#the historian inside me is absolutely buzzing

[wackachewbacca]

I don’t know if Uthodern is suffering so much because the city itself relies primarily on divine magic for its inner workings, but if this magical blackout extends to the rest of Exandria, does that make this is the beginning of a dark age?

#the historian inside me is absolutely buzzing #like i don’t really think it fits the exact qualifications for dark age but it’s like pretty close for a world used to magical divinity #since like it’s founding so dark age might be a bit different for them #c3 ep53 #the bells hells #critical role #cr spoilers

[pennamesmith]

For Want of a Skeletor

Entrapta hosts a Princess Alliance meeting at the Crypto Castle and absolutely nothing goes wrong. More Skeletor stories!

*

The lights were on late in Dryl. 

Stars shone outside the windows. Entrapta sat hunched over her desk, studying datapads and readouts. A polite cough from the laboratory door caused her to look up from her work.

“Oh! I’m sorry Hordak, did I wake you?”

Her partner stepped softly into the room and shook his head. “Imp did. You know how he gets when either of us take too long to come to bed.” 

Hordak crossed the cluttered floor and joined Entrapta at the desk. He was holding Imp in his arms, and the smaller, winged clone whined plaintively when he saw her. Entrapta kept her screens on, but leaned gratefully into Hordak’s side and curled a tendril of hair around his waist. She yawned, despite herself. 

“I know. I just want to make sure I get everything right before the other princesses come over tomorrow.” She glanced back at the data, nervously tapping her fingertips together. “I’ve never hosted an Alliance meeting before! And this rescue will be our biggest mission since… well, you know. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

Hordak smiled. “Your diligence is admirable. But I also seem to recall someone telling me that imperfections are beautiful.”

Entrapta stuck out her tongue. “No fair.” 

“I’m afraid the science is sound. Come to bed, my dear.” 

The scientist scoffed, but she did not protest when Hordak gathered her up in his arms. She wrapped more of her hair around him, and Imp settled sleepily in the resulting nest. Entrapta could already feel herself drifting. 

“You will be a shining star tomorrow,” Hordak promised, as he carried his family back to rest. 

“Tomorrow,” echoed Imp.

*

The next day saw the Crypto Castle’s largest meeting room filled with princesses, dignitaries, and other honorary Alliance members. While Scorpia and Perfuma admired the tiny refreshments laid out for everyone, Mermista split her time between groaning at Sea Hawk’s boasts and trying every available chair to find the most comfortable one. Glimmer and Bow stepped uneasily around the edges of the room, watching carefully for anything that might be a trap, and Frosta followed their lead. Netossa and Spinnerella tried their best to find a chair Swift Wind could sit in. 

Adora and Catra, wearing increasingly baffled expressions, were conversing with two domestic-looking robots who sat at the head of the table next to Entrapta. One was tall and skinny, and the other wore a welded-on handlebar mustache. 

“Entrapta has parents?” Catra was asking, her face a galaxy of disbelief. 

“Adopted, technically. Or adapted,” the skinnier bot explained. “We’re Entrapta’s parental units. She built us when she was six. You must have seen the painting in the foyer.” 

“Yeah, we’ve been here pretty much the whole time,” the mustachioed model added. “You kids sure made a racket during your last few visits. What was that all about?” 

“Uh,” Adora faltered. 

To her immense relief, Hordak swept into the room at that very moment, flanked by Imp, Emily, and the reprogrammed Horde drone Entrapta had dubbed ‘Skeletor.’ 

“Welcome, everyone,” Hordak boomed, bringing the gathering to a respectful hush. 

“Witless fools! I’m in charge now! And if you know what’s good for you you’ll do as I say!” Skeletor shouted. 

Hordak scowled and shooed the fussing robot away from the table. “Pay no mind to that one,” he grumbled once he’d regained the floor. “Now then. Please allow me the honor of introducing the unparalleled mind who has made this operation possible, Princess Entrapta.” 

“Thank you all for coming!” Entrapta started, while everyone took their seats. “I know you’re all excited about what we’re planning, but there’s still a lot of preparation to do before we can take off. As the chief science officers for this mission, it’s vital that Hordak and I gather as much data on your abilities as possible! Interdimensional travel is severely unpredictable and —” 

“Hold on,” Mermista interrupted. “Exactly how high are the chances of us getting mutated by cosmic space energy or whatever? Because I only want cool mutations, not gross ones.” 

“Maybe thirty, thirty-five percent?” Entrapta guessed. She shrugged. “A lot of this is theoretical. You guys will be like my guinea pigs! By which I mean the small robotic animals in the castle I protect and care for. And experiment on, sometimes.” 

She laughed heartily. Glimmer and Bow shared a nervous glance. Perfuma turned slightly green. 

Entrapta regained her composure and pointed back to the display board. “Ahem. Anyway, the good news is we already know some things about where we’re going! Probably.” She shuffled her notes, gaining confidence as she spoke.

“Before Adora found the Sword of Protection, historians debated ancient records of She-Ra. Some claimed she was called ‘Her-Ra’ and fought for the ‘Power of Grayskull.’ But I theorize that what those archaeologists actually uncovered was evidence of —”

“I have a question!” Frosta yelled. “Will there be hunky guys in the other dimension? I’m asking for a friend.”

“It’s funny you mention that, actually,” Entrapta replied. “Listen, just let me finish and…” 

Unfortunately, anxious impatience had already gripped the assembled Alliance members. They clamored with questions, all talking at the same time. Entrapta shrank back in her seat and pulled her welding mask down, seeming to reach for something under the table. 

Hordak stood up. Just as it looked like he was about to do something violent, a loud alarm sounded and the lights in the room flashed red. 

“Uh-oh.” Entrapta glanced around at the assembled company. “Um, get ready to tuck and roll everybody!”

“Get ready to what?” Mermista cried out, but it was already too late. Multiple trap doors swung open across the meeting room floor, and with flailing limbs and startled shouts the guests were sent tumbling down chutes in every direction. In moments they had all vanished.

“I always feel so much better after doing something bad!” Skeletor cackled. “Now we begin phase two!” 

*

Adora and Catra, who had clung to each other as they fell, landed with a bump in a darkened, underground space. As soon as they arrived, bright lights flickered to life and a huge screen lit up against the wall. 

Entrapta’s face appeared on the monitor, larger than life. “Oh good! You’re alive,” she chirped when she saw the other two. 

Adora clambered to her feet. “Entrapta! What’s going on?” 

The scientist glanced away. “Well, I guess Skeletor didn’t like that we were ignoring him. So he stole my map of the castle and activated the security systems! Which means we’re all lost in the labyrinth until I can catch him. Isn’t that great?” 

“It’s something,” Catra groaned, rubbing her head. 

“Exactly! Now, without my map I can’t come find you. But if you can make it through the traps, the hallway you’re in should take you back to the meeting room. Then you’ll be safe until I can fix things!” 

The screen dimmed again before Catra or Adora could protest. Left with few other options, they turned to get a good look at whatever dangers lay ahead. 

They were standing at one end of a long corridor. Square blocks floated along its length, suspended in midair with anti-gravitational tech. An interrogative punctuation mark flashed on one, while a squat robot with painted-on angry eyebrows shambled slowly back and forth beneath it. 

Catra took it all in. “You have got to be kidding.” 

Adora had already drawn her sword and begun to venture forward. Catra was about to follow her, when something made her ears flick. A suspicious frown crossed her face.

“Hey, Adora!” Catra called. “Listen!” 

“What?” 

Catra pressed her ear to the wall. “There! Do you hear that?” 

“Obviously not,” Adora huffed. “Now stop dawdling, the first puzzle looks pretty easy.” 

Catra stayed where she was. “Hold on a second. This part of the castle feels familiar. I remember walking through here back when, uh, back when it was still Horde territory.” She coughed awkwardly, and then reached up to tilt the frame of a big-eyed kitten painting. “Look!” 

Something clicked and the wall slid open, revealing a new passageway. Distinctive laughter could be heard coming from the other end of it. A purple neon sign reading “Secret Entrance!!!” buzzed to life. 

Adora sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“One time Entrapta had me and Scorpia over for a life-size Snakemen and Ladders game that got a little out of hand,” Catra explained as they entered the tunnel. At the far end there was a brightly lit office; inside, it was filled with laboratory equipment, video monitors, and a humble but dignified desk. 

Hordak was sitting at the desk, in what appeared to be a smaller version of his old Fright Zone throne. It swiveled. Entrapta was sitting on the desk, and she waved as the other couple entered. 

“Myaah! Sleep gas and stun-rays only, my evil minions!” muttered Skeletor, who was busy working the video monitors. On closer inspection, Adora realized that each of them showed some of the other princesses as they traversed the castle labyrinth. 

“Welcome to mission control!” Entrapta sang, spreading her arms wide. “Hordak didn’t think you’d find us, but I had a hypothesis you might.” 

“It was a ruse!” Adora gasped, scandalized. “You’re not lost at all!” 

“You really need to hang out with Entrapta more if that still surprises you,” Catra observed. She looked at the monitors. “Ah, are they gonna be okay?” 

“Better than!” Entrapta sprang off the desk, hanging by her hair as she showed off multiple datapads. “Everyone was getting a little… distracted upstairs, so I just decided to speed things up a teensy bit! The princesses using their powers to escape the maze will let me get all the readings we need, and then we can have a nice little party! I had the baker make tiny cakes.” 

“I made sure Hordak’s doomberry pie was especially tasty!” Skeletor piped up. 

“And it’s all perfectly safe!” Entrapta promised. Discreetly, a ribbon of hair reached out to push a blinking button. On the monitors, Mermista and Sea Hawk were rescued from a robot shark attack by a convenient change of the currents. 

“This is hilarious,” Catra laughed, looking more closely. On one of the screens, Swift Wind was gleefully running loop-de-loops along a curving racetrack. “I think they’re actually having fun in there. Can we stay and watch?” 

“I’m afraid not,” Hordak said. She-Ra’s — and your — assessment is the most important of all. But we’d love to have you over to the castle for dinner soon. Shall we say eight o’clock next week?” 

“That sounds nice!” Adora chimed, before Catra could stop her. 

“Splendid. I’ll cook,” Hordak concluded. Then he pressed a button on his desk, and a trapdoor sent the younger women plummeting through the floor. 

Catra and Adora yelped in surprise, only for their fall to be cut short by an enormous pile of pillows on the level below. They struggled to their feet. Another corridor stretched away in front of them, filled with further challenges. Floating gold coins, each about four feet tall, indicated a pathway. 

“Try not to have too much fun,” Hordak called good-naturedly as the trapdoor slid shut. 

“Use the warp zone! It’s faster!” Entrapta added. 

“Have a nice trip down!” said Skeletor. 

*

Hordak settled back in his chair (it had soft armrests, and a cushion for lumbar support) and watched his partner at work. Entrapta flitted from screen to screen, taking notes and making adjustments. On one display, Bow and Glimmer had met up with Netossa and Spinnerella while navigating a cage minefield. On another, Frosta was making an ice bridge to help Perfuma and Scorpia cross a slow-moving spike trap. 

“I’m sorry you had to use your backup plan. They really are utter fools if they ever doubted your genius,” Hordak mused. 

“Different people have different strengths and weaknesses,” Entrapta replied, without looking up from her work. “And a good scientist collaborates whenever they can! Even if that requires a little creativity sometimes.” 

Hordak nodded. “Fair enough. Nevertheless, I would not blame you if you wished to have nothing more to do with the Princess Alliance. Even their attempts to help you can seem… insensitive. You’re not obligated to forgive that.” 

Skeletor looked up from his control panel and shook a fist. “Don’t you get awfully tired of being a hero all the time? Don’t you ever feel like doing something evil?” 

“They’re trying to be good friends,” Entrapta defended. “And so am I. And if I really did need their help, maybe things would be different. But I’ve got it all under control!” 

She vaulted across the room, flipping switches and turning dials along the way. On the monitors, Perfuma’s fall from a tall platform was gently broken by a sudden anti-gravitational field. 

“Besides, forgiveness isn’t always about the person being forgiven. It’s also about taking back potential energy that was lost.” 

“Did you learn that in my brother’s therapy group?” Hordak asked. 

Entrapta smirked. “Actually, he got it from me.” 

A pleasant ding sounded and Entrapta clapped her hair. “Hooray, everyone made it back! I’ll calculate the high scores and then we can continue the social experiment!” 

“You astonish me every day,” Hordak purred as he rose to follow her. Entrapta put out her hand, and he took it. 

“Wait for me!” Skeletor cried out. “You might get lost by yourself!” 

*

One week later, a much smaller gathering of royals met in Dryl. 

Catra and Adora sat together in one of the Crypto Castle’s least intimidating dining rooms, listening with barely-contained delight as Entrapta’s parental units thoroughly embarrassed their former boss. 

“...And so I said to him, ‘I have charging ports Hordak, can you download raw data offa me?’ Ha! Oh, you shoulda seen his face!” 

Hordak slouched in his chair. “I do not think we need to bore our guests with the details of this particular story,” he protested, feebly. 

“Oh, I’m not bored at all! I want to hear everything,” Catra said. She leaned forward, grinning. “So, was this before or after you hooked him up to the lie detector?” 

Entrapta giggled, and gave Hordak a gentle pat on the shoulder as she reached for another helping of his tiny quiche. All things considered, the night was going surprisingly well. 

It was exactly what Entrapta wanted. 

After dinner, wheeled bots carted away the leftovers and dirty dishes. Hordak poured coffee for himself and Adora, and the parental units retired to wherever it was they lived in the cavernous castle. Entrapta, lost in thought as usual, felt a familiar feline presence approach her. 

“Thank you,” Catra said, sincerely. “Not just for this. For everything. For being so nice all the time. For making this mission happen. It means a lot to me.” 

