed.

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #The Year of Magical Thinking #arthur morgan #arthur x oc #arthur morgan x oc

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Price of Travel [1] PAIRING: Undecided, Arthur/OC/Reader leaning. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: Finding Francis Sinclair was supposed to be simple. She just had to gather what he had found and return back to the correct time, but Francis was suddenly a baby and his notes were about as understandable as child’s drawings. She wouldn’t have even found that out if it hadn’t been for a somewhat familiar looking cowboy.  WARNINGS: Mentions of anxiety and panic, vomiting (referenced), blood, time travel nonsense. NOTE: I put a 1 there but I’m not 100% if I want to continue this into a full thing or not? If enough people want it, I guess? Also could be seen as a bit of a reader-insert due to the first person and me making the character’s appearance purposely vague outside of her being female. Anyway this is just a bit of a thing I had kicking around in my head.

LOG ONE – date unknown.

Well, everything they warned me about was true.

I'd heard it so many times that it stopped being an idea of a reality to me, just stuff to scare new employees off until...well, until they found more struggling collage students who needed money to pay off debts. Should I write that on company paper? I don't even know, things are bad enough as it is. The disorienting first day I've almost completely forgot, along with whole ones in between. Got sick. A lot. I think people were growing weary of me because of it, and I don't blame them. I bled from my nose a bit, something I wasn't expecting but they said the settling symptoms could be different from person to person. Some don't make it. Lucky me?

I don't know what DAY it is, but this is definitely my first log. My handwriting is sloppy because my hands are shaking. Everything is so much. Too much. I'm not exactly prone to anxiety, but this is enough to push me to almost panic at points. I'm in the past. The actual past. I mean, I'd been prepared for this for a couple years, went through the training, the mission statements, symptom management, and...well, I'm here. Here, alone, and scared. Found some fitting clothing and moved on to where I need to be. Strawberry? I do remember that. Francis Sinclair, too, however mostly in name.

Anyway, log one.

Mood: confused, lost, and getting pretty homesick. Never thought I'd miss a cellphone or a car so much, even if just for GPS.

Physical: Okay. Still a little sick, some sickness after sleeping or eating and the splitting headaches are dying down. On and off nosebleeds.

Mission: Still looking for Sinclair, heard he was in Strawberry but I haven't been able to ask around much yet.

Thoughts: I'm never doing this again.

Breakfast consisted of two apples I had picked up from the general store, having already sold a couple things that they had told me to. I thought it hadn't been much at first but with how the prices are, it held up better than I had been expecting. The apples, however, didn't sit too nicely. My stomach still liked to do flips and twist whenever I ate things, which was typical if I could remember correctly. It wasn't like I could ask a doctor here, though my luck in finding anything other than odd looks was proving to be a challenge. I still couldn't get anybody to tell me if they knew where Francis was—which put a pit of anxiety in my stomach the more that carried on. Really, I was only supposed to gather what he had found, maybe talk to him a bit, and then he'd be able to get me home.

At least, that's what they'd told me time and time again.

Almost over a week in this year and I felt like I was getting stuck, which was terrifying. I had no horse, no weapons, the idea of riding out into the woods scared the hell out of me. However, it was quickly becoming more apparent that might be the next step. I'd asked a couple random people around town, nobody seemed to know where or who he was. Still, he had to come down eventually, didn't he? Really, reason was constantly telling me that I wouldn't find him in Strawberry itself, but I couldn't help but hope I could force things my way. I really was getting a little desperate—the more the sun set at the end of each day, the longer I was going over the required stay time. They never talked to me about if things would happen if I stayed longer, but I was scared to find out.

Which, in turn, had me visiting the general store again for the third time that week. I wasn't alone, however, a man was standing over the counter, his head down as he flipped through the catalog there. I couldn't see his face, a worn looking black hat sitting on his head as he seemed to be looking over the pages with some focus. More notably, I noticed the guns hanging from his hips, what appeared to be a rifle slung over his back. However, I didn't get to linger on him too long as the shopkeeper glanced up at my entering, the irritation that flooded into his expression was almost comical if I hadn't been feeling at such a loss.

“Miss,” he greeted in a clipped tone as I lingered by a stand and glanced down at some of the candy there.

The sight made my stomach turn, in all honesty. Felt like I was dealing with the flu, the sight of food making me ill because of what I knew it would do. Breakfast had settled finally, and I was sure the anxiety wasn't helping. After a few moments, I felt a sigh rip itself from my lungs as I walked toward the front counter as the man in front of it pointed at a couple items.

“I-I know I've asked this already, and I'm terribly sorry for it, but—“

“Miss, I don't know how many times I have to say I don't know a...Francis Sinclair. My answer ain't changed since you asked a day ago.”

“I know. I know, I'm...I'm sorry. Just...was there anybody who came through here acting strange? Weird clothing or...words?”

“I see a lot of strange folk. Lots of strange clothing or manner of talkin'. I ain't seen your man. Now, last time, you have to buy somethin' or I'm gonna have to ask you to leave again.”

