#now that I’m thirteen years older and untouchable

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merthur soulmate AU where they can always find each other:

Leon fulfils his self-appointed “older brother” role by helping them get away with it, and Morgana decides the son of her new guardian wasn’t so bad after all, if he came with such a great friend.

Part 2   Part 3 Part 4

This was requested a little while ago, also Homophobia doesn’t exist in this world and maybe that’s unrealistic but I literally don’t care, let me have this.

Everyone has a soulmate. It’s a fact of life.

No one really knows quite how it works, only that it’s something magical, and has been around since before recorded history.

Everyone can find their soulmate. They feel a tug in their heart, that always pulls them in the right direction, no matter what. No matter what obstacles or distance separates them, they may always be united, they may always find their way home.

Soulmate bonds were the one piece of magic that King Uther left untouched when he started his purge, for he was bonded to Arthur’s mother, and despite his cruelty, he could never find it in himself to deprive others of such a feeling. 

(Besides, they were so ancient and global, there’s nothing he could’ve done to destroy them; easier to save his pride and leave them be.)

Very rarely, only a few times in a century, a pairing will appear whose bond is so strong, the compass in their hearts works in a slightly different manner.

King Uther’s son, Prince Arthur, and heir to the throne of Camelot, was one half of such a special pairing.

~

The first time the Prince disappeared, he was five, and meant to be taking a nap.

This meant that his nannies hadn’t even noticed he was gone before he reappeared in his bed, and no one in the castle knew of his little adventure.

To say Hunith was surprised by the appearance of a very young, very blond child in her kitchen was an understatement. 

The last thing she was expecting to see when she turned around from laying her three year old down for a nap, was a noble-looking boy, who definitely hadn’t been there moments before.

After she recovers from her shock, she glances over at the front door (still locked) before looking back at the child with concern. She took a step towards him, and crouched down before quietly speaking:

“Hi there sweetie, how did you get in here?”

Child!Arthur ignores her, instead taking a wobbly step towards Toddler!Merlin, and without looking away from him, asks:

“Who’s that?”

Hunith is taken aback at that, and looks more closely at the child. He was clearly in sleep clothes, but they were made from expensive fabrics, and he looked chubby and happy and healthy, not like most young children around these parts.

She steps in front of Arthur again to try and catch his eye:

“Why don’t you tell me your name, and we’ll try to find your mum?”

Arthur looks at her only briefly as he pouts, before side-stepping again and regaining his line of sight to the dark haired toddler (still sleeping):

“Don’t have a mum. And dad’s busy. I wanted to find my person.”

Hunith tilts her head at that, but before she can ask what he means, Arthur finally looks at her properly, and begins speaking again:

“Are you my person? Or is it him? Nanny Marge says everyone has a person, and we can always find them.” he says it with confidence, and a self satisfied nod.

Hunith blinks, she knows all about soulmates, everyone does, but that still didn’t explain how the child had just appeared:

“Well, my name’s Hunith, and that’s my son, Merlin. Where are you from?”

Arthur yawns and stumbles towards Merlin, wrapped in blankets and laid in the corner. Hunith goes to grab him (Merlin was a fussy toddler, and it took forever to get him to sleep and she really didn’t want him to be woken up again.) but relaxes as Arthur sits cross-legged about a foot away from him, not ripping his gaze away for a moment.

He looks back up at Hunith sleepily, obviously starting to feel the effects of not napping:

“Mer-lin. I like that name. Like the birdy. I’m Prince Arthur of Camelot, son of King Uther.” He says the last part like it’s been rehearsed (it has) and Hunith stifles a gasp as she finally realises what’s happened.

Her old love, before he left, had told her of the rare pairings that appeared occasionally. The soulmates whose bond is so strong, they simply have to wish to be in the others presence, and they will appear there.

Truth be told, Hunith thought it was just a story. Soulmates are fairytale enough, but being able to appear at their side whenever you so wished? That was the stuff of love-stories and legend. Yet here stood a child, who claimed to be a Prince from another kingdom, who should be safely locked away in a castle several days journey from here. And all he seemed interested in, was Merlin.

Hunith wasn’t really sure what to do with this revelation. Not that she wasn’t glad her son had a soulmate, but her son’s soulmate was heir to a throne that would order a pyre for Merlin, even as a child. Merlin was floating spoons and lighting candles and knocking over cups before he could even crawl. Camelot was no place for him, at least not right now.

What if he accidentally did magic in front of the Prince? Would Arthur be scared, would he hate his own soulmate? Or would he not yet understand and tell someone accidentally? Would the King order his own son’s soulmate killed, if he found out?

Hunith shook the questions from her mind for now. Merlin was asleep, and she needed to figure out how to persuade Arthur that he needed to go back home:

“Arthur, that’s a lovely name. I know you want to find your person Arthur, but I think it might be best if you go home, before someone starts worrying, don’t you?”

Little Arthur yawns again, but pouts:

“I don’t want to go back. It’s so boring there, no one except Leon lets me play anything, and Leon’s busy.”

Hunith holds in a sigh, she can imagine life is difficult for an heir to the throne, especially with a father like Uther. She crouches down to his level again:

“I know sweetie, but you don’t want anyone worrying, do you?”

Arthur waits a moment before shaking his head forlornly. Hunith hopes she’s persuaded him, the only way he would go back is if he wanted to, she couldn’t force him. And she really didn’t want to have to journey back to Camelot on foot, and have to explain to the King why she had his son:

“No. I like Nanny Marge, and dad is always mean to her when she loses me.” Hunith frowns at that, but before she can say anything, Arthur stands on wobbly legs, and looks at her with determination:

“Ok. Bye-bye-”

He looks to Merlin again, and whispers his next few words, like he didn’t want to wake him:

“Bye Merlin. I promise I’ll come back-”

He looks back to Hunith again:

“Please can I come back? Leon says I should ask permission before going to someone’s home, so can I please please come back?”

Hunith worries her lip with her teeth at that, they were soulmates, she couldn’t exactly say no. But she also didn’t want to encourage the little prince to just disappear whenever he was bored:

“I... of course, Arthur, you’re more than welcome. But not too often, and not for too long, OK?” she tilts her head in question, and smiles when Arthur gives a decisive nod. 

She holds in a smile as the Little Prince (what she had affectionately been referring to him as in her head) scrunched his face in concentration, closing his eyes. After a few seconds, he disappears with a pop and a few sparks, and she lets out a breath of relief, hoping that he had returned safely.

She stands still for a moment and blinks, seemingly trying to process all that had happened. She hums thoughtfully, before looking lovingly towards her son, and muttering to herself:

“I have a feeling that your future just got a lot more complicated, my love.”

~

For the next year, Arthur would pop in and out of Hunith’s house once a month or so. He only ever came when he was meant to be having a nap (the only time he was really unsupervised during the day).

Luckily, it would appear, that he and Merlin shared nap times; Merlin can’t accidentally expose his magic to the Little Prince if he was asleep every time he appeared.

Over the visits, Hunith learnt as much about Arthur as she could. He knew Gaius, which she was definitely relieved at (and sent a letter to him explaining everything the day she found out they knew each other). Someone in the castle knowing where Arthur had disappeared off to, if anyone ever noticed, would help.

She also found out who Leon was, the son of a noble, an aspiring knight-to-be, around twelve years old to Arthur’s six (both he and Merlin had birthdays at some point between visits), and that he seemed to be the only person around who allowed Arthur to have a little fun every once in a while.

After a little coaxing, she found that Arthur didn’t really know anything about his mother, only what Leon could remember, because Uther refused to speak of her (she thought that was a little heartbreaking, but hid it well).

Arthur kept his word, and never stayed for longer than ten minutes, but Hunith worried; she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold Arthur off for very long. He had visited around thirteen times, and Merlin had been asleep for every one of them. 

Arthur would want to wake him up eventually, to actually talk to his soulmate, and who knows what Merlin would do.

~

Eventually, a few months before Merlin’s fifth birthday, Hunith sat him down and told him what had been happening. That he and his soulmate were very special, and that Arthur had been visiting whilst he was asleep.

To say that Merlin was excited was a vast understatement, and Hunith had to quell her panic when he asked if he could visit Arthur where he was:

“No Merlin, I’m sorry, you have to stay here, remember?-”

She frowns sorrowfully at Merlin’s pout and teary eyes, before schooling her face into a smile and continuing:

“But I promise, next time he visits, I’ll wake you up and you can play together, does that sound fun?-”

She chuckles at his excited nod:

“But only if you don’t use your gift sweetheart, Arthur might not be as good at keeping secrets as you or I am, so we’ll have to wait until he’s older, do you understand?” she whispers that, hoping that it would be easier to convince him if he thought of it as a fun game, instead of a life threatening secret.

Merlin thinks for a minute before nodding:

“Yes mama. No magic until he’s older.”

Hunith pats him on the head, taking a deep breath and preparing herself for Merlin to repeatedly ask her how long until Arthur visited.

~

So that’s how it goes for several years, Arthur visiting Ealdor when no one was paying attention, he and Merlin playing quietly, with no magic, for a while, before Arthur popped back home.

Hunith was grateful for the current simplicity, but she knew it couldn’t last. Merlin had been asking more and more if he could visit Arthur, and it was only a matter of time before he snuck off without telling her.

That, and the magic problem.

Arthur had spoken of his lessons, how according to everyone at home, magic was evil. Merlin always looked so sad at that, and Hunith was grateful for the fact that Arthur didn’t sound so sure. But she also knew that it was only a matter of time before Arthur was convinced by his father’s determined hatred, and she didn’t want to see the heartbreak on Merlin’s face.

The first time The Little Prince spoke of an execution, he was eight, and Merlin had just had his seventh birthday. Merlin cried as Arthur described it, and Hunith had to stop the anger at Arthur growing in her: it wasn’t his fault, and he didn’t exactly sound happy about it at all.

If anything, he seemed almost as upset as Merlin and when Arthur had noticed Merlin’s tears, he stopped talking immediately and bit his lip, looking to Hunith worriedly.

Hunith clenched her jaw before wrapping an arm around each of the children, and speaking to Arthur quietly as Merlin still sniffled:

“Do you think you can keep a secret, Arthur? A really big one, from everyone? Even Leon and your dad?”

He nodded vigorously, and Hunith gives him a weak smile before looking to Merlin, who stared back at her with watery eyes:

“Go on then Merlin, I think he’s old enough to know, don’t you?”

Merlin nodded this time, a little more hesitantly than Arthur, but he looks to his soulmate anyway.

Arthur stared back with wide, worried eyes, and gasped as Merlin all but whispered:

“I was born with magic. I am magic.”

Arthur looks scared for a split second, before he shuffles close to Merlin and taking his pudgy hand in his own. He thinks for a second, before looking at Hunith quickly, and then Merlin. He gives a firm nod as he says:

“I don’t care, and I promise not to tell anyone. If you have magic then it can’t be evil, and when I’m King, I’ll make sure everyone else knows that as well.”

Hunith lets out a sigh of relief, feeling like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders as Arthur’s short arms pull the three of them into a tight hug.

~

The first time Merlin disappears, is almost a year later. Arthur was nine, and Merlin was only a few days away from being eight.

During Arthur’s last visit, he had told them of a new addition to the castle, a sad, dark haired girl called Morgana, a year older than him.

He explained that something had happened to her parents, and his father had taken her in.

Merlin seemed concerned at that, and Hunith had a feeling that it would only be a matter of time before her son decided he wanted to help her (the boy was dangerously empathetic, he teared up at even the thought of other people suffering).

When she found the scrawled note on the table (Arthur had begun sneaking books with him, and he and Hunith would sit with Merlin, teaching him to read and write as best they could) with backwards letters and misspelt words, she almost panicked.

But she sat herself down and took a deep breath, knowing that Arthur had managed to keep the secret so far, and that Merlin could just reappear if he found himself in danger.

That didn’t stop her from scolding a sheepish Merlin when he returned half an hour later.

~

Arthur and Merlin had organised it on their previous visit. Arthur would make sure that he was locked safely in his room at a specific time, and Merlin could come to him for a change. Then Arthur could go get Morgana (and maybe Leon) so he could meet them. 

Morgana had only been there for a month or so, and she had yet to warm up to Arthur. She was quiet, but had a sharp tongue when she chose to speak, not that that had put Arthur off quite yet. 

He was still determined that they would be friends, and Merlin was great! So what better way to get Morgana to like him, than to introduce her to Merlin?

Merlin was overjoyed when he appeared in Arthur’s room, the bedchamber being larger that the footprint of his entire house back in Ealdor. The bed itself was what he found most impressive, it was so huge and soft! And there were so many blankets and pillows! Merlin quietly thought to himself that he should come here more often.

Arthur was nervous. Excited, but nervous. They’d known each other for years now, but this was the first time that Merlin was actually seeing his home. What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t want to be soulmates anymore, because he preferred his own home?

(”Although-” The Little Prince started to think, “if Merlin decided he wanted to stay in Ealdor, I think I would just stay with him. ‘Gana can do all my boring King stuff here, and I can go be a farmer with Merlin.”)

Those nerves disappeared the moment he saw the grin on Merlin’s face. Arthur showed Merlin where to hide, just in case, whilst he went to fetch Morgana. He had already told her he had a surprise, so it shouldn’t take too long to persuade her to follow him.

Arthur found her in a flower garden hidden round the back of the castle, she gave in and allowed him to drag her by the hand to his chambers with only minimal grumbling. She did however glare as Arthur pressed a hand over her mouth when she went to question why they were hiding from everyone who passed them in the corridors.

Eventually they were stood outside Arthur’s chambers, but before they enter, Arthur turns to Morgana and whispers conspiratorially:

“This is a secret so you have to promise not to tell anyone, kay? Not even Leon or my dad.”

Before Morgana could reply, she gasps, looking over Arthur’s shoulder with wide eyes.

Arthur turns and bites his lip as he sees Leon (now 15, and well into his initial Knight training) leaning against the wall casually, arms folded on his chest, and an eyebrow raised:

“What is it that no one is meant to be telling me, My Lord?”

Morgana stands in silence, hands folded in front of her, trying to appear as casual as possible as Arthur stutters:

“Oh... err... nothing Leon. I just wanted.... I wanted to show ‘Gana what I learnt on the piano this morning!” He hears Morgana huff behind him, she hated when Arthur called her that, and had said as much to him, but he didn’t seem to care.

Leon raises his eyebrow even further as he begins walking towards the two children:

“Is that so? Well why is that such a big secret? Don’t you want to show me too?”

As Leon stops in front of Arthur, towering over the boy, he puts his serious “I’m-potentially-about-to-tell-you-off-if-you-don’t-start-telling-the-truth” face:

“I... uhh... wanted it to be a secret! Until I get better! Then I can show you and dad!”

Morgana struggles not to mutter complaints at his terrible lying as Leon sighs:

“Arthur, what have we said about lying? It makes communication hard, and makes it difficult for people to trust you, and will only lead to problems later on. Would you like to try again?”

Arthur looks to the floor as he shuffles again, and Morgana feels just a little sorry for him. Not that she would say that.

Leon sighs once more and crouches to his level, forcing Arthur to meet his eyes. He gives the young prince a small smile as he speaks:

“If you don’t want to tell me Arthur, that’s fine. “It’s a secret for me and Morgana” is a perfectly acceptable answer. But lying isn’t. If you promise me that you aren’t doing anything naughty, then I’ll trust you, but I would feel better if another adult did know about it.”

Arthur looks up at him at that, surprised. His father would never accept Arthur keeping secrets from him. He replies quietly:

“It’s a secret for me and Morgana... and an adult does know about it... sort of. And it isn’t bad, I promise! Buuuuut-”

Arthur fiddles with his hands as he looks to his door briefly, before looking back at Leon:

“-if you promise to keep it a secret too, then you can see!-”

Arthur pulls his face into a scowl before continuing:

“-but ONLY if you promise!”

Leon hums exaggeratedly, and rubs his chin:

“Well... I promise to keep it a secret IF it isn’t naughty, or hurting anyone. How does that sound?”

Arthur’s face breaks into a grin and he nods, before opening his door and stepping inside. He quickly waves the others in and shuts and locks the door behind them, taking their hands in his own:

“You can come out now Merls, I’ve bought them!”

Leon and Morgana were astonished when a skinny, semi-grubby, obviously peasant-boy, came crawling out from under Arthur’s bed, and had to hold in gasps.

Merlin stands awkwardly as Arthur grins at him, and waves nervously to the new-comers:

“Hi... I’m Merlin. Me and Arthur are-”

Before he can finish, Arthur excitedly interrupts him:

“He’s my soulmate!”

The room is silent for a while, Merlin getting more nervous by the second, Arthur practically bouncing off the walls with excitement (and being oblivious to the awkwardness), Morgana being marginally surprised but taking it in her stride, and Leon... well... Leon was absolutely freaking out. But you wouldn’t know that from looking at him.

After only about a minute (but it feels like forever for Merlin), Leon stutters some words out:

“Arthur where did you.... why... where did you find this kid??”

Arthur looks to him in confusion as he stops jumping up and down:

“I told you. He’s my soulmate.-”

He puffs up his chest and puts his hand on his hips, looking extremely proud of himself as he continues:

“-I found him all on my own. I’ve been visiting him forever, but I wanted him to come here for once, so he could meet ‘Gana.”

Morgana breaks out her stupor at that, and looks at Arthur incredulously before looking back at Merlin:

“Hi, Merlin.” with a small smile, which Merlin returns.

Leon takes in a deep breath, wondering how the hell he was supposed to deal with this. The Prince had... kidnapped a commoner? Without anyone in the castle noticing?? What??? Nothing in his lessons trained him for this.

He shakes off his confusion and finally looks away from Merlin, and to Arthur:

“Wait... what do you mean you’ve been visiting him? When have you been going? And where?”

Arthur swayed on the spot, trying to look innocent:

“At the beginning I went when I was supposed to be napping. Then I would go when I was meant to be doing self-study. I only go once or month or so, and not for very long. Merlin’s mum is always worried about someone missing me.”

Leon takes another deep breath:

“Arthur... how did you sneak out without anyone noticing? And how did you get Merlin in?”

As much as Leon wanted to solve the problem of “there is a random commoner child in the prince’s room” thing, he was also greatly disturbed by the fact that two children, who hadn’t even hit double digits yet, had been sneaking in and out of what was meant to be a heavily fortified, guarded, castle, for years.

Arthur seems to have a realisation at Leon’s questions:

“OH! Like this!”

With that, he runs out the room, and Leon goes to follow him, but the prince manages to shut the door just before he got there.

Morgana is looking on all of this with mild confusion and shock, not really understanding what was going on, but happy to wait quietly and see what would happen.

Just as Leon goes to open the door, he hears a pop, followed by a voice from behind him:

“See!” Leon freezes and he hears Morgana gasp.

The teen turns around slowly, to see a grinning Arthur stood next to a cheerful looking Merlin:

“Uhh... Arthur, how did you do that?-”

Leon begins panicking, the only thing running through his head is “sorcery!” and whilst he would like to believe that Uther would never harm his own son, with the way he was going with the purge... there was no guarantee.

He rushes forward and grips Arthur’s shoulders:

“I need you to tell me how you did that, right now Arthur, it’s important.”

Arthur frowns as he replies:

“I told you. He’s my soulmate. I just have to want to be with him, and I can be. Merlin’s mum says it’s super rare, and that makes us special.” Morgana once again gasps at that before smiling, and speaking for the first time since she said hello to Merlin:

“I heard about that! Two of the nobles in my old home could do it. It IS rare, but sometimes soulmates can blink and be next to each other, if they wanted that!”

Arthur and Merlin nod enthusiastically at that, and Leon sags with relief, now that his mind and heart weren’t racing so much, he did remember briefly reading something about that during his studies. And if all of this was just soulmate magic... then they should be safe.

Though by the looks of the boy... probably still best not tell Uther about it. He doubts the King would be pleased about his son being bonded with a peasant.

“Ok... ok.-”

Leon turns his attention to Merlin:

“-You said your name was Merlin? Does someone know that you’re here?”

Merlin nods as he replies:

“I left a note for my mum. But I can’t be too long though, or she’ll worry.”

Leon looks surprised at that:

“You can read and write?”

“I taught him!” comes proudly from Arthur. 

Leon nods again and re-locks the door behind him, before gesturing at everyone to sit on the soft rug together.

After establishing that Merlin had only arrived just before Arthur went to fetch Morgana, Leon says that they can sit and talk for another 15 minutes or so before Merlin had to go home.

Arthur pouted at that, but a look from Leon stopped him before he actually complained. Morgana and Leon spent the time asking questions about Merlin: where he was from, and how old he was, and about his family.

Merlin was shy at first, but Arthur had been talking about Leon forever, and Morgana seemed nice, even if she did look a bit sad sometimes.

After their time was up, everyone gave Merlin a quick hug, and Arthur promised he’d try to pop over at some point next week (Leon definitely had to stop the momentary panic at that).

Merlin disappeared with a pop, and Arthur made Morgana and Leon promise not to tell once more. Once they promised, they each wondered off Morgana to an afternoon lesson, Leon to s training session, both deep in thought.

Arthur smiled to himself. He didn’t like keeping things from Leon, because he was the only one around who was any fun, and Morgana had definitely seemed happier. So his plan succeeded!

~

It continued like that for some time. Arthur was the one who went to Merlin’s most often, but occasionally Merlin would go to him.

Morgana slowly started cheering up, recovering from her grief, and the three of them (almost always overseen by an always-worrying Leon) loved spending time together, and playing in the safety of Arthur’s chambers.

Thankfully, Uther never questioned it, happy that his son and his new ward seemed to be getting along finally.

The first time Merlin woke crying from a nightmare that was filled with smoke and fire, he was twelve.

He appeared in Arthur’s room within seconds, wanting nothing but the comfort of having his soulmate next to him, and Arthur woke to the quiet sniffling of a distraught Merlin perched on the end of his bed. 

Before he’s even fully awake, he has him wrapped in a hug, and is stroking his hair in an effort to calm him.

There may not be guards stationed outside his rooms during the day, but there were at night, and would be until he turned 18 (still four and a half years away), so they needed to be quiet.

They fall asleep curled up next to each other, clutching hands, and Merlin sleeps through the rest of the night without a problem. (They both wake with a start as a servant knocks on the door the next morning, and after the quickest hug they’ve ever shared, Merlin pops away, back to his own bed.)

That begins to happen more and more often, and after a couple weeks, Merlin is sleeping in Arthur’s bed most nights. 

He isn’t quite sure if he sleeps so much better because the bed is worth more than his entire village (it’s so comfy!), or if his magic is more relaxed with Arthur by his side, but either way, the nightmares stop almost entirely.

Hunith realises fairly quickly what’s going on, and does worry briefly if going to the place his nightmares took place in was the best, but Merlin seemed happier, and less tired, and once he promised to always be back before the servants came into Arthur’s room, she was a little more ok with it.

(She also made Merlin and Arthur swear to tell Leon, just in case. She hasn’t met Leon of course, but the boys talk about him and Morgana constantly, and she was grateful that the boys had someone other than Gaius (who hadn’t actually met Merlin yet) to look out for them. At this rate, Leon wouldn’t be surprised if all of this caused him to have a heart attack before he was even officially knighted. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Once Arthur finally persuades Merlin to tell him what his nightmares are about, he’s horrified. It’ll be then that Arthur will begin to be more vocal about his objection to the executions, and ask questions about magic. Uther always punishes him of course, but Arthur just learns to hold his tongue instead.

Merlin cries, Morgana smiles widely, and Leon is speechless, when Arthur tells them that:

“When I’m King, magic will be everywhere! Of course people will have to be careful with it, but in the same way us knights have to be careful with swords. Isn’t that right, Leon?”

Leon goes pale at that, and takes a few moments to respond:

“Right... well. Just.... make sure you do your research Arthur, and that you know all the facts, and do NOT, no matter what, ever tell your father about this. Do you understand?”

Arthur nods glumly. He’s tried to change his father’s mind in the past, and it got him nothing but bruised knuckles and an hour long yelled lecture and extra training hours with the knights.

Leon looks to a sniffling Merlin next, and asks him what’s wrong. Arthur holds in a worried gasp, and Morgana raises an eyebrow (even at 14, she was incredibly observant and smart, she knew what was up).

Merlin grabs Arthur’s hand, but looks up at Leon through thick eyelashes, and mumbles so quietly, Leon barely hears it:

“Promise you won’t get mad? Or hate me?”

Leon has a bad feeling that he knows where this is going, but he puts a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder and gives him a soft smile:

“I could never hate you Merlin, promise.”

At that, Merlin bites his lip, and glances at Arthur quickly, before looking to the fire in the hearth. Leon furrows his brow in confusion, and Morgana hides an excited smile as Merlin mumbles under his breath:

“Give me a dragon.”

Leon gasps and takes a step back as the flames flutter, as if blown by a strong wind, before morphing into a miniature dragon.

The royal sorta-siblings look on in wonder as Merlin screws his face in concentration, eyes glowing golden, and Leon stares, speechless.

After a few minutes of the dragon flying around the large fireplace, it fades back into the flames again. Morgana whispers under her breath:

“That was amazing!” and Arthur smiles proudly as Merlin takes in deep breaths. He’d never held it that long before, and it had worn him out slightly.

He looks back to Leon (who is still staring dumbly at the fire) and furrows his brows in worry:

“You did promise... you’re not scared of me are you?” He looks close to tears again, and the tremble in his voice grabs Leon’s attention once again.

The older teen gathers the three of them in a tight hug, before whispering (worried someone would hear, even though they never have before):

“Of course I’m not scared of you, Birdy (an affectionate nickname, started by Morgana, and picked up by everyone else, much to Merlin’s chagrin), you just have to promise to be careful. I promise to try my best, but if someone else finds out I probably won’t be able to protect you, Ok?”

At that he pulls back, but grips Merlin’s shoulders tightly, worry written all over his face. When Merlin only nods infinitesimally, Leon shakes him ever so slightly, and gives him a desperate look:

“OK??” Merlin nods more vigorously, and mutters out an “I understand, Leon.”

Leon lets go and sighs, looking to the floor and fiddling with his hands hidden behind his back (one of the many rules he learnt growing up as a noble: fidgeting is a sign on weakness).

He takes in a fortifying breath and moves his hands to his sides before looking out the window, noticing that it’s almost dusk and looking back to the three children with a smile:

“You best get home Merlin, it’s getting late and I don’t want your mum to worry. Same time next week, ok? Next time we see each other, I’ll be a knight.” He says it with a grin, and smiles light up on the other’s faces as well. They were young, but they knew how much this meant to Leon, especially Arthur, who was about a year into his training.

