#especially once she gets to court and she feels a bit claustrophobic

[dulcewrites]

You guys know how interested I am in fashion when it comes to my fics. I’ve done a couple of fashion post about myrah in fcc. But I’m also interested in the fashion transitions both Helaena and Alicent go through as they ease into their new roles as queen consort and queen mother respectively (in fcc).

As stated before, I see Myrah, once she married and officially a mainstay at court, ushering in the Burgundian type of clothing popular in the Vale. A style that was more than likely also worn a lot in KL when Aemma was around. Houppelandes, brocade fabric, elaborate sleeves, and fun headwear like: headbands, ribbon in the hair, barbettes, and different types of hennins. this is also coupled with the style she gets from the different cultures in her life (dornish, Myrish, summer islander). But I think the Vale style would be more of a hit amongst the stuffy court crowd

Now onto how this compares to Helaena and Alicent.

Alicent is dressed like this when we first see her post time jump. There is a slight change in her pre driftmark versus post driftmark fits. Pre - she plays a bit more with her sillouttes, specifically her necklines and sleeves. Post - we get high neck lines, more intricate details. She’s leaning into the established queen and pious figure look.

Imo Alicent not only adopted green as a sign of her loyalties to her home, but green specifically this deep emerald shade, is very mature. Alicent became queen at 15 (viserys and otto you’re going to hell), and becomes the green queen around 17/18. We see her trying to act more grown up bc of it. I think she never transitioned out of that feeling, even as an actual adult. She is a teenage essentially stuck in an adult woman’s body

In reponse to Alicent, ladies at court adopt this style. A more conservative, almost stiff look. Either opting for other mature colors (deep blues, browns, purples etc. lots jewel tones) and or just green as well.

As Alicent takes a more behind the scenes role and transitions into queen mother/grandmother, she changes silhouettes more and even *gasp* plays with prints. Still more rich colors. I think she would even go back to the fun sleeves and capes like before her more conservative looks. She feels less restrained to the color green or the tighter sillouettes bc the thing she feared so much (losing her children) is behind her.

There would be a shift in color palettes and styles as Helaena becomes the new hbic (affectionately). While Alicent wanted to lean into how she is feeling at the moment, creating an air of power/isolation or piety with her styling, I think Helaena would take a different approach.

Her transition into a fashion it girl is a bit more organic (???) than her mother’s. Simply because Helaena is more of a ‘oooh that’s pretty I’m just gonna wear it’ type of person while Alicent wanted to curate a certain image for herself, at least in the beginning for the both of them. Helaena is far more youthful and whimsical. She’s not afraid of showing a bit of skin, and enjoys unique patterns/prints

The top looks are more day to day, while the bottom when she really wants to show up and show out. Helaena by nature is not a flashy person so those moments are few and far between. I don’t mind the dresses she wears in the show, especially the blue coronation one. But something about the lack of visible waistlines reads as matronly to me sometimes. So, I see her trying out shorter bodices. For the most part, she keeps the pastel, and girly colors she likes.

I added the pic we got from on set for s2 bc I think it also works with what I mean about her looking more her age in dresses that arent just straight up and down. The more dimension the better. I don’t see fcc Helaena wearing darker colors like this often tho. Random tinhat but I think in s2 we are going to see Helaena adopt darker colors after ***. A bit contrast to the light ones we see her wearing most of the time.

Anyway, as usual, the court ladies follow suit. Older noble women would not opt for the lower cut dresses, but still follow the light colors and higher waist lines. Younger girls are living for this. As Helaena gets more comfortable, she understands the power in what she does. She gets championed as beloved for her gentle nature in the book. So, I like the idea of as she gets more politically minded she understands how the playfulness of her clothing lends itself to that, and she leans into it.

[rubysunnday]

hey, sister

Summary: Y/N’s heart is broken in two but the only person she wants is her eldest brother

Y/N stepped out of the carriage and pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders.

"I am truly sorry, Miss Bridgerton."

Y/N turned around to face the other occupant of the carriage. Robert Grey was a nice man, he wasn't much to look at but he was proper and had a title that went back centuries.

He'd been courting Y/N since the first week of the season. They'd just bonded over numerous little things and enjoyed each others company. Violet Bridgerton had even begun dropping hints about engagement and a wedding to her daughter, even going so far as to start embroidering fabric for her wedding gown.

But Y/N knew, deep down, that her and Robert were not meant to be. His father was arrogant and unkind and had taken a disliking to Y/N almost instantly. Robert wasn't close with his father but risked loosing his money, his title and his estate if he didn't tread carefully.

Despite her feelings towards the man, she knew they couldn't last. She loved him, she truly did, but she didn't want to be the reason that Robert lost everything.

"It is fine, Mr Grey, I understand, truly," Y/N said softly, giving him a smile. "Thank you for tonight. It was nice to be able to... to say goodbye."

"I hope we can stay in contact," Robert replied. Y/N looked at him and could see the pain in his eyes. This wasn't easy for either of them but Y/N knew it had to be done.

"Of course we can," she said, nodding. "Good luck with your father."

"Good luck with everything," Robert replied, gesturing to the house. "Thank you."

Y/N closed the carriage door and stood back. The carriage rattled off and she waved, standing in the gates of Bridgerton House until the carriage had disappeared into the night.

She shivered as the night breeze rustled around her and she pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. She knew her mother was expecting an engagement. Violet had helped her get ready, offering her the finest of the families diamonds to wear and mentioning going to the modiste for new dresses.

Y/N took a deep breath in and gave herself a moment of peace before the onslaught of questions. The stars were out above them and Y/N watched them twinkling away, blissfully unaware of anyone else's existence in the universe.

Y/N walked up to the front door and opened it, quietly slipping into the foyer. Her mother was standing in the foyer along with Simon and Daphne who had come over for dinner.

It wasn’t the best situation, she was hoping she would’ve been able to sneak up the stairs and hide in her room until morning.

"Y/N!" Violet exclaimed, spotting her daughter lurking by the front door. "You're back early," she continued, glancing at the clock. "Is everything alright?"

Y/N couldn't cope with the joyous look in her mother's eyes, the excitement in Daphne's face. It was too much knowing she was going to disappointment them.

"Everything is fine, mama," Y/N said, walking forward and through the group, aiming for the stairs and hoping she could make it to her bedroom.

Violet frowned as her daughter practically ran past her. “Where is Lord Grey? I thought he was escorting you home. I had planned to ask him to take tea with us so we could talk about the engagement.”

Y/N stopped on the stairs.

“What engagement?” Daphne asked, her voice giving away her excitement. She looked up at her younger sister. “Did he propose?”

“Well, I just assumed...” Violet trailed off, looking up at her daughter.

Y/N took a deep breath in and turned around. “No, he did not propose, mama. In fact, we have decided to go our separate ways and will no longer by seeing each other.”

There. She’d said it. Now, she just had to get to her room in the next minute before she started crying on the stairs.

“Y/N, dearest, I do not understand, I thought you were -”

“Well, clearly, you were wrong, mama!” Y/N exclaimed, no longer caring that she was making a scene. “There is nothing there, anymore. Lord Grey and I have decided to end our courtship. There is no engagement, no wedding and certainly nothing between us!”

Violet stared at her daughter, partly surprised by her outburst, but also desperately wanting to comfort her. “Y/N...”

Y/N blinked and felt the tears burning her eyes as she looked down at her mother. She bit her lip and turned around, grabbing the hem of her dress and running up the stairs.

She heard her mother calling after but didn’t stop. Unfortunately for Y/N - things didn’t seem to be on her side this evening - Hyacinth and Francesca were just stepping out the dining room. Y/N came to a sudden halt and tried, desperately, to hide in the side room.

“Y/N!” Hyacinth exclaimed, bouncing up to her. “How was your evening?”

Y/N turned around, well aware of the tears on her face, and faced them. “Absolutely perfect, thank you,” she said quietly, moving once again, pushing through her siblings. “I am rather tired, though, so I am going to go to bed.”

Y/N looked down at the ground and walked straight into Anthony. She almost swore right there and then - of all her brothers, it had to be Anthony.

Anthony grabbed her shoulders, steadying her as she stumbled back. “Hey, Y/N, what -” Anthony trailed off as he noticed her tears, her shaking hands. “What happened? What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” Y/N replied, trying to escape him 

“No, Y/N, come here,” Anthony said, refusing to let go of her arm. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened, Anthony!” Y/N exclaimed. “Just, please, leave me alone.”

Y/N ripped her arm out of his grip and continued down the corridor, shoving past Benedict and Colin and making for her bedroom. She slammed her door behind her, locked it, and slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor, crying her eyes out like a poor, love-struck girl.

She sat on the cold, wooden floor, for what felt like hours, waiting for the energy to stand up and move. She was exhausted but had no will to get up or move. 

The room began to feel claustrophobic and overwhelming and Y/N suddenly wanted to just leave. Y/N unlocked her door and stepped out into the dark corridor, looking out for any sign of her siblings. She just needed to sit in the garden and have a cigarette to get over her emotions. 

The stairs kept silent as she snuck down them. Anthony’s office was glowing and Y/N could hear her brother rummaging around and muttering to himself. She pulled on the hem of her shawl as she stood in the foyer, hesitating. 

She stood there for a minute and then made a decision, walking to Anthony’s office, knocking on the slightly ajar door to attract his attention.

“Come in,” Anthony called.

Y/N stepped in and immediately felt the emotions of the past few hours hit her as soon as she saw her big brother.

“Y/N, what are you doing up?” Anthony asked, frowning, setting his pen down. 

“I...” Y/N sighed, wringing her fingers. “Anthony, I -” Y/N stopped talking as she felt her throat close with tears and felt a lump form in her throat. She let out a soft sob and buried her face in her hands.

Anthony stood up and walked over to her. He put a hand on Y/N’s shoulder and pulled her into his chest, hugging her tightly.

“I know, Y/N,” Anthony said quietly, stroking her back as she sobbed. “Mother told me.”

“Why does it hurt, Anthony?” Y/N sobbed, clinging to her brother’s waistcoat. “I just want this pain to stop.”

Anthony closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of Y/N’s head. He knew the feeling too well. It had happened to him numerous times over the years and he wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, especially not his sister.

“It gets easy,” Anthony comforted, tightening his grip around her. “Eventually it will get easier. I promise.”

 ‘I just feel like everyone leaves me,” Y/N whispered. “Father left me, Colin’s leaving again soon. Soon I’ll be all alone.”

“I’m here, Y/N,” Anthony whispered. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

[batsandbugs]

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 5: Vent Shenanigans and Keurig Conversations

AN: Okay, this is the last that anyone is going to hear of me for two weeks. Then I’m out of school and will be ready to crank out some more chaos. Until then, I hope you guys enjoy!

Television shows made navigating through vents appear much easier than it was in real life. Then again, they also made being a superhero look easy too, and Marinette was painfully aware how that was false. 

Her knees and back ached from crawling through the low ceiling vents, and though she wasn’t claustrophobic, she was decidedly cramped. And if that’s how she felt, Damian, at more than half a foot taller, had to be doubly suffering. She asked how he was doing.

“I've crawled through far more pleasant vents before,” he replied seriously. “If we could continue quickly, we’ll come out near another vent gate in about ten or so minutes.”

They continued in silence until they came to a fork in the vent.

“Which way?” asked Marinette.

Damian hesitated. “I didn’t see this on the plans.”

“So, you don’t know.”  

“I did not say that.”

“So which way do we go?”

Silence.

Marinette sighed and closed her eyes, poking for the pooled energy inside herself. Being the Guardian of the Miraculous had helped her innate magic to grow in leaps and bounds, but it was her Ladybug powers she ultimately searched for. After being bonded with Tikki for so long, certain… qualities tended to bleed over. One such ability was making decisions infused with good luck. It wasn’t easy, but it was one she had been working hard to master.  

A glimmer of magic burned in her chest, and a fleeting whispered voice told her to turn left. She smiled in the dark of the vent.

“Left,” she said confidently, “we go left.”

“Why?”

Marinette’s smile turned into a smirk, even though Damian couldn’t see her. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to try.” The quickness made the reply appear casual, but Marinette could tell by the steel in his tone it told more truth than intended.

‘Who the hell did I team up with?’ her brain once again asked.

“Let’s leave me off the list,” she said, bypassing the dangerous remark with a gymnast's grace. “Come on.”

She crawled around the corner and, after only a moment’s hesitation, heard Damian follow after her.

Silence reigned for another minute or so before far in the distance they spotted light.

“Oh, thank the Kwamis, an exit,” Marinette muttered.

Damian grumbled behind her. “None of this appeared on the plans.”

“Learn to roll with the flow.” The light grew stronger, so she flicked off her phone flashlight. “Chances are it didn’t take your brothers too long to track me back to our hiding spot. They probably know we’re in the vents. If they found the same plan you did…”

“They won’t have any clue about this.” She could hear the pleased smirk in his voice.

“Exactly.”

The light flooded upwards from the vent floor. The slats in between large enough to view the room below. Marinette crawled over it and maneuvered herself around to face Damian.

“Nice to see your face again.”

The dim light from the vent illuminated his face. “N-Nice to see yours too,” he said. It was at that point, it dawned on Marinette that Damian's view the whole way through the vent was an up close look at her butt. From the heat radiating off her cheeks, it was likely her face was as red as his. She was torn between laughing hysterically and curling into mortified ball and never emerging.

Instead of either of those rational actions though, her mouth, her stupid, stupid mouth, decided to betray her.

“Enjoy the view?” she asked with a grin. ''What are you doing?' She yelled at herself, that was the last thing she wanted to utter.

Damian, if it was even possible, turned redder, and coughed lightly. “You have, uh, your bottom is quite shapely.” By the end of his confession, his voice was a high-pitched squeak, more appropriate for a preteen, then an adult. It took every bit of self-control for Marinette to keep from falling apart laughing.

“Thanks, I exercise,” she responded cheekily. A familiar magical hum settled in her breastbone. Her connection to the Kwamis magic. Marinette held back from rolling her eyes, even as her inner panic grew. One of the Kwamis was helping her to flirt. Probably Plagg judging by her cheesy replies.

‘They are the physical embodiments of the powers of the universe, and they choose to help me flirt. What even is my life?’

“It's working well,” replied Damian, with more of a teasing tone than an embarrassed one, although his cheeks still appeared redder than normal.

“Yeah, well…” Marinette sat there struggling for a reply, when noise from below cut off their impromptu flir- teasing session.

“I swear to God, if I find out who caused the mess in the Market Hall, I'll strangle them with my bare hands,” complained a voice from below.

Marinette winced when she saw Damian looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She hadn’t meant to cause that much damage.

“Oh, come on, Ian, it’s not like it was unscrewed on purpose. A bolt probably loosened and the shelf got bumped into. Blame it on bad luck.”

“Well, can I strangle bad luck then?”

Marinette held back an undainty snort. Plagg's constant whining and complaining coming to mind. ‘There I certain days I definitely want to.’

“I don’t think so. I’m more worried about the giant cart pile up.” At that, Damian raised a second eyebrow, and Marinette shrugged, she didn't controlled what the Bad Luck Balls did. “We’re gonna need to test all the carts to check for any more loose wheels, that’s gonna take forever. Anyway, are you headed home?”

“Yeah, I’m half an hour over the end of my shift,” responded Ian. Marinette could see two people moving around in the room below. “Ooh look, someone brought in doughnuts! You want one Casey?”

“No thanks, still trying to stay on that diet. I just came in here for a drink and then I’m back out on the floor.” The sound of a fridge door opened. “See you next week.”

“Yeah, you too Casey.”

The sound of another door opened leaving the room below silent once more.

“Shopping carts?” Damian asked, half-amused, and half bewildered. “I didn’t hear about that.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Escape was the highest priority, okay?”  

“When would you find the time to accomplish that?”

Marinette hesitated, there was no good explanation to give that would satisfy him. She wouldn’t tell him about the Miraculous or the Kwamis. It was her job, no her duty, to maintain their safety, and after everything she had fought for, bled for, nearly died for... no matter how comfortable he made her, there was no way he'd learn about what she could do. Especially when she had the feeling he was far more than meets the eye. Which didn’t leave much in the way of a good excuse for what she did and how.

Then, as if understanding Marinette’s great need for a distraction, their stomachs rumbled in unison. They looked at each other for a moment before laughing.

Marinette huffed, wiping away a tear of joy from her eye. “Okay, we need to find food to eat.”

Damian nodded. “The food court is a no go now; Drake will monitor it even more closely than before. We could find a vending machine?”

An idea popped into Marinette’s mind. “Or… how about the doughnuts?”

“Huh?”

She pointed down. “This is the breakroom. Ian mentioned doughnuts.”

“That would be stealing.”

“As opposed to the twenty other things we’ve stolen over the course of the past two hours?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I can back pay those.”

“So, we’ll send them a box of doughnuts once we’ve won. I’m sure the IKEA employees will understand the doughnut's sacrifice to a worthy cause. Besides, breakrooms have coffee machines.”

Damian sneered. “Coffee from a machine will taste will taste like swill.”

“Didn't you say your brother dragged you out of bed at eight this morning? Coffee means caffeine, which means energy.”

He tilted his head and contemplated it for a moment. “Fair point.” He looked at the grate. “It’s probably a ten-foot drop. Can you handle that?”

Marinette had to refrain from rolling her eyes. She had free fallen off the Eiffel Tower before, she could handle a measly ten-foot drop. But Damian wasn't aware of any of that of course. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the laser pen. “Back up, it’s going to get hot in here.”

Marinette averted her eyes while Damian cut the grate away with the laser, the heat making the metal vent shaft turn into a furnace. She wiped away at a bead of sweat forming at her brow. The grate gave way and clattered against the floor below. Damian put away the laser and gave her a quick smirk. He slipped his legs into the hole where the grate had been and jumped to the floor, landing with a soft thud.

Breathing a sigh of relief at finally leaving the cramped vent, Marinette maneuvered her legs to dangle over the vent opening and slid out, bracing herself for the landing.

But instead of meeting the floor, she found herself caught in mid-air. Damian had her in his grasp, holding her off the floor by a few inches with his strong arms snug around her waist. Their eyes caught and the air between them grew thick with tension. His bare hands brushed against a sliver of her exposed back, the contact sent shivers up her spine.

Neither of them breathed for a brief moment.

“I told you I could handle the drop,” Marinette said, her words barely above a whisper.