“I...fine, fine. I'm sorry to disturb you again. Just, if you—“

“—Francis Sinclair?”

The gruff voice caused me to jump slightly, coming from beside me as it seemed the man flipping through the book had suddenly tuned into the conversation. I was met with a quizzical stare by a pair of eyes that had the strangest color to them, a gloved hand resting against the top of the closed catalog as he seemed to look me over. He seemed...familiar, somehow, but...well, I couldn't place him. At the same time, he also just looked like Mister Cowboy Man, so the thought wasn’t doing me any good. Still, his response had some hope filtering into my chest as I straightened up, meeting his gaze.

“You know him?”

He let out a huff, glancing at the shopkeeper who appeared to be gathering what he'd asked for, but I could tell he was listening in. How could he not be?

“In a way, though I ain't so sure no more.”

“What?”

“Sir,” the man behind the counter butted in, handing him a couple cans of food and a bottle of alcohol that the gruff looking man took from him with a nod. I lingered for a moment, somehow more confused about the conversation than when I had originally started, but ended up following the man outside against my better judgment.

Really, if this was my ticket out of here, I'd take feeling like I was being desperate over being stuck here. He seemed to pause as he noticed me following, casting me a somewhat annoyed look—like he hadn't inserted himself into the conversation in the first place, but at least he stopped as I repeated my question. Any sort of answer would help me, even if it was a crumb of hope. It was better than the pile of nothing I currently had.

“He was just some odd feller out in the woods, talked real strange...” he explained, gesturing down toward the path leading up into the mountain with his free arm, “Asked me to find some sort of...rock carvin's.”

Rock carvings? That was the first I heard of that. I could feel pressure in my face with how tight my brow was, a deep frown settling as I glanced toward where he had pointed. Though, something gave me pause—was? He was?

“Is he...still there now?” I asked, glancing back toward him as the man shrugged his shoulders. Considering how he talked about him, I was afraid of the answer.

“I...I ain't sure? At least...well, no way to explain this without soundin' crazy, but...well, when I returned after I'd gotten the locations for those rocks, he...he weren't what he was before.”

“This...okay,” I muttered as I pressed a hand against my forehead. Well...maybe I didn't need Francis. Could look over his words or rocks or whatever he was looking for here, note it down in the book and maybe he had some details to get back home. That really was my only hope at that point. With a sigh, I pressed a shaking hand to my mouth.

This wasn't over. If anything, it was better than what I had gathered in the last week.

“Could you...I hate to ask, but could you take me to where you last saw him?”

“Miss, I ain't—”

“I've been looking for him all week, mister. Please. I don't have much on me as it is, but money's no use to me. I can pay. I can give all I have on me if that's what it takes.”

“You really this desperate to find him? I hate to tell you, but you're gonna be disappointed.”

“It's better than what I have.”

Really and truly. I watched as he seemed to mull that over—I knew it was a lot, and I'd met this man not even a couple minutes ago. He could end up taking me out into the woods and shooting me, but I needed this. Needed something. Though I found my attention returning as a sigh fell from his lips, ducking his head down as his hat shielded me from the expression on his face before he glanced back up.

“You have a horse?”

“No.”

“'Course you don't...” he muttered under his breath, “Well, guess you can ride with me until we get there. Though, I'm tellin' you, it ain't worth really lookin' at. I ain't been able to make sense of it for days now.”

“Thank you,” I returned, the relief in my voice almost surprising me, “Whatever is there, it's better than what I got...”

He nodded, gesturing I follow as he started to cross the street toward the hotel. Two horses were hitched out front, though it appeared he was headed toward the bigger one as I stumbled and half jogged to catch up. I couldn't help but feel my limbs shaking slightly from anticipation. A flood of anxiety, too. I really just wanted to get back home, more than anything. I had never been too prone to homesickness, but this? It was nothing like I'd ever experienced before and I couldn't seem to balance the awe with my terror at points.

The man I was following pulled himself up rather effortlessly into the saddle, glancing down at me once he had settled as I stared up at him. Finally, he seemed to get the hint, extending a hand down as I attempted to pull myself up onto the animal before. It took some strength, but I had pulled myself up to be sitting sideways behind him on the horse, letting out a sigh of my own as I glanced around myself. Though, I found my hands flying to the man's sides as he steered the horse away from the post, not used to the movement. He stiffed a bit under my tight grip, turning his head over his shoulder somewhat as I made sure I wasn't going to fall off. Though, his voice sounded more amused than offended.

“You ever been on a horse before?”

“No, not like this. Never had to...well...” Just shut up.

“...No offense, miss, but you might be one of the more stranger folks I've met today...” he muttered as he spurred his horse on down toward the wooden bridge, a chuckle escaping me despite myself. Was probably the first time I'd let out any sort of laugh in a week.

“I get that a lot.”

