#hes my dearest little boy and so r his brothers . how i adore him so

[sucrate]

kirby n romeo :]

[absolutepokemontrash]

The Brothers With an MC That’s Only Soft for Them

So, cute Headcanons are my kryptonite! Please enjoy, my fluff loving brethren!

Lucifer

We at Stupid Headcanons inc. recommend that MC does not inflate this bastard’s ego further, but if they choose to…

Lucifer, the morning star, a high ranking demon, does not need MC’s affection… that was a lie he C R A V E S it.

This pairing is actually quite complimentary, Lucifer is only soft for MC, MC is only soft for Lucifer, perfectly balanced.

MC shouldn’t expect Lucifer to be too reciprocal to their affections in public until they’re both neck deep into the relationship, but in private, hoo boy.

The “good job!”s, the hugs, the quick pecks on the cheek, all of it just made Lucifer practically melt. He adores all the affection, and it’s all for him.

Finally, someone in this house appreciates him…

“Lucifer, try not to overwork yourself, if you need anything, just ask, okay?” “Thank you, MC.” “Hey MC! I need help, pass me the remote.” “YOU CAN WALK OFF A CLIFF BELPHIE! Love you, Lucifer.”

And to be honest, some of the roasts are funny, but MC, dearest, please dial down the sass near Lord Diavolo.

Mammon

Of course MC’s favourite is the Great Mammon! Heh, who else would it be? Not that he needs this human’s affection or anything!

…screw it, please MC, give him more head pats.

Hand holding, hugs, resting his head on MC’s lap… Mammon’s really living the life.

In public Mammon is constantly trying to get MC to shower him in praise and affection in his own weird tsundere kind of way. It’s good thing MC is always willing to give their demon all the love they have.

It just makes him so happy that all of MC’s affection belongs to him, it makes his greedy little heart sing.

MC’s love and care tragically does not save him from being caught for his shenanigans, but MC, stone cold bitch that they are, will always do something bad to get strung up next to him.

“MC, what’re ya doin’ here?” “Oh you know babe, just hanging around.”

Nothing makes him smile more than when they stick up for him, to MC, he isn’t scummy trash, he’s the great Mammon! Their super amazing guardian! He does what he can to live up to MC’s image of him!

Since Mammon’s super supportive of his human, he’ll always provide reaction sound affects whenever MC delivers a verbal smack down.

Levi

MC likes him? Must be a joke. Who’d like a gross Otaku like him…?

The human exchange student apparently.

They’d listen with a look of pure adoration on their face whenever Levi would ramble about his favourite anime, they’d help him organize his figurines, they’d play video games with him…

Man… MC’s really playing the long con here on this practical joke.

When Levi isn’t drowning in self doubt, he absolutely loves how sweet and gentle MC is around him, a side only he gets to see… *swoon*

A cold mean character that’s only soft for their love interest??? That’s one of Levi’s top five favourite romantic tropes!

Levi’s often taking notes on MC’s snappy remarks so he can sass people while he streams, he’s not too good at it, so he just streams with MC present. His viewership goes up whenever exponentially whenever MC says anything.

“Someone in the chat just said I must be insanely lonely-” “There’s no way in hell you’re lonelier than that guy at night. His bed ranks number one in the top ten loneliest places ever.”

Satan

At first, Satan took more of an analytical interest in MC’s attitude, they’re either suicidally impulsive or very confident in their ability to run from danger if they think they can sass demons and get away unscathed.

Once the two connect and MC goes soft for him, it’s game over. Satan’s weakness is cute things, and nothing is cuter to him than his usually mean MC raining affection and compliments down upon him!

Satan finally has a leg up on Lucifer! The human adores him and isn’t afraid to talk back to that pretentious motherfucker-

MC sits in Satan’s lap and the two read together, they smuggle cats into the house, they lay in bed together plotting the downfall of their enemies… just normal couple things.

Sometimes MC just sits next to him and makes a particularly nasty quip at someone else, then give him a big ol kiss on the cheek.

It just makes him oh so happy…

“Honey, I brought you tea!” “Ah, thank you MC.” “I took it from Lucifer’s private stash of relaxing tea :D” “You really are my soulmate, aren’t you?”

Asmo

Gasp! MC’s so mean! Do it more!

Asmo, sassy god he is, appreciates a good snide remark or twelve, so he’s always got a front row seat to MC’s shennaniganery.

Before the pact, he was back in the peanut gallery with Satan wondering when MC’s words would come back to bite them, but after the pact, nothing’s touching the human. Their sass is completely consequence-less as long as Asmo’s around!

These two are a match made in hell, literally. Asmo and MC get to be so in sync that they manage to make each other’s insults better by working together.

“I’d give you the name of a few surgery places but I don’t think they implant brains into unlucky people like yourself.” “They might be able to implant a better personality though~.”

Asmo’s fully willing to flaunt his relationship in public. Sort of in a “look at us! MC’s only nice to me! Eat shit losers!” kind of way.

It isn’t all vanity and insults, MC always finds a way to make Asmo feel better whenever he’s feeling down. MC makes sure to tell Asmo as often as possible that they love him for more than just his looks, and it makes the Avatar of Lust swoon.

Just as long as MC never turns their razor sharp wit on Asmo, he’s their cheerleader forever.

Beel

Good choice, MC.

Despite his resting bitch face, Beel’s a big softie, everyone knows that, and as the Simpsons said, ‘the strong must protect the sweet’.

Well… MC isn’t as strong as Beel, but they will verbally eviscerate anyone who even dares insinuate anything not nice about their precious gigantic cinnamon roll!

“Listen up bitches! Not you Beel, we’re all glad you’re here.” “^_^” “Y’ALL ARE IN DEEP SHIT.”

Beel loves how affectionate MC is! Doesn’t matter if it’s in public or private, he and MC are almost always at least holding hands.

MC always has emergency snacks on them, they never get upset when Beel eats everything in the house, they just smile and hand over whatever food they have on them and help fix the problem.

Beel is probably one of the only characters who would try and get MC to branch out and be nicer to everyone and not just him. Whether this works depends on MC.

Belphie

Does he deserve this? No. Did he almost start crying when MC began to show him genuine care and affection? Yes. Does he nearly die of laughter every time MC snaps at someone? Yes.

Belphie’s not sure why MC decided that they were going to love him of all demons… but they just… understand him.

They listened patiently and offered a shoulder to cry on, even after he hurt them… their understanding, their compassion, just wow. Belphie really lucked out.

MC lets him nap, fluffs his pillows, reminds him to wash his pillow cases and comforter, gets him sushi, like geez… what a simp… *sniffle*

In return, Belphie offers cuddles. Cuddles and quality time together. For the first time in how many millennia Belphie is going to get off his ass and do something for someone if they ask.

It’s a miracle.

Belphie isn’t one for flaunting a relationship but… he may just let some people know that this super mean human likes him the most by giving his human a quick kiss.

[toukenramblings]

First Kisses: Higekiri, Hizamaru, Kogitsunemaru

FORCING MYSELF TO WRITE? YEAAAAAH LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dedicated to @10cm​, Leah, @blossom-cherry​ and my rp partner on discord. First kisses are GOOD

Warnings: nOTHING BUT CUTENESSS, I NEED THESE

Higekiri

Knowing Higekiri, even if you two are not dating, this kiss is gonna pop outta nowhere. Hige does like keeping you on your toes after all...for...better or for worse.

One of his favorite things to do is to watch you. Not in a creepy way, but whenever he’s assigned as your attendant for the day, he’s in your office and he just...enjoys looking at you. You’re a sight for sore eyes and honestly, he cannot deny these budding feelings he has for you. Besides, it’s the little things. The way your face contorts cutely (at least in his eyes) whenever you work on something difficult, how your fingers move, so on and so forth!

And then he...just....kisses you. Like he makes you look at him first but bam. He notices how stressed you look and he doesn’t want that on you! Kiss happens. It’s a quick peck on the lips and when he parts, a smirk dances upon his lips.

“There, now that’s the master that I know and love.”

SANIWA.EXE HAS BROKE. PLS CALL CUSTOMER SUPPORT. ARE THEY GONE? BUSY? YOU’RE ON HOLD FOR AN INDEFINITE TIME, S I R

When you finally come back from heaven (or hell, idk where we’re going) you are met with the most sly of smirks from the blonde man. “Did you like it~?”

Asshole. How fucking dare he. You weren’t ready! Neither was your heart! Your poor heart!

“Your lips are soft, master.” chuckles out the blonde, a dangerous sort of glint in his eyes.

So then you pull him into a kiss, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and giving him a TASTE OF HIS OWN DAMN MEDICINE

When you two part, the kiss passionate and tongues toying with one another, there is a stripe of saliva connecting you two. His pale cheeks flushed, breathing heavy, eyes blown. “Mmm, do you truly want more? You might regret it~”

Hizamaru

This kiss won’t happen until you two are dating. Especially not in public either. Lord help him if Higekiri or anyone else sees. His poor heart, dead, it gave out. Bye bye.

Hizamaru may act all prim and proper than his brother, but perhaps a little bit is rubbing off on him? Oh no. He has thought about it many times, maybe tried to plan it? If he could....at least.

He won’t lie and say that he hasn’t thought about kissing you many times on this first date, his hand holding yours and walking through the streets. It’s almost a little too crowded for his tastes, he wanted to find a place where you two could just...exist.

So when you two stop by a park, on a bench, feeding birds with seed or something, Hizamaru would always be found staring over at your lips.

How would they feel against his? Would they feel nice? how thE FUCK DO PEOPLE KISS? DO THEY JUST ASK? ASKING IS GOOD RIGHT????

Panic mode engaged, he don’t notice that you noticed the fact that he was staring at your lips with this red as fuck face. How cuteeee.

When you call him out on it, it’s only then does he break out of his thoughts, his stutters and face oh so red. He begins to make excuses, apologizing over and over again for thinking such...indecent thoughts. Not as indecent as like naughty or anything but whoooo boi, his heart cannot handle this.

“M-May I kiss you?” he blurts out after seventy apologies in a row. He stares down at his hands, avoiding your eyes. “I-I-If it’s okay.”

You nod, and you two meet halfway for this kiss.

It’s awkward, teeth clacking against each other, and no one is sure where to put their hands, but when you part HIzamaru’s blush does not fuCKING LEAVE. It’s sweet and soft and satisfying to see him like that. Hizamaru gulps down his nerves, unsure of how to proceed. But he loves that feeling, that intimate sensation of being connected. So when he turns back to you, he whispers, “May...may we kiss again?” and he’s determined to do better!

Kogitsunemaru

Like Higekiri, it is most likely that his kiss will come out of nowhere. But, it will be after you two have officially started dating...most likely. There is a chance he may randomly kiss you outside of a relationship but he had his morals. He won’t do that in public, and certainly not around Mikazuki. Hell no.

This kiss happens sweet and soft, during a lax day with warm weather. He asks you to brush his hair again, holding the comb you gifted him some time ago. “Dearest master, will you comb me again?” he questions to you, and of course you do!

His head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, letting the teeth of the comb gently graze his scalp, not at all harmful but welcome; an itch needed to be scratched. You swear, he’s always content but he looks even more at peace now.

Maybe it’s because you two are dating? You two are able to show your love out in the open like this? Where everyone knows that you are his and his alone? Ah, he could spend forever like this!

But honestly, you two are comfortable like this. And your eyes cannot help but wander down to his lips, his curled into a such a sweet and relaxed smile, his eyes closed shut. Maybe he’s falling asleep???

So then you just kiss him. You just fucking bend down, a kiss to his cheek, you think he’s asleep. He won’t notice!

And then he turns his head and your lips connect.

KOGITSUNEMARU: 1. SANIWA: 0

“Ah, did you want to kiss me?” Kotsitunemaru knows that you wanted to kiss him, he may have his eyes closed, but he’s a smart man. He pulls you back down for a proper one.

It’s gentle, yet hungry. Perhaps lustful? Maybe in a sexual way, maybe more so in an intimate way. Kogitsunemaru adores existing in the same space with you, and when you two part, he smirks, having held your head to keep you there. “You do know what you are getting yourself into, right, dearest?

[dameferre]

can we see a snippet from the "penpals!" courferre one :0

of course! i will warn you this will. most likely never see the light of day BUT it’s based off of ‘the year of secret assignments’ by jaclyn moriarty, a... kind of ridiculous book i bought at a charity shop at like. age 10? or something

basically these three sets of teenagers are assigned pen pals at a neighboring school, and hijinks ensue, with one set of penpals giving each other secret assignments (hence the title), the other set of penpals being a girl who writes to a guy who uses a fake name (that plotline ends horribly, it would not have done so in my fic lmao)

one finally one set of penpals (a boy and a girl) decide to start having practice dates, so the guy can hone his skills and ask out a girl he likes, and the girl can critique his form, and... i mean i think we all know how this goes.

anyway, it’s half in letter format, half actual writing the story. here’s a snip! (under the cut because i. couldn’t help myself)

Official Assessment of the Second Meeting By Chance executed by The Lord of Flowers, Combeferre, henceforth referred to as the Subject, as reviewed by Courfeyrac the Ravishing, henceforth referred to as The Operative.

NOTES

When the Operative (and Guest) approached, the Subject smiled very nicely. It was a sort of surprised, warm smile that lit up his face. Did the Subject practice his ‘oh I was hoping to see you and I’m so glad I have’ smile in the mirror?

The Subject did a very good job of consoling the Guest, and as it turns out, the Subject’s height is not as offensive as previously thought, as he holds an umbrella perfectly.

The Subject was much more relaxed this time, and funny, and his hair fluffed a little in the humidity which was adorable. He had a great way of explaining things to the Operative without being patronising, and teased admirably. The Operative spent a good 80% of the walk laughing, but upon writing report can’t remember a specific instance of hilarity. The Subject should have more memorable jokes next time.

Overall, great work Combeferre. You’ll have Feuilly falling over himself to get to you in no time.

Yours,

Courfeyrac the Ravishing

--

Courfeyrac,

You seem to be losing your touch; that last review lacked the mildly insulting bluntness I’ve grown so accustomed to. Does this mean we’re becoming friends?

Anyway, I’m now, as you would say, ‘balls-deep in tech week’ and halfway through my descent into the deepest pit of hell. The entire production is an original script written by a friend of mine, named Jehan Prouvaire, who decided to rewrite the final scene this weekend. They’re my friend, have been for years, but even I wanted to murder them slowly. The cast is hard at work trying to learn the scene, while I had to stay late last night redoing all the cues.

The worst part of it is, the new ending is fucking fantastic, so we can’t even stay mad at them.

It’s exhausting. Literally exhausting; I got three hours of sleep last night.

Anyway, I’m writing this as a way of avoiding calculus homework. Not that I wouldn’t write to you if I didn’t have calculus homework, but it is harder to just ramble on about my life now that we’ve met in person. I don’t think I ever would have told you about Feuilly if we had met before we started writing. There was something in the anonymity that made it easier, like writing into a diary. I hope you don’t take this as an insult- what I mean to say is that now that I know you, I want you to like me. And by extension, I want you to know a lot less about exactly how lame I am.

Anyway, I wanted to say I won’t be able to make a meeting by chance this week, though I know telling you that ruins some of the fun. If I’m around next week, which is really looking less and less likely every time an actor misplaces a prop or mic pack and I am forced, once again, to weigh the pros and cons of murder, I’d be happy to accidentally run into you on my way home from school.

Side note- Avi(my brother) comes home next week, which lines up nicely with Mom’s birthday and means he’ll be able to see the show. It’ll be nice to have him back. I think you’d like him; he’s the attractive one in the family, and the extrovert. He’s also a mechanical engineer who medal-ed in track when he was my age. Basically, he got all the good genes, but he’s too nice to admit it.

Anyway, calculus beckons.

See you on the other side, Combeferre

p.s. Only you would practice a smile. Mine was genuine, I swear.

--

My Dearest Combeferre,

FIRST DAY OF PRACTICE STARTS TOMORROW HELL YEAH

I mean, yes, technically the other guys on my team have been practicing for two weeks but I have sadly been out of commission. BUT NOT ANYMORE BABY THE BITCH IS BACK

This will help distract me from the pain and yearning as I wait a whole week to see you again. I’ll be wistfully wandering the moors before Saturday, mark my words.

I’m also fascinated by the idea of a brother who’s you, but more attractive. Does it hurt to look at him directly? Do strangers fall in love on the spot? Is he officially considered a menace to society because he’s caused traffic accidents and ruined weddings by walking past at the wrong moment?