Merlin gives everyone a quick hug, lingering a little longer on Arthur (like always) before stepping back, and disappearing with a pop.

~

The secret is revealed when Merlin is 15 (Arthur being 16, Morgana being 17, and Leon being 22).

The four of them had agreed a next meeting time, like normal, though they were having to be far more careful. With Arthur being older, he was being saddled with more and more responsibilities. His training hours and lessons were longer, he was expected to travel away from the city more, and he shadowed The King whilst he undertook his duties for the rest of the day.

Uther had mentioned Arthur’s soulmate in passing a few times (that always incited a hidden smirk from Morgana, and a nervous gulp from Leon, if he was around).

But Arthur always managed to derail the conversation and avoid the topic by saying something along the lines of “Finding my soulmate is important to me father, but not as important as learning to be the best King I can be for the kingdom. I feel the pull everyday, but until I am steadfast in my abilities and duties, it will remain unimportant to me.”

Uther always looked partially sad at that, he had loved Arthur’s mother, his soulmate, very much. But mostly he is proud at Arthur’s confidence and determination and loyalty.

If only he realised that Arthur was lying through his teeth, and had decided when he was incredibly young that he would happily hand all of it over to Morgana, in order to lead a simpler life with Merlin.

Anyway.

The next meeting time had been agreed. But bandits had been sighted causing trouble a few hours outside of the city, and Arthur was called to attend an emergency council meeting.

The page didn’t leave his side for a second, leading him straight to the council-room, meaning that Arthur couldn’t pop away for even two seconds to warn Merlin not to come.

He just had to hope that the meeting was over quick, and he could escape somewhere solitary before the young Warlock came around.

He was so close.

He paid close attention during the meeting, making excellent suggestions and being generally helpful, in an effort to speed things along. This backfired in a way he didn’t quite expect.

The meeting ended, knights sent to deal with the problem in the manner decided, and councilman heading back to whatever it is they did when not in meetings (at this point Arthur still doesn’t know, and is too afraid to ask). 

The Prince had almost made it out of the door before Uther called him back in. He halts in the doorway, and Morgana, ahead of him in the hallway, looks back, giving him a fearful look and mouthing “Give him an excuse! Hurry!”

Arthur turns back to the room (now devoid of everyone but The King and himself):

“I apologise father, but I was in the middle of-”

Uther gives him a stern look, and crooks a finger towards himself:

“Come. Here.”

Arthur schools his face, appearing blank, as he re-enters the room and shuts the door behind him. He stands to attention in front of his father, and figures this is just another part of the meeting he would have to hurry along. 

He glances at the shadows on the wall quickly, he should have another few minutes, as long as Merlin didn’t get too excited and appear earlier than he’s meant to.

“I wanted to congratulate you today Arthur. You did very well-”

He places a hand on his son’s shoulder and smiles hesitantly:

“-I... I’m proud of you. You’re learning well, picking things up quickly. You understand the workings of court and council near fluently now, and Sirs Kay and Leon tell me that your combat training is going astoundingly.”

Arthur’s resolve crumbles a little at that, and he almost forgets his desperation to leave the room:

“I... thank you, father. I’m trying my best to do you and the kingdom proud.”

Uther nods firmly at that and removes his hand, stepping back, the tender moment over as quickly as it had begun:

“Good. You are dismissed for the day, go back to your studies.”

Arthur struggles to hold in a relieved sigh as he bows briefly before turning around and almost rushing towards the door. He is too late however, and just as he reaches for the doorknob, he hears the tell tale pop sound from behind him. He freezes as he hears:

“Arthur, where the hell-” quickly interrupted by his father roaring:

“WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?! GUARDS!”

Arthur rushes to turn around and grabs Merlin’s hand, pulling him to the side as guards burst through the door he was just stood in front of.

All of them raise swords at the terrified boy that Uther was pointing at, and Arthur quickly positions his body between them and Merlin:

“NO! Don’t hurt him! Please!”

Morgana rushes in just moments after the guards, and spots the boys immediately, stepping around the knights and standing next to Arthur defiantly. Uther looks affronted before yelling, red-faced:

“What is the meaning of this? Explain yourselves this instant, and get away from that beast!”

Morgana tightens her jaw as she takes Merlin’s other hand protectively in her own. She can feel him shaking, but knows he is too scared to just disappear again. She’s secretly grateful for that. If Merlin disappeared now there would be a manhunt and demands of explanations. The King might believe them if they can show him the truth (the same way the boys had shown her and Leon all those years ago).

“Please father, just listen. Merlin is my soulmate, it isn’t sorcery, we simply have a bond stronger than others-”

At Uther’s still-angry snarl, Arthur straightens his back, and takes in a breath, standing still and strong:

“You will NOT harm him. I would lay down my life before you lay a hand on him.” The guards falter a little at that, but still keep their swords raised.

Arthur hears Merlin take in a shaky breath at that, and squeezes his hand slightly. Morgana nods her agreement and Arthur gives her a brief, grateful smile as she says confidently:

“The same goes for me, if you wish to harm Merlin, or separate him from Arthur, you will have to order your guards to strike me down first.”

Uther lets out a growl at that:

“Soulmate or not, he used sorcery to appear out of thin air. That is treachery!”

Arthur huffs before shouting back:

“NO! Just ask Gaius, or Geoffrey. Occasionally, there are soulmates whose bond is stronger than normal, just ask Gaius-”

Arthur gives Uther his own growl as he continues:

“-And like I said. I would challenge you yourself, before I allowed anyone to hurt him.”

Uther slumps slightly and narrows his eyes at his son before telling one of the younger guards to fetch Gaius and Geoffrey immediately. He does however tell the other guards to keep their swords trained on the boy, and Merlin almost takes a frightened step back, only stopped by Arthur and Morgana, who hold him steady.

Arthur and Uther remain in a hard staring contest for the few minutes it takes the guard to return, Gaius and Geoffrey in tow.

Gaius glances at Merlin in surprise, but covers it quickly as he returns his gaze to The King as he growls:

“Tell me all you know of soulmate bonds.”

Geoffrey speaks first, confusion in his tone:

“My Lord?” 

Uther levels a glare at him as he yells:

“NOW!”

Geoffrey is taken aback, but replies immediately:

“Well My Lord, everyone on this earth has a soulmate, someone whose soul is bound to your own. The bonds provide a compass of sorts, meaning that one can always tell what direction their soulmate is, and, with practice, roughly how far away they are. No one is certain of how these bonds come about, though centuries of research show that they aren’t harmful in anyway, and other than incredibly rare, extreme, cases, the two whose souls are bonded are a perfect match for each other; bound to fall in love-”

Gaius jumps in here:

“And in even rarer cases, My Lord, a pair may appear whose bond is so strong, they have further... abilities. This pair of souls will be able to appear to each other at will, only needing to wish to be in the other’s presence. They are also able to disappear again, but may only transport themselves to the position they were before. Academics are even more perplexed as to how these bonds are forged, though the only known pairs with such a bond have all gone on to achieve great things.”

Gaius resists the urge to look towards the three teenagers, and keeps his placating gaze on The King, who does seem to be calming slightly. Uther looks to Geoffrey for confirmation, and the librarian nods, adding:

“It is incredibly rare sire, but possible, and proven.”

Uther is considerably less angry now, but the guards don’t relax, and neither do Arthur or Morgana as The King speaks again:

“How would one prove such a bond, and differentiate it from sorcery?”

Gaius jumps to answer this question, trying to keep control of the situation:

“Well one could simply ask for a demonstration-”

He gestures to the teenagers still huddled to the side:

“-I’m assuming that these...?-”

At Uther’s stiff nod, he continues:

“-might I ask Prince Arthur to leave the room, the door shut behind him, and demonstrate his ability?” Uther looks angry for a moment, and Morgana tightens her hold on Merlin as he takes in a scared gasp. After a few moments of deliberation, The King looks to his son and gives a slight, but firm, nod.

Arthur gives Merlin a quick smile, and reluctantly lets go of his hand before saying:

“I’m only leaving him if the guards sheath their swords, and step back-”

Uther goes to interrupt him, but Arthur continues harshly:

-And THAT, is final.”

Uther gives a nod once more, and the guards cautiously put their swords away. Arthur nods at Morgana, and she takes his place directly in front of Merlin as he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Morgana can feel Merlin shaking behind her, but she grits her teeth, and squeezes his hand. She meant what she said, she would force the guards to cut her down before she allowed them to hurt her friend.

A second later, she hears the tell tale pop, and smirks slightly at the astounded look on Uther’s face, not having to look to know that Arthur was now stood behind her.

Uther still looks slightly disbelieving, but before he can say anything (or God forbid accuse his son of sorcery) Gaius speaks up:

“I have both ancient and modern literature on the subject My Lord, if you would like to read about it.”

Uther lets out a sigh, and purses his lips before looking to the physician:

“Very well. Have them ready for me tonight. Everybody out! I wish to talk to my son and this... boy.”

Gaius throws one last glance to the three teenagers, before shuffling out the room, closely followed by Geoffrey and the guards. Morgana stays in place.

Uther looks exasperated before saying:

“That includes you, Morgana. Out-”

Morgana interrupts him angrily:

“No. I will not leave. Merlin may be Arthur’s soulmate, but he’s my friend as well. I won’t allow you to hurt him, or speak down to him.”

Uther looks enraged once again, but Arthur speaks before he can start yelling again:

“I shan’t talk about it unless Morgana is allowed to remain, father. She has been nothing but loyal and protective of Merlin, and as his soulmate, I appreciate that greatly. She stays.” 

Arthur thought about demanding that Sir Leon be summoned as well, but he didn’t want to get the man into trouble, he had already done so much for them. And besides, Arthur is fairly certain that if he continues to order his Father around like this, he’ll lose his temper once more. There’s only so many demands someone can make of the King before context becomes unimportant, and it becomes a matter of pride.

Uther grits his teeth once more before nodding, and muttering out a quiet “Fine.”.

The King straightens himself, and regains his regal composure before speaking once again:

“Merlin, was it? Bring yourself forward, boy.”

Morgana goes to argue, and Arthur looks insulted, both about to retort against the tone and choice of words, but before they can say anything, Merlin pushes between them, to face Uther head on.

He gives a small bow, but maintains eye contact, and speaks once he raises again:

“Yes sire, my name is Merlin.”

Uther scowls as he looks him up and down, and Merlin can feel Arthur and Morgana fuming either side of him.

“You look like nothing but a farmer. I will not have my son and only heir, bonded to a peasant.”

Merlin goes to retort at that, indignant at having his worth as a person lowered by his class status, but before even Arthur can speak up, Morgana steps forwards angrily:

“I told you, I will not allow you to speak down to him. Merlin is a wonderful person. Kind, and compassionate, and wise beyond his years; he’s twice the man most of your so called nobles are, you will treat him with the respect he deserves, or the three of us will leave right now.”

Merlin is taken aback at that. I suppose because it’s only ever been the three of them, and Leon, he’s never really seen Morgana angry. Sure, he’s listened to her rant about the unjustness of Uther’s laws, but never anything like this. The display of somewhat aggressive protectiveness from her definitely makes him tear up a little.

Uther’s face turns red at her demand, and he looks about ready to kick off again, but Arthur steps forward, in line with Morgana (once again, leaving Merlin protected behind them):

“As she said father. Merlin is my soulmate, whether you like it or not. I will not leave him, we will not be separated, and that will never change. If you can not speak to him respectfully, then you won’t speak to either of us at all.”

Merlin takes Arthur’s shoulder and pushes himself forward again before saying quietly:

“Arthur, no, he’s your father. I don’t mind, it’s fine, maybe I should go?”

Arthur doesn’t look at him, but takes his hand wordlessly, gripping it tight as he glares at Uther (who looks slightly taken aback at the offer).

Morgana once again takes Merlin’s other hand and says:

“No. We’re resolving this now, and The King is just going to have to come to terms with the fact that someone’s status does not define their worth.” She looks pointedly at Uther at that, and the older man sighs, rubbing his eyes slightly, before gesturing to the council table:

“Fine. Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, take a seat, and we shall discuss how we plan to move forward.”

~

END OF PART 1

Part 2 is up! Part 3 is up!

Let me know what y’all think :)

[helliontherapscallion]

Who? (Forlorn Tale of Dionysus Part 2)

Part 1

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 2,843

(A/N): I’m not exactly sure if this will continue any further, this was just a fun little thing I had in my drafts for a while after some interesting convos in my discord server (which you totally should join, it’s a vibe). This is lowkey word vomit, but eh. This is all strictly platonic btw

“Michael, are you sure you saw a house out here? I really don’t think-” You were interrupted by your much shorter friend yanking on your sleeve to get your attention. You looked down at him in question and watched as he raised his hands.

‘I am sure I saw that house, (y/n)! It is here somewhere.’ 

You fiddled with the sleeves of your thick coat with unease, “alright, but if we don’t find it soon I wanna head back. Uncle Boo and Uncle Tubbo are probably going to start to worry.”

Michael huffed at the mention of his parents. You knew how overbearing they were, causing your friend to crave new experiences and adventures. You’d known him for a couple of years now and he was rebelling more with each passing day. You could relate slightly, Philza and Technoblade had hardly let you out of the house without another person to accompany you. You never really understood why, you were almost thirteen now so you should be able to explore what you want. 

An excited squeal left your friend’s mouth before he started to pull you towards something in the distance, startling you out of your trance. You matched his pace with ease and felt nervous excitement tingle in your chest. 

As you got closer, you could make out small details of the cabin. It was a simple small cabin built out of spruce planks with glass windows and a brick chimney, but you liked it. It strangely felt homey. 

You pulled Michael into a nearby shrub underneath a window and peered in. The interior was also as simplistic as the outside was, looking untouched and tidy as if nobody was living there. You could see that the ceilings were taller than average, perhaps a hybrid of some sort lived here? 

Michael tapped your shoulder, ‘it doesn’t look like anybody’s home right now. Let’s go in.’ 

You opened your mouth to object before the sight of his set jaw and his eyes dead set on something inside made you close it. You learned from experience that when he was this determined, there was no stopping him. You sighed, “fine, but the second we get caught, it was your idea.” 

You both made your way to the front door. Without a second thought, Michael twisted the doorknob and swung the door open. A startled snort left his throat as he stumbled inside, making you put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He jabbed the side of your lower torso, ‘shut up, I thought it was going to be locked.’

He pulled you inside and you both explored the living room. Bookshelves and portraits lined the walls, a single large couch sat off to the side, and the fireplace mantle was lined with a few small golden hooks. Michael made a beeline towards it, admiring the metal. It seems that’s what he saw that made him so determined to get inside. You hoped that he wouldn’t steal them and explored the area further. 

The portraits on the walls were a slight shock to you, they all included some people that you could recognize; in one you could make out a picture of younger versions of Ranboo, Philza, Technoblade, and Niki. Technoblade and Philza were sparring with shining golden swords while Ranboo and Niki sat in the grass on a hill watching with interest. Maybe this was just one of their old cabins? 

You saw people that you didn’t recognize as well. Namely a cat hybrid with striking sapphire blue eyes, a man seemingly human (you say seemingly because your eyes caught sight of pointed ears) wearing a white bandana keeping his jet black hair out of his face, a tall man with green freckles and a creeper mask, an anthropomorphic diamond block with beady black eyes and a wide smile, and a man that looked strangely like Ghostbur except he was wearing a uniform of some sort. However, a demon quickly caught your eye and made your heart leap for joy. There was someone out there that was like you! 

The man looked kind, always wearing a cheery smile and occasionally waving at the camera. He was tall and lanky, always towering over the others by a considerable amount. That made sense, Philza had told you that demons were naturally very tall when you asked him why you were growing faster than Michael when the zombie piglin was two years older than you were. Large wings and horns akin to yours sprouted from his back and head respectively. If he wasn’t constantly smiling, you would’ve thought that he was malevolent. 

You heard the rapid footsteps of Michael’s boots behind you as you turned around. You bounced on the balls of your feet excitedly, “Michael look, another demon! Do you think he lives here?”

You watched as he shrugged and pulled you towards the kitchen. ‘I don’t know, but look! There’s another demon that looks exactly like you!’ 

On the kitchen table surrounded by various trinkets (bottles of wine, gold bricks, stale bread, and the decomposed remains of flower crowns and bouquets being the majority of the items) laid a framed picture of said demon lazily smiling and looking off to the side. Michael was right, they looked exactly like you except at least a decade older. Everything matched your physical features to a tee; from the red accents on their black wings to the way they smiled, it was like they were your clone. The only thing of yours that they were missing was the three circular birthmarks on your forehead. It was eerily uncanny. 

Your eyes widened before you snatched the picture off from the table, studying them further. If you squinted, you could see that there was someone barely in frame. You flipped the frame around and took out the picture, unfolding it. In the picture was your adopted father and adopted uncles and aunt. What was going on? If they knew the demon, why didn’t they ever tell you about them? 

‘Woah, that was smart. Do you think you might be related to them or something?’ He tilted his head before he perked up, ‘could they be one of your biological parents?’ 

“Maybe, but if they were, why didn’t my dad tell me about them? I… have a right to know about them, right?”

He nodded firmly, ‘you definitely do. It’s kind of fucked up they haven’t told you anything about them.’ 

“Yeah, it is. Do you think something bad happened to them?... Oh shit, is this a memorial?” You hurriedly refolded the picture and put it back into its frame. 

Michael’s eyes widened and flickered around the table at the trinkets before he fished out two gold bars from his pocket and placed them onto the table. You crossed your arms, “what the fuck man?” 

‘I thought they wouldn’t miss a few pieces of gold! You would’ve done the same thing if you were a piglin,’ he defended himself before he paused and shuddered, ‘we’re in a dead person’s house, that’s creepy… What if their ghost is right behind us?’ 

You spun around and put yourself slightly in front of Michael, your heart beating in your throat. Nothing was there. Michael snorted, making you slap his arm, “not cool, man.” 

You were about to stomp off until a piece of paper caught your eye. It was a drawing of this person done in messy purple crayon, probably done by a very young child. It was signed by a Michael. 

You turned to the wheezing zombie piglin and patiently waited for him to stop laughing. When he did, you showed him the picture, “did you draw this? Did you know them?”

He scrunched up his brow in concentration, squinting at the paper. Eventually he shook his head slowly, ‘I don’t think so. At least I don’t remember drawing it… This is getting weird.’ 

You nodded in agreement, putting the drawing back onto the counter. You walked towards the stairs and climbed them. They creaked under your foot loudly, a part of you was scared that you would fall through them. It was clear they haven’t been used in some time. 

They led to a small loft, the ceiling coming to a point far overhead. A part of you was glad that this stranger (relative? Parent?) was a demon, it wasn’t often that you found lofts that fit all six and a half feet of you. 

Like the rest of the house, it was very simplistic. A gigantic bed laid in the center of the furthest wall, made neatly with multiple fluffy blankets, part you was tempted to catapult yourself onto it. On the nightstand next to it sat a redstone lamp and a frosted glass of water, cracks spider webbing up the sides presumably from the cold. 

You opened the lone drawer and discovered a book. Upon further inspection, you discovered that it was a journal with the name (y/n) written inside the cover. So this person had your name as well as your looks? This merely raised more questions than answers, so you slid the book into a pocket in your coat to read later. Under the book laid another picture of them posing with the strange group of people from the portraits downstairs. The de- (y/n) looked younger there. On the back, the word family was written and it was dated to be about twenty years old. You also pocketed the picture.

Michael walked over to the window and looked out at the vast tundra only to squeal in alarm. He ran over to you and pulled you downstairs. You looked out the window only to yelp when you saw a few crows standing on the window sill staring at you with their beady eyes. 

You and Michael ran out of the house as fast as the both of you could, the snow being slightly tough to run through for the five and a half foot tall zombie piglin. You could hear the crows following you overhead. After a while of running, you both finally got back to Snowchester and raced past Ranboo and Tubbo. You hid in Michael’s room with the curtains tightly drawn. 

You sat on his bed with your legs crossed and your back pressed up against the headboard. You let your head bang against the wall and you ran your hand down your face. “We’re fucked, dude. We’re literally so fucked.”

‘Uncle Phil’s still out of town so it’ll probably be a few days until they find out.’ Michael plopped next to you, panting and trying to regain his breath. “Still, we’re gonna be in so 

much trouble for going that far out. I didn’t think my dad’s crows were still here.”

‘Might as well read the journal you found before we get grounded.’

You nodded and took out the journal, flipping it open to the first page. You both read the journal until it was dark outside and Michael was passed out on your shoulder. Subconsciously, you wrapped your wing around him as you read the journal. 

The other (y/n) acted like you did for the most part, the only differences between you two was the lack of swearing and the fact that they felt alone even when they were surrounded by people. Your family’s names were dropped several times, especially when they were talking about ‘The Syndicate’. The code names they used were after various Greek myths, leading you to believe that Technoblade was one of the founders of the anarchist group. 

You had learned that their family (potentially your family?) was strangely possessed by an egg and that they were previously possessed by said egg. They had a brother named Sapnap (your potential uncle?) that helped them escape to the tundra. It was there that they found the Syndicate, reminding you of the found family tropes you would read in books. The last journal entry detailed their last mission, how they were going to destroy the Eggpire from within and get their family back. That entry in particular gave you chills, even someone with half a brain could tell what happened to them after that. 

By the time you had closed the book, it was dawn and the sun was peeking out from behind the closed curtains. You shook Michael awake and stretched out your aching body. Your neck muscles protested movement, sending a wave of pain across the area. 

‘Damn, did you stay up all night reading that?’ 

“Of course I did, why wouldn’t I? I needed to find out about my biological parent somehow. I just- nothing makes sense, Michael.” You growled out, your voice deepening and distorting slightly as your frustration rose. 

‘Chill! You’ll figure it out soon, let’s just focus on staying under the radar.’ 

“Too late for that.” 

You both jumped and fell off the bed as you heard Philza’s voice. In the doorway, Philza stood with Ranboo, Tubbo, and Technoblade by his side, all looking equally angry and disappointed. Next to you, Michael shrunk in on himself and smiled sheepishly. He was about to raise his hands to sign, but a pointed look from Tubbo next to him told him that there was no getting out of this one. 

Behind the anger, you could tell that something changed about the way the four were looking at you. You couldn’t tell what emotion they were hiding, whether it be wariness, longing, sadness, or just more unleashed anger, but you could tell that they knew something you didn’t. If the frustration that overcame you when you were reading the journal at the lack of questions answered burned inside of you, then what you felt now was a blazing inferno. 

“We’re going home, grab your stuff (y/n).” 

After a short staredown with the older man, you huffed in anger and gathered your things into your bag. The entire time, tense silence filled the room. Your hands were shaking with the rage you felt searing every inch of you. You could hear the sharp flicking of your pointed tail cutting through the air and occasionally hitting objects near you. 

When you were done you stomped over to your adopted family and shouldered between Philza and Technoblade, speed walking down the hallway. They quickly caught up with you after saying a quick apology and a goodbye, Technoblade grabbing your arm and holding it in a vice grip. 

They led you out of the mansion and into the harsh winds of the tundra. It wasn’t until Snowchester was far off in the distance that Technoblade shook your arm, “what the hell were you thinking, going into someone else’s house like that! You don’t know who lived there, you could’ve gotten yourself and Michael killed!” 

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?” You ripped your arm out of his hold and spoke in a low voice, struggling to contain your full rage. “I have a goddamned right to know about them.” 

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Philza muttered out and resumed walking back towards your house. “You’re grounded when we get back, no flying or dueling lessons for two weeks.” 

“Of course you know what I’m talking about, Dad! Why are you hiding them from me? I have a right to know about my biological parent even if they’re dead!” 

They both halted in their tracks and glanced at each other in slight confusion. “What-”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. Gods, I can’t believe you thought I’d never find out,” you laughed sardonically as your hand subconsciously gripped your growing horn. “(Y/n)! You know, the demon that lived in that house? The one that looks exactly like me?! Does that ring a bell or do I have to show you this?” 

You rummaged in your pocket and ripped out the picture, shoving it into Philza’s hands. Technoblade looked over his shoulder at what you gave him. You watched as their expressions turned blank when they saw the demon in the picture. 

Minutes passed with them continuing to stare down at the picture and you were slowly getting impatient. “Why did you never tell me about them? Why are you keeping me from them?!” 

Without looking up at you, Philza mumbled, “you weren’t supposed to find out about them. You were never supposed to find out.” 

“Do you have any idea how ambiguous that is? Just tell me who they are!” You could feel your eye twitch as your frustration grew. 

You could see the internal conflict on Philza’s face growing by the second before he dipped his head downwards and stalked off in the opposite direction of the house. You spread your wings to chase him in the air, but Technoblade’s hand on your upper arm stopped you from lifting off. 

When you looked up at him, the look of regret and sorrow etched into his features caught you by surprise. “Let him go, he needs to do some thinking… (y/n), do you know what reincarnation is?”

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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Gender neutral reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

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[tillidontneedfantasy]

A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 9th Studio Album: ‘evermore’

“My collaborators and I are proud to announce that my 9th studio album and folklore’s sister record is here. It’s called evermore,” is how Taylor Swift introduces us to this album in its foreword. One might assume a “sister record” would entail b-sides, or tracks that didn’t quite make the cut for folklore, despite Taylor’s explanation that “we just couldn’t stop writing songs.” evermore’s release came at a strange time, upon the heels of the Folklore: Long Pond Studio Sessions film on Disney+, as well as 5 Grammy nominations for folklore. The world still captivated by folklore, it’s understandable why one might not consume evermore as critically. Even as a die-hard fan, I felt some whiplash by this announcement; I am still processing folklore! Hell, I’m still processing reputation!

If this was the Taylor from two years ago, this may have been a big enough fear of hers to hold off on releasing evermore. But as she explained upon folklore’s surprise release, life is too unpredictable now, and there are zero givens or guarantees. So she followed the same path this time (although making sure it fell in line with her birthday weekend). But it’s not just the strategic timing of the release that she’s thrown out the window for now, but also her mindset whilst making records. As she explains in the evermore album foreword,

“I’ve never done this before. In the past I’ve always treated albums as one-off eras and moved onto planning the next one as soon as an album was released. There was something different with folklore. In making it, I felt less like I was departing and more like I was returning. I loved the escapism I found in these imaginary/not imaginary tales. I loved the ways you welcomed the dreamscapes and tragedies and epic tales of love lost and found. So I just kept writing them.”