Entrapta smiled softly. “To me, too. Everyone makes mistakes. It would be a shame not to learn from them when we can.” 

“Did you say something?” Skeletor squawked, suddenly materializing in the doorway. 

Entrapta, unbothered, immediately produced a datapad. “Oh we’re just talking about the big rescue mission! Actually, you should probably take a look at my data, Skeletor. I haven’t told you much yet, and we might need you!” She held the blinking screen out happily. 

Skeletor looked at the datapad. At first he seemed confused; then he boggled as he registered the information in front of him. “Eternia?” he gasped in disbelief. “Grayskull?” 

His voice rose to a fevered pitch. “He-Man!”

For once, Skeletor had no words. He shrieked incomprehensibly instead, fists shaking. 

Hordak chuckled. “It’ll be just like the old days!” 

Skeletor screamed. 

#spop #skeletor #entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #Catra #Adora #the princess alliance #smith stuff #fan fiction #thank you for reading

[macademmia]

I Like Me Better When I’m With You

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Janus/Patton, Moceit

Summary: Janus Dean did not mean to start dating Patton Hart for political gain, and he definitely did not mean to fall in love with him. 

(Or the fake dating high school AU that nobody asked for but everyone needed.)

Based on this prompt by the incredible @kawaiikat54

Warnings: cursing, homophobia(nothing violent) 

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Everybody loves Patton Hart. He’s one of those rare popular kids who got their popularity by being a great person. Patton knows everyone’s first and last name and he’s in almost every club. He’s every teacher’s favorite student and every girl’s crush. He never curses and is nice to everyone. He’ll help you with your homework and listen to your problems. He gives hugs like it's nothing. Patton Hart thinks life is a fairy tale. 

Jason Dean absolutely despises Patton Hart. Everything in Patton’s life is perfect and everything he can get everything he’s ever wanted just by showing up. Janus has to fight for what he wants every step of the way. Janus is not trusted easily like Patton. Janus has a resting bitch face, whereas Patton’s face naturally falls into a smile. Janus is the night of Patton's day. 

For most of high school, Janus has been fine ignoring Patton. They never got in each other’s way, and Janus and his friend Ethan bonded over laughing at him. Janus stayed in his lane and Patton stayed in his that’s our it’s always been. 

Today everything changed. Today Patton Hart entered the race for student body president. Janus has spent the past month campaigning and building up goodwill, but it’s all pointless. Voters will take one look at the name Patton Hart and check the box next to his name. Patton doesn’t even have to captain. Just like always, Patton wins just by showing up. 

It’s infuriating, and it means that Janus will have to fight dirty. 

When the bell for lunch rings, Janus exits through the backdoor of the courtyard. It’s empty like it always is. 

Across the courtyard, his friend Ethan is leaning against the hard brick wall with a cigarette in one hand, and a flask in the other.

“‘Sup Janus.” 

“Hello, Ethan, did you hear the news?”

“That Hart’s running for president? Yeah.”

“What do you think we should do about it?” 

“Probably something he wouldn’t like,” Ethan says, and Janus laughs.

“What did you have in mind? Stage a scandal? Hack his email? Push him down a flight of stairs?” Janus was pretty partial to the last one. 

“Fun, but no. To win this race you’re going to have to go big or go home.”

That doesn’t sound good, especially coming from Ethan. 

“What do you mean, go big or go home?” 

“You need to pretend to date Patton Hart.” 

Janus laughed, “Absolutely not.” 

Ethan growled at him, “Did I fucking stutter Dean?”

Janus glared at him, “Did I? I’m not doing that.”

Ethan did not back down, “Take a second to think about it before you get all your feather ruffled. If you pretend to date Patton, you will get everything. You will find out what’s under his everything is a perfect persona. You’ll have a confession that he’s gay. If you do it you’re practically guaranteed to win the race.”

Janus pauses, “You have a point. I’ll think about it. You happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

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

It’s been a week and Janus has thought of a way to talk to Patton, let alone ask him out. Hell, despite what Ethan says, he doesn’t even know if Patton is gay, bi, or pan at all. 

Despite the fact that if he is in fact, not straight, Patton is closeted, Ethan has been texting him more and more every day, and at this point, Janus might just flat out ask Patton out just to get him to shut up. 

As if on cue, Janus’ phone buzzes with a text. He doesn’t have to check who it is. He groans and shuts his phone off. History class is about to begin anyways. 

In the time that he’s read the text and dumped his phone into his bag, Patton Hart has somehow managed to sneak up on him. 

“Everything ok?” Patton asks, and there’s genuine concern in his voice. It drives Janus crazy. Through his glasses, Janus can see the concern and care in his big brown eyes, and it’s so powerful that he almost has to take a step back. 

Janus looks away from Patton, “Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?” 

Patton just shrugs, “You just seemed stressed.” 

“Oh well, thank you for your concern but I have everything under control,” Janus says, and why is it so hard for him to talk to Patton. Each word sounds awkward and unsure and it’s a complete 180 from the smooth and suave tone he usually uses.

Before the conversation can get any more awkward, the bell rings. 

“Glad to hear it,” Patton says. 

Janus just nodded and walked inside the classroom. 

Within the next few minutes, kids start filing in and sitting in their usual spots. Patton is sitting in the front predictably and Janus is watching him from the third row.  

Once all the students have filed into the dilapidated classroom their teacher, Mr. Rivers walks up to the front of the class. 

“All right everybody!” He says. “So today I thought we could switch things up a bit, and instead of me teaching you something like we normally do, you could teach your classmates and me something?” 

The class stares at him blankly, but Mr. Rivers doesn’t seem to notice their lack of a reaction. 

“So I decided that you all, with the help of a partner, will present on a series of influential people throughout history who all share one trait in common. It’s opened ended, so the thing all your people have in common can be creative! Hopefully y’all can have fun with this! Today you are going to have all of this class period to talk with your partner and get started, the project will be due next week. Any questions?” 

Only one girl raises her hand, and Mr. Rivers calls on her enthusiastically, “Can we choose our Partners?” She says. 

“Nope! I’m going to be picking partners for you all, it’s great to work with new people.” He replies cheerfully. 

A low groan rumbles through the classroom, but Mr. Rivers doesn’t comment on it.

“Alright so first up is Will Solace and Nico De Angelo.” 

The teacher keeps on listening names until finally Janus’ name was called,

“...and finally we have Patton Hart and Janus Hart.”

Well, that was one way to get the plan going. At least he’d have something to report to Ethan. 

Janus was not ready when Patton came bounding towards his Desk, with brown curls bouncing in time with his steps.

Janus was pretty sure he could stare at Patton and still not have counted every one of his freckles, the kid had so many. 

“Hey, Janus!” Patton was at his desk.

“Hi, Patton.” 

“So what do you wanna do? I know a lot of the other kids are doing soldiers from the same wars and stuff so we could do that if you’d like” 

“Well,” Janus mock whispers, “I was thinking we could spice things up a little bit, maybe do some queer people throughout history, freak the class out about it.” Janus was acting nonchalant but on the inside he was nervous; Patton’s reaction could change this entire election. 

Patton’s face seemed to light up even more if that was even possible. “That sounds awesome! There are so many people throughout history and no one even knows about it! Like did you know historians think Abraham Lincoln might have been gay? Or Eleanor Roosevelt, they found letters from her to a female lover or Alan Turing, he was essential in the liberation of Europe from Nazi Germany, and he was gay!” 

Janus raises an eyebrow, “Wow Patton you sure do know a lot.” 

Patton freezes and then rushes to defend himself, “Oh yeah I just wanted to support my LGBTQ friends by learning about their history! I just want to be a good ally.” Patton smiles but Janus can tell he’s nervous.

Yep, Janus thinks, totally just an ally. 

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Two weird things happen next week. Janus and Patton get an A on their assignment and Patton start sitting at Janus’ table. Janus has no clue why; Patton could sit at any table in the entire cafeteria and be welcomed as an honored guest. The first week Patton sits at Janus’ table, Janus doesn’t talk to all. He has his recorder on sure, but he’s too confused to respond. 

Patton talks about everything. He talks about frogs and theater and the stars. He talks about his family and his favorite colors. 

It should drive Janus crazy, but it doesn’t. 

Listening to Patton talk becomes one of the best parts of his day. 

When Janus finally starts throwing in a sarcastic comment here and there, Patton’s smile could outshine the sun. 

Janus ignores the fact that his heart speeds up more than it should when he’s around Patton.

With every recording he sends to Ethan, his guilt grows and grows. Janus doesn’t know how to handle the guilt, and he definitely doesn’t know how to deal with how he feels about Patton.

He can’t stop thinking about Patton, even when they’re not at lunch together. He can’t stop thinking about the way Patton’s eyebrows crinkle together when he laughs or how he gives Janus his full attention when he talks. He doesn’t want to think about the swell of anger in his gut every time someone so much as looks bad in Patton’s direction. 

Today though, today something is wrong with Patton. 

He won’t make eye contact with Janus, and he’s hunched in on himself. His smile is absent, and he won’t stop twisting his fingers. 

This isn’t how Patton’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be joyful and happy. But that’s not right, is it? Janus has always thought of Patton as a positivity god, above it all. Now, as Patton fidgets in front of him, Janus is reminded of how undeniably human Patton is. 

Patton’s voice is so low that Janus isn’t sure if I heard you, “Do I bother you?” 

Janus blinks. He never thought someone like Patton would ask him questions like that. 

“Of course not,” Janus says, and it’s the truth. He loves being around Patton. He loves hearing him talk, he loves the fact that he’s three inches taller than Patton, he loves how Patton makes him feel better about himself when Patton is around. Janus wants to find whoever made Patton believe that he was a bother and give them a black eye. Or two. 

Patton still remains hunched in on himself, “It’s ok Janus, I know you’re just being sarcastic.” 

“Patton,” Janus says, “Look at me,” He waits until Patton reluctantly meets his gaze, “You’re not a bother, in fact, sitting here with you at lunch is the highlight of my day.” 

Patton lets out a surprised o with his mouth, and Janus isn’t sure whether or not he wants to wrap Patton in a thousand blankets or hunt down everyone who ever hurt him. 

Patton is making Janus soft, but he can’t find himself to care. 

Next Tuesday, Patton comes up to his table like he’s about to go to war. His shoulders are tensed and his eyebrows are furrowed. His backpack straps are pulled as tight as possible and he’s marching towards Janus’ table. 

“I’m gay. And I wanted to tell you because you’re the first person in my life who doesn’t care about who I am or what I can do for you and I really hope that’s okay” Patton says, and he’s shaking a little. 

Janus is struck by how brave Patton is. Janus has never had the guts to come out, not like this, and here Patton is, exposing himself completely. Janus can see the fear in his eyes, but Patton doesn’t let it stop him. 

“I knew you weren’t just an ally.” 

Patton twirls the bracelet on his left wrist, “Am I really that obvious?” 

Janus shakes his head, “Nah, it just takes one to one.” Janus watches as the confusion on Patton’s eyes morphs into realization. 

“Oh,” Patton says. 

“Yeah” Janus replies. 

Patton smiles at him and starts talking about frogs. 

Janus’ phone feels heavier with the recording of Patton coming out. 

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When Janus sends the recording of Patton’s coming he should feel good. He did it, that tape is enough to ruin Patton’s popularity for the rest of high school. He won. 

But he doesn’t feel good. In fact, he’s never felt worse. He’s going to get everything he ever wanted and he hates it. 

He can’t keep doing this to Patton, he can’t keep pretending to be the friend Patton so desperately needs when his moral compass is practically pointed towards Antarctica. 

He can’t take back the damage he did to Patton, but maybe he can stop pushing the knife deeper. 

He picks up his phone and texts Ethan.

Janus Dean, 7:30 pm: we’re done, I’m not going to pretend to date Patton anymore, I’m not going to send you recordings anymore. 

Ethan doesn’t even bother texting him back, He just calls Janus a few seconds after he receives the text. 

Janus picks up his phone and takes a deep breath. He has a feeling he’ll need it. 

“What the fuck Dean?” 

“Hello to you too Ethan,” Janus says, hoping the sarcasm will hide the panic.

“Don’t you fucking dare ‘Hello Ethan’ me.” Ethan snarls, “A deal is a deal, you can’t just pull out like this.” 

“Why do you care anyway? You’re not running for student body president, I am!” 

“Aw, you’re cute Dean.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean.” Janus snaps.

“You think I give a shit about your little election? Are you crazy? I could care less, no this was all about Patton.” 

“What do you have against him?” 

A manic laughed echoed through the phone, “I want to see that dumb smile fall right off his moronic face.” 

“That’s it? You’re going to ruin his life because you’re feeling petty?” Janus knows Ethan isn’t the most ethical person out there but this is low even for him. 

Ethan doesn’t seem to care, “Now you’re getting it, JDelightful.” 

Fuck, He underestimated how crazy Ethan could be. 

Janus could hear Ethan smiling through the phone, “You’re going to regret saying no to me.” He said, and with that, the line went dead.  

It was all over. Patton, the one person who ever cared about Janus was going to leave. It wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

However, he did still have a few hours left. And he had nothing else to lose.

Janus Dean,  7:41 pm: Can we hang out? 

Patton Hart, 7:41 pm: Sure! When and where? 

Janus Dean, 7:42 pm: I know this awesome hidden park we could check out, I can pick you up, I’ll be there in 10. 

Patton Hart, 7:42 pm: awesome!!! :D

Janus was going to lose Patton. There was no use of denying it. 

That wasn’t going to stop him from taking every second he could get and treasuring it forever.

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

Patton is sitting on the front steps of his house when Janus’ blank car swings around the block. 

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping.” Janus deadpans

“Hello to you too snake boy,” Patton says, matching Janus’ monotone. 

“Snake boy? Really? Is that the best you could come up with Golden Boy.” 