Riding out into the woods didn't do much for my mood, despite not being alone. The man I was riding with at least had the means to defend himself against any animal that could want to eat us. Yet, really, the ride wasn't too far out from town. Maybe I wasn't wrong in thinking Francis could have stopped in there, but...well, I didn't know what he looked like, sounded like, or anything outside of the fact that I needed to find him. That he was like me. The notion of being a time traveler frightened me a bit, but that was a truth of the matter.

“So why did you want to find this feller so much?”

The voice cut into my thoughts, pulled me from going too far down a path I wasn't sure I wanted to go down just yet. This was all so confusing and the idea that he wasn't there anymore...well, I couldn't count out the fact that his information could be all I needed to get home. If he even left that behind.

“Was he your...husband? Brother?”

“Oh, uh, no,” I replied, shaking my head slightly, “We, uh...well, we work together, I guess? In a way? I was told I could find him out here, that he'd answer some questions.”

“Well...I already told you what I think 'bout that. Just...don't hold your breath.”

“Hope's not a terrible thing to have, mister. Especially in a situation like this.”

“You stranded?” he asked, my eyebrows raising slightly at the question. There was a twist to my gut—he wasn't wrong, in a way. If I didn't find him, couldn't find him...well, I could be stuck. Stranded. It was possibly the worst thought I could have but it was a common one. Had it almost every night the past week.

“We'll see, I guess...” I muttered, my voice not really carrying over the sound of hoof beats against the ground and the horse panting as we rode.

We eventually turned off a patch of road into some wilderness, not having to wander too far before a small house came into view. It was rustic and old, a pair of antlers hanging over the door. At least, it was old to me, as most of the buildings appeared to be. I was far away from the skyscrapers and paved roads. Would have been nice if I could actually relax and not have to think about the fact that I'm able to see this at all. The man pulled his horse to a stop in front of it as I took it in. It looked...dark, not quite lived in. From the outside, anyway. It wasn't a good sign, but then again most places looked like this.

“Is this it?” I asked, the man giving a nod before I slipped off the horse.

I landed on the ground with a soft grunt, my ankles pinching in protest slightly but eventually I started to wander forward. Though, I wasn't expecting the man behind me to get out of his saddle and wander after me. I gave him a quick look over my shoulder, but paused before the steps as my heart started to beat hard in my chest. This had to work. I had been almost blessed with such blind luck at this point and, well, maybe it was all according to plan.

“Don't think anybody's home,” the man remarked, his voice much closer up behind me than I'd been expecting. I glanced at him over my shoulder for a moment before I nodded softly, letting out a sigh.

“Well, might as well see what's inside...” I muttered. It wasn't my house, I shouldn't have been entering without permission, but...well, at this point I just needed some sort of answer on how to get on the right path. Get home.

However, I wasn't really prepared for what I was greeted with inside. The door was unlocked, my hand lingering against the wood of it as I stopped after a step inside. The house was dark, the day being somewhat overcast, so it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness from the gray brightness outside. However, on the wall across from the door sat an almost mural of sorts. The wall littered with drawings of a man, wagons, the pyramids—if it was the same man or not, I had no clue. It was just confusing, my mind taking note of the portals he seemed to be stepping out of, but there was no indication on how to summon one. If that was even what I needed. There were papers everywhere, more drawings.

“Are these...are these the rock carvings you sent him?” I asked, turning slightly to glance back at the man with me as I managed to find my voice.

“Yeah, but if you can make sense of 'em...” he muttered, shifting about the cabin to pick an object off the kitchen table, seemingly more interested in that.

“Did you ever see him?”

“Yeah, the carvin's look like him,” he confirmed, glancing back up to meet my gaze before glancing at the drawings himself, “He sent me a letter. Said he was...travelin' soon, but didn't say where. Though, when I showed up here...can't make sense of it, but a woman showed up holdin' this baby. Same red hair, same birthmark. Said he was Francis.”

My stomach sunk almost painfully, a breath escaping me as I glanced back toward the drawings as his words took a moment to process in my head. A baby. Francis was a baby, but he'd been a man first? This man had seen him in the state I needed him to be in, and yet I was too late? Did this mean...?

“No...no, no, no...” The whispers came falling out as I started to wander, picking up random pieces of papers, looking them over. Nothing made sense, couldn't click. Couldn't make any sense of it. This...no, this wasn't supposed to happen. “He...he was supposed to be here...”

“Wish I could make some sense of that...” he muttered, his voice sounding somewhat distant in my ears as I looked back to the drawings on the walls. He had moved on, did he know I was coming? There was nothing marked for me to see, or to make sense of. No indication that he had any idea this would happen.

“He was supposed to take me home...” My voice sounded tiny in my ears, I could feel the burning behind my eyes as I exhaled a shaky breath. This wasn't happening. This wasn't supposed to happen. They had prepared me, it was supposed to be simple, and yet...oh, I never should have agreed to even...