This is a revelation for Swift, to let the music lead her into artistic freedom, which is what makes evermore such a triumphant return. Truly folklore’s sister record, Taylor wrote evermore with the same creative team: Aaron Dessner of The National (Swift’s favorite band), long-time pal and collaborator Jack Antonoff, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and William Bowery aka Swift’s boyfriend, Joe Alwyn (as officially revealed in the Long Pond Studio Sessions). Additionally, former 1989 tour openers and close friends of Taylor, the HAIM sisters, join the crew, along with Marcus Mumford for some dreamy backup vocals.

The production is just as wistful and mesmerizing as it was on folklore, yet the storytelling on evermore is kicked up a notch, expanding on the topics and worldbuilding established in its sister record, with even sharper lyrics and an effective and elaborate use of alliteration. The best thing about Taylor is that no matter what she does, her masterful lyricism is always at the heart of her art, and somehow, she keeps getting better. Once again, I wanted to explore the rich stories she’s crafted in this woodsy universe. This is how I’ve interpreted the album, but I hope you find your own meaning in the songs as well.

1. willow It is fitting that the opening track to folklore’s sister album, where we wade further into the forest that is Taylor Swift’s imagination and storytelling, would center on the type of tree that is a symbol of hope, belonging, safety, stability, and healing. “willow,” one of the few more obviously autobiographical tracks on the album, is a hymn of gratitude for her man (as she wants you to know, yes, thirteen times), Joe Alwyn, and how the invisible string tethering them together pulled her to him in a time when everyone else was counting her out. Though not as present on many of the other songs later to come on this record, you can feel the lightness in her heart on this song as she embraces the way in which the willow has bent, wrecking her plans, throwing her into the water and leaving her happily lost and afloat in his current. The downward key modulation throughout the last two repetitions of the chorus is beautiful and very fitting for Swift vocally, but also sounds like the feeling of finding your comfort and settling into it, basking it in while you wait for the next place the wind pulls you. Best lyric: “Now this is an open/shut case / I guess I should’ve known from the look on your face / Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

2. champagne problems On the second track of the album, Taylor dives back into the fictional worldbuilding she began to explore on folklore. While on folklore high school relationships and dramatics took center-stage, evermore graduates from adolescence to young adulthood, not that it is any easier emotionally on the listener’s heart. “champagne problems” chronicles a rejected marriage proposal between two college sweethearts at their old dorm building. Taylor sings as the narrator, a reflective, self-deprecating young woman who jokes about belonging in a madhouse and dismisses all her turmoil as champagne problems. The term ‘champagne problems’ itself could have various meanings here: their trivial concerns, the fact that their “sister splashed out on the bottle” of champagne that they will not be using to celebrate as they had hoped, or perhaps it could even hint that excessive drinking is a piece of all the ways the narrator is “fucked in the head,” as they said. Although the person she is singing to is the one who got hurt in the story, the hurt in the narrator’s heart is just as palpable and relatable, because you only have yourself to blame when you self-destruct. Best lyric: “’She would’ve made such a lovely bride, / what a shame she’s fucked in the head,’ they said / but you’ll find the real thing instead / she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.”

3. gold rush On her YouTube live chat prior to the album’s release, Taylor explained that this song “takes place inside a single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.” The daydream consists of a love story so pure that the town had never seen such a thing; it could only happen in a fantasy for the narrator. How could she possibly have the gall to call them out on their contrarian shit, or end up with her Eagles t-shirt hanging from their door, when they are so coveted by all, and when she cannot withstand the thought of even competing? She sings, “My mind turns your life into folklore / I can’t dare to dream about you anymore,” a sweet little connecting piece to this album’s older sister, effectively convincing herself out of the idea of jumping into the chaos of the gold rush because even inside her own imagination it’s too dangerous. Best lyric: “I don’t like that falling feels like flying ‘till the bone crush.”

4. ‘tis the damn season According to Aaron Dessner, Taylor had written the lyrics for “’tis the damn season” in the middle of the night amidst their Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions recording after a long night of chatting and drinking with their co-conspirator, Jack Antonoff. The lyrics perfectly encapsulate the guttural ache the track evokes. It is a tale of two people who always find their way back to one another in their hometown, which acts as the ever-returning fork in the road. The path taken, back to L.A. in pursuit of her dreams, is the one she chose and continues to choose, but whenever she returns home, she takes a ride down the road not taken, just to get a taste of what could have been, even if just for the weekend. What starts off as an icy homecoming always transforms into the warmest intimacy. The success of this track is aligned with the success of Taylor’s entire career; even with such specific details, it feels so deeply personal to the listener. You know the street you’d drive along late at night laughing, the spot you’d park the car, the person who stars in every what-if. You will never really know if the road not taken is as good as it seems, but that might be ok; sometimes, the fantasy is better than the reality, anyway. Best lyric: “It’s the kind of cold / fogs up windshield glass, but I felt it when I passed you / There’s an ache in you / put there by the ache in me.”

5. tolerate it Inspired by the novel Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, “tolerate it” is an agonizing track from the perspective of a devoted wife who polishes plates and paints portraits and waits by the door for her husband with a battle hero’s welcome, who at best tolerates all her adoration. There are few things as painful as idolization being met with indifference, when you have all this love to give to someone who just leaves it there untouched. “tolerate it” captures that desperation for the approval you know will never arrive, but you sit and watch, waiting for it just in case you’re wrong, but you know you’re not. Best lyric: “I made you my temple, my mural, my sky / now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life / drawing hearts in the byline”

6. no body, no crime feat. HAIM “no body, no crime,” the one evermore song solo-written by Taylor, has the clearest plot from beginning to end. In the same vein as the female powerhouse country classic “Goodbye Earl” by The Chicks, Taylor is out for blood to avenge her friend, Este (named for one of the HAIM sisters). The story goes as such: Este’s husband kills her for calling him out on his infidelity, and then Taylor kills the husband and frames his mistress. The HAIM girls, who are long-time friends of Taylor’s and former touring mates, lend their vocals to reinforce the accusation on the husband and to provide Taylor’s alibi. “no body, no crime” is so far the closest we’ve gotten to a return to “country Taylor,” proving that she is still the master of a killer country tune (yes, pun intended, it had to be done I’m sorry). Best lyric: “Good thing Este’s sister’s gonna swear she was with me / (she was with me, dude) / Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy”

7. happiness Written a week before the album’s release, “happiness” is one of Swift’s strongest and most reflective breakup songs. Although she writes it as though it is recent, there’s a lot of power in knowing that she’s been happily in love for four years, and that she is even better now at doing the thing that has always been best at. She is finally “above the trees,” as she sings, and is able to see it all for what it is, but her character is still in the heat of it all, trying to navigate the stages of grief when a relationship ends. We see the narrator grapple with many of those stages throughout the song. Most striking is the anger displayed in the second verse when she sings: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool who takes my spot next to you / No, I didn’t mean that, / sorry, I can’t see facts through all of my fury.” That section is jarring and feels like one of the most honest moments in a Taylor song, the insanely difficult emotional balancing act when we are grieving a relationship. The devastation of loss can distort our perception, and a part of that is the difficulty of understanding how multiple seemingly opposing things can co-exist in our hearts, such as happiness because of someone and happiness after them. But when you leave it all behind and finally find your place above the trees, you can find happiness after someone and also look back and appreciate the happiness they once provided. Both of these things can be true. Best lyric: “Showed you all of my hiding spots / I was dancing when the music stopped.”

8. dorothea Taylor Swift has the uncanny ability to create such developed and well-rounded characters with such little information, which is what makes her storytelling so compelling. In “dorothea,” we learn much about the title character through the narrator’s eyes, and the relationship they once had. The lyric “skipping the prom just to piss off your mom and her pageant schemes” alone tells an entire story in itself. “dorothea” is also the companion song to “’tis the damn season,” just from the other person’s perspective, which helps shine even more light on the story. The narrator of “dorothea” reveres her but wonders if she’s still the same soul in L.A. as she was back in their never-changing town. Whatever the answer, they’re still willing to support her no matter where she is, but she’s always welcome back in Tupelo by her hometown love’s side if she ever just wants to be herself rather than someone known for who they know. Besides, they’re the only soul who can tell which smiles she’s faking. And you can always return to the road not taken. Best lyric: “They all wanna be ya / but are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers? / Well, I guess I’ll never know / and you’ll go on with the show.”

9. coney island feat. The National What really started the folklore / evermore journey was Taylor’s love for The National. Taylor has cited them as one of her favorite bands for many years, and as we know, this led to her beautiful new collaborative relationship with Aaron Dessner. So it would make sense for the track written with the intention of this duet to be so well executed; you can feel the love and care Taylor put into writing this song. In her press for these sister albums, she has spoken about trying to channel frontman Matt Berninger’s writing style. But what actually happened was she just produced her own signature lyricism at its sharpest. “We were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be / the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams / sorry for not winning you an arcade ring over and over,” is a hall of famer Swift-ian lyric. “coney island” explores the confusion, hurt, and self-reflection when a passionate affair burns out fast because you did not prioritize that person. And to top it off, Swift and Berninger’s harmonies are achingly beautiful, transporting you right there in the story, on the bench, wondering, over and over. Best lyric: “Do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? / Will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?”

10. ivy Leave it to Taylor Swift to make a song about an affair sound so romantic, and so sympathetic to the narrator, that you’re rooting for adultery. “ivy” tells the tale of a woman in a lifeless marriage, likening her home with him to the tombstone that the widow in town visits each day. I like to think this is the same wife whose husband was out there building other worlds without her in “tolerate it,” because then that means she found someone who celebrates her love, who holds her pain for her, who blooms all over her; they started it, but she’s fighting for it all the way to the end, nonetheless. “ivy” showcases Swift’s gorgeous vocals and her sharp lyrics, with a melody so infectious it is bound to permanently plant its roots in your dreamland. Best lyric: “Oh, I can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland / my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I’m covered in you.”

11. cowboy like me With the beautifully blended backing vocals of Marcus Mumford, “cowboy like me” is an entrancing love story of two con artists who lost at their own game and got conned into forever with each other. She’d gone from swindling old men for their money and fancy cars to falling victim to the danger of dancing with someone who only has eyes full of stars, and she knows she’ll pay for it. “cowboy like me” is one of the most romantic tracks on the record, proving that life never plays out quite as we plan. Best lyric: “Now you hang from my lips like the gardens of Babylon / with your boots beneath my bed / Forever is the sweetest con.”

12. long story short One of the more pop-sounding tracks on evermore, “long story short” is pretty much a summary of the long story behind reputation (2017). The song is filled with various metaphors for her reputation crumbling around her, and then finally putting her defenses down to be with her lover, someone as “rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky.” It is a sweet ode to her boyfriend, and a gentle comfort to her past self that it will all work out. But it is also an oddly relatable example of how we shrug off our struggles and minimize them to just a “bad time,” when the time she is singing about was obviously something that deeply affected her (as will be further explored in the title track); but sometimes it actually feels good to just shrug it off as just a blip in your life, because at the end of the day, you survived, and that’s what counts- even if you’re not keeping score anymore. Best lyric: “Pushed from the precipice / clung to the nearest lips / long story short, it was the wrong guy. / Now I’m all about you.”

13. marjorie Whereas track 13 on folklore was a tribute to Swift’s paternal grandfather, evermore’s track 13 is a tribute to her maternal grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who was an opera singer in the 50s, and passed away in 2003 when Taylor was 13 years old. “marjorie” is quite possibly the most touching track Taylor has ever written thus far in her career. Grief is one of the most difficult topics to tackle in a song; the genius of “marjorie” is that it is simple, yet not understated. Swift reflects on the profound lessons she learned from her grandmother, about the difficult balances of kindness and cleverness, and politeness and power. She curses herself for not cherishing the moments she had with her, for complaining rather than understanding in the moment how admirable her spirit was, for all the amber skies she’d love but will never see. The chorus, blunt and hard-hitting, reminds us that someone does not have to be living to be alive, to be all around, to be with us. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing to me now,” Taylor sings towards the end of the song, right before you hear a sample of Finlay’s opera singing in the background, a truly eye-swelling moment. It is clear that Finlay played a pivotal role in Swift’s own ambitions, as she sings, “all your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me.” Marjorie knew she was leaving them in good hands. If you haven’t yet, check out the moving lyric video for the song, where you can see photos and video clips of Marjorie, both throughout her career and in her time with Taylor. Best lyric: “Never be so polite you forget your power, / never wield such power you forget to be polite.”

14. closure On the most experimental track musically on the record, Taylor writes off her need for closure from a relationship of some sort, whether it be romantic or platonic or business, all of which can cause hurt of equal intensity. The subject of the song is trying to make nice with Taylor, and she is just not having it, as it is not coming from a genuine place, but rather to ensure that their life remains picture perfect, or to clear their guilty conscience, or to preserve their own ego. This is a deeply relatable sentiment; as valuable as forgiveness can be, sometimes the person who hurt you just doesn’t deserve it, and all you can do is forgive yourself for blocking their number or shredding their letters. Best lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life / staying friends would iron it out so nice.”

15. evermore feat. Bon Iver To close out the standard edition of the album, Taylor joins forces once again with Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, with whom she collaborated on the Grammy-nominated duet, “exile” for folklore. However, Swift leads most of the track this time, lamenting the difficult time she went through in 2016. The piano and Swift’s vocals are haunting, particularly when she describes this time in her life as “catching my death,” consumed by a pain that she feels will never end. If you’ve ever been depressed, you know what that feels like, and the dark places it leads you. Although she is singing about a time four years prior, it sounds so present, and it is heartbreaking to hear her in such a state. When Bon Iver comes in, the tempo of the song picks up, the piano riff becomes more erratic, like a winter storm hitting you in the face, and he voices all the anxieties of the cost of such a downfall. But through those anxieties, Taylor finds not a cure, but an anchor in love, and then the tempo slows back down. By the end of the song, Taylor has the foresight to understand that although it may not feel like it now, the pain she is experiencing is not permanent (a sentiment my therapist has been trying to instill in me for years). In her Apple Music interview with Zane Lowe, Taylor explained how the lyrics parallel the times we are in currently, and so it feels really special to have the album end with someone who knows how it feels to be imprisoned by your pain gently comfort us with the wisdom that “this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.” I hope one day soon, as we leave 2020 far behind, we can all truly believe her. Best lyric: “I was catching my breath / barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death.”

16. right where you left me (bonus track) The first bonus track on evermore, “right where you left me,” captures a moment so earth-crushing, a piece of you is trapped in it forever. In this song specifically, the narrator finds herself stuck in the same corner of a restaurant where she was told by someone she loved that they had met someone else. “Glass shattered on the white cloth, everybody moved on,” she sings in mourning. We have all experienced those moments that we could teleport back to if we just closed our eyes; the scenery, what you wore, the smell and taste of the season, the very point in your body where it felt like your insides were collapsing. Or that one particular person, who is long-gone from your life but seeing them is like time-travelling back to that person you once were, ready to pick up where you left off. But as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, just in case it changes in your favor, the cold reality is that the world stops for no one. Best lyric: “If our love died young, I can’t bear witness / And it’s been so long, but if you ever think you got it wrong / I’m right where you left me.”

17. it’s time to go (bonus track) “right where you left me” was Taylor’s cry for help to get out of restaurant, and “it’s time to go” is the answer to the call, as she sings in the first line, “when the dinner gets cold, and the chatter gets old / you ask for the tab.” This song is about gathering the strength to leave situations and relationships behind that no longer serve you. She grieves the betrayal of someone she thought to be a twin from her dreams (almost definitely referring to former friend, Karlie Kloss), acknowledges that keeping a marriage together for the sake of the kids often actually has the opposite intended effect (possibly- but not certainly- something she and her brother experienced), and recounts attempting to bargain with someone consumed by greed, only able to leave with herself (absolutely referring to the end of her fifteen-year long business relationship with Scott Borchetta, her former record-label owner). But as painful as leaving all of those situations was, Taylor has gained the wisdom to understand that walking away sometimes takes as much strength as persevering. You can’t stay at the restaurant, or at the mercy of someone else forever; you have to forge your own path, even if it’s in the opposite direction of what you envisioned for so long. And even with all her past success behind her, as folklore and evermore have proved, there is so much more ahead of her. Best lyric: “That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul / You know when it’s time to go.”

In a time where we are all trapped in our homes and in our heads, the folklore/evermore experience has been the sweetest escape. If anything, the creation of these wonderful sister records has taught me that our most powerful tool in times of distress is our own imagination. Even just the ability to close my eyes while listening to one of these tracks and feel the character’s story is a gift. The way I’ve always been able to pick up Harry Potter and escape to Hogwarts when I’ve felt alone and friendless, I can listen to folklore and evermore when I feel scared or hopeless and escape into this enchanted forest Taylor has built, where I can climb above the trees and see it all for what it is. I feel so lucky to watch Taylor’s imaginative world unravel around me. I can’t wait to see what she creates next.

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: I would literally die for this bitch.  

[laurie-stark]

Get up and get out

Summary: Sort of part two to Unwanted. A year after fighting in Germany, y/n has to deal with the insufferable Peter Parker being around the house all the time. 

Pairings: Peter Parker x stark!reader, tony stark x daughter!reader, Natasha Romanoff x daughter!reader. 

Warnings: swearing, angst? i guess? mentions of blood. mentions of panic nightmares 

A/N: Again, I want to make it very clear so there isn’t any confusion: Y/n is Tony’s biological child, however, being raised also by Natasha, Steve and Pepper, she calls them Muma, Pops and Mom. Hopefully that makes sense LOL oh and also i’ve never written like...kiss scenes before so just go with it okay?

He was here again. Third time this week that he has come barging into my home and taken over my training center. Okay, to be fair, it was not my training center but still. Peter Parker will never stop being a pain in my ass. Ever since that stupid trip to Germany, he has been coming over and training for hours, or working with Dad. Three times just this week I’ve had to endure listening to Peter talk with his stupid little voice and walk around my house like he owns the place. Who does he think he is? And every time I have to sit through another dinner of Dad blabbing on and on about what a miraculous boy he is.

               “Really y/n, I think you two would be great friends,” I rolled my eyes as I picked at my dinner. The rest of the family ate in silence around the table. The last thing I wanted to do is spend more time with stupid Spider-boy. On the afternoons when he was here, I tried my best to stay out of his way. I would stay on my floor and he stays on his. Simple. I don’t need a new friend.

“…And he’s coming by again tomorrow, so I was thinking of showing him A.P.R.I.L. if you wanted to join us-” Dad continued.

What the hell? I thought. “No!” I snapped. “No way. A.P.R.I.L. is mine, I don’t want him messing with her.” Dad frowned at me. The rest of the table looked up in my direction. My shoulders tensed up as I faced my father. A.P.R.I.L. is my baby and I was ready to go toe to toe with him if I needed too.

“What do you mean no? I thought you’d be excited to share that with him,” he started.

“Well I’m not, so back off,” I sneered. The shift in his expression made me want to bite my own tongue. “Please.”

“I seriously do not understand what your problem is. You’ve been complaining for years how there’s only adults but the second a kid your age comes by you’re all “oooh no don’t talk to me Peter!””

I scoffed. “Sorry, I guess I just don’t want to bother you and your new best friend.”

“There it is. Why are you so jealous of him? He’s not that cool. He hasn’t made a fully functioning A.I at the age of 15. He just spits sticky stuff out of his fingers. Honestly y/n, you’re making zero sense right now.”

“Whatever, I’m over this,” I said, pushing my chair back from the table. I grabbed my untouched dinner plate and headed towards the kitchen. “I’m not hungry. And don’t show him A.P.R.I.L., I mean it!” I dumped my plate in the sink and marched right down the hall towards the elevators. My dad was right. I wasn’t making any sense. Ever since I made A.P.R.I.L I’ve used every excuse I could find to shove her down people’s throats. Anyone who would listen to me, I would tell them. Tell them all about how I programmed her to have realistic personality. How she’s running through the walls of this place, through my room, even inside the bracelet I never take off. All I knew is that I didn’t want Peter Parker anywhere near her.

I shut the door to my hard, and flopped onto my bed. A.P.R.I.L. reminded me that slamming the doors usually results in a punishment. I acknowledged her with a half-hearted grunt. I started programming A.P.R.I.L. when I was thirteen. Or rather, reprogrammed. A.P.R.I.L. was made from an older prototype version of F.R.I.D.A.Y. The base stuff was already there, I just moved some things here, recoded there until she was perfect. I don’t know why I got so defensive about Peter meeting her. Or why I had to pick another fight with my dad.

It was easier these days. To fight him, I mean. I suppose I never got over the whole “Peter is better, I choose him over you, blah, blah” thing as much as I thought I did. So, I would pick fights. Fighting over Peter was the simplest way to go, considering he was the reason I was so angry in the first place. Sometimes we would fight over him, other times we would fight over silly things. Like how I keep forgetting not to put my coffee grounds in the garbage disposal. Most of the time it was all just bickering that would blow over in thirty minutes, give or take. Sometimes it was explosive, like today.  I took in a shaky breath and sprawled out across my sheets. Sometimes this family is a fucking nightmare.

Dad didn’t come by this time. It threw me off for a second because he always comes by. Even if it’s six hours later and neither of us should be awake, he still comes by with a box of milk duds that we share in silence before one of us apologizes first. That’s how we work. When it finally sunk in that he was not planning on coming, I put A.P.R.I.L. on the job. I figured perhaps he left the compound, maybe took Mom for a nighttime stroll.

“Your father is on floor B, Miss Stark,” A.P.R.I.L. informed me.

“Jesus A.P.R.I.L., how many times have I said to cut the formalities,” I muttered.

“My apologies, y/n.”

Floor B. What the hell is he doing on floor B at…12:00 in the morning? Floor B is strictly for members of household and other Avengers. There are a billion different training rooms down there. Weight rooms, boxing, a huge pool, stuff like that. Not to taint his image, but I can safely say the last time my father willingly worked out for fun was probably before I was even born. Why was he down there? Unless…

“A.P.R.I.L. who else is on floor B right now?” I asked. “Throw it on the hologram, would you dear?

The sounds of the hologram starting filled the room. A.P.R.I.L. pulled up the security map of floor B, like I’d asked. There was my dad, floor B in the boxing room of all places. Pops and Sam looked to be going at it in another one of the combat training rooms. My confusion only rose when another nametag popped up on the screen. My brows furrowed.

Peter Parker

What was he doing here? Why was he boxing? Why was he not in his own home at midnight on a Thursday? My mind was spinning with questions. A knock at my door startled me.

“Come in…”

Natasha popped her head through the doorway. “Hey there…whatcha doing kid?”

I swiftly swiped away the hologram screen and sat up straight. “Nothing. What’s up?”

“Well, we’re getting a little worried about you,” she said. We being everyone else at the table who had to witness my brawl with Dad. She sat down beside me. “You haven’t fought back like that in a long time and I’ve noticed you’re fighting with him a lot recently. You want to tell me what that’s all about?”

I wanted too. God, I wanted too. I hadn’t told anyone what my father said to me that day after the airport, not even my mom. But it didn’t matter. I’d get over it sooner or later, so there was no point troubling anyone else with my problems…right? My eyes started to well up but I blinked away the tears. “No. Everything’s fine,” I put on a smile.

Natasha tucked me in under her arm. “Okay then. Maybe tomorrow.” That was Muma for you. She never pushed me to talk but knew I would come around at some point. In the meantime, she just held me. I cried into her embrace. She let me cry into her shoulder for a long while, until I was empty. After a time, I let go and she got up, giving me a kiss on the head before wishing me a good night.

I rubbed my hands over my face, brushing off any remaining tears. “A.P.R.I.L. bring the hologram back up please.”

“Are you sure y/n?”

…

“Yeah.”

Peter was still in the boxing room but my father was not. Upon further digging, I found the nametag reading Tony Stark on my floor. He’d gone to bed. I pondered to myself as to whether or not I should venture downstairs. What is the worst thing that could happen? Peter is secretly a Hydra spy and kills me? No, I shook my head. Don’t be ridiculous. Another minute passed and I’d made up my mind.

“A.P.R.I.L. engage “I am definitely here”,” I commanded.

“”I am definitely here” protocol engaged. Volume minimized to 5% and your tracking tag will be pinned to this room,” A.P.R.I.L. responded. “Good luck on your mission small agent.”

“Oh shut up,” I chided. I closed the door to my room as softly as I could. It was nearly one in the morning, most of the hall would be asleep. Or at least they should be. The hallway was silent, except for the soft noise of my socks padding along the floor. I cursed myself for looking so ridiculous. If anyone caught me, I could easily say that I was just getting a midnight snack. Not sneaking down to spy on Spider-bitch. Boy. Whatever. Sneaking added to the excitement.

I made it downstairs all in one piece. Steve and Sam nearly passed me in one of the halls, but I had ducked into a briefing room. I could totally be a spy. Maybe I’m a Hydra spy. I thought. And they sent me here as a baby to take down the Avengers from the inside. What was I going on about? This was why I should really be in bed, I was clearly delirious. Once again, distracting myself in my thoughts led to me getting startled. I hadn’t even realized I was outside the boxing room. I would have walked right in if not for the handy wall that I smacked into.

Peter was in the ring, practicing his punches. He’d lowered down one of the punching bags from the ceiling and it was close to ripping at the seams. He was really going ham on it. The questions piled on. So, he came over to my house at midnight to…train? Something he had all afternoon today to do? God, he was weird. I suppose I didn’t quite know what I was going to get myself into when I finally walked in to confront him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, arms folded tightly across my chest.

Peter started and looked down at me. Sweat was dripping down his face. He looked exhausted. “Training,” he said bluntly. He returned to treating the punching bag like it had run over his dog.

“At one in the morning? And after you spent like six hours today doing just that?” I was not letting him off that easy. Peter ignored me and continued punching. “Your form is shit.” I mocked.

That made him stop. “Funny coming from the girl who never leaves her room. When have you ever trained? Like ever?”

“I still beat your ass.”

“Yeah like, a year ago when I was barely an avenger.”

I rolled my eyes. “You still aren’t.”

“What do you want?” Peter spat.

I shrugged. “Dunno.” I stared him down with a smug look on my face.

“You are always such a bitch, you know that?”

I faked a pout. “Aw…bite me.”

Peter was chewing the inside of his cheek in anger. “If you’re going to stay here and pester me, you might as well get a few punches in.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Consider it a rematch.”

I studied his physique for a moment. He’d grown a lot since Germany. He’d also trained a lot since then as well. I had done little of either. I knew that entering that ring would probably end up with me losing my dignity and maybe even a tooth. But I was not going to let him stand there with his stupid, sweaty face and get away with it. This is not a good idea, I thought as I took off my socks. I moved the ropes and stepped into the ring, standing a foot in front of the boy.

“I’ll still win.”

“No powers either.”

“Deal.” Not like I’ve touched my powers since…since the incident.