“Takes one to know one Janus,” Patton says. Is he talking about what Janus said when Patton comes out? Janus hopes he’s not blushing. 

“Touché, Patton,” Janus says, and Patton grins at him. Janus can’t stop staring at his lips.

Stop looking at him like that, you’re never going to be his anything. 

Janus ignores his inner monologue. 

Patton shuffles his playlist and Don’t Stop Believing comes on. 

“Oh my god Patton, you are such a dad.” Janus groans, but Patton pretends not to hear him 

“Don’t stop believing,” Patton sings, “Hold on to that feeling” Patton belts the last song and it’s so terrible, but it’s so Patton and Janus falls just a little bit harder. 

Patton is giving him the look, the do what I say or I’ll be sad look. Janus sighs.

“Hold on to that feeling.” Janus sings, and Patton lets out a whoop, and Janus starts signing louder, “Street light people, waiting just to find emotion.” 

“Living just to find emotion!” Patton shouts, and Janus belts right along with him. 

Another song comes on, and then another, and suddenly Patton and Janus have screamed themselves hoarse singing 80s songs.

By the time they’ve gone through six songs, the sky is falling down, and Patton’s windshield wipers are swiping in overtime. 

When they pull up to the park, it’s pouring. There are no cars in the parking lot and Janus can barely see five feet in front of him. 

Patton frowns, “Aw man, it’s raining. I guess we’ll just have to come back later.” 

Janus freezes. There is no later. It is literally now or never.

“No,” Janus says.

“No?” Patton says in surprise. 

“It’s just water, it can’t stop us from having fun,” Janus says. This is it. If Patton says no Janus doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

“Okay,” Patton says, giving Janus a mischievous smile. 

Janus unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of the safety of the car in the pouring rain. Within the first three seconds of being outside, Janus is drenched from head to toe. He doesn’t notice. 

“Hey,” Patton says. Just like Janus, Patton is soaked. His cardigan is leaking, and his glasses are foggy. His curls have fallen flat and raindrops hang on his bangs. 

“Hi,” Janus replies, and this is so absurd. He’s standing outside alone with Patton Hart in an abandoned park in the rain, just before his life is about to fall apart. 

Janus wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Dance with me,” Janus hears himself saying. 

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll teach you.” 

Janus walks over to Patton and says, “Ok so first I’m gonna put my arms around your shoulders like this,” Slowly, in case Patton wants to pull away Janus puts his arms on top of Patton’s shoulders. 

“What’s next?” Patton asks. 

“Put your arms on my waist,” Janus says. He can feel Patton hesitate and then tentatively wrap his arms around his middle. The feeling of Patton’s skin on his is electrifying. 

Patton smiles, “Now what?” 

“Now we just move,” Janus says simply and he follows Patton’s movements. For a beginner, Patton is a surprisingly good dancer.

The two dance under the stars to the melody of the rain. 

Neither of them says anything, but Patton’s face is so close to his and his lips are even closer. 

It takes all the willpower Janus has to not kiss Patton then and there. 

“Hey, Patton?”

“Yeah, Janus?” 

The butterflies in Janus’ stomach are more like raging pigeons. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but, I think now is the right time,” Janus takes a deep breath and Patton gives him an encouraging look. 

“I like you. I really like you, Patton. I’ve liked you ever since you sat down at my table and started to talk about frogs. I thought it was just a friend thing, but it’s not. Because the truth is Patton, I want to be with you, all the time. I want to kiss you and I want to call you my boyfriend.” Patton is silent.

“If you don’t feel the same way, I totally get it. I’ll leave you alone. I won’t push it, I promise. I don’t want it to be weird I just want you to be ha-“ 

Janus is cut off by Patton grabbing his collar, and pulling him down to his level for a kiss. 

Patton is kissing him. Patton is Kissing Him. Holy shit. This is better than anything Janus could have imagined. Patton’s lips are soft against his chapped ones. They’re warm despite the pouring rain. Patton wraps his arms around Janus’s neck to keep himself steady, and Janus brushes Patton’s bangs away from his eyes. 

When Patton finally pulls away, there’s fire in his eyes. 

“You absolute idiot,” Patton says, taking a second to breathe, “how could you think, even for a second, that I wouldn’t like you.”

Janus laughs and doesn’t stop looking at Patton, “I guess I’m just dumber than I thought.”

Patton nods vigorously in agreement, “understatement of the century, snake boy.”

Patton goes in for another kiss, and Janus doesn’t want this night to ever end.

Fuck Ethan.

Fuck the election.

Fuck other people.

Janus just wants to stay with Patton forever.

When he gets back from his date with Patton, Janus is so happy, all he wants to do is jump and scream with joy. He’s never felt more himself around another person. He feels so alive when he’s with Patton that he never wants to stop. 

He drops his bag down on the floor of his bedroom and jumps on his bed. He’s smiling so hard it hurts but he doesn’t want to stop. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t used those muscles in years. 

He grabs his phone, pops his earbuds in, and shuffles the playlist Patton made for him. He’ll never get over the small act of Patton making a playlist for him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over Patton. He loves the way Patton lights up when he talks about frogs. He adores how Patton keeps smiling day after day, he’s stronger than anyone will ever know. He loves the way Patton shoves his glasses up his nose when he’s nervous. He loves how when he talks Patton just listens and Janus somehow knows that Patton understands. He loves how good Patton is. He loves how he tastes like cinnamon and rainy days.  Being with Patton is like seeing this sun after years of being stuck underground, Janus will never get sick of his light. 

After he finds the playlist he lays down and closes his eyes, and just listens to the music. He breathes in and out and it’s almost like Patton is right there next to him. 

About 15 minutes later Janus’ phone buzzes, and he grabs it excitedly, hoping Patton is sending him a goodnight text. 

His mood plummets when he sees who really texted him. Ethan. This can’t be good. Time has run out. 

When the messages app opens there are two unread messages. 

The first one is a link to an Instagram post made by Ethan. The second one reads “You can’t get rid of me that easy.” 

When Janus clicked on the post, it was a list of screenshots. Texts between Ethan and Janus. Texts between Patton and Janus. Janus’ audio recordings. And they spilled everything 

The whole school knew that Janus had got together Patton for political power. The whole school knew that Janus had tricked Patton. The whole school knew that Patton fell for it. 

Fuck, the whole school knew Patton was gay. Janus let Patton get outed. Patton, who shared his secret with Janus, was now left to vultures known as teenagers. Patton, who was still figuring himself out, was forced out of the closet in the worst possible way. Patton who thought someone finally loved him for who he was and not what he could do, was just publicly used for political gain

He would never get to choose how to say it. He would never get to hug his friends when he invited them to their favorite diner and told them over milkshakes about who he was. He’ll never get to slowly start to wear rainbow pins on his pack packs. He would never get to walk into a GSA and see the happy surprise on everyone’s faces. He would never get to be ready. 

And it was all Janus’ fault. 

He has to call Patton, and he has to do it now. 

When he dials Patton’s number it rings out. He dials again, the same thing. Again and again. Every time Patton doesn’t pick up Janus breaks more and more. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, and his voice cracks. He can feel the tears start to come and his throat start to close up. He ruined the one good thing in his life. He should have seen this coming. His happiness was never meant to last.

His only consolation is that tomorrow is a Saturday, so he doesn’t have to put on a brave face so anyone. He won’t have to face Ethan in the halls. He won’t have to see the disgust and disappointment in Patton’s face. 

That night, he cries himself to sleep.

————————————————

Janus spends the entire weekend locked in his room. He doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed. The loss of Patton is crushing him so hard he can barely breathe. He deletes his Instagram, and turns off messaging notifications. He listens to Patton’s playlist over and over and over again, just to feel like he’s with Patton again. It doesn’t work.

He doesn’t know how he can face school on Monday. He knows he won’t get in any trouble, the student body is so homophobic that they’d probably congratulate him. The school administrators will call it an out of school affair and turn their heads the other way. Janus might as well start saying he’s student body president now. 

No, what he can’t handle is seeing Patton in the hallways, robbed of his beautiful smile. Seeing Patton avoid his gaze and stop waving to people in the halls. Watching all the terrible people at Sanders high go in for the kill. He can’t watch, knowing it’s all his fault.

The worst part is he will be congratulated for doing this. He will get his dream. Students will be proud of him, teachers will pretend they didn’t say anything, Ethan won’t get suspended. Patton could fall apart and no one would notice. 

The world isn’t fair, Janus always knew Patton would have to learn that. He didn’t want Patton to learn it like this. 

No one should. 

——————

When Janus’ first alarm goes off on Monday morning he shuts it off instantly. The last thing he wants to do is get up. He does the same thing with the second one. He could fake a sick day, right? When the third alarm rolls around, he counts to three and forces himself to get up. No matter how bad he’s feeling, he cannot show weakness. Not now, and not ever. 

He rolls out of bed and puts on clothes robotically. He’s barely aware of what he’s wearing, but it’s fine. Everything is fine. 

He laces up his docs and throws his books in his backpack. He unplugs his phone then brushes his teeth. He grabs his bag and then heads downstairs. 

He pours himself a mug of scalding black coffee. He downs it steaming hot. He likes the way the bitter liquid burns as it goes down his throat. Never let it be said that he couldn’t be edgy. He doesn’t have anything else for breakfast, and he can hear Patton chiding him in his head. 

Janus shakes his head, puts his mug in the sink, and heads out the door. 

When he gets to his car he pauses. He means to turn the key to ignite it. All he can think about is Friday night when Patton and Janus ran back to Janus’ car in the pouring pain and held hands while Janus drove him home. Patton kissed him goodbye. 

Suddenly, Janus’ lips feel cold. 

He takes a deep breath and turns the key. He can’t think about that. Not anymore. He has to stay strong because if he starts to cry, he’s not sure he’ll ever stop. 

When he gets to school he parks his car in his spot. He keeps telling himself the same thing: Don't let anyone know you’re bothered, especially not Ethan.

He hesitates for a few seconds before walking in the school building. He will not let his fear control him. He can do this. He owes it to Patton. 

In the halls, he can hear the students whispering about him. He hears his name and Patton’s name and he hears the word, queer. The students whisper the word gay like it’s a dirty secret they shouldn’t know. It makes Janus’ blood boil but he has to keep walking. 

He keeps looking for Patton in the halls, but he can’t find him anywhere. Patton always gets to school early to say hi to everyone. He’s at school every morning at 7:50 by his locker. Why isn’t he there?

Because you used him for selfish reasons and let him get outed, idiot, he thinks.

For the rest of the day, Janus’ classes go in one ear and out the other. It’s a Monday so he doesn’t have any classes with Patton, but he still can’t pay attention. He can feel the states of other students during class and it is unbearable. Patton made school enjoyable and now that he’s gone it’s a nightmare. 

During lunch, his food tastes like cardboard and he sits alone. He doesn’t know where Patton is but he’s not at their-his table. He forces the sandwich down and opts to hide in the library for the rest of lunch. 

At the end of the day Janus instinctively starts walking to his car in the parking lot. It’s in the fifth row. When he gets to the third bow he stops walking. Patton’s car is in the third row. He can deny it all he wants but Janus knows that if he doesn’t talk to Patton now he never will. 

He can’t let Patton go, not now, not ever. 

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

Before Patton sees him, Janus can already tell he's been crying. His eyes are red and puffy and he won’t stop rubbing at him.

He’s about to get in his car when Janus shouts, “Patton wait!” 

Patton whips around, and when his eyes meet Janus’, Janus resists the urge to take a step back. The pain in Patton’s brown eyes is overwhelming. 

“What do you want, Janus?” Patton snaps. His voice is hard and cold, so unlike the typical warmth, Patton brings to every conversation. 

Janus avoids Patton’s eyes, “I wanted to apologize, I never meant to hurt you and,” Janus looks for the right words, but nothing seems to work, “I’m so so sorry.” 

“You dated me to help you win an election, Janus, how did you not mean to hurt me? The whole idea was to hurt me!” Patton says. He’s shaking. 

Janus can’t think of anything to say, so Patton just keeps going.

“I finally thought I found someone who wanted me for who I am! No! Everyone just wants me for what I can give them, popularity, friendship, support, and I thought you were different! I opened myself up to you and you spilled my secrets to the world!” 

Janus closes his eyes. “Patton…” He whispers, and he reaches out for Patton’s hand. 

Patton jerks back violently as if he has just been burned. “I don’t have anything to say to you.” Patton’s fists are clenched at his side and Janus wonders if he’s going to start swinging them. 

He’d deserve it, but Janus just won’t stop pushing. He loves Patton too much to let go. 

“Patton please.” Janus says. He has never been a beggar but he is willing to fall down at Patton’s feet just to see that warm smile directed at him one more time. He would walk through hell and hack just to make Patton happy again. 

“You know what Janus? I could forgive the whole, I played with your emotions to win a dumb high school election thing.” Patton says, “I could forgive how I gave you my heart and you crushed it beneath your heel. But you didn’t just leave it at that. No, you had to publicly humiliate me. You let your friend Ethan out me. I don’t care if it was for an election, you don’t just get to do that Janus!” Patton is screaming at him now, “You don’t get to decide that. I’m supposed to be the one who decides where, and when, and who knows, and how I get to say it, that’s supposed to be my thing! And you took that away from me.” 

Patton’s explosive anger is hardening into something cooler, harder, and more dangerous. 

“So would you please just get the fuck away from me!” 

That’s when it really hits Janus how badly he fucked up. Patton never curses. Patton doesn’t even say darn. If Patton was angry enough to use a curse word, the world should be terrified. It’s more unlikely for Patton to curse than for him to hit someone 

Janus wishes Patton had hit him, because it would hurt so much less. 

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

Two weeks later Janus, Patton, and the entire school are in the auditorium waiting to hear the election results. All of Janus' months of work have led up to this moment. The name on the slip of paper the principal is holding will tell him if it was all for nothing.