Someone should put a stop to him before things get out of control! No man should wield such power.

The idea that you, of gorgeous cheekbones, perfect hair, jawline, and eyes and face in general, notorious multi-tasker, valedictorian and walking encyclopedia, not to mention polyglot, could think someone else got the good genes means either you are humble to the point of actively lying to yourself or your brother is a minor deity.

Courfeyrac, I can hear you saying, flattery really isn’t necessary.

But it is! Enjolras, who I’ve mentioned before and is my best friend in the whole world, is gorgeous to the point of being inconvenient to look at. I’m a notorious flirt, I know this, and I’m good at it, but we’re not even in the same league when it comes to making people question their sexualities. He walks into a room and you can see half the people inside mentally decide they’re bi-curious. He’s also a raving lunatic and antagonistic asshole, which he openly accepts and takes pride in, but try to tell him he’s attractive and he looks at you like you’ve just suggested he’s got wings or a tail. So what I’m trying to say, I think, is that I’m used to people not realising how good looking they are. And bludgeoning them with compliments is my way of dealing with this.

Anyway. Getting sidetracked.

I’m flattered you use me as a method of procrastination! I’m gonna make myself a button that says ‘more interesting than calculus’ and wear it with pride. Also, is writing to pen pals not mandatory at the Academy? We’re given a half hour block during the study period. When we first started, Enjolras said the whole thing was “infantile and outdated and a waste of time”, but at this very moment he is on page six (6) of his latest aggressive correspondence to his mystery R, even though I saw what R sent him last time and it was, I shit you not, an envelope that was empty except for a tiny (approx. 3 centimeters long) rubber chicken. For context, the one before was a thorough analysis of wage inequality written entirely in pig latin.

I hope one day I meet this person, even if immediately afterwards they steal my kidney or turn me into a newt or whatever minor trickster gods do these days to pass the time when they’re not torturing my best friend.

Anyway, gotta go, stay sane, don’t kill anyone unless you really have to, and if so lemme know and I’ll help you get rid of the body. I know a guy.

Courfeyrac

p.s. I already like you, idiot.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 90

Warnings: none 

Tagging @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @tragiclyhip​, @alievans007​

“I have a serious bone to pick with you,” Riley scolds, thousands of miles away in her dorm room at Colorado State. Clad in a black and green plaid hunting jacket that’s miles too big on her petite frame, vibrant red hair tucked up into a ‘trucker style’ ball cap. “Why did I have to find out about this from Douchey McDouche Face?”

Despite there being a near fourteen year age difference between them and no blood ties whatsoever, their relationship has always been strong; even with the familial drama and the miles that have continuously kept them separated. Esme can vividly remember meeting her for the first time; a then three year old gazing up at her -all of seventeen- with pure adoration and idolization. That cute little ginger with her massive green eyes and her already fiery personality; drawn to Esme and her then tomboyish style and her penchant -despite her own small stature- for full contact sports.  She can even recall how good it had felt; having someone that DID look at her that way.

For years she'd been practically invisible; the last child between her mother and father, treated as if there’d been simply no love left to bestow on her after piling it on five boys. Her father had been her only source of real affection; the only person who’d ever showed pride in her achievements and never dragged her down for her choices or belittled her passions and interests. When he died, everything went to shit. While her mother’s   toxicity increased and she kicked the emotional abuse up several notches, her brothers had all tried -in their obnoxious and overbearing ways- to step up and take their father’s place in her life. They’d all failed, causing her to become uncharacteristically sullen and withdrawn; prone to cutting when the depressions and feelings of inadequacy hit especially hard and her mother no longer hide her rapidly growing hatred for her only daughter. Life had been pretty dark; many moments where she thought the world would be a better place without her in it and she’d actually been in possession of handfuls of pills and had the desire -and the chance- to end the suffering.

Then ‘The Sarge’ had come along. Filling that fatherly role without expecting or demanding it; letting her call the shots and make the moves when it came to accepting him into her life. And he’d ‘shown up’ in ways her mother and brothers never bothered; quietly and lovingly, showing interest in her life and valuing her opinions and thoughts and getting involved in the things she enjoyed. She was no longer the only one on the wrestling squad or the lacrosse team or at swim meets without someone there to support her. Sarge would always be there; sitting in the front row, enthusiastically cheering her on and nudging other parents with his elbow while proudly declaring “that’s MY girl!”.

And just when she thought things couldn’t possibly get better, they did.  Sarge was granted full custody of his only child; her mother choosing her career over that adorable redhead. Despite their age difference, she and Riley had become inseparable. Happily and willingly taking the little girl to the movies or the mall; listening to preschool gossip while out for dinner at McDonalds, letting the little girl climb into bed with her during thunderstorms or after a bad dream. Over the years they’d both been branded as  the ‘black sheep’; ostracized  for their ‘lifestyle choices’ and how ‘wayward and lost’ they’d managed to become.

Nothing brings two people together like shared alienation and pure hatred and spite for their ‘enemies’.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Esme attempts to reason, as she conducts the video chat in one of the ICU’s private family meeting rooms.  “I know finals are coming up. And you’ve been busy with placement. I didn’t want to add THIS to your plate.”

She’d left Tyler in extremely compassionate hands: a quiet and gentle Andy, who’d been standing over his sleeping friend and in the midst of a traditional Aboriginal blessing and prayer for healing.  She’d had to leave;  the purity and the beauty of both Andy’s heart and the moment too profound for her already fragile emotions to handle.  Instead she spends the time with both her sister and Addie; the infant cuddled close to her chest, a receiving blanket emblazoned with images of Baby Dumbo covering her as she nurses.  She had terribly missed even the simplicity and familiarity of such a common occurrence; the light weight of her daughter’s tiny body against hers, those tiny hands that gently  knead at her breast or grab at her necklace and reach for her hair.

“THIS is my brother in law,”  Riley says. “You know how much I love the guy. How much he’s the cat’s ass and I totally approve of how he treats you like a queen.”

“You’re one of the few people in my life who do. Love him.”

“Well NOT everyone can have exceptional taste.   They’re just bitter and jealous. You got out of that shit hole and away from their crap.   They’re all still stuck in and thriving on it; too chicken shit to ever think on their own, in fear of pissing off Mommy Dearest. Tyler’s the best thing that came along to that family in...well...forever.  They’re just pissed they can’t control him; that he gives zero fucks about any of them and doesn't shy away from letting them know.”

“Mommy Dearest still insists he’s the WORST thing to ever happen. That I’ve somehow been forced into this life and he’s somehow brainwashed me and has some strong and powerful hold over me that keeps me around.”

Riley gives a derisive snort.

“I mean even in her condition, she still managed to send me an email asking me when I was going to get my shit together and realize ‘that man’ is nothing but poison and bad news.  She didn’t even remember the twins’ birthdays or Millie’s. Or she did and just didn’t give a shit. She’s always treated those kids differently from the rest. All because she has this stupid, imaginary axe to grind against Tyler.”

“Fuck her,” Riley snarls. “You’re way too good for her. For that whole damn family. You always have been. And he is DEFINITELY way too good for them. Probably why none of your brothers like him; he makes them feel inferior and most definitely puts their masculinity into doubt. They’re probably pissed off their wives think of him when they’re flicking the bean.”

Esme frowns. “Riley!”

“Please tell me you’re still not bringing your bullshit; the whole insecurity crap. Who cares if other women lust after your husband? Or if they get themselves off thinking about him? Who is the one HE is getting off in person?  Who gets to have THAT going down on her whenever she damn well wants? Cut your shit; he only has eyes for you.”

“It’s not him I don’t trust.”

“He knows how to say no. I’m sure he has, many times.  No one else exists in his eyes. There’s not one woman in this world that would make that man unfaithful. So stop. Let other women...and probably more than a handful of men...fantasize about him. You get the real thing. I mean, he is so hot, he almost turned ME straight. Almost.”

Esme laughs at that.

“And that last picture you sent? The family one you guys did before Christmas? Whoa! Dude is looking thick and buff as fuck! What are you feeding him?”

“His favourite meal. Remember what he told you THAT was?”

“I sure as shit do! It’s the same as mine. Atta boy. The man from down under likes to spend a lot of time down under. That’s the spirit! And speaking of my favorite Aussie, what the fuck Tyler? What kind of god awful shitty mess did you get yourself caught up in?”

“Godawful shitty mess does not even begin to accurately describe what happened, believe me.”

“I called your place because I wanted to come down and visit for a couple of weeks next month. Finally see Australia! Bring the new girl for you all the meet. Cuddle my nieces and nephews and spoil the shit out of them with presents and candy.  And what do I find out? What does Fire Chief Dick for Brains tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Ry. I should have called you. I just didn’t want to burden you. I know you have a lot going on with school and placement and your social life and…”

“Fuck all of that. None of that matters. You’re my sister. That’s my brother in law. The father of my nieces and nephews. You’re my family.  All that matters to me is you guys.”

“Please don’t take it personally. It’s just a huge mess and my brain is not functioning at a hundred percent right now. All I’ve been concentrating on is him.  He’s my number one priority right now; helping him heal and getting him out of here and sent to a hospital back home. I didn’t purposefully leave you out.”

“Do you need me to come? Just say the word MeMe. I’ll get on the next flight.”

Esme smiles at the nickname; a little something a then four year old Riley had come up with because she couldn’t properly pronounce her new step sister’s name.  “I missed that,” she says. “Hearing you call me that.”

“You’ll always be MeMe to me. Do you need me there? Do you WANT me there? Because I will put everything aside and get to you. You know I will.”

“As much I’d love to see you and have you here, I don’t want you to do that. I want you to concentrate on school and your placement and your new love.  And Tyler would want all that, too. He would not expect you to drop everything for him. He’d give you shit for it, you know he would.”

“He is such a stubborn fuck, I swear. Love the guy, but he does my head in. And this isn’t about expecting it from me; it’s about me wanting to be there for you. I want to be there for you. Let me be there for you.”

“Ry, I love you and appreciate you so much. And I miss you. Terribly. But this isn’t the place for you. You need to stay where you are and concentrate on school and just get on with things.”

“How am I supposed to do that when Tyler is messed up like his? How am I supposed to concentrate on things when you’re going through this?”

“Because that’s what we BOTH want you to do. There is no reason for you to put your life on hold to come here. Everything is so up in the air right now.  There’s no timetable for his recovery; we have no idea how long it’s going to be until he can be sent home. And even then he’s going to be admitted to a hospital there.  It’ll be awhile until he’s home, home.”

“This is just such bullshit,” Riley sighs heavily. “I am so sorry. MeMe. That you’re going through this. I know how much you love him. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like; seeing him so torn up. It was bad, wasn’t it. What was done to him?”

“It was pretty damn bad.  He was in really rough shape when he was brought in.”

“How rough?”

“The roughest. Worse than seven years ago. Way worse. He told me that he didn’t want to die, but he was expecting it.”

“Jesus…” Riley breathes. “...for a guy like Tyler to come right out and admit that…”

“It was horrible; seeing him like that. I will never forget that as long as I live. I thought what I saw on the bridge...had to do on the bridge...was awful. But seeing him? After the surgeries and all the wounds so new and fresh?  I can’t even begin to describe it. How it made me feel.”

“I am so sorry,  I am so goddamn sorry.”

“I mean, that’s the love of my life. The father of my kids. The strongest person I’ve ever known. And to see him like that…like this…”  she takes a deep, shaky breath and releases it slowly.  “...it hurts. So much. That’s my whole heart, Riley. HE’S my whole heart.”

“I’m going to come there. To Dhaka. I don’t want you going through this alone. I don’t…”

“I’m fine,” Esme assures her. “I really am. I’m not alone either; a lot of friends are here to help out and watch over me. And now I’ve got this little muffin…” she lifts the edge of the blanket and glances down at Addie; those huge brown eyes staring up at her, then crinkling when the infant smiles.   “...it’s better now that she’s here. Or at least that one of them is here.”

“Do you want me to go to Australia? I can stay at your place, help with the kids. As much as I hate Fire Chief Dick for Brains, I’ll put up with him. Just for you.”

“The kids are fine, I promise. I just miss them. A lot. Once he’s transferred home, it’ll be a whole new ballgame.”

“Any remote idea on what that’s going to be?”

“Two weeks. Three at the most.”

“Shit…”  Riley shakes her head. “...oh Tyler, what the hell bruh…”

“It could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse. There could have been five kids with no daddy.”

“I don’t even want to think about that. How is he now? How is he doing?”

“He’s being weaned off of sedation. He has wakeful moments; periods where he’s pretty lucid.  His memory is shit; he asks the same questions at least six times an hour. That’s just the meds though. They said once the sedation is totally out of him, his brain will go back to normal.”

“Whatever normal is for Tyler,” Riley chides.  

“He’s able to stay up for quite a while. He can carry on a conversation, but he gets confused really easily. And then he gets frustrated and embarrassed and he starts shutting down.  And his emotions are all over the place; joking and somewhat happy one minute,  a weepy mess the next.”

“How’s the PTSD been?”

“Now that he’s more coherent? It’s been a mess. When he wakes up he’s very disoriented and if he’s alone or there’s people in the room he doesn’t know…”

“Freaks out?”

“He loses it. His fight or flight kicks in. And you know Tyler…”

“Always picks fight.”

Esme nods.  “And he doesn’t know what he’s doing or saying when he’s like that and he’s freaking out because he thinks I’m dead and no one can convince him otherwise. A PSW came in; while I was out. Woke him. To wash his hair and trim his beard.”

“Oh no…”

“He fucking lost it, Ry.  Which I knew would happen and is why I told them NOT to send someone in.  He just went off. It took four people to hold him down, and that was AFTER they gave him sedation. You would have thought nothing was wrong with him; that’s how hard he fought.  This is a man who can’t even walk right now. And he still scared the shit out of the PSW. Threatened to break his neck with his bare hands and told him how he’s done it before. Many times. Then told him he’d rip his head off and shove it up his ass.”

“So what’s the difference in him after all this? That sounds like Tyler on a good day.”

Esme can’t help but laugh.  “I think he made the PSW piss his pants.”

“Serves him right if he can’t follow instructions. Is it in his chart? That no one is supposed to come in?”

Esme nods.

“Well fuck him then.  Read the patient’s chart. It’s not that hard. Is it wrong that I’d give my right arm to see him rip someone’s head off and shove it up their ass? I bet he could do it too. I bet he’s done shit that defies logic.”

“Well he did once kill two people with a garden rake.”

“How fitting. A Rake, using a rake.  Perfection.  What’s his injuries like? Kyle says they’re pretty gnarly.”

“Why do you sound so pleased at the thought?”

“I’m in nursing school. This shit excites me. I can’t help it.”

“Gunshot wound to the back, lots of stitches, a torn MCL and ACL, open fracture of the right femur…”

“Do you have pictures of it?”

“Of what?”

“His femur.”

“Hell no, I don’t. Why would I want pictures of that?”

“Because that would be fucking amazing to see. Was it a true open fracture? Bone protruding and everything?”

“I guess. His friend said the bone was showing.”

“That is wild. I would have loved pictures; before AND after.”

Esme grimaces. “You’re disturbed.”

“Did they give him an ilizarov?”

“They said it would be on for a least three months. He is NOT happy.”

“Can you take pictures of that? And the gunshot wound?”

“Riley…”

“For scientific reasons, I swear. I just want to see them. I could even show my one prof and Tyler could be a case study.”

“I’d rather my husband NOT be one, thank you. He’s not your show and tell project.”

“Just go and take a couple pictures. Please? Pretty please? With  whipped cream and sprinkles and a cherry on top?”

“He’s sleeping. I am not going in there and waking him up because you're a freak.”

“Best time to do it; when he’s sleeping.”

“I would never do that to him. There’s this thing called consent. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it…”

“When he wakes up, ask him if you can take pictures. If you tell them they’re for Red, he’ll be good with it. I know he will. He loves me.”

“He does, actually.”

“I can’t wait to see you guys. I’ll come down; once he’s in a hospital there. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

“I talked to Mildred by the way…”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Millie is NOT short for Mildred.”

“Actually, it is.”

“Her name is not Mildred, though.”

“She LOVES when I call her that. Loves it.  Anyway, how grown up is she sounding all of a sudden? It’s like she’s six going on sixteen! What is up with that kid?”

“She’s her father. What more do I have to say?”

“She even sounds like him! The way she says certain words and little sayings she has. I couldn’t believe it; it was like talking to a mini, girl version of him.  Freaky!  She’s pretty pissed, huh? At you?”

Esme sighs. “Unfortunately.”