Peter took his stance and I did my best to mirror him. I realized in that moment that I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know the first thing about boxing. Or sparring. I didn’t know how to fight without my powers. Oh, sweet Jesus.

We kept our distance at first, fists up. He threw a few punches and missed. I followed in suit. I finally got the first hit, a nice throw to his chest. He took it like a champ and didn’t flinch. Or rather, I couldn’t hit for shit and it didn’t hurt. He threw a punch to my left, only to miss on purpose and punched me square across my jaw. Ow. I chuckled lowly. The taste of blood filled my mouth from the fresh cut on my lip. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. All I could see was white rage.

Forget form, forget rules, forget everything. I lunged at him with everything I had. Lunged at him for all the bullshit he had brought into my life. For all the bitter things I had to hear my father say that weren’t even Peter’s fault. He was clearly not expecting my attack because we both fell to the ground. We fought tirelessly on the mat. He was physically stronger than me, so by default he was winning. He wrestled me until I was pinned under him. One hand was pinning my hand above my head, the other arm pinning down my body. In any other circumstances I would be amused to find myself in such a scandal. I looked in his eyes briefly and I could already tell he thought that he was winning. If there’s one thing I learned from Nat, it’s to always step on their moment. I hooked my leg around his knee and used all my force to flip us over. I had him pinned down now, my hair falling around my face. We were both breathing heavily.

“Told you,” I taunted. I was mentally preparing him to punch back but he didn’t. He snapped his arms out from under me and shoved me off him, hard. I fell back against the mat. He rose to his feet, brushing his hands off on his pants. “What the hell?” I exclaimed. I jumped to my feet while his back was turned to me and gave him a taste of his own medicine. He stumbled a few steps after I pushed him. Slowly, he stretched back up to reach his full height.

“You’re right,” he turned to face me and extended a hand. “Shake on the truce?” I took his hand, accepting his surrender. Only, he was not really surrendering. The moment my hand touched his, he yanked me towards him. I tripped over my feet and fell into him. My chest crashed onto his. The world was a blur as he grabbed me with force and spun us around, so he could push me up against the ropes of the ring.

“Stop, Peter get off me you bitch!” I fought back. I flailed my whole body around, trying to break loose. One hand reached up to grab the back of my head, pulling my hair and forcing my head back. I froze. His face was dangerously close to my exposed neck. His shift let my opposite arm break free. I took a breathe and reeled it back, ready to smack him in the across the face. He caught my wrist in time without taking his eyes off mine.

He lowered his head to whisper in my ear, “I win.” His breathe trickled down my neck. He had won, but he wasn’t moving. One hand was still in my hair, the other was pinning me against the ropes. His chest breathed heavily against my own. His grip on my head loosened slightly and I was able to look him straight on. He had that same smug look pasted across his face. His eyes moved from mine, trailing down my face, my neck, my body, before they settled on my lips. I momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

He kissed me hard. I tensed up slightly before giving into him completely. It tasted like blood and sweat and I felt like I was losing my mind. He pulled me closer, if that was even possible and claimed my mouth with his until my knees gave out. A newfound wave of warm washed through me. The hand in my hair gave a slight tug and my lips parted while that same hand moved to cup my jaw. For all I knew, the entire compound was wide awake and watching but I did not care. I brought my fingers to his hair, tugging at the ends. I smiled cunningly when he groaned into my mouth. He kissed me greedily and fully. Like he hated me. And I hated him.

We broke apart, limbs numb and chests heaving. The moment had passed, and our actions sunk in. What. The. Fuck. He lifted the ropes for me, and I climbed out of the ring. My head was still spinning from that kiss and my lip stung. Consequences I suppose, for kissing someone with a busted lip. I silently pulled my socks back on and Peter handed me a towel. Neither of us said another word. I left the room and didn’t look back. I could hear him behind me, but I was in no rush to have to look him in the eye ever again. What just happened?

 I woke the next morning to A.P.R.I.L. alerting me that “Father Dearest” was outside my door. He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. We both stayed quiet for a while.

I spoke first. “Where were you last night? You didn’t come by after…” I let my words trail off.

“I was going to, I swear. But then something came up with Peter and I had to go take care of that,” Dad answered.

I frowned. “Typical. Peter over your own flesh and blood, right?”

Dad inhaled sharply like he was going to bite back, but changed his mind. “That’s not true and you know it. Peter is…he’s going through something and I knew how to help him. Not everything is about you, you narcissist,” He said, joking at the end.

I had to push down my own smile. “Yeah well where do you think I got it from?” I sat up and leaned into my father. He brushed a hand down my back. “So, what’s wrong with Peter then?”

“I really shouldn’t tell you, it’s personal.” I looked up at him with my doe eyes. He rolled his eyes and sighed, nodding a silent defeat. I felt like I was nine again and he was gossiping with me about the latest secretary. Like every fight had been forgotten in this moment. “He’s been having some nightmares ever since DC. You remember the ones we used to get after Loki?” I nodded. “Now you, you always amazed me at how you handled those. But for me and Peter, we needed a different outlet. So, I let him come over in the middle of the night. I didn’t think anyone would notice.” I hummed in response, not sure what to make of that information. I mean, I kind of felt bad for the guy. He was still a bitch, but those dreams suck. No one should have to deal with them. “He really isn’t as bad as you think, you know.”

“Yeah,” I hummed. “I think you’re right.”

tag list:

@runawayolives @ creation-magician @ eridanuswave @ markhyucksmells @ beep-beep-losersclub

[heyyyharry]

"you drew stars around my scars but now i’m bleeding”

(a blurb from the My Girl Series)

…in which Y/N tells herself this is the last time.

Warning: SMUT (car sex)

Word count: 2.8k

AU: older!harry (4-year age gap), actor!harry, childhood best friends, friends with benefits.

“DON’T CALL ME KID! DON’T CALL ME BABY! LOOK AT THIS GODFORSAKEN MESS THAT YOU MADE ME!” 😔 inspired by folklore.

.

.

.

“Did anyone see you leave?”

“No,” Harry said, leaning back and spreading his legs as she worked his zip down. She’d been thinking about this all day, but he didn’t have to know that. If men knew how much you wanted them, they’d only want you less At least that was from her personal experience.

She took his cock out of his pants, fingers curling over the smooth, hot skin of his shaft and sliding up to tease at the edge of his foreskin. The head of Harry’s prick was already slick, and she sucked his precum off her fingers before licking her palm and stroking and squeezing around him until he whimpered. They had done this so many times that she knew his body even better than he did. She knew how to work him up, how to run her thumb over the head of his cock so he’d buck into her grip and whimper her name. But she didn’t want to hurry.

She struggled a bit to get her pants off, hating that they were in the backseat of his car instead of her place or his. They’d usually meet at hers, but her neighbour was having a party tonight; it’d be impossible for Harry to come and go without being recognised and photographed. But she didn’t need a fancy hotel room or a comfortable bed, because they were just hooking up. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Should have worn a blood dress,” she muttered, fighting her bunched-up jeans and kicking them under the front seat.

Harry laughed, but as soon as she peeled off her damp panties, his breath caught and his nostrils flared. She knew his car would smell like them at the end of the night when he drove home alone, and something about that erotic thought turned her on even more.

She gracefully slid into his lap. His hand slipped down to stroke at the silky heat of her pussy, two fingers opening her up, spreading her slick and rubbing at her clit until she began to tremble. She clutched his wrist to still him so she wouldn’t come on his fingers then kissed him before he could say a word. She bit his lip, curled her free hand into his messy hair, and moved her hips so she could rub the thick crown of his cock against her.

She’d been on the pill lately, so it was easy to just grab for his dick and guide it into her. He loved it when she told him how big he was, how full she made her feel, murmuring filthy words into his ear as he fucked her, hard and fast, flushed with the praise. But when they were as horny as they were tonight, she didn’t have to say anything; she couldn’t. Her mouth hung open without making a sound as she felt the first, deep, blunt push of his cock into her pussy. It always ached a little no matter how many times they’d had sex. He always stretched her so good, but she was too wet to need a pause.

“God, I missed you,” he hissed, filling her to the brim as she settled into his lap. She tried to ignore the effect those words had on her, and to not wonder if he really missed her or only what she was willing to give him.

She clung onto his neck and shoulders and clenched down as his hand went under her thighs, lifting her, moving her on the length of his cock. The head slid over her g-spot, and she gasped and ground harder against him. His fingers clenched around the backs of her thighs as he let her set the pace and planted sloppy kisses down the side of her neck. He nuzzled her hair out of the way and made small noises against her hot skin.

She rode him faster, snapping her hips against his and making him moan. She wondered if they were shaking the car and somehow felt thankful for the fact that the car park was empty. They weren’t trying to keep it lowkey anymore.

Harry whispered her name as his fingers dug into her thighs. She can feel his dick flexing inside her. She knew he was close. He always waited on her like a true gentleman, and she kissed him clumsily as she slid a hand down to rub at her clit.

What shoved her to the edge was the way Harry groaned and bit his lip as her moving fingers brushed the base of his cock. His hips jerked, and they were both so close for each other. Her slick pussy started pulsing as she sobbed into his mouth and he squeezed her tighter, so tight she could feel his fingernails leaving marks in the soft flesh of her thighs. She would go home alone with those marks as a reminder of this moment, and she’d either feel bad about it or want him even more. Usually both.

“Yes, baby, come for me.”

And those were the words that set her off. Him calling her baby was her ultimate weakness, even if it might not mean anything to him. His thrusts were getting faster, messier, driving into the tight clench of her as she cried out and ground her hips. She shuddered against him as she came again.

“Gonna,” he whispered, his hips stuttering and his fingers tightened, and then he was spurting hotly into her, filling her up until his come was trickling back down over his balls. She was already thinking of the way he’d have to tug his coat close just in case he ran into the paps. Meanwhile, she would go back to her flat still feeling the hot pulse of him having been in her. Everything about it was dirty, and she loved it.

Harry rested his head back as she started nipping at the side of his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath her lips. “That was...so good,” she said, still breathless.

“I know.” He gave a soft laugh which turned to a groan as she slipped off his still-hard, sensitive cock. She grabbed his face and pulled his lips back to hers. His hands burned against her back, drawing her close.

They’d had sex, again. And he still wanted her.

She had no idea why she must reassure herself that he wanted her every single time they were together. Perhaps because this felt surreal. Because if she told her teenage self that someday she’d be having sex with Harry in the backseat of his car, that girl would not believe it. In her memory, Harry had always been untouchable. Yet here he was, burying his face into her neck and inhaling her scent as if she were air. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest. This felt real. Even though she knew it was anything but.

“Kid.”

His voice snapped her back to reality. Her eyes flinched open and she saw his face twisted with worry as he took her wrist and removed her arm around his neck.

Her heart wavered at the thought that he’d finally decided that this was wrong and wanted to end this. Wouldn’t it be cruel? To say he didn’t want this anymore after he’d just finished inside her? Would he tell her to get out of the car and leave her here all on her own?

To her surprise and confusion, he lifted her arm, still catching his breath. That was when she realized he was peering at the scars on her forearm. “How did you get these?” he asked.

“I fell.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.” She giggled. “It’s no big deal. I was running for the bus and the pavement was slippery.”

Harry frowned. His gaze slipped from hers as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the scar. Her heart leapt involuntarily. And she hated herself for it.

“Remember when I used to draw stars around your scars,” he whispered, his dimples darkening in the dim streetlight. The memory of the happier days warmed her from inside out, and she felt it showing on her face.

“Because I said my legs looked ugly after my bike accident,” she said timidly.

“You fell a lot back then.” Harry looked up, his forehead creasing as if he was trying to remember one of those times. “I thought you’d get less clumsy when you grew up but I guess I was wrong.”

Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You can always draw stars around my new scars.”

“Or,” he kissed the corner of her mouth, “you can stop running in the rain.”

She laughed as she kissed him again and pretended that they weren’t in the backseat of his car in an empty car park, that they didn’t have to sneak around, that whatever she was feeling right now was valid, that he would rather be with her than go back to the world where she did not belong.

And so they finished cleaning up and laughing for a whole minute about the stain on his crotch. As she pulled her jeans back on and he adjusted his clothes, what had felt like a euphoric rush now felt like shame and a bit of regret. She shrugged it right off. It was normal. No one should be proud if they had to drive to a place like this to have sex just so they wouldn’t be seen together.

Then, the thought of them being seen together briefly crossed her mind. How would he react if the world found out? Would he be ashamed? Would he end this? Or would he say fuck it and risk it all for her?

She twisted her hair into a low bun, secured it with her scrunchie and turned to face him. To her surprise, he was giving that goofy dimpled smile that her thirteen-year-old self would write ten pages about in her journal. It was funny how he’d always been so close yet always felt a thousand miles away. She knew she was his girl, but had he ever been hers?

She reached up to fix his hair, only using it as an excuse to run her fingers through it. He took another glance at her scars and frowned a bit, which made her wonder why they bothered him so much. Was he finally paying attention to her imperfections?

“Have you got a pen?” he asked.

She looked at him funny but still answered, “Yeah, I always carry one around to take notes.” Then she reached for her bag in the passenger seat, fumbled for her black pen and gave it to him.

He clicked the pen open and scooted closer, tucking her arm under his as he held onto her wrist and carefully drew stars around her scars.

“Really?” she giggled, and he shushed her.

“Don’t move. Do you want ugly stars?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh, baby, when I’m done, you’ll want to get ‘em tattooed.”

Her smile thinned as a chill coursed through her. He needed to warn her before calling her baby. It did inexplicable things to her; things she wasn’t so proud of.

“There you go,” he said and clicked the pen close with a victorious smirk upon his face.

She peered at the stars he’d drawn and raised both eyebrows. “Not bad.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-four years old. I should draw better than when I was thirteen,” he said with a shrug, laced their fingers together and kissed the back of her hand, as one would to their girlfriend. Why was she thinking of that word right now? What had gotten into her? She wasn’t this person.

The sound of a text broke the silence in the car and Harry groaned loudly before fumbling into the pocket of his coat draped around the driver’s seat. He unlocked the screen, the bright light illuminating his face. His dimples deepened as he read the message and typed something into his phone. She heard a whoosh of the message being sent, then a ding of a new one arriving. The serenity of their own world had been intruded by this person who was texting him.

She didn’t want to care who it was, who made him smile and shake his head and bite his lip as he thought of something to write back to make the person smile, too. She didn’t want to care if he was going to see this person once he’d dropped her off. She didn’t want to know if he’d wake up alone tomorrow or in bed with a beautiful woman. That wasn’t how their ‘thing’ was supposed to work. She was supposed to mind her own business. But she wasn’t to blame, for he wasn’t supposed to draw stars around her scars, kiss them like he meant it, and called her ‘kid’ and ‘baby’ as if this was special.

It wasn’t.

She wasn’t.

“It’s late,” he said and tucked his phone into the pocket of his jeans. It’s not late, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. “I’ll drive you home.”

She felt the urge to ask if he had other plans later. The question lingered at her throat, yet she swallowed it down.

“I can walk home,” she said, putting on her coat as he’d already put on his and seemed so eager to get rid of her.

“Alone? At this hour?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Kid, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you.”

“It’s too risky,” she sighed. “I bet that most of my neighbour’s party guests are just arriving. His parties usually last all night long.”

She’d almost used it as an excuse to spend the rest of the night with Harry. She guessed it wasn’t happening now. She could either let him drive her home to get some more time with him or be smart about this and not put themselves in danger of being seen together. They weren’t so far from her block and she didn’t mind walking.

“I can’t let you walk home alone at night, Bambi,” he said. There was the same tone that her father would use. Moments like this reminded her that he was older and she would always be just a kid to him.

“Fine. I’ll call Alice to pick me up.”

Alice was her co-worker. But of course, she wasn’t going to bother Alice.

Harry studied her expression for a long moment as if to check if she was lying. Surprisingly, he believed her, or he had no choice but to believe her so he could leave as fast as he could.

“All right,” he said, leaned in and kissed her forehead, his lips hot against her skin. “Call me when you get home safe, okay?”

“Okay.” She pressed her lips into a smile and got out of the car.

Harry insisted on waiting until Alice arrived, but she threatened him with the fact that Alice was a big fan of his, and she’d be the last person who should find out about their “thing”, whatever this was. So Harry left first. The pained expression that he gave her before he drove off somehow made her feel reassured. Or was she just looking for any sign that showed that he cared about her more than he appeared to be?

Tearing her gaze from the empty street, she secured her bag on her shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. As she walked home, she kept pulling up her sleeve to check if the stars Harry had drawn were still there. She knew she’d have to wash them off later in the shower. Still, she wanted to keep them as good as new for as long as they lasted.

The longer she looked at them, however, the heavier her heart became. She could not help but recall the feeling she’d had when he’d kissed them, and guilt washed over her as her heart started sinking to the bottom of her chest. And so she told herself this would be the last time, that she’d not answer his call ever again. No more secret meetings and false hopes and daydreaming. If she didn’t want to bleed, she should stop running in the rain.

But there was something about running in the rain – the excitement, the longing, the feeling of being washed clean even though you’d arrived home shivering, drenched, and covered in mud. And so she knew this wouldn’t be the last time. She’d keep running until she fell and could not get up.

[fridayfirefly]

crushed petals, shattered glass, and other broken things

Read crushed petals, shattered glass, and other broken things on AO3

Masterlist

For Maribat March Day 17 - Court of Owls

Marinette was twelve years old, and she was a knife. Delicate in her looks, deceiving in her appearance, Marinette was the most dangerous weapon in the arsenal of the Court of Owls. She was an assassin. She was a spy. She was clever, cunning, versatile. Most importantly, she was a knife, a sharp tool to be used to inflict violence. It was a role that suited her well. Marinette was training to become the Talon of the Court of Owls, and she was untouchable.

-----

Marinette was thirteen years old, and she wanted to know how she came to be. Procreation was easy to understand scientifically, but part of Marinette's brain objected to the idea that she had two parents. Marinette was a knife, and knives were forged by hammer and fire, sharpened to a point by tools so that it might become a tool itself. Marinette could not have come from something as human as love. Love has no role in the creation of a knife.

To settle the conflict, Marinette did what she did best - she snooped around, gathered intel, and created the most likely version of events. From what she could tell, her Grandmother, an associate of the Court of Owls but not an actual member, betrayed the Court. As punishment, Marinette was taken away from her family to be raised by the Court. Marinette's surname, kept hidden from her for thirteen years, was Dupain-Cheng.

The very concept of a surname was blasphemous. Marinette had no family. She belonged to the Court of Owls. And yet, sometimes at night, when she was alone in the dark, Marinette mouthed the words, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Something deep within her stirred.

-----

Marinette was fourteen years old, and she was supposed to kill the whole family. The mother and father, Marinette knew she could kill, but to kill their three children felt inhumane. The youngest wasn't even a year old. Marinette had completed hundreds of missions identical to this one. Sneak in, poison the food, sneak out, wait for the obituary in the newspaper in a day or two. However, this time Marinette couldn't do it.

Marinette cut the tracking chip out of her neck, crushed it beneath her boot, and disappeared into the shadows of the city. It was entirely unplanned, the only reason that Marinette was able to escape. Marinette didn't know much about life in the outside world, but she knew that it had to be better than the alternative, spending the rest of her life as a tool of the Court of Owls.

What Marinette didn't know was that the city she was disappearing into had a certain reputation. Soon, as she learned the true nature of Gotham, Marinette would wish that she stayed with the Court.

-----

Marinette was fifteen years old, and she now knew the true depravity of man. There was so much tragedy on the streets of Gotham. Some of the tragedies Marinette was able to prevent. Knives, after all, are just as good at preventing violence as they are at inflicting it. For other tragedies, Marinette was only able to witness the aftermath. For the victims, she had nothing to give. Knives can only hurt, they cannot heal.

Marinette loathes Gotham, a hatred that burns through her down to her core. In the Court of Owls, violence was planned. On the streets of Gotham, violence was random. It was so much worse. But a safer city would be more dangerous for Marinette, who needed deep shadows to hide in.

Marinette lived on the streets. She knew that she could pickpocket enough money to rent an apartment. It would be easy, the roughest slums of Gotham, to find someone willing to rent to a child, so long as they had the money. But Marinette's fear and pain had nothing to do with the physical conditions of living on the streets. It was all psychological. The horrors that Marinette had seen haunted her like a ghost.

The worst incident was Hannah, whose death shattered Marinette to her very core. Hannah was only seventeen years old, only two years older than Marinette herself. Marinette didn't know much about the girl, other than that she was on the streets because her boyfriend had threatened to kill her and the police wouldn't do anything until there was physical proof. Except, the way Hannah explained it was that the police wouldn't get involved until she was already dead. Marinette had offered to protect the older girl, but she shooed her away. Hannah told Marinette that she wouldn't let anything happen to herself. She told Marinette that she was tough.

Evidently, Hannah wasn't tough enough for the streets of Gotham. Marinette cried over the body for thirty minutes, cried so hard for so long that she knew she wasn't a knife anymore. Knives would never cry. Knives would cut right back. But Marinette was so sick of violence, so she cried and cried. Eventually, she knocked on the door of a house down the street, asking to borrow a phone to call the police and report a murder. Hannah's body was taken away. The police were ambivalent, they didn't even ask Marinette for a statement. To the police, Hannah was another victim of Gotham and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

This world was so deeply and terribly bad that Marinette didn't know how the rest of the world could survive it. Marinette didn't know if she wanted to survive it.

-----

Marinette was sixteen years old, and she finally got herself involved in the vigilante side of Gotham. Before Red Hood entered the scene, Crime Alley was a mess of villains and vigilantes, in a constant battle between chaos and order. Marinette never got involved. She had spent many years as a weapon, long enough to learn that a weapon can only harm and can never heal.

Red Hood toed the line between villain and vigilante. His network of crime was more civilized than any other the other organizations vying for control of Gotham. He kept the streets safe by keeping the most dangerous players in line. Marinette had to admit, he did more good for Crime Alley than Gotham's actual police force.

Still, that didn't mean that Marinette wanted to get involved. She preferred to keep to herself, keep out of the way, and keep in the shadows. It was safer that way.

That November evening when Marinette met Red Hood was cold. The rain that had come in the afternoon had frozen to ice. Marinette shivered as she sat in the alleyway, back against the brick wall, arms wrapped around her knees, hugging herself into a tight little ball. Winter was fast approaching, and Marinette knew that she needed to find better shelter.

Marinette hadn't been quick enough. Marinette should have fled the alley as soon as she saw the three brutish men start walking down it, but she was so cold she wasn't sure if she would be able to get her feet to move. By the time Marinette had gotten her feet under her to stand up, the three men were surrounding her.

The man in the middle leered at her. "You look cold. Why don't you come with us? We'll keep you warm."

There wasn't a trace of a question in his voice. It was a command. However, Marinette knew what happened to the girls who took up the offer, so she vigorously shook her head. She would rather freeze to death than join him in his bed.

"That wasn't a question," he growled, reaching down to grab her and pull her to her feet.

"I wouldn't touch her if I were you," an unfamiliar voice piped up from farther down the alley. "I just might have to remove your hand if you do."

"Red Hood! I was just helping the girl to her feet. I swear I wasn't going to do anything to her." The man sounded terrified, and for good reason. The punishment that Red Hood chose for rapists was well known for its brutality.

"You should leave," snapped Red Hood. The men hurried out of the alleyway, running without looking back. Marinette watched them go, relief rushing through her.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Red Hood asked, offering Marinette a hand to help her to her feet.

Marinette shook her head, squeezing herself into a tighter ball.

"I can take you to the nearest homeless shelter or I can take you to the nearest of my safehouses until I set you up in something permanent."

"I'm fine here," mumbled Marinette. It was the first time she had spoken in weeks. Her own voice sounded foreign to her.

Red Hood scoffed. "You'll freeze to death out here. It's either a homeless shelter or a safehouse. I don't leave girls out on the streets. Not in Gotham. Not in Crime Alley."

Marinette shivered, feeling more than miserable. It was obvious that she wasn't going to be able to convince Red Hood to leave her. A homeless shelter might need identification, which Marinette didn't have. Going to his safehouse was her best bet. "Safehouse."

Red Hood pulled Marinette to her feet. "Alright, safehouse it is. Mind telling me your name?"

"Marinette."

"No last name?"

Marinette shook her head. She hadn't earned a surname yet.

Red Hood took her back to the safehouse and got her settled, bringing over groceries every week as he tried to tempt her into giving him more information about herself. Marinette was reticent to tell him about her past. She doubted that he would still trust her enough to leave her alone if he learned that she used to work as an assassin.

However, Marinette couldn't keep that secret for very long. Two months after meeting Red Hood, as she waited in the kitchen for him to arrive with his weekly delivery of groceries, Marinette was caught off guard as a dark figure burst through the door and attacked her. Marinette didn't want to fight the dark-haired girl, but to be honest she couldn't see any other option, considering the other girl attacked first. The girl was skilled and Marinette was out of practice, after two years away from the Court. The best she could do was hold the other girl off while she tried to figure out an escape plan.

Red Hood came in the front door, which was already ajar from the entrance of the other girl. "Black Bat, stop! Marinette is my guest here," shouted Red Hood over the commotion of the fight.

Black Bat ceased her offensive, falling back into a defensive crouch. She pointed one finger at Marinette and accused, "Talon."

Marinette cringed back. "Not anymore. Never, ever again."

Red Hood stared at Marinette in shock. "You were an assassin?"

Marinette nodded miserably, wishing she could be anywhere else. She should have escaped the safehouse when she had the chance, but her stupid brain decided that Red Hood's safehouse would be a good place as any to spend the winter months.

"Cass? Jason? Why was the door left open...?" The civilian man who walked through the open door stared at the scene in front of him in confusion.

"Aliases, Grayson!" exclaimed Red Hood, or, Jason as he had just been named. Jason took off his mask, casting it aside as he ran his hand through his hair with a groan. "Black Bat, you take Marinette back to the bedroom and help her put bruise cream on wherever you managed to hit her. Grayson, you're coming with me back to the cave so we can explain this situation to you-know-who." Jason almost reached the door before he let out a loud swear "Fuck! I cannot believe that I have to be the responsible one here."

As Jason and his friend left the safehouse, Marinette followed Black Bat - Cass - down the hallway to the bedroom. "Sit," ordered Cass, pointing towards the bed as she starting digging through the bathroom cabinet, looking for bruise cream.

Marinette stripped off her shirt so that Cass could get to the bruises. The only significant hit was a kick to the chest that knocked the breath out of Marinette. It was already turning yellow. Marinette poked it and grimaced at the twinge of pain that followed.

"Don't worry," said Cass as she started to rub the medicine onto Marinette's chest. "Jason will keep you safe."