Students are chattering to each other but Janus tunes it all out, because for the first time in two weeks, Patton is sitting next to him. 

Granted, it’s not by choice, the two candidates have to sit together in the first row, but Janus will take anything he can get. 

“Alright everybody, Settle down, settle down.” The principal's deep voice echoes through the auditorium. When he’s satisfied with the noise level, he continues, “Both of our candidates have worked tirelessly these past months to present themselves as student body presidents worthy of you, and happy to say that both of them have done a phenomenal job. However, there can only be one winner of this race so without further ado, your new student body president is,” He pauses for dramatic effect. 

“Janus Dean.” 

Janus waits for the rush. He waits for the happy feeling to inundate him. He has won, everything in these past few months has been worth it. He beat Patton. He showed up Ethan. He showed this entire school that he is worth something, and that he will be someone. 

So why doesn’t he feel good? 

Janus puts on a smile, grabs the piece of paper with his victory speech written, and walks towards the podium.

When he gets there the lights are blinding, but he knows the entire student body is staring back at him. The only person Janus can see is Patton. Patton looks sad. Defeated. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Janus picks up his speech to read. He’s supposed to talk about the support of the students, the support of the staff, how much this victory means to him, and how he promises to do his very best to fulfill their needs. He can’t start talking though. This isn’t right. 

Then it finally hits him. 

The thing he wants more than anything isn’t to win this dumb race, the thing he wants more than anything in the world is Patton. He wants to see Patton’s smile every morning. He wants to hear Patton call Janus his boyfriend. He wants to see Patton happy. He wants to have so many firsts with Patton. He wants to be able to kiss Patton whenever he wants. He wants to hold hands with Patton and call him obnoxious pet names. 

He puts his speech down.

“Hey everyone.” He says, “First of all, I would like to thank everyone for their vote. It means the world to me that you would put that kind of trust in me.” Janus pauses, and stares Patton dead in the eyes, “However I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline the position.” 

Whispers explode throughout the auditorium and the teachers are frozen in shock. 

“I thought standing up here was the thing I wanted more than anything, but I was wrong. See, a few months ago, I was assigned to work on a history project with this guy. At the time I really hated him, he was so perfect. He was so good. Then he decided to run against me in this race and suddenly he became a problem I had to solve. Me and one of my friends decided it would be fun for me to pretend to date him, and then leak some of his secrets, showing everyone that he isn’t as perfect as he looked. It was the perfect plan. Or so I thought. I started spending more time with this guy, I tried so hard to hate him, but it was impossible. That’s how good he is. We became fast friends, and he made me better. I loved being around him, it was like waking up to a bright summer day. Loving him snuck him on me, but soon it was like breathing. I couldn’t keep collecting information on him, and so I told my friend it was over. Wrong move.” Janus took a deep breath, but he didn’t stop looking at Patton.

“He outed this guy to our entire school. I don’t know how many of you are part of the queer community, but being out is one of the worst things in the world. Everyone says it’s like ripping a bandaid off. It’s more than that. Being outed when you’re not ready is like someone stabbing a healing wound. It is so fucked up, and one of the worst things I could’ve let happen. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.” 

Patton is shaking; Janus keeps going.

“Even worse, I heard what people were saying in the halls. I heard the slurs and the whispers and the hate, and I kept walking. I thought it would be better to keep my head down and stay in my lane, so I wouldn’t get hurt. But the truth is if we don’t demand respect, it is going to get taken from us. LGBTQ+ teenagers face a suicide rate five times that of our straight peers. We are two times as likely to be bullied for being who we are, and it really shows. This applies to everyone including myself: Do better. I should have said something.” 

“Your new student body president, Patton Hart, is overqualified for the job. He is caring and honest. He sees the best in everyone, including screw-ups like me. He’s hardworking and selfless. He’ll sit with you at lunch even if he doesn’t know you. He’ll compliment your clothes and help you with your homework. He has done all of these things even when he wasn’t your president. He is the heart of this school, and no one fits the role better than him.” 

Janus turns back to Patton and gives him a small smile, “Patton, I am so sorry. For everything. I know this doesn’t make up for anything that I’ve put you through, but you deserve the world.” 

Janus turns back to the audience, “Thank you for your time.” 

Everything is silent. And then everyone flies out of their seats, and the sound is deafening.

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

Janus doesn’t see Patton for the rest of the day. It’s a Monday which means they don’t share any classes together. Janus doesn’t mind, he doesn’t even know if Patton wants to see him. He feels a little lighter, he isn’t drowning in the guilt anymore. It isn’t gone but it isn’t suffocating him anymore. Even if Patton never talks to him again, Janus will always know he did one good thing in his life, even if it’s infinitesimal compared to all the bad. 

Around 6:30 that night Janus’ phone buzzes.

When he checks his phone, he has one text from Patton, and Janus forgets how to breathe.

Patton Hart, 6:31 pm: did you mean what you said. 

Janus Lyre, 6:32 pm: every word.

Patton Hart, 6:32 pm: meet me by our park.

“Yes!” Janus cheers. Patton wants to see him. Janus is going to go see Patton. Janus is going to see Patton! 

Every step he takes to his car feels like he’s walking on air. When he get into his car he plays the playlist Patton made for the first time in weeks.

The speed limit on the roads is 30, but if Janus goes at 35 no one has to know. 

When he gets to the bench he and Patton have hung out at, Patton is already there. 

He’s wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and the blue flannel Janus gave him for his birthday. Janus knows that’s intentional, and the urge to pull Patton into a kiss is so hard to resist. He could do it, there are no people around to get in their way.

“Hey snake boy,” Patton says.

“Hey, golden boy,” Janus says, and oh how he missed this. Patton and his messy hair are inches away from him. 

“Can I…” Patton trails off, but he’s looking at Janus’ lips.

“Always.” 

Patton and Janus crash into each other. Patton is kissing him and his lips are warm. He tastes like cinnamon. Janus wraps his arms around Patton’s shoulders and pulls him closer, this feels so right. Janus never wants to stop kissing Patton. He wants it to be his job, Janus Dean, professional kisser of Patton Hart. It has a nice ring to it.

“That was one heck of a speech Jan,” Patton says.

Janus smirks, “Only the best for our student body president.” 

Patton giggles but then becomes more serious, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“Only doing what’s right.”

“Still” 

“You’re right Pat I did have an ulterior motive.” 

“Oh?” Patton raises his eyebrows. 

“I’ve always loved the sound of first lady,” Janus says seriously. 

Patton pulls him in for another kiss, and Janus wonders if he’s dreaming. 

“I love you.” Patton says, and his hair is frazzled and he’ out of breath but Janus is struck by just how beautiful Patton is. 

“I love you too.” 

Life isn’t a fairytale, Janus knows that, but this feels like his happy ever after.

a/n: thanks for reading!!!! yes, the scene where Patton yells at Janus is inspired by Love, Simon, and yes, you read that right, Solangelo did get a cameo

taglist(let me know if you want to be added/removed)

@kawaiikat54 @foreverfangirlalways @five-falseh00ds-ph0nated @kiribakuandcats 

#sanders side fanfiction #moceit #moceit fanfiction #sanders sides #ts janus #ts patton #idiots to loves #angst fluff #fake dating au #high school au #angs #fluff

[unholyhelbig]

Hizzie AU where Hope,Lizzie and Pedro are sent on a mission by Alaric and Lizzie’s car runs out of fuel in the middle of nowhere causing tension between the two?

Read on ao3 | Send me more Legacies requests! 

Title: ‘E’ is for Empty 

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman 

Dedicated to: @trentadepresso, @chaoticmessy, @alltid-og-for-evig, @arthoebyers, @sweet-little-birdy, @evilpeach, @too-confused-for-this, 

@ofcamerasflashing 

Lizzie had fuzzy red dice that hung from her front mirror. The fur was matted and an off-color of the crimson that they had once been. They swung obnoxiously back and forth each time she hit a pothole full force or swerved out of the way of a turtle slowly crossing the road. And God, Hope wasn’t a car person, but the thought of the blonde getting a car this nice (in theory) was a waste.

Hope pulled her heel onto the edge of the seat and rested her chin on her knee. They had been traveling down I-80 for the past three and a half hours. There was a lot more to look at during the start of the trip; fast-food restaurants, and apartment buildings that were strung in fairy lights to dull the drab setting.

Those soon drabbled into motels that buzzed with vacant signs and chipped painted totem poles that were innocent in the ’60s when they were first constructed but bordered on offensive today. Hope could smell the smoke and the stale air, even from the car as they rolled by. Artificial and sickening and everything that made her stomach churn- so she focused on what Lizzie was doing instead.

She wouldn’t call Lizzie a bad driver, but all means, she had seen worse. But she forgot about blinkers and the way that you eased into a stop instead of pushing your whole entire weight on the pedal. It had jolted Hope a few times against the flimsy seatbelt, but she kept her mouth shut to avoid an argument.

The scenery had rolled into large stretching fields of green that bloomed with white cotton. Little yellow signs that read Do Not Pick dulled the novelty of the south for those who traveled through it to get to big theme parks or white sandy beaches.

“I spy with my little eye,” Pedro hesitated from the back seat, his little legs stretched over the leather as he gazed out of the opposite window. “Something green.”

This was so far from the super squad that Hope had imagined when Alaric first mentioned a lead in South Carolina. It was a five-hour drive through heat rolling hills and farms that smelled better than the motels they passed at the edge of big cities.  Pedro was good company, and Lizzie was effective as long as her hands could be somewhere on Hope. But still- a recon mission for what could possibly be a powerful artifact? She’d rather of video chatted the historian.

“Oh, I don’t know. Is it grass?” Lizzie asked, drumming her thumbs on the steering wheel.

Hope glanced her way “It was grass last time. What about a tree?”

“Tree was three guesses ago.”

The tribrid let out a slight sigh and turned back towards Pedro. He had a triumphant grin on his face because they only had one more chance to get this right, and he had a strong winning streak going on right now. She frowned, “Bud, everything is green out here. Can you give us a hint?”

“It’s inside the car.”

Inside of the car, okay, Hope could do this. How many things in the old Chevy glowed green?  She turned back around in her seat and stared at the controls that the inside of the car had to offer. They had updated the old radio to satellite but that was blue. Her eyes wandered past the middle console and over to the rest of the controls.

There was a tiny light of emerald that Hope couldn’t see when Lizzie shifted her hands around the wheel, but they were situated perfectly for her to get a good glance at it. The green color that Pedro had spotted was from a small warning light; a little gas pump.

Suddenly Hope didn’t care much about winning a game of I-spy. “Lizzie, when was the last time we stopped for gas?”

“Mm, right outside of North Carolina”

“North Carolina! Lizzie that was two hours ago!”

“Relax, this baby can run forever on a gaslight.”

Hope put both of her feet back on the car's floor and blinked dumbly at the blonde. They were in the middle of nowhere with absolutely zero civilization around for miles, other than a creepy farmhouse that they passed a few moments ago that she wasn’t even sure had people in it.

“I don’t want to know how you know that.”

Despite facing things on a whim, Hope Mikaelson liked to be prepared when she could be. She would lay out her outfits the night before class when she actually attended public school, and when she helped her father paint, she would chart out little maps on lined paper on where to find the best supplies.

“Listen, it’s totally okay. The next time we see one I’ll stop.” Lizzie explained, sensing Hope’s rising anxiety. “oh no”

“Oh no? What Oh no?”

But she knew the answer already because no matter how good the Chevy was it couldn’t do its job without gas. The engine started to sputter and the speedometer slowly started to decrease. Pedro had unbuckled and moved in between the middle of the two girls, sandwiched in the center of the leather seats.

The old car gave out two more sputters as Lizzie pulled it to a stop on the side of the road and turned the key until they were overwhelmed by the silence of a hot country day. Lizzie frowned and said, “Okay, so maybe this was a misjudgment on my part.”

“Oh, you think?” Hope snapped, digging around her pockets until she found her phone and glared at the slowly dying mobile device. “And we have no service.”

Hope started to feel like the car was closing in on her and the sun that moved through the windshield was hotter than it should be. She hated being cooped up, with Lizzie Saltzman of all people and the way that she was staring at the long stretch of road ahead of her like nothing was wrong edged on infuriating. So she got out of the car and started walking the way that they came.

“Where are you going?” Lizzie exited after her, slamming the door and taking an even three steps along the side of the road.

“We need to find some help.”

“Oh, and trudging headfirst into a murder house is going to do that for us?”

Hope stopped at that and turned to face the blonde bombshell. She had her hair pulled back as the air around them continued to thicken- continued to remind Hope of the swamps in New Orleans. She had shed her jacket, standing there in nothing more than a ratty t-shirt and a stark look of concern on her face.

“Think about it, Hope.” She closed the distance between them and Hope glowered “You march off like a hero and get yourself killed, who am I going to siphon off of?”

“Thanks for the concern, Lizzie. Really- the love is overwhelming.”

Hope took one half-step back and Lizzie reached forward, wicking the fabric of Hope’s shirt between her fingers. She held her in place, stared down at her, a slightly-green gaze shining in the sun. “I’m serious Mikaelson. I get a bad vibe from that place. I’m not saying you have to get back in the car but you can’t go there.”

This was the first time that Hope had seen, or heard, any type of genuine worry coming from Lizzie. It was occasionally directed towards Josie, or sometimes Alaric. But never once had she used this dark and concerned tone with her. She relented and let her shoulders slump, the gesture enough for Lizzie to release her, satisfied.

“So what do you suggest we do, then?” Hope asked.

“There’s a gas station two miles that way!” Pedro called out, holding out a folded map triumphantly. He had done more than either of them, circling the good spots to stop for food and the bathroom- and more importantly, fuel.