“I...am real sorry 'bout that,” the man's voice registered in my head, the awkward comforting apology. I turned to glance back at him, surprised at how close he was. I jumped slightly, moving back from him as I wrapped an arm around myself.

I was stuck here. My worst fear. I had friends, I had family—they had assured that it would be fine while I was gone, not much would have changed once I got back, but...well, they hadn't prepared me for this. I could feel some panic starting to grip, my arms shaking hard as I couldn't seem to focus on one thing. I was stuck here. I was stuck. There was no way to get back home. Not...

Breathe. Need to breathe.

“You need to sit down? You don't look good...”

“I'm—I'm fine. I'm fine...just...” I needed to focus on something else. I glanced at him, more of the situation filtering into my head as I took in another breath. “I haven't paid you yet, I have I? I'm—I'm so sorry. Just...here. Here, take all of it.”

“I...don't worry 'bout it, keep your money,” he muttered with a sigh, seeming to look me over, “This ain't...this ain't what you were expectin'?”

“No, no. Not in the slightest,” I muttered, my voice thick as tears threatened to fall.

God, what a mess. What a damn mess. I couldn't very well ask a baby how I could bend time and space enough to get back to the right time period, if I could even find him in the first place.

“I...I kept you for so long, I'm sorry,” I continued, sniffling despite holding back the tears, “You can go, I'll just...”

“...In all honesty, miss, I feel like I'm kickin' a dog if I leave ya here...”

A let out a bitter laugh, rubbing at my eyes. “That's awfully nice, thank you.”

“You want to ride back to town? A train station?”

“I have no damn idea where to go...” I muttered, shaking my head, “This...this is it. This is what I came here for. I'm just...I have no idea what to do.”

There was a heavy pause after that as I felt my shoulders drop, my head tilting downwards as I stared down at the floorboards. As if I could look at them hard enough, look into the dirt, it would tell me the secrets I needed. I hadn't intended to stay in the cabin, but it had a bed. It had all the papers I needed, but...what use were they? Just drawings, scribbles... I heard the man with me shift somewhat as he sighed, my gaze moving from the floor up to his face as he covered his eyes with a hand, his head down turned as he muttered something under his breath.

“I...can't believe I'm sayin' this...” he sighed, glancing back up, “I know we just met, but...I'm campin' out here. Just for a few days, lookin' to hunt. I'm headin' down to Valentine after, if you...want to stay there or catch a train. Can't offer much, but...better than stayin' here. Can't even tell if people live here no more but...”

“I...” The words of protest seemed to die in my throat as I looked him over—there really was nothing here for me, not that I could use. It was probably the nicest offer I'd gotten since someone offered to buy me a meal when I had first shown up in Strawberry. “...Can I get your name, sir?”

“Arthur,” he replied, my head nodding in acknowledgment as I ran a hand over my mouth.

I really didn't want to be alone right now. It felt...needy, but with everything...well it was nice of him to offer his continued company. A small sigh escaped me as I quickly tried to remember what fake name I said I'd give—couldn't leave any record that I'd existed before my birth. Before my parents' births, even.

“Irene,” I muttered, the name still odd on my tongue but it was safe. “I...already took so much of your time, but...that sounds nice. Thank you. Just...let me gather some things here...”

#my writing. #this is long I hope that read-more works. #arthur morgan #original character #reader insert #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x oc #rdr fanfic

[elfnerdherder]

Opus Dei: Chapter 5

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Chapter 5: Foil(s)

Two weeks later brought a quarter-long photography class, as well as a history class that didn't care so long as the final by the end of the semester was a passing grade. They kept him busy, helped him get his mind focused on the long work ahead, the structure and necessity of it. Jail had given his mind the time to wander, to roam within the confines of his cell. Now, the openness, the freedom of it was staggering, and he desperately needed to fill it. He had to stay busy. He needed distractions. His was a bait that took its time to cast and be bit.

The news let the death slip under the current of more engaging stories that had a neat bow to tie on the end of them. Will resisted looking up the murder that'd coupled potently with Beverly's thesis and led to his release. What notes had the Chesapeake Ripper trailed along there?

He reasoned one painting was enough. One photo. He didn't look up the first murder.

Insomnia led to studying Jael and Sisera in the darkness of his groaning home. If it was Hannibal--the longer he looked, the more sure of it he was-- it was a fitting sort of painting to have been the victim's last to paint before death. Will should have asked Jack for a picture of it, if nothing else. Had the Ripper placed it there, or had Sebastian truly been painting such a classical recreation? How had he chosen him? What had made him choose the poor man?

School would help with the insomnia. If he kept his hours busy, he would be too tired to stay awake.

It was in that very first class that he met Francis Dolarhyde, and that was only because Will had gotten lost and slipped in right in the middle of roll call, late but undeterred. Francis Dolarhyde sat alone, although he wasn't bothered when Will sat beside him at the table farthest back from the board. Will pulled out his notebook and his homework, raising his hand less than a minute later when his name was called. Dolarhyde's broad shoulders and muscled build took up nearly half of the table, but they'd just have to manage.