Cass wasn't lying. Whatever Jason said or did in the hours that he was gone that day, it worked. Two days later, Marinette was moving into Wayne Manor.

Jason explained it all to her on the drive over. "Bruce - Batman - doesn't want an ex-assassin living on the streets in Crime Alley, especially not one in possession of compromising information about our identities. Given that you've already taken the first step towards reformation, Bruce is pretty confident that you're safe to live in the house. He'll help you get back on your feet, get you a new identity, an education, or anything you need."

Marinette froze for a moment, then wrapped Jason up in a hug. It was her first hug and it was better than she expected. "Thank you."

-----

Marinette was seventeen years old, and she finally had a family. The Wayne household was a chaotic place. Marinette used to think that she hated chaos, but she could now see the appeal. Coffee at midnight with Tim, practicing acrobatics with Dick, racing motorcycles with Jason, rescuing farm animals with Damian - none of it was normal, and because of that, Marinette loved it. However, when things got overwhelming and Marinette needed a break from the chaos, she always knew where to go.

Cass was one of the only quiet Waynes (the other being Alfred). In fact, she barely spoke at all. Marinette had learned that she and Cass had quite a few similarities in the nature of their childhoods. They were both taken from at least one of their parents, both raised to be assassins from a young age, both were isolated from the rest of society. Where they differed was the particulars of their education. Cass was raised without language, and she only learned how to speak after she escaped from her father's grasp.

One night, after a patrol that led to Marinette stumbling upon a body that reminded her of Hannah from all those years ago, Marinette walked through the halls of the Manor to Cass's bedroom. All anyone wanted was for Marinette to talk about it. Cass was the only person who wouldn't make that demand of Marinette.

Marinette knocked on the door, two quiet little knocks. Cass cracked open the door, then gestured for Marinette to come inside. Marinette settled down on the couch in the corner, trying to pick out the questions that she wanted to ask Cass. There were so many questions, but Marinette knew that only a few of them were worth asking. They sat in silence for a while, Marinette so lost in thought that she almost forgot that Cass was there, too. Finally, Marinette settled on the question. "Do you ever wish that you could change the past?"

Cass was silent, deep in thought for a few moments before she shook her head. "No."

"Not even if it meant that you could have had a normal childhood?"

"I had a hard childhood," Cass acknowledged. "I like where I ended up. I wouldn't be here without my childhood."

Marinette had one last question to ask. "If you're able to speak now, why do you barely talk."

"I learned to speak," agreed Cass, going silent for a moment before continuing. "I have become proficient at using words to deliver information but I lack the skill to converse with others. I find it difficult to use any more words than necessary. For that reason, people do not like talking to me. I do not talk to those who do not want to talk to me."

"I like talking to you," said Marinette, squeezing Cass's hand. "I can talk enough for the both of us. You don't mind my talking, do you?"

Cass shook her head. "I find your words tolerable. Sometimes even pleasant."

It was a high compliment from Cass. Marinette smiled. "May I hug you?"

Cass nodded, and Marinette wrapped her dearest friend up in a hug.

-----

Marinette was eighteen years old, and it was time for her to create a new identity for herself.

"Do you want a surname?" asked Bruce.

Marinette stared at the screen. There were three options in front of here. The first, to remain nameless. The second, to take on the name she was born with, Dupain-Cheng in remembrance of her parents and the childhood she never got to have. The third, to move on entirely from her past and embrace the future. "Wayne. Marinette Wayne."

@maribatmarch-2k21

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

Six Stranger Walk Into a Bar: Part 2 (Severen x Fem!Reader) fic

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: cursing, domestic flights, cheating mention

Word count: 3817

Here's part two! Hope you guys enjoy~

The six of you had climbed into your car. It was a station wagon, a 1984 Chevrolet Caprice. It was a gift from your parents, right when you'd graduated highschool. It could just barely fit the seven of you, and you had handed your keys over to Jesse, the now named father of the bunch, without much hesitation. You sat in the very back, pushing your back up against the side of your car and staring at the brunette in front of you. He did the same, so the two of you could face the other. You stared at his shirt and ran over the things that you knew.

They had killed everyone in the bar, except you. They had burned the bar down. You had helped them, no matter how reluctantly. They were heading to your trailer to lay low for the day, as the sun was due in only a couple of hours. Which you had been stupid enough to offer. And they weren't going to kill you. Yet. Why was still a mystery to you. 

You had given Jesse directions, but all he really needed was the street name and the map out of your dashboard. He'd assured you he could figure out the rest. It took you a moment to realize that it might've been out of distrust. 

Severen was staring at you. He had one leg brought to his chest, one arm using it to prop it up. His arm laid outstretched, hand jolting with each bump on the road. His legs were stretched out, mingling with yours. You met his eyes and stared defiantly back. His gaze was unwavering, a smile growing on his face with each second you stared. It took a few minutes, but, finally, you broke. You looked away, looking at the couple just in front of you. Mae had her head resting on Calebs shoulder, with his arm slung around her. Homer was sitting besides them, and you found that, besides the mean look he gave you, he was content to stare outside the window with his arms crossed. He was the closest to you, besides the man across from you. Diamondback had the map in her hands, and she was acting as navigator.

"You got a name?" Severen asked, and your eyes snapped back to him. He was sending you a small curl of his lips, one that hadn't decided on being a smile or a smirk just yet. You gave it to him, just as easily as you'd given Jesse your keys. If you wanted to stay alive, you figured cooperating was the only way to do that. He nodded, but you didn't think he'd be using it anytime soon. He had a variety of nicknames he preferred, but perhaps it was for the other members of his group. "I'm Severen." He said, and you almost hated his voice. You hated how he could make anything sound good, even his own name. If he had a hat, you'd imagine he'd tip it at you. He placed his hands on his stomach, interlacing his fingers as he lifted his brows and said, "So, live alone?" And you almost wished you could slip back into the silence.

"Yeah, I," But you paused, debating on what he actually needed to know. "I live alone, but my parents live in town." You said, and he hummed. 

"Space from ma and pa?" He asked, and you could hear the same humor from before in his voice. Seemed like Severen just liked to be the tiniest bit of an asshole sometimes. But he also seemed to like you. At least, enough to keep you around. You just gave him a nod, deciding to save the details for yourself. It was Homer that turned around and cut in, asking,

"How old are you, anyway?" And you looked at the boy. He was chubby, and he couldn't be older than thirteen. But the way he talked? He talked as if he'd had a chip on his shoulder for at least ten years. You supplied your age, and he sneered. "Little young for you, Severen?" He said, and your brows furrowed. Severen didn't look much older than you. He couldn't have been older than twenty five. Maybe late twenties if he had good genetics. But, from the way Severen leaned forward and practically growled a,

"Shut up." You guessed that couldn't be true. You stared at him, confusion evident in your eyes. He stared at Homer for another second, but this? You didn't have to guess what was going on between the two. It was a clear silent look of telling Homer to keep his mouth shut, and Homer only signaled his surrender when he huffed and turned around in his seat. 

You felt a dip in the road, and your eyes turned instinctively out the window. You were here. You were home. You'd never once dreaded it before. You told Jesse which house to park at, and he didn't have any trouble finding your usual spot. The tire tracks in the grass made it a little too easy. He turned your car off, and they all piled out. It was Caleb that opened the back for you and Severen, and you let Severen go first. He held out a hand to help you out, and you took it politely. He pulled you out of the trunk and placed a hand on your lower back to keep you steady. The contact had your stomach swimming, but you pushed those feelings away and walked forward. You didn't see Severens slightly dejected expression, but you heard him close the trunk of your car. Your fingers were nearly shaking as you climbed the steps and fished for your house keys, only to realize when Jesse passed them to you. You didn't see the look that Jesse and Diamondback shared, but you unlocked the door and thanked god that you'd forced yourself to clean your trailer to try to get yourself out of your depressive state. It hadn't worked, but it made you feel better about having company. 

The left side of your trailer was your living room. It had a couch pressed up against the width of the wall, with a tv pressed against the opposite wall and tilted so the couch could see it. To your immediate right was the kitchen and kitchen table. It had a corner booth, one that allowed two people to sit together. Maybe three if you didn’t plan on opening the front door anytime soon. The kitchen was pressed against the opposite wall, and then there was a hallway. The hallway led to two bedrooms and a bathroom. To its credit, the toilet worked and the shower had hot water. The bedrooms? Besides the one that you had claimed for yourself, the second one was nearly untouched. You and your ex used it as extra storage, but you’d been hesitant to really let it overflow just in case you ever- You cut that thought off. Your future plans, at least the ones including your ex, no longer existed. So, it was nothing more than a guest bedroom. You pulled yourself out of the way, deciding to head for the kitchen so they could drop their things.

“Nice place.” Jesse commented, but you thought it was out of politeness more than anything. You pushed your hair behind your ears, and you quickly said,

“Thank you. Feel free to put your stuff anywhere. It’s not much, um-” But the brother, Caleb, gave you a friendly smile as he set his bag down on the floor, and said,

“Trust me, it’s better than most of what we see.” And you couldn’t help but take that as a compliment and return his smile. He seemed a little different than the others. Like he had a little less teeth. While Severen, no surprise, seemed to have as much teeth as an eager dog. You looked between them, quickly remembering that you had been forgetting your manners. You had missed just the tinge of jealousy in Severens eyes.

“There’s probably nothing on TV, but I have a VCR. The- The tapes are under the TV, and, um, help yourself to anything in the kitchen. The- The bathroom is right there, and there’s a guest bedroom. That’s your first right-” Your mouth was speeding off, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. You opened the door to your fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and grabbing yourself a glass. Your nerves were wrecked as the events of the night slowly started to weigh on you. You drank the juice, trying to find something to ground yourself. It also provided you an excuse not to look at the six of them and a way to stop yourself from blabbing any more than you needed to. The tangy taste of citrus was better than the taste of the liquor you’d had at the bar, and you hoped it would sober you up completely.

It only took a few minutes for them to settle in your trailer. Jesse and Diamondback took the kitchen table, setting out their guns and filling them with bullets. You tried not to gulp at the sight. Caleb and Mae curled up on your couch while Homer sat on the floor, rummaging through your tapes before he finally popped something in the VCR. Severen hung around the kitchen, and it took you a moment to realize it was because he didn’t have anywhere to sit. You grabbed the fold out chair that was wedged in-between the counter and the fridge, and set it out for him as you mumbled an apology. He smiled at you, taking the chair so he could turn around and sit on it backwards. Severen offered a game of russian roulette, but you declined when he offered to deal you in. You quickly rinsed out your cup and set it in the dishwasher, pulling your hair all to one side of your neck as you run your fingers through it. If this was any one of the past few nights, you would’ve taken a spot on the couch, dug into a carton of ice-cream, and cried yourself to sleep. But you couldn’t do that with six witnesses. So, instead, you fixed yourself a sandwich, offered to make them something, and ate it as you watched them play cards. For a moment, you almost felt settled. Until you watched as Jesse suddenly grabbed Severen’s arm.

“Woah, woah, woah. You cheatin’, Severen?” And you watched as he reached into his sleeve to check if he was. Severen defended himself with a quick, 

“I’m not cheatin’.” But there it was. A card that Severen had hid. They pulled their guns on eachother, laughing, and were quick to put them away as Jesse took Severens cards and put them at the bottom of the pile with a quick,

“Deal the cards.” It was a quick little thing, and it shouldn’t have mattered as much as it had. But, it struck you then, like how lightning strikes a tree. Severen was far too different than your ex. Far more handsome, mysterious, and light-hearted than he had ever been. But there was one thing they had in common. They were cheaters. Maybe that's just my type, you told yourself glumly. But, suddenly, your hunger had dissipated. You swallowed the seemingly too dry lump of bread, and wrapped up the sandwich to finish later. In your current circumstances, you couldn't afford to throw away leftovers. You closed the fridge, and Severen tossed a glance your way.

Ever since you'd entered the trailer, he'd been keeping his distance. Hell, the second he'd decided not to kill you he'd been keeping you at an arms length. Maybe it was to let you come to him. Or maybe it was so he could keep an eye on you. Either way, you hadn't talked much, and it was Jesse that tried to coax you over now,

"Y/n, would you keep an eye on him? Make sure he's playing fair?" But it didn't sound like much of a suggestion. Severen moved, flipping his chair so he could sit in it properly when you began to cross the short distance between you and the table. He had patted his lap, but, before he could wrap an arm around your waist or offer you a seat, there was a banging on the door. It made you jump, and Severen was up out of his seat in a second. He was closest to the door, and, out of instinct, you grabbed his arm. He reached down, one of his big hands swallowing yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. You heard clicks of a gun, and saw that there was one in both Jesse, Severen, and Homers hands. Your head nearly swam, wondering how the hell you got in a situation where a kid carried a gun. Severens height dwarfed you, and he blocked the screened window so you couldn't even see the outline of who was outside. Then there was a slurred call of,

"Y/n! Let me in!" And your heart sank. It was your fucking ex. You hadn't seen him in nearly a week, ever since you'd found him in this very trailer with a girl on top- You shook your head, shaking away the image that burned the back of your mind. You'd kicked him out, but it seemed he'd come crawling back. "Please, I need to talk to you." He slurred, and you thought you could hear the sound of him swigging back whatever he had started drinking. It was Jesse that said,

"I thought you said you lived alone." And your eyes were worried, almost frightened even, when you looked at him. You whispered back,

"I-I do. It's my ex." You explained quickly, and Severen muttered something besides you. It might've been just your imagination, but you thought you saw a twinge of jealousy in his eyes. You gripped his hand tighter as your ex started belly-aching. Most of it was unintelligible, and you nearly wanted to cringe. Yeah, he was a great example of your taste in men. He had started going on and on about how he was sorry, and you nearly wanted to plug your ears. Scream until you couldn't hear him anymore. He was going on about how it was all a big mistake, but was it? Had it been? Wasn't the real mistake dating him in the first place? Your thoughts were quickly starting to spiral, and you tried to latch onto something else. So, you continued and said, "We broke up earlier in the week. I," You paused when you looked up at Severen, almost thinking that perhaps this wasn't something you should tell him just yet. So early in- whatever this was, you thought. But the way none of them tried to interrupt and how he continued to stare forced you to continue. "I caught him cheating." And, there, you watched as his blue eyes seemed to become two rings of fire. You'd never seen him angry, but you guessed that he was the type to have a quick temper. Or, at least, an expressive one.

"We have to get rid of him." Jesse said, but it was Caleb that added,

"Quietly. He's probably woken up half the trailer park by now." And you looked between the two. They seemed to be the most even tempered men of this family, but, neither of them had a clue as to how they would do that. You were about to offer that you could get rid of them when Severen cut you off.

"I've got just the brightest idea." And you watched as he shrugged off his leather jacket to lay on the table, threw his glasses on the table as well, and tucked his gun into the back of his pants. He pushed the chair out of the way, and headed straight for the door. Before he could open it, you quickly gestured for everyone else to head back towards the bedrooms. You watched as Severen straightened his hair, shook out his shoulders, and put on a smile while the five of them ducked back into the darkness of the hallway, guns drawn and eyes watching. You tucked yourself into the corner booth, so you'd be out of sight but could watch through a slit in the curtains. Severen unlocked and threw open the door, letting a cool,

"Evenin', friend." As he stared down into the surprised face of your ex. "I believe you have the wrong trailer." Severen continued when his mouth went slack with surprise. You watched as your ex looked over at the number, and then back at the brunette in your doorway. He rubbed his mouth, and then said,

"No, no. I'm looking," He paused to belch. "I'm looking for y/n. She's," He gestured to the number. "She's 24. She's my- She's my-" But he couldn't seem to get the words out. You looked over to see Severens smile falter. He was blocking the sight of you, but you could see him. It seemed as though your ex couldn't take a hint, but you decided to blame his drunken state. "Who are you?" Your ex thought to ask after a moment, nearly stumbling back as he looked him over. Severen leaned against the doorframe, putting a hand in his pocket.

"I'm the man that's been taking care of her the past few days." He said, an all too suggestive grin on his face. It was an easy lie, but it was one that hit the man opposite of Severen all at once. While he couldn't take a hint, it seemed that he could understand. "Severen." He added and held his hand out as if to shake, and you watched as your ex's face seemed to fill with anger. He pointed at the brunette, nearly grazing him with his finger as he said,

"Well, Severen, I wanna hear this from her." He said, and you barely whispered a curse. Of course he would, you thought. Severen shrugged, and then looked over at you. 

"Darlin'?" He called, but it was only for effect. You stood up from the booth, taking the exit closest to the kitchen and then sided up behind him. Now, this wasn't your usual state of dress, and it could definitely pass as home clothes. Severen wrapped an arm around your waist when you came to the doorway, and you had to lean against him in order to be visible. Severen didn't seem to mind, and gave your waist a squeeze. You looked at the pitiful man you'd once called your boyfriend, and stared down at his shocked expression.

"Yeah?" You asked, and he gaped like a fish for a moment. He looked between the two of you, and then said,

"Who the hell is this asshole? You- You replaced me? In a week?" And he had the gall to sound hurt. It seemed the confrontation with a man he'd never seen before had done him some good and sobered him up some. You glared at him, and crossed your arms over your chest. Now, you didn't want to have an argument with him in front of Severens family, but you needed him to leave. And preferably not come back in the morning. You whispered his name with a shake of your head and then said,

"I believe he told you who he was," You said, and you didn't tilt your head away when Severen brushed a hand over your cheek. It seemed he enjoyed milking this for all it was worth, and you didn't catch the grin on his face as he leaned in to press a kiss to the side of your head. You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment as Severens hand moved up to rub your shoulder and his kisses traveled down the expanse of your neck. It was nothing more than a couple of pecks, and he only continued when you didn't shrug him off the first time. The affection felt nice, almost nice enough to forget what had happened not even an hour before. But, even if you were mad at him, you knew you were doing your ex a favor. Your eyes fluttered back open. "You should leave." You told him, and that seemed to sober him up completely. He opened his mouth and took a step forward, but Severens hand dropped and he was halfway out the door. A hand placed on your ex's chest. It made your ex stop, and, after a stare down with Severen, he pulled out of his grip and turned back to look at you to say,

"You can't kick me out. I'm the one that pays rent for this place." He said, and you clicked your jaw. You'd been so angry the week before that he hadn't even tried to argue with you when you threw him and all of his things out of the trailer. It seemed that after talking with his drinking buddies, or perhaps the waitress, that he had remembered that.

"With a job my daddy found you." You snapped back, and that made him shut his trap quick. You dug further, forgetting that the audience you had was more than the man besides you. "And I'm not the one that screwed around. Why don't you go shack up with her, or did she kick you out too?" You threw the words in his face, and he took a step back from the weight of them. From the look on his face, you guessed that you might be right. Drinking buddies it was then. "Go sleep at your friends house or try the sheriff's department. They take drunks in all the time." You said, and Severen was quick to step back so you could snap the door closed. You locked it once again, and, after a moment of staring blankly at your door, he yelled,

"Well, how you gonna pay rent, huh? It's up in a week!" And you could practically hear your blood boiling in your ears. You couldn't stop yourself from yelling back,

"I'm not! You can have the freaking trailer back then!" And then you turned on your heels. The five vampires stuck in the hallway each pressed themselves against the wall to let you stalk back towards your room, and the sound of you slamming your bedroom door was heard even by your ex outside. Before your ex could get the final word, a neighbor yelled,

"Boy, leave the girl alone." Letting him, and everyone inside your trailer, know that they hadn't been the only ones who'd heard your spat. Finally, your ex retreated. Severen shook his head and laughed, letting out a little hoot before he looked at his family and said,

"She's a firecracker, ain't she?" 

[infinites-chaser]

Librarian! PH. 52 MLQC MC / Victor :)

HELLO ANON U WERE ONE OF THE FIRST PEOPLE TO RESPOND TO MY LIBRARIAN ASK GAME I’M SO SORRY IT’S TAKEN SO LONG,,, victor is just. hard to write. aLSO I'm doubly sorry since i’ll be combining this with the Victor ask from @truth-be-told-im-lying ​ hope neither of you mind T-T i don’t think my mind could do two victor ficlets akwlfjsdkls

ANyway I love you both LOTS AND LOTS hopefully this attempt at Victor isn’t extremely out of character;;; it’s a lowkey soulmates AU if that counts for anything :> aND this fic gets the special treatment of an actual Title bc True was wonderful enough to help me by typing Victor as an Enneagram Type One

okaaay and without further ado, 

49, 52 + Victor/MC

‘[He] wakes up in [his] bed, determined to begin again.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 49)

‘As [he] pushes through the onlookers to meet [her], he is certain he is the only person moving.’- These Ghosts Are Family, Maisy Card. (pg. 52)

((pronoun changes in both quotes to better fit the ficlet))

spoilers for Victor/MC’s childhood!

spend my whole life searching

Victor doesn’t believe in soulmates. (After half a lifetime of searching turning up nothing, he doesn’t believe in much.)

Once upon a time, he might’ve. (He wanted to). His heart rate doubled and sped up to match hers— a carefree little girl skipping across the road, too far away to hear his nerves cry danger, too caught up in dreams and fantasies to hear his warning shout. Time slowed down so he could save her, and on that afternoon on the crosswalk, drops of rain suspended in the air, he did.

At that age, he hadn’t had the sense to wonder why a young girl like her had been crossing the street without supervision. Why her smiles had come freely, but had always looked a little sad, a little wistful. Why she’d been so eager to accept his baked treats. Why she’d been at the playground without a parent. Why she’d always been alone.

Now, seventeen years later, he wishes he did. Wishes he’d known something as simple as her last name.

He dreams of her. Of finding her again: the girl whose heartbeat matched his. The girl whose smile had slowed down time itself for him, as if short moments with her could’ve each stretched into a gentle eternity. He’d wanted them to. He’d wanted to capture every moment spent with her, to make them last, to savor them, so they’d pass slow and sweet like honey on the tongue.

Time had passed slow when he’d wanted it to. Those sunlit afternoons had been sweet, they’d been happy.

Only, time is a fickle thing. When he takes his eye off it, it races away, too fast for him to keep up.

The kidnapping. The experiments. The torture.

The escape.

She saves him. He’s too slow to save her.

And even if he can stop time, here’s the thing: he can never turn the clock back.

Still, he wakes up. Every morning, he gets out of bed. Gets dressed and goes to work. The world around him moves on, and demands he does, too, even if his heart’s still eleven years old and clutching her motionless body, eleven years old, the only sound in his ears his pounding pulse, the absence of the accompaniment of hers an accusation more painful than any hateful words.

It’s a recurring theme in his life, time. It’s ironic, really, when he thinks about it. That he can stop time without lifting a finger, and yet, when it comes to things he cares about, people he loves most, he’s always eleven years old again, always too late.

(His Evol’s time control, but perhaps, all this time, he hasn’t been controlling time, it’s been controlling him. He’s imprisoned by a single moment, a memory, a regret. A past that can never be undone.)

Whenever he has spare time, he devotes himself to searching. Resigns himself to the fact he’ll probably never find her, if all he has to go off of is a child’s face, once preserved in his memory, now fading. Hair color. Eye color. Age. A name. Nothing more.

The searches turn up nothing. 

He spends late nights in the office to distract himself, builds up a capitalist kingdom of a company, if only to put off for a few hours more the prospect of returning home to face his nightmares alone.

His father praises him for LFG’s growth over dinners filled with awkward silences. The name Victor Li appears more and more often in business newspapers. Investors approach him. He gets interviews. Gets offers for TV appearances, for sponsorships.

He takes them, these material successes. Wonders if any amount of them could ever make up for the failure from his childhood. If they could bring her back. He tells himself if he finds her, when he finds her, when he brings her back, it’ll be to a more perfect world. One in which he’ll never fail her again. It’s a foolish thought, but it keeps him going. With it in mind, he proceeds to work twice as hard.

Souvenir is what saves him. A small allowance, a self-indulgence, a seed of hope planted in what he thinks is his darkest time.

It’s for her, more than any of his frantic searching ever was. A dream, a foolish one, that one day she’ll step through his memories and through the restaurant’s door, that one day they’ll share a pudding together again, their hearts beating as one.

He doesn’t get to open Souvenir often; his job doesn't let him. He made sure of that, long ago. But when he does, after the last customer’s left, and he’s put up the closed sign, he cooks for two.

(The first time, Mr. Mills had taken a single look at his silent, still face, and his expression must've spoken volumes. The older man hadn't said a word, only helped clean the kitchen after, the normally gentle lines around his mouth pulled taut in a worried frown.)

He sets the second place at the table himself: carefully places fork, knife and spoon beside lukewarm appetizers, tucks a napkin under soup bowls going cold. Watches the empty seat and the untouched meal for an eternity before finally eating his own. His technique's impeccable. It has been ever since he'd aced his culinary lessons, since he'd bought out the school. He'd used the finest ingredients. He always does.

The food still crumbles like ash in his mouth. (It always does.)

Mr. Mills will find him there, nursing a glass of wine long into the night. He knows better not to question it, but sometimes he'll pull up a chair, drink a glass, too. talk of everything and nothing, talk of his parents, his sister's family, of times gone by.

Victor will never admit it, but the older man's presence makes those nights less hard. his stories, his memories — they keep the ice in his heart from spreading any further when it feels like nothing else will.

Ten years stretch into thirteen, into fourteen, into fifteen, into a broken clock, time stopped because does the passage of time mean anything if he measures it, measured it in time with her? If she's gone?

The meals shrink. First appetizers vanish, then entrees too, until all that's left are desserts, puddings that he stares at all evening, puddings a girl had loved once, that he can almost imagine her sitting there eating, her noticing him watching her and her answering blush and smile. His smile back.

Almost, because after all these years without her, he can’t quite imagine her face. Not as she would look now. Not even as she was, seventeen years back.

(He dreams and finds he doesn’t remember what her smile looked like, exactly. Doesn’t remember the sound of her heartbeat mingling with the sound of his.

Memory is cruel. Memory is imperfect. No matter if you can stop time, no matter how hard you try to memorize a moment, when you revisit it, it’ll never be the same as when you lived it the first time.)

Then:

The day starts like any other. He wakes up, gets out of bed, gets ready for another day of work, another night of searching. He scrolls emails while waiting for his espresso machine to heat, then puts his tablet aside when the coffee's done. He eats in silence. As always, he's done five minutes before he needs to leave for the company, the perfect amount of time for him to do a last-minute check in the mirror— his tie's straight, his shirt unwrinkled, not a hair on his head out of place. The reflection that stares back at him is unchanging; these days it barely shows even the passage of time.