“I know.” Damian’s voice matched hers. The look in his eyes impossible to decipher. His arms tightened for a moment, before letting her slip-free.

Marinette smiled, resting her hands against his arms. “Thanks.”

Damian opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it. He stepped back, effectively breaking the bubble around them. Marinette pushed the rapid flutter in her chest away. She could deal with it later when she was far removed from crazy games of hide-and-seek, and dark-skinned boys who made her too comfortable to be safe.

She turned and looked around the room they had dropped into, finding it, thankfully, empty. The last thing they needed was security getting called on them. Spotting the counter with the box of doughnuts on it, Marinette smiled.

She walked over to the box. “Well, it’s no Parisian artisan pastries, but I suppose the chain-restaurant swill will suffice,” she teased, looking back over her shoulder at Damian.  

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he deadpanned. Heading over to the coffee machine to start a new pot. She turned her attention back to the box, the words Krispy Kreme printed on the front in large green letters, several doughnuts still inside.

“Which one do you want?” she asked.

“Anything with chocolate.”

“You have excellent taste.”

“I strive too.” That made Marinette smile. It was such a Chole-like response. She had to make sure never to introduce the two of them.

Marinette pulled out a few doughnuts and put them in the microwave. They would taste much better warm. After a few seconds, she brought the plate over to Damian staring at the ancient coffee machine with distaste.

“Here, you take this.” She pushed the plate of warm doughnuts into his hands. “And I’ll deal with this.” Grabbing a filter to place the pre-crushed coffee grounds into.

“Tt, why don’t they use a Keurig?” he asked with a sneer.

“Uh… because it’s a breakroom in an IKEA?” Marinette was shocked to find a breakroom at all. She’d figured employees would have to lean against the wall if they wanted a break, before being prodded into moving again by their superior. At least, she thought that was what Americans did.

Damian scoffed. “Everyone uses Keurig.”

“Even you, Mr. Machine coffee tastes like swill?”

“No, Alfred makes our coffee in the morning French press style. I do occasionally steal Drake’s Keurig out of his room when he hasn’t slept in four days to watch him cry though.”

“Damian!” she exclaimed.

“What? It’s for his own good. At that point he’s more likely to make a mistake, he needs sleep, not more caffeine.”

Marinette's thoughts flickered to her own Keurig she bought before she left Paris and the number of times she had played out the exact scenario Damian described. “Coffee is a lifestyle.” She grabbed two paper cups and placed one underneath the machine as the coffee dripped.

“It’s a crutch. Drake is a grown man, and he should, mlph-” Marinette cut him off by shoving a chocolate doughnut into his mouth. He glared at her.

“Getting between a determined person and their coffee is a criminal offense and should be punished.” She grabbed a doughnut for herself taking a bite of the sugary pastry. It tasted nothing like her parents’, but her empty stomach didn't care, so it would do. “Who’s Alfred by the way? Another brother?”

Damian took half the doughnut out of his mouth, swallowing the rest. “Most people wouldn’t dare to take the liberties you do with me.”

“Good thing I’m not most people,” Marinette responded with a smile. “You’re avoiding the question.” She took the cup out, now full to the brim of steaming hot coffee, and replaced it with the second.

“No, fortunately, I have no more brothers. Although my father likes to pick up strays so who knows if we’ll obtain another. Alfred is our butler.”

Thankfully, Marinette hadn’t taken a sip of coffee otherwise she might have done a spit-take. “You have a butler?” She had gotten the impression his family was pretty rich, and she was used to her friends having personal staff, but never failed to shock her when this level of luxury was mentioned so casually.

Damian shrugged. “Tt, butler, pseudo-grandfather, the only reason our family functions even semi-normally; same difference.”

Marinette shook her head in exasperation. “If you say so.” She pulled out the second cup, handing it to Damian. He took a sip.

“If mediocre had a taste…”

“Oh, shut up and drink it.”

They devoured their meager rations in silence, going back for seconds on both doughnuts and coffee. Marinette was by no means full when she finished, but at least her stomach wasn’t threatening to eat itself anymore.

“So, where do we go from here?” she asked.

Damian pulled out his phone. “The store closes at nine, which means we either have to avoid my brothers for eight more hours, or…”

“We have to knock them out of the game completely.”

“Exactly.”

“So, are we gonna actually knock them out, or should we just get them kicked out of the store?” She would normally try to avoid the use of excessive force on civilians, but from the few hints Damian had dropped, Marinette figured his family was used to a higher level of insanity. Living in Gotham must have that effect.

“Effective and vicious,” commented Damian, “I like the way you think. As much fun as it would be to knock them out, getting them kicked out is probably the better method. We have… family plans for this evening that potential concussions would make difficult.”

“Who’s our first target?”

“Drake,” said Damian without a moment’s hesitation. “He’s their eyes and ears. The other two are still good at hacking, but he’s the best. Get rid of him, and Grayson and Todd will be scrambling to recover. Plus, he’s the least likely to put up a fight.”

With a plan made, they erased their presence from the breakroom, hiding the lasered off vent grate and discarding their trash. Once confident the coast was clear they snuck out of the breakroom, and into the bowels of the back hallways, leaving nothing but doughnut crumbs and the smell of coffee in their wake.

It was time for the hunters to become the prey.

Tag List (closed, sorry) 

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[cartoonfangirl1218]

EoA Appreciation Week Day 3

Luisa and Franciscso had been engaged at an early age since they started courting in their teens. Basically once they were legal, they got hitched.

And maybe its just their personalities, or maybe it was the usual impatience of teenagehood but they couldn't wait to move into their own house and be officially adults.

Well they had their first lesson in adulthood when it came to buying said house especially as Luisa's extended family assumed they'd be staying with them as per tradition. Luisa was a bit afraid of disappointing them so they settled for a large house but found it claustrophobic with the parents' advice even in matters that they could handle it.

The final straw came with Luisa's father correcting Francisco's guitar skills. If there was one area where Francisco had the most pride, it was there. The whole family was shocked when instead of Francisco lashing out as his red face implied, it was Luisa, who finally demanded some space. That she was grateful for their help, and their advice, and she'd always go to them, but part of being an adult was not getting advice but just learning as you go and she wanted to do that with her husband, work together.

Once tempers cooled and they could talk civilly, they understood where Luisa was coming from and Francisco and Luisa moved to a smaller house near Vida Dulce.

Luisa worked at her family's chocolate shop and as an olaball team member while Francisco volunteered with the royal guard. Though separated most of the day, Francisco always managed to visit the olaball arena when Luisa had a game with a handmade sign for his favorite player.

Nights were calm and sweet with Luisa making dinner and bringing home the chocolate, and they sat by the fire, strumming the guitar, blissfully in love. With all that love, it wasn't long before Luisa was pregnant and gave birth to Margarita Flores. Her family moved in again for which they were grateful this time because they really didn't know what to do. Francisco fell in love for the second time when he held his daughter for the first time,thus first emerging his protective instincts. Luisa was similarly enamoured and their favorite thing to do in those beginning months were watch her sleeping adorably in her crib. Everything she did was so cute and amazing in their eyes. 

Not that the lack of sleep and baby duty didn't make them a snippy. They were a bit cranky with each other but that was nothing a nice cup of tea and pan dulce couldn't fix. Before they knew it, Luisa was pregnant again and gave birth to Lucia Flores, the third fall into unconditional love. And last because although they initially wanted a big family, they were tired of the sleepless nights, Luisa wanted to go back to work, and they had a feeling, their two girls would be enough to handle. They were right as the girls grew older, they were definitely in a whirlwind of activity. They had inherited Luisa's busy nature and compassion into helping the community with the gardening committee, theatre troupe, holiday decorators, olaball, fencing etc. Luisa and Francisco were in a whirlwind themselves, making sure they paid equal attention and support to the big performances and such.

There were some tough moments as teenage angst led to fights over privacy and "I'm an adult now, stop treating me like a child!" that sort of thing. The big deal was dealing with the fact that Margarita and Josefina were growing up now and being courted. The shoe was on the foot and Luisa and Francisco didn't want their girls jumping headfirst into an early marriage. Francisco always came to the door with a freshly sharpened rapier in his belt and Luisa took care of the shovel talk. 

When Prince Raul came a courting after falling for Lucia... that was a route they never thought they'd deal with. How do you say no to a prince? How do you make sure your daughter won't be hurt as the new royal in the public eye? Luckily, King Raul was a good man as we all know, and it worked out. Then Margarita found her husband and soon they were grandparents. 

It was a wonderful time for them but at the same time, the feeling of old age was creeping on them with the new grey hairs and the ache in the joints. Francisco in particular felt it since he wasn't as flexible as in his Los Tres days but Luisa reassured him, that it didn't matter how many grey hairs came up or wrinkles or creaked mobility, he would always be her Capitan. He affirmed that, feeling good about how they were fulfilling their vow, to be together until old age.  The enchanted painting gave them an unexpected addition to their life expectancy and their energy. There was so much to explore in this new world, many of their friends were long gone but they still had each other and there were now so many more adventures for them to do together, and new ways to show their love.

[rankdisasster]

the craft (1996)

“id love to see the craft made into a fic” requested by anonymous.

warnings: death, attempted noncon, alcohol

a/n: first movie-inspired fic of more to come. centered around Billy (Skeet Ulrich’s character) and the witchy stuff getting played on him as karma. highly recommend watching if you like cult classics!!

—

You could’ve guessed before even moving here that Hawkins was gonna be a fucking drag. The weather was gloomy, the air wasn’t fresh like you’re used to, and it was so uncomfortably quaint that it made you feel stranded and claustrophobic. You bit your nails the entire flight and even after landing, while the pouring rain soaked your clothes and drenched your hair when first stepping foot in the small town.

It was an especially frightening discovery after a gritty argument with your folks, spouting on about what a brat you’re turning out to be, how much of a disappointment you’re bound to become; so in the midst of a fit enraged, not moving from where you lay stubbornly on your bed with angry tears, you had accidentally slammed the door shut. After realizing what you’d done, curiosity had replaced vexation. Neither of your parents could call the cops or toss you in some looney bin, so you chose to avoid catastrophe by keeping it low and only using it if bored in private. It felt oddly empowering, treasuring the gift, but you’d never been compelled to use it for harm before.

After eating dinner with empty conversation and the only background noise being imaginary crickets and the rain, you’d excused yourself once your plate was wiped clean. Stomping back upstairs, ignoring any distasteful remarks aimed at your departure. You wondered that if the town sucked ass, then that meant school likely would too.

—

It wasn’t hard to see from a mile away that you did not come from nor belong here. Cliques scattered the halls, although this school surely isn’t as big as your last it still has its fair share. Jocks and douchebags, popular cheerleaders, edgy goths. Those titles never served to you, naturally feeling better going alone. Nobody tried approaching the new girl just to say hi or bother looking in your direction. That is until basic jock Billy Hargrove did with a mischievous smirk during lunch a couple tables away, noticing you’re all alone sipping on your school milk. With crass confidence in his stride, he makes his way over to you in the most dramatic, full-of-himself way as possible taking a seat across from yours.

“Lookin’ pretty lonely there, new girl. Y/N is it?” he raises one brow, not asking for permission before snaking Doritos from your lunchtray, chomping while maintaining a smug expression. You scoff before shoving the red bag of corn chips toward him.

“Help yourself. And yeah, that’s me. Who are you?”

Billy has taken the bag with a don’t mind if I do attitude, answering you with his mouth full while licking the stained nacho cheese off his fingertips. “Name’s Billy. So why you here all alone? Haven’t found your crowd yet, or you just a ‘fraidy cat?”

You roll your eyes before playing along with his stupid game. “Well Billy, I just moved here and haven’t talked to anyone besides my lunch buddy that just hogged my chips,” you snip, watching the cocky blonde tilt the bag up to his mouth to finish the rest of the crumbs at the bottom. When he’s done with that portion of your meal, he points to the carton of two percent.

“May I?”

“Nothing’s stopping you,” you bite with sarcasm. He chuckles at your obvious distaste but nevertheless resumed picking at your food and chugging a good amount of the dairy drink down.

“You owe me fifty cents, by the way.”

“Oh yeah? How ‘bout I repay you with a little somethin’ else instead,” he inched closer, the proximity allowing you the feeling of his breath fanning your cheek. You’d been rendered speechless, caught off guard with how shameless and flirtatious he turned. “I’ll repay you with a few pointers, what with you being a little newbie ‘round here. Sound good?” he finished, grinning at how tense and worked up he made you in seconds. “What is it, sweetheart? D’ya think I’d repay you with somethin’ else?” he snickered, taking your carton again and quenching his thirst, the white drips of milk falling down his chin.

“Nope. Just don’t give a shit about your advice,” you snap back into character, his arrogance provoking you to try using one of your little tricks; maybe make him stutter or choke just so he’ll leave you alone. But that would be breaking the rules, and you were strict against taking advantage of it to cause trouble.

“I’ll give it to you anyways. See, my crew over there thinks you’re pretty cute, so you could come around anytime you like. Definitely avoid those freaks over there,” he slyly nods his head over in the direction of two girls dressed in black, chainsmoking. “They won’t be too welcoming.”

“What’s up with them?” you hush inconspicuously, intridgued by their scandalous bravado. You could see yourself hanging out with them even if that meant disregarding all the misinformation Billy feeds you.

“See the little one on the left? That’s Nancy the Slut Wheeler. Nickname sorta explains itself. She fucked more than half the guys on my team and cheated on her long-term boy toy Harrington,” he explains, not shy about what’s coming out of his mouth no matter how derogatory or degrading. “Not speaking from experience or anything. And the bigger one is Robin Buckley, she’s a dyke.”

“Uh, okay. That all the dirt you got or what?”

“Nah, there’s more shit floatin’ around here about stuff they do. I’ve heard they’re into witchcraft, but I dunno if I believe that one.”

Now that snagged your attention, but you wouldn’t share a thing like that with a guy like Billy. “Anyway, thanks for sharing lunch, Y/N. Was a pleasure. You should come to my practice after school, we could have another fun little chat. Whaddya say?” he licks his lips, holding your stare to persuade you into visiting. “Please?”

You really could give a fuck about watching a bunch of sweaty guys toss and argue around a ball, no matter which sport, but it was hard to find courage to decline his pleading yet intimidating stare. “Maybe I’ll swing by,” you hesitate, earning an enthusiastic holler out of Billy before he gets up from your table and makes a pit stop near you for a moment to whisper in your ear.

“Really looking forward to it, new girl.”

Successfully hiding your hot cheeks as he pats your back, sending a wink over his shoulder before heading back to his circle of friends not-so-subtly watching. When the bell rings to signal lunch’s end, Nancy and Robin catch your eye, ashing their cigarettes, fixating on you. Flustered from getting caught, you quickly snatch your lunchtray and dump whatever’s left in the trash, hanging your head low as you make your way to your next class.

—

Biology class was humiliating. After approaching Nancy and Robin about a group project assigned on your first day, Robin gawked as Nancy glared without a yes or a no about letting you join them. It was a long shot anyways. While awkwardly nodding as they both continuously stare you down, you shuffle to the very back of the classroom. With nothing better to do, thinking no one was paying attention, you flick your pencil in the air, making it stand as your hands stay in your lap. Moments later, getting lost in thought about Billy, wondering what his intentions were, how you were ever gonna fit in here; Robin witnesses the unworldly telekinetic party trick. Her mouth hangs in awe, not believing she allowed Nancy to bully her into rejecting you.

“You don’t know what you’re even talking about,” Nancy argues, popping her chewing gum as she gazes in the bathroom mirror and applies another sloppy smear of eyeliner.

Robin’s scoff is followed by a sigh before turning Nancy away from her reflection. “I know what I saw! She can... do things. Like with her mind. She’s our third, I know it,” the girl vigorously nods her head. Nancy remained unconvinced but decides to give in if it’ll shut her dimwit of a best friend the fuck up.

“Fine, okay! We’ll talk to her after school, see what happens. You better not be fucking with me on this. We don’t need any incidents happening because you’re seeing things that aren’t there,” Nancy stares her down like a wolf threatening to attack, eyeballing the taller girl with satisfaction as she gulps submissively.

—

You decided there was nothing better to do than make an appearance at Billy’s basketball practice after school. As he dribbles the ball and taunts his opponents, he spots you from afar and takes his attention off the game and momentarily directs it towards you instead. With a wink, he sticks his tongue out teasingly before taking his tank top off and giving one of his teammates a high five. While lost in the dance of seduction with Billy, you neglect to notice the presence of two girls lingering behind you.

“He’s not actually into you, you know.”

Snapping your head back in shock, you recover from the cheap scare before identifying the voice as Nancy Wheeler. The one Billy had accused of being the school’s slut. Right beside her stands Robin, not looking quite as vicious as her partner in crime. Robin, the significantly gentler and taller one, gives you a warmer greeting of a wave and a tight smile. Billy said that she was the infamous “dyke.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, not easily trusting her word but also not believing Billy’s rumors either. Nancy looks over to the court where Billy skips around effortlessly, making a basket for his team and earning praise and applause from his coach.

“He did the same thing to me. See, first he’ll try talking you into sucking him off, then when that doesn’t work he begs you to fuck him. Says all the right things, you’re beautiful Nancy, please baby, I won’t tell anyone if you just come sit on my cock. Then after you tell him you’re still not ready, he tells the whole school you did it anyway. Makes shit up to impress people.” Nancy bites as-a-matter-of-factly, nodding over in Billy’s direction on the court. Billy, busily unaware of being your topic of conversation, jukes an opponent and snatches the ball, slamming the weaker boy down to the ground with a snap of his body being thrown to the ground. You tightened your hold on your schoolbag not knowing who to believe anymore. Hearing one thing and then another gave you a fucking headache.

“Look, it’s not— I’m not even here for him. It’s not what it looks like,” you stammer as Nancy raises her brow with dubiousness. She cracks a salty grin at you then turns to the boys playing on the court.

“Go Billy! Score that basket, baby!” Nancy shouts with manic laughter, sickly happy when the distraction disrupts his focus, causing him to lose the ball and get shoved backwards by another opponent. Nancy turns and slowly struts closer, sitting on the bleachers and leaning over to whisper in your ear with a ruthless ball of hate gleaming her eye. “He’s a jerk. I’d stay away if I were you.”

With that, she jumps off the bleachers and orders Robin to follow. The taller girl weakly smiles again as you sit and stare as they exit the gym and light a smoke outside. Billy watches them leave and huffs, jogging over.