"You have a...nice dog," Francis observed, nodding to Will's photograph. It was an introductory aspect to the class: Tell Us About You.

"Thanks." He glanced over to Francis' photograph of a painting, something that'd been purposefully set up on an easel in the middle of the forest. A photo of a painting; the artistic type. "Do you like that painting, or do you like the aesthetic?"

Francis Dolarhyde had a square jaw and short, buzzed brunette hair. He turned to look at his photograph, and the scarring at his lip gave his smile an altogether crooked appearance.He was easily the biggest guy in class, the jock that all the girls wrote home about. "My favorite painting. The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed With the Sun," he said carefully. His voice caught on the hiss of the 's'. 

"Your favorite painting?"

He nodded. 

"This has been my favorite painting as of late," Will shared, and for reasons he couldn't quite explain he pulled out his phone and showed his table-mate Jael and Sisera. 

Maybe it was the fact that it was an absolute stranger, or maybe it was the fact that his painting seemed just as raw beneath the surface of the oil. He had a lot of alone time at the house. Just Will and Winston. Going to school would force him to be sociable. The dragon lay poised just beneath the maiden, prepared to devour her. Jael lay poised just above Sisera, ready to impale him.

Francis gave the painting a long, searching look, and he seemed to see the same. "I wonder if she'd bear his screams the way she bears the dust from the labor of carving her will into stone," he commented, and he looked to Will with a briefly flickering expression of interest. "He lay like marble."

"I think she'd bear them well enough," Will said, and he looked at her. "I don' think this is the first time she's done this."

"Nor the last?"

Will thought of Alana curling up in Hannibal's bed, cozy, and nodded gravely.

"Do you know why he would have been foolish enough to put his head beneath her hammer?"

"He trusted her enough and fell asleep," Will said. "That was his undoing."

"The moral, then, is don't make his mistake," Francis said, and too late Will realized it was a dryly- uttered joke. 

"Wish I'd gotten that advice a long time ago," he said with a smile.

Francis Dolarhyde laughed, a soft huff, and it was decided they could work together for the quarter.

Two weeks also took him on a date with Molly Foster, whose returned call was so upbeat and pleasant despite his awkward voicemail that he hadn't had the heart to begin to explain why maybe she shouldn't go on a date with him. Would the Chesapeake Ripper target her, should he get too close? Would he kill her in a fit of rage the way he had Charlie?

He found the nicest restaurant he could expect closeby, and so they enjoyed endless cheesy biscuits at Red Lobster. She didn't know him; he reasoned she wouldn't want to stray too far away from home.There was a killer about, or didn't she know?

"That's great that you're going to school. I barely finished, but I'm waiting for something to take off. I hear DC's a good place to look, so that's why I moved here." She had an honest, girl-next-door look that made the conversation flow despite the fact he couldn't quite meet her eyes more than twice throughout the main course.

Nerves had, in truth, gotten the best of him. It was the first honest, genuine date he'd ever been on, after all.

"Photography isn't my thing, but it was the only quarterly class they could offer on such short notice. I just wanted to get started. The history professor said that as long as the final had a passing grade, he'd allow it." He focused on her lovely blouse, floral beneath a cozy cardigan. The orange restaurant lights made her skin golden. "What did you study?"

"Business analysis...no, no I know, boring," she laughed, seeing his expression. It made him look up and meet her eyes, warm and inviting. "That's why I'm taking my time. I want to analyze the right business."

"You're careful in choosing," Will said then, looking to her lips, "as an analyst."

"I am," she agreed, and she stared unabashedly back.

Then he walked her to her car, and she stood blinking up at him, the lights burning from the lamp posts illuminating her face in a fuzzy, warm orange. "I had fun tonight, Will Graham."

"I did too, Molly Foster," he mimicked her inflection lightly, and he managed to look away from the collar of her cardigan to meet her eyes. He smiled slightly, although he couldn't keep her gaze.

"I'd want to go on a second date, if you wanted to take me on it."

His mouth turned to cotton, and his smile grew, guilt doing its best to curtail the pleasure that threatened to overtake his voice. "I'd like to take you on a second date."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he waited until she drove off until he turned and went back to his truck. He stood by it for a time, thinking, then kicked the tire angrily and drove away.

He felt guilty, but after the second date, there was a third. The Chesapeake Ripper did not add a third body to his pile, and Molly enjoyed a walk through the national park to witness the sunset over the Wolf Trap trees. He wondered if she'd looked him up yet. He wondered if Hannibal had looked her up yet. He wondered if it was really all that smart to try and enter into a relationship when your bait was set for a different kind of fish that bit harder and left marks.

By the fourth date, he finally had to say something. Molly made it easy to keep busy, from occasional phone calls to daily texts but now their dates had accumulated too quickly. Too many dates. People didn't go on dates like that unless they meant something by it.

"I'll call you," she said warmly, and they were parting at her car after a rousing round of bowling where she'd soundly beaten him. The neon lights of the bowling alley sign cast her in a cotton candy pink.