He sighs. Shakes the thought off like the piece of lint it is on his otherwise immaculate state of being, and heads for the door, the lock automatically clicking behind him at eight o'clock am, exactly on schedule, exactly as planned.

He's about to take a seat in his car when an inexplicable urge to walk to work takes hold of him. He pauses. Calculates and re-calculates the time it would take (fifteen minutes, not accounting for rush hour traffic making crosswalks slow), and he's about to decide it's not worth it, it's a silly thought, but the urge intensifies.

Do it, the eleven-year-old in his heart seems to be telling him. You won't regret it.

He frowns and rubs his forehead— for a moment, he wonders if all his searching, all his foolish hopes are finally getting to his brain.

He decides to take the walk, anyway.

He regrets it, not nine minutes later, when despite the sun's light shining strong through the clouds, a light rain begins to fall.

Worse still, the traffic lights haven't changed once in the past ninety seconds. He won't be late, he'd accounted for this, but he's stuck in a crowd of pedestrians, and their chatter's beginning to grate on his nerves. He's considering calling the mayor about it after exactly one hundred seconds have passed— clearly, the light's broken, this is far too long for commuters to wait— but then, finally the walk sign flicks on.

He's already across the street when it happens:

First, a phone rings.

Then, the loud honking of a car.

Tires screech.

Time slows. Time stops.

He's back on the crosswalk in a matter of heartbeats, the inattentive idiot in his arms (it's a girl, it's always a girl, hair dark, eyes wide, expression shocked).

"You..." She says, blinking up at him with those wide, almost-familiar eyes. Distantly, he registers the echo of a heartbeat overlapping with his.

"Who are you?"

Who are you? His mind asks, but deep in his heart, he already knows the answer. It can't be.

"Evolver?" He says instead, shoving down memories that threaten to surface: another rainy day, another crosswalk, another heart that had seemed matched to his. He tells himself he's being delusional, that he thinks he can hear her heartbeat because she's in his arms, wide-eyed and fragile, her heartrate skittering back and forth like a fool— this isn't like his careful, methodical searching, this is a fluke beyond flukes, it means nothing, it'll lead to nothing in the end.

But she's in his arms, warm and soft against his protective embrace, she's in his arms and it feels so right it's almost painful, his pulse pulled into a panicked pace to match hers.

He sets her down abruptly, as if burned, and turns to go.

"Someone can't come to your rescue every time."

Around them, suspended raindrops begin to fall. The world, resumed. The world, once again predictable and mundane. Except for her.

He knows, without looking back, she's staring after him, her heart, his heart, still racing.

He allows himself a smile.

He allows himself some small sliver of hope.

(His frozen time starts moving again.)

[vampcubus]

Quiet (Midoriya/Reader) [part 2]

| A/n: I have to admit, I re-wrote the ending several times and I’m still not satisfied with it but here we go anyways! |

| See part 1 ... here |

✦✿  Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. ✿✦

✦✿ Words: 5500+ ✿✦

are you guys ready to c r y??

.   .   .

You stare blankly at a red and purple sky, eyes lazily watching the clouds roll by and the half-visible sun dip down and slowly set. You leaned forward to capture that perfect in-between moment, smiling as the last sliver of the sun finally dipped behind the horizon, letting the sky gradually shift from warm pinks and oranges to dark blues, indigos, and purples. You sighed and sank into a more relaxed position as your eyes welcomed the appearance of the moon as it took to the sky, washing the park in its gentle white light.

You sat at the same rotting-wooden picnic table you sat at every night, a familiar book with kitty skeletons draped in red and black across the cover sat just beneath your hand. The lukewarm coffee you’d picked up hours earlier sat right next to the book, half-empty from your lack of interest despite it being your favorite kind. 

You’d even considered dropping by your dorm to throw it in the freezer—to beat yourself with later if you kept thinking about a particularly annoying green-haired boy—before coming here, but you found that you just didn’t want to be on campus more than you had to.

Being out and about decreased your chances of running into him.

You let your eyes stray from the steadily appearing stars and to your right, where Midoriya had sat just a few nights ago.

You let out a frustrated sigh, turning your gaze back up to the sky and raising the cup of coffee to your lips. It didn’t taste amazing right now, but it served as a good enough distraction to stop thinking about him. You’d done the right thing, whether you cared about Midoriya or not, you wouldn’t let yourself be manipulated. You would not come running back into his arms only to be forgotten when other things in his life became more important than you again.

It was better this way. 

You told yourself, trying to convince yourself that you would only distract Izuku from his dreams. You’d only get in the way and end up broken again when he realized that.

You flicked the book open and skimmed your eyes over the pages. The illustrations of grim-themed yet still cute cats above each new chapter momentarily consuming your attention. Your soft smile faltered when you stumbled upon a particularly strange looking cat with wild, curly fur and huge round eyes cowering underneath a couch. Your eyes lingered on the drawing, everything about it just screams Izuku.

You shake yourself out of it and flip to the front page, breath hitching when you noticed a sticky note attached to it. It was in the handwriting of the clerk you’d grown familiar with. She often scribbled funny quotes or little notes things into the books you purchased for you to laugh about when you stumbled into the shop again.

He was here today, wanted me to slide this to you once you came in today. Not quite sure if he knows that ‘secret admirers’ are supposed to be discreet? 

-Kiko ッ

You almost smile at that, not doubting for a moment who she was referring to. But then you knit your brows together in confusion when you noticed an arrow at the bottom of the note. Curiously, you unstuck the unusually heavy sticky note and flipped it. Your heart stopped functioning entirely when you saw a familiar bracelet taped to the back of it.

You gasped tearing the bracelet from the note and inspecting it closely. No way… there’s no way he even remembered this existed.

It was a colorful and cute bracelet with mostly green beads and white lettered ones spelling out ‘All Might.’

The sight of the bracelet brings you way back, and suddenly you are no longer outside at the park.

Instead, you are laying on your stomach with an impressive fort of blankets hanging above your head. Your small hands fiddled with the beads, tiny fingers slipping on each random-shaped bead you could find in your craft box that was remotely green in color. Across from you lays a much smaller Izuku on his belly with his nose buried in a comic book, eyes sparkling and lips noisily slurping at the straw of a juice box.

“Y/N-chan look!” The curly-haired boy squeals, shoving the comic book over to you and pointing at a panel of a very stylized All Might with multiple civilians draped over his shoulders. It’s a familiar frame from the video you’ve watched with the boy about a million times already. You personally didn’t idolize the symbol of peace as passionately as your friend, but it always made him happy, so you always watched it with him. You squinted, scrunching up your nose at the picture.

“They drew his hair wrong!” You complained pointing at the clearly exaggerated shojo-looking hairstyle the number one hero had been illustrated with.

“No, that’s just the artists’ style.” Little Izuku exclaims, standing up in the fort, proudly posing in his All Might one-sie, holding the comic book up into the air like it was Simba.

“Ohh,” You remember humming thoughtfully before returning to tying an s-clip to the end of the bracelet, looking your newest creation over with pride. You sat up too, looking anxiously over to your best friend who had engrossed himself back into the comic. “Gimme your hand.”

You vividly remember the young boy’s freckled face lighting up and his hand being shoved in your direction. You slid the way-too-big bracelet over his tiny wrist and looped it around a second time so it wouldn’t fall off. “Here, so everybody knows you’re the next All Might!”

His big green eyes overflowed with tears, almost flooding your blanket sanctuary and drowning you both in his own tears when he tackled you to the ground, hugging you tight. You remember him showing the bracelet off to all of his friends and Kacchan the next day. He wore it even more religiously than his hero-onesie, his mother even mentioning that he only took it off to bathe.

You recall your shock when a week later he dropped a similar home-made bracelet with your favorite-colored beads and your idolized hero’s name on it. It had been the first time anyone had ever made something for you and you cherished it.

“We match now, so that means we gotta become big strong heroes together when we get big!” You remember his high-pitched voice declaring with his best All Might impression.

You felt your eyes burn with salt and the telltale weight of tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, your fingers shaking as they clutched the bracelet. Despite how old the plastic piece of jewelry was, it was in outstanding condition--save for a few scratches on the bigger beads here and there.

You’d thought that he’d lost it or thrown it away a long time ago. It’s been years. How on earth did he still have this?

Feeling your breath start to quicken you shot up from your seat, grabbing the book from the table and dashing off towards U.A. You turned each sharp corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into several other students—including Bakugou who hissed and swore at you as you retreated to your dorm You shoved the door open and slammed it shut. The next fifteen minutes were spent digging through your stuff, looking through untouched boxes of your things you’d brought from home but never needed until now. 

And then, you finally found it tucked away in an old pencil pouch. You pulled out an all-too-familiar bracelet, holding it up to compare to the green one in your other hand. There was no doubt about it, it was real. Your fingertips traced the familiar beads of your own bracelet, eyes flickering between it and its counterpart.

Why…?

Why did he keep it so long?

You kicked the box back into the closet and toed the door shut, tossing both bracelets onto your nightstand and flopping face-down onto your bed.

It didn’t matter. It was just a bracelet, nothing more than a flimsy piece of plastic. Nothing compared to the friendship you had. So what if he held onto some dumb bracelet? That didn’t make up for months of distance, weeks of him slowly forgetting you existed while you stood idly by. Letting it happen because you cared too much.

So why did you feel so guilty?

You groaned exasperatedly into your pillow snuggling your face into it when it started to soothe your headache. Your eyes opened suddenly with a furious glower when your stupid brain immediately thought back to the times you and Izuku would nap together when you were kids, anywhere anytime. You often played so hard you knocked yourselves out so his mom would find you cuddled up against one another in your blanket forts, on the couch, on the slide at the park, under the sink once… anywhere you could fit into and doze off, you would.

In fact, you didn’t shake the habit of napping together until you were at least thirteen, which is usually around when parents start getting suspicious so you stopped doing it. You felt a slight blush rise to your cheeks, remembering those special times in middle school when you would sneak in and sleep together for a while if one of you had a nightmare. That was most likely the most rebellious thing you two innocent little suck-ups ever did.

You sigh, eyes drifting over to the bracelets strewn carelessly across your nightstand.

How can one bracelet bring back so much nostalgia?

.   .   .

Midoriya was slumped miserably against one of the couches in the dorm lounge, pen shakily scribbling away at an assignment. His handwriting has gotten a little better since last year, still wobbly and inconsistent in places but his teachers have voiced their appreciation of its improvement. He thinks back to earlier when he had dropped off that bracelet at the bookshop, afraid that if he approached you, you wouldn’t want to see him or he’d start crying again.

It really tore him apart inside to part with it, having kept it for so long. He’d found the bracelet while looking through some of his things one day. It fell out of a box with a bunch of his older more beat up action figures.

Seeing it after being put away for so long had brought the biggest smile to his face, remembering how much he’d loved it when he was younger. It was also what made him remember you… It was as if you suddenly popped back into existence. And in excitement to share the memory with you, perhaps catch up with you over coffee, he had disregarded the fact that it had been months since you’d last spoken.

He now realizes his mistake. 

But after last night he knew he didn’t deserve to have such an important piece of you to himself. He absentmindedly wondered if you still had yours… probably not, huh? His wasn’t as pretty as the one you made him, and why would you keep it after he practically ignored you for a year?

Still, he had hope that just maybe there was a chance he could make it up to you, that he hadn’t messed up so bad that you never want to speak to him again. Midoriya closed his eyes, frowning down at his notebook in shame. Who was he kidding? It was just a piece of plastic and likely held no value to you after what he did.

He misses it. Already.

“Midoriya.” Iida’s voice piped up and the green-haired boy jumped.

“Oh hey, Iida. Did you need something?” He asked, trying not to sound as worked up as he really was, forcing a small smile.

“I came to ask if you’d heard from L/N at all today?” Midoriya’s heart dropped at the sound of your name.

“No… why?”

“Well, it’s just that several students claimed to have seen her running obnoxiously through the halls earlier this evening and I was curious if you’d happen to know anything about it?” Iida asks, straightening his glasses with a displeased expression, clearly not amused by your behavior.

“No, I haven’t. Sorry,” Midoriya admitted sullenly, eyes downcast to the floor.

Iida’s eyes softened and the bluenette sighed, taking a seat next to his friend. Ochako and he hadn’t managed to get much out of the sulking Midoriya since the other night, but they suspect that things didn’t necessarily go well between him and you. Not to mention he’s been a zombie all for days, barely getting any sleep at all these past few nights

“And, as your friend, I am concerned about your wellbeing,” Tenya confessed, pushing his glasses up closer against his face as Midoriya sighed. 

“I’m fine, Iida.” Midoriya offered him a half-smile but otherwise made no attempt to spill anything. Tenya made eye-contact with Ochako across the common room, who had been the one to encourage him to approach Deku in the first place.

“Midoriya, what happened between you and L/N last evening?” The Iida son pressed, cautious not to pry too much in fear of upsetting him.

“I messed up,” Midoriya looked down at his lap, a drawing of your face in the corner of his math homework. He abruptly turned the page in hopes Iida hadn’t already seen it. “Really badly.”

.   .   .

The next morning, Izuku is as sluggish and mopey as ever, worrying his classmates with his lack of enthusiasm.

“You should talk to her.” Todoroki’s cool voice shakes Midoirya out of his daze after homeroom. He’s been staring absently at you as you ignored his existence, focusing on the lesson. It isn’t hard to guess who the half-and-half teen was talking about. And yet he still found himself surprised.

“I’ve tried, Todoroki. Talking won't help.” Midoriya sighs, eyes dropping to his mess of notes, including several crumpled up drawings of you.

“And sulking around doing nothing will?” Todoroki questions, not able to recognize the shell of the boy in front of him.

 “I messed up, and she wants nothing to do with me now.” And he respects that.

“Something tells me that isn’t entirely the case.” Shouto replies and the green-haired boy sends him a puzzled look.

“What do you mean by that?” He asks, a brow raised at the possibility that Todoroki knows something he doesn’t.

“You forget that Y/N and I are close friends now, although you haven’t necessarily been around so you may not have known at all.” He states bluntly and it does nothing to comfort Midoriya at all. He hadn’t known you and Todoroki were friends! What else did he not know about you?

“What are you getting at, Todoroki?” Deku asks with a defeated tone, wishing the stoic prodigy would just be out with it.

“Y/N tells me everything, don’t think she hasn’t told me about what happened a few nights ago. But when she spoke about you it didn’t seem like she didn’t want anything to do with you.” Shouto explained, definitely catching the young Midoriya’s attention. “She’s upset, yes, and you aren’t wrong to assume that she is angry with you right now. But the longer you wait to talk to her about it—if you planned to at all that is—the longer it will take for her to forgive you.”

Forgive him? Was that even possible at this point? He didn’t know, but if what Todoroki said was true, and he actually had a chance, he couldn’t waste any more time ‘sulking around and doing nothing.’

“Are you sure that’s even possible, Todoroki?” Deku questioned, eyes adept as ever as he searched the bi-colored eyes of his rival and friend for answers he may not even have.

“I don’t know for sure, Midoriya. That is up to Y/N.” Todoroki admits, and Deku bites the inside of his cheek still torn over this. “But I don’t think she will forgive you if you don’t try.”

“Mm.” Deku nods, thanking the two-toned boy and packing up for his next class of the day.

.   .   .

Your ears perked up at the sound of someone knocking on your door later that night. You sighed into your pillow, not wanting to leave its soft embrace. You tried to ignore it at first, pretending to be asleep but he insistent knocking continued. Grumpily you pushed off of your comfy bed to sluggishly open the door, thinking it was most likely Mina and she’d just keep knocking until you opened up. 

You were not expecting Midoriya to be standing there.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice holding no softness or enthusiasm ad your narrowed eyes stared coldly at your former best friend. He flinches at the icy tone of your voice.

“I-I um… can we… talk?” Izuku asks anxiously, wringing his hands together, elbows drawn in close to his stomach self-consciously. “Please?”

He meets your steeled gaze with his own apologetic one, green eyes pleading with yours. Izuku owned the most convincing pair of puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen, even when he wasn’t meaning to and even now you faltered.

“Why? Why should I let you in? Give me one good reason not to slam the door in your face and go back to bed?”

“B-because I w-won’t leave until I say what I need to say,” Midoriya stated as firmly as he could, a determined glimmer in his eyes as he did so. You don’t doubt that he might sit at your door all night if you refused him. “A-and I have a feeling you have some things to say too.”

He wants to resolve this.

“I have nothing to say to you.” You hissed stepping back into the threshold of your room starting to close the door but his hand smacks against the wooden surface, a desperate look in his eyes that only makes you push harder. “Move.”

“Please! Please just hear me out, Y/N, please just give me this! Let me try! You don’t need to forgive me. I just need you to listen!” Midoriya pleads, his glossy eyes already spilling hot tears down his freckled cheeks. He’s shaking. “Please…”

Midoriya stumbles forward when the door opens and he just barely catches himself, wide eyes darting up to yours as you take several steps away from the entrance. You cross your arms, you can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

“You have five minutes. Start talking.” You relent, sitting down on your bed.

Midoriya sighs in relief, closing the door behind him before clumsily scrambling over to you. You pat the spot next to you, avoiding any and all eye-contact. Izuku’s heart skips a beat when he spots his bracelet on your nightstand. So you did get it! His breath gets caught in his throat when he tries to speak at the same moment his eyes drift to your wrist, where a relic of your friendship dangles. 

You kept it! He feels his eyes overflowing, the ugly fat tears streaking down the sides of his face as he stares dumbfounded at the familiar bracelet.

“You have four minutes.” You flatly remind him, and he jumps, trying to think of the words he’d practiced just a half-hour before he showed up at your dorm.

“AH—o-okay! um, I…” When he fails to speak even after a good minute passes, you sigh deeply. If he had nothing to say, why’d he even come? What happened to all that gusto about ‘saying what I need to say’?

“Why did you keep it?” You ask out of the blue after an uncomfortable silence and his head perks up, but he looks confused, eyes searching yours.

“Keep what—?” He starts, but you cut him off.

“The bracelet. Why did you keep it? It’s been years, I didn’t even think you still remembered that old piece of junk existed.” You blurt out, each word sounding distressed and just… confused. You wanted to understand.

He stares at you, mouth agape at a complete loss of what to say. His mouth suddenly feels dry and his tongue rubs anxiously against the roof of his mouth.

“Because… because it was important... to me.” Izuku breathes, the muscles and nerves in his hand twitching as it laid only inches away from yours. “I was s-so happy when you first gave it to me, my mom had to pry it off of me just to bathe me.” He chuckles, smiling at the memory.

“And I kept it because it reminded me of you, it felt like there was a part of you with me even when you couldn’t be there. It comforted me, knowing that you put s-so m-much thought into something j-just for me and I f-felt so special!” He breaks off when his hiccups start to get out of control. “A-and—”

He chokes and apologizes taking a moment to breathe again. You hadn’t realized how much one silly piece of jewelry had impacted him until now, so much so that he’s crying over it.

“And I made a promise, remember?” Izuku sniffs, wiping his eyes uselessly with his hand, only really smearing the wetness across his cheeks and wetting his hand with his own tears as they continued to spill down the freckled planes of his red cheeks.

You nod, but turn away when you feel your own emotions starting to spike up. You bit your lip, held your breath, clenched your teeth. Anything to keep the tears at bay as they threatened to fall.

“I-I said that when we—”

“We match now, so that means we gotta become big strong heroes together when we get big.” You butt in, sniffling and raising a hand to scrub at the tears streaming down your face and pooling at your chin. “That’s what you said.”

Deku stares at you, guffawed as you quoted his younger self. He hadn’t expected you to remember it so clearly, It makes him feel even worse. Knowing how much it must’ve hurt you when you grew apart. How hard it must’ve been on you to keep quiet about everything while he lived his best life, forgetting all about his dearest friend.

“Why’d you give it back?” You asked, voice trembling as you wiping your eyes with your arm. You glanced over at the green bracelet lying on your nightstand. “If it meant so much to you, why give it back?”

He closed his eyes. He listened to his heart as it slammed against his chest like a pinball machine, demanding him to say something.

“Because I forgot about the friendship it represented, and I shouldn’t have. I wish I wouldn’t have, but I did. I broke my own promise and e-even worse, I hurt you because I was just too caught up in my own problems—my own dreams—to remember that you’ve been a part of them since the beginning.” Izuku sobbed, there was no point in holding it all in now. 

“I gave it back because I was so afraid I screwed up everything between us, and I don’t deserve it!”

I don’t deserve you. The phrase rang in his ears so loudly it was almost deafening, he wanted nothing more than to say it too. He couldn’t because he couldn’t catch a single damn breath to say it. But even as he feels he has gathered that breath it’s stolen away once more when he feels your hands on his face.

In a flurry of your own emotions and a nagging force of habit you had reached out and grasped his face, the soft pads of your thumbs wiping at his cheeks.

“Stop crying already, you had something you wanted to say right? Stop letting your emotions get in the way of that.”

The firmness in your tone as your stern eyes descended upon his own struck a chord in him. You’ve said something like that to him before. Years ago.

“Stop crying, Izuku! Stop letting your emotions keep you from standing up for yourself! Kacchan steps on you because he knows all you’ll do is cry!”

Multiple times.

“Would ya quit crying already? You’re tougher than that, Izu. Like All Might!”

Constantly.

“Stop crying because you don’t have a quirk! Become a hero without one!”

It had always been you. You there comforting him, encouraging him, telling him to quit crying and speak up for himself. To keep pushing on despite the fact that he just wasn’t as gifted as other children. How could he have forgotten one of the most important lessons you ever taught him? How could he have forgotten about you?

You tugged one of your bunched sleeves down with your teeth and dried up the downpour of tears from his cheeks with your hoodie sleeve. Careful not to rub the skin raw, you kept at it until he was simply too shocked to cry anymore. This is the first time you’ve done this in years, yet far from the first time you’ve had to do it at all. Even as children, you were using your fingers, your sleeves, the edge of your shirt to wipe his tears away.

“I—”

“Shush, I don’t want to hear it unless it’s what you came here to say.” You interrupt, and the look in his eyes changes from nervous to determined.

“I was going to say that I am s-sorry,” He stutters.

“What else?” You encouraged, watching as he slowly gained more confidence. “You said you weren’t going to leave until you say what you need to say, keep your promise.”

“I was going to say that I don’t deserve you!”

“And are you lying?” You ask.

“No!” Midoriya exclaims more confidently, more certain of himself than before.

“And is that all you wanted to say?” You asked again, smiling as the sobbing boy from before completely changed with your encouragement, egging him on.

“No…” Midoriya confesses, faltering slightly as his nervousness returns. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to say it yet. Would that even be acceptable right now? Even as strong as he feels right now he can’t help but hesitate, to blush, to avoid your gaze.

“Then say it.” 

“I…” He trails off, suddenly terrified of the thought. He couldn’t! It would put everything on the line! “I-I…”

Your hand cups his cheek coaxing him to look back up at you.

“Stop hesitating, tell me what you want to say.”

He’s already put your friendship on the line, what difference would it make? You wanted the truth so you’d get it! He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes before opening them again, meeting your own straight on. There’s a spark in those green eyes that wasn’t there before he squinted them shut. It’s like an emerald fire was lit behind them.

“I love you!”

It’s quiet.

You stare at him, and he stares right back, his determined gaze never weakening as he maintained eye-contact.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Midoriya replies.

This time it’s your turn to shy away. Your face darkens incredibly fast, heart racing against your chest as your eyes darted from side to side, deep in thought. Your mind threw numbers together into every equation it knew, each answer coming out the same. You had expected an “I want to be friends again!” or “I want a second chance!” or “I want to fix this!”

Never in a million years could you have predicted him to say that. Not to you. Your eyes drifted back up to his. He looks a little less confident now, almost worried as he awaits your response.

“Get out.” You breathe, eyes wide as you stare at him watching his determined face change to one of confusion.

You couldn’t believe it. After forgetting your existence for almost a year, after only remembering when he found the bracelet, after only wanting to talk to you because it was most convenient to him… and he has the goddamn nerve to say that he loved you.

“W-what?” Izuku gasped, not understanding what was going on. Suddenly you were pressing yourself against the wall farthest from him on your bed.

“G-get out!” You exclaim, the angry tears running down your face.

“Y/N, what are you s-saying?” His voice shook, the tears starting to fall from his eyes again, his nose beginning to run as well as his entire body shook. Why were you telling him to leave? Did he make the wrong call? Did you not feel the same?

“Why are you lying to me?” You asked, the question coming out like a whisper.

“I-I’m not lying to you, I love you!” Midoriya cried. “Please, you have to believe me, I wouldn’t lie to you! I’ve always liked you—since we were kids, Y/N! I can’t fake that! You know I can’t!”

You shake as his desperate green eyes plead with yours, a sincerity in those irises you grew up staring into, a sincerity that just can’t be faked. He actually… he actually loved you? But why? He ignored you for a year!

“And you can honestly tell me that in that year you forgot about me you loved me?!” You demanded, your tears making your vision blurry and unmanageable.

“I never stopped loving you, even if it was overshadowed by my dream to become a hero, even if I made mistakes not even I can fix, my heart always belonged to you.” Midoriya crawled over to kneel in front of you on your bed where you still had your back pressed to the wall and your knees pulled tightly to your chest. “I’m not perfect, Y/N. I made a mistake by not being there for you, and I will do anything it takes to fix it if I can.”

“And you won’t forget me again? You promise?” You ask shakily, feeling a little embarrassed by how small you felt, scrunched up in such a way and crying in front of someone other than your cat at home.

“Yes,” His immediate response confirms it, not an ounce of hesitation present in the way it rolls off his tongue. “I promise, I’ll never forget you. And I’ll never be the reason you cry again.”

“Can you believe me?” Izuku reached his hand out to you.

“I… I believe you.” You admit, a small smile gracing your lips as you take his hand. Izuku lets out a relieved sigh, his free hand trembling over his heart. You can tell how terrified he was. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you though, Izu.”

“I know, and I’m going to try my very best to make it up to you. I promise.” Izuku states. It doesn’t bother him that you didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, he wouldn’t have deserved it. He’s going to have to work for it, and that was fine with him.

“Do you…” You started, face flushing and eyes avoiding his as you removed your hands from his face. “Do you wanna hug it out?”

“Yes!” You yelp when he throws himself at you, tackling you to the bed with his arms around you. You squeeze your own arms around him, face burrowing into his shoulder as you squeezed the life out of one another.

“Sorry.” He mutters when he realizes he’s practically on top of you and most likely crushing you. He moves to roll off of you but your arms only tighten around him.

“No, please just… can we just stay like this for a while?” You asked, and Izuku felt his heart beating so fast he was convinced it eventually just commit seppuku if it pounded any harder. He nodded against your shoulder, cheeks burning a bright crimson as he relaxes.