“I told her to smarten up. That she’s got a great mom and she needs to appreciate it AND you. I told her to get her shit together and respect you. That if her dad finds out what she’s up to, it won’t be pretty. I said that he’ll stick up for her mom no matter WHO is disrespecting her. I think that scared her.”

“There’s nothing she hates more than the thought of her daddy being mad at her. That’s her WORST fear, I swear.”

“Well she needs to cut the attitude. I don’t tolerate that shit. I don’t think I’m the favorite Aunt anymore, by the way.”

“You’re her only Aunt.”

“I guess I’m excommunicated then.  And speaking of being an aunt, let me see my little poop face.”

Esme removes the blanket covering Addie, then holds her onto the arms and places her in line with the camera.

“Oh my God…” Riley gives an excited squeal.  “...look at Auntie Ry Ry’s little poop face! You’re getting so big!”

“You’re kidding, right?” Esme laughs. “She just got into the newborn clothes. She’ll be four months.”

“She’s still grown a lot since the last time I saw her. Look at you, Addie! Look how beautiful you are. Look at how much you look like your mommy! You’re the lucky one, huh? Getting your momma’s looks? She’s smiling, MeMe. That smile is everything! She has Tyler’s smile.”

“It’s the one thing they all inherited. And she also got his appetite. I really need to get back to feeding her and I know it’s not the most pleasant thing to see while trying to have a conversation.”

“I don’t know, MeMe. I’ve had to look at worse things. You’ve got really nice boobs, actually. Tell him I said he’s lucky.”

“You’re too much. But I miss you. I can’t wait to see you.”

“As soon as you guys get home, I’ll be on my way,” Riley promises. “And if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me. Right away, hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Chin up, okay? He’s got this. He’s a tough shit. He’ll be alright.”

“I know he will,” Esme says confidently, then blows her step sister a kiss in farewell before killing the video feed.

****

She pokes her head into the room when she returns, smiling when she finds him awake and sitting up in bed; the angle of the mattress slowly increasing with each hour, giving his back used to being in different positions and not allowing the muscles to settle and stiffen.

“Hey,” she greets. “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m texting you. Just taking me forever; hands won’t stop shaking.”

“I’m here, you might as well just tell me what you want to say.”

“I’m gonna send it anyway…” a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “...I’m almost done. Be patient.”

“That’s more your thing; being patient.”

“You’ve been plenty patient the last couple of days. There...all done...sent.”

Her phone vibrates within the pocket of her hoodie, and she pulls it out to check the message; smiling at the simple -yet honest and heartfelt- words. “You’re cute,” she gushes. “I’m going to send you one back.”     She steps out into the hall; composing her own text. Just a short and sweet: I love you too.   Accompanied by a selfie of her puckering her lips for a kiss. “Well…” she pokes her head back into the room.  “...did you get it?”

“Yep.”  A broad smile spreads across his face. “Want me to send something back? A dick pic?”

“Not when there’s a tube in it, I don’t. I do have a separate file for them though; where I put all the dick pics you send me when you’re away from home.”

“You’re dirty.”

“You’re the one who sends them! Where’s Andy?”

“He went downstairs to get something to eat. I told him I’d be fine by myself.”

“Pretty awesome, huh? That he can all this way to see you?”

“Yeah, it is.  He’s a good guy; I’m glad I sucked it up and talked to him that day at the school. Why are you poking your head in like that? Why don’t you just come in?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

“Are you naked?”

“You wish.”

“Is it a blowjob?”

Esme frowns. “What is wrong with you?”

“A lot. I probably couldn’t get it up anyway. Not with a tube sticking out of it and all the meds I’m on. What’s the surprise? Want me to close my eyes? Will it make it better?”

“This is going to be an awesome surprise no matter what. But go ahead.”

“You ARE naked, aren’t you. Baby, as much I appreciate your willingness and your effort to make me feel better at all costs, that part of me is not gonna work right now.”

“I am definitely NOT naked. It’s going to be a while before you get to see me with no clothes on. You are nowhere close to being ready for that.”

“You’re underestimating me.”

“That’s one thing I never do, trust me. You want the surprise or not? I promise you, this is an amazing one.”

“Even better than when the kids make me breakfast in bed and cupcakes for my birthday?”

“Even better,” she says, and then waits for him to close his eyes; carrying Addie into the room. “Don’t open them until I tell you to.  I brought you a little visitor.”

“One of those hospital therapy dogs? Like a corgi or some shit?”

“Way better and way cuter.”

“I don’t know, wife. Those are pretty damn cute.”

“Trust me, this is much better and will cheer you up a hundred times more than any dog ever could.”  She stands on the right side of the bed; easier to transfer Addie onto his good arm.  And she removes the receiving blanket draped over her daughter as she leans over the railing; a smile already curving the baby’s lips and her tiny hands reaching for her father.  “No sudden movements, alright? You don’t want to accidentally hurt the surprise. Open your eyes.”

He does as he’s told. A brief moment of confusion etched on his face as he looks down at the baby in his wife’s arms, then up at her. “Are you serious?”

“Andy brought her.  She’s been missing you just as much as you’ve been missing her. Look at her; she’s already smiling at you. She’s so happy to see you. There’s no one she loves the way she loves her daddy.  Wait until you see her little outfit.”

“I thought she wasn’t coming until tomorrow. That Ovi was bringing her.”  His eyes narrow. “How long was I asleep??”

“There was a change of plans; a little something Andy and Ovi came up with together. Here…”  she gently lays Addie along his left forearm; settling the baby’s head in the crook of his elbow. “...look at her little shirt? Isn’t it perfect? Daddy’s little peanut. Andy made it for her.”

“It is perfect. SHE’S perfect.”

“Look at her looking at you...look at that smile..all she sees is her daddy. Not what happened to him. Feels good, right? To have her here? To have her in your arms like this?”

“Yeah…” emotion chokes at him, and he leans down to press a kiss to Addie’s forehead, lightly chuckling when those tiny hands grab at his hair and his nose. “...feels amazing, actually.”

Esme leans into him, draping an arm across his shoulders. “I’m pretty sure she feels the same way. She definitely missed you.”

“I missed her,” he says, and kisses the tip of Addie’s nose. “Daddy missed you so much, baby girl. So much.”   The tears come now; a mixture of relief and happiness combined with the anger and frustration at being laid up and unable to perform even the simplest tasks for himself.

“Hey…” Esme places a kiss to his temple and rubs and squeezes his shoulder. “...it’s okay.  All uphill from here, remember? You’re doing amazing; don’t doubt that. Please don’t doubt that.”

“I didn’t think I’d get this chance again; to see her, hold her. I was pretty damn sure I wouldn’t.”

“Well you’re a tough cookie, Tyler Rake. If there’s anyone on this earth that can survive THAT and do this well, it’s you. I know how much you love proving people wrong. And you’re doing that. I also know how much you want to get out of Dhaka. I know that’s your main driving force for trying as hard as you are.”

“I just want to go home.  Even if it is to a hospital there. I just want to be home.”

“Soon,” she promises. “And if you keep doing as well as you are, it will be even sooner than any of us thought. I don’t want you to hurt yourself though, okay? I know sometimes you try to do to much, too soon. And I don’t want you doing that. I don’t want you busting your ass to the point it sets you back.  I know you don’t want that either.”

“I just want to feel my legs. It’s driving me crazy that I can’t. It freaks me out. I wake up and I forget it’s only temporary and I fucking lose it. You know that’s one of the worst things possible in my eyes; not being able to do things, not being able to have the life I had.”

“There’s no reason to worry about that. In a couple days, you’ll get the feeling back. This too shall pass.  It won’t be a while until you’re back to being the old you, but you WILL get there. I promise.  And you can’t tell me this won’t help. Having Addie here. That it won’t lift your spirits a bit.”

“She already has. She’s lifted them a lot, actually. I didn’t think I’d ever get to do this again. See you, see her.”

“Well, you DID get to do it. We’re here. We’re BOTH here.”  She moves her hand to the nape of his neck, massaging gently.  “Are you okay with her? She seems pretty happy where she is; I don’t think she’s going to want you to put her down anytime soon.”

“I’m good.  I’m not giving her up.  They’d have to pry her out of my cold, dead hands. She’s getting bigger, huh?”

“I thought the same thing when I first saw her. Feels like we’ve been away from her for a lot longer than we have. She’s still super tiny though.”

“She is. Just a wee little thing. Like her momma,” he presses another kiss to Addie’s brow. “Beautiful like your momma too.”

“In case you haven’t noticed by now, daddy is extremely  biased when it comes to mommy,” Esme addresses the infant.  “He always has been.”

“It’s not being biased when it’s the truth. It still feels weird; how light she is. Even Tanner with all his issues was never this small. She’s definitely all you. Now I’ll have two people small enough to pick up and put in my pocket.”

She combs her fingers through his hair and pecks his cheek. “You sure have your cute moments.”

“You seem to bring that side of me out.”

“Well it’s a very nice side.  But I like all your sides, so…”

Smiling, he tips his head up towards her, and she leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

“I know you didn’t agree with it,” she says, when he turns his attention back to Addie. “Her coming here.”

She notices the wince that briefly takes hold of his face; the simple action of using his right hand to tug the baby’s socks back up causing pain in the injured shoulder.

“I was just worried. About her being here if things went to shit again. I know we think they’re all gone; Asif’s people.  But I didn’t want to take that chance. Especially with her.”

“There hasn’t been any movement. Not even a whisper of trouble.  And you know Anil; he’s got all kinds of ears to the ground. I think it’s really over this time. I think we’re finally going to be able to put this place behind us. It’s time; to leave Dhaka behind.”

“I definitely don’t plan on coming back for a visit, that’s for sure. So if you have Dhaka on that ‘places like you’d like to vacation’ list, you can go ahead and erase it right now.”

“I have had enough of Dhaka to last me a lifetime, believe me. You know, you have this real habit of choosing extremely dramatic and painful ways to get out of taking me anywhere.”

Tyler grins. “Neither of the times I bailed on you were intentional, I swear.”

“I think we should stop planning ahead when it comes to going away. It’s like we jinx it somehow; talking about it too soon.  How about next time, we just decide on the spur of the moment to go somewhere? That way we shock the universe with our spontaneity and it doesn’t have time to recover until we’re BACK from our trip.”

“Sounds good to me. And we’re going to need one; a trip. When all this is over. I know it’s going to be a while, but we are definitely going to need a vacation.”

“Well tell your pocketbook to expect Bora Bora or The Maldives. I’m getting my suite on the water.”

“I will get you whatever you want, baby. Whatever your little heart desires.  You just tell me what it is and I’ll do it. I’ll get it for you.”

“You healthy and back on your feet.  That’s all I want.”

“I’m working on it.”

“I know you are,” she kisses his temple. “And you’re doing amazing. I’m so proud of you, Tyler. So fucking proud of you.”

“You’re going to make me cry. Again.”

“I can’t help that you’re so beautiful when you cry. And it would be happy tears, right?”

“Very happy tears.” He lays his palm on Addie’s stomach, all of her fingers wrapping around one of his. “She’s tiny, but she’s strong. Has a hell of a grip.”

“She’s like her daddy. Tough as nails.”

“I don’t know,” he smiles up at her. “I think her momma has me beat in the toughness department.”

“I think…” she places a kiss to his brow, then the bridge of his nose. “...you totally underestimate yourself. He does, doesn’t he, Addie? Underestimate himself. Tell daddy he’s tough as hell and the strongest, bravest person you know. Tell him how the sun shines out of his ass and he poops glitter and pisses rainbows. That’s how you look at him, might as well tell him too. Because his ego isn’t quite big enough, yet.”

He smirks. “My ego took a hell of a beating.”

“Well tell your ego to shut the fuck up,” she affectionately tousles his hair. “There was nothing you could have done, Tyler. You didn’t know this going to happen; that things were going to go this bad. There was nothing to suggest that he who shall not be mentioned was capable of something like that.”

“We both knew he was sketchy as fuck.”

“Being sketchy and being psychotic are two totally different things. You did everything right; you got Neysa and Aarev out, you went back to get him out.  There’s no way you could have known what he was going to do.”

“Should have listened to Koen and left his ass there.”

“Koen said that?”

He nods.

“You remember that? Him saying that?”

“I can remember things that happened BEFORE it all went down.  Things that I said, that other people said. I can remember getting Neysa and Aarev out and going back in to get N...him.  But after that, it’s pretty muddled.”

“But you do remember things?”

“I THINK  I’m remembering them. I THINK  it’s things that happened. I’m not sure though; if they’re real or my brain is just making shit up. I DO remember...vividly...him shooting me in the back. Everything else? I don’t know what’s real and what I’m imagining. And honestly, babe? I don’t think I want to remember.”

“But you might. And that could get pretty scary for you; things coming back to you.”

“I know.”

“Once we’re home, we’ll get you some help okay? Some therapy. For the mental stuff.”

“Alright.”

“I know you hate that side; seeing therapists and talking to strangers and having to take meds. But you know what I hate? Seeing your brain torturing you like it does. I hate that you have to go to war every damn day with your own mind. I just want you to be okay.  You know that, right?”

“I do know that. I’ve never doubted that. Not once in the last seven years.”

“Even the toughest need help, sometimes. And I’ll get you that help. I promise. I’ve got you. Always.  You’re my ride or die, remember?”

“Yeah…” he chuckles. “...you’re mine too.”

“You’re going to be okay,” she assures him. “Inside AND out. You’re already on your way.  And I’m not going anywhere. I'll be here, right beside you, every step of the way.”

“What about after? When I AM better? You still going to stick around? The whole pain meds thing?”

“We talked about that. You know where I stand; about you needing to deal with that. That’s a deal breaker, Tyler. Because I can’t live like that. And I won’t let our kids live like that either. I love you. More than you could possibly ever comprehend. But that? I can’t do THAT.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to. I don’t want to lose you. Or my kids. Whatever I need to do...whatever YOU need me to do...I’ll do it. No hesitations. Whatever it is.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? Let’s concentrate on what we’re going through right now. One thing at a time.  I don’t want you to worry about anything else, alright?”

He nods. “I love you. I always have. I always will.”

“I love you,” she says, and leans down to press a kiss to his lips.   “We’re going to get through this. Our track record for getting through tough shit is at one hundred percent.  I want to keep it that way.”

“Yeah…” he closes his eyes as she rests her forehead against his. “...so do I.”

[flipsideds]

it’s all run amuck.

a server’s dropped two trays of fresh-baked scones, and the confections litter the floor like fallen leaves, purple-pink icing making the banquet hall look less like the site of a charity benefit and more like the streets of chilham mid-fall. it lights nostalgia beneath his ribs, and flip finds his lips tugging into a wistful smile.

but then a penguin-prettied guest clears his throat and arches a bristly brow.

“ right then, ” flip says with a curt nod. he clasps his hands, gaze sweeping one final dance across the sugar speckled floor. “ i’ll see to some replacements for you. ”  he forces a gentle smile –– the chasm between the man’s brows only deepens.

amuck indeed.

flip glides toward the kitchen. he’s a smooth-sailing afternoon cloud; light. airy. bloody nervous.

oh, dear.

flip allan bell has a case of the collywobbles, theodore, his old assistant would tease whenever he’d drop a bowl, tray, or spoon. the best baker’s hand he’d been, that one. it’s a shame he ––

flip blinks. thinks of flames, of ink black smoke. then tries not to think about anything at all.

quick fingers collect ingredients, combine. get to kneading. in here, there’s no clammer. no crowd. just sugar, butter, flour. a baffled baker’s best friend. he’ll forget the chaos, for a little while. he’ll close his eyes as he brings cherry compote to a simmer, and think of home.

or, alternatively :  greetings loved ones!! my name is linc ( 21 / est / she/her ) and here is the ever so lovely, ever so flighty phillip allan bell !

below the cut you’ll find a messy run-down of who he is, where he’s come from, and where he’s headed. i am so excited to write with all of you !!  he’s fresh out of the oven ( just ask nika ) so i am head over heels for watching him grow in the windy city !

toss on some nat king cole, julie london, billie holiday, chet baker & let’s get cookin’.