"Molly," he began, and she paused from leaning in to give him a soft, chaste kiss on the cheek. She'd done it the last three times, and he'd liked it enough he often touched fingers to the place hours later, puzzled over it. Hannibal had never done that to him. He had toyed with asking Alana for comparison. "I really enjoyed tonight."

Her smile remained, but her eyes belied whatever it was she was seeing on his face. "Why are you saying that like you didn't enjoy tonight?

"I...I don't know if I can take you on another date."

Her blue eyes were purple in the pink light. They blinked slowly, wide and doe-like in the neon. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't quite look at her, eyes off towards the dark spaces where the Chesapeake Ripper could always be lurking, watching. He wondered if he'd get another card on his kitchen table. "I..I like you."

"Okay," she said, suddenly uncertain.

"I've just got a lot of...baggage." He nodded. That was one way of putting it. "Things I don't want you to have to get involved in."

"We all have baggage, Will," Molly replied, and something in her tone made him look back to her, her eyes glassy and her mouth quirked into a half-smile that wasn't at all amused. "Life is about people making connections with other people and learning to deal with their tragic back-stories and baggage."

He wondered what baggage she was afraid of showing him, if it was a bad boyfriend or a bad case of body parts under the floorboards. "Mine could endanger your life," he said seriously; then had the misfortune of seeing the exact moment that she questioned his sanity, the moment she realized maybe she shouldn't want to go on another date with him.

How must that sound to a sane person, Hannibal would have said. These people with their mundane lives. You sound unhinged and delusional, Will.

"I...don't know what to say to that," she admitted, and her nose wrinkled. "It sounds like...a gimmick? Yeah, a gimmick." Her head bobbed, much like it had when the poor kid at JT's Bait Shop couldn't understand the concept of a two dollar bill. "If you don't want to continue dating, you can just say so. I won't get mad. I appreciate honesty, though."

"Did you look me up when you first met me?" he asked bluntly. Maybe a little too harsh? He managed to stare at the edge of her denim jacket, purposefully baggy and rumpled. 

She paused for a long time, and he couldn't quite look to her face to see why. "...No. Did you look me up?"

"No," he replied quickly. "I respect people's privacy."

"Liar," Jared Freeman jeered behind her. "You don't respect Hannibal Lecter's privacy."

"I guess I was going to until I saw you make the look on your face that you're making right now," she said, and her voice softened. She pitied whatever it was she was seeing in him. Fear? Maybe. Maybe a bit of self-disgust. Maybe some resignation in the lines by his mouth. "Made me think maybe you didn't feel comfortable with the idea of it."

"Statistically speaking, that means you could have gone on a date with a rapist," he pointed out, although he couldn't say why. He didn't want to frighten her, for God's sake. Did he have to be so nervous? He'd survived a psychopath twice over, and yet the idea of seeing the look on her face made his knees weak?

"I have mace," she assured him. "And you didn't give me that impression. Kinda...more like you were running from something."

"Someone," he said, much softer. He sighed, something more resigned than angry. "It's okay to look me up, but I'd ask you reserve judgement until you also ask me whatever questions you have. I'll try and be as honest as I can...I promise I'm not what they thought I was."

"Okay, Will Graham," she said, and she swooped up and pressed a firm, warm kiss on his open mouth. He inhaled it, and his breath caught. "Like I said, I'll call you."

"Okay," he replied, much too late. She was already getting into her car and starting it, the darkness of the cab casting her in shadows. 

He had assignments due, otherwise he would have puzzled over that kiss for most of the night. As it was, he passed his fingers over it and thought of how he'd once drunkenly kissed Alana Bloom so boldly, with nothing to lose and a mind melting from the fire. He felt charmed, but then again; he'd been charmed by Hannibal, too. He took photos of Winston walking through the tall grass that had burst from an early morning rain with a camera he'd snagged from the nearby Wal-Mart. Photography wasn't his thing, but he was going to try. If he could pass these, they'd allow him to enter a full-time status for the summer program.

-

Then, the second letter came.

My Dear Will Graham,

When I saw your release from prison, I thought: Dare I? Of course I do. I would not have risked corresponding with you while you were incarcerated, in case it was used against you. I who have looked up to your work, who has ascended from it on a level that I know you would understand. 

That is what it is you do, is it not? Understand?

I believe we have much in common, you and I. They're calling you innocent now, but they will only do their best to find other ways of locking you up again. You can't have taken her lungs so clean and they not try to find means again of caging you.

I have something to show you. I think you'd appreciate it; maybe see what it is I aim to ascend to and Become. Until then, I remain your,

-Avid Fan

This one Will found laying propped against his screen door. It felt like pills souring in his stomach to read it, and he sat out on the porch steps for a long time, thinking. Just in front of him, he imagined Jared Freeman pacing back and forth, back and forth.

"Call someone," he suggested, and his gaze darted about. "Can't trust the cops, but that Crawford guy..."