Lizzie had an odd prideful smile on her face “That kids smarter than the two of us combined.”

Hope chuckled and glanced back towards the old farmhouse before starting in the other direction, this time towards civilization. Pedro and Lizzie walked a few paces behind her, balancing on the cracked asphalt, using it like a tightrope.

“I spy with my little eye, something… Green.” Pedro piped up.

“Is it grass?” Hope called back.

“No,” Lizzie fretted “You guessed that last time.”

#hope mikaelson #lizzie saltzman #lizzie x hope #hizzie #Hizzie fanfic #hizzieedit #Legacies #legacies fanfic #legacies fanfiction #request

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Omg, hiccstrid meeting online for that au prompt thing?

Summary: Hiccup has lost his leg at the young age of fifteen. As he’s suffering from some pretty bad pains in his leg, a crush he has met online will brighten his dreary day.

Author’s Notes: Here it is! The first part of the shipping AU prompt chalenge. :D

https://howtodrawyourdragon.tumblr.com/post/176311533300/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short

Hope you like it! And constructive criticism is appreciated!

You can also look for this one on AO3 and FF.Net with the title ‘Online Angel’.

Breathe… Just breathe…

Hiccup needed to keep reminding himself of that.

Just breathe and it will go away eventually.

It was a lie, but still he felt like this was the best solution he could think of. His pain medication was downstairs in a kitchen cabinet and he did not have the energy to get up and go get it.

There was also no way Toothless could grab it for him, though he certainly would not have minded to do him this small favour. The hallways and doors just weren’t fit for a growing Night Fury such as himself.

Hel, his father could sometimes barely fit, which didn’t say much as Stoick was a mountain of a man.

Then there was also Sharpshot, a small Terrible Terror his father had adopted for him for the very reason that Hiccup would not be alone when confined to his room. But the cat-sized dragon had been let out a little while ago to stretch his wings and was not expected to return in at least half an hour.

“Oh, come on.” He whimpered as he rolled over, some part of him glad that no one would get to see him like this. Haddocks had always been proud people. Even all the way back to the days of the old Vikings of Berk, of which they were the descendants.

He could hear Toothless send him a long comforting warble through the open window, something that eased him at least a little.

It was the Night Fury’s way of telling his young Rider that he was not alone. It was all he could do when unable to be by his side. That blasted house wasn’t big enough for him to move around in without knocking things over left and right.It frustrated the dragon to no end and Hiccup could hear it.

For a moment he allowed himself to smile at his dragon’s affections. His stump of a left leg still burned, but at least he could still appreciate Toothless. He felt just a little bit less alone.

But the glee he felt was small compared to when he heard his phone buzz on his nightstand.

His heart fluttered at the sound, skipping an entire beat as a dozen butterflies settled in the pit of his stomach.

Biting through his pain, Hiccup moved to lay on his side to face the buzzing phone so that he may pick it up, quickly unlocking it with a few swift moves of his opposable digit.

He noticed an unread message and the butterflies grew wilder.

“Good morning! Just got out of bed, still waking up. You?”

Another beat was skipped as Hiccup read his newest text from Astrid, a girl he had befriended some months ago not long after the loss of his leg. They had met online and still she made him feel this excited to be talking to her.

“Been up for hours. Time difference and all.” Was his reply, which his mystery text pall could notice wasn’t as cheerful of a greeting as she was used to receive from him.

“Leg bothering you?” She knew. Of course she knew.

Hiccup had met Astrid online one day while he had only just been discharged from the hospital. Stuck inside with barely any way to hang out with Toothless and already no real human friends to speak of, the boy had scoured the internet. He browsed and searched until he came across one ‘HoffWithAnAxe1’ on a site mostly dedicated to memes, the perfect place for a bored mind.

They had bonded over disliking a meme that had sprung forth from this supposed real Berkian tale of how a man and a woman were about to be wed. The woman fought hard to gain her lover’s attention, but his love was reserved only for ores and metals.

Historians often speculated this was a cautionary tale parents would tell their children before bed to warn them about being greedy, but then somebody just said “what if the dude was just really into scrap metal lol?” and thus the scrap metal meme was born.

Hiccup had never liked it. Some unknown part of him almost felt offended. He had never dared to speak his mind until he came across Astrid, who thought the meme as tasteless as he did.

For what reason neither of them really knew. Everyone besides them thought it was hilarious. Even his cousin from his mother’s side, Snotlout.

Astrid wasn’t even sure why she had an account on that site in the first place. It was far from the places she was usually on.

After an extensive discussion about the scrap metal meme, the two kept stumbling onto each other again and again until the two had eventually decided that they should just share personal contant information and be done with it.Astrid was the one who send the first text and they have been talking to each other ever since.

“Yeah, it’s my leg again. Couldn’t go to school today. Dad told me to stay home and rest. As if I can get out of bed.” Though his stump still burned and ached, Hiccup felt a little bit of energy return to him with each text he and Astrid shared.He had told Astrid about his situation fairly quickly when one night he was in need of someone to vent to when getting used to his prosthetic wasn’t going as smoothly as he would’ve liked.

Though it must’ve been a big shock to her, she had accepted it instantly, had not asked any questions he may not have wanted to answer and instead provided him with a patient listening ear.

Hiccup was certain that night was the first time he felt some kind of spark ignite something warm in his chest and it has been steadily growing ever since, nursed and raised by their daily contact.

“Oh right! How are Toothless and Sharpshot?” Astrid asked, knowing about the boy’s dragons from all the times he could not stop gushing about them and all the photos he had send her way through the months. She had quickly been made aware of how much of a dragon nut he was.

Likewise, he had quickly come to discover just how fierce of a personality she has and that it was the Hofferson tradition to give their children an axe at some point in their lives.

It sounded like such a Hooligan thing to do and it was soon after that Astrid had come clean and told her internet pall that she was from Berk too. It was just that her mother’s work took them all over the world ever since she was little.

Hiccup could not believe his luck. The first girl he ever had such a good connection with turned out to be from his hometown too.

No longer quite as busy with the pain from a leg that we no longer there, Hiccup immediately responded.

“Does it matter? Toothless’ head is to big to fit through the door and Sharpshot ditched me.” His answer no longer spoke of his exhaustion. Instead his dramatic flare shone through for her entertainment.

Usually Astrid would then respond with some sign of her amusement, but instead she had their conversation take an entirely different turn. And Hiccup wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hiccup…?”

“Yeah? You okay?”

“Mom said we’re moving back to Berk soon.”

Butterflies and skipped heartbeats could not compare to the absolute happiness he felt upon reading that last text.

Hiccup shot upright in bed as he read it over and over again.

It had seemed impossible at first, but his pain had been forgotten. Instead all he knew in that moment was the excitement of knowing that the girl he had met online months ago when he was at his lowest, the same one who had quickly become his crush as they conversed, was finally coming to Berk. They would finally meet each other face to face.

“Hiccup… I can’t wait to meet you.”

#httyd #hiccstrid #hiccup #astrid #modern au #httyd movies #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #httyd fanfic #httyd fanfiction #my fanfics #online angel #h/c #hurt/comfort #whump? #yes? #no?

[cloversreblogs]

Memento Mori- ABHOT submission

@aphabriefhistoryoftime

Links: FFN.net, AO3, Wattpad

Remember that you have to die. One day, you will be gone. One day, you will be forgotten, and the legacies you leave in this realm will be left to rot. He, the Kingdom of the Franks, was always afraid of this truth. So he will do whatever it took for him to stay in power. Even if it meant killing his kings.

Fandom: Hetalia: Axis Powers

Characters: APH Kingdom of the Franks (OC), APH France, APH HRE/Germany, APH Lotharingia (OC), APH Aachen (OC), many mentioned nation OCs (APH Gaul, APH Saxons, APH Alemanni, APH Rome, APH Germania), many mentioned Frankish rulers (Clovis I, Louis the Pious and his 3 sons, Charlemagne)

Genre: Tragedy, spiritual

Rating: T 

Warning(s): Strong dealings of death, 2 attempted murders (regicide and sororicide), existential crises, overall a very depressing fic, don’t read if you have an existential crisis

Words: 5.1K

Yeah it’s a lot of angst here. If you want any sunshine and rainbows, then oh man have you gone to the wrong place

Please note that I am not a historian, so if there were any mistakes in regards to history, please let me know, and that will be noted.

This fic is set during and after the Treaty of Verdun, which marked the end of the Carolingian civil war. It split the Carolingian Empire into 3 territories, East, Middle, and West Francia, and in most cases, marked the end of the kingdom of the Franks. Some say that the Kingdom of the Franks never ended, however, and instead evolved into Modern France and Germany. In my interpretation, the Treaty of Verdun is the official death of the kingdom of the Franks, and so he died entirely when the last king of the Carolingian Dynasty (Charlemagne’s dynasty) died.

For all of you wondering what Frank looks like, he looks like Odin Grina

East Francia/Karl- HRE/Germany

Middle Francia/Lotharingia- original OC

West Francia- France

I headcanon France and Germany as related, which is partially thanks to this comic

Treaty of Verdun. August, 843 A.D.

Verdun-sur-Meuse, Carolingian Empire.

Memento mori.

Remember that you have to die. One day, you will be gone. One day, you will be forgotten, and the legacies you leave in this realm will be left to rot.

Even nations, no matter how prosperous or deific they were, submit to this rule and fall. From fresh, new nations too prone to death, to ancient empires that crumbled at its own power.

He, the Kingdom of the Franks, was always afraid of this truth. That any memory of him will fade into oblivion once he's gone. When will this happen? How? Due to this fear, he lived by Carpe Diem. To seize every day to the best of his ability, in hopes that by doing so, his legacy will live on further.

But now, his end his end was near. Too near. The pain inside his skull pulsed in the torment of civil war. The war between Louis the Pious’ three sons tore his sanity and mind apart. If not careful, they could divide his land. He could not live past this war, he could not. It was a feeling deep down his guts, instinct, that told him that nevermore will he be an empire.

He had lived past several other civil wars. This one shouldn’t drive him to the absolute breaking point yet, it shouldn’t. It was too early. Rome had a legacy of over a millennium, his own had not lasted half as long. Why would he, a warrior, a conqueror like him, perish under the hands of his own rulers? It was not right. He was a nation, he was strong. He will emerge, alive. No matter what it took.

As the quill stained the surface of the parchment, he gripped tighter onto his dagger. Frank’s forehead was damp, and his lungs ache for air. Fear rattled deep within him. How come? He told his gentle self. This was no different than on the battlefield.

If they died, he would live.

Screw your courage to the sticking place, he scolded. It will be like in battle. A stab at the heart or better, the head, and it will be over. It didn’t matter if they were his kings. He was their nation, and only he will say in who lives and who dies.

The dagger’s handle pained his palm as he gripped it and welled up his nerve. As the other members of the court watched them, he shifted to behind the last of the sons who signed the parchment. Slipping a bit of the dagger out its sheath, he squeezed his eyes together and pulled it over his head.

With all his might, he brought the blade down. A grip held his wrist up above their heads.

When he flung his eyes open, he saw a court member and a guard stopping his blade from descending. Fury burning within him. he yelled and struggled as the court members gasped in shock at the spectacle.

Not yet. Not yet! One movement and he will live. He will not go gently yet!

He…

He...

The furious fire dissipated as a hollow feeling filled him. His mind went blank, and the room spun.

The paved floor below him rippled, and he lost his footing as all the nerves in his body collapsed.

The treaty. He had been too late. The sons had signed the treaty during the commotion. As he fell, he saw three boys clad in white linen, appearing behind each of the sons.

His head hit the stone floor, and a crack wrecked through his skull. There was some commotion in the room, drowned out by an uncomfortable buzz. The light of the room darkened. While his head throbbed harder, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Frank groaned as he came to, and winced in pain at the pain at the back of his head. His head was wrapped up in a bandage, and as he looked around, he realised that he was placed back into his chamber. A hollow, nauseous feeling washed over his entire self. He didn’t feel like anything alive.

He knew why. The three boys behind each of Pepin’s sons had confirmed his worst fears.

Never before were there other personifications of his kingdom than him. It was always just himself, and his watchdogs of kings, dukes, and princes.

Now, he was back into his room. The grey granite of the castle room was dyed a cold, indigo blue of twilight. It was midnight when he became unconscious. How long had it been since then? The quiet was not right either. Only the trees and wind outside rustled and howled. He had been changed into a linen nightgown. His silken clothes sat beside him, with his sword in its scabbard resting on top. The dagger was removed.

Frank's head collided with the pillow. He was so pathetic. Was a scratch of the quill against parchment what had ended him? Was-

The sound of stone scraping against shoe echoed in the room.

He spun his eyes towards where the noise came from. While he was worn down, his senses honed from his hunting days were still sharp.  A shadow in the far end corner that hid away from the window’s light. He peered, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. A ripple of white linen stood out in contrast of the dark.

The same clothes that each of the boys wore.

“Come out, all three of you,” he ordered. His voice came out scratchier than he had expected, but it was clear enough to work. There was some shuffling in the shadows, before one of them came out, the dying sun illuminating him.

He was a spitting image of when he was a child. Blonde hair, his fog blue eyes, everything. On closer inspection, Frank realised his mistake. Judging from the round quality of her face, it was a girl.

“You… you are the Kingdom of the Franks,” she whispered, voice like the breaths of wind. This child had a lighter voice. Two children and a girl.

“Yes.” In response, she gripped her nightdress, clearly wiping the sweat off of her palms on the linen.

“I-I am Middle Francia.” The way she had said it told him that she was instructed to say it. Like as if he was a dying man who was supposed to pass his wisdom to his heirs. Fools, if they thought that was the last of him.