— && guests may mistake me as david corenswet, but really i am phillip "flip" allan bell + cis male + he/him/his  and my DOB is 02/29/1992. i am applying for the banquet manager position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite 201. i should be hired because i am + breezy, expressive, peaceable, but i can also be flighty, perplexed, vacillant at times. personally, i like to bake sweets, not hum along to nat king cole while dancing around my flat alone, and most certainly never wear trousers that are just a bit too short to show off my eccentric sock collection when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work. thank you for your consideration! 

h i s t o r y .

born in the small english village of chilham, phillip allan bell never knew his parents––but they took great care in stapling a note with his name, birthday, and favorite color to the blanket he was found swaddled in on the steps of the local market. ( phillip allan. 29 february. needs green. ) or, at least, that’s how flip tells the story. it’s unclear whether or not his parents’ chicken scratch called for green the color, or green the currency.

when phillip started speaking, he couldn’t properly say his own name. hence the nickname flip was born. the other children in the group home took to it easily, so the single-syllable stuck.

he spent the majority of his childhood in and out of foster homes throughout kent, always returning to the same group home after intervals of six months to a year. he began helping in the kitchen early on, so he became known as flip baker –– whether in foster care or the care of group home supervisors, flip always came to dinner with a new sweet treat for the others to try. people wouldn’t want to end their time fostering him because they loved the food. but in the end, the poor boy wouldn’t be adopted. reasons tended to ring much the same, “ oh, he’s lovely, really. what a sweetheart. just a bit too nervous for us, we’re afraid. ”

in fact, nervousness colored most of flip’s young life. from loud noises to spiders to fitting in, his mind always spun about endless possibilities –– quite rarely the good ones. the kitchen was the only place he truly quieted this tendency. he baked and cooked with steady hand, when he was alone. other folks in the kitchen with him would disrupt that cadence, but flip was never one to complain. he’d just fumble a bit, laugh nervously, and move along. he’s a remarkable chef –– and the kitchen always has ample marks to prove it.

shortly after turning 16, flip relocated to london. an older couple agreed to foster and adopt him as their own, but that stability was short-lived. they perished in an apartment fire just two months later. their youngest son, theodore, agreed to take him under his wing. at only 18, the two boys became fast friends. when flip decided to open his own bakery, theodore offered to be his assistant. from then on, the sweet by & by was born.

the bakery quickly rose to fame in the london area. people traveled from far and wide to try the legendary fruit scones, fresh cakes, and scrumptious sourdough. the bbc did a feature on the bakery for one of their london food series, and the sweet by & by began attracting tourists for something more than its treats :  its adorably frenetic baker. the kitchen was always spotted, his cheeks always dotted with icing or sugar. but he’d always greet customers with a molten-honey smile. tender green eyes. for years, the bakery prospered. flip prospered. he rose early to bake. he and theodore experimented with new recipes, danced around the kitchen to billie holiday, nat king cole... things were brilliant. radiant. whole. and then came the fire.

( tw: fire, death ) it happened while on a morning that was... well. most unusual. typically, flip and theodore would open the bakery together––3am sharp. they’d start preparing the day’s fresh goods, oldies playing softly on the stereo around them. but this september day in particular started off like no other: with theodore opening. alone. flip had stayed the night at one of his friends’ flats, unplanned. they’d hosted a housewarming party, and broken out his kryptonite: good bourbon. he’d drank more than his fill, and shot a text to theodore asking if it’d be alright if he started out the next day on his own. theodore agreed with a cheeky reply, getting some, are you, flip? right! as if. both men thought nothing of it. the opening, the slight shift in daily pattern. flip would be in by noon and business would carry on as usual. except flip always handled the faulty oven. on this particular morning, the device’s... quirks... slipped theodore’s mind. it took twenty minutes for the wires to start smoking. thirty minutes before theodore, swirling about the countertops with earbuds in, realized something was burning. on september 30, 2020 the sweet by & by burnt to the ground. and three days later, by smoke inhalation, it took flip’s dearest friend with it.

and that’s how it goes, innit? the story? the heartache? standing on the corner of upland and darrell road dressed in his funeral tie, squinting through scorched brick and metal like maybe, maybe if he stared hard enough, theodore, alive and well, might rise from the ashes. he didn’t. he didn’t, and flip visited the property each day for a week until he realized... he never would. he sorted through theodore’s personal affects. finally started his adopted surname, bell, as his own. he appeased reporters, for a little while. told the story, expressed how much he’d miss his best friend. his brother. but what about the bakery?, they’d ask. what about the sweet by & by? in the last interview flip ever did for the local stations, he reckoned perhaps that chapter, however sweet, was now meant to close. somewhere, online, there’s footage of him blinking through tears. twisting theo’s favorite ring around his own middle finger. green –– tsavorite. it means compassion, theodore had explained one night, after closing up. after they’d snatched a pint at the local pub and meandered on home. benevolence. beauty. somewhere, online, a reporter asks flip about that very stone. somewhere, online, flip pretends he didn’t hear it.

then came the bubble wrapping. the cardboard, packing tape. fingers rubbed raw from crinkling tape around itself, tearing it off, starting again. after theodore’s services, after relinquishing the bakery property to dulwich, flip packs his bags. he buys himself a nap, a pack of werther’s originals, and flees across the sea.

to chicago. the windy city. it’s always been circled on theodore’s map of america. that’s one i’d like to see someday, he’d say over a glass of bourbon. reckon they’re as tough as they seem? flip would always shrug, take a sip of his own drink. he didn’t know. but now? now, he would. on the plane, he spins theodore’s ring around his middle finger. even when he falls asleep, his forefinger and thumb stay there, shielding.

his initial thought is... perhaps he’ll open a bakery. but with the financial losses from the blaze, flip knows better than to embark on such an undertaking. so he does the responsible thing –– he finds a respectable job, at a respectable inn. the american experience, he hears theodore croon in the back of his mind, as he fills out his application. he’s jet lagged, distracted –– he doesn’t realize he’s checked the wrong box until the material’s been sent. and then he gets it. a banquet manager. oh, dear –– he hasn’t the faintest idea where to begin.

d i s p o s i t i o n .

born on a leap year. meaning he’s 28. but also 7.

for real footage of how flip handles himself in the kitchen, or just in general, check out this video. do i watch it daily? yes. did it inspire the general framework for flip’s frenetic kitchen tendencies? ...maybe. the chief difference lies in the result. things may crash and burn. it might look like it’s about to fall apart. but he always, always pulls it into a beautiful success.

he’s got a very deep-seated fear of fire. he’ll light candles in his flat only to flinch and snuff them out. if someone in the kitchen cooks with wine or vinegar and the skillet bursts into flame, he’ll look as though he’s seen a ghost. and he believes he’s subtle about it; oh, he truly does. but anyone with two eyes and a brain can piece together this man is very uneasy around flames.

he’s moved here with truly no plan, beyond experiencing chicago in all its glory, to make good on theodore’s dream. but as glorious and exciting as that is, he’s petrified. please help him.

there’s... a lot of unresolved traumas and sadness regarding his childhood. the bell family was the first to truly see him and give him, in all his anxious entirety, a chance. losing his last link to them has been... difficult, to say the least.

he’s a sucker for oldie music. god. it transports him. you can frequently find him in the malnati kitchens after hours whipping up something beautiful to a background of billie holiday or french classics. humming along, eyes closed, swaying... he’s graceful, truly –– when he’s not thinking about anything.

very terrible about crushes. very terrible about crushes on him. flirting sends his brain into overdrive and... often, he short-circuits. ask him a question about himself he isn’t expecting and he’ll handle it kindly, but will look like a deer in headlights.

amendment: more often than not looks like a deer in headlights.

peaceful at his core. but with the ruckus and the world raging around him, there’s always something more to worry about. if he gives you winnie the pooh vibes, it typically means he’s spinning.

he has a very delightful way of managing, mostly because he’s scared shitless of people being mean. he handles every blip and bump with ease. but inside? he’s fretting.

amendment: most often, he’s fretting. very little quiets his mind. baking, maybe. you can tell he’s having a shit time if he shows up unannounced with endless supplies of new recipes.

adores poetry. he likes reading in public spaces, people watching. he’ll often mouth the words to himself, brow furrowed, eyes lighting like he’s seeing suns rise and fall for the first time.

he’s been in love once in his life. her name was georgie. she was the epitome of breathlessness, milky sunlight, espresso brewed on a crisp morning. she was... not who he thought she was. ( she cheated, after two years of time spent together. he found them out, on a date, on an impromptu trip to brixton market for fresh supplies. )

pansexual and very aware of it. he’s in denial about people fancying him. but he very frequently develops small admirations for people, from afar.

6′4, very tall. his pants are always a slight bit too short. if you tell him, he’ll act surprised, the beautifully eccentric socks peeking out from underneath will suggest otherwise.

he’s never had a s’more. he can’t tell if he’s more intrigued or scared by the thought of them.

doesn’t like birds, particularly ones that swoop low. ( there’ve been incidents. ) he also doesn’t take a great liking to men in tall hats. ( another incident. )

make fun of his accent please i beg you. he does not know how to handle it. he’ll stammer and chuckle and it’ll be bloody amazing, i promise you.

c o n n e c t i o n s .

MAGNOLIA BARNES –– friend. they met during her time in london. neither of them are aware they’re in the same city now, let alone the same hotel. i imagine flip hasn’t told her about the bakery yet. it hasn’t really made news outside of england, so that will certainly be... a story to tell.

FLIRTATIONSHIP / SOMETHING MORE –– just imagine this nervous little bean navigating a new love connection... please... he’ll be a mess.

TOUR GUIDES –– ever wanted to show someone your version of chicago? now’s your chance! flip is so bloody new to this place. he gets lost almost always.

CONFIDANT –– they talk about anything and everything. perhaps not all of it. but there’s an unspoken trust between them. they likely met in the most unlikely of ways, and here we are now.

literally anything under the sun? oh my WORD it has been an epoch since i’ve rped and i’m just. here for any of it. all of it. cute neighbor shit. mailroom mishaps. friends. enemies. someone who keeps sneaking the last of the lobby mints. i want anything you want to throw at me!!

[cristinablackthornkingson]

Shadowhunters Short Story #34.

It was a warm summer’s day in the middle of July 2012, and one of the happiest times of Tessa Carstairs life. Three months ago, she had given birth to her and Jem’s first child, a beautiful little girl who they named Sophie Charlotte, after one of their dearest and closest friends and the woman who had been like a mother to them. Jem was besotted with their daughter, he loved her more than he had ever loved anyone before, and would do anything to keep her safe and happy. Being a father was a joy for him, he didn’t mind the nappy changes, the sleepless nights, the spit-up stains on his clothes, non of it, he was just so happy to have a baby, granted he was absolutely exhausted but he didn’t mind, whenever he felt himself growing frustrated with his lack of sleep or lack of clean clothes, all he had to do was look at his daughter and instantly the frustration fell away and was replaced with love and joy.

About half an hour ago, Tessa had left Jem and Sophie in the music room, while she went upstairs to sort out and put away her maternity clothes and clothes that Sophie had grown out of, for the next time, for there would be a next time, she and Jem had already discussed it and agreed that they wanted more children, for now of course they were perfectly happy with just Sophie, but in a few years time it would be lovely to give her a little brother or sister. 

Now, she has finished sorting through hers and Sophie’s clothes that they did not need anymore, and was going to find her husband and daughter, deciding to first check the music room, where she had left them. 

As she approaches the door to the music room, Tessa hears faint music coming through the door, classical music, one of Jem’s favorite albums that he always had on in the background. 

Quietly opening the door, Tessa is greeted by the sight of her husband waltzing around the music room, with Sophie in the circle of his arms, humming along to the music, while Sophie smiled her wide, toothless smile at her father and let out a few giggles of delight. It was on the most beautiful things Tessa had ever seen, something she had dreamed of for so long. 

As she stands watching her husband and daughter, Tessa feels a vibrating in her pocket, her phone ringing. She pulls it out and sees Catarina’s number displayed on the screen. Turning and making her way back into the hall, Tessa swipes across the screen to answer the phone. 

“Hi Cat, haven’t heard from you in a while!” Tessa answers in a cheery tone. 

“Yeah sorry about that, work has been really busy lately, how’s the little one?” Catarina asks. Tessa smiles broadly at the mention of her daughter. 

“Perfect as always.” She replies, glancing over her shoulder into the music room, where Jem was now bouncing Sophie in his arms. 

“Listen, I have today off and I was just talking to Ragnor and he wants to meet the little one, would it be alright if we called around in say an hour?” Catarina asks. Both Catarina and Magnus had met Sophie shortly after she was born, but at the time of her birth, Ragnor had been quiet busy and wasn’t in the country and had only returned a few days ago, so he had not yet had the chance to meet Sophie. 

“That would be lovely!” Tessa says in an enthusiastic tone. When James and Lucie were growing up, Tessa had not been so close with Ragnor and Catarina, or even Magnus,( though they were still friends, they grew close when she and Magnus lived together in Paris) so her children did not really know them, now she wanted Sophie to grow up with her mother’s friends in her life, people who love her and care about her. Like her siblings, Sophie was part Warlock part Shadowhunter, Tessa and Jem agreed that she should grow up surrounded by everyone who loved her, from her Uncle Magnus and Uncle Alec to her cousins Mark and Helen in LA. Their daughter would grow up within the new Clave, the better, stronger one, with a kind, caring, responsible Consul, who hated no one simply for who they were and would not try and make Sophie feel odd or different for having powers, Alec would tell her to cherish her powers, to embrace her heritage, he would never let her be expelled from school because of who she is, or anything her siblings had to go through, Sophie would have a much easier life.

“Great, see you then!” Catarina says, before ending the call. 

Just as Tessa is about to slip her phone back into her pocket, her phone starts buzzing again, and this time Magnus’ number flashes up on screen. 

“Hello you!” Tessa answers enthusiastically. 

“My, you’re in a good mood.” Magnus lightly says.

“How could I not be? I have my fabulous, wonderful husband, Kit is settling in here so well and I have a beautiful new baby, what’s not to be in a good mood about?” Tessa says in a joyful tone. 

“Good point, dear. So Tessa, darling, Alec has taken the boys to The Institute for the evening so I can get some work done but I simply cannot concentrate right now, I’ve given up for the time being, but I thought I might as well take advantage of my rare free time and come visit you and the little one? Would that be alright?” Magnus asks. He could easily go meet Alec and their boys at The Institute but he so rarely got time to himself to go see his friends, and he simply couldn’t stop thinking about sweet little Sophie Carstairs, she was giving him serious baby fever and he simple had to see her or he was afraid he would adopt every child in need of a family, everywhere. 

“Of course, that sounds lovely, Catarina and Ragnor are coming around in about an hour so maybe you could come then, if that suits you?” Tessa asks, delighted at the idea of being with all her friends and her beautiful daughter. 

“Ah it will be just like old times, I always thought it would be fun to add a baby to our little gang!” Magnus says in a joking tone. 

Tessa laughs and says

“See you in about an hour, then?” 

“That you will!” Magnus replies. 

Once she has hung up, Tessa returns to the music room, where Jem has turned the music down and is now sitting at the piano with Sophie in his lap, letting her smash her little hands against the keyboard. 

“That sounds excellent Sophie! Uncle Will would be so proud, and daddy is very proud!” Jem exclaims, turning his daughter around so she is facing him, and blowing a raspberry on her cheek, causing her to giggle loudly. “Yes, yes I am! Daddy is so proud of his little musician!” Jem coos, peppering Sophie’s face with kisses. 

“Mummy is very proud too.” Tessa softly says, slipping onto the stool beside Jem and leaning against him. “We have a talented little girl on our hands, I saw you two waltzing earlier.” Tessa lightly adds, smiling up at Jem. 

“Honestly I thought if I sat still for one more moment I would fall asleep!” Jem says, smiling brightly at Tessa. 

“Magnus, Catarina and Ragnor are coming over soon to see Sophie, we should probably get her dressed.” Tessa lightly says, her eyes running over Sophie’s pink baby grow, which by now was destroyed with spit up.

“Yes I suppose you’re right, I know I should have gotten her dressed earlier but I was afraid she would just spit up all over her clean outfit and I’d have to change her again.” Jem says. 

“She probably still will, but there’s not much we can do about it.” Tessa says, taking Sophie’s little hand in hers. 

“True, I’ll go get her dressed, do you want to feed her after that?” Jem asks. At 3 months old Sophie was just settling into a routine, she slept pretty much through the night, waking once or twice for a feed, she woke around 7:00 a.m. and then had a nap around 10:00 a.m. until about 12:00 p.m. and another around 3:00 p.m. till 5:00 p.m. and then she was down for the night around 8:00 p.m. She was feeding every 5-6 hours and had no problems nursing, which Tessa was extremely thankful for. 

“Yeah, she is due a feed soon, if I feed her now before everyone comes over she’ll probably be in a good mood while they’re here, then I can feed her again when they leave.” Tessa says. 