“Hey. Thought I advised you to not hang around them,” he tisks, spreading his legs before pouring a cup of water down his chin to cool off. You blush and look the other way, clearing your throat.

“I wasn’t. They just sorta came and started talking to me,” you mutter with an attitude.

Billy scoots impossibly closer and fixes a stray hair dangling in front of your face, petting your cheek as if you were a child. “Well, don’t believe whatever shit comes from her fat mouth, alright?”

“Um— okay I guess.”

“That’s a good girl. Glad you came, by the way. Wanna gimme your number so we could do this somewhere a little more private, hm?” he beckons, taking another generous swallow to quench his thirst while holding your stare. You’re stunned and backed into a corner again to comply, nodding while grabbing a pen from your bag. Billy holds out his palm and nods to the pen in your hand, encouraging you to get writing. You waver another moment, unsure if it’s smart getting involved, before saying fuck it and writing the ten digits on his palm. Billy’s name gets shouted from his coach, breaking the thick tension that grew as the moments wore on. He yells back that he needed a quick break before blowing you a kiss. After tossing himself off the bleachers and getting back in the game, he stares down at his hand where the black smudged writing is and smirks, looking up only to find that you’re already gone.

—

“Almost didn’t think you’d answer, maybe gave me a phony number or you’d be with those weirdos again,” Billy snorts, bottlecap flying before handing a beer over. You chuckle uneasily before accepting the beverage, tasting the warm mediocrity before swallowing. It didn’t take long for him to call, now being week two attending Hawkins High. His choice of setting for this “date” was a rooftop of some dark building, stars out and streetlights being the only source of light. Billy’s arm has wrapped around you as you both sip on the beer he provided, an awkward silence suffocating the air.

When the blonde got bored, he’d started trailing his fingers down your back, tiptoeing them teasingly awaiting your reaction. When he gets nothing but you stiffening up, he swoops down to devour your neck, feeling you tilt your head for him to give more. Jackpot. His wandering tongue sucks a deep purple mark as his grabby hands reach to grope you through your bra, making you gasp and feel dumbfounded on what to do and what to say.

“Billy, I don’t think—“

“Mm, what is it new girl? You want more, don’t you?” he mumbles in your neck, then gets greeted by the feeling of blue balls and disappointment when instead of coming closer, you pull away. He scoffs and sits up, straightening himself out.

“I’m just not ready for... that. Sorry,” you weakly apologize, outrageously uncomfortable by the invasion of space and feeling wrong when you notice the growing tent in his jeans. “Are you... like, mad or something?”

Billy sighs, humiliated by your rejection that poked a hole in his ego. He won’t give up on his conquest that easy.

“C’mon, beautiful, not like I’ll tell anyone. We could just have a little fun—“

“No, I-I really gotta go. But I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

Billy glares at the ground, kicking a rock by his feet in annoyance before rolling his eyes. Guess he’ll just have to improvise instead when he brags to the boys tomorrow.

“Yeah, fine.”

—

The next day, sly comments were thrown at you before first period started. He didn’t talk to you at all like usual, your classmates whispering and giggling about the alleged “fun” you shared with Billy the jock Hargrove. Dirty details travelled around locker rooms, even raunchy ones about you supposedly riding him in the backseat of his car calling him “daddy.” He threw in another lie that you asked him to slap you in the face as he fucked you. The purple splotch he sucked on your neck didn’t help defend yourself.

“Hey, Billy!”

The jock turns away from the boisterous crowd that had worshipped him all day. Once he catches your eye he whispers to a boy next to him, whatever secret so hilarious that he clutched his stomach and snorted when Billy finished. He swiftly strolls over to you and folds his hands, faking formality with a plastic smile.

“Yes, new girl?”

“I wanna know why you said that stuff about me. You damn well know we didn’t do anything! How could you?” you whisper-shout, feeling disgusted and violated. Billy snorts a laugh and regains his composure a second later as if all this is some comedy sketch.

“Oh yeah? Really, new girl, I’d love to do it again sometime. Truly... I just don’t like sloppy seconds. You were great though, I had— nah, Daddy sure had a blast. But we’re done here.” Billy pats your head with mockery before strolling over to his circle of friends without a care in the world.

“You know what? Fuck you. Next time I’ll charge a buck an inch, make it cheap.” you spit, barely making it to the bathroom to scurry and wipe the tears desperately spurting from your eyes. You crawled to the corner of the washroom and hugged yourself, quieting down when you hear footsteps inching closer before entering. It was Nancy and Robin.

“Can’t say we didn’t warn you —“

“I know I should have listened to you guys. But now I wanna fuck with this bastard.”

—

Lovespells don’t take much, and the rumors were true. The Bitches of Eastwick had let you in, only took more convincing of your worthiness to Nancy, but she warmed up to you. When she saw what you could do she had to give Robin credit, you truly were their third. And finally, you’d been put in a place you genuinely belonged.

“Is he— is he staring still? What’s he doing now?”

“He’s totally still watching you. Holy shit Y/N, it’s working, I can tell!” Robin whispers as she muffled her laugh with the back of her hand, seeing how Billy couldn’t take his eyes off you longer than five seconds even in the middle of a lecture. As the bell rang, you and Robin gathered up your things to meet Nancy for next period. Billy wasn’t far behind, trying and failing to remain inconspicuous as he followed you.

“He’s behind us.”

“What?”

“Look out.” Right on cue, Billy pushed you and Robin apart to make room for himself while tripping over his shoelaces.

“Uh, hey Y/N,” the boy gulps, scratching the back of his neck, seeing his posse from afar giving him a “what the fuck” look. He flips them off and rubs his hand over your back. “I just wanted to, yunno, apologize for that shit I said. I feel real bad ‘cause you didn’t deserve it. You deserve a gentleman and I can be that for you now,” he explains, blocking your way. His eyes are void of hate or ridicule, instead swirling with awe and devotion as he bit his lip awaiting your forgiveness. You pretend to think, giving his head a noogie like an obedient pet, then grant a forgive-and-forget.

“It’s cool. Maybe tell your friends later that you’re a lying sack of shit, but for now, carry these books for me and my friend?”

He nods vigorously like a soldier eager to please, graciously taking your heavy books from you and Robin and stacking them in his arms. “Of course, Y/N. Anything in the world. Um, do you think I could sit with you in math?”

—

Billy had no fucking clue what happened to him, but he wholeheartedly couldn’t find it in him to even pay it a speck of attention. It didn’t bother him that nothing gave him any pleasure nor satisfaction anymore, the world shrinking to this dead, lifeless black and white, the only light and color he could see that brought joy was her. He could die just feeling her in his arms and he wouldn’t be sad. With complete and utter tunnel vision blocking him from surroundings, everyday he devoted himself to any task she wanted, even pathetically following her and her friends to the girls’ bathroom. He got in deep shit from the entire female staff, but he remained indifferent.

If she said jump, Billy asked how high. If she wanted him to braid her fucking hair, he’d learn fast and make sure it was done thoroughly and flawlessly. Billy was touch starved, weak, losing sight of everyone else around him. No more charming girls into bed, no more basketball wins for the team, his only purpose being solely Y/N’s love or validation. All priorities from the past drastically altered, but there were no second thoughts. No questions, just wants. Needs. The power she held over him was substantial and beautifully overbearing, like black magic or something.

Weeks after the spell kicked in, she now sits in his Camaro with her feet on the dash as Black Sabbath roars from the speakers. No complaints were heard on his end when you demanded he change the music, happily turning it to your favorite station. You plop a sucker in your mouth, tasting the cherry red flavoring before patting Billy’s head and calling him a good boy. Billy blushed and leaned into your touch, pulling over by the pier and shutting the car off.

“You don’t even know what’s happening, do you?” she asks with a laugh. He joins her even though he wasn’t aware of what’s funny. But he finds her delightful, so anything she does or anywhere she goes, he follows.

“No. No I don’t, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters. Just you and me,” he promises, playing with a strand of her hair before leaning in. He missed her candy-tasting lips when she turns her head, then feels something in his stomach churn after getting denied her kiss.

“Tough luck, champ. I don’t want that from you, just wanted to talk.”

Talk? Billy recoiled, clenching his fists at his sides. Something inside him is intensifying, he just doesn’t know what. Before he knows what’s happening, he’s shaking, burning with a need that feels so close yet so far. There’s no control stopping it.

“I mean, do you even eat or sleep anymore? It’s pathetic. This should be wearing off soon...” she trailed off, watching the waves crash at a distance.

“I won’t fucking eat or fucking sleep until I get what’s mine, you understand? I don’t care about anything else. I just wanna... why won’t you hold me?” he implored, yanking the collar of her shirt so she’s closer to his lips. It almost feels too good to be true.

“Stop! Jesus, I didn’t mean for it to go this far! You’re under a spell, you jackass, now let me go!” she squeals, punching his chest. Billy ignores it, that indifference coming back. He reached for his belt when he thinks he has her where he wants her but gets stopped by a righteous kick to the crotch, making him howl in anger.

“Goddammit!” the boy whined, cradling himself through his jeans from the excruciating pain.

“Stay the hell away, you hear me? Don’t ever come near me or my friends again,” she threatens, exiting the vehicle before stomping away. Billy scrubs the tears off his face and punched the steering wheel with miserable frustration.

—

“He... he grabbed me. Wouldn’t let go this time,” you gulp, feeling the ghost of his frighteningly tight grip pulling you. Steam shoots from Nancy’s ears as Robin takes comfort and asks if you’re okay. Nancy has already stirred up a plan for revenge as she flips through the pages of spells, searching for the perfect one.

“Nance, what are you doing?” you ask with reluctance, knowing it isn’t anything good.

“We need to make him pay. He was gonna hurt you, case you forgot. Hargrove’s always been a goddamn scumbug, but he tried fucking you without your permission and he won’t get away with it this time.”

—

Billy gulps the last of the beer from the solo cup and belches, eyes half-lidded and bloodshot. They widen a bit when he spots Nancy enter the house party. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you again, and if he has to talk to your leech of a best friend, so be it. The blonde seeks Nancy upstairs and follows her to a vacant room.

“Where is she?” he demands lazily, eyes faltering once again as he loses balance and falls to the bed back first. He gets comfy with the beer nestled in his grip, still expecting her to give him insight on your disappearance.

“How cute. Miss tormenting your little wife, don’tcha, hot stuff?” Nancy mocks, crawling over to where he lays on the bed and trailing two fingers over his crotch. Billy reacts with stealth, disgusted as he roughly shoved her hand away.

”Don’t. I’m warning you,” he threatens. “Tell me where the fuck Y/N is. I need, I need to talk to her—“

“I’m not telling you shit! She doesn’t want you, understand? You meant nothing to her this whole time. She used you.” Nancy laughs and points her finger at him. Billy rolled his eyes, calling bullshit. You wouldn’t do a thing like that, not in a million years. This is typical Slutty Wheeler, throwing tantrums because she couldn’t get a taste of his dick anymore.

Nancy’s blood boiled, veins popping out of her forehead; on the verge to end this already. But she has to fuck with him like he fucked with her first. The teenage girl burns with hostility as she recalls the spell, working her magic. She runs her hands over her face as it morphs into yours. She takes a look in the mirror and finds your eyes staring at her reflection. With a sick, evil smile, she gets back on the bed and runs her hands down Billy’s chiseled chest, feeling him jump until he sees your face. He gasps, too dumb from the spell and drunk from the liquor to realize he was being tricked again.

“Baby, I’ve missed you so damn much,” he mumbles to who he thinks is you, unbuttoning Nancy’s shirt and kissing every inch of skin he sees. She moans in ecstasy, laughing at how fucking easy he is, then sticks her tongue down Billy’s throat. They were all over eachother for another twenty minutes until a furious knock interrupts.

It’s you and Robin.

“What the fuck?” Billy wipes his mouth of Nancy’s spit then throws himself off the bed in a hurry. Her spell wore off, now changing back to her usual self, giving Billy a playful wave.

“You’re — you’re a witch! They were right!” Billy stutters, his world turning upside down making him sick to his stomach.

“They usually are,” she shrugs.

“Nancy, you got what you wanted. He’s freaked out, now let’s go.” you ordered, the guilt eating you alive. Nancy doesn’t stop.

“Your lover’s a witch too, yunno. The only reason you’re obsessed with her is cause we cast a spell on you. But that’s why I’m here, helping you forget.”

Billy’s chest heaved up and down rapidly, shaking his head, sobering up. “No. No, she didn’t — she wouldn’t do that,” he denies, sweat gathering on his forehead and heart hammering fast.

”NANCE! This is fucking over! Now let’s go!” you beg, loathing his puppy-dog eyes. Robin stands frozen beside you, knowing how unpredictable Nancy got when she’s angry.

“You’re just jealous.”

Robin gulps and closes her eyes, knowing that’ll set her off.

“Jealous?” Nancy emphasized, preying onto the boy as he backs away. “You’re Y/N’s servant. You barely fucking exist to me. This whole time you’ve treated girls like whores, but you’re the whore!” she cries, feet lifting off the ground, towering over him as he backs further towards the window. Billy’s beyond petrified now, weeping quietly as he dares try calling for help.

“I-I’m sorry, Nance. You know I didn’t mean it. I liked you last year, but— but I’m in love with her now, and I’m sorry!”

His sorry ass apology does nothing besides push the last of her buttons, feeding into her wrath.

“Did you hear that, Y/N? He says he’s sorry! Oh, what a shame we have to kill him, ‘cause at least he’s sorry!” Nancy claws are her hair, spinning back and fourth, screaming nonsense as Billy pleads and holds his hand out to you.

“Who’s it gonna be, Y/N? This rapist scumbag slut, or your friend that took you in when you were a nobody?”

Tears of your own had escaped, mortified by how escaladed things have become. You shook your head helplessly, holding onto Robin for safety. There was no stopping her now. Like a wave from a natural disaster, Nancy thrusts her arms in the air and hurls the boy out the window with God-like force. You’ll never forget the sounds of his cry for help on the way down and the SPLAT when his body hit the pavement. Nancy lets out a sigh of relief as if a long day’s work is finally over, and wipes the sweat beading off her forehead. She turns to you and Robin after catching her breath.

“What’re you staring at, guys? C’mon, let’s find Robin a girlfriend next.”

—

my first whack at a horror-ish/thriller instead of drama/romance. I freaking LOVE this movie, def go check it out if you haven’t cause there’s a lot more plot I left out. thaaaank you all, I’ll be starting the next movie fic soon !:)

[blarfkey]

For the OC ask: 🥀 💫 for Dear Fen’Harel, 🌹 🍂 for greasemonkey!Rey in Code Ren, or 🌾 🌸 for Thick as Thieves? (No pressure to do all of them, but I find that a selection of options is helpful when I get blocked)

I am answering all of them because I am blocked on all of them! *maniacal laughter* Also bless you for always giving me asks. I love you.

Anyway! More under the cut!

Dear Fen’Harel

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry? 

Ellana’s a nerd, right. So she doesn’t keep a journal or diary, but she definitely hand-writes all of her notes even with her fancy laptop because that’s how she’s always done it.  She’s not really an artist, even though she loves art, but she would definitely color code them by class or subject and label them. As a kid, she definitely would have been one those types who made the collages out of cut up magazine pictures.

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why? 

Something I love about Ellana because it’s something I admire in real life is her practical knowledge. I believe that Dalish and my version of Modern Dalish know how to make anything out of anything. They would not be a consumerist culture. Even in the modern era, the Dalish make their own clothes, furniture, and now how to repurpose just about everything. Ellana is a sort of jack of all trades. She’s not specialized in anything, but she knows how to wood work, metal work, solder, sew, work on older cars, ect. She can take pieces of broken machinery or furniture and jerry rig it into something useful.

It’s endlessly fascinating to people like Josephine or Dorian, who grew up with such silver spoons that they would just go out and buy a brand new whole replacement unit. Meanwhile, Ellana would take it apart, find out what’s broken, and figure out a replacement.

Code Ren

🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

I think the Falcon would be the place Rey feels the most at home, even in regular canon. For my fic, it’s a legendary classic and dependable, it’s old enough for the tech to look and feel familiar to her, and it’s small enough to fee protective and big enough not to be claustrophobic. I think growing up in the desert in that AT-AT, Rey would feel exposed and vulnerable in wide open spaces. I know that the Finalizer felt like an endless maze to her and she didn’t much care for it.

I don’t think people make Rey feel at home because she’s grown up alone. Even with Finn and Ben and Han, she would prefer to have a place to herself. That’s another thing she didn’t like about the Finalizer -- all the people around her all the damn time.

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others? 

Lol, you can tell in TFA that Rey is very unused to and uncomfortable with physical affection (stop holding my hand!). I think she is someone who prefers to initiate touch rather than have a hug sprung on her. But I think once she gets used to the idea of having another person to care about, she would crave physical affection like any other touch-starved person. I think Rey’s love language is acts of service and words of affection, but Finn’s is definitely affection and touch so she would get used to it, haha.

Thick as Thieves

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them 

Lol this is just Solas the entire damn fic! He is very much fixated on her smile and how it reaches her eyes and lights them up,  which is probably something he’s not used to seeing, dealing with the Evanuris and their dangerous court intrigue. He also is obsessed a little bit with her hair, which is wild and curly and barely under control and nothing like the aristocratic elf hair he grew up seeing.

Solas makes a lot of comparisons between Shay and the sun, which can be very apt. She’s warm and bright, but if you’ve lived in the dark for a long time, it’s a brightness that hurts to look at. And it’s dangerous to spend a lot of time exposed to it. Yet it feeds him a nourishment (which we all know is vitamin D!)  that he can’t get anywhere else. Once you’re used to the sun, it’s hard to go without it. Really the metaphor writes itself.

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

Shay loves --

1. Card games, especially the kind where you can cheat or lose clothing

2. Hot fresh bread

3. The color yellow

4. Dirty jokes

5. Jokes that sound like the punchline will be dirty but then it’s clean and you’re dirty for thinking that it would be dirty

6. Stories, especially tall tales

7. Shiny rocks

8. Art

9. Climbing up to very high places so she can feel tall

10. Singing, especially the bawdy song variety

11. The sky and fat fluffy clouds

[camillemontespan]

this heavy crown: part one [drake x mc]

I wrote a prompt called  ‘Moments That Could Be’ and thought the little story  at the end of that prompt, ‘The Kiss’ would make an interesting short series with Camille marrying Liam, while still being love with Drake. I never had my MC marry Liam in the game, so this is new territory for me, especially since I’m a Drake fan! Just know that  this doesn’t affect any of the fics I’ve written about them so far. This is just a stand alone series. (I have copied and pasted ‘The Kiss’ for the first section as I feel this is a good introduction).  Be warned, this has a lot of angst. So. much. angst. 