By now, the other two children came out also. West and East Francia, he presumed. They were dead ringers for the girl, though they were both clearly boys. He squinted. If the girl looked like him when he was a child, the two boys looked closer. One of them had blue eyes the shade of spring skies that sparked with a certain warm kindness. He had seen those eyes before-

oh, no. No no no. Those were Gaul’s eyes. What cruel joke was this? Brung back to haunt him- Frank snapped himself out of it. The boy’s kingdom probably included Gaul’s land. It happened. When a child personification inherits the land of a previous personification, they would always inherit some kind of trait from them, whether if they were related or not.

The other boy had lighter hair, but paler eyes. Frank frowned. He resembled Alemanni, the tribe that was annexed into the kingdom. They both had an expression of nervousness, but the first one had a clearer expression of uncertainty, the lighter haired one tried to hide it with sternness and courage.

A buzzing sensation filled his ears. The room spun. Before they could continue, the room around him turned blurry, and everything blacked out.

To his shock, he didn’t die straight away.

Why? After the treaty, it should have been the end of him. Unless it meant that fate decided to spare him a while longer.

Every dawn, he hoped for a chance that the ruler would come to his senses and reunite the empire. Every dusk, that wishful fulfillment was left to dust. Every day, that hope would fade more and more, until it rotted into bitter anger.

Such an easy task. He should have risen up. Frank glanced down at his hand. He twitched a finger, but a migraine and a nauseous sensation filled his head. His ears rang. With all of his strength, he lifted his hand up, ignoring the sick feeling that came with it.

Not even a foot up, his nerves collapsed, and his hand fell back onto the duvet. Frank welled up all of his strength again, but his mind fogged, and he collapsed back before he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Every day, his strength weakened, and more humiliation filled him every time. 

Every day, all he could do was lie down, and watch as the sunrise turn to the sunset, midnight turn to noon, and the Summer turn to the Winter.

It drove him insane. How long had it been since he had ‘died’? All conception of the time was lost. Only the sun and the moon told him how long. How many times did the sun set and the moon rise? A lot. What had happened to his kingdom outside of this cell?

Pathetic. He was absolutely pathetic. What had become of him? A respected empire now bedridden.

This was not the end of him. He will not allow it.

Day. Night. Sunrise. Noon. Sunset. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Watch.

Day. Night. Sunrise. Noon. Sunset. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Watch.

Day. Night. Sunrise. Noon. Sunset. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Watch.

And repeat.

A scream pierced the night. He had enough.

Frank grabbed his sword that was sheathed in the scabbard. He pulled out the weapon, and with all his gathered might, stood up.

He squeezed his eyes shut at a migraine. The strong pulse like he had bashed his head into an iron church bell, but he gripped his sword tight. The stone floor shattered his knees, and a spike of pain pierced his abdomen. A scream of pain escaped.

When he opened his eyes, blood dyed black spilled on the moonlit floor.

A guard had carried him back. He wanted to struggle against it, but his mind was too fogged to do anything. Stop it. Stop this! He wanted to say, but the pain in his head pulsed too much.

For the night, shameless tears were shed. Pathetic.

The event was a slap in his face of how much he withered since. He wanted to forget about it. He didn’t want it to happen again.

Since then, more people came into the room, mostly maids. For the first time, a maid peeked her head through a gap of the door, her eyes wide. The whole time she stayed inside, she shivered. As if he was a resting dragon with unimaginable power. She had a duster with her, as well as a cognac bottle and some cloth.

She pulled back the cover. With shaky hands, she applied the cognac onto his wound. It stung, but Frank stayed silent.

Now that they knew he was not of any threat, the maids would no longer shiver. Instead, they hummed, as if they were alone, cleaning in their own homes.

The wound would not heal. It clotted, but it wouldn’t harden.

To his disgust, sometimes it was one of the three children who entered. As the maids grew more and more used to him, they visited more often.

West Francia, who called himself Francis, was the one who visited him the most. East Francia visited him also, but it was to console with him with politics, warfare, and advice of the court. He even chose his name to be Karl, after his ruler Charlemagne, the one who had started his golden years of the Carolingian Renaissance. Francis simply told him of his day to day life.

At first, he was a little disgusted. Was he the heir to his land? A ruler should be strong and battle worthy. He hated being pitied, which was why Francis talked to him. For a while, he resented him, and so didn’t pay attention to what he was saying.

One day, he reminded himself-- he was a child.

What did he do when he was his age? He didn’t care about becoming an empire back then, he just lived as he did. His desire to become an empire came only when Clovis I suggested it to him.

It was better having company and someone to talk to rather than rot on a bed. Before he knew it, he started to look forward to his visits. It took his mind off of his current state and allowed him to simply let be, to actually enjoy himself for once, even if it was just listening to him speak.

“Frank… is it lonely up here?”

Lonely? More like stuck in the labyrinth of his own thoughts to compensate for the months of being bedridden.

“Yes. I suppose.” The way he said it touched him a little, how he thought enough of him to ask this.

One time, Karl stopped when he saw Francis already talking to him. With envy in his eyes, Karl backed out.

Already was East Francia focused on glory, while his brother was focused on the little things in life. What did he focus on when he was a child?

He focused on living his life. Playing with his brothers, hunting game in the cool, green glade. Never did he want to become an empire in the first place… it was only at the suggestion of Clovis II that it grew into a desire.

What stood out to him was that only once did Francis call him a father, and that was only when he first began visiting him. It was opposed to Karl, but he had a feeling that it was more towards duty than an actual connection.

He couldn’t call himself one either. A father should be a parent who protected his kids, no matter the cost. He was too young to be one. His empire lasted for less than a millennia. He doubted that he reached 20 physically.

Frank remembered his father, Germania, a whispered legend amongst his siblings. He did his best in raising them all. It was not a glamorous upbringing, he wasn't by their side all the time, but he was always there when he needed him. Always there to guide him.

But now he couldn’t even stand up. He was a crippled man. Yet he still had the audacity to call him their father?

Francis’ visits thinned in quantity, from every day slipping to every week to every month, from hours worth of conversations to quick recaps of what had happened. Now, it had been a year since he last saw him.

One day, it was not Francis, nor Karl, nor the maids which came in, but a girl.

A girl with blonde, braided hair appeared behind the door. She was clad in fine clothes and armour, so it could not be one of the maids.

Middle Francia. Frank realised that it had been a long time since he had seen her.

“Can you please teach me?” She whispered. She hung her head down in a way that told him she feared him.

“Teach you what?”

“Fighting strategies.” Fighting strategies?

"Is that all?"

“Yes. I want to be able to defend myself from invaders.” That was a new reason. Unlike Karl who learnt battle techniques for the opposite reason.

“Defend from who?” Her eyebrows knitted into a frown as she looked down and chewed her lip.

“I’ve forgotten what they were called.” She was lying. Perhaps it was because she was too prideful to say who. He used to do that.

“Forgotten? Then learn their names. To fight an enemy, you need to know your enemy enough, find a weak place, and target that.” She nodded, her features tense, before she looked to the floor, thinking. Frank remembered how he’d ask his father for defense strategies, and plan it out in his head just like her. The girl reminded him of himself more so than he had thought.

“Your land contains the centre of my kingdom, correct?”

“Yes.” The centre of his kingdom contained his homelands before he became an empire. No wonder she reminded him of himself.

Frank realised that she had never told him what his human name was. “Have you picked out a name for yourself yet?”

“No. But I’m named Lotharingia rather than Middle Francia now."

For the rest of the afternoon, they discussed defense strategies-- she was reluctant to learn offense strategies.

Finally, she did a small bow. "Thank you for your time," she bid. Without a second word, she left.

When the door clicked close, he resumed into his limbo.

He hoped that either Lotharingia or Francis was visiting the next time the door creaked open. To his surprise, it was Karl. But Karl was lacking the air of focus in his eyes. Something was wrong.

“How’s your sister? I haven’t heard from her in a while.” At the word sister, Karl tensed up. Frank rose an eyebrow at the act, and a pang of horror struck him. It couldn’t be. Was she dead?

Karl placed a bloody knife onto the bed.

“I... I am the true heir of the Franks. Right?”

Lothairingia’s land contained his homelands.

Karl must’ve felt the cold stare down his neck. He backed away as Frank tensed.

"Did you kill her?" He growled. Karl's head shakes released tension from within his head, but the audacity of the attempt left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I... I-I'm-"

“Leave,” he commanded. “Take your blade with you.” Karl staggered back to the door. He looked away from his gaze, his blonde fringe sticking to his sweaty, pasty forehead before he reached the handle and left.

The red stain remained a horrid copper smell that started to fill the room. Frank dug his nose into the pillow to muffle it.

So that was what they were concerned of the most. Whether or not they were his true heir! A dreaded feeling in his gut, instinct, told him that Francis desired the same. What he had thought were Francis’ comforting words were now techniques to win over his favour. What he had thought were questions of a nation were now methods to surpass him.

Was that all they cared about? Being the true heir? No wonder Lotharingia asked him of fighting strategies. No wonder she never mentioned the names of the invaders. Because they were the ones who attacked. She never even pick out a name for herself!

Was this the fate of the ones less fortunate than oneself? In the act of becoming great, people below perish? He never thought much about war. Something about Lotharingia's death snapped his heartstrings in half. He thought of how he and his siblings fought. Was this why Germania was never there?

For the night, he allowed himself to be in sorrow. The next time he regained consciousness, his temples were wet.

But the world outside of the castle walls moved on. He longed to be out there. Under the sun as the smell of trees blew with the wind, into the forest catching game, swimming in the lakes cool from the shade, but instead, he was stuck in this miserable fucking hellhole.

He sighed. What good was it to resist that urge to swear? Eternal damnation in exchange for just one curse word? He’d take that any day.

Was this what he deserved? Under Clovis I, he converted to Christianity and set out to convert the rest of Europe as well, to free people of the so-called damnation. Yet people who died because of him.

Gaul. Saxon... he had told himself that it was for the good of Europe. Now that he witnessed an attempted fratricide, he wondered if it was worth it.

There were rumours that Rome was still alive. Was he rotting somewhere like him, begging for death to take him swiftly? Drifting from consciousness to unconsciousness, too tired to care?

He mused for a while longer. His eyelids grew heavy, and he fell back to sleep.

—-

The sensation was as if a pail of cold water was splashed onto him. He was dry, lest for sweat that glued his hair and clothes onto his skin, but awake, as if he had woken from a dreaded dream.

A maid pouring him water yelped in surprise and spilt some drops of water onto the bed.

His head was spinning as if he was sick. Sick… he hadn’t felt that way for years. Tired? Yes. But that was a lack of feeling. Right now, he felt alive. Sick, sure, but alive and breathing. Frank actually felt alive. Heaving in, breath by breath, the cold air shocked and rejuvenated his lungs. The maid flinched when he looked her way, gripping her water jug tight.

What had happened that made him feel so alive? Frank heard chatter and music from downstairs. A celebration? He connected the event of the celebration to him awakening… was his empire reunited? Frank ordered the maid to fetch his clothes and got dressed, and cursed at his feeble knees and ankles as he went down the stairs. Being bedridden for years, his bones ached and wobbled all over. Before he could reach the end, his knees collapsed. He gripped onto the iron railings to stop himself from crashing downwards but hissed in pain as his knees crashed into the cobblestone stairs.

He forgot his pain when in the dim light, the bones of his hands pressed white against his skin. When did his hands turn so thin? Feeling his face, he noted the loss of softness in the cheeks. Around his eyes, his cheeks, it was bony. He felt his chin and frowned at his beard. Even when he didn’t shave, his beard hadn’t grown much. Had his limbo stopped it?

The sound of lutes and gossip caught his attention. Frank noticed the door in front of him. Standing up, he opened it and flinched at the bright lights.

Nobody stopped when he entered the room. Compared to the greens, reds, and blues of the guests, Frank's clothes had faded into a grey colour. As he made his way through the crowd, Frank realised that he didn’t recognise anyone attending the party. All the noblemen, noblewomen, he swore he could see some resemblance to people at the court he had known. How many generations had he skipped?

Until he saw a flash of blonde in the crowd. It was his capital Aachen.

“Aachen?”

Said capital turned around. He stared blankly, like if he was a stranger.

“Aachen. It’s me.”

Aachen gasped as his forehead turned white as if he had seen a ghost. He couldn’t blame him, he had been bedridden for decades. He must’ve thought that he was dead.

It was strange to see him now. While it had only been 40 years since he had last seen him, the city in question had grown his hair a bit longer. He cleared his throat and placed his goblet on the table.

“A lot has changed since the treaty,” he muttered, looking away. “This is Charles the Fat’s coronation.”

“Fat?”

“Yeah, look at him. He’s... “ Aachen stopped and cleared his throat. “Big.” Frank looked forward, and the King was indeed fat, big was an understatement. Even now, Aachen was still cowardly and soft-spoken.

“Did the kingdoms reunite?”

“There was no more heir for the West, so he was crowned King.” So it was something by chance that he was resurrected, but in no way was it an attempt to revive him.

His eyes wandered across the coronation, recognising nobody until he saw Francis. Francis had grown taller and grew his hair longer to his shoulders. His eyes wandered around, and he saw Karl, who had trimmed it into a neat bowl cut. Francis was joking with some other nobles, his capital focused on a book, while Karl was talking with his own capital. The two stood away from each other. A larger divide between the two has formed since he had last seen them.

Karl caught a glimpse of him but was distracted by another court member. Barely a glimpse. Like he couldn’t be bothered with.

He frowned at Lotharingia's absence. Where was she? It seemed only yesterday since that dreaded day, yet still, the court members joked like nothing had happened. Was she too unwell for the coronation? At such a young age?

Memento mori. Remember that you have to die. No matter what you are, the world moved on. Like him. He was a ghost that no one, not even his former capital, recognised. His role in the narrative was over. No longer was he in charge of the narrative, but he was now a bystander who could only watch as the world unfolded before him.