“Also,” You spoke up and he hummed in response, he couldn’t be bothered to move. You reached over to your nightstand to snatch the green bracelet from it, the green-haired boy whining when he had to re-adjust after you started moving. “Gimme your hand.”

He pulled away, green pools swirling with confusion. He complies with your sudden request and gasps when you slide the bracelet back onto his wrist.

“This belongs to you.” You smiled and he mirrored it with one of his own, hand impulsively taking yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your matching bracelets reflected the dim light of the room, casting a warm glow over your faces as you smiled at each other. No longer did you feel forgotten or used, instead you felt loved again. “Now get off  me.”

Izuku laughs and slips off of you to lay at your side, his arms pulling you in close so he could cuddle you, just like you did when you were kids.

Izuku rested his forehead against yours, one hand reaching up to timidly brush against your reddened cheek, causing your eyes to flutter closed and a small sigh to escape your smiling lips. He missed seeing you smile. But there was still something else that he needed to take care of before you drifted off to sleep.

“Y/N?” He asked.

“Yes?” You sighed sleepily, 

“Don’t ever feel like you have to keep quiet anymore, alright? Please, always talk to me.”

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing several times.

“Okay.”

[writer1]

A regretful Wolf and his Beauty

Chapter One

Beast!Rex x fem!reader.

Summary: As punishment for his actions, young prince Rex was cursed to become a monster by a witch. The only thing that saved him from his fate was an enchantress, who gave him a condition. He has to find true love in order to redeem himself and he only has until the last petal of the enchanted rose falls. Rex's family helps you by guiding your way into his heart. Rex's fate now lies in your hands."

A/N: Hey, this is a collaborative fic between myself and @ahsokatano-thetogruta. We have created a star wars the clone wars fanfic based off the story Beauty and the Beast, so we both hope that you love reading this as much as we had fun writing it. Enjoy!

It's a crisp winter's day, the untouched snow was glistening, as more beautiful soft snowflakes danced through the air, swirling around each other in time as they waltzed their way to the ground. The slowly rising sun peers over the horizon, it feels magical as the sun shines over the sparkling snow, glistening and gleaming, creating a beautiful, breathtaking winter wonderland, and the inhabitants of the royal castle start to stir, the younger kids are already running around. They were waiting Impatiently to open the nicely wrapped presents under the tree. Christmas day is finally here again.

Rex was surrounded in peace until he was abruptly awoken to the sounds of exciting cheers and shouting of his younger brothers and cousins who are now running around the halls of the castle outside of his room.

Rex groans at the sound. He tries to go back to sleep, pressing his face tightly into the pillow. He had a late night, and is absolutely exhausted.

He almost growls when his door swings open and Fives, Echo and little Stutter run in. The ten year old twins and four year old kid run over to Rex, with Fives picking up Stutter, dropping him on top of his side. Rex almost growls again, but holds it back so as not to hurt his little brother's feelings.

He turns over, Stutter sitting on his stomach now, hands against his chest. The cute smile on his face makes Rex give him a small little smile.

"Come on, Rex. It's time to get up, right Stutter?" Stutter looks at Fives, nodding happily.

"Yeah! C-C-Come on, O-Ori'vod" Rex smiles tiredly.

"Okay! I'm up Vod'ika, can you three please leave so I can get dressed." They all nod, Echo walking over and grabbing little Stutter from Rex. They all walk out.

"Hurry up, Ori'vod." Echo yells back, causing Rex to huff a little. Rex rubs his face and yawns, trying to wake up more. He feels like he could go right back to sleep for the rest of the day, but that's not happening. He sits up, stretching his arms and legs out.

Once he's half woken himself up, he hops out of bed, padding over to the wardrobe slowly. He looks through his collection of clothes, finding his favorite shirt inside. He smiles, grabbing it and a nice brown pair of pants. Once fully dressed, he starts walking towards the door to leave his quarters.

On his way, Rex's vision goes slightly blurry and his eyes struggle to stay open from fatigue, so he yawns again, but because he couldn't see where he was walking, he clumsily stumbles into a small table making him curse as he snaps his eyes shut for a second. When he opens them again, he can see a vase wobbling around on its base, almost ready to topple over at any second. It all happens in slow motion and Rex is unable to move quickly enough to stop it from hitting the ground.

It makes a loud crash as it shatters into a thousand pieces. Rex feels his frustration earlier come rushing back to him, his annoyance growing with every passing second. A few moments later, he hears his door swing open. Without bothering to turn around to see who it is, his words come out snappy. "Don't you know how to knock?" He turns around to see Cody standing in the doorway. "Oh...sorry Cody. I didn't mean to lash out like that."

"It's alright, Vod'ika. I heard a loud noise so I just needed to make sure that you were okay, I was worried for you." Cody smiles knowing that Rex is okay, he saw the frustration on his face for a second after he turned around. "Are you okay?"

Rex feels a guilt wash over him like a ferocious wave, regretting being so rude, especially in front of his Ori'Vod. "I'm sorry, Cody. I accidentally bumped into it." Cody smiles kindly at Rex, he knows that it's not his fault.

"It's fine, Vod'ika. It was an accident. I'll clean it up, are you okay, you look frustrated." Rex nods, Cody's been here for him ever since their parents died two years ago. The reason Rex is crown prince is because Cody and his other brother Bly didn't want the crown.

"I didn't sleep well last night, and I was woken up by all of the noise." He mumbles a bit, still tired.

"I'm sure you'll feel throughout the day. We have a lot of fun things planned." He says with a big smile, hoping it will make Rex feel somewhat better.

"I'm sure I will too." He thanks him with a tired smile. Being thirteen and having hormones is not making his morning any better, but he tries to power through it the best he can and hopes he'll have a good time.

"I'll meet you in the ballroom to open presents once I've cleaned this up for you."

"Thanks, Ori'Vod."

"You're welcome, Vod'ika."

xxx

It's always very busy in the kitchen on Christmas. Many Chefs are preparing the vegetables and various foods for the Christmas dinner and snacks throughout the day. Gregor is a fifteen year old chef in training after being promoted from a dishwasher to a sous chef. He was given the day off today to spend with his brothers and cousins, but asked the head chef if he could make some cookies for everyone when they all open their presents. His boss is really nice, so he lets him do what he needs to do. Gregor gets up early to start making them. He hears the younger kids start running around upstairs, waking up the oldest of the family. He chuckles thinking of the kids running into his room to find an empty bed, he won't be woken up by someone jumping on him this year.

Gregor grabs all the ingredients he’ll need for the cookies, starting with the flour. He pours it into a bowl, there's a cloud of flour in the air after he pours but he just ignores it. He grabs the milk and eggs next, being careful to measure it correctly, the eggs are cracked in a separate bowl then, once checked for shells, are poured in with everything else. Next is Gregor's favorite ingredient, sugar.

He measures out a little more than the recipe calls for since his brothers and cousins love it when he adds extra into the mixture, because they all have a big sweet tooth. He mixes it in, giving the batter a quick taste. Once he finds that the taste is good he adds the baking powder and butter, checking the taste just to make sure it's still good.

Once the batter has reached the desired consistency and sweetness, he grabs a selection of Christmas spices from a cupboard and places them on the counter. He separates the batter into 3 different bowls, each one for a different flavour. He will make some cinnamon, ginger and vanilla cookies, though he makes about a batch more of cinnamon cookies because almost everyone goes crazy over those.

He mixes in the spices in and then puts the batter onto the counter. Gregor goes to get a rolling pin and some cookie cutters shaped like Christmas trees and stars to give them that extra Christmas feel to them. He rolls out the batter evenly and then cuts some out, placing them onto a tray ready to go into the oven. Once they are all cut out and placed on baking trays, he puts them into the oven that was preheated earlier on and then grabs a sand timer that will tell him in 20 minutes that the cookies will be baked and ready. He turns over the small timer and takes it with him so he can join everyone to start opening presents.

xxx

Rex sits in a circle with the kids, everyone between the ages of 2 to 15 is there. They all have presents in their laps, ready to be opened, the older kids and adults just have to give the say. Cody walks into the room, glancing around and smiling.

“Okay, you can all open your present now!” 99 calls out, he's the oldest among them and is everyone's uncle. All the kids start ripping open their presents, Rex feels a little bit of fear for Anakin's present when he starts to shake it.

“Be careful, ani. You’ll hurt him.” the twelve year old knight in training looks at Rex with wide eyes.

“Him?” he asks, setting the box down gently. He rips it open, hearing a bark when he opens it. He gasps loudly.

“A PUPPY!!!!” he yells, hugging the young dog to his chest. Rex smiles at his best friend's happiness, it was hard work keeping the puppy a secret. And getting it into the box a little while ago was tough, he had to ask Obi Wan for help. The older knight was surprised when Rex had asked him about getting Anakin a puppy, but agreed. He could see why Cody loved the guy. Anakin put the puppy down, pouncing on Rex.

“Thanks Rex, I love him!”

"Aw, he's so cute! What will you name him, Skyguy?" Anakin looks to his left to see Ahsoka petting his new dog gently on its head.

He smiles at her, she's only three years old but he finds her so enthusiastic and sweet "Hmm…" Anakin thinks for a moment, looking deeply into the puppy's eyes. "I'll call him Artoo!" He says, and the puppy lets out a little bark and wags his tail. Anakin feels tears of happiness well in his eyes as he hugs him close to his chest again, feeling Artoo snuggle into him.

After a few moments of admiring the adorable sight, Rex sees Stutter hand him a present. "Here y-y-you go R-R-Rex. T-T-This is f-for you."

Rex takes the wrapped up box from Stutter,smiling as he does so. "Thank you." He is only four years old, so the wrapping is a little bit untidy, but he is just so sweet and thoughtful. He peels back the paper to reveal a box with a lid. Discarding the wrapping paper on the floor, he carefully lifts off the lid to reveal a drawing inside. "Wow! This is so good, I love it. Thank you very much, Vod'ika!" Rex thanks Stutter, making him smile and then giving him a big hug. "Is that me and you that you've drawn?"

"Y-Yeah! We are p-p-playing t-t-together." He grins, happy that Rex loves his present. Stutter loves art so much, so any chance he gets to do something creative he will go and make more pieces of artwork.

While everyone is busy exchanging presents and making conversation with one another, the air is filled with a delightful and sweet aroma, making the ballroom feel even more Christmassy. Gregor notices that the sandtimer has almost run out, so he gets up and heads to the kitchen.

Rex watches as Hardcase rips into the wrapped present, he shakes his head. He swears that Hardcase is younger than him, not the same age. Hardcase finds a jigsaw puzzle inside, it's a puzzle of knights in shining armor, riding their horses into battle.

“This is awesome!”

“Did you remember to check who it's from?” Rex asks, Hardcase makes a sheepish expression.

“Oops!” he looks around. Finding the name tag, it says that it's from Jesse.

“Thanks Jesse!” hardcase yells to the twenty year old, who smiles.

“Your welcome, Vod’ika!” Hardcase laughs, he absolutely cannot wait to put it together.

Not a moment later, Gregor returns with some plates of his freshly baked cookies. Everyone's eyes go wide as he starts to hand them out to everyone. They always love his baking, especially his Christmas cookies, they are his speciality.

Rex runs over to Gregor, grabbing a handful of cookies. He runs them back over to the group, handing them to Anakin, Hardcase, Ahsoka, Stutter and everyone else in the group. Each person gets one for now to be fair, they'll have more once the presents are all done.

Ahsoka is next to open a present. She rummages through the various other presents under the tree until she finds one with her name on it. It's wrapped in silvery white paper with snowflakes and has a big blue ribbon tied around it. The tiny Togruta's eyes light up and the cutest smile graces her face. "Found mine!" Ahsoka exclaimed excitedly. She runs back over to her Ori'Vod.

Ahsoka lost her family about a year ago and Rex took her in, taking care of her and it wasn't long before everyone in the castle became her new family. She is so happy to have so many great brothers and cousins there for her. When they found out that she could use the force, Obi-Wan suggested that Anakin should be her mentor in her training to become a knight when she is old enough.

"Who's it from, Soka?" Anakin asks, still petting Artoo in his lap.

"It's from…" she searches the box for the label and then reads it out loud. "Rex."

Rex smiles at her kindly. "Go ahead, open it. But be careful with it."

Ahsoka nods and her eyes sparkle with excitement as she begins to peel back the paper, revealing a wooden box. She holds it and looks a bit confused at it for a moment.

"Here, you open it like this." Rex gets up from his chair and crouches down next to her, showing her how to open it. She then opens it all the way.

There's a little ballerina posing as if she was dancing. The lady is wearing a cute pink dress and has a pair of slipper silhouettes in the same colour as the dress. Her hair is tied up in a bun with a ribbon.

“I tried to get you a Togrutan one, but I couldn’t find one anywhere, sorry.” Rex says apologetically, he searched for one for weeks but they were always sold out or just didn't sell them.

"It's okay, I love it so much! Thank you, Ori'Vod!" She puts down the box and gives Rex a big hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. Rex chuckles and hugs her back.

"You're welcome, Soka. There is something else to it as well." Ahsoka looks at him puzzled, not sure about what he means. Rex picks up the box and shows her the little key on the back. "Turn this around a few times and see what happens."

"Okay!" She is excited to see what happens. When she lets go of the key, the ballerina starts to turn around as music from inside the box plays a beautiful song. Ahsoka is in love with this gift. "Wow! Thank you so much, I love it!"

"You're very welcome." Rex smiles at her and then she runs off to another room to carry on listening to the melody that the box produces, completely amazed with her present.

Taglist: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @captainrexisboo

[arotechno]

The Heartless: Chapter 1

Next

Read on Inkitt

(A/N: HOOOO boy here we go, after five years of staring down the barrel of this thing it’s finally done! Important question: does it matter to y’all if I don’t post the text of the chapter directly below the cut in the future and just link to Inkitt? I ask because formatting for tumblr was beyond annoying and I’m not looking forward to doing it for like 20 more chapters. But if it’s necessary for accessibility reasons, I’m willing to do it.)

Chapter I: in which the story begins

When the winter first melted into spring, Basil and I crept to the edge of the woods behind our houses to pick wildflowers in the meadow. It was still too early for raspberries; in the summer, we’d fill our baskets and our stomachs with them until our mouths were stained red with juices. Our mothers would bake pies in the afternoon and we’d eat them in the evening, cleaning every last scrap from our supper plates with the promise of a sweet dessert. Now, the earth was still cool beneath our bare feet, our toes wiggling in the soft dirt. Once we’d filled our fists with flowers, we settled in the tall grass and began weaving together goldenrod, daisies, and violets into flower crowns and daisy chains.

Basil presented his work and beamed at me, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun with the back of his hand. “Take it, I want you to wear it,” he urged, thrusting the flower crown into my lap.

“But you worked so hard on it,” I replied.

He shrugged and brushed the dirt from his tanned knees. “I want you to have it,” he insisted, reaching forward and taking the crown from my lap to place it gently on my head.

I stared down at my own work in my hands; it was not nearly as beautiful as the one Basil had made. Some of the stems had split, and many of the flowers had lost some of their leaves and petals. I didn’t have the same steady hands that he did.

“In that case, I want you to have mine, too,” I decided, pressing the crown onto Basil’s head as a couple more leaves fluttered to the ground.

Basil grinned a mile wide, practically radiating sunshine with every inch of his being. “Now we match,” he beamed.

A peaceful silence fell over the meadow. Behind us, the trees rustled in the woods. Insects hovered in the grass, hopping from flower to flower; Basil jumped when a bee buzzed past his face to land in the flowering raspberry bushes that bordered the tree line.

“We’ll be friends forever, right, Basil?” I asked after a while, sheepishly adjusting my flower crown.

"Of course we will,” he responded. “Even when we’re old!”

 “How old? Like, eighteen? That’s super old!”

Basil laughed. “Yeah! Eighteen and then even older!”

I smiled hopefully. “And we can still make flower crowns like this?”

“Ace, when we’re eighteen, I’ll still make you all the flower crowns you want,” Basil decreed with a grin. “That’s a promise.”

* * *

The warmth of the sun and Basil’s innocent smile faded as I woke up to last night’s rain dripping down on me from the cracks in the ceiling above. Bertrand stood over me, jostling me awake with one hand while the other held a vial of another one of his concoctions. I assumed I had fallen asleep after supper, because the dishes remained untouched by the washbasin and twilight was just pouring in through the window.

“Drink up,” Bertrand commanded in that voice of his that just begged to be disobeyed, holding the potion in front of me expectantly as if to remind me of the curse that filled the vacant space within me. He stared at me with piercing eyes over the top of his dull gray beard, swishing the vial back and forth for emphasis.

I grabbed it from his wrinkly hand and sloshed the red liquid around in disgust before shutting my eyes and downing it in one gulp, just to appease him. Even so, I could not resist the urge to lay a hand against my chest, but still I felt nothing. Shaking my head, I rose from my cot and pushed past Bertrand, grabbing my bow and arrow off the hook by the door and slinging it over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Bertrand called after me.

“Out,” I answered, already halfway out the rickety wooden door.

“It’s past nightfall, Ace, it’s dangerous out there!”

But I was already gone, walking away from the old house as the door slammed shut behind me with a satisfying thud.

Over the seven years I’d spent under Bertrand’s leaky roof, I had slowly become disillusioned with the idea of ever finding a potion strong enough to light a fire in my ribcage. Bertrand had tested a lot of his spells on me throughout my life, but the love potion had always proven to be the least effective.

But I suppose that is to be expected when you do not have a heart.

The Village of the Heartless was smaller than the town where I grew up. A single dirt road ran from the village gates to the top of the hill, through the neighborhood before coming to a stop at the edge of the woods that surrounded the kingdom of Amistadia. We were a close-knit community, learning to provide and look out for each other through thick and thin, through every harsh winter and plentiful spring.

Bertrand’s house stood at the edge of the village, where the hill dropped off toward the gates below. At the base of the hill stood a large, sturdy oak tree where I perched some nights with my bow and arrow on the lookout for trouble.

Nights in the Village of the Heartless were always dark, as we could never afford enough oil to keep all of the town’s lamps lit, but they weren’t always quiet. Kids from neighboring towns sometimes wandered the area at night, brandishing knives in their grimy hands, looking to stir up trouble. Tonight was no exception; as I neared the village limits, I caught a glimpse of a pair of boys making their way down the road, and a thrill shot up my spine. I climbed swiftly up the oak tree and perched in the shadow of its lush, leafy branches, fingers itching for my bow.

The pair dragged a child behind them by the arm, yanking her across the dirt with them as they cackled and cheered triumphantly at their prized catch. The girl held tightly to a canvas sack, trying fruitlessly to pull away from her captors.

“Get away, get away!” she shrieked, dodging a blow as she fell to the ground, clutching the bag to her torso desperately.

“What’s the matter, little runt?” one of the assailants sneered. “You’re not afraid of a couple of kids, are you?”

“I just wanted something to eat!” the girl cried out as a likely filthy knife narrowly missed her cheek.

If I had been in my right mind, I would have simply shot the pair of boys in the shoulder, snatched up the child, and run away, but Basil’s face kept flashing in my mind; an anger was boiling in my gut that demanded confrontation.

“Hey, ugly!” I shouted, pulling back an arrow and pointing it in their direction.

The kid with the knife froze, eyes darting up to my place on the tree branch. I was yards away, but I could see the glint of light from the last of the setting sun on the knife as his fist tightened around it. His partner, as well as the child still laying on the ground with the sack clutched to her chest, stared wide-eyed as he

“Who’re you talking to?” he grumbled.

“Doesn’t matter,” I quipped, hopping down from my perch and tightening my grip on the arrow. “Just let the kid go.”

“Why should I?” he retorted, nonetheless taking a step back when he saw the arrow aimed directly at his head. “Y-You’re not really going to shoot that.”

“How do you know?”

The other kid called out, “Hey, let’s just get out of here.” He was ignored.

Pointing to the little girl, Knife Boy puffed out his chest and continued, “There’s no way you’re really worried about her. You Heartless are all the same; you don’t feel a damned thing. No way you’d go out of your way to save her.”

I allowed myself a bitter, self-indulgent smirk, too brief to be seen in the thick darkness. “If that’s what you believe, that I am entirely emotionless, then wouldn’t it also stand to reason that I would feel no remorse about ending your sorry life right here and now?” I drew my bowstring further; the wood audibly creaked. “If that’s the case, then it would seem you had better start running.”

Knife Boy froze, taking a few steps back before he and his friend took off running in the direction they came. “Cursed bastards!” he yelled over his shoulder as he hopped the gate and disappeared. Once they were out of sight, I let my arms drop to my side and slung my bow back over my shoulder. I felt my brow furrow in frustration; life in the village had become so mundane that I was almost hoping for a fight. I quickly stifled that selfish thought, pushing it to the far recesses of my mind; the girl, who had stayed completely still on the ground throughout the whole ordeal, now scrambled to her feet, still clutching the bag in her white-knuckled hands. Now, no longer squinting through the dark, I recognized her immediately.

“That was awesome! How did you know what to say?” she beamed, slinging the canvas sack over her shoulder and wiping the dirt from a pair of ratty pants that fell three inches from her ankles.

"Petra, you’re the one who I keep hearing has been stealing food from the neighboring villages?” I asked her, and her expression soured immediately at having been caught.

“Yeah, that was me,” Petra admitted under her breath. Then, scrambling to justify herself, she added, “But I only do it because there’s not enough food in the village and I gotta eat something!”

I nodded, mulling it over. “Sure, now I suppose I can’t blame you for that, but stealing is wrong. You’re plenty old enough to know that.”

“Of course, I know that, but I needed food!”

“Fine, I get it, I get it,” I sighed. “Just don’t make this a habit, got it? I promised Annie I would keep you out of trouble.”

Petra pouted. “Fine,” she mumbled. I started back up the hill, with Petra trotting silently alongside me.

At thirteen years old, Petra had been living in the Village of the Heartless since she was a baby—which was still longer than I’d been in town—left outside the home of one of the village women, Annie, in the middle of the night. I’d met her several years ago, and she quickly became enthralled with my stories of life outside the village. Annie was dead several months now, leaving Petra to fend mostly for herself, though the community kept a watchful eye over her (Not watchful enough, I thought ruefully).

“You didn’t tell me how you knew what to say to that kid,” she urged, struggling to keep up with my strides.

“I used to spend time around those kinds of people a lot when I was a kid,” I explained, deciding to humor her. “I’ve learned how to turn their own words against them by now.”

I did not tell her that had I learned how to do so sooner, things may have turned out a lot differently.

 * * *

I eventually sent Petra home with a warning that I’d be watching to make sure she didn’t get into any more trouble. When I crossed the threshold back into Bertrand’s musty old house, the palm of his hand came down hard across my face, leaving a sharp stinging sensation behind on my skin.

“What on earth was that for?” I yelped. Bertrand grabbed me by the wrist and dropped me into one of the rickety dining chairs in the center of the room, bearded face practically sparking with rage.

“You must not keep doing that!” he scolded.

“Doing what?” I asked innocently.

“Getting into confrontations with… hooligans! What else?”

“I did what I had to—”

“Don’t think I wasn’t watching, Ace! I could see the entire ordeal from the window!”

 “Well maybe if you’d actually done something to help instead of just watching—”

“Unlike you, Ace, I value my life and am not going to get myself killed just to feel like the hero!”

I couldn’t help but bristle at his comment. Something in my soul shattered, and I sprung to my feet, the wooden chair tipping backward onto the stone floor behind me with a loud clatter that would have rang through the eaves had I not immediately erupted into theatrics.

“What do you mean you value your life? All you do is sit around making futile potion after potion and you still think it’ll work next time!” I clenched my fists at my sides, willing the confrontational energy in my veins to burn out before it swallowed me whole. “So maybe I need to tell off some asshole every once in a while to finally feel like I’m doing something meaningful. So you can keep pouring bile down my throat all you want, but I can assure you it’ll never make me happy!”

Bertrand’s face fell, and I knew deep down that I had hurt him, but I could not bring myself to feel guilty. He had it coming, I thought, stalking across the room to my cot by the window. I sat down on the thin mattress, kicked off my boots, and pulled my knees up to my chest.

“Ace—” Bertrand, having followed me, reached out a hand as if to lay it on my shoulder, but I flinched away from the touch and he retracted the appendage as if he had been burned.

“Don’t touch me,” I muttered, directing my gaze out the window at the dark, lonely night creeping across the landscape. “Just leave me alone.”

With a sigh, Bertrand retreated from my bedside, retiring to his back potion room to conjure his demons away, and I sat back against the wall, longing for home and the warm voices of my parents.

That night, I dreamt of Knife Boy, and his words reminded me of Carita, the girl who kissed me under an oak tree when we were younger and told me I was weird for flinching

Next chapter releases 7/25!

[thewritingstar]

More Than You Think

Pairing: Butchercup/ Greens (Buttercup x Butch)

Fandom: PPG

This was a commission/gift for the amazing @over-under-through1 who trusted me enough to write her some greens. 

The dynamic is much softer for greens than i usually write because we love soft butch. This is just a journey of Butch realizing that he is in fact dumb and fancies a light green puff :) 

----

Butch: Age 12

Of course Boomer would trip the alarm, he always did. Butch grumbled as he herd the familiar buzz of the bank alarm going off. They weren’t supposed to get caught, well he was the only one here anyways. Boomer was in the back room messing around with the safe and oops, now that loud ass sound is piercing through his head. Brick’s gonna be pissed.

They hadn’t robbed a store in months, kept more on the down low as they got older but even pesky twelve year olds need money and food and hey, Butch liked to have a good time. He would have preferred blowing some shit up instead but Brick’s bitching wasn’t something he wanted to challenge this late at night.

“Make that thing shut up!” Butch growled towards the back where Boomer had shouted “I’m trying damnit!”

But it didn’t matter, it never did. You could have all the fun in the world but it would be ruined no matter how good you were at your job. Eventually all the fun would come to an end.

He could hear it. Like noticing a fly when having dinner. The slight buzz of its wings, that's what it was like. The siren cut off and soon he could hear it crystal clear. He had it memorized by now. Their flying patterns and how each of them landed was its own noise. He bit back a snarl, barely tasting blood as they touched down on the ground. Fuck.

He turned on his foot with a slouch in his hip and a roll of the eyes as they stood before him.

“Buzz kills” He mumbled and locked eyes with the three super heroines.

They stood tall and proud as always. The princesses of the kingdom were here to rescue it once again, it was just a measly break in. Did they have to deal with every single small inconvenience. Guess the cops were no help but he’d rather get in a punch with someone who could handle it then in a pair of handcuffs.