________________________________________________________________

*1 hour later*

As Tessa sits in bed, winding Sophie, with Jem beside her, she is pulled from her sleepy state by a knock on the front door. 

“I’ll get it, you finish winding her.” Jem softly says. 

“No, no don’t leave, I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep while I’m holding her, I can finish winding her downstairs.” Tessa says, wiping the sleep from her eyes. 

Ten minutes later, everyone is settled in the living room, Sophie is dressed, fed and winded and in a very good mood. Currently, Catarina was holding her, she was the first out of the three to hold her, since she was the most experienced. She was extremely sweet and gentle with Sophie and clearly adored her, and Sophie was fascinated by her bright white hair and blue skin, every time she looked at Catarina her eyes went wide.

“I can’t believe how much she looks like you Jem, it’s quiet unnerving!” Catarina says in amused tone, looking from Jem to Sophie. Little Sophie had thick black hair, big brown eyes, Jem’s bone structure, mouth shape and pallor, all she got from her mother was her eye shape and nose shape. Tessa was thrilled that Sophie looked so much like her father, and Jem was too, but he had also really wanted her to look like Tessa. 

“It’s so unbelievably fair, isn’t it? I literally grew her inside of me and she still comes out looking like her dad, when I did all the hard work!” Tessa jokingly says. 

“It’s typical, Ephraim looked much more like Tobais than he did Eva, and your James looked just like Will, didn’t he?” Catarina asks. 

“Yes he did, they could have been twins, Lucie looked a bit more like me, but she still mostly resembled Will.” Tessa lightly says, everyone had always said Lucie looked just like her mother, and though she did have more of her features than Jamie did, Tessa still saw more of Will in her, and she certainly saw a lot of Jack in Kit, and not so much Rosemary. 

“Well lets hope she doesn’t grow up to be as influential as her older brother.” Ragnor says in an amused tone, remembering the outrageous things he had been able to coerce James Herondale into doing, particularly the time he bet him he couldn’t shoot out the lights in a gambling hall, that was a fun night. 

At the mention of this, Jem’s eyes grow wide with concern.

“Ragnor, please don’t rope my daughter into outrageous behavior when she’s older.” He says. Ragnor laughs and says

“Relax James, I would never! I promise to be nothing but a caring, loving and responsible guide to little Sophie!” Ragnor declares. Magnus snorts and says

“You are the least responsible person in the world Ragnor, last time you babysat for Alec and I you let Max and Rafe watch The Haunting Of Connecticut, even 13 year old Drusilla Blackthorn knows better than to show kids horror movies!”

“Oh Ragnor you didn’t!” Tessa says in a tone of shock. 

“I only let them watch the first half hour! It wasn’t even that scary! And I am responsible, I stopped Tiberius Blackthorn from committing Necromancy.” Ragnor says in a defensive tone. 

“No you didn’t, you tried to but in the end it was just pure luck that it didn’t actually work, and Ty still has to deal with the consequences.” Magnus says. 

“Have their been any signs of Sophie’s powers yet?” Catarina asks, changing the subject to something less bleak. 

“Nothing yet, but Jamie and Lucie’s powers didn’t surface until they were teenagers, so we’re expecting the same with Sophie.” Tessa says. 

“How did the birth go? Was the pain as awful as you remember?” Catarina asks. Tessa represses a shudder at the memory of her daughter’s birth, which had been a terrifying experience.

“It was terrifying, very sudden and very painful.” Tessa quietly says. 

“Why? What happened?” Catarina curiously asks. 

“Well....” Tessa begins to tell the story of how her daughter came into the word. 

*London, April 2012*

It was a warm, spring day in the middle of April 2012 and Tessa and Jem were standing on The Black Friars Bridge, looking out onto the Thames, remembering when they use to meet here every year for one brief hour.

Tessa was currently 9 months pregnant and due in just a few short weeks, that day she and Jem had decided to take a day trip to London, spend some one on one time together before the baby arrived. They had invited Kit, but he declined and chose to stay at home. Tessa and Jem were awfully worried about him, he was barely eating, seemed to be up all hours of the night, nothing seemed to interest him and he pretty much slept all day. Tessa had suffered badly from depression after James was born, and recognized all the symptoms she had, in Kit. They would have to speak to him soon.

As Tessa and Jem stand looking out at The Thames, they suddenly hear fast approaching foot steps. Tessa turns to see the source of the noise, and sees a young mundane boy, pounding down the bridge at full speed, seemingly taking no notice of his surroundings. Tessa takes a step toward him to ask him if he is alright, when he smacks into her, full force, causing her to lose her balance and topple to the hard concrete, hard, landing on her back.

“Tessa! Oh my god, are you okay, is the baby okay?” Jem asks in a panicked tone, kneeling beside her and helping her to sit up. Before she can answer him, Tessa is hit with a strong, sharp pain in her stomach, causing her to groan and clutch at her stomach. “Oh god, we need to get you to The Institute, I don’t think mundane doctors can help us.” Jem says in a tone full of concern. He and Tessa were no longer part of the Clave, but at the same time they could not ask for mundane medical help right now, if the baby was born now and was born with a distinctive feature like golden eyes, they wouldn’t be able to hide it from the mundanes. 

As Jem helps Tessa to her feet, she notices her underwear feel damp. Pushing her coat aside, Tessa presses her hand to the inside of her thigh, her breath hitching in her throat when it comes back stained scarlet. 

“Oh my god! Did you cut your hand when you fell? Oh god you’re loosing so much blood!” Jem asks in a tone of pure panic. 

“N-no, I didn’t cut my hand, I’m bleeding, down there.” Tessa says in a fearful tone. Just as Jem is about to hail a cab, there is a sudden gush of water from between Tessa’s legs. The baby was coming.

20 minutes later. Tessa and Jem are in the London Institute infirmary, Tessa has changed from her wet, bloodstained dress, into a hospital gown, and is trying to work through her contractions. When they arrived, Jem had contacted The Silent Brothers and begged them to come help. Brother Enoch assured him he would come check on Tessa and the baby, and would be there very soon. 

As Tessa grits her teeth through another contraction, The Infirmary door squeaks open and Brother Enoch silently steps in and makes his way over to Jem and Tessa. 

“Brother Enoch! Thank you so much for coming, I’m so worried about Tessa and the baby, some idiot mundane knocked into her and knocked her over and she started having contractions and bleeding and then her water broke!” Jem hurriedly exclaims. 

Worrying will do no good to your wife or child, James, calm yourself. Tessa, lie back and I can examine you and the child. Brother Enoch tells them. 

Tessa does as instructed, flinching as Brother Enoch’s cold hands come into contact with her bare stomach. It had never been like this with Jem, when he was Brother Zachariah, and he had looked after her during her pregnancies with Jamie and Lucie, she did not mind his touch, it did not feel inhumane like Brother Enoch’s did. 

For the most part everything is well, but the child is in distress, they are not in any immediate danger but it is best they are born as fast as possible, Tessa, I can give you a herbal concoction that will speed up your labor so that your child may be born much faster than if you labored naturally. Is that alright with you? Brother Enoch asks. Tessa didn’t care what he gave her, as long as it meant her baby would be okay.

“Do what you have to, I just want my baby out safely.” Tessa weakly says.

Once Tessa has taken the herbal concoction, within minutes, her contractions become closer together and much more intense. After only an hour of labor, she feels the urge to push. 

I can see the baby’s head, push as hard you can, Tessa. Brother Enoch tells her. She was quickly running out of energy, but she knew she had to find the strength to bring her daughter into the world. 

Tessa takes a deep breath, clutches Jem’s hand, and pushes as hard as she can, groaning in pain as she feels the baby’s head pass through. She was sure things hadn’t been this painful with Jamie or Lucie, but then again they weren’t in distress and her labors with them had not come on due to injury, like this one had.

Your baby’s head is out, just a few more pushes. Brother Enoch says. Jem glances toward the bottom of the bed, and even though he had delivered hundreds of babies himself, he still found himself disgusted by what he saw, it was different now it was Tessa and his own child. 

5 minutes later, Tessa feels a weight lift from her, and waits to hear her baby cry. Almost an entire minute passes, and the baby does not cry. Tessa’s heart contracts in fear, she couldn’t loose her baby, she couldn’t. 

“Oh god no.” Jem quietly says, silently praying to The Angel to let his daughter live. Just as he and Tessa are about to give up hope, a loud, sharp wail pierces the air and they both relax. 

“is she okay?” Tessa asks Brother Enoch. 

She is fine, she simply needed some help clearing her lungs, though she seems to be struggling to hold onto her body heat, place her inside your gown, skin to skin will help her immensely, as I am sure you both know. Brother Enoch says, passing the baby to Tessa.

As Tessa cradles her baby to her chest, she feels her adrenaline wear off and feels more grateful than she ever has in her life, for her beautiful and perfect daughter.

Devon, July 2012.

“Oh god that must have been so awful for you.” Catarina says in a sympathetic tone, after hearing Tessa’s birth story. 

“It was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever been through.” Tessa quietly says.

“Did you ever find that idiotic mundane who knocked into you, Tess?” Magnus asks. He knew if he ever got his hands on the little shit, he would kill him for hurting his best friend and her baby. 

“No, neither of us got a proper look at him, I doubt he hit into me on purpose, I don’t care about him anymore, Sophie is here and she’s fine, I still have some pain and bruising but I don’t care, Sophie is healthy and that’s all that matters to me.” Tessa softly says.

“Goodness me Miss Carstairs, only 3 months old and already causing so much drama!” Magnus coos to Sophie, who he is now holding. She smiles widely up at him and lets out a little giggle. “I think that smile says that I am your favorite Uncle!” Magnus declares, smiling broadly at the baby in his arms. 

“What utter nonsense, come to Uncle Ragnor, Sophie, look what I can do!” Ragnor coos to the baby, producing a ball of magic in his hands and turning it over and over. Sophie’s eyes grow wide and she instantly reaches for Ragnor, who happily takes her, and sits her in his lap. She reaches up to touch the ball of magic, which Ragnor made sure would not hurt her in anyway, and giggles at the tickling sensation it gives her. 

“You like that little one, don’t you? You may be able to do this yourself one day, you’re not just any old boring Shadowhunter are you? No, you’re better than the others, in fact you are my favorite Shadowhunter!” Ragnor coos to her. Sophie smiles up at him in delight, as if she understands what he has just told her. 

“Oh wait till I tell Rafael!” Magnus jokingly says. 

“Alright so maybe I have two favorite Shadowhunters, but that’s it, isn’t it sweet Sophie? Just you and your cousin, the rest of The Nephilim are idiots, yes they are!” He coos. 

“If her first words are anything along the lines of ‘Shadowhunters are stupid’ I will not be pleased with you, Ragnor.” Tessa teasingly says. 

“Well they are, I am just trying to be responsible and teach my niece the truth!” Ragnor defensively says.

“You know half her family are Shadowhunters, including her father?” Tessa says. 

“Well of course James is not an idiot,  I am sure he agrees with me that most Shadowhunters are bafoons!” Ragnor exclaims. 

“Actually, yes, you’re right, most Shadowhunters are idiots, but those idiots are all in Alicante now and we have a new Clave and a new Consul who aren’t idiots, and my daughter will grow up surrounded by good people, Shadowhunters or not, but she will never think that Downworlders are lesser than her, she will grow up knowing the Cohort were and are ridiculous children throwing tantrums because they don’t get their own way, she will be better than them.” Jem firmly says.

Later that night, after Magnus, Ragnor and Catarina have left and Sophie has had her evening feed, Tessa sits down on the couch, with Sophie propped up against her legs, and produces a ball of magic for her daughter. 

“You may be able to do this one day my love, but that won’t make you any less of a Shadowhunter, if you want to be a Shadowhunter, your powers are yours and yours only, and you can do with them what you please, as long as you don’t hurt anyone else. Your powers don’t make you bad or evil, they make you unique and you, you will always be my sweet baby girl and I will not make the same mistakes with you that I made with your brother and sister.” Tessa quietly says. Sophie needed to grow up knowing about her potential powers, she needed to grow up surrounded by people like her, magic needed to be a part of her everyday life, turning a blind eye to her Warlock heritage and powers would do no good. Tessa had not known about her powers or how to use them and that had ended up almost costing her a happy life, if Sophie grew up in control of her powers and knowing about them, then she could defend herself and be safe, Tessa would do everything in her power to keep her daughter safe, she would not let her endure the same suffering and pain those before her had, she would grow up in a new era and she would be amazing. 

[animakupo]

Dearest Heart (Ravus x Reader)

COME ONE COME ALL TO SOME RAVUS FLANGST BROUGHT TO YOU BY A LAMEASS (me) AS REQUESTED BY @aeciru !!!!!!

From the prompt list:

#8: “I don’t need you anymore.”

#20: “Please don’t hurt me like this.”

#59: “You own my heart.”

I did all aforementioned prompts despite having the option to choose just one because there just isn’t enough love for Ravus ok!!!!! I took the liberty to adjust the prompts accordingly to fit with the dialogue though.

ALSO. BOY OH BOY WAS WRITING THIS A CHALLENGE. Ravus and Luna speak in a really eloquent and flowery manner, so I did my best apply such a style and drop contractions here and there whenever I saw fit. I went back and forth with several sections here just to beef up the story and make the relationship and history with Rea more developed and fluid. (((((idk why but i felt pressured to do our boye real good)))))) (i hope i delivered)

(keeping just ravus in character is hard okkkkk)

Speaking of!!!! I read that smol Ravus was actually really nice and kind, so I wrote him as such in the beginning. He becomes the Giant Angst Bean™ that we all know and love later on.

Title was inspired by @birdsandivory who often tags posts relating to their s/o as “dearest heart.” I thought it was the most DARLING thing ever, so I hope you don’t mind that I took that as inspiration!!

Tagging @thatoneawkwardfanthing and @lokewight who asked to be tagged!

i hope you all enjoy this ; w ; 

word count: 5.3k+ words, fluff and angst, soft Ravus and hard Ravus (not sexual ok), spoilers for Kingsglaive

Growing up within the walls of House Nox Fleuret was a privilege that not many were privy to. Luckily for you, your family maintained close ties to the royal family of Tenebrae, thus granting you access to the more personal side of the Nox Fleuret family.

Though you were shy, your parents insisted that you befriend the Nox Fleuret siblings as a show of goodwill. Something about “maintaining peace,” or whatever it was the adults often talked about.

When you were first brought to Tenebrae to meet the nation’s royal family, you were in awe of the region’s majestic architecture — was that an actual castle? — and its signature blue flora, the sylleblossom. Fenestala Manor blew you away in particular, so you were all the more enlivened when your parents explained that this would be your new living quarters.

It was a long time coming, your move to the Manor. After all, you were being groomed to become the Royal Advisor to rising generation of Nox Fleurets.

Upon your arrival at the Manor, Queen Sylva had greeted you personally with the warmest of receptions. She even offered you a brief hug after you clumsily bowed before her. The queen’s friendliness took you aback, but it made you feel all fuzzy on the inside. She was nice.

With Queen Sylva were her two children, a boy and a girl. The female of the two siblings gravitated towards you naturally. She called herself Lunafreya, and she had the sweetest eyes and kindest smile. You regarded her with awe of her beauty.

“This is my brother, Ravus,” Lunafreya introduced as she gestured for you to step closer towards her sibling.

“Welcome to Tenebrae,” Ravus greeted with a friendly smile. “I do hope you enjoy your stay here.”

The different hues in Ravus’ eyes helped you maintain eye contact with him. “H-Hello,” you mumbled timidly. “I’m (Name).”

“What a lovely name!” Lunafreya clapped her hands excitedly as she looked to Ravus. “Wouldn’t you agree, Brother?”

Ravus nodded. “Indeed it is.”

You immediately blushed under their compliments. “Thank you,” you managed to let out, feeling the last of your discomfort crawl away from your skin. These two were good people, you could tell. Even though they were royalty, they welcomed you into their home — into their lives — with open arms.

That was the start of your allegiance to the royal family of Tenebrae.

*

“Princess,” you called. “It’s time for your lessons.”

“Oh (Name),” Lunafreya hummed from her bedroom. “Can’t we skip for once? Please?”

It had been several years since your life had first become interwoven with that of House Nox Fleuret’s. Since your initial meeting, you had only grown closer to both Lunafreya and Ravus at varying degrees.

Lunafreya was almost always attached to your hip. If she wasn’t busy with her duties, she was accompanied by Gentiana. Otherwise, she was often around you. You had come to love her like a sister and would do anything to keep that divine smile on her face.