Was this why people pass away? Because the final chapter of their narrative was finished. There was nothing left for them to tell, and so the world moves on from them.

Perhaps the dream of becoming a mighty Empire like Rome was a luxury only a few could afford. To be remembered, admired. But maybe even Rome one day will be forgotten. People used to praise him back when he was recognised. But look at him now. Maybe it will take much, much longer, but Rome, too, will be forgotten to time’s abyss.

Frank admitted that it had been a decent life.

Once Charles had died, he was resumed into becoming bedridden.

Not even fate had decided to revive him. The last few years were a test of the waters, to see if he was still viable as a nation. Apparently not.

At last, he felt a twinge within him. In Greek myth, the sisters cut the strings of souls who were due for the Underworld. A nation had one for each citizen within them. Whenever they break, they were unnoticeable, nothing more than the pain of a hair being pulled out. Over the course of centuries, as fewer people aligned themselves as a member of his nation, the strings had been pulled out one by one. Until at last, there was only one strand left.

Frank sighed in relief as the last connection snapped within him. It was the last King, Louis V. He was waiting for that one to break. A nation’s people was everything. He now understood that the condition of leaving your roots to let them start new ones was a consensual one. And now, his time had come.

Perhaps it was the very nature of nations like him. No matter how powerful, it was always the most unexpected and simple route that brought them to their demise. Rome, though mighty and grand, fell at his own power. Even after Hellenising the world, Greece’s empire eventually fell apart due to its size. His demise was not as mighty, or grand, but rather, as a result of some scratches of ink on the paper.

What was born of flames die in flames, and what was born of dirt die of dirt. He had lived for centuries as an empire, so long that he had forgotten his origins as a group of tribes by the Rhine. Wouldn’t living a life of flame mean that one would end in them?

The sound of a door swinging open shocked him out of his thoughts, and he spun his eyes around.

True to his prediction, Francis stood, his blonde hair brushed into a small ponytail. This was the first time that he had seen him in decades. He cleared his throat.

“They call me Frank now.”

“Frank?”

“Or France. I-I’m still calling myself Francis, though.” His voice was shaky as if he was aware that this meant that it was the end of him. Already his legacy had become his, became a part of him. Already had those who called themselves the Franks thought of Francis rather than him as their leader. Frank simply nodded.

“l see. Karl?” Francis frowned a little in response.

“Well… he named himself the Holy Roman Empire.” His title. His name. The Holy Roman Emperor was a name that Charlemagne had been appointed to. And now… now his name was given to his successor. Both of his names were taken. It was funny. Karl, the successor who dreamt of glory, inherited his title, while Francis, the successor who didn’t focus on that as much inherited his original name.

“Francis, listen,” he croaked.

“Hm?”

“My time… it has come to an end,” His vision was darkening, and a feeling in his gut, instinct, told him that it was today.

“An end?” He nodded.

“It’s time for me to leave.” He groaned and felt the muscles in his neck loosen. Francis knelt down and held his skeletal hand, worn out compared to his own, before stroking it. Frank frowned, remembering his tactics to win his affections. “I know you want to be my true successor.”

A gasp escaped out of Francis. He sighed, as he searched for an answer. “I… I want to be loved. Admired. Like you.” Love. Admiration. Ironically both concepts that his reign had lacked. Did anyone love him? Did anyone admire him? No.

“I was never loved or admired, Francis. No one remembers me now. Unless you rise to the glory of Rome himself, unless you reconquer all of Europe again, you will forever be stuck in the shadow of the greats. Forever you will be forgotten by history as just another impersonator.” Realising his muscles were tense, he lied back down. “Look at me, for example. Does anyone still admire me?”

“I admire you! Karl-”

“I am respected only because I mimicked Rome. But what else is there? Tell me!” He scolded. Francis took a step back. Frank calmed down as a headache rose. “If you want to be loved, don't follow my footsteps. More than one nation wants to rise to the glory of Rome, but few succeed." There were so many more things he wanted to say. Who will admire you once they forget you? And even if your legacy was admired, what good was it to lead more people to the hopeless endeavour of fame? He chose to stay quiet. "I doubt that they were loved because of it. Understood?”

“... I-”

“Yes or no, do I have to repeat myself?”

“No, you don't. I understand.” Frank’s features relaxed.

“Good.”

When he lied back and closes his eyes, a small smile formed on the side of his mouth. His vision darkened much faster than usual, but not of drowsiness.

Death was easier than falling asleep. With sleep, you had to be drowsy first. With death, you simply lie back and let be.

I’m still unsure about the date that Frank died tho since people still saw themselves as the Franks. I found out that the Capetian Dynasty, the dynasty that succeeded the Carolingian Dynasty, saw themselves as Frankish. So I could just mark Frank’s death with the date of the last ruler’s death, right? Well nope, cause this dynasty ended during the French Revolution. Just imagine the comedy!

“Francis. Listen. My time… it has come to an end.”

“You’ve been dying and saying that for 900 years now oh my lord”

Thank you for reading!

#abriefhistoryoftime #aph kingdom of the franks #aph france #aph hre #tw: death mention

[aniallstory-blog]

Chapter Eighteen

After the emotional part of the day was done, it was time to celebrate. We all went back to my house, buzzing from the success of the day and started the party while we got ready. Around nine pm, we were picked up by yet another limousine and headed out on the town to meet up with my other bridesmaids. Charlotte and Gemma assured me that it would be a good night, but would't tell me where we were going so when we pulled up outside Rumpus Room, one of the busiest rooftop bars in London, I was shocked.

“Are we actually gonna try to get in there?” I asked as we stepped out on to the sidewalk. “It's guestlist only, there's no way we'll get in at this time.”

“We will if we're on the guestlist,” Gemma smiled at me, linking her arm through mine.

“Are we?” I asked her, my voice full of skepticism. “How'd we manage that?”

I suddenly felt an arm around my shoulder and someone standing on the side of me opposite to Gemma.

“Bein' related to Harry Styles does, on occasion, have some perks.”

I smiled at the familiar voice and looked up to see Harry looking down at me.

“Wow, I really am being spoiled today!”

“'Course ya are,” Harry grinned. “Only get one bachelorette party!”

Harry slid his arm off of my shoulder and led the group towards the door.

-

My other bridesmaids were apparently already inside and ready to start the party as they greeted us with a tray full of shots. Charlotte, Gemma and I reached for them eagerly, but Harry quickly disappeared to buy something a tad less strong for himself, his mother and Maura. We settled into a nice booth in the corner of the room with a great view of the city and I looked around at my little posse, my heart filling with love.

“Can I just take a moment to thank you all for being here?” I asked, interrupting the various conversations my friends and family had fallen into. “I know weddings are a hassle and I know this one has been particularly rushed, but I appreciate each and every one of you for supporting Niall and I. I hope I haven't been too much of a picky bridezilla, especially while I was picking out my dress today.”

“Oh my god!” My bridesmaid, Abby squealed. “Did you find one?!”

I couldn't even hide the massive grin that burst onto my face.

“I did!” I told them as I pulled out my phone to find the picture Gemma had sent me. “It's this one right here.”

I held out the phone so the three bridesmaids who weren't there and Harry could see what I looked like. The girls all cooed and showered me with praise while Harry looked a tad teary.

“Ya look amazin', AJ,” He said quietly. “Niall's gonna lose it when he sees you.”

“That's what I said,” Maura smiled as she sipped her gin and tonic.

“Do you think he'll cry?” Sarah asked, handing me back my phone.

“I don't think so,” I said scrunching up my nose. “I think he'll think I look beautiful and he'll be happy, but I don't think seeing me in a pretty dress will be enough to make him cry. Maybe once he realizes he'll have to spend the rest of his life with me the tears will start.”

Everyone chuckled at my self-deprecating joke and Anne swatted my arm as she shook her head.

“He's a lucky man for getting to spend his life with you,” She insisted. “And your dress was enough to make us all cry today so I wouldn't underestimate the power of a beautiful bride!”

Maura nodded in agreement.

“If I know my son like I think I do, there'll be a few tears on the day,” She warned me. “He's a typical Irish lad who doesn't like to get too emotional unnecessarily, but he's been known to shed a tear over much less than something like this. He won't be able to help himself when he sees you.”

I blushed and took a gulp of my drink, never one to take a compliment well. Luckily Gemma swooped in before I had to comment.

“I think we'll all be sobbing through the whole ceremony,” She smiled. “We're an emotional bunch. Hopefully Lou has some very waterproof makeup for us all!”

“Lou's doin' yer makeup?”

I nodded in response to Harry's question.

“Yeah, I asked her the other day,” I informed him. “I asked Lux if she wanted to be the flowergirl too, she was over the moon.”

“I bet she was,” He smiled fondly. “I know you're trying to keep the wedding small, but I was wonderin' if m'allowed t'bring a plus one?”

Suddenly all the eyes at the table landed on Harry and he shifted nervously under our collective gaze.

“Of course you are,” I said, my voice laced with suspicion. “As long as it's not a Kardashian or any of their relatives. We're going to have enough trouble keeping the paparazzi away as it is.”

“S'not, I swear,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

He offered no more information as we all stared him down.

“So who is she?” Gemma blurted out after a tense moment of silence. “I didn't know you were seeing anyone.”

Anne nodded in agreement, looking quite shocked that she hadn't been informed. I was surprised too as usually Harry told his mum everything which usually meant I knew far earlier than I was supposed to as she told my dad and he told me. Word travelled fast in our family, secrets like this were hard to come by.

“Her name's Isabel,” Harry said quietly, a proud little smile on his face. “She's french and we're not really 'seeing each other' yet, we're just talkin', but m'going to see her tomorrow after the premiere to talk about things.”

“Awe, I'm happy for you, Haz,” I smiled. “Of course she can come to the wedding!”

“Might not get that far, but figured I'd ask jus' in case.”

“Show me a picture,” Gemma demanded, still looking shocked that this was the first he'd mentioned her. “How'd you meet her?”

“On the set of Dunkirk,” He explained as he fished his phone out to pull up a picture. He scrolled through for a minute before his eyes lit up and he passed the phone to Gemma. I peeked over her shoulder and my jaw dropped.

“Harry, she's gorgeous!”

“N'smart too!” He beamed proudly. “She's a historian, was helpin' out with makin' sure the film was accurate, s'how we met.”

“Well she's the prettiest historian I've ever seen,” Gemma smiled. “Does she model too?”

“Nope, has no interest in that stuff,” Harry informed us. “Doesn't even think she's that beautiful, no matter how many times I tell her.”

We passed the phone around so Anne, Maura and all my friends could see and everyone's reaction was the same as mine.

“Well I hope it works out for you, Harry,” Charlotte said as she passed his phone back. “She seems lovely from what you've said.”

“She is,” Harry agreed. “And I can trust that none of this information leaves this table, yeah? S'still new and m'worried about the fans. They always tear my girls apart and I don't want that for her, 'specially not when we're not even together yet.”

“Oh please,” I rolled my eyes as I finished my drink off. “These girls are experts at keeping top secret One Direction love life details to themselves. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Just makin' sure!” Harry protested, holding his hands up in defense. “Now, let's get this party started, shall we? Looks like there's a few people who need another drink.”

-

Almost two hours later, it was safe to say that I was drunk. Apparently being the guest of honour meant that I had to constantly have a drink in my hand and was scolded if it didn't disappear fast enough. And that was how I found myself on the dance floor, dancing badly and shouting along the words to some cheesy pop song. Just as my current jam ended, I felt myself being pulled away from my bridesmaids. Looking to see who was holding my hand, I saw Harry's familiar face.

“M'gonna take these lovely ladies home now, yeah?” He told me once we were away from the noise of the DJ and next to Maura and Anne. “They're tired and I've got an early flight.”

I pouted dramatically and shook my head.

“Nooo,” I whined, holding onto Harry as I felt myself sway slightly. “You can't go yet, the party's jus' gettin' started.”

Harry chuckled as the older women smiled at me in amusement.

“Have to, love,” He insisted. “But Gemma's goin' to take good care of ya, gave her money for your cab home and everything.”

I sighed dramatically, but nodded my head.

“Alriiiiiight,” I said, dragging out the word as I reluctantly let go of Harry to give the other's a hug. “Thanks for comin' and thanks for the help today. Get home safe.”

“Do ya want me t'get you some water before I leave?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrow at me in concern causing me to wrinkle my nose in disgust.

“Water? M'good with gin for now thanks,” I informed him before an idea struck me. “Ooh, but could I bum a cig off of you?”

“A cig? You don't smoke, AJ and neither do I so I don't have any.”

“And if he did, he wouldn't give them to you,” Anne informed me, giving me the look she used to give me when I was younger and misbehaved which I promptly ignored.

“Well if you don't have one, can ya bum on off someone else for me?” I asked. “I like a cigarette when m'drinking sometimes, you know that. Jus' don't tell my dad or Niall, alright?”

Harry shook his head, a smile on his face.

“M'not gonna bum one for ya either, love,” He told me, patting my shoulder in what felt like a rather patronizing way. “Now, go find Gemma and enjoy the rest of your night, yeah?”

I sighed dramatically once again, but nodded and pulled him into a hug before I pranced off back to my friends.

Once I had the idea in my head that I wanted a cigarette, I couldn't kill the craving. Luckily Charlotte was also in the mood once I mentioned it so the two of us snuck outside to see if we could scrounge one up to share. It didn't take us long to find a very generous drunk girl who 'absolutely, completely, adored my outfit' and was willing to donate to our cause.

As Charlotte lit it up and took a long drag, we enjoyed the quiet, cool air and I pulled out my phone. I had a message from Harry letting me know everyone got home safely and to enjoy my night and a few messages from Niall that were full of typos showing his level of inebriation was probably close to mine (unless of course my blurry vision was inhibiting my reading abilities). I took the cigarette from Charlotte as I opened Instagram with the intention of posting one of the many selfies we'd taken that night. However, before I could switch to the posting part of the app, a picture of Niall popped up on my screen. Well more specifically Niall's back.