@jovialyouthmusic @notoriouscs @drakesensworld @tacohead13 @thequeenofcronuts @katedrakeohd @moonlightgem7 @be-still-my-aching-heart @pug-bitch

The party toasted the King’s future and the future of Cordonia. As more champagne was popped, the waiters brought out more canapes which Drake refused. He hated tiny finger food. He was sat beside Maxwell and Hana who were playing a card game, which Maxwell was losing badly in. The party had gone on into the wee hours and Drake was entertaining himself by drinking more whiskey than was necessary. He needed to. Anything to get through this.

He glanced up and watched King Liam gently tuck a lock of Camille’s hair behind her ear. Sat the top table, dressed in her white gown and her veil, Camille was a beautiful bride. Drake watched as she laughed at something Liam whispered in her ear and she reached out to steal another slice of wedding cake.

It should have been me up there, Drake thought then regretted that it had even passed in his mind. His stomach twisted as he watched the woman he loved be fed cake by his best friend. This was too much. Standing up abruptly, he threw his napkin down and left Hana and Maxwell at the table. They both stared after him, confused. Drake had kept his feelings to himself the past few months. Well, to most people. He had told Camille how he felt and she had felt the same. But they had both agreed, a month ago, that she would stay in the competition. If Liam chose her, she would yes to being his wife. To being the new Queen of Cordonia. They didn’t want to hurt him.

He rushed out of the palace and down the steps. He needed air. He needed to get away from royalty and opulence and romance for just one night. Tugging at his bow tie, he loosened it and then continued to run away from the palace.

Drake didn’t hear the sound of her heels running after him until he felt her hand pull his arm back. ‘Drake, wait!’

Camille tried to pull him around to her but he couldn’t face her. He didn’t want to see her beautiful face crowned by her veil. ‘Drake, please,’ she murmured. Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked up at him. He averted his eyes and tried to push her away but she held on. ‘Leave me alone,’ he whispered. ‘This is too hard. I’m so fucking in love with you and I have to watch you be with him instead.’

Without a sound, she reached up and gently pulled his face down to hers. To his shock, her lips softly met his. Once he registered what was happening, he reached his hands to wrap around her back, holding her in close as they kissed. They both tasted salt water as their tears mixed together. He wished he could keep her there forever. But she wasn’t his. She could have been his but he let her go. As they parted, Camille looked into his eyes. She wasn’t a happy, glowing bride anymore. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made you unhappy. You looked happy at the table. I’ve ruined it,’ he whispered. She shook her head. ‘I put on a good performance, Drake. I’m just a really good actress.’ 

She squeezed his hand and tore her eyes away from him regretfully. ‘I’m still in love with you...’ she whispered, before running back towards the palace, her veil blowing behind her. Drake watched her go. He wasn’t going back. He needed to go back to his room, drink a bottle of whiskey and leave this night behind him. 

                         **************************************************

Camille woke up to the feel of Liam spooning her. She breathed out and tried to shake off the claustrophobic feeling. The feeling that this didn’t feel right. The feeling that she wanted another certain man wrapped around her instead. 

Camille cared for Liam, yes. He was a good friend and he always treated her with kindness. Whenever he smiled, his eyes crinkled up and he had laughter lines; he was a genuinely good person. But he wasn’t the one she could see herself being with. However, her romantic life hadn’t panned out the way she desperately wanted and she reminded herself, probably for the hundreth time, that this had been her choice. She could have turned down his proposal but she said yes. Drake and Camille had agreed that they couldn’t hurt him and that their affair was just that. An affair. A ‘passionate, declarations of love’ affair but an affair nonetheless. 

She slowly managed to get out from under his arms and wrapped her bathrobe around her. Opening the terrace doors, she let herself out to survey her new kingdom. I’m a queen now, she thought. This is so surreal.  

They had returned from their honeymoon last night; their wedding party had been a week ago. She hadn’t seen Drake since that night, when she ran after him and he was crying, telling her that he couldn’t watch her be married to Liam. Camille felt an ache in her chest but she pushed it down. 

The honeymoon itself had been lovely. They had travelled to Venice and stayed in a beautiful villa on the water. Liam had planned their itinerary and he took lots of photos; mainly of her. Camille knew he would be a good husband. He would be loving, kind, loyal. But it didn’t stop her from picturing Drake’s face when Liam made love to her and it still didn’t stop her from picturing Drake’s face when she had an orgasm. Imagining that it was Drake who was touching her was the way Camille dealt with sleeping with Liam. Camille felt her face flush with shame at the thought and she sat down at the table, which already had a jug of fresh orange juice and a tray of pastries laid out for them. Their servants woke up at the crack of dawn and were silent in their work. 

‘Hey beautiful.’ She looked up and saw Liam up and dressed in smart trousers and a shirt. ‘You’re up early.’

Camille smiled. ‘You’re dressed early. What are you doing today?’

He poured himself a glass of juice and sat down opposite her. ‘I’ve got meetings. Since we’ve just got back from our honeymoon, there’s a lot to catch up on. But we will be together at 1pm for the official presentation of us, the king and queen. Hana, Olivia, Maxwell, Bertrand... everyone should be there.’

‘Drake?’ Camille asked, a bit too quickly. Liam didn’t notice. ‘Drake will show face. He can’t not say congratulations to the new Queen of Cordonia, can he?’

Camille nodded and looked out at the view of the kingdom. So Liam didn’t know.  Camille and Drake’s secret was safe. After months of them sneaking around, Drake had been certain that they would have been found out but thank God.  ‘I’m meeting with Regina now to discuss what we’ve missed, so I’ll see you later,’ Liam said, leaning down to kiss her. He left the terrace and Camille tried to push down the feeling of dread about her day. To be introduced as Queen in front of Drake... she didn’t want to see his face.

                          ********************************************

Hana helped fix Camille’s hair into place and stood back to admire her handiwork. Camille’s dark hair was teased into a fishtail plait and she wore a silk gold off-shoulder dress. ‘You look amazing, Camille!’ Hana said happily, clapping her hands in excitement. Camille smiled and slid a gold Chopard gobstopper ring on her finger. 

Liam entered the room and stopped in his tracks. ‘Wow.. you look incredible,’ he told her, looking her up and down. He was wearing official regalia and looked every inch a King. ‘Are you ready to meet your court?’

Camille nodded, exhaling nervously. Hana squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll celebrate with champagne after!’ She gave Liam a wink and left the couple to make their way to the Throne Room.

The Throne Room. Camille had always admired the beautiful architecture of this room, with its domed ceilings, arches and the gold statues of angels adorning the walls. It looked like a cathedral but in miniature. Now, as she held Liam’s arm and moved towards the Throne Room, she couldn’t help but feel nervous about entering. ‘Ready?’ Liam asked, giving her an encouraging smile. Camille nodded silently and took a breath. 

‘May we present the King and Queen of Cordonia!’ 

The court applauded as Liam and Camille entered the Throne Room. Camille spotted Bertrand who gave her a uncharacteristic wink. Maxwell and Hana were jumping up and down with excitement. Olivia curtseyed; she and Camille were friends now which was a relief. For a while, Camille thought Olivia would be her enemy. Madeleine clapped but her eyes were cold.

Camille couldn’t see Drake. Maybe he hadn’t come to the presentation after all. She didn’t blame him if he didn’t.

Liam and Camille stopped before the thrones. Both thrones were gilded. Camille swallowed, terrified. ‘Go on, Camille. Let’s sit,’ Liam whispered. She nodded and made her way up the marble steps to her throne. Slowly, she turned to face the court and they watched with bated breath as she sat down. Regina stepped forward holding an ornate, silver crown decorated with diamonds and standing behind Camille, she announced clearly, ‘The new Queen of Cordonia!’ She slowly placed the crown on top of Camille’s head and it was at that moment that Camille finally saw Drake. 

He was standing near the corner and his eyes said it all. They were filled with anguish as he watched her. All of a sudden, the crown on Camille’s head felt heavy. It was as if she had a weight on top of her and it was pushing her down into her seat, keeping her in place. She took a breath but it came out haggered; nobody heard as they applauded and cheered.  As she watched Drake, he mouthed, I love you. 

                             ******************************************

After she toasted champagne with Hana, was caught in a bear hug by Maxwell, had her crown admired by Olivia, was passive aggressively insulted by Madeleine and given courtly advice by Bertrand, Camille finally managed to get outside for fresh air.  She stood before the fountain and studied her reflection in the water. She looked regal; powerful with the crown on her head. 

‘Montespan.’

Her heart jumped and she turned around to see Drake standing behind her. She smiled weakly, her eyes filling with tears. His eyes widened in alarm and he rushed forward to hold her in his arms. ‘Shhh, it’s okay honey,’ he whispered, holding her close. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook, holding onto him for dear life. ‘This crown feels so heavy,’ she choked out. Drake closed his eyes, trying to think of something to say that would help her, make her feel better. But how could he when he felt so hopeless too? 

‘He is a good husband, Drake,’ she whispered, looking up at him now. He gently wiped her tears away from her face. ‘He is kind and gentle and he loves me. But I just don’t love him in that way.’

‘You will grow to love him,’ Drake assured her, though the thought filled him with jealousy. ‘Liam is a good man, you couldn’t find a better husband.’

She blanched at his words. ‘I think I could..’

Drake swallowed and tried to ignore what she meant. He exhaled. ‘He loves you, Camille.’

‘You love me.’

‘I do.’

They stared at each other, their eyes locked.  In a moment, Drake stepped forward and pulled her to him, their lips meeting in heated desperation. Camille tugged on his bottom lip and Drake groaned. God, he wanted her. He wanted to take her back to his room, undress her, take that heavy crown off her head and discard it, and feel her body against his. He wanted to feel her skin under his, her fingernails scratching into his back and he wanted to tell her that he loved her. 

Drake pulled away, breathing heavily. Camille’s cheeks were flushed. ‘We have to stop doing this,’ Drake managed to say, his eyes wild. ‘We could get caught. We’re torturing ourselves here. Think about Liam.’

Camille clenched her fists. ‘I never think about Liam. Do you know that when he is with me in bed, I imagine your face?’ 

Drake paled. ‘I don’t want to think of you two together in bed.’

‘This is my life now, Drake. I don’t feel complete anymore. I imagine you in those moments because your face gets me through it. I feel ashamed. He is such a good man and I am imagining his best friend.’

Drake closed his eyes and wished she would stop talking. Everything she was saying was torture. Yet he wanted her to still want him. He was slightly relieved that she hadn’t forgotten him. But he knew he had to let her go. He had to for Liam. 

‘Camille, I love you,’ he told her. ‘I always will. But while you are married to him, we can’t be together.’ 

Camille bit her lip and studied him. ‘What if... what if we still met in secret?’

‘Too risky,’ he replied. ‘Too selfish.’

‘You still want us to be together though,’ she answered defiantly. Drake sighed. She knew him well. ‘I do.’

She stepped forward and roamed her hands across his chest. Her eyes looked deep into his and his breath caught as he took her in. He loved this woman. But could he risk his whole friendship with Liam just to be with her? Could he stab him in the back? Could Drake live with himself if he met her in secret and felt her skin against his and made her feel complete again?

As she kissed him again, Drake knew the answer. 

[whispersafterdusk]

Raven Among Wolves - ch 5

As he'd suspected they were hunting more Silver Hand -- specifically, they were hunting the stragglers that had escaped Gallows Rock.

These were men and women who saw the Companions as little more than mongrels to be put down and they'd never stopped to determine if a captured member actually carried the beast blood; Vilkas still remembered some younger members in the past that had been killed by the Silver Hand who had barely spent a month within Jorrvaskr.  He despised them and did agree with killing or running them off wherever possible, if only to protect those who were of innocent blood...but he couldn't help but feel a shred of anger still toward Aela as well -- if she and Skjor had just come back for help then maybe he wouldn't be beside her now to avenge him. ((Continued below cut))

It was clear that these survivors of Gallows Rock were not prepared for their immediate retaliation; Vilkas almost pitied them, but not enough to spare them.  They had set up camp about a half day's walk from Gallows Rock to the north in the shadow of a cliffside which amounted to little more than a fire pit and a few bedrolls.  There were only nine Silver Hand there and three were visibly injured -- none of them that tried running could avoid Aela's bow and even exhausted as he was Vilkas still had no trouble cutting down any that couldn't get out of his way.

"Was that all of them?"

Aela carefully scaled down the side of the cliff and stood at his side (she was clearly admiring his kills) and gave him a curt nod.  "That's all of them."

"Good," he muttered. The exhaustion was really setting in and he didn't think he would have been able to run anyone down; at least being this tired somewhat silenced the beast inside him and he was relatively unbothered by the scent of fresh blood or the rush of battle.  "Let us return to Jorrvaskr then.  Skjor's spirit has been avenged."

Aela nodded but he noticed her attention lingered on the dead longer than it should have, though there wasn't any real reason to scold her; he turned his back to the carnage and took a deep breath - all he wanted was to be home asleep but that was several days away.  They left without fanfare and about halfway back Aela cleared her throat.

"So who exactly is that woman again?"

"She is kin to Kodlak."

"But how?"

"His great grandfather courted a woman he did not know was already married, and sired a child on her.  He left to spare her and her husband's honor and never went back."

Aela made a thoughtful noise.  "She has been around often, I hear."

"Aye," Vilkas replied.  He thought to elaborate but then, with as tired as he felt, he decided not to unless pressed.

"Around you a lot, too."

He shot her a sharp look.  "What are you implying?"

Aela snorted and rolled her eyes at him.  "You're blind if you think no one else has noticed.  It was the first thing Athis and Torvar mentioned."

His mouth went dry but he fought to keep his expression steady.  "And?  She is a skilled mender, I have learned much from her-"

"-you're as far from a mender as I am the throne."

"Even still.  I enjoy her company, and the time spent listening to Kodlak's stories.  My not being a mender does not mean what I learn is useless, nor that it's impossible to be her friend."

"Vilkas.  You've never been the sort to just make friends.  It took years for you to warm up to Skjor and I. You keep a clear line between yourself and the rest of the new bloods with your temper, and you don't go out of your way to seek anyone's company but your brother's."  She looked over at him.   "Suddenly all that's changed?"

"Don't be foolish," he muttered.  He sped up his pace with an irritated grunt.  "You look for meaning that isn't there."

"It just seems out of character for you."

He stopped and spun on a heel to fix her with a glare.  "You are the last person who should be lecturing anyone on their actions, Aela.  Watch yourself, sister."

She stopped too; her expression was one of mild indifference but by the way she gripped the hilt of her dagger Vilkas could tell he'd made her angry.  "And just what does that mean?"

"You and Skjor were supposed to be scouting.  You should have come back for help but you didn't and now Skjor is dead.  You both knew better."

"We DID scout and it was within what we could handle!"

"Then how did Skjor die?  How did so many escape?"

Aela went silent, lips pressed together in a thin line; after a few tense minutes she blew out a sigh and turned her face from him.  "There was a hidden entrance we couldn't have possibly seen unless we were inside or directly on top of it.  It wasn't our fault."

Vilkas let out a noisy exhale that was half growl.  "Then how many were there?"

"We thought just fifteen.  It was closer to thirty when we actually got in there, and by the time we realized it it was too late to retreat."  She fixed Vilkas with an empty look.  "If we had known about the hidden entrance we could have used that to go in and it would have been easier to retreat through it after."

"It hardly matters now," Vilkas grunted.  He turned and started walking again; his head was pounding with that type of headache one got when they were on the brink of total exhaustion and his limbs felt like lead.  "Skjor is gone but avenged, and the Silver Hand's little establishment is wiped out."

"They won't be allowed to get that close again," he heard Aela mutter.

They walked until Vilkas couldn't stand it anymore then spent an uneasy night sitting in a copse of trees; he couldn't quite allow himself to fall asleep and only felt slightly better once he'd dozed a bit.  At the first sign of sunrise they started off again and did not stop until they'd reached Whiterun.  Vilkas tried to keep from stumbling as he climbed the stairs to Jorrvaskr and fell in through the door; he was met with a few concerned looks but those Companions sitting in the mead hall (perhaps wisely) didn't say anything as he and Aela headed down the stairs.

Farkas was on the other side of the door and stood aside to let them pass.

"You look awful."

Vilkas simply nodded at his twin's observation and staggered toward his room. Farkas followed along behind him and made certain he made it into his bed, then blew out the candle left burning on the dresser and shut the door behind him.  

After days of terrible (or no) sleep the quiet darkness was a blessing and Vilkas felt asleep quickly but tonight his dreams mocked and horrified him.

He dreamed of Tormlia and the Underforge; there was a flash of a blade as he drew it over the crook of his elbow and bled what seemed like an impossible amount into the basin that stood there in the middle of the claustrophobic space.  Tormlia drank it and they left together, forms rippling and changing as they leapt in unison over the walls of Whiterun and tore across the plains at a sprint.  They came upon an unfortunate elk and tore it to pieces, reveling in the meat and gore, then he'd flipped her to her stomach and taken her right there, rutting in the blood and the mud-

When he jerked awake he almost toppled from his bed -- he'd moved to the very edge in his sleep and managed to catch himself with his hands on the floor while his legs stayed on the bed.  His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach, which was made worse when he realized he'd awakened aroused and...messy.

He would never, NEVER, think of letting Tormlia take the blood.  And the rutting...his mind had given it such a beastly, primal sound - he'd never heard anything like it before in his life and questioned where his mind could have dreamed up such a hideous noise. It was by far the worst nightmare he'd ever had and it took him an hour or two to calm down enough to drag himself out of his bed and clean himself up. When he left his room he could smell her nearby then heard Kodlak's voice and her gentle laugh; he immediately pressed himself back into the doorway of his room.  

While he was still horrified at the exact imagery of his nightmare the underlying tone of it was crystal clear, and it frightened him enough that he couldn't force himself to step out into the hallway where she could see him and he could see her; instead he retreated back into his room and shut the door, dropping into a chair at the table in the corner and first propping his elbows on the wood and then his head in his hands.

He was in love - it could be nothing else - and he couldn't bring himself to tell her -- who could possibly love a beast like him?