"Don't call Molly Foster," Garrett Jacob Hobbs advised. Will agreed.

He needed to call her at some point to now definitely cut things off. If the Chesapeake Ripper was calling himself an Avid Fan now, that was one alias too many to make sure he'd be able to keep her safe, should Hannibal decide to lash out. Had he witnessed their kiss? Had he crept, lurking and careful in the bushes and witnessed that there was someone else in the world that thought Will capable of receiving affection?

Problem was, it didn't feel like the Chesapeake Ripper baiting him, all cruel words hidden behind kind veneers of pleasant professionalism. It felt different, foreign. Rather than mocking, biting, the way the Chesapeake Ripper surely would be after finally allowing Will to be released, the words felt...awed. The person that wrote this thought that Will circumvented the law. They thought he was a killer.

They wanted to show him something, too.

It took a long time for him to realize the tapping noise in the static of his thoughts was his fingers on the deck, but that didn't stop it. They tapped, his heart stuttered, and Will Graham wondered just who in the hell he was supposed to tell about this, or if he'd been crying wolf for so long that no one could bother to care.

-

Will took a walk and found himself sitting with Peter Bernadone, just outside of the barn where he nursed birds back to health and set them free when possible. He spoke lovingly of a parakeet that had an attachment to him, one whose wing wouldn't unfold quite right. It eased at the ragged bite of the morning to think of things once broken made new. Peter was kind, and he desperately needed to think on kind things.

"I'm glad you came," Peter said, and they shared root beers Will had picked up on the way. He wasn't sure what it was he was hoping to find, sitting there beside him. He couldn't burden someone like Peter with something so horrific as the things he knew, the way he often woke up feeling the ghosts creeping just down the hall from where he once slept.

Was this Hannibal? Or was this someone new? If it was Hannibal, just what did that mean for him? Just what did he want to show to Will, and what was Will going to do to stop it?

If it wasn't Hannibal, just how in the hell was he going to detangle himself from it before he woke up with another killer strangling him to death? God, he was getting tired of drowning on the blood of so many innocent.

"Thanks for making time to talk," Will replied, and they sat on the bales and watched the horses. 

"A-are you okay?" Peter asked, and he peered over at Will gravely. "You look...awful sorrowful about somethin'." He was keener than he seemed. Being around animals, he saw the small expressions most didn't notice. 

"Have you ever had a secret that you tried to share, but no one would believe you?" Will asked. "Something that was really important, but no one thought you were telling the truth?"

Peter stilled, and the finches in the cage at their feet entertained the air around them before he found the words he was looking for, jaw working furiously. "I...yeah, I know about that."

"You do?" Will asked, surprised.

"I b-been thinkin' about tellin' people the truth...maybe they believe me, maybe not, but I gotta say somethin'. You said something, I heard. You told the truth, even when no one believed you."

Will couldn't meet his gaze, embarrassed. Everyone knew who the infamous Will Graham was, even Peter. He couldn't go anywhere without someone knowing his fucking name.

"I feel like right now I have to keep it a secret to get what I want in the end," said Will, and he swung his legs, kicking the hay bale beneath them. He timed the swings with his heartbeat.

"What do you want in the end?" 

"Justice." Kind of.

Peter nodded. "That's not so bad. You...should do what gets justice."

Will nodded resolutely. He still wasn't sure what to do about the letter. Not for the first time, the sound of Jack Crawford filled his mind, angry and haggard: What if wasn't Hannibal Lecter? What if the Chesapeake Ripper is someone they didn't know or understand in any capacity, and Will was taunting an innocent man as well as a killer? 

"You should too," he said. He wasn't sure if he should ask what it was Peter felt that no one would believe. It felt private, grave. "I don't regret it. Maybe I'd have done it a little different, but I'd have still done it."

"Oh, I...I will." Peter's brow furrowed, and he looked down to the finches and cooed to them, gentle. "I think if...i-if we don't stand up for somethin', no one will."

-

The time between a morning shift and a mid-afternoon class was staggeringly short. Will managed a bag of dollar burgers from McDonalds, and he'd gotten two of them shoved down his throat before he was driven to a stop by the large crowd of people that buffeted the sidewalks beside the dorms.

"So fucking scary, oh my god..."

"--couldn't believe they got in there, how'd they--"

"You know they keep the back door open, sick fuck probably strolled right in..."

"I need to call my dad."

"Back up, back up!" This from a police officer that was busy sectioning off part of the walkway towards the dorms. "I understand that some of you live here, but you'll need to give us a minute, please."

"What's going on?" Will asked, only for the cop to brush by him with the police tape in hand. He didn't spare Will a second glance, and there was something ironic to it, that at eighteen he'd had more access to that sort of information than he does now.

"Someone got killed," a student next to him replied, eyes across the quad. "In the Tower Dorms."

"What?"