“Oh no,” I groaned, handing the cigarette back to Charlotte. “Niall's not even been in Ibiza for a day and he's already sunburnt!”

“Really? Let me see,” Charlotte laughed, taking my phone to look at the picture. After a moment she rolled her eyes and handed it back to me. “That's nothing, he's barely pink!”

“Yeah, but if he's pink now, just think how bad it'll be in the morning!”

She rolled her eyes again, but as she got distracted by some cute guy that just walked out into the smoking area, I closed the app and pulled up Niall's number in my phone. Unfortunately for me, Charlotte's attention snapped back to me as soon as she heard the ringing.

“What are you doing?” She demanded to know, her tone stern. “Who are you calling?”

“M'calling Niall,” I admitted. “Gotta tell him to put some lotion on before he goes to bed tonight and to make sure he wears extra sunscreen tomorrow if he's already burnt.”

“What, are you his mother or something?” She asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Give me your damn phone.”

Before I could even oblige with her request, my phone was snatched out my hand, the call disconnected as it was shoved into her purse.

“Charlotte, what was that for?”

My words came out a lot whinier than they were meant and she simply shook her head as she passed my the last little bit of the cigarette.

“This is supposed to be your last wild night out as an unmarried lady,” She reminded me. “I know your wedding's still ages away, but you are strictly forbidden from talking to your groom during your bachelorette party!”

I pouted slightly as I stomped out the cigarette butt.

“Fine, I promise I won't call him,” I relented. “Can I have my phone back now?”

“Nope!” Charlotte grinned, linking her arm with mine. “You can have it back at the end of the night when I know you won't be making any naughty phone calls! Now, let's go get ourselves another drink!”

-

It was almost three hours later when I stumbled into the house, waving goodbye to my friends in the cab as it drove off to take them home. I was absolutely plastered. The drinks had not stopped all night and considering I was already decently intoxicated when Harry, Anne and Maura had left the bar and now I was done for.

“Jus' get ya self some water 'n go t'sleep,” I drunkenly mumbled to myself as I locked the door.

That was when I realized all the lights were on and the smell of delicious greasy food wafted into my nostrils. Furrowing my brow in confusion, I staggered into the kitchen and found Maura plating up the most amazing burger I'd ever seen.

“Ah, perfect timin'!” She smiled. “I thought ya'd be home soon.”

“You made that for me?” I asked as she nodded her head. I felt my eyes well up with tears as I slipped into the mushy, emotional kind of drunk I always got when I started getting tired. “You stayed up to make me drunk food?”

“I did,” Maura confirmed. “Wanted ta make sure ya got home alright anyway and I thought ya'd need it from the state you were in when I left!”

“M'in a worser state now!” I informed her (just in case she couldn't tell) as I pulled myself onto a stool by the island and she pushed the plate towards me. “This s'so nice of you, Maura. You're the best.”

“It's no trouble,” She smiled, shaking her head as I bit into the burger and let out a moan of absolute bliss. “Let me get ya some water too, you need that more than anything.”

I mumbled my thanks through my full mouth before continuing to devour my food. Maura took a seat across from me, a cup of tea in her hand and we sat in silence until I finished shovelling food into my face. Once I was done, I chugged down the glass of water.

“You're the best mother-in-law ever,” I told her, causing a laugh to burst from her lips. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Maura nodded. “I'd like to think by now you know I'm always here for you, can ask me anything you'd like.”

“Are you glad Niall chose me?” I asked, picking at my nails nervous for the answer. “Like are you and Bobby glad that he’s marrying me?”

“Well I can't speak for Bobby, but from what I've heard and seen and the few conversations we've had I think he'd agree when I say that of course we are,” She told me, looking slightly taken aback by the question. “You make Niall very happy and we support anything that brings him joy.”

I nodded in thought for a moment before I realized I wasn't satisfied with her answer.

“But do you like me? Are you happy that it's me making Niall happy?” I tried to explain myself. “M’not making sense, but you can like things that aren't good for you, yeah? Like how Niall likes beer a little more thans good for him sometimes and apparently I like smoking if tonight is anything to go by.”

I wrinkled my nose in disgust at myself as I caught a whiff of stale cigarette smell from my hair earning another laugh from Maura.

“Oh, honey! We absolutely like you! Love you, even,” Maura assured me. “You're smart, beautiful, independent, funny. I could go on and on if you'd like. We've always loved you and I think you're wonderful for Niall. You keep each other grounded and you're not afraid to tell him when he's bein' an idiot. Like this whole delaying the weddin' business. You didn't let him get away with that nonsense for a minute and that's what he needs. Too many girls would let someone like him walk all over them, but you stand up to him. Helps keep his head on straight!”

My cheeks felt like they were going to split from how wide I was smiling by the time she was done singing my praises.

“Means a lot, Maura,” I told her, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I love your son a whole lot. More than I ever thought I'd love anyone. You did a good job raisin' him, he's practically perfect in every way and I dunno what I'd do without him. Makes me happy to know that you're all as excited for me join your family as I am and I hope that when me and Niall have any babies we do half as good a job raising them as you did with Niall.”

Maura smiled proudly at my rambled compliment.

“Thanks, honey, I'm sure you'll do even better than we did,” She assured me. “Now let's get you to bed, the later you stay up the worse you're going to feel in the mornin'.”

I nodded, hopped down from my stool and followed Maura down the hall to the stairs, leaving the dishes to be dealt with in the morning.

#Niall Horan #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fiction #niall fic

[topbeautifulwomens]

#The #Passion #of #Pomegranates #bfirstapparel #farmasi #fashionblog #girlfriend #instamakeup #instapic #makeover #modelling #pled #water

Why are we so enthusiasmate concerning Pomegranates? They are bizarre searching, pricey, difficult to spell, difficult to eat and messy; the juice will stain almost everything aspherical you; particularly your mouth, your fingers and your cwhole lothes. But, much of the inhabitants seems to be to be ingesting in, decorating with, smearing on and salivating earlier mentioned this peculiar fruit in one way or an additional. If ever there ended up this kind of a thing as a designer fruit, the Pomegranate would be it. No fruit has completed far more to substitute the planet of produce than the Pomegranate and even more amazing is its far-obtaining approval.

A native of Persia, the Pomegranate is one of the oldest end result acknowledged to man and its origins can be traced back again to almost 4000 B.C. Due to the fact its humble beginnings, this historical fruit has been shrouded in controversy, intrigue and imageism. Historians feel the Pomegrante, not the apple, was the forbidden fruit that tempted Eve on that fateful working day in the Backyard of Eden. During its hitale, the Pomegranate has experienced a significant influence on faith, mythology, art and literature and it has influenced a lot of poets, composers, painters and sculptors to create amazing operates. The title “Pomegranate” is derived from the Heart French phrases, pomme and garnete, which interprets to seeded apple, and owing its’ over abundance of seeds, and rounded form, the Pomegranate has lengthy been a symbol of fertility and new existence.

These days the Pomegranate is symbolic of good flavor and good health. Whilst it is currently making the most of a super-meal superstar popularity, after it originally resurfaced, and was nominated as “fruit of the yr” in The Top American Recipes 1999; most assumed it was absolutely nothing more than a passing trend however in accordance to the Countrywide Cafe Affiliation, Pomegranates are nonetheless a sizzling food vogue for 2007. “There is certainly no denying that the pomegranate has designed a replaceation for currently being elegant,” mentioned Pam Holmgren, Boss of Company Communications at Pom Fantastic in Los Angeles. “The Pomegranate is highly regarded not entirely for its taste but for its many health positive aspects, which helps make it not only trendy, but a rediscovery that is here to remain.”

Just before Pom Wonderful’s launching of its intense market placeing marketing campaign in 2002, most People in america had minor body of reference with the elusive Pomegranate. It had been significantly underutilized and was most frequently viewed as a garnish, centerpiece or table accessory. But thanks to POM’s thorough exposure on the candy-tart essence and dietary benefit of Pomegranates, Americans are embracing this now popular fruit and integrating it into their resides. The Pomegranate has become the most functional produce on the planet; lending its unique taste, beautiful coloration and luscious scent to everything from burritos to human body butter. Its uniqueness and independence makes it fun to experiment with, and because of its brilliant shade of red, crunchy texture and intense flavor, anything manufactured with Pomegranate makes a assertion which is why arbiters of taste like Starbucks and Oprah, and cooks and residence cooks include additional this vibrant and curious fruit to their culinary repertoires.

Barbara Hulick CEC, Director of Functions for Clean Cuts at Purchase Fresh Income in Las Vegas, grew up on Pomegranates. “I was excited when Pomegranates made a comeback, not only as a produce seller but because they taste so good and they are so good for you. Pomegranates are the new ‘cranberry’. Many years back, cranberries and cranberry juice were all the rage because of the taste and wholesome qualities, and now, with all the buzz about anti-oxidants, the Pomegranate is the ‘prince among produce’. During period, we’ve a substantial call for them from the Accommodations for their dining establishments and banquet centers, and as well from a lot of neighborhood locations about city, and because you can freeze them clean, you can enjoy the seeds and the juice year round”.

With the greater commonity of the Pomegranate, it is regrettable that they’ve such a brief shelf. Dependent on in which you live, this “Jewel of Winter season”, is cultivated in hotter climates globally and is only obtainable fresh about 6 months out of the year; from August to November or Oct to January but for the duration of that time you can uncover them in appetizers to desserts and everything in in between. “I love cooking with fresh Pomegranates”, said Chef Mark Hopper, Chef de Delicacies, from Bouchon; Chef Thomas Keller’s award-successful Bistro in the Venetian Hotel. “They are extremely healthier and versatile, and they provide added dimension to any dish. Fresh Pomegranates are a labor of love but well worth the energy. After they’re in season, I use them in assorted dishes, especially in our house made Duck Prosciutto made with Marshall Farms Honey Roasted Quince. Luckily, the juice can be appreciated year round in such savory liquids as marinades, dressings, glazes and sauces. The Pomegranate has done much to change the world of cooking; it has an outstanding flavor mix and it enables chefs like me to create new dishes with great preferences and beautiful shows”.

Aside from its taste, vibrant color and health-protective outcomes, men and women are romantic about the Pomegranate for its aphrodisiacs properties. Meal and sexual intercourse often go hand-in-hand and taking in a succulent Pomegranate in the uncooked or introducing it to foodstuff and beverages can be a recipe for romance. Depending on the dimensions, this apple look-alike, with its leathery pores and skin and distinctive crown, can hang up to 800 seeds; the heavier it is, the more juice it consists of and as this juice oozes out; the sweet and tangy flavor combination will explode in your mouth and wake up your taste buds. “The pomegranate is one of the sexiest foods on earth”, said Amy Reiley, Learn of Gastronomy from Le Cordon Bleu and the writer of Daily life of Reiley. “Its crimson shade is the color of prefer. They’re messy and sticky, and because there is certainly no other way to eat a pomegranate than with your fingers, the act of consuming the juicy little seeds gets a sensuous act of perform”.

In purchase to attract the calls for of the more subtle, urbane and health-mindful consumer, food manureal truthurers need to continually develop new and innovative goods. Present day complicated consumers are looking to whet their appetites with a little of the unique, erotic and imprecise, and they are strenuous liquid libations that are aesthetically tasty, refreshing and “healthy”. The Pomegranate is all of people stuff combined and that heightens its appeal. As this “hot food trend” proceeds to effect the beverage industry, bartenders throughout the place are mixing, shaking and stirring up an assortment of innovative cocktails with the hugely mixable and extremely versatile Pomegranate juice.

Its sweet taste with a tangy kick infuses well with a range of spirits, delicate beverages and other juices. “There are a couple of factors why the use of Pomegranates have become so popular in drinks”, said Chef Matthew Silverman of Agave; the wonderfully modern day and first Mexican Restaurant in Summerlin. “The 1st is the fact that they are perceived as being healthy, even though most are combined with sugar and alcoholic beverages. The belief of drinking anything that is good for you whilst still getting to drink your alcoholic beverage is the main reason that it has become popular. The moment reason is that there has been a growth in products that have been revealed in the previous handful of many years in which a tremendous sum of selling pounds have been put guiding them. They’ve sold these drinks productively with that information and now they are all the rage largely with the youthful/hip crowds”.

Julia Infant said, “Discover something you happen to be passionate about and maintain tremendously intrigued in it”. It truly is interesting to find people who are interested in Pomegranates, it evokes great cooks and results in fantastic dining activities, and it also offers people like me an likelihood to write about them because people who are passionate about things usually has a story notify. I requested Cheryl Panariello, Exclusive Functions Director of TAO Asian Bistro New York and Las Vegas, if they are employing Pomegranates in their foods or beverages. “We never use it for anything as of now, not even cocktails, but because it is “all the rage” I believe that will change. Individually, I have loved pomegranates since I was a baby. I utilized to call them Chinese apples and I always made a mess when eating them, staining my clothing, carpets, furnishings; you name it, I stained it! My mom stopped getting them for me and I turned very frustrated, it was so, so unfortunate. Then one day I observed them when I was at the market with my Father. I said, ‘Mother will not likely buy them for me any longer’ and I advised him why. He said “that’s preposterous” and he purchased me one. Against that day in advance, me and the pomegranate were reunited and to this day, we never told my mom”.

There is cosmetic in passion, and people are passionate about the Pomegranate. Probably this undying and powerfully healthy fruit shouldn’t be judged by its cover since it’s what is inside that counts. Even with the fact that it’s messy and a little weird looking, because of its variety, recipe probabilities and unsurpassed taste, the Pomegranate has a vivid and delicious foreseeable future.

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