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

Vilkas was back to feeling nervous and uneasy around Tormlia; it had been over a week but the nightmare (THE nightmare - the worst one ever) was something he had yet to fully banish from his mind and each time he looked at her he could see the blood dribbling down her chin, the transformation, their shared hunt -- like some kind of perverse mating ritual.  He took a pair of jobs that took him away from Jorrvaskr for several days at a time but the distance didn't ease his soul any; no matter what he did it was still fresh on his mind, and he was gripped in a constant fear of what she would do or say if she found out about his werewolf curse.

The one thing that cut through his inner turmoil however was noticing that Aela had disappeared from Jorrvaskr - she had to have left sometime very soon after he had, or maybe right before he'd come back from the first job.  No one seemed to know where she'd gone and none seemed overly worried either...for some reason it worried Vilkas and he couldn't place why.

He still accompanied Tormlia outside of Whiterun's walls; they were starting to travel further out, especially out into the wooded areas to the south.

Today the sky was overcast, the day gloomy and the smell of a storm on the wind.  They were picking their way among the trees - she kept searching among the bases of trees, but not any tree in particular that Vilkas could determine.

"What do we search for?" he finally asked.

Tormlia stood up from where she'd dropped to her knees among the upraised roots of a pine.  "-it's a sort of...moss, or lichen.  I'm not sure which it actually is but it's a pale green that looks like this-" she scraped her nails over the growths on the tree bark and pulled a small strip of some kind of crusty looking plant free.  "Same coloration, sort of.  But the one I'm looking for has very tiny purple flower-looking things - they're kind of shaped like tiny hands."  She held up her free hand, fingers held together and her thumb sticking out over her palm.  "Petals like this, the little pollen part sticking up between the "thumb" and the fingers."

"I have not see anything purple."

She sighed heavily and tossed the peeled lichen to the ground.  "I know...it's irritating, but I guess not too surprising.  It can grow anywhere in Skyrim, on any tree, and it's highly valuable."

Vilkas scanned the trees around him and saw no hint of purple but plenty more of that washed out, pale green.  "What is it for?"

"The flowers sort of...bring out the potency in a lot of medicines and salves.  A small bit of them and you can even get away with using half the amount of the rest of the ingredients without losing strength, assuming you infuse it correctly.  I was hoping that I could find even just a little bit to see if it makes a difference..."  She trailed off, glancing at him then quickly looking elsewhere.

It had to be for whatever potions she'd been providing Kodlak; he wondered at what might afflict the elder -- Kodlak hadn't seemed sick, just...old.  Aging.  And while he knew there were potions to help with the various ailments that aging brought to the body he hadn't noticed or ever heard Kodlak voice problems with it.

"I understand now in the literal sense what it is used for," he said slowly, carefully picking his words.  "But, what is it for?"

For a long moment she remained still, then slowly turned her head to look back to him.  "It's not my business to say.  But, I swear I'm going to do what I can for the person it's for."

She said it with a determination and a steely gaze that wasn't so much looking at him as it was through him; Vilkas decided not to press the issue and continued to follow in her wake, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings.  It was already dark when they finally returned to Whiterun and he knew she was highly disappointed that they'd returned empty handed.  As they passed through the market her steps turned toward the inn; before he could stop himself he'd reached out to grab her sleeve, stopping her.

She turned around to fix him with a questioning look; he floundered a bit under her gaze.  "You- come take your evening meal with us.  In Jorrvaskr.  There's no reason you should be wasting your coin here."

"I don't feel I really belong there among all you warriors," she replied, giving him a faint smile.

"You are kin to Kodlak and- and friend to me," he added, swallowing hard.  "No one will question your presence.  I promise you."

She was silent, considering it, then to his relief she nodded.  "All right.  I guess."

She walked behind him as they returned to Jorrvaskr; once inside the mead hall the smell of roast mutton hit them.  Most nights they fended for themselves but often Tilma was kind enough to cook them dinner -- it was usually something simple like a roast or stew.  There weren't two empty seats next to one another so Vilkas took his usual corner seat while Tormlia moved to the far side of the table across from him and slid into a chair beside Kodlak.

Something about the smell of the meat turned his stomach; he kept to bread and cheese and quietly watched Tormlia and Kodlak - he couldn't quite make out anything they were saying over the chatter of everyone else.  When she got up to leave later he nodded to her and she smiled to him before disappearing through the door.

With her gone he found his attention wandering and it occurred to him that Aela wasn't here again; as before something about it bothered him but he couldn't figure out what.  It shouldn't feel unusual to him for her to be absent (they all took jobs without much input from one another - it was a common thing) but considering the events of the last several weeks...

He tried to put it out of his mind but much like everything else it was something of a losing battle; later, while sitting listlessly at the table in his room he heard a thud at his door and turned to find Farkas in his doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"You haven't been acting like yourself," he said simply.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

Farkas snorted.  "Even I can tell you're lying."

Vilkas inhaled through his nose and out his mouth.  "Fine.  Yes.  I am bothered by many things.  I'd rather not speak of them at the moment."

His brother grunted but didn't move from the door.  Vilkas turned back to the table, hands clenched on top of it; he was very aware of his brother's gaze and he had the feeling that Farkas wasn't going to leave until he got something out of him.

He huffed out a sigh finally.  "Fine. Skjor's death weighs on me.  And Aela's absence has me worried."

His brother came in to drop into the empty chair on the other side of the table.  "She's been gone awhile.  Left not too long after you did."

Vilkas frowned, not at all pleased that his suspicions were partly correct.  "Did she say where she was going?"

"No."

"Of course not," Vilkas grunted.  "I hate that I am suspicious of what she may be doing."  They were both silent for a long time before Vilkas sighed again.  "Has there been word of the Silver Hand at all?"

"Not that I've heard.  Between Gallows Rock and the camp you and Aela cleared out we've killed a good number of them.  And if they try to get that close again we'll kill those too."

He could appreciate his twin's simple solutions to things at times. ��"If they are smart they will stay far away."

"Yeah.  But they're not smart."

"I'm afraid that you may be right."

Farkas sat in silence with him for awhile; it was incredibly late when Vilkas decided to try sleep.  His brother left for his own room and then he laid there in the dark, alone, wondering what sort of nightmare his mind would present him with tonight.

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

"I work to avenge Skjor's death."

Aela's voice was sharp and loud - loud enough to wake Vilkas through his shut door.  He rolled over, feeling groggy and unnerved by a dream he (thankfully) couldn't clearly recall; Kodlak's voice was just as loud.

"His death was avenged long ago.  You have taken more lives than honor demanded. You know better."

"We cannot let these hunters establish another foothold."

"We both know that is not what you are doing. Do not mistake foolhardiness for bravery or you'll find yourself back with Skjor."

Vilkas stood from his bed and opened his door in time to see Aela pass by the hall's opening, then he heard the door shut and her footsteps heading up the stairs into the mead hall.  He stuck his head around the corner to see Kodlak staring after her, a deep disappointment evident on his face that disappeared as he noticed Vilkas.

"What has she done?"

"Gotten caught up in the hunt, and in her vengeance," came Kodlak's answer.

Vilkas briefly glanced to where she'd disappeared through the door.  "Was there any truth to her words?  Are the Silver Hand really so foolish as to try and get so close again, so soon after we've wiped out their last foothold?"

"It is possible but we've no way of knowing unless someone goes with her to see."  Kodlak sighed, rubbing at his beard and suddenly looking much older.  "She takes to the blood too readily."

Vilkas let out a sigh himself and returned to his room to get his armor back on; he met Tormlia on the stairs and got a kind smile that managed to slightly raise his mood, only for it to sour moments later. Feeling angry and disappointed with himself he went out to the training yard and took some of his frustrations out on a dummy and then later Njada with a sparring session.

He purposely avoided going back downstairs until late that evening when he knew Tormlia would be gone and climbed into his bed without any real desire to sleep...so he was awake when he heard a sudden surge of footsteps upstairs followed by a shout for help.

For once he was thankful that, more often than not, he fell into his bed fully armored; he was up in an instant and reaching for his weapon, then shoving his way through his door and out into the hall only to meet a rush of...people.  People he didn't recognize but were clearly not friendly as the large Nord male at the front of the rush swung a great sword at him; Vilkas ducked aside and by how the blade flashed in the candlelight he instantly knew it to be a silver blade.

'The Silver Hand?  Here?'

There was no time to consider how it was possible for the Silver Hand to have gotten into Whiterun in such numbers -- they were under attack and that was the only important thing right now.

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

The night air still stank of blood, even outside of Jorrvaskr.

Vilkas could see the guards that helped the others carry out the corpses; they were so much background movement and noise - something he saw and heard but didn't really register.  He was sick to his stomach and sick at heart, and...angry.  So, so angry.  That the Silver Hand had gotten brave enough to attack them here, in Jorrvaskr...

And they had taken so much.

He tilted his face to the sky and took a deep breath...then his heart stopped as he caught the scent of rain; he looked down and could see Tormlia hurrying up the stairs toward him.

"Tormlia-"

"What's happened?  Sinmir woke the entire inn up saying Jorrvaskr-"

Moving quickly Vilkas stepped into her path; she went to move around him and he moved with her, grabbing her by the arms.

"-was attacked," she finished, looking at him in surprise when he seized her.

"You need to stay here."

"What happened?  Is anyone injured?"  She squirmed in his grasp and her look of confusion was slowly turning into one of irritation - at him.

"Tormlia.  You need to stay out here," Vilkas said slowly, hardly able to keep his voice steady.

She stared into his face, eyes narrowing; her struggles against his grasp resumed.  "Let go, Vilkas."

She almost slipped free; in a sort of panic he grabbed at her again and snagged her around the waist, crushing her to him.  She immediately started beating at his arms and hands and kicking her heels into his shins but he kept hold as she struggled.  "Tormlia, please, listen-" He wasn't prepared for her to suddenly slap her hands to his arms and send that calming spell into him.  As he relaxed his grip loosened and she pulled free as he sank to his knees, drowsy and unable to stand -- the last thing he saw was Tormlia's angry expression as she buried him under that spell and put him fully to sleep.

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

"Who will start?"

"I'll do it.  Before the ancient flame...we grieve."

"We grieve."

"At this loss...we weep."

"We weep."

"For the fallen...we shout."

"We shout."

"And for ourselves...we take our leave."

"We take our leave."

At the front of the gathering Aela stood with a torch, and at the end of the prayer she stepped forward to thrust the torch into the stacked wood of Kodlak's pyre.  The flames caught and began to steadily burn; that the smell of burning meat and hair was someone he loved and respected cut deeply and he couldn't bring himself to watch as the pyre burned down.

Many in Whiterun had come to the funeral and when Vilkas turned around he saw that there was still a rather large gathering but that people were slowly staring to disperse...and, he felt a surge of alarm when he could not see Tormlia among them but could somehow still catch a whiff of her scent as the breeze shifted.  When finally most of the crowd had left he spotted her -- the Skyforge had a wide area paved with flat stones but it was edged with rough stone outcrops and she was perched on the edge of one of them sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and hunched over, pulled into as small a form as she could manage.

The outcrop wasn't large enough to sit by her; Vilkas stood behind her feeling his heart and stomach twisting but cleared his throat.   "Tormlia..."

Her shoulders were shaking and he heard a quiet sniffle.

"...I'm sorry," was all he said after.  He turned his back to her and sat down on the outcrop's back half.

The pyre had died down and fallen down into the forge -  he wasn't brave enough to look and see what may remain of Kodlak within it - when he heard the scuff of a boot on the stone and turned to find Tormlia standing right behind him.  Her eyes were red and she looked...empty, and defeated.

"May I ask you something?"

"Anything," he said quietly.  His armor scraped against the stone as he stood, turning to face her fully.

She stared over his shoulder at the dying fire then moved her empty gaze back to him.  "W-when I first came here I gave Kodlak a book with my family's bloodline and history in it... I'd like to retrieve it before I leave, but I don't want anyone to think I'm stealing."

"Leave?" he repeated, eyes widening.  In truth that was all that had really registered with him.  "You can't - you can't leave."

An anger cut through the emptiness and she narrowed her eyes at him.  "You can't hold me prisoner."

"That's- no, that's not-- I didn't mean it like that," he replied quickly.  "It's just - why?  Don't leave.  Not like this."

Her angry look softened but into something like suspicion.  "Kodlak was the only family I had left.  And now he's gone.  Nothing holds me here."

"Don't leave.  Please."

'Tell her,' came the thought.

"I'm no Companion.  I don't belong here.  I never have."

"Please do not leave."

'Tell her.  Tell her everything.'

"Why?  What reason should I stay?"

'Tell her.  Tell her right now.'

'She'll hate me.'

"Kodlak...he was our family too.  You are our family now."

She let out a bitter laugh.  "Please.  None but you and Kodlak cared I was here. I don't belong here, Vilkas."

"Please don't go."

In his mind he sounded desperate and pathetic, and the need to tell her everything -- how he felt, what afflicted him, everything -- warred with the fear of her scorn and judgement and the fear that she would leave and he'd never see her again.

She was staring at him with an expression he couldn't read, waiting for his reasoning...and the words wouldn't come.

'Tell her, now!'

'She will hate what I am.'

'Just tell her!'

'Why should she even look twice at me?  How could she care for a monster?'

'Tell her now or you'll lose her-'

'-I will lose her anyway if she knows.'

"No one will challenge you," he whispered, looking away.  "If they do, I will handle them."

As the words left him his heart sank, and disappointment crossed her features.  She nodded though and stepped around him; he could hear her soft footsteps going down the hill toward Jorrvaskr.  As the sun began to rise he remained standing there - he couldn't even be certain what he was feeling...so much was warring in his head right now.  Anger.  Loss.  Disappointment.  Fear.  Emptiness, and with a keen sense of failure that was a hard knot in his gut.

For a time there was just silence save for the final pops of the smoldering funeral pyre; finally he heard the sounds of Whiterun stirring -- he'd stood there all night, silent and still, and grieving for so many things.

But as the sun finally hit him he felt...a sudden stirring.  Something cutting through the grief and the fear: the need for truth.  Withholding the truth was the same as a lie and it pained him to keep lying to her, and if she was going to leave anyway...why should he fear telling her the truth of things?

No...  No.  He couldn't let her leave without telling her everything.  If anything...she at least deserved to know the truth of Kodlak, the family she had come looking for.  Let her learn the man he was, what he struggled with, and what his final wish had been that he'd never have now.

He hurried into Jorrvaskr but she was nowhere to be found; rushing out of the hall he then ran down to the market -- Ysolda was kind enough to confirm that yes, she'd seen Tormlia come this way and that she'd continued to the gate without stopping.  He'd thanked her and ran onward through the small residential area and out through the gates; when he reached the stables he stopped to catch his breath - her scent wasn't that strong here and he didn't see her near.   Movement to his left drew his eye; a Nord man with stringy dark hair and beard was moving in the stalls of the stables.

"You there-" Vilkas called out to the man.  He'd seen him countless times but had never asked the man's name.  "Did you see a black haired woman with blue eyes come this way?"

"I did - she was out here early this morning as Bjorlam was hitching his horse to the carriage.  Seemed in a hurry to leave."

Carriage...damn.  She would be moving faster than he could on foot and he doubted the stables would be willing to lend a horse.  At the very least the carriage would stick to the roads so he wouldn't be trying to find her in a forest or...or anywhere else.

Vilkas muttered a thanks and hurried down the road; the breeze had blown away any hint of her scent out here but if she was...actually, she hadn't said where she was going.  Would she return to Riften?  To the temple?  It was the only thing he could think of but he didn't want to find her there, he wanted to catch her before she got too far from Whiterun...

There was a place where the road out of Whiterun split, running to the east and west.  Riften was to the southeast, and-

For one reckless, stupid moment Vilkas nearly threw caution aside and went to change forms right there, to hell with whoever might see him; the carriage wasn't something he could hope to catch on foot - a horse could go for much longer than he could, as a man...but as a beast...

A sound stopped him; it was the sound of wagon wheels on the stone road, and in the far distance in the east Vilkas could spy the carriage...but, it was coming back toward Whiterun.  For a moment he felt his heart lift - was she coming back after all?  He rushed down the road to the carriage and darted to the side to avoid spooking the horse; the carriage driver yelled something at him but Vilkas ignored it and hurried to the rear, only to see the carriage was empty.

"Were you hired by a black haired, blue eyed woman?"

The carriage had come to a halt and the driver dropped down; he did not look pleased with him.  

"Aye, I did. And then she wanted off and to go the other direction.  Took forever to find a place to turn around without tossing a wheel."

Other direction?  West?  What was to the west?  Why would she go that way?  "Did she say why?"

"No.  'least she didn't demand her coin back. Now unless you need a ride yourself I want you clear of my carriage, understand?"

Vilkas muttered something that sounded like an acknowledgement and stood there in the road, confused, as the carriage moved off.  Riften was to the east...why would she go west?

And if she was going on foot...maybe he could catch her.  If he...

He could catch her if he changed into a beast, and he could hardly believe he was considering this again; the desperation to catch up with her won out over his hesitation to answer his blood but at least this time he had the sense to not change forms in the open.  His attention turned to the south and the thick woods that were at the base of the mountains there -- if he could get among the trees he could change without anyone seeing, and even if he was seen afterward he was incredibly fast as a wolf.

No one could hope to catch him.  No one could stop him.

He sprinted for the trees, not caring if the carriage man noticed him; within the safety of the forest he gave in to the blood and changed, lifting his head to sniff the air.  There was no hint of her scent but there was also no hint of danger either; it was good enough for him -- he took off at a maddened sprint through the trees, heading west.  He would pick up her scent as he grew closer.

Whiterun had disappeared behind him when he finally smelled her...but mingled with her scent was a metallic one he knew well.

Silver.

'Not here.  Not now.'

He pushed himself to run even faster -- he was slavering at the mouth and feeling ready to vomit when he skidded to a stop at the base of three pines that had grown together; he could hear jeering, and the sounds of struggle, and Tormlia's voice pleading with someone to go away.

Slowly, cautiously, Vilkas lifted his head to scent the air, then peered around the trio of pines -- he could see nothing from here but rustling bushes in the breeze - the road was not visible; he crept closer, keeping low to the ground and trying to get his panting under control.  Nearer to the road he found a fallen log he could slide beneath, laying there hidden among ivy and dead leaves, and the cramped quarters helped him rein in his sudden surge of anger and instinct when he finally spied the struggle he could hear.