On the other hand, you had also forged a very formidable friendship with the elder Nox Fleuret. You were closer to Ravus in age, so naturally, the two of you found a lot of things in common. In the years you had spent getting to know him, you had come to realize that Ravus was very much like his mother.

Unbelievably kind.

Incredibly accommodating.

So, so warm.

You were honored that Ravus felt safe enough around you to let his guard down and not just be himself, but also show his softer side to you.

You wanted to think that you were at least somewhat special to him in that regard.

These days, you weren’t sure what to make of the butterflies that went wild in your tummy whenever you were around Ravus, but spending time with him always made you giddy and caused your heart to race. It was hard not to smile in his presence.

“Your mother would have my head if I allowed another absence, Princess.”

“She would not!” the young blonde retorted as she fixed her fringe in place. “Mother is much too nice for such barbaric extremes.”

“Perhaps not,” you replied, a teasing smile sneaking its way onto your face, “but if Her Highness won’t have my head, then it will be your brother who may scold me if I continue to be soft on you.”

“That won’t happen,” Lunafreya assured you, a knowing smirk on her otherwise delicate face. “Ravus adores you.”

You immediately flushed at her statement. “H-He…! He does not!”

“Oh, but he does. In fact, Ravus-”

“Are you speaking ill of me again, dearest sister?” Ravus’ voice interrupted from the doorway.

You spun around to face him, feeling embarrassed that he had nearly caught onto what his sister had been insinuating. “My Prince!” You bowed before him, trying to keep the warmth in your cheeks at bay.

“At ease,” he said, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to set you upright again. “How many times must I insist that ‘Ravus’ is enough?”

“My apologies.”

“And how many times must I defend my honor in front of you, brother dearest?” Lunafreya challenged teasingly, staring indignantly at her older sibling with her hands on her hips. “When have I ever spoken ill of you?”

“If we count all the instances,” he said, “then you will most surely miss your lessons, and we cannot allow that, now can we?”

Ravus glanced at you then, his dual-colored eyes holding a playful glint. You took this as a sign to usher your charge out the door and off to her obligations.

“I-Indeed, we cannot!”

Lunafreya threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. “Ah, I can only take so much when the two of you bully me together! Off I go, then.”

“We-! We weren’t bullying you, Lady Luna-” Your impending apology was cut short with the realization that Lunafreya had already left. Flustered, you turned to Ravus and asked, “She’s not… She’s not angry with me, is she?”

Ravus chuckled, waving his hand to dismiss your fears. “Fret not, dear (Name). My sister merely jests.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Lady Lunafreya will be the death of me one of these days.”

“As she will be for me, as well.”

His reply caused a few giggles to escape your lips. Once your small bout of laughter tapered, you found Ravus to be looking at you with what appeared to be fondness in his eyes. His gaze made you blush, so you opted to break the silence by bringing the attention back to him.

“So how may I be of service of you today, my Prince?” you asked, returning to your well-mannered front.

Ravus sighed at your ignorance of his name yet again. “Yes, I’ve come to you in need of a favor, actually.”

“Oh? A favor?” You looked at him questioningly, your curiosity piqued. “I will do my best to be of assistance to you, my-”

“Ravus,” he repeated sternly, though his eyes remained tender. “When we are in private, kindly refer to me by my name.”

‘I take it back,’ you thought, feeling your cheeks burn all the more thanks to Ravus’ sweet plea. ‘It is the prince who will be the death of me, not the princess.’

“R-Ravus,” you tested, feeling lighter at the sight of elation on the prince’s face upon the utterance of his name from your mouth.

“Much better.”

You had to keep it together to stop yourself from swooning at his dazzling smile. At the age of 15, Ravus had grown well into his body, and by the looks of it, he would only continue to grow as the years go by. His face had matured some from the time when you first met as children, and while his features sharpened, his kindness had not wavered.

Especially not around you.

“U-Um… Ravus. Ahem. What is this favor you speak of?”

“You have heard of the upcoming ball, have you not?”

“Ah, yes.” You nodded, thinking back on the invitations you had glossed over just a few days prior. “The one celebrating our nation, correct?”

“That is the one. May I ask if you will be preoccupied then?”

You did a mental scan of your duties and responsibilities leading up to the ball. “I may need to assist Lady Lunafreya,” you answered, “but otherwise, I will be present at the sidelines in the event that my aid is needed for the remainder of the night.”

“I don’t suppose you would like to attend as a guest of the family?” Ravus quietly proposed.

Your brows furrowed. What need of Ravus required you to attend as a guest of House Nox Fleuret? You would already be present at the ball anyhow, so the invitation seemed odd as it was rather unnecessary.

Regardless, attending as a guest of House Nox Fleuret meant that the festivities would at least be a little more entertaining, what with the company of Lunafreya and Ravus making everything a little more enjoyable.

It also meant that you would by their side for most of the night, and that alone seemed more appealing than having to lurk in the shadows by yourself.

“That is a very generous offer, my- Ravus.” You winced at how your correction made it sound like you had referred to the prince as ‘yours,’ but you trudged on, hoping he hadn’t taken notice of your slip up. “I would be honored to-”

You were stopped by Ravus clearing his throat. “I’m afraid I failed to clarify.” Dusting off imaginary dirt from his sleeve, he added, “Would you be willing to attend the ball as my guest?”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard at the offer. “A-As…? As your…?”

He huffed a little uncharacteristically. “As my date.”

“Ah.”

An awkward silence enveloped the room. On your part, you were unsure as to how to respond to Ravus’ request. While there was no denying that you would be more than happy to accompany him to the ball — as his date, no less — when it came right down to it, you were torn between your personal sentiments towards the prince and what was expected of you as his Royal Advisor.

Perhaps it was because you were in your teenage years — being just a year younger than Ravus — but it was quite evident to you that you had begun to develop some feelings for your charge. It was a bit of a pickle for you, because it became a challenge having to keep your feelings at bay without crossing the line of what was considered proper.

Though your relationship with the Nox Fleuret family was definitely friendly and familiar, it was still encased in decorum and your respective obligations not just to each other, but to the nation of Tenebrae as well.

Thus, Ravus’ proposal practically blindsided you. You weren’t so naive as to presume he harbored some sort of romantic feelings for you as well, but you could hope, couldn’t you? He wasn’t required to bring a date to the ball; you knew, because you helped piece the occasion together. So what was he doing here, asking you of all people to come with him?

Your nerves and apprehension over how to approach Ravus’ offer must have shown on your face, as he immediately backtracked, saying, “You are not obligated to accept, of course.” Was he worried that you would only say yes because you thought you had to? “I am well aware that such gatherings are not to your taste. Thus, my request may be more of a nuisance than anything, so-”

“Yes.”

Ravus’ rambling came to a halt. “I… beg your pardon?”

“Yes, Ravus.” You gave him a bright smile, hoping it would convey enough of your feelings for him to understand. “I would be delighted to accompany you to the ball, if it won’t be too much trouble for you.”

His shoulders practically sagged in utmost relief. “No, never,” he said as a small smile began to bloom on his face. “You are not an inconvenience in the slightest.”

“So…” You looked away, feeling bashful over the how things had unfolded. “I shall see you then, my Prince?”

“You do me the greatest honor.” Ravus reached out to you and delicately grasped your hand in order to lay a soft kiss on it. “I shall see you then, my (Name).”

“Ex-Excuse me?” you blubbered, feeling your cheeks grow even warmer. “Your (Name)?”

“It’s only fair, is it not?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am your Ravus, and so in return, you are my (Name).”

“Th-That’s-!”

“I shall see you at the ball, dearest heart. Good day.”

And with that, Ravus not only left you a flustered mess, he took with him the rest of your heart as well.

You didn’t really mind, though.

*

You often look back on that time with much fondness and love. The ball was boring as expected, but being by Ravus’ side for the entirety of the night made it much, much more tolerable. Lunafreya sending the two of you some smug smiles also made for some amusement that night.

Despite the fact that you came as Ravus’ date, neither of you initiated the step to further your friendship into a romance. Both of you merely skirted around your feelings, too shy to do anything beyond the confines of your personal and professional lives together.

Lunafreya often urged you to take the initiative and allow the love between you and her brother to prosper, but you always evaded her prodding. In spite of Lunafreya’s unabashed approval and support, you believed that you were in no position to present your feelings to Ravus and expect some sort of reciprocation in the form of a romantic relationship.

No, you wanted it to come from him. You were merely his advisor and a childhood friend at best. There was no way you were going to burden him with your feelings, not when you were unsure if this was what he really wanted with you. If he was not going to take the step forward, then you would adjust to his pace, as you have done all these years.

You were content with remaining by his side. Whether it be as his advisor, his friend, or his lover… so long as you were with him, then that was more than enough for you.

Things changed just a year later with the death of Queen Sylva and the imperial control of Niflheim over Tenebrae.

*

Now, years later, you still remain by Ravus’ side. Many things have since changed, such as Lunafreya’s appointment as the new Oracle, as well as Ravus’ new occupation under Niflheim’s invasion.

No longer was he the prince of Tenebrae. Now, he was known as Ravus Nox Fleuret, the High Commander of the Imperial Army.

You still referred to him as your prince, though. Ravus would merely ignore the title as if you had never said it in the first place.

After the death of Queen Sylva, Lunafreya had pleaded with you to place your focus on her brother rather than on herself. You had objected, arguing that both she and Ravus were your responsibility. However, the young girl proved to you just how mature she was beyond her years when she countered that Ravus needed you more than she did.

“There is only so much that I can do for him,” she had admitted to you tearfully. “But you… you are his heart. Please, (Name), I beg of you. Please do not leave my brother’s side.”

“Lady Lunafreya…” You had held onto her as she fell apart in your arms. Right then and there, you swore that you would remain steadfast in your devotion to Ravus regardless of what life would throw at you.

“I promise.”

If only it were so easy.

At present, the young boy you came to know and love was nonexistent in the Ravus that stood before you today. Gone were the warm smiles and gentle eyes, now replaced by hardened glares and permanent scowls.

The death of his mother had clearly changed Ravus. Though you held him close to your heart, you struggled to reach him beyond the icy walls he had put up around his own heart. Still, you stood by him and remained at his side amidst all the changes he went through.

“My Prince,” you murmured timidly, stepping into Ravus’ office. “Your sister requests your presence for supper.”

“Tell her to proceed with her meal,” replied Ravus from a pile of papers he had not looked up from.

“My Prince, if I may.” Shutting the door behind you, you made your way across the room and settled in front of his desk. “It’s been several days since you last shared a meal with Lady Lunafreya. She merely misses your company, and-”

“How many times must I tell you?” Ravus abruptly stood up and sent you a cold glare. Though you had become used to such painful gazes, you had to admit that they still pierced at your heart rather agonizingly. “I am no longer a prince, and you must address me accordingly by my new title instead.”

It was hard to keep your face neutral when the sadness in your heart overflowed for Ravus.

“My apologies, High Commander,” you muttered softly, offering a bow. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“If only some would die easier than others,” you heard him grumble under his breath.

His harsh tone made you wince, but you did nothing to address his statement. Sending him an affirmative nod, you said, “I bid you a good evening, then, High Commander.”

Noticing your wounded look, Ravus softened his voice and called out to you almost apologetically. “Have you forgotten?” He combed a hand through his hair, which had grown much longer over the years. “I am Ravus to you in private.”

So there was still a bit of the old Ravus somewhere in there. The thought made you smile, albeit a bit sadly.

“Please don’t forget to eat something, Ravus.” Your eyes softened as they met his. “Feel free to summon me if my help is required.”

At that, you made yourself scarce, unaware of the look of longing in Ravus’ eyes as he stared after you.

*

Just a few hours later, Ravus had called for you once more, requesting for dinner. You delivered his meal to his office without a word, only to be stopped by him as he requested that you join him and have a bite as well.

“I’ve already eaten, Ravus.”

“Would you do me the honor of gracing me with your company, then?” He pulled out a chair for you, the hard strain in his eyes growing tender for a few moments.

Only you still got to see this side of Ravus. Only you could do this to him.

“It would be my pleasure.”

The two of you sat there in his office, basking in the quiet. Though no words were shared, the company you offered each other made for a fairly pleasant night.

*

When word of Lunafreya’s imminent union with Prince Noctis of Insomnia came to light, you grew worried. Not just for Lunafreya, but for Ravus as well. Ever since the death of his mother, he had come to loathe the Caelum line and, in effect, Noctis himself.

His bitterness and rage towards the Lucian royal family had consumed him over the years. You had seen firsthand how such dark thoughts and feelings had changed Ravus, so with the announcement of his sister’s engagement to the Crown Prince, you became distraught over how your own prince would handle the news.

One day, you noticed the younger Nox Fleuret carrying a suitcase as she made her way across Fenestala Manor. She appeared to be dressed for travel, prompting you to wonder what her intentions were. As far as you knew, Lunafreya had no meetings scheduled for today. She made no mention of going out, either.

With your brows furrowed, you caught up to her and asked, “Princess, where are you off to?”

“(Name)!” she squeaked in surprise. “I am in need of your help, kind (Name). Please, allow me to leave as I must speak to King Regis immediately!”

“King Regis…?” you repeated, trying to process the growing urgency on her face. “Is this about your engagement to Prince Noctis?”

“It is more than that.” Lunafreya nodded, taking ahold of your hand. “Please, (Name), I must make my way to Insomnia as soon as possible. Will you assist me?”

Your mind scrambled to sort out your thoughts. “I… I cannot, my Princess,” you informed her regretfully, feeling a pang at the frown that took residence on her face. “But it is only because I swore that I would remain by your brother’s side. You remember, do you not?”

“Of course I do. I am eternally grateful for your honor and devotion to Ravus.”

You bit your lip, sending a prayer to the gods above that all would work well. “Still, I cannot simply abandon you in your time of need.” You pulled her to the side and stealthily made your way to the lower floors of the manor. “I may not be able to escort you to Lucis, but I can at least ensure that you find your way out of Tenebrae.”

Lunafreya’s expression brightened at your words. “Thank you, (Name). I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing. Now come, we must make haste.”

Both you and Lunafreya had evaded the imperial guards that monitored the hallways of the manor. Just as you were nearly at the door, the two of you were stopped by none other than Ravus himself.

Snatching Lunafreya from your grasp, he dragged her towards a nearby room, but not before sending you a scathing look.

“And you,” he snarled, “I will have a word with you once I have settled things with my sister.”

The dread that churned at the pit of your stomach almost hurt as more as the pain in your heart due to Ravus’ anger directed towards you.

*

“What were you thinking?!” he barked, slamming the door of his office.

You opted to create a small distance between you and Ravus, growing cautious of his boiling rage. Drawing closer to his desk, you answered, “I merely offered my assistance where it was needed, Ravus. It is as I have done for you and your family all these years.”

Ravus sneered at your response. “Were you foolish enough to allow Lunafreya into the clutches of our mother’s murderer?”

The neutral mask you wore began to crumble with the beginnings of a frown. “Ravus, I understand that you blame King Regis for the death of our queen, but-”

“Understand? You think you understand?”

This was the first time you had ever truly been on the receiving end of Ravus’ fury. It wounded you deeply, causing you to wither away at his spiteful voice. His build, which had grown sturdier even more, now felt menacing as he towered over you.

Still, you reminded yourself of your promise to Lunafreya, no matter how much Ravus was now hurting you.

“You think you understand what my sister and I have been through?” he continued with a scoff. “Are you so stupid to believe that you are so special simply due to our history together?”

Your eyes began to water by then, but you remained rooted in your spot. “I-I…”

“If that is what you believe,” he snapped, “then you are much more idiotic than I thought you to be.”

This time, you flinched. You kept your head bowed in order to hide the steady stream of tears that rolled down your face. “R-Ravus, please…” you hiccuped, “I know you are hurting, but please…”

“YOU KNOW NOTHING!”

A sob threatened to escape your throat, but you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep it in. “Please,” you whimpered pathetically, “do not hurt me like this, Ravus.”

Your plea seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, for Ravus broke you down even further with one simple but cruel statement.

“I do not need you any longer.”

“Wh-What?”

“You are hereby dismissed of your duties,” he continued, voice devoid of emotion. “Until a more suitable role for you can be found, you will remain at the manor for the time being.”

You were openly weeping by now. “Ravus, you cannot mean this.”

“I do,” he retaliated coldly. “Now get out.”