"Yeah," they said with a nod. There was a thumb print on their left glasses lens, likely adjusted during a particularly rousing round of note-taking. "Someone says the mirrors in the bathroom are broken, and it's bad."

Will first thought of Hannibal, and how maybe he'd pushed the Chesapeake Ripper a little too far. But then he thought of the letter in his pocket, how it hadn't sounded so much arrogant as it was admiring, and a strange cold seemed to settle into his feet and make it hard to walk away.

"Who did they kill?" he asked, hoarse.

"Dunno yet, but it was the first floor and..." they grimaced, their thin lips puzzling over whatever was on their mind. "She was naked," they finally added.

"FBI," Will observed, and he chewed on his bottom lip. If Jack Crawford was there, he was going to be most decidedly not.

"You think a serial killer?" a young woman asked the student next to him. "FBI doesn't just show up to a homicide."

"I think whatever it is, it's bad enough the FBI showed up," the kid next to him said, somber. "Guys probably just strolled in and said they'd take it from here."

And that felt like Will's queue to leave. He waited for the space behind him to shift just slightly, and he made a break for it, slipping along the side leading away from the crime scene. If it was a serial killer, it was Jack Crawford's department. If it was psychological, it was Jack Crawford's department. 

If it had anything to do with the note in Will's pocket, it was Jack Crawford's department.

"Jason just texted and said it was the girl that was in the room next to his friend Hayley," a girl said, thumbs frantically working prose across the keyboard.

"Oh my god, she knew her?"

"What if he's not done?"

Will skirted around them and tucked his hands into his pockets, tense.

"We don't even know what he did. How could we know if he's done?"

He'd just rounded the corner to safety when he had the misfortune of walking right into the very man he was trying to avoid.

"Will," Jack greeted, falsely cheerful.

"Jack," Will said warily, taking a step back. He was half a breath away from running. Prey was flight, fight, or freeze, and Will wasn't going to fight a battle like this.

"Will! We were just talking about you," his photography teacher exclaimed. She was a pleasant, upbeat woman with a habit of gesturing wildly when caught up in the middle of her lectures. Her passion was photography of animals, as she'd confided in Will on the first day. Today, that was deflated in the wake of the ripple of rumor, the sudden sense that all was not well and good within the walls of learning. There were stress lines near her forehead and eyes.

"Why?" he asked, looking at Jack Crawford.

"Well--because--" she fumbled at that, and she looked to Jack beside her.

Jack had been waiting for his moment. "Because unfortunately, Will, you are a person of interest considering the nature of your own history."

Unfortunately, like Jack didn't love the opening this was going to give him to wheedle back into Will's life and make himself at home. One unpleasant house visit wasn't enough. The letter burned in his pocket. "Murders aren't common on campus until I show up," he said to his teacher.

"Now, really what we want is to establish a base of support," Ms. Newman explained quickly. Her eyes cut to Jack, then back. They were red despite her brave face. "You being here has nothing to do with what's just happened, but because of your past Agent Crawford wanted to make sure that you're in a safe place mentally and physically."

"Oh I'm as safe as he wants me to be," Will assured her.

Jack's eyes narrowed. Will hadn't specified which 'he'. "Will you come with me?"

Will did a congenial u-turn and waited expectantly. "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice! Agent Crawford, really I must--"

"Ms. Newman, it looks like one of your students needs you," Jack redirected, and Will looked up at the sky that threatened to be a positively beautiful day.

"You've always had a choice," Jack said, after Ms. Newman was well enough on her way to support Will from a distance.

"Sure didn't feel that way, Agent Crawford," said Will, not unkind. Not quite kind, either. The sky was the sort of blue one could get lost in.

He was glad the crowd prevented any further discussion, and they worked their way to the now thoroughly strung-up police tape. Will got to enjoy being the spectacle of walking under the rope with an FBI agent after just talking about it with someone in the crowd, and there was a tight feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the note in his pocket or the thought of Hannibal's next move.

"I thought you were done being his dog," Jared said, and he circled Jack as they walked across the dewy grass and cut dark swathes of ribbon towards the crime scene.

"It's not really the Chesapeake Ripper's style, but it is right on campus," Jack said. Will's chest constricted in response. "I don't know if you want to know about the victim, or--"

"I don't want to know about the victim," he said, voice tinny. "I don't even want to be here right now."

Something about that kept Jack from answering, and they walked into the maw of the dorm hall with trepidation and steps that echoed too loud on the marble tile.

The room is 213, and Will stared at it for a long time. It's a dorm room on the first floor, and it occurred to him after about first five seconds of staring that it's an odd number for a first floor. Not 113, 213. That stuck, even after the door opened. It hit the wall, and 213 seemed to hit a little harder, and he thought of the first time he'd ever felt someone's hands wrapped tight around his throat, squeezing.

"Will?"

Will blinked, and he followed Jack into the dorm room, sweat collecting on the back of his neck.

#LiaS scribbles #opus dei #hannibal fanfic #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #hannibal x will graham #revenge!fic #grey!will