Tormlia was standing in a ring of men and women - all were brandishing silver blades and nasty smiles as the circle tightened slowly.

"Leave me alone - I don't know what you want!"

"This is one of them, right?"

"Aye - I've seen her in and out of there on the daily."

Vilkas's control over himself slipped and he rammed his head on the underside of the log; the group of Silver Hand didn't hear the thump and rustling of leaves, or otherwise didn't care -- their attention was on Tormlia, and they moved in until they were all standing shoulder to shoulder, completely surrounding the woman.

"What do you want?" Tormlia asked desperately.

An orc broke free of the circle; he was a huge male, a head and a half taller than Tormlia and heavily muscled, and held a dagger with a strangely curved blade that glinted bright silver in the sunlight.

"One less monster in the world," the orc growled.  He advanced on Tormlia, blade lifted.

Inside his head he was screaming - he needed to get down there, to rescue her, but his beastly form's instincts were shouted down by his logical side; even if he were to rush in to save her right now there were too many for him to take on alone -- he counted thirteen from his vantage point and he couldn't rule out that there might be some in the trees or standing somewhere he couldn't see from here.

If he charged in now they'd just die together.  

It tore at him - he'd never felt so helpless.  Out of sheer frustration he threw his head back and howled.

Down on the road the orc flinched and spun around, staring into the trees.   The other Silver Hand likewise turned their attention outward at the howl, immediately tense and on the alert; Tormlia attempted to take advantage of their distraction and charged at an Imperial woman in lighter armor than the rest but the woman quickly recovered from Tormlia's shove and kicked out at her legs.  Tormlia hit the ground on her stomach and scrabbled to get to her feet only to collapse as the Imperial woman aimed a steel-toed kick into her ribs; the orc tore his attention from the forest and moved over to grab Tormlia by the hair, bodily lifting her from the ground.

"New plan - seems they're coming for their new pup."  He spun around and threw Tormlia into the waiting arms of two others, then once they'd wrestled with her and gotten her turned around to face the orc he slammed his fist first into her gut then into her temple; Vilkas almost darted out from under the log again at the sight of her falling limp in their grasp and he had to keep reminding himself to remain calm and remain in place.

'Recklessly charging in will get us both killed,' he told himself again and again, and watched helplessly as one of them threw Tormlia over their shoulder and together the group of Silver Hand moved down the road and then abruptly turned north and began to cross the plains.

And so began his hunt; for days he stalked them from the darkness, letting them walk freely in the day time and quickly tracking them and catching up once night fell.  Every time he approached their camp he prayed he would see an opening -- some moment, some weakness, that would allow him to either strike and kill them all or at least rescue Tormlia and flee...but each night a rotating group of eight of them stood guard, awake and alert, and they kept Tormlia bound and gagged in the middle of the camp well out of his reach.

For the first time in a long time Vilkas was relying entirely on his altered form; he hunted small game only if it was in his path, he stayed within the form when he rested during the day, and at night his dark fur made him indistinguishable from the shadows he prowled in.  It disgusted him that he'd taken to it so quickly again after not having transformed in months...but the disgust with himself could wait.  For now this was a tool - the only tool he had - to save Tormlia and he couldn't afford to hesitate or stop to consider what consequences he might personally encounter for this momentary embracing of the damned blood.

The further north they traveled the higher up the mountains they climbed; Vilkas's black fur stood out terribly against the white snow and he was having to fall further and further back during the day to avoid being seen.  It was maddening but he comforted himself with the thought that so long as he didn't lose the scent it didn't matter if it he was ten feet or ten miles behind them - he would find them.

At last, after a week's hard march, they came upon a squat, square stone building; there were three Silver Hand standing guard outside and they quickly opened the door for the returning group.

From where Vilkas crouched behind a wide tree trunk he heard the orc order the others to get the "bait" inside and secured, and to get the entire base on alert.  All but those three that had been standing guard outside quickly hurried through the door and disappeared inside.

Tormlia was now effectively out of his reach.

Finally he let his form slip away and knelt as a man in the snow; his throat was raw, his chest and legs aching in a way he'd never felt before, and he was sick with fear for her safety -- they had called her bait so he was...reasonably...certain they wouldn't kill her, but he would need to travel back to Jorrvaskr for help, and then return here.  It had taken a week to get here meaning she would be in their clutches for two weeks at minimum before he'd be able to get back here with help.

With his heart breaking he turned from the crumbling fort and let himself slip between forms again; he had to get back to Jorrvaskr, and quickly. As he sprinted down the mountain and tore through the trees he slowly loosened his hold on his anger and without it reined in the bestial side of him took over -- it didn't care for HOW he got to Jorrvaskr, only that he did, and at least the anger helped fuel his aching limbs as he cut a direct path back southwest to where he knew Whiterun to be.

When he came within sight of the city he changed back to a man; once he reached the gates he collapsed into the arms of a guard that had reached out to grab him as he'd started to fall, and as he'd slipped into unconsciousness he prayed he'd recover quickly.  He had to.

[littlewritingrabbit]

Lams, 15 or 22. I couldn't decide. Was in the mood for angst. Thanks! :)

I hope this is enough angst for you? I figured if there are too many miles between them, Laurens must be in France, so this is supposed to take place the night before That Incident when Laurens drew his sword on King Louis (which may or may not be true… but for the purposes of ficlet, yes it is.) I’m also not sure at what point the key and the kite thing happened with Benny Frank, but the opportunity for that insult was too good to pass up. XD Also- apologies again for the formatting, this was another Word document… Enjoy!

Prompt: “Things you said with too many miles between us.”

There was, undoubtedly, going to be another dinner party tonight. It was as if Benjamin Franklin could not help himself, whenever there were no other parties he seemed compelled, as if by some force of nature, to create one himself.

John Laurens was not in favour. It was one thing to have to wait for days on the fickle whims of a pair of monarchs younger than himself, when his was clearly the most pressing proposition in court, but quite another that he had to do so whilst fending off Franklin’s insistence that the best thing about the court at Versailles was the ladies. He had already declined an offer for Franklin to introduce him to a ‘lovely Mademoiselle du Borjuois’ and, on one occasion, walked into his own apartments to find someone by the name of Nina Labrie seated coyly on his windowseat ‘avec une message de Monsieur Franklin.’ The message had been so trivial it hardly needed a messenger to send it, but she still insisted on retaining her seat and discussing the Continental soldiers’ uniforms until dinner. She seemed surprised to learn that they weren’t all in blue and gold and some even lacked proper boots. He had felt a headache coming on.

Benjamin Franklin was… unusual. It was Laurens’s opinion that whatever had happened between Franklin, the key, and the kite had damaged more than it had discovered. The older diplomat took baths without any water, wore a hat that looked like a dead beaver, and made such rude jokes in the company of the court ladies that it was a miracle he was allowed to stay. But somehow, everyone seemed to enjoy having him around.

This enthusiasm seemed to be spared for John. At first he had been a curiosity, encouraged to dress in uniform, to tell stories of ‘la révolution’ and to be interrogated by ladies with ships in their hair and men with swords as thin as needles at their sides about a land they considered idealist and rustic. For them, war was the fashion of the age, and death not a thing to be missed out on, especially if it came theatrically, heroically, and to someone else. When they discovered that he told the truth as truth, with all the mud and screams that accompanied and none of the Glory they seemed to think a tangible currency, they feigned interest, then pretended that they had heard him at all, and then went off to pretend other things for other people.

And so Laurens took walks. He perused the library. He made small conversation about theatre and music and tried to mimic the polite, masked expression he had seen Alexander make for his superiors time and time again. But, having been raised being bowed to, or at least being able to be the first to offer a handshake in any conversation, acting never really came naturally to John Laurens.

He raised his chin from the balcony rail to inspect the stars. They were all still in order, making their way over Versailles like lights on the ripples of a smooth black sea. Teach me how to be orderly, he thought, how to always know what to do next. Teach me to travel without always pining for what I’ve left behind. Alexander Hamilton was far too many miles away.

One could line up all the hugs they had ever shared and it still would not be enough to span the dividing ocean. Before he had joined the Continental army John had nearly forgotten how nice it was just to be near someone, and be perfectly wrapped up in their affections. Now, once he had remembered, he was on another continent, and so companionless he wanted to forsake his mission and these marble halls to fly back to his lumpy bunk with Alexander curled up next to him.

This funny little Juliet-balcony felt too small, the glittery trappings of his room too claustrophobic, and all of a sudden Laurens needed to be outside. The party could wait. He made it up the stairs and was already knocking on the door to Thomas Paine’s room before he fully realized what was happening. It took Paine rather a long time to answer. Finally, wrapped in a banyan and with slightly windblown hair, he emerged.

“Laurens?”

John nodded, “Good evening. I was just wondering if I might… I mean… I’m not feeling altogether well. I wondered if I might use your window in order to-”

“Say no more,” opening the door wider, the pamphleteer revealed a spacious room, just as glittering and glamourous as John’s own, but with a book perched like a bird on every available flat surface. “You do look a bit pale,” Paine muttered, “Is it your shoulder again?”

“Not so much,” John let himself be led to the window, which Paine pushed open upon a fairly steep expanse of roof observing the gardens. He hopped onto the sill, then the roof, and slid down a few tiles before reclining against the slope. Laurens did the same.

“A fine night, is it not?” Paine asked.

“I’m sure it is,” John felt like an observer. He’d left his heart in America, after all.

“Though not, it seems, for dinner parties.” Paine raised an eyebrow, and then smiled. “Not to worry, I’m not attending either. There are only so many times a man can hear ‘yes, but is General Washington as tall as they say, monsieur,’ before a little rest is needed. Are you feeling somewhat better?”

“Just a little homesick, I suppose.” Paine needn’t know that ‘home’ wasn’t America per se, it was Alexander.

“Even for the war?”

“My friends are in the war.”

“Mm, mine too,” Paine leaned his head back against the tiles. “But you must remember that we are here in order to bring them aid, and that is no less helpful than what we could do at home.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” John muttered. “It doesn’t feel right to be a curiosity here when I should be fighting at home.”

Thomas Paine breathed a small laugh. “It need not be dangerous to be helpful.” He paused. “I write pamphlets,” he said, “And that is hardly dangerous at all unless I cut my finger on the edge of a paper or someone shouts ‘it’s that dunce who wrote Common Sense’ in the street. One of the greater dangers in my entire career was that iceberg we were nearly acquainted with on our journey here! But that does not mean that my addition, in my own way, to the revolution has been in vain. It has just been different.” He sighed, “Part of me wonders whether you put yourself in danger solely for your country, or also for your own reasons.”

John bit his lip. There were many reasons he went into danger. Yes, for his country, but also to prove his own honour, and because he felt guilty… not going into danger. He wasn’t sure how that made sense. Everything had always been given to him, his whole life. If he did not make any sacrifices, or try to live up to all that had been given to him, how was he any better than the men he was fighting against, who thought they could subjugate his country simply because they were lords?

Alexander would say that was foolish. He had had to live through his own fair share of being told to stay out of danger and use his wits instead. But Alexander was not here and everything was confused without him.

“I… I don’t know,” said Laurens. “I wish Hamilton were here.”

Paine nodded. “True. He always knows what to say. But that’s why Washington needs him in America. We all play our parts, Laurens.”

“So you’re saying I ought to go to the party?”

“Not at all! I’m saying that you ought to get a decent night of rest, and then approach His Highness again with your proposition. Something must get him to listen, and I feel it will be you.”

John sat up, and then laid a hand on his sword. If he must be dramatic, he would, for even if America lost the war he would be drawing his sword against the French anyways as a British subject once again. He would make them listen.

Looking up at the stars once more, perhaps hoping for a lesson in foresight, he bid Paine goodnight and returned to his room. Not to worry Alexander, I’ll be home soon.

[pocketseizure]

The Legend of the Princess, Chapter Eleven

A More Enlightened Age

In which Zelda travels through time to an era of magic, where she encounters a powerful wizard and bears witness to the fall of a terrible tower.

This chapter has an illustration (link) by the fabulous @lightsintheskye!

(Chapter Eleven on AO3) (Story Tag on Tumblr) (Cover Illustration) 

* * * * *

A short letter from Ruto was discreetly passed to Zelda later that evening.

We're having a bit of trouble with the big fish, Ruto wrote with her usual irreverence, but it's nothing we can't handle.

Zelda folded the letter neatly down the middle, disfiguring the paper and indicating that it should be burned. She spoke a few brief sentences of polite concern to the messenger, requesting that he compose a reply in her stead. Ruto deserved a lengthier response, but the Great Hall was not the place to dictate it.

It was as the Zora at Telma's Bar had said; something was amiss with Lord Jabun. Ruto had grown up serving as a handmaiden to the Zora's tutelary deity, and Zelda had no doubt that she would indeed be able to handle any trouble on her own. Nevertheless, she was concerned; a being like Jabun does not simply fall ill. Even with her limited knowledge of such matters, Zelda understood that only drastic environmental change could have affected the ancient demigod – that, or magic whose like had not been recorded for hundreds of years.

Zelda rose early the next morning. She was in no mood to linger in her chambers. Once again she had dreamed of dark clouds billowing out over Hyrule. There were brilliant flashes of lightning in her nightmare, and fires racing across the plains. Above a sea of roiling black ash rose the thick white line of a colossal tower. Zelda's dream felt as real as anything she had ever experienced, and the memory of the pale tower standing in stark contrast to the violent red of the sky remained clear in her mind when she woke.

Sleep did not return to her, and she finally allowed herself to leave her bed when the first fingers of dawn touched the horizon. She dressed quickly and piled her hair in a loose bun, too distracted to make an effort with braids or pins. She would ask one of her personal attendants to put it up properly before breakfast, but before then she wanted at least an hour to herself in the library. She had to write to Ruto, but she needed to learn more about Lord Jabun. What was it, exactly? Where did it come from? What purpose did it serve, and why would anyone wish to harm it?

Once she got the library, Zelda selected a few relevant books from the shelves, but she was unable to concentrate. More people were arriving at court every day, and she had been kept busy with greetings and introductions. She'd already met many of the people who traveled to attend her coronation, but this was the first time she had the opportunity to speak to them as an adult. As she made small talk with various nobles and dignitaries over the past week, she began to better understand her role at the courts called by her father. These events were about politics, certainly, but the real business of state was largely the domain of the king and his council. Zelda would soon be elevated to the same position of responsibility, but on the cusp of her ascension she was expected to gather information from the ritual exchange of pleasantries, and she was scheduled to make a report on the intelligence she had received to her father later this afternoon. She did not mind this work, whose challenges she rather enjoyed, but the constant demands on her attention had gradually grown exhausting. The nightly courts were rendered even more difficult by the need to balance amiable approachability and polite distance in her interactions with her potential suitors. Her conversations with these men might have been a bit easier if she were in a flirtatious mood, but no one had caught her eye.

As she stared through the library window into the courtyard garden, flipping the barrel of her pen between her fingers, Zelda found herself thinking of Ganondorf. He had never said anything to her on the subject, but she supposed it must be difficult for him to be the only man in a tribe of women. If only I had that problem, she thought, smiling to herself. There were a few women on the parliament that represented the concerns of Castle Town to the throne, but the members of her father's council were entirely male, as was the council of Sheikah elders.

Zelda mused that it might be interesting to ask Ganondorf for his opinion on the matter, but she hadn't managed to make concrete plans with him during their encounter yesterday afternoon. She resolved to have a short note delivered to him after she finished her letter to Ruto, but she couldn't manage to bring herself to start writing.

Even though it was one of her favorite places, the library felt stuffy and airless. During the past two weeks, Zelda had begun to feel a bit claustrophobic everywhere in the castle. There was nothing keeping her from clearing her schedule for a day to go riding, just as there was nothing keeping her from disguising herself as Impaz and venturing out into Castle Town for a night of frivolous amusement. In fact, she probably owed herself some time to unwind before her coronation, especially since she would be even more anchored to the castle once she became a queen. Before she allowed herself to relax, however, she had to get this strange business with Ganondorf sorted out, the sooner the better.

Zelda hadn't been able to figure out a secure hiding place for her mother's ocarina, so she continued to carry it in her satchel. Thinking of the song that Ganondorf hummed in the inner garden yesterday afternoon, she took out the ocarina and held it in a beam of sunlight as she tapped her fingers against the edges of the holes in its cerulean body.

Wouldn't it be nice to get some wind in here? Someone should really dust this place every once in a while, she thought.

Zelda's mother hadn't enjoyed reading, nor had she any use for books, so the library had gone almost entirely unused during her reign. Her father read, probably more than anyone else she knew, but the library in his chambers was private, and Zelda learned at a young age that not even she was allowed to spend time there. Members of the nobility and the wealthy social climbers who associated with them had once hired specialists to build their libraries for them, but that particular display of wealth had gone out of fashion now that many books were printed by machine and thus available to the masses.

This library belongs to another time, Zelda reflected. Of course, the same could be said of the castle itself. It had its use as a gathering space, as the nightly courts demonstrated, but the center of power was slowly shifting to Castle Town, where salons and social gatherings were held in newly constructed and richly appointed private homes. If things continued in this manner, Zelda might be the last monarch to hold court in the castle itself. As it was, her father was engaging in something of a gamble by limiting the activities relating to her coronation to the castle instead of allowing her to attend the parties held in the growing city outside its walls.

How ridiculous Ganondorf is for thinking Hyrule is a threat. He believes the Gerudo should fear the royal family, when all the while we're wrapped up in our own battle to hold our position. The king is little more than the head of an army, but what use are soldiers when there are no enemies to fight? One day the wealth of the ambitious may buy us all, Zelda thought, raising the ocarina to her lips. She wondered if perhaps she herself might live to see the monarchy fall, but she resolved to put the thought from her mind as she blew into the mouthpiece.

After a few false starts, she found the opening notes of Ganondorf's song, and from there the melody seemed to flow from her fingertips. Zelda could feel a faint breeze lifting the fringes of her hair when she was hit by a powerful sense of vertigo. She realized that she was on the verge of having another vision, so she closed her eyes and allowed the tide of her dizziness to surge and then ebb away.

When Zelda opened her eyes, she could see a white tower in the distance rising above black clouds into a red sky like a scream. She had a brief flash of déjà vu and wondered where she could have possibly seen something like this, but then the memory of her nightmare struck her like a fist to her gut. Within the span of a heartbeat, her disorientation turned to dread.