You lifted your pain-stricken gaze, only to pull away the moment your eyes met Ravus’ seething glare. Where was the Ravus you loved? This wasn’t him. The Ravus you loved wouldn’t hurt you so brutally without any heed to your sensitive emotions. The Ravus you loved wouldn’t strip you of the one thing that gave your life meaning throughout the years.

What were you to do now, if you could not remain by his side?

Sniffling, you shuffled your way towards the doorway where Ravus stood. You lowered your head once more as you bumped against him. But, before taking your leave, you offered some parting words to Ravus that would haunt him forevermore.

“You… You will always be my heart, dear Ravus. I pray that you find peace and happiness.”

*

In the days leading to Lunafreya’s escort to Lucis, you steered clear of both her and Ravus. Ultimately, you were no longer bound to them, at least by Ravus’ words.

‘I have failed you, my Princess,’ you thought glumly, looking up at the night sky. ‘How can I remain by your brother’s side if he no longer wants me there?’

Soon, Fenestala Manor grew quiet with the departure of the remaining Nox Fleurets as they traversed to Insomnia. It didn’t take long before news of the nation’s fall reached your region, causing you to plunge into a pit of despair as the tragedy sent a blow to your very core.

King Regis, dead. Even the sweet Prince Noctis was said to have passed on. But what truly broke you was the news that your dearest Lunafreya was gone as well.

Maria, who had remained in your company the past few days, could do little to console you as you drowned in your hysteria. This couldn’t be true. You refused to believe it. No, Lunafreya was still alive. She had to be.

And what of Ravus? Where was he now? Had he fallen amidst Niflheim’s betrayal as well?

You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

‘Please,’ you begged to the heavens above, ‘please, keep them safe. They’re all I have.’

*

Some of your worries had been eased at the return of Ravus. Though he retained his cold demeanor, he brought with him a new prosthetic — one that you couldn’t help but marvel at as you stood before him in his office yet again.

Though news of his arrival had reached you, you had forced yourself to remain at your quarters and not seek him out. With the memory of your last conversation still painfully fresh, you chose not to look for Ravus, providing him the space and privacy he had forcefully set between the two of you.

Your efforts were put to rest when Ravus himself summoned you. Here you now were, avoiding his gaze as you fidgeted nervously in front of him.

The silence was incredibly overbearing, but you feared that if you spoke, he would only lash out at you again. Thus, you kept mum, giving Ravus the floor to voice his thoughts, whatever they may be.

At first, he sighed. Then, with a few careful steps, he approached you. Raising a hand — from his flesh limb, notably — he caressed the side of your cheek in a motion so affectionate, you had to question if this was really the same Ravus you had last perceived before the blatant dismissal of your obligations to him.

“You appear well,” he commented softly, his hand leaving your face.

You couldn’t help but long for his touch. Still, all you could do was nod, feeling as if your voice and words would merely betray you if you tried to speak.

“I…” You could hear his fists clench. “Will you look at me? Please?”

At this, you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. Based on the memory of your last meeting, you had expected to see bitter rage in his stare. You were proven wrong, however, as you found nothing but throbbing emotion looking back at you.

There it was. The same fondness he used to look at you with. The same tenderness and affection his dual-colored eyes had always revered you in.

There was also one other thing you found in his soft gaze, but you dared not voice your thoughts in fear that you were simply dreaming.

In his eyes, you found love.

“I am sorry.” His voice broke. The last time you were a witness to Ravus’ tears was shortly after the death of his mother. Now, such waterworks were making a return, though you found it hard to fathom that these tears were due to his own grieving for you.

“I was wrong,” Ravus went on, reaching out to you but stopping short, as if he was afraid you would reject him. You eased his fears by meeting him halfway, reaching up on your heels to hold his face in your hands. “I do need you, (Name). I will always need you.”

His hands enveloped yours as you both cried for each other. “Ravus…”

“I meant none of it. Not a single word I had uttered that day held any truth. Please, believe me.”

“I know, Ravus,” you sobbed. “I know.”

You don’t know what it was that had happened to him in Insomnia to cause this sudden turnaround in Ravus, but you weren’t going to question it. All that mattered was that he was here now, with you.

“I realize now that it was I who was the foolish one. It was always me. Never, ever you.” This large man, whose mere presence held a threatening aura towards his foes, was now a snivelling mess in your hands. “I beg for your forgiveness.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” you assured him tenderly, wiping away the tears that had leaked during your exchange of words. “I am relieved that you, too, are well.”

“I will never forgive myself for hurting you that day,” he admitted, pulling you closer. You felt your lip quiver as you recalled the relentless words he had directed to you back then.

You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of such memories. “None of that,” you told both Ravus and yourself. “What matters is that you are here now.”

“There is so much that has been lost, but I will not allow you to be lost to me as well. Not anymore.” He paused for a bit, moving his grasp from your hands to your face, albeit hesitantly. “What you said then, did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“You… You own my heart, (Name),” he confessed at last, leaning his forehead on yours. “I would like to know if your sentiments remain the same, though I know I am undeserving of them.”

A sweet smile began to surface amidst your tears. Carefully bringing your face closer to his, you whispered against his lips, “You are my dearest heart, Ravus, as you have been and always will be. Nothing will change that.”

What lay ahead seemed bleak, what with Niflheim’s rise and the still unknown whereabouts of Lunafreya. But, as you remained glued to Ravus, your mouth locked with his in a passionate exchange, all you could do was melt into him and allow your feelings of love to come undone once and for all.

Come what may, you would remain by his side until the very end. What made it easier this time around was the knowledge that he would do the same for you.

At the end of the day, it was just as Lunafreya had told you all those years ago. You were his heart, just as he was yours.

[orpheus-vault-blog]

— the fire sermon.

topic: how the pied piper came to be. who: orpheus ahulani; hermes ahulani; joseph & katherine ahulani; theodora moreau. when: birth (1979) - the present day, more or less. where: the streets of verona. triggers: blood; murder; violence; fire.

“There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create.”

                              (T.S. Eliot -- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock)

[one] - O R I G I N ;;

He wailed when he was born.

Howled and howled until his lungs should have given out, until his throat should have been scraped raw and hoarse from the effort of so much crying. He drowned out the other infants in the ward, filled the ears of all the parents and nurses with the ringing sound of a baby’s squeals. He cried until it drove the paediatrician a little insane, until the man snapped and ordered the dark-haired terror moved away from the other children and into his mother’s room, and then, suddenly, there was silence. Suddenly, the babe that had spent the past two nights caterwauling so loudly that it almost cracked the hospital windows lay serene, peaceful, content. Suddenly, the nurses, stepping closer in perplexed relief, realised just how angelic this little cherub was, how beautiful his forest-coloured eyes were. Suddenly, Katherine’s hospital bed was constantly surrounded by a teeming crowd of well-wishers, passers-by with wide eyes and enraptured faces who cooed at the little boy clutched in her arms, who complimented her and her husband on having made something so perfect. They were not intelligent enough to understand him, these fools entranced by pretty eyes and an oddly magnetic aura, but as they looked into that tiny face, his parents comprehended the truth of their son’s existence, knew exactly what to name him to best capture this infallible gift that the gods had blessed him with. He would captivate the world over, they knew, could lead all the citizens of Earth to a watery grave if he only asked them nicely, and so they gave him a name befitting of such power, named him after the greatest, most captivating soul the mythological world had ever produced. Katherine and Joseph knew precisely who their son was, and what he could one day grow to become.

He wailed when he was born, but it was not wailing borne out of hunger, or fear, or absence, like most infant crying is. When he was born, Orpheus Ahulani cried because even then he knew that he didn’t want to be surrounded by other children, that the place he would receive the most adoration was in the arms of his dear parents. Even then, he knew precisely what he wanted.

And from then on he made sure he always got it.

[two] - F O R T I F I C A T I O N ;;

He wasn’t given anything as a child.

It was not for lack of love, because his parents reminded him constantly that they were impressed with the man he was becoming, and even if this wasn’t always made explicit Orpheus learned early on how to read the signs. No, he wasn’t given anything because such an upbringing formed an essential part of his tuition, because his parents wanted to form him into their master thief, their ideal conman, as early as they could, because they believed firmly in legacy and knew that their first son would be the one who carried that torch forward.

As soon as Orpheus was old enough to comprehend what stealing was, his father sat him down in a sunlit room and told him that this was his life, now, that he had to learn that if he wanted something, he had only to reach out and take it, and that the only thing to remember in this new life he was entering was don’t get caught. If he wanted a toy, his father pointed him in the direction of a rich little boy or girl who wouldn’t miss it. If he fancied a new item of clothing, his mother ushered him into a clothes shop without any money or a credit card on hand and made it clear that they wouldn’t leave until he’d lifted exactly what it was he desired. It was in no way a conventional childhood, but it was the perfect one for the kind of little boy Orpheus was, and the kind of man he hoped to be, because ever since he was young enough to really think for himself Orpheus knew that this was the life he wanted, knew that even if his ancestors had not been thieves he would have sought out a life of illicit activity for himself.

Orpheus was five years old and already he didn’t believe in excess, believed in taking exactly what you wanted so that you had enough to get by, that surrounding yourself with trinkets and empty vanities would not make you feel as alive as the rush of taking something that should never have been yours. He stole the toys or books he wanted, and when he was finished with them they were gifted to those he saw as being in need, those who made his otherwise static heart throb with a beat of compassion, and once the charitable deed was done that compassion evaporated, replaced with a burning desire to seek out the rush of theft again. His parents, his grandparents, stole and conned for that rush alone, but as he grew Orpheus felt a new sensation coursing through his blood when he stole, a sense of indomitable power, of control. He learned that he could dictate the emotions of others by doing something as simple as slipping his little hands into their bags or pockets, could make even the most arrogant man crumple and weep for what he had lost. Orpheus was six years old when he realised that, whilst his relatives saw themselves as something akin to demons when they stole, that some distant part of them regretted that they had not been granted the wherewithal to be more honest, when he stole he felt like GOD. He was only a little boy, and already he saw himself as a divinity, possessed that unique, self-affirming grace that obliged people to love him so much and blinded them to the truth of the power in his heart.

He was nine years old when his brother was brought home to him, when his parents pulled open the door to his room and presented the bundle of limbs and baby hair to him with beatific smiles and luminous eyes, and Orpheus breathed a sigh of relief because Joseph and Katherine finally had the child they needed to fill the hole that had been present in their hearts. He looked at his infant brother and knew that they would both be perfect sons, in their own way. Hermes was the son to love and be loved by, who would fill their home with laughter and warmth and shower their parents with gratitude and appreciation for their efforts in building a family. Orpheus had never been that son to them, it was made clear from the moment of his birth that he was not the child who would inspire happiness, no. Orpheus was the son to be proud of, the son who would pick up the Ahulani mantle and fortify the legacy his parents endeavoured to build, and such a momentous destiny could not be hindered by something as banal as love. Katherine and Joseph looked at the two boys sat by each other one day and knew in their hearts that Hermes was the son who would inspire love, but Orpheus, Orpheus was the son who would move MOUNTAINS.

This cavernous expanse of difference between the two brothers was made abundantly clear at every turn. “What do you want for your birthday, my boy?” Katherine asked her sons in July and November.

“To go to the zoo!” a three year old Hermes giggled, stretching out chubby little arms towards his mother’s neck, knowing that even though he was too old for her to carry him around in her arms she’d lift him into the air anyway, laughing in the way that only a child of the sunlight can as he pressed his face into her auburn curls.

“A better mark,” mused a twelve year old Orpheus, gaze sharp as a laser and expression almost defiant, focussed, seeking bigger and better challenges wherever he could get them. His last task had been to rob some elderly lady; hardly a challenge. He was twelve and fired up and knew exactly what he should be doing with his life. His mother looked distant but proud and he was rewarded suitably for his enterprise, and when he walked away from the jewellery store on his birthday, pockets full and alarm blazing uselessly behind him, Orpheus knew that he had finally been gifted the freedom to go about his business unhindered, that the time had finally come for the phoenix to rise from ash and cover the world in fire.

He tried his best to teach his brother the life of a con artist, to instil in Hermes the same fervour that hurtled through his veins at the speed of a freight train, but knew from the very beginning of his tutelage that his little brother was ruled more by his heart than by his head, that he was too passionate, too flighty, to ever truly excel. He should have celebrated the difference between them, should have been tolerant of this diversity, but the callous part of Orpheus looked at his brother and saw only a problem, a weak point, the tremor that could cause the entire house of cards to come tumbling down. He looked, and he listened, and he evaluated, and like any good problem solver he came to an uncompromising solution.

He was sixteen now, freshly tattooed and even more independent than he had once been (if such a thing were possible), and knew that his family could all let him down, with their emotions and their happiness and the familial bliss they seemed content to wallow in. There was potential to build a kingdom from their enterprise, to raise up palaces of iron and stone out of the dirt and to make themselves indomitable, but the Ahulanis had grown stagnant and lazy. For them, the things they had stolen until now had been enough, but Orpheus was never one to settle for sufficiency. He recognised that his family were resources, that if put to good use they could help him in his quest for immortality, and so like any chess grand master confronted with a board of uncooperative pieces Orpheus set about manoeuvring his nearest and dearest into position. He became prince and general to them all at once, an emperor to lead his troops into battle, to make ten men and women feel like ten thousand. If his relatives were shocked they did not know how to express it, and instead merely allowed this boy-king to manipulate them, knowing in their heart of hearts that he had already surpassed them both physically (he towered over everyone he met, and the breadth of his shoulders inspired both awe and apprehension) and metaphorically, intangibly, that his ambition and his drive were unparalleled and would likely never be seen again in any of their lifetimes.

”Why do you steal things?” Hermes asked him one day, nine years old and completely devoted to his older brother, ready to obey his every command without fail, overexcitable and unflinchingly loyal, firmly convinced that Orpheus was the most magnificent person in the entire universe.

Orpheus was eighteen now, officially a man (although he hadn’t been a boy for some time now) and didn’t care much about his younger brother’s devotion, saw it only as a useful weapon to be wielded, the perfect way of exercising control.

“Because it’s what I was born to do.”

[three] - P E R D I T I O N ;;

He should have known that it couldn’t last, that no kingdom could be erected from nothingness without a few complications, without the inevitable pitfalls and setbacks, but Orpheus saw his success and revelled in it, and in his revelry he allowed his eyes to fall blind to the dangers that lurked at the fringes of his accomplishments. But all fortresses have their weak spots, and weak spots are only discovered through the most bitter of tragedies, so that the castle can be redesigned, made ten times stronger.

He was out drinking when it happened, celebrating the latest in a long line of successful cons (everyone had told him that the Mary Jane couldn’t be pulled off by only one person, but as ever he’d proved his detractors bitterly wrong, and the look on that pompous dickhead’s face as he’d realised that he’d frittered away his ill-gotten life savings had been priceless), was enjoying his customary mix of expensive whisky and cheap cigarettes when his world shifted slightly on its axis, when its orbit fell out of sync for the briefest of moments.

His brother was seventeen and stupid like Orpheus had never been, and the latest in a long line of petty fights he’d gotten himself into (over a girl, no less) had taken a darker turn than usual. No one bothered to call the paramedics (rich people were too paralysed by centuries of inherited inaction, and too closely bound by a desire to protect their own), but even if they had there was nothing that anyone could have done.

Hermes Ahulani died ignominiously in the middle of one of Verona’s piazzas, hands, face and neck cut to pieces by shards of glass from the bottle he’d been attacked with, choking slowly, grotesquely to death in a pool of his own blood while his family looked on in horror, eviscerated by the sensation of their own utter helplessness.

It had all happened in a matter of mere seconds, too fast for anyone to process it, too fast for Orpheus, normally so perceptive, so quick to react, to leap out of his seat and intervene as he had done countless times before. They had all ignored the conflict brewing between the two youths, had passed it off as nothing more than adolescent males trying to burn off some excess testosterone. None of them had anticipated the rich brat’s cowardice, had foreseen him using that damned bottle of wine too expensive for its own good to cut Hermes down. One moment he was standing tall, buoyed up by surging adrenaline and the cockiness of teenage boys, and the next he was on the ground, crushed underfoot like the flower he had been, so much vitality spent in no more than five minutes. Orpheus had tried to stop the bleeding, had fallen to his knees on the cobblestones and clasped his hands around his brother’s throat, a futile effort to plug the seemingly endless leaks, and watched in what he dimly recognised as horror as his brother’s life-force leaked out between his fingers, staining his hands and the pavement below a tragic crimson.

As they watched the rich boy run away, face contorted into an expression of disgustingly entitled horror, no doubt seeking the protection of his parents and their wealth, Orpheus felt the walls of his heart close up completely, so that no feeling could ever again be let through. He shouldn’t have cried, for rulers never wept at the demise of their subjects, merely strode out amongst the common people and found new followers to take the place of the fallen, but the eldest and now only Ahulani brother allowed himself to shed a single tear that day. He hadn’t loved his brother in the conventional way, in the way that families are supposed to love one another, but he had felt something akin to his own brand of affection.

Hermes had never been much of a thief, had always been impulsive, loud-mouthed, capricious, all qualities that Orpheus manifestly disliked and had eradicated from his own personality. He laughed too much and stopped far too little, never waited to check what was around the corner, told his deepest secrets to just about any stranger with a kind enough face, and couldn’t hold his drink. They were polar opposites, these brothers, and Orpheus should have disdained his younger brother utterly, should have shown him nothing but contempt - after all, that was how he treated others whom he deemed unworthy. But the bonds of family are a strange thing, and whilst Orpheus cared little for his parents and grandparents, seeing them only as tools to help him build the world he craved, Hermes had always represented the people for whom he was trying to build this better world. Orpheus had never exhibited much kindness or goodness but he recognised its abundance in his younger brother, and despite himself he felt the need to see that goodness preserved, felt an obligation to create a realm in which his brother could lead the life that he deserved. Of all the people that he knew, and of all the people he would ever meet, Hermes was the only one Orpheus Ahulani had loved, and he didn’t deserve to have met his end before he’d even become a man, at the hands of a coward who had nothing to show for his life but money.

Before that fateful fay he’d been happy to let the elite lead their own gilded lives, as long as they didn’t get in his way, but as he watched his brother die Orpheus realised that the wealthy didn’t deserve to be ignored. They deserved to be BURNED, and he’d be damned if he didn’t see it happen.

But the path to vengeance is never smooth, and for the first (and only) time in his life Orpheus was careless enough to let his rage cloud his better judgement.

It played out like a scene from an Oscar-winning film about the callousness of the wealthy, and the Ahulanis were all too crippled by their mourning to look up and see it coming. First the coroner ruled young Hermes’ death as accidental, having the gall to call the brat’s selfish action self-defence. Then witnesses began to fall curiously silent, saying that they hadn’t seen a thing, that all they had seen was the young poor boy picking a needless fight, that perhaps he deserved what he got, each of them singing to the rich family’s tune. The police were similarly uncooperative, muttering about the prevalence of crime in poorer neighbourhoods, the victim’s prior pattern of behaviour, the fact that he was known for being violent. One by one, each piece of the puzzle slid into place, until Hermes’ case was encircled by an impenetrable wall of bodies itching to exonerate Raffaello Brazzi at the behest of his parents. Outrage spread through the Ahulani ranks like wildfire, fuelled by a desire to see their son’s memory preserved, and when an emissary from Giuseppe Brazzi came knocking, offering the family their weight in gold if they were willing to chalk their son’s death up to a tragic accident, if they would just let bygones be bygones, Joseph Ahulani told the man exactly where he could shove his bribe. Orpheus had wanted to raze the Brazzi family to the ground from the beginning, to make sure that none of them ever drew breath again, but his mother, still on a perverse quest to reform her once criminal life, begged him to let them do things the right way, to try and build a legal case, and against his better judgement Orpheus ceded to her demands.

They must have banked on them all being home that day, must not have foreseen the possibility of Orpheus going out as soon as each new day dawned to search for new evidence. The fire was already out of control by the time he returned home, and he watched amber flames as tall as trees surge through the old building, a deathly cavalry tearing everything to pieces, a ravenous monster leaving no life in its wake. Had Hermes still been alive, had his brother been in the burning structure, Orpheus might have thrown caution to the wind and run inside to save him, but now he stood rooted to his spot, watching mutely as firefighters attempted to combat the unconquerable blaze, watching and watching and feeling nothing in his heart but anger.

Orpheus Ahulani was twenty-six years old and in the space of three weeks had lost all the family he’d ever known, and knew as he watched his childhood home, his ancestry, go up in flames, that he had been right all along, that his mother’s utopian desire for justice was untenable in a world such as this one, where the wealthy elite did nothing but take, smashing up people and things in their way without a second thought.

He wasn’t a religious man but in that moment he thanked whatever deity it was that had kept him alive, that had given him this purpose, and knew that no matter how far they ran or how well they tried to hide, the Brazzi family had signed away their lives the minute his brother had drawn his final breath. The wealthy were not afraid of anything except damaging their reputations, but Orpheus knew that his destiny was to make them experience real fear.

Orpheus was twenty-six years old, and he was coming for them.

[four] - R E T R I B U T I O N ;;

They didn’t run. It wasn’t a surprise, in the end, given that they thought their secret had been burnt to a crisp with the Ahulani home. A more patient man would have plotted his line of attack, would have ensured that there was no way for them to harm him, but Orpheus knew that he was indomitable, that the fact that he was the last Ahulani left alive made him untouchable by human hands. Ever one for boldness and grand gestures, he strode through the front doors of the Brazzi mansion with a machine gun slung over his shoulder and seated himself at the head of their dining table, and let the members of the family he hated most in the world crawl to his side, quivering like frightened sewer rats. He made no verbal or physical threats, didn’t utter a single word, in fact, merely sat there with his assault rifle lying on the table for all to see and cleaned his nails with a pocket knife.

The implication was clear.

Giuseppe Brazzi hid behind his wife’s skirts and shook with fear, and after what felt like a century of petrified silence his voice, cracked and weedy, echoed across the empty room.

“We’ll give you money,” he stammered, “more money that you could ever dream of.”

(He was wrong, because Orpheus had never been a dreamer but he could dream up quite a lot.)

“How much do you want?”

The silence as they awaited his reply was deafening, the response even more so.

“All of it.”

“All of it? You must be joking. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

Orpheus didn’t even deign to look at the old man, merely laid his knife on the table. His terms were simple.

“You took everything from me, I shouldn’t have to remind you of that.” Expression as blank and unfeeling as slate, he picked up the gun, caressing the trigger with a macabre kind of reverence. “All I have to do is squeeze.” Finally, he made eye contact with the Brazzi patriarch, and the fire burning in his green eyes made the man visibly wilt. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

They should never have underestimated him. He was Orpheus, the last Ahulani, he walked in shadow and in flame, the prince who would one day rule the criminal underworld which had shaped him. He was the Devil’s advocate, his messenger, his brother, the same blood pulsed in his veins as had once flowed through the body of the first fallen angel. Marianna Brazzi hurled a litany of curses at him as he stripped her husband of his entire fortune, damned him a thousand times to the fiery pits of hell, and as Orpheus walked away from that house with all the money in the world he smiled Satan’s smile because he knew that her words had no power over him, that if there was damnation to come he would welcome it with open arms and an open heart. The Brazzis hoped fervently that it would be enough, that their riches would be enough to pacify the beast, to fill the void and guarantee his distance from them (his silence had been guaranteed long ago, the minute they chose to set his family ablaze). They should never have underestimated him.

It was not enough, Orpheus knew that from the moment they offered him the money. It would never be enough. He was not the kind man that so many of Verona’s poor made him out to be, he was not their saviour, their symbol, their martyr. The only pyre he would ever throw himself on was his own, and only when he was ready to leave the world that he had barely had the chance to make his mark on yet. It would never be enough. There was only one punishment that befit this crime, only one way to repay the bastards that had taken everything from him. He was good at stripping people of everything they held dear, of everything they loved, and this would be his magnum opus, his greatest theft. The Brazzi family had played with fire, and it was FIRE that would let them know the magnitude of their mistake.

Orpheus wouldn’t just fiddle whilst Rome burnt. He would conduct a whole fucking orchestra.

He came with darkness as his cloak, ensuring that the whole family was in one place before he acted, making sure that he didn’t make the same mistake they had. Once again, he strode in through the front door, but this time he had no gun on him, only a box of matches and a knife and the Devil’s hellfire in his heart. There were nine of them in the house - parents and seven children, and they all paid the price, because the question of their innocence had been rendered utterly void when they did everything they could to sweep his brother’s life under the carpet.

He made them bleed that night, stained the walls and the floors and the priceless antiques with vermillion and crimson and every other shade of red imaginable. He was an artist, like Jackson Pollock splashing the surface of the world, with the Brazzi home as his canvas and their blood as his paint. He took his sweet time with each family member, carving his rage and his revenge into their bodies, making sure that they were all awake to see the look in his eyes as he killed them, so that his face was the last thing they saw on this earth. Almost poetic, in a way; the most lyrical Orpheus had ever been in his life.

Raffaello was the last to die, a fate he had sealed for himself the minute he chose to raise his hand and end Hermes’ life. Orpheus let him crawl from his bedroom into the corridor, watched him leave a trail of blood behind him as he tried to drag his body away, and felt nothing more for the teenager than he would feel for a slug that had crawled into his path. The last thing Raffaello ever saw was the slow approach of Orpheus’ black boots and the twisted expression of macabre determination on his blood-flecked face. Lying there, surrounded by his own blood and the blood of his relatives, Raffaello Brazzi, murderer and coward, started to cry, and amidst his sobs he looked up at Orpheus and begged.

“Please, please, please, God, have mercy!”

“Mercy?” All Orpheus could do was laugh, the sound bitter and piercing in the mansion’s cavernous halls, lips contorting into an expression of pure disgust. “My brother might have shown you mercy. No, the only thing I can give you, the only thing you deserve, is my name. I am ORPHEUS AHULANI,” he proclaimed, raising the knife one last time. “Never forget it.”

[five] - E N D U R A N C E ;;

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, one fire for another. Orpheus torched their mansion to the ground, obliterating their family from the face of the Earth and making sure that no one by the name of Brazzi would ever darken the streets of his city again. He walked away from the burning wreckage with his head held high, proud frame silhouetted against a background of embers and flame, knowing that he would never face judgement for the crime he had committed (although he didn’t see it as such - to him, his actions were entirely justified, completely necessary, for there had been filth in his life and it had been successfully purged). Anyone who knew anything about Hermes Ahulani’s murder and the subsequent cover-up believed that he was dead, thought his whole family had been erased in order to let a killer go free simply because of his wealth. Orpheus knew that he was untouchable, and that finally the stage had been cleared for his life’s greatest work to begin.

He began slowly but confidently, disseminating news of his survival throughout the streets on which he had grown up. The paupers of Verona had been mourning their fallen prince, had feared the demise of their Robin Hood at the hands of the wealthy he stole from, and they were overjoyed to hear that their hero had been preserved, claimed that it was his virtue that had rescued him from the deadly inferno that had stolen his beloved family from them. Orpheus could have laughed at the irony of being presumed to be virtuous, but he let the rumour spread, let the streets ripple with rejoicing and relief, knowing that this jubilation would raise up a horde of soldiers for him. He whispered in all the right ears, smiled at all the right people, and used the outrage that had spread through the community upon the death of his family to galvanise the loyalty of every woman, man and child he laid his eyes on. The fortune he’d acquired wasn’t spent on himself, instead he began to dip into the pot of the vast wealth he’d suddenly accumulated to further magnify the people’s adoration, making sure that his charity was never too overt, that nothing more was ever said about his power than the odd whispered phrase. It was better this way, to be king from the shadows. It made him stronger.

He was only twenty-six and already more powerful than most men could become in five lifetimes, let alone one, and the whispers about him grew louder and louder, sparks that eventually ignited a forest fire of speculation, of mystery. Fires demand to be seen, to be heard, and one by one the influential figures in Verona began to take notice. Many approached him with offers of treaties and alliances, hoping that by taming Hades they could make his Underworld dance to their tune, but Orpheus knew the value of the kingdom he was poised to rule and the music that he wanted it to play, and so he turned each of them away, these men and women who claimed to be powerful, seeing through their charades of lies and always wanting something more.

It was a rainy day in October when Cosimo Capulet requested a meeting, and as he strode into the Cathedral, hair damp from the deluge outside, Orpheus knew that the right offer had finally come knocking on his door.

It was the first time he’d been into church to do anything other than steal, although equally illicit deeds were about to be performed under the Lord’s watchful gaze, bargains between the dark and the even darker, a treaty between two black kings who had each removed the white knights who threatened to stand in their way. Cosimo was shorter than Orpheus had expected, and with something of a wry smile he imagined that his brother would have informed the Capulet boss of that fact before he’d even sat down.

“Mister Ahulani, good of you to come.”

Orpheus acknowledged the pleasantry with a brief cant of the head, but didn’t bother to respond.

“Let’s make one thing very clear: if you’re here to offer me some hollow alliance, a way to take what I’ve built and sweep me to one side as soon as you get the chance, I’m walking out of here. The streets are no place for a man from your background, and you will never be able to control them like I can, no matter how much money or how many guns you have. We both know that you need me a lot more than I need you, Mr. Capulet, so go ahead, make your offer. I know you’re a smart man.”

Cosimo had to smile at that, knowing that his instinct about this young man had been correct. “My offer is simple, Orpheus, if I may call you that...” he trailed off, then, pausing to savour his triumph. “A good name you’ve got there. I like it.” Suddenly, he remembered himself, still smiling. “Yes, my offer is very simple: I want to give you the keys to a kingdom. Your kingdom. You can rule the underworld of Verona,” he intoned, sounding every inch the emperor he was, “you can rule it — with my hand to guide you.”

Outside, he could see the city lights sparkling through the stained glass. The rain had all but stopped, and Orpheus felt like he was flying.

“So what do you say?”

They’d both known the answer to the question the minute they’d laid eyes on one another, but Orpheus felt triumphant enough to say it anyway.

“Yes.”

[six] - C O M P L E T I O N ;;

And so Cosimo Capulet opened the gates that Orpheus had been longing to see open for as long as he could remember. With the might of the Capulet name behind him, he acceded to the throne that he was always born to sit on, knowing that Cosimo was intelligent enough to keep his distance, that he would never interfere. But even the king of kings could not know the extent of the ambition that lurked in Orpheus’ heart, a volcano of energy and zeal that was lying safely dormant, waiting for the perfect opportunity to erupt. For all the bullets in the world, he had weapons that were just as powerful - passion, emotion, the kind of burning fanaticism that only those who have nothing can muster. He accepted backing from the Capulets, played their game when they wanted him to, all the while conducting his own ruthless chess match in the shadows their eyes could not reach.

One day, he knew, he would build up the force to throw off the shackles of Verona’s elite, and so he bided his time, content to play the long game until such a time as it felt right to act.

But can a king ever really rule without someone by his side, without an ally of sorts, another half? Orpheus had had many lovers and companions throughout the course of his life, but none had captured his fancy for more than a fleeting instant, none of them could ever be considered worthy, and then he met Theodora Moreau in a hotel bar one night and the final piece of the puzzle seemed to have fallen into place.

It was not love that drew them together across a crowded room - love was for children, and idiots - but necessity, a flame that danced and sparked and seemed to hypnotise them both. He had heard them spoken of throughout the underworld and indeed above ground, had been privy to many whispers of the street kid who had risen beyond the stars, and the rumours had piqued his interest. He was in a corner booth at the bar in the Hotel Emelia, enjoying the low lighting and the whispered secrets that floated over to his ears from neighbouring tables, when he felt eyes on him and saw that they was standing directly in front of him. “You want to have sex with me,” they informed him curtly, lips pursed and head tilted contemplatively to one side, and Orpheus had to allow himself a laugh at their brashness. They were even more perceptive than he’d imagined. He had been watching them for most of the evening, out of the corner of his eye, allowing his gaze to drift with pleasure over their perfect form and that face, those eyes that were far more intelligent than he suspected many gave them credit for, finding himself drawn like moth to flame.

“Yes,” he answered, responding to openness with openness, quite enjoying this game to which they both seemed to know all the rules, “but a name would be nice, first. We are civilised people, after all.”

They looked him up and down with a hint of disdain (and damn, he was sold already), clearly thinking ‘well I, at least, am civilised, whether you are or not remains to be seen’, but seemed to deem him worthy of more than just an anonymous fuck in the hotel bathroom and sat down at his table instead. “Theodora Moreau.” They didn’t offer him their hand but he took it anyway, enjoying the way they shivered slightly as he brushed a kiss against their knuckles.

“Orpheus Ahulani.”

“It’s a pleasure,” they responded, withdrawing their hand back to their side, and for the life of him Orpheus couldn’t figure out why they were doing him the courtesy of such trivial pleasantries, but was mightily, mightily glad that they were.

“No,” he responded, taking a sip of his red wine and grinning, cat-like, in the half-light. “The pleasure is all mine.”