Zelda could still feel the weight of the ocarina in her hand, and it comforted her to know that she could return to her own time if anything happened. Since there was nothing else to be done, she reasoned that she may as well take stock of her surroundings.

She took a deep breath as she tucked the ocarina into a loose fold of fabric at her waist. She marveled that she could see the tower over the top of the clouds and realized that she must be looking down at it from an extremely high vantage point. She turned and glanced upwards, gasping as she realized that she was standing on a balcony emerging from a massive building constructed of smooth pale stone. The walls were covered in vast windows framed within ornamental crystal latticework. The scale of the structure was almost incomprehensibly large, and it was beautiful.

The circular door leading out onto the balcony was surrounded by stylized carvings suggesting vines and flowers, and at its apex was a large Triforce. There were several such symbols adorning her own castle, but it had gone out of fashion decades ago. Her father occasionally wore old regalia bearing the Triforce, but for the most part it did not grace his clothing – or her own, for that matter. It was superstitious nonsense, her father had once remarked, adding that it was an unwelcome reminder of feudal traditions best forgotten.

Zelda looked down at herself and saw that she wore a shimmering white gown. She transferred her weight from one foot to the other, and the hue of her skirt shifted as if it had been spun of mother of pearl. She held her arms in front of her and was dazzled by her sleeves, which seemed to be embroidered with pure light in a motif of scaled triangles. The edges of her sleeves were linked to her middle fingers by silver rings as bright as small stars. The fabric of her dress was as smooth as silk, but the slight tingle on her skin suggested to Zelda that it was woven with magic.

Can this be really be Hyrule? Zelda wondered. Am I seeing the future?

Just beyond the tips of her fingers, Zelda could see a glowing geometric pattern of interlocking circles materialize in front of the doorway. At first she thought that it was an effect of the light shining through the latticework framing one of the large windows, but as it grew stronger she realized that what she was seeing was magic.

Within a few seconds, the pattern of light materialized into the figure of a man wearing armor as dark as the night sky. Like the fabric of her sleeves, its metal plates were adorned with softly glowing lines. While her clothing was beautiful in its perfectly aligned angles, however, his was a mess of swirls and spirals. The man's face was deeply lined, and he appeared to be somewhat past the prime of middle age, but she recognized him immediately.

"Ganondorf?"

To her surprise, the man nodded. "Good morning, Zelda. Are you well?" he responded pleasantly.

He spoke to her in an unfamiliar language, yet she was able to understand him. Even more astonishing was that he had answered to the name Ganondorf before addressing her with a word that needed no translation – her own name. She waited for the woman whose body she inhabited to reply to him, but no words came. It seemed that she was once again on her own.

"What could possibly be good about this?" she asked him bluntly, taking it for granted that she was speaking in the language of this era. If she was a princess, she may as well act like one. She gathered her courage and added, "It looks like the entire world is on fire."

"Is that not what happens during war?" The man shrugged, and she was momentarily mesmerized by the way his movement altered the patterns on his armor.

Zelda didn't know who she was, or where she was, or, most importantly, when she was. Just as in her earlier vision, she had arrived in the midst of some sort of terrible war, but the man who answered to the name Ganondorf seemed perfectly at ease in her presence. Was she his captive, or were they somehow partners in the destruction raging below them?

"I need you to tell me what's going on," she ordered, taking her chances that he was not hostile.

"My forces were able to make a significant advance over the night," he explained, walking forward to join her at the balcony railing. "The tower has almost fallen."

"I don't understand," she said, looking up at him as he came to stand at her side. "Why does the tower need to fall?"

"To be frank, I've asked myself that question many times before. Wouldn't it be enough to take this castle? Why not simply undo the spells supporting the tower and let it rot into the earth? Of course it's in my best interests to secure the complete surrender of your armies, and Nayru only knows why they decided to make their last stand there of all places. It's not exactly defensible, and I'd give their efforts a few days at most, even if the magic guarding the tower were at its full strength."

He sighed before continuing. "I suppose it's the principle of the thing. My days in Hyrule are numbered, but I'd prefer not to have to look at that monument to death while I'm still here."

Zelda was silent as she processed this information. Ganondorf had apparently attacked her kingdom and seized this building, which he had called her castle. She seemed to be his prisoner, yet he spoke to her as casually as if they had been discussing the weather. She glanced at him and saw that his posture was relaxed. The gaps in his armor provided numerous openings that could be taken advantage of by a deftly applied blade. Did he underestimate her, or was it rather that he trusted her? She wondered what this man's relationship to her might be, but she could see no way to make such an inquiry.

"What do you mean, your days in Hyrule are numbered?" she asked instead.

"I have no doubt that your hero will arrive soon. I'll give him a good show, but you know as well as I do that I can't win against the two of you together. That's not how this story goes, is it?"

"What story?"

"The only story: an evil wizard attacks the kingdom of the beautiful princess and holds her hostage in her own castle. Since your people do me the honor of calling me 'Ganon,' I may as well live up to the name. What sort of demon king would I be otherwise?"

He looked down at her and grinned. Despite herself, Zelda found that she enjoyed talking with this man, and he seemed to enjoy talking with her as well. It was rare that someone so urbane spoke to her with such honesty. He behaved as if answering her questions were something of a game, so she decided to keep pressing him.

"So you're an evil wizard?"

"Of course. What else would I be?"

"Doesn't that keep you busy, waging a war and practicing magic at the same time?"

"Why in Din's blessed name would I need to practice magic?"

"I thought magic was something that required constant work and effort."

"Constant work and effort? Hardly."

"Does magic really come so easily to you?"

"Magic only requires effort for the people in the border colonies whom your kingdom doesn't see fit to train properly."

"So you were trained to perform magic?" Zelda asked. She felt guilty about not pursuing the matter of the border colonies he mentioned, but she found that she was genuinely curious about how one went about learning magic.

"No. I was not trained," he answered coldly, his voice losing its patina of joviality. "At least, not in the way you were. But my people have their own traditions, and I have certain gifts of my own."

Ganondorf raised his hand as leisurely as if he were greeting an old acquaintance, and suddenly the air was filled with an electric charge so strong that Zelda could taste it on her tongue. She prepared to defend herself, but she saw that Ganondorf was regarding the tower with an intense ferocity, his lips pulled back to expose his teeth. She followed his gaze just in time to witness a thick arc of lightning strike the tower in the distance. The flash in the sky was followed by a rolling boom of thunder, and the dark clouds covering the land began to twist and swirl.

Zelda could feel the flow of the power emanating from Ganondorf, and it was intoxicating. She understood that the armor he wore was merely for show, and that no assassin's blade could ever harm him. With his talent and ability, he could have anything he wanted; he could be a god among mortals. What need did he have to fight her?

When she was certain that she could speak calmly, she asked, "Why do you want to destroy the tower?"

Ganondorf continued to watch the dark clouds swirl in a slow vortex as he answered her. "Hyrule is a land blessed above all others," he said. "It is filled with magic that enhances its rich land and gentle climate. And yet you direct this energy into unnatural channels; you insist on binding it to the elite within your unholy temples. Anyone who resists you is wiped off the face of the earth. Since your people settled here, countless races have been destroyed so completely that not even their names remain. That hideous obelisk is a warning to anyone who dreams of a world that is not utterly dominated by Hylians."

He clenched his fists against the balustrade. Zelda glanced down at his hands, whose heavy gauntlets bore a curious crest that shone with a furious crimson light.

"And that is why the Tower of Hylia must be destroyed," Ganondorf continued in a softer voice. "The beliefs that built it must be destroyed. It does not matter if we were born in the castle or born in the colonies; we are all the children of the goddesses. I must fight, and soon I must die, so that people will understand this. So that you will understand this. I can bring down that tower, but it is you who must dismantle this castle."

Ganondorf looked at her with a fierce yearning in his eyes. Zelda recognized the expression on his face; it was same look the enemy general of her previous vision had directed at her as he gazed up at her from the carnage he had created. This man was capable of terrible things, but he was not her enemy.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head as she turned away from him. "I don't understand. Please give me more time."

With as much dignity as she could muster, she walked across the balcony and into the castle. Once she was inside, she barely noticed the wonders surrounding her as she fumbled for the ocarina, hoping against hope that it would return her to an age where she did not doubt herself and everything once again made sense.

( Chapter Twelve )

[emma89uk]

Finally! I hope you guys still can find a little Christmas spirit in your hearts. You can either read it here after the break, or over on Ao3 =) (And yes, I’m working on The Meetings, have patience with me!)

Chap 2/3

"Clawhouser, you tell me where he is right now!"

Gideon stood motionless with the coil of cords between his paws as Judy shrieked into her cell phone. Tears were beginning to stream down her face, and Gideon was becoming increasingly worried.

"Oh gosh, I don't know which hospital- I just now heard the call over the radio, was going to wait to call you until they had gotten him in- but then I thought you'd have my tail for not telling you right away. Judy I'm so sorry"

Clawhouser was rambling on the other end of the line, doing nothing to calm Judy down. She could feel her breath beginning to border on hyperventilating, the images of Nick lifeless and bleeding on the cold streets of Zootopia flashing through her mind. Clawhouser was right about one thing though, she would have had his tail if he had not told her.

"I'm coming in. You find the name of that hospital ASAP!" Judy had to focus; she needed to get to her partner.

"Now?” Clawhouser said in disbelief. “The roads are a mess, nothing but accident reports for the entire evening-"

"I DON'T CARE!" Judy screamed into the phone before hanging up. Her head snapped up at Gideon, and she had a desperation in her eyes that nearly made Gideon back away at its intensity.

"Gideon, I need to borrow your van- or if you could drive me home, I could take the truck- but I need to get to the precinct, I need to get to Nick-I-I-" Judy had to cover her mouth with her paw to stifle the sob that surfaced.  

Gideon had not gotten much out of the conversation, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Judy was not driving anywhere in this weather in the state she was in if he had anything to say about it.

"Judy?" He said softly, putting the coil of cords down on the ground. "Judy, what's goin’ on?"

He took a few cautious steps towards her, worryingly searching her face for any sign that might tell him what had put her in such a state.

"Nick-" She began, having to take a moment to steady her voice. "Nick's been shot, and I need to get to him, but I don't know which hospital he’s in. I need to get back to him. Should never have left him alone, I should-" The tears cut her off, and she leaned back against the side of the van, closing her eyes against the steady stream of tears.

"This ain't your fault" Gideon knelt down in front of her and put his paw on her shoulder. He wanted to do more, but could not think of anything. Instead, he just let his thumb stroke back and forth over her shoulder in a soothing motion.

What could he say anyway? What he knew about cop partnerships he had from TV-series. He could only imagine what Judy was going through at the moment, and not knowing was probably the worst bit about it.

Officers Wilde and Hopps had become quite the household names after the whole Nighthowler affair, and the first fox and rabbit on the force were predicted to have promising careers in front of them.

Gideon would never admit this to anyone, but he had read every article, seen every news-clip on znn.com involving Judy. As a result, he had also seen a lot of street hustler turned police officer Nick Wilde. Though he tried very hard to like him, he could not.

One picture especially, taken right after Bellwether’s arrest, still held the power to ruin his day if he happened upon it while scrolling through the news. Journalists loved to use it in anything remotely related to the pair or the Nighthowler affair.

Nick and Judy were walking out of the Natural History Museum, the Chief of the ZPD and an entire squadron of large mammal police officers behind them. Nick had his arm around Judy’s waist, keeping her steady as they made their way down the stairs. She had her paw on his shoulder, holding on to his shirt. The lucky photographer had caught them sharing a warm smile, and it always left Gideon with a hollow feeling inside his chest.

"I-I need to get to Nick" Judy pleaded again, her big teary amethyst eyes on his. "Please Gideon"

Those eyes were going to be the death of him some day. He knew it. Nevertheless, he was not going to risk her safety by allowing her to drive alone on snowed down roads through parts of the Burrows that did not even have cell phone coverage.

"I'll drive ya" As if on que, a harsh gush of wind swept through the streets, making the door at the back of his van slam shut. "I honestly think it ain't safe ta-night. But I'll drive ya"

Deep down Judy knew Gideon was right. It was promising to be quite the blizzard tonight, and old Mack would not be out with his snowplough until morning. They risked becoming snowed in in the middle of nowhere, but the thought of Nick wounded and alone made her nauseous.  

She glanced up at Gideon still kneeling in front of her, his icy blue eyes concerned searching her face. Judy suddenly realised she really needed a hug, and Gideon’s warm sweater and concerned expression made him look more inviting than ever. She was just about to give up and let herself fall forward into his chest when Gazelle’s voice once again cut through the air.

Gideon let go of her shoulder, but remained on his knees in the snow in front of her as Judy answered the phone.  

"Clawhouser?" She failed to keep her voice from trembling. "He's at Zootopia General, it was the closest one, but pleeeease tell me you're not driving right now?" Clawhouser asked anxiously. "No, no, not yet" Judy said, feeling the initial desperation settling somewhat.

"Thank goodness. Nick's in surgery, Grizzoli says it’s not life threatening, I've told him to call you as soon as he's out. Please: Don’t drive tonight" "Thank you Clawhouser" Judy said, purposefully ignoring the last part. "Judy, I'm serious. I've got nothing but accident reports for the last hour. And I don't know how, but I'm pretty sure Chief big B will find a way to blame me if two of ZPD's finest wind up in hospital on the same night." "Claw-" "I repeat: Do.Not.Drive.Tonight" the cheetah said insistently.

“But-” Judy begun, glancing up at Gideon still kneeling in front of her. She had never understood how his icy blue eyes managed to look so warm.

“I’ll drive ya to the city first thing in the mornin’, I promise, please Judy…” Gideon said pleadingly, clearly agreeing with Clawhouser regarding the driving conditions.

The initial fire from when she had first gotten the news had completely died down, and Judy felt the cold winter air beginning to seep into her bones.

“You promise me it’s not life or death?” She asked into the phone, pulling her jacket closer around herself with a shiver as another gush of wind rushed through the streets.

“Grizzoli told me himself”

Grizzoli was one of those types that always told it as it was. Never more, never less. The Chief had a great respect for him, and if there ever were a case in court, you would bet on him sending Grizzoli if he had the chance. He would never lie to protect anyone’s feelings, for better or worse.

Judy nodded silently. “Ok” she finally said. “But I’ll be there as soon as the weather clears”

She glanced up at Gideon who nodded, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Thank you” Clawhouser sighed with relief. “I’ll call as soon as I know more, if not Grozzoli calls you first. You take care, alright?”

“Yea” Judy mumbled.

She stood motionless with her phone in her paw after Clawhouser hung up. Her fingers were going numb, and she could feel the numbness slowly spreading through the rest of her body.

“Let’s get ya home” Gideon said silently, carefully leading Judy to the passenger side of the van. She followed with him without protest, her eyes distant, looking at nothing in particular.

Gideon was quick to crank up the heat in the van, the warm air blasting noisily as he drove down the narrow cobblestone streets. He glanced over at Judy whenever the visibility allowed it. Her silence and apparent apathy made him uneasy. Just minutes before she had been all fired up and demanding to drive back to the city. Now she just seemed emotionless, filling the van with a thick silence that made Gideon uncomfortable on top of everything else.

At least it provided him with an opportunity to concentrate on the road as they drove out of town. There were no streetlights out here along the dirt roads, and it neared an almost complete whiteout outside as the snow began to fall in earnest.

“Ya get yourself some hot cocoa and some sleep, and I’ll pick ya up first thing in the mornin’” Gideon said as he drove painstakingly slow towards the Hopps’ driveway. Hoping that reminding her of his promise to drive her back to Zootopia would garner some positive reaction.

Judy could just catch a glimpse of the lights in her parents’ house at the end of the driveway through the thick curtain of falling snow. They were probably still up, including most of her siblings since school was out. The thought of being surrounded by her family suddenly made her feel claustrophobic. In fact, the van itself felt like it was beginning to suffocate her. Judy tried to take a couple of deep calming breaths, but it felt like there was not enough oxygen in the air.

Nick was shot. Nick was bleeding. Nick was in surgery. With scalpels cutting into him while he lay there unconscious.

“Gideon, stop.”

Gideon barely had time to pull over on the shoulder of the road before Judy flung the door open into the black and white night.

Judy took the cold air down in gulps, breathing in more than a couple of snowflakes in the process. She supported herself on the hood of the van, bending over as she heaved for air. The road in front of her was pitch black, save the headlights of Gideon’s van lighting up the snowflakes as they hurled around in the wind.

Gideon made his way around the front of the car, finding Judy sobbing and gulping for air. Hunched over with an arm around her middle as if she was in pain.

“Judy, Judy, calm down” Gideon put both his paws on her shoulders in an attempt to soothe her.  He felt incredibly ill equipped to handle this situation, and searched her pained face for any sign of what he should do.

“I can’t breathe” Judy managed between sobs. Instead of leaning on the hood of the van, her paws now closed into tight fists around the sleeves of Gideon’s sweater, tugging at the fabric. That was all the encouragement Gideon needed, and he carefully pulled her away from the van and into a warm hug, wrapping his tail around the back of her legs to shield her from the cold.

He began to take deliberately long and steady breaths, feeling his chest rise and fall against hers. Slowly, but surly Judy’s breathing began to match his own, her desperate sobbing gradually dying down.

“At’s it, deep breaths. ‘Ere ya go darlin’, everythin’s gonna be just fine” Gideon whispered into the fur on the top of her head. Judy was clinging to his sweater as if he was the only thing that kept her from drowning, burying her face against his shoulder.  

Gushes of cold wind ruffled his exposed fur, but Judy was warm in his arms and the sensation of her small body against his almost made Gideon sigh with satisfaction. He could not help but take a couple of deep draws of her scent, reveling in the moment. A wave of guilt came crashing down on him as soon as he did.

Here he was, actually enjoying the fact that Judy was heartbroken because her partner, a police officer who risked his life in the line of duty on a daily basis, had been shot and lay fighting for his life right at this moment.

When was the last time he had risked his life for anything? That was right, never. Gideon closed his eyes in self-resentment for a second, before carefully patting a paw against Judy’s back.

“Ya can’t stay out here. Ya gonna freeze solid” he muttered, carefully loosening his hold on her. Judy kept her arms around his torso, holding on to the back of his sweater with tight fists, showing no sign of wanting to let go. “I can’t go home, I just- I just can’t handle it all right now” Judy seemed like she would begin to hyperventilate again, and Gideon was quick to put his arms back around her.

“At’s alright, at’s fine” he assured her, searching his mind for another option. “How ‘bout your grandparent’s?”

Old Mr. and Mrs Hopps lived just up the road from Judy’s parents. He would have to turn and drive back, but it was not further off than he would be able to manage in this weather.

“No..” Judy meekly shook her head against his chest.

Judy knew she was probably being audacious, but for some reason she could not bear the thought of being surrounded by her family right now. Though they meant well, it could all become a bit much.  

Gideon’s big warm arms around her felt like the only thing holding her together, his steady breathing calming her own. Judy realized she needed him, needed him to make her feel warm and safe.  

“Could… Could I come with you?”

Gideon stopped breathing. He tried to tell himself not to read anything into it. Her partner had been shot and she was trapped here by the weather, unable to go see him as she desperately whished too. Judy just needed a shoulder to cry on, to be somewhere quiet and calm, and he had an entire farmhouse to himself. In spite of his efforts, the sensation of her paws gripping the back of his sweater, holding him against her, made his ears grow hot in spite of the freezing wind.

“ ’Course” Gideon managed. “Whatever ya want”

---

Gideon had continued to live in his old home after his mother had passed away, though he had sold off most of the farmland to surrounding farms. He had needed the money for his bakery, still in the startup-faze back when he had inherited the place. The house sorely needed work done, the kitchen and bathroom were dated and the exterior could use a coat of paint.  

Thankfully, the weather camouflaged the latter as Gideon and Judy hurried to the front door. It was not as if the his home was in bad shape, he kept it well, just as his mother had, but he spent most of his time working, and when he was home he was either sleeping or eating, seldom finding time to do anything else.

Standing in his cold living room though, he wished he had taken some time to brighten the place up a little. His parents’ old couch were older than he was by almost a decade, but at least it was comfortable, and he was grateful for the plentiful knitted blanket he had left out. Judy had wrapped herself in it, curling up against the cushions. She was not sobbing anymore, and her breathing had calmed, but tears were still trickling from her eyes. Her beautiful amethyst eyes.

Gideon resolutely turned his back to her, instead concentrating on stacking wood in the fireplace. He was not going to be that tod, would never be a tod who took advantage of someone’s emotional state to get what he wanted. But God help him, Judy looked so tiny and alone on his big couch, making him want nothing more than to curl up around her, embracing her entirely.

Despite his distracted mind, he soon had a fire going in the fireplace. It was the centerpiece of the living room, were his stocking had hung every Christmas when he was still a kit. It looked quite empty without it; he should probably have hung something there to make it more festive. Then again, he had not found the time.

“You don’t have a tree”

Gideon glanced up as Judy spoke unexpectedly. She still sat wrapped in the large knitted blanked, looking around his living room with curious interest.

“Pardon?” “A Christmas tree” Judy clarified, drying her tears with the back of her paw. “You don’t have a Christmas tree” “Nah” Gideon said in an apologetic tone. “Didn’t really see a reason ta get one, just me in ‘ere anyway” Judy got a look of pity in her eyes, and Gideon was quick to change the subject.

“How ‘bout that cocoa? It’ll prolly do ya good right ‘bout now”

With that, Gideon quickly left through the kitchen door before Judy could begin to ask what he was doing on Christmas Eve. He despised it when mammals felt sorry him, and it especially felt wrong coming from her. He did not deserve it from her.

 Judy was still sitting in the same spot on his couch, absentmindedly watching the fireplace when Gideon came back out with two steaming mugs of cocoa. The flames played across her fur, bringing out the dark purple in her eyes. As he silently offered her one of the mugs, she shot a small grateful smile at him, making his heart melt.

“Thanks Gideon” she said, holding the hot mug in both paws, feeling the warmth spread through her fingers.  “I’m sorry for imposing on you like this, I just-”

“Don’t ya start apologizin’ ”Gideon cut her off, sitting down on the couch next to her. “At’s what friends are for, ain’t it?” He said with a smile, feeling confident that he managed to hide the sting the word friends caused.

Pulling out a drawer from under the coffee table, he took out a pocket-sized steel flask, gingerly unscrewing the cap. It was one of the few things he had kept after his father; he even kept it in the same drawer. Gideon did not drink much, but a swig of something strong was sometimes the best remedy for heartache.

He poured some of the liquor into his mug, giving it a stir before offering it to Judy.

“Here” Gideon held out the flask to her. “It’ll take the edge off”

He had to admit he had an ulterior motive with offering her a drink. Gideon still worried Judy would take off into the night, attempting to drive back to the city in spite of the weather and poor driving conditions. However, Gideon knew her well enough to know that the up standing and law abiding Officer Hopps would never attempt to drive under the influence.

Judy hesitated for a moment before accepting the flask, pouring a healthy amount of the golden liquid into her cocoa. She took a large gulp, grimacing as the whisky hit the back of her throat.

“Yea, it’s an acquired taste” Gideon apologized, taking a sip of his own mug.

“Mhm” Judy swallowed and shook her head against the burn. “No, I needed that, thank you”

Gideon nodded in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on the fireplace. There was not much space between them on the couch, and with the memory of the embrace out in the snow still fresh in his mind, Gideon did not want to risk looking at her too much. He was still conflicted about feeling happy about finally having Judy so close, and the circumstances that had resulted in it happening in the first place.

He took a large swig of his mug; nearly downing its entire contents in one go.

I don’t want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need

Judy jolted upright at the sound of her ringtone, nearly spilling her cocoa.

I don’t care about the presents Underneath the Christmas tree

His large knitted blanket fell to the floor in a pile as Judy untangled herself from it in an attempt to get to the phone in her pocket.

I just want you for my own More than you could-

“Grizzoli?” Judy almost shrieked into her phone.

“Caaaaarrotssss” a voice slurred from the other end of the line.

“Nick!?” Judy jumped in her seat, a spontaneous smile spreading across her muzzle. “Oh Nick! Are you alright?”

“Shhhh, not so loud. I’m fine, very fine. Fantastic ackschually” Nick said blissfully “I haven’t had drugs this good since that one time with Finnick in-”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that” Judy interrupted, her voice bordering on a laugh. Tears were beginning to trickle down her cheeks again, but happy ones this time. “Nick, what happened?” She asked in a more serious tone.

“Me and Grizzy happened on a break in” Judy thought she could hear the big polar bear in the background blowing air through his nose at the unwanted nick name. “I chased after one, he after another. Mine had a gun. Pow! Shot in the leg”

“Oh Nick-” Judy gasped, holding a paw over her mouth.

Gideon chose that moment to get up from the couch. The way she said her partners name sounded too intimate, and it did not feel right for him to sit beside her during this conversation. Better give her some privacy, and spare himself in the process.

Gideon could live with the fact that their species made any hope on his part about anything more than friendship impossible. Him being a fox was a perfectly acceptable reason for Judy not to see him in any romantic light, and he could have lived with that, however painful it was. But the thought that that was not the reason at all, and that another fox had laid claim to her heart already, was straight out agonizing.  

“Shhh, I’m fine! The other guy though, thought Grizzy was gonna grizzle him. Wait-” Judy heard some shuffling as Nick moved in the bed. “Is that what you call it? Grizzle, is that even a word, like maw and maim and grizzle?” She heard him ask.

“Wilde….” Grizzoli’s warning voice carried through to Judy.

“Alright, alright, just asking” Nick shuffled back to the phone. “Point is Carrots; I’m fine” he lowered his voice, probably in an attempt to keep Grizzoli from hearing the last part of the conversation. Not that it would matter since Nick’s slurred whisper was quite loud.

“Do you know how much game this gets me with the ladies? I swear, this nurse is giving me the bedroom eyes”

“Nick…” Judy slipped her paw over her eyes. At least he was still his usual tod-self, though a little high on anesthesia. “Can you put Grizzoli on the line please?”

“Right, right, one moment” Judy heard him turn back around in the bed. “It’s for you big guy”

“Hopps” The big bear greeted as he put the phone to his ear.

“Hi Grizzoli, how bad is it really?” Judy insisted, hoping to get a straight answer from the more experienced officer.

“Removed a slug from his thigh, 9 mill, missed the main artery” He said matter of factly. “He’ll be on crutches for a while, but it’s not serious” he added, remembering who he was talking to.

“I can be there by morning” Judy said, catching a glimpse of the old grandfather clock in Gideon’s living room; it was almost midnight already.

“Visiting hours’ not before noon, and he’ll be fine”

Nick’s voice cut through from the background. ”Hey Nurse, you wanna know how I got this scar?”

“He’ll be fine” Grizzoli repeated dryly. “Trust me Hopps, he’ll be discharged in a matter of days”

Judy hesitated, glancing over at Gideon who were politely pretending to get a refill in the kitchen. His back was turned, but she could tell from the angle of his ears that he was listening in. Judy felt torn; Nick sounded all right, and Grozzoli would never lie to her. What was more, Judy found herself not as eager to leave as before.

“Thanks Grizzoli. Could you put Nick on the phone again please?” Judy finally asked.

After some fumbling and ruffling sounds from bedsheets, Nick finally managed to hold the phone steady to his ear.

“Nick, are you sure you’ll be alright? I can be there in the morning already, as soon as the snowplow has been out”

“Relax Carrots, this isn’t my first time getting shot” Nick said nonchalantly.

Judy frowned. “Yes, yes it is”

Judy knew everything there was to know about her partner and his past, and though he had had some narrow escapes in his time, he had never been shot before. Save the blueberries in the National History Museum, which Judy was pretty sure did not count.

“Shhh, play along with me here” Nick whispered not so quietly, before continuing in an obnoxious tone: “This is nothing like the gang shoot-out we helped break up back in… That one time” Apparently hospital drugs inflicted his usual quick thinking and smooth talking abilities.

“Nick” Judy sighed. “Is there by any chance a nurse in the room?”

“Indeed” Nick replied, trying his best to sound like he was answering another question entirely. “Vixen?” “Affirmative” “Attractive?” “Very”

“Nick, you helped solve the political criminal plot of the century, I don’t think you need to lie about your achievements” Judy said with a chuckle, rolling her eyes.

“Oh” Nick actually sounded surprised. “I forgot about that”

Judy could not help the laugh that escaped her. “Listen Slick, take my advice and wait until the anesthetics wears off before you make the next move. Alright?”

“That might be a good idea, yea” she heard him clear his throat, apparently sobering up a little already. “Hey Carrots?” “Yea?” “Don’t come running to my bedside like some emotional bunny. I’m fine, serious. And that’s not the drugs talking.”

“Nick…” Judy began, once again finding herself looking into the kitchen at Gideon’s broad shoulders.

“I’m serious Carrots. I’ll still be here by noon tomorrow”

“You promise? Because getting shot on your first stretch without me watching your back is not doing much to convince me” Judy retorted, feeling her wittiness returning.

“I know, I’m useless without you” Nick said sarcastically. “But hey, at least I get Christmas off right?”

“That’s not funny” Judy said, laughing regardless.

“You know you love me” Nick said teasingly. “You’re not making it easy” “That wouldn’t be any fun” he snickered, making Judy fall back against the couch cushions with an annoyed sigh.   “I’m fine, really. I practically walked myself to the ambulance” Nick said, sensing her annoyance.

“You sure?” “Positive, now go roast some carrots or whatever you do around Christmas, and I’ll see you tomorrow” “Apples” Judy corrected, knowing full well Nick knew that and only said it to annoy her. “Whatever” she could hear the smile in his voice. “Just don’t bring me flowers”

“Can’t promise anything” Judy chuckled, before adding sincerely “You take care Slick” “You too Carrots”

Judy looked down on her phone in her lap with a permanent smile on her face for several minutes after Nick hung up, feeling the relief wash over her, erasing the previous turmoil of worry and desperation from her mind.

“How’s he doin?”

Judy glanced up to find Gideon leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen door, a mild look in his eyes as he waited for her response. She wondered how long he had been standing there, watching her, and was a little surprised to find that she hoped it had been a while.

“He’s fine” she smiled, beginning to feel light headed by the relief. Or maybe that was the whisky in her cocoa taking effect. “A little high on hospital drugs, but he’s fine”

“At’s good ta hear” Gideon said, resuming his place beside her on the couch, pouring more whisky into his refilled cocoa. “He-” Gideon cleared his throat, quickly glancing over at her. “He seems ta mean a lot ta ya”

The warm smile that spread across Judy’s face as she nodded in confirmation felt like a stab to the chest. There it was, he was going to have to hear her say it, and then he would put a lid on his emotions and move on. Gideon clenched his teeth as he readied for the blow he knew was coming with her response.

“He does” Judy agreed, affection in her voice.

“Nick truly taught me to see past my own prejudice, to realize that foxes aren’t just shifty and untrustworthy” she gave Gideon an apologetic glance at the last words. But Gideon did not notice, he was looking into his cocoa, a melancholy expression in his eyes. “I guess I have a lot ta thank him fer” he said.

“Nah” Judy smiled at him. “You took care of that yourself, with your well-rehearsed apology two years ago” “Ah, that” Gideon chuckled embarrassed. “I was just repeatin’ what my old therapist said ta me” he took a long sip from his mug, enjoying the extra heat the whisky provided. “I thought it sounded a lot better ‘an what I coulda come up with myself”

Judy hid a smile in her own mug, remembering the stuttering and finger-twisting fox apologizing to her by her parents’ booth. “I’m sorry, I was a jerk would’ve worked just fine” she said, shooting him a teasing glance over the brim of her mug. “Yeah” Gideon laughed. “Recon it would”

Gideon glanced at the soft grey fur covering Judy’s cheeks, his eyes searching as they did almost every time he saw her. Maybe it was the spiked cocoa taking effect, or the fact that she had seen his scars that gave him the last push.

“Hey Judy?” he asked in a low voice, cupping his mug in his paws. “Mind if I ask somethin’?” “What?” Judy asked, her pulse starting to beat a little faster as Gideon moved closer to her on the sofa.

Gideon had thought about it a lot after he grew up. First, he had thought he did not want to know, that he was better off not knowing, but he could not stop thinking about it. Sometimes, just before he fell asleep, it hit him with a pang of guilt, and he had finally come to terms with the fact that he would need to know for sure to finally close that chapter of his life.

He slowly sat his mug down on the coffee table, drawing one long breath before speaking again.

“Did- did I leave a scar on ya?” He asked, dreading the answer. “Back when we were kids?”

“Oh” Judy put her paw over her left cheek, feeling the three narrow scars hidden beneath her fur.

“Don’t think about it” she tried to avoid answering directly. It probably would not have scarred anyway, had she just managed to keep from picking at the scabs, as her mother had told her too. But she had been nine, and it had itched.

“Please, I wanna see fer myself, if- if ya don’t mind? Ta get it outta my head” Gideon turned to face her on the couch, hesitantly raising his paw in front of him as he waited for her response.

Judy knew it was no use lying about it, though she could not help but worry that Gideon would not react very well to the three narrow scars on her cheek. Which she, to be honest, never gave much thought.

Finally, she nodded, letting her own paw fall back into her lap with a sigh.

Gideon swallowed audibly, carefully lifting his paw towards her. Judy gave him a careful smile, tilting her head slightly, allowing him to run his fingers over the soft fur on her cheek.

At first, he brushed his knuckles gently down towards her jaw, making her involuntary shiver. Then he cupped the side of her head with his large paw and ran his thumb back up towards her cheekbone. She could not help but lean her head into his paw, enjoying the feeling of his careful fingers against her fur.

Judy could tell when he felt the scars. Gideon went perfectly still, even his breathing stopped for a moment. Then he brushed his thumb over them again, and again, slowly lifting the short fur on her face and letting it fall back down. Revealing the narrow scars on her skin beneath the fur with each careful caress.

“Gideon…” Judy tried to lock her eyes on his, but he was fixated on her cheek, his eyes never moving away from the thin pale lines.

“I did this to ya” He whispered. Judy could see his jaw tightening and his eyes beginning to glace over.

“Gideon, we were nine” Judy insisted, putting her paw over his on her cheek, keeping him from brushing over her fur again. “It doesn’t matter”

“It matters ta me” He said intently, his clear blue eyes looking into hers.

Gideon had a pained look on his face that made Judy’s heart ache. Under her paw, his fingers were still carefully caressing her fur in small circles. Hesitantly, Judy began mimicking the gesture, slowly tracing circles on the back of his paw.

Gideon was slowly drowning in her eyes, every little movement on the back of his paw sending tingles up his arm. He felt himself leaning in, helplessly drawn towards her. At that moment, Gideon was as close to her as he had ever been, and it made him want her so badly it hurt.  

Judy’s heart began to pound as Gideon inched forward, slowly closing the small space between them. She knew what would happen if she closed her eyes, and she found herself longing for it, needing it just as she had needed his arms around her out in the snow. With the pain and worry from earlier gone, all that remained was the slow burning flame of newfound desire.

Resting the full weight of her head against his large paw, Judy let her eyes flutter shut.

His mouth was on hers not even a second after, the intensity of it surprising her enough to make her eyes fly open again for a moment. His lips were hot, pressing down on hers almost desperately, while his free paw came up to cup the other side of her face, holding her firmly against him.

Judy closed her eyes again with a soft sigh, feeling herself grow warm as Gideon continued to lean into her, causing her to lean back against the armrest behind her. Testily, Judy parted her lips just a fraction, feeling her heart race in anticipation.  She was not disappointed.

Gideon eagerly deepened the kiss, shifting to rest his forearm on the armrest by her head. He was completely on top of her now, resting on his knees and forearm, fervently pressing her into the cushions.

Judy instinctively bucked her hips up against the warm body of the male above her, letting go of a muffled moan when she felt a prominent bulge press back.  She was slowly beginning to burn, feeling it surge through her body and settle in her lower belly.

The soft sound of Judy’s moan brought Gideon back up from the feverish state he had fallen into, making him jolt upright. Panting, he looked down on Judy still laying on the couch; her lips looked swollen and her shirt had traveled up to expose some of the creamy white fur on her stomach.

Judy began to get up on her elbows, but before she could ask what was wrong, Gideon had gotten off the couch.

“I’m sorry. Judy I’m so sorry” Gideon backed away, his eyes wide and pleading. “I- I’ll go. I won’t come outta my room, I won’t-” he shook his head, casting his eyes down. “I’m sorry” he said one final time before hurrying out, slamming the door to the hallway behind him. Leaving a confused and more than just a little frustrated Judy alone on the couch.