He stared them down. First was the leader. Blossom or he liked to call Pinky because, well he didn’t need to explain himself. Next was Goldilocks whose voice was like nails on a chalkboard to him. Cute but annoying, no wonder Boomer was her counterpart.

And then there was her. She had a deep scowl and hooded eyes as if she had just woken up. Which would make sense as the moon was high in the sky and the only lights were the ones in the broken building. Buttercup was the only one who ever caught his eye.

“Alright just drop whatever you have and make this a clean deal.” Pinky spoke. It was startling how similar she was to his older brother, by like thirty seconds, she had that same cold stare but the baby doll pink eyes really didn’t add much fear.

“Not holding anything dumb ass.” He spat at her and held his palms open. He watched her visually straighten her shoulders from the insult and Goldilocks scoffed and yet the girl who rivaled him just had an icy glare.

Unlike her sisters, she was the only one he could tolerate, if anything. She had a killer kick and plummeting punch but she matched him in wit and snarky comments. Deep down he enjoyed whenever they got to have a full on thrashing but right now, he wasn’t in the mood and clearly, she wasn’t either.

“Got the alarm to-shit!” Boomers eyes widened as he stumbled out of the back and he wished he could have just punched him in the face for being so careless.

He watched as Pinky glanced around. The only broken item was the lock on the door and nothing had been stolen either. It should have been but blue eyes had to fuck it up. His knuckles cracked within his fists, the loud noise echoing through the untouched bank.

“Look.” Blossom started. “You broke in, disbanded the alarm and there's no way you can steal anything now, so I suggest just taking whatever dignity you have left and just walk away. Maybe next time you can do something worth our time.” She finished.

“Worth your time.” He heard Boomer mutter under his breath. A low blow for sure.

She might have been ‘everything nice’ but over time her words had taken to the spice side.

If Brick were here he probably would have gotten into her face and a brawl would have started. But he wasn’t and that pissed him off. He didn’t even care about the money any more. He had a headache and wanted to sleep and if Brick really wanted this shit, he could come down and bust it out himself.

He turned on his heel to Boomer who just raised his brow. He nodded towards the door and they both decided that a full on fight wasn’t what they wanted to do. After all it's been a couple of years since they had one and getting his ass kicked by a girl when they were outnumbered really wasn’t on his to do list. They would easily take dumber than the dumbest down in a flash and his ass would be a full buffet. 1 against 3 wasn’t on the agenda.

Butch scoffed and began to walked towards the door but stopped in front of the girls. Blossom narrowed her eyes and he saw the flash of pink within her palms.

“Relax doll, we are leaving. Boomer, get going.” He scoffed at his little brother, by twenty seconds, for making goo goo eyes at Goldilocks. He didn’t miss the small smile she was trying to hide and just rolled his eyes at them. Pathetic.

Butch passed Blossom and stopped at his own counter part. The neon green eyes seemed to glow slightly under the dim light and they wore matching expressions that held unamusement. She only blinked and raised her eyebrows.

“We don’t have all night Butch.” She spoke and he rolled his shoulders back before pushing past her. “Get your sorry ass out of here before I beat it.”

He flashed her a smirk before gripping the collar of his brother’s shirt and pushing him forward to leave. “Kinky.” He winked at her before they took to the skies and he let out a laugh as he could hear her frazzled complaint from below. 

--

Butch: Age 13

There was something comical about him entering the school gates for the first time in his life. After Mojo Jojo was thrown in the slammer, again and again, the boys' custody shifted towards Ms. Bellum who decided to take on the challenge of three thirteen year old boys who had the mindset of destruction.

“This is all yours.” Ms. Bellum gestured to the nice apartments. Each of the boys got their own room, a kitchen, a living room and loft space. There was even a room that was dedicated for use of their powers. She had said something about the powerpuff brats having something similar so if they ever got the urge to blast lasers, it would be down there.

It wasn’t too bad after all. Butch finally had his own room and didn’t have to worry about Bricks loud ass snoring or Boomer waking up at the crack of dawn for some unholy reason. His temper had died down slightly and the urge to steal really wasn’t there. Mostly because food was provided and the new mom actually cared about him.

She was sweet and sassy and even when his fist sparked an electric green, she simply placed her hand over it and told him to stop. The boys then worshiped her. What kind of non-super does that? One worth respecting of course.

He also found it funny that dear old dad Him was upset but after a talk about child support and schooling, the boys were left to the brain of the city. So much for wanting custody.

“You should make some friends Butch.” Bellum said to him as she fixed his hair and finished zipping up their bags.

Boomer had already attached his hip to the Goldilocks and Brick had found Princess annoying ass tolerable, how? He would never know.

He grumbled before taking his bag. “Sure.” Maybe the lady was right, after all it would be lame to only hang out with his bros.

The limo was kinda cool, he wouldn’t lie. Being dropped off in front of everyone with a car worth more than these kids parents salaries always puts a skip in his step. Plus she wanted to make sure that they actually made it to school. When his feet touched on school property, she was gone.

His brothers ditched him in a flash. Boomer was now deep inside the school probably trying to talk his way into the blondes heart and Brick was most likely rolling his eyes at Princess while not so secretly looking for his redhead counterpart. As for him. He didn’t do too well socially.

He was much more of a homebody and tended to keep to himself. A social outcast like him didn’t need to be disappointed when fake ass people turned their back on him. Maybe people who did bad things were more his type but when you went to school with the Puffs, he imagined no one really did anything bad.

Mama did tell him to make friends. The only person who came to mind made him scowl but he did need a good laugh, and someone who could take the heat. He had about twenty minutes until the annoying bell rang so he followed the path of the school grounds towards the back.

From a distance he saw her sitting alone at a table outside. There were books and papers laid out and he never pegged her for the studious type. Why was he nervous? It wasn’t like it was a secret that they had joined the school but he hadn’t had a run in with any of the girls, unlike his brothers.

His fist held a death grip on his backpack strap as he walked towards her. His mind yelled at him to turn around and go the other direction, maybe befriend the group of boys who always ditched class to smoke behind the school. Those were his people in the long run and mama would probably be proud. The rule breakers, the ones without a care in the world so why in the hell was he going towards a girl who probably hated his guts and wanted his ass in jail.

He stood in front of her table and when she didn’t notice he finally spoke up.

“Sup.” He said casually and she lifted her head.

Her face was slightly scrunched as she looked around and then focused back on him. “Uhh...Hi?” She narrowed her eyes at him. Typical. But not in the “why am i awake at 1 am to deal with your ass”. More like “why are you talking to me?” Kinda way.

He didn’t wait for her to protest him being there so he threw his shit on the table and sat down. “This place is pretty lame.”

She gave him a blank expression before returning to her stuff. “Yeah I guess.”

He eyed the books on the table. Chemistry. “What are you? A nerd now?” He picked it up and flipped through the page. There were tons of sticky notes coming from all directions and more highlighter than what seemed as necessary.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes before flipping to a fresh page in her notebook. “It's called homework and chemistry is pretty cool.”

“Doubt it.”

“Well you do need an IQ over 5 to understand it, so you probably wouldn’t enjoy it.” She smirked as she stuck the end of the pencil to the corner of her mouth.

He didn’t know why he laughed as well. Usually a taunt like that ended with a fist in the face and a smash to a wall, but for once, he just laughed and threaded his fingers through his hair.

“Whatever.” And she laughed too.

There was something almost supernatural about seeing her in such a mundane place. He only knew her in the skies, fist clenched and dirt smeared on her face. Hair going crazy as her green streak followed her and the hard hit of her power. Eyes glowing with an insane amount of rage but here it was different.

There was no yelling or screaming. Maybe a glare here and there but she was...normal? She wasn’t all powerful and mighty to the eye. Instead it was a calm and cool energy. Someone who was busy with school work not monster fights and demons.

“So what do you do for fun in this dumb?” He took a book and flipped through its pages. Too many words, eh.

Her eyes were back on her book as she jotted down something. “Eh not much. Sports and just hang out with people who aren’t lame”

“Like your sisters?” He teased and she snorted.

“Yup” She popped the ‘p’. “Mostly friends my teams or Mitch the boys.”

Mitch and the boys. For some reason he couldn’t understand, hearing that his best friends were boys and put him in an odd place.

“They must be cool.”

“Oh we are.” He heard a voice come from behind and soon the table had two extra members. “Names Mike.” The first dude outstretched his hand towards him with a smile.

“Careful you don’t know where those hands have been.” Buttercup said and Butch shot her a glare before accepting the handshake, the first one he ever did.

He glazed at the other dude. “You must be Mitch.” And he nodded.

“The one and only.” He responded before looking at all the books. “Geez B how much have you been slacking off?”

She grumbled something and shot him a deadly glare. “Geez Mitch how many times do you save the city a week?”

His hands went up in surrender and Mike laughed before tossing her an energy drink. Here I snatched this from my dad.” His eyes went to Butch. “So you obviously know our little lamb chop here, how?”

“Lamb chop?” Butch laughed.

“Ignore him. This is the dude I blew up.” She closed her book.

Mike’s eyes widened. “Yo you’re death kiss boy!”

They all turned towards Mike and Buttercup kicked his shin. He made a noise and Mitch rolled his eyes before taking the initiative to change the subject.

“Your brothers were taken in by Bellum right?” Mitch asked.

Butch leaned over and took the rest of Buttercups drink without a protest from her. “Yep. Pretty sweet deal. She's not too bad.”

“Bellum is a goddess and you better treat her with respect.” Buttercup spat before shoving the rest of her stuff in her bag. “I have to get to class early, see ya.” She glance at Butch. “Try not to do anything stupid and don’t rob them, they are both broke.”

“Hey!” Mike and Mitch yelled in unison.

Butch gave a small laugh before giving her a small wave. “See ya Lamb Chop.”

Her expression turned sour before she scoffed and turned around towards the main building.

“So you two are now buddies?” Mitch asked. “Thought you hated each other.”

Butch’s eyes were still locked on her even when she disappeared into the hallway. There was this stranger feeling within him, one he didn’t know the word too but hatred wasn’t in his system with her anymore, at least that he knew of.

“She’s not bad.” He finished off the soda while the two boys just nodded. --

Butch: Age 14

Buttercup never expected to be sitting in the room that belonged to the person who tried to kill her many times. It was weird but also felt completely natural as they sat on his bed and played video games. She was beating him of course and he said it was because she had video games growing up.

His demeanor had changed over the months as they got closer. Mitch and Mike as well as a few others welcomed him into their little squad. They would go see movies and even though he was born for evil, he rarely did anything bad. Besides the teasing and pranks, he was like a normal kid.

Just with laser beams and dark glowing eyes.

The round ended and she laughed in victory. “Take that snail guts.” She beamed with pride and he only pouted and started another round.

“Whatever Lamb Chop.”

“Told you to stop calling me that.”

He finally got a hit in on her character. They were playing a fighting game and just like real life, he was losing.

“Can I ask you a question?” She said as her character kicked him in the face.

“Shoot.”

“What was Mojo like?”

“You’ve met the monkey.”

“I met in terms of a father.”

The clicking of the buttons filled the room and she suddenly felt bad. “Sorry that's really personal-”

He paused the game. “No it's fine, I just didn’t think you would care.”

“I do.”

“Well for starters, he's super annoying with those damn monologues.”

Buttercup snorted. “For sure.”

“It just sucked to be honest. To know that he only wanted us for control and to defeat you, not because he wanted kids.”

“That must be rough.” She stated. “I never thought about it like that but I would be pissed if it was just for personal gain.”

“Your dad created you for personal gain.”

Buttercup brought the soda to her lips again. “I guess so.”

“But then again.” Butch took his own drink. “It wasn’t about power. It was about having daughters.”

“Yeah.”

“Too bad he got stuck with you.”

She punched his arm lightly. “Shut up!”

Butch only let his back fall to the bed as he swept his hand through his black locks. “Sometimes I wonder if anything good ever came out of this for Mojo.”

“I think you being here was the good thing, whether or not he deeply cares doesn’t matter anymore. There's a lot of people who probably care about you more than you think.”

“Yeah I guess so.” He thought about his brothers and Bellum.

“Well I’m happy Mojo created you and then you know, Him did.”

He gave her a scoff. “Yeah after you fucking killed me.”

“To be fair. I didn’t know what would happen. But on the bright side, your hair is better.” She shrugged before reaching her hand out and pushing her fingers through it.

A weird and unfamiliar electric buzz ran through his system from the contact. Her hand came back to her side as the notion of what she just did registered in her mind. She looked at the clock on the wall before hopping off the bed and grabbing her back pack.

“I got to go but I’ll see you tomorrow.” She said and he nodded. She began to walk out and spotted his hoodie lying on the desk. It was black with the sleeves having a dark green color. She picked up the fabric and turned towards him. “I’m stealing this.”

“Wait!” He called her and she turned around.

“What?”

“Why do we call you Lamb Chop?” He asked.

She stood there debating whether or not to tell him. He did tell her something personal so she looked at him with a blank expression. “I once choked on a lamb chop.” And then she opened the door and left.

He sat on the bed looking at the closed door. He furrowed his brows before looking at the screen that was glowing slightly.

There's a lot of people who probably care about you more than you think.

“Maybe.” He whispered to himself. --

Butch: Age 15

He decided high school was a personal hell hole. Even with his powers and snarky attitude and gross sense of humor, people really liked to push his buttons.

“Dude what crawled up your butt and died?” Mike asked as he sat at the lunch table.

Mitch joined them and looked at Butch who had a scowl on. “Probably because Jason asked out Buttercup.” He smirked.

Mike took a bite of his apple. “Oh shit really? Does he even play sports?”

“Track and debate. I don’t think he has the highest scores.” Mitch replied. “Butch seriously you look dead.”

“Couldn’t sleep last night.” He mumbled before slamming his head down.

They heard the footsteps approaching the table and soon Butch felt the shift in weight on the shitty lunch table bench.

“Sup losers.” Buttercup said as she took her seat. She was wearing the hoodie she had stolen  last year and they had forgotten that it even belonged to the green ruff.

“Who's your new boy toy.” Mike asked and she shot him a glare.

“Don’t call him that.” She looked at Butch whose face was flat against the table. Her hand came down on his neck and he shot up. “The hells wrong with you?”

“Didn’t sleep.” He rubbed the back of his head. “No need to hit a guy you bitch.”

She only rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Aww don’t worry Lamb Chop, he’s just mad that you aren’t gonna pay attention to him.” Mitch smirked.

She leaned over and pinched his cheek. “Aww does someone want my attention.” She said mockingly in a baby voice.

Butch pushed her offer before stabbing her side with his finger. “You wish you had me toots.” He said darkly before pushing her towards the edge of the bench. She caught herself before falling.

Buttercup flicked his forehead before standing up. “I got to go but I’ll see you assholes later.” She grabbed her bag. “Also one of you smells like pine and I don’t hate it.” She said before ruffling Butch’s hair and leaving.

Butch’s mood went fell back to the scowl and he also got up. “I'm gonna go see Boomer, said he needed help with something.” He scooped up his bag before flinging it onto his shoulder. “Later.”

Mitch and Mike waved to him before Mike took the last bite of his apple. “Hey Mitch?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you smell like pine?”

“Nope.” he popped the ‘p’.

“Thought so.” --

Butch: Age 16

He was sitting on the edge of the skate rink. His feet swayed slightly until the heel of his shoes hit the pavement and bounced forward again. He thought about lighting a cigarette and clearing his mind. The pack was in his hands, his thumb toying with the flap. The rolled paper sat on his lips as he debated whether or not to light it.

“Where the fuck is she?” He grumbled to no one. It was dead quiet with no one in sight. “Probably out with the dumb ass”

The end of his cigarette sparked to life with a green flash. He tilted his head up to see Buttercup.

“Bout damn time.” He blew the smoke out. “What took you so long? Jason couldn’t keep his clammy hands away?” He snickered.

She would usually laugh at the tease but instead she was silent as she dropped her board and sat next to him.

The lighthearted mood they normally shared was off and he gave her a weird glance. “Damn Lamb Chop, you’ve been crying or some shit?” He asked as he took another drag.

“Um” Her voice sounded dry. “We-I, broke up with him.” She said slowly.

He bit his lip and nodded. At first he had nothing to say. He wasn’t good with comforting other people's feelings, especially not the green puff. They may have had their fair share of tender moments that were movie bond but this was the first time a break up was ever in place.

“Oh.” He didn’t really know what to say so he just shrugged. “I’m sorry. Was there a reason?”

She pulled her knees to her chest. Her eyes were red at the corners and she looked as if she had been crying but he didn’t say anything.

Her fingers toyed with a pebble on the ground. “He said that he didn’t like us hanging out and how close we were.”

“Thats stupid.”

“Y-yeah. It is.” She said as the breeze came and made her shiver.

He noticed this and shrugged off his jacket before placing it over her without a second thought. He had missed the way her cheeks turned pink and their way her shoulders relaxed.

“He also said that he didn’t like the way I dressed or wanted me to be more like Blossom.” She spat. He gave a low whistle. “Thats fucked up bro. I may be dumb sometimes but the last thing you wanna do is compare a girl to her sister.” He snuffed his cigarette out next to him.

Her laugh was dry as she wiped away her tears. He hated seeing her cry. She didn’t deserve to have a guy do that to her, not when it was ultimately about him. The thought of Jason yelling at her because he was jealous of Butch made his blood boil. He wanted to go and find him and maybe knock a few teeth in. Mama Bellum might let it slide since it's an act of friendship, right? Especially since that shit he had said.

“I can’t believe I went out with such a sleaze bag. When I broke up with him, he just asked if Blossom was available.”

“What did you say?”

She was silent before looking at him. “I slapped him.”

Butch leaned back and let out a loud laugh. “Lamb Chop rocking his shit? I wish I was there to see.” He laughed some more.

She toyed with the ends of the sleeves. “I felt bad but I wasn’t about to let some slug talk about my sister like that.”

“Hey don’t go calling a guy a slug.” He gestured to himself. “That's an insult to some of us.”

She nudged his shoulder and rolled her eyes. “You were made from a snail dumb ass.” She smiled. “And a dogs ass.”

“Fuck off.” He stuck his tongue out at her. “Where's all the sugar and nice shit in you?”

“No where. Not now at least.” She fell silent.

Jason didn’t deserve someone as cool and bad ass. What kind of guy would even think about ruining a person's emotions over something that petty when that said person can break their bones with a snap.

She was looking straight ahead trying to muffle her tears and quivering of the lips. His gaze went to her and his eyes traced the profile of her face. The way the tears slipped out under those dark lashes and the smallest red to her face. He didn’t even know there was a freckle beneath her right eye.

Butch continued to secretly stare at her. His mouth slightly parted as he felt his heartbeat pick up. The look of her in his hoodie made his head spin and he really enjoyed the sight.

“On the bright side, you don’t have to be stuck at prom with his lame ass.” He tried to lighten the mood.

Her eyes met his. An array of light greens and a tang of yellow swirled his iris and he couldn’t understand why he never bothered to look closer before.

“I probably would have left him before that anyways.” She whispered. Another breeze came and their shoulders touched as she leaned slightly to his warmth.

“Really?” He asked and her eyes fell to his lips then came back to his eyes.

“Yeah. I think so.” She said as she leaned closer but he gave her a small nod before looking back out towards the rink. “Should have left him sooner anyways.”

He hadn’t seen her blow up her bangs or what she whispered to herself.

“Well I wouldn’t give an ass hat like that the time of day. Fuck him. You’re Buttercup Motherfucking Utonium and you don’t need any lame guy to be by your side.”

“Yeah.” She huffed. “Fuck him.”

“Plus.” He jumped up and grabbed his board. “I'm the only guy you need to worry about.” He winked and she looked up at him with glossy eyes. “Now forget about him and let’s skate so I can see you fall on your ass.” He pushed his board down and took off smoothly before dipping into the rink.

She finished her tears and hugged the jacket before grabbing her own board and joining him.

--

Butch: Age 17

Butch sat there staring at his drink. The ice cubes melting at such a slow pace he wondered if time was even real. The song changed for the third time and yet he was sitting on the sidelines feeling sorry for himself for a reason that he couldn’t comprehend.

His head was a mess, his palms were sweaty and he was pretty sure that his facial expression was dull and unreadable. He had decided in that moment that prom was stupid. He saw Boomer out on the dance floor twirling Bubbles and was glad that someone was having fun at least. From a distance he could make out the hair of his brother and probably Blossom, they probably fought before deciding to dance. Stupid teenage hormones.

“Hey man.” Mitch joined him at the table, drink in hand and more hairspray than the cast of a Broadway musical.

Butch gave him a half smile. “Hey Mitch. How's it going.” He was trying to be as polite as possible but all he wanted to do now was leave this shit show of a dance.

“Fine.” He popped the tab on his soda. “How's it for you?”

The fake laugh was a give away as Butch took a sip of his drink. “Peachy.” He really wanted to leave.

Mitch stood there watching him with raised brows and his mouth tightened into a straight line. His eyes raked over the dance floor and then to the other tables. He turned back to Butch and smirked.

“What?” Butch snapped a little too hard and Mitch shrugged.

“Why don’t you just ask her to dance?” Mitch looked towards the dance floor.

“Who?” He was met with a sigh and a look that said “you're an idiot.”

“Buttercup you dumb fuck.” He rolled his eyes. “And here I thought Boomer was the dumb one.”

He looked away over the vast crowd of people. All dressed up for a dance they would forget in the next ten years or even tomorrow. “Why would I-”

His eyes landed on her and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

She sat at her own table. A light conversation going with some random girl, probably a team mate. Her fingers traced the rim of her soda, a small ring sparkling under the light. She had gone with her sisters to this damn thing and it was the first time tonight where he actually saw her.

A dark green dress that seemed a little uncomfortable to her as she picked at the skirt pooling around her heels. He had laughed at the thought of her in a dress. She had told him how stupid she was going to look and he had agreed with a lighthearted sigh.

But he was wrong.

So incredibly wrong.

“Oh for fucks sake.” He whispered under his breath and his eyes met Mitch’s. A blank stare with a sly smile as he took another sip.

“You just realized?” Mitch laughed and patted his back as he stood up to go find his own date. “I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since Jason had asked her out last year. Took you this long. Hell I’ve been waiting since we first met.”

Mike walked up to the table, his eyes looking towards Mitch before he grabbed his hand.

“Babe Butch just found out he likes Buttercup.” Mitch laughed, making his face turn red with embarrassment.

Mike looked towards Butch with wide eyes and an even wider smile. “About fucking time dude! Go get her!”

Mitch left the table and he sat there staring at his drink again. The feeling when she had told him that she was going out with Jason made his blood boil and his skin twitch and he never knew why. Or at least he pretended not to.

And then the following year when they had broken up. The tears in her eyes were genuine and even though he was comforting her, he felt fine about the relationship ending. Happy even.

But now he stared at her from across the room. The music had turned to white noise and he was focused on her only. He furrowed his eyebrows before chugging his drink, it wasn’t alcohol but it would do. He got one step in before she shifted in her seat and her eyes fell to his.

It was an electrifying feeling that jolted through his body. Her eyes didn’t leave his even as he straightened his tie and walked towards her. In those few moments he kicked himself on how he didn’t see it before. --

“You got a date?” She asked him while they were lounging at the skatepark, the rest of their friends had left for the evening. The sky had melted from blue to a candy floss pink, a light breeze in the air.

“Eh might just ask some random girl passing down the hall.” He shrugged. “Not really feeling it I guess.”

She pushed her hair back as she tilted her head towards the sky. “No ones got your eye?”

At first it didn’t make sense why she was asking. Her face had a slight red to it but he thought it was from the heat. He had brushed it off, thought nothing of it.

“Not really.” Why did he feel like he was lying?

“Maybe I’ll steal Blossom’s thunder and ask Brick.” She teased and Butch glared at her. “Stop saying my brother is hot. He’s not.” He pouted and she laughed lightly.

“But he is. I leave him to Blossom.” She winked.

He crossed his arms. “I’m way hotter than him.” She heard him mumble.

She let the topic die in the wind as they sat there in a comfortable silence. She noticed the way his flannel clung to his arms and turned her face away with a blush and a twitch of anger.

“Really not going with anyone?” She asked again and he shook his head.

“Think I might wear a dress, Bubbles will probably force me.” Buttercup sighed but in all honesty she was looking forward to these things. Once in a while she liked to get all dolled up and have a good time, sue her.

“I say show up in shorts and tell her to suck it.” He teased and she laughed but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’ll probably look horrible.”

“Most likely.” She hit his shoulder.

And they left it at that.

--- In the moment he spent walking up to her table he had finally come to his sense of what had made his mind crazy for the past days, months and years. It was never going from bad boy to someone who played by the rules or the wild ride of high school.

No, it was simple. She had made his heart clamp up and taken over his thoughts. Every action he did somehow was tied to her and if he had a question, she was somehow the answer. The things he did like wearing that pine cologne because she said she liked it or even wearing flannels because he saw her looking at them on her phone. All of those small details he never thought twice about lead him closer to her.

She would steal his hoodies or even run her hands through his hair even when he protested against it. He could tell her everything in his head and she would sit and listen. It all made sense now. And when they were sitting at that skate park, she wanted him to ask her and then he didn’t.

It never clicked that he liked all those things she did. Really liked it. Maybe even loved.

He always thought he was observant, you had to be with a life of crime as your past but he was inconsiderately dense when it came to the one person he didn’t realize mattered the most.

But sometimes the best things come to those who wait. Or figure their shit out. Whichever came first.

“Hey lamb chop.” He said over the music. He was thankful that the other girl she was talking to was gone now. Just them.

She looked up at him then smiled softly. “Hey.”

“You wanna, uh, dance, maybe?” He held his hand out with slight hesitation.

Buttercup looked at the outstretched hand, a small blush dusting her face and he thought she looked pure and delicate in that moment. Her fingers touched the tips of his as she stood up and glanced at the floor with a new found shyness.

“Yeah, I’d like to.”

He pulled her towards a spot away from the heavy crowd and even from their friends. He didn’t need the two lovebirds to add any comments when he was trying to keep his composure together. By the time they got to their location, the upbeat pop song had shifted into a slow song where couples across the floor were grabbing their partners closely.

He gulped and looked up at the tacky disco ball before he felt her arms slip around his shoulder and he looked at her. She offered him a smile that showed she was just as nervous and he let out a breath before relaxing and setting his hands on her hips.

It was a little weird at first. They were the two toughest people in the school and probably the city. He had seen her burp and get her hands dirty. Fall and scrape her knees and suffer punches to the gut and even blood trickling down her face.

He thought it was teenage hormones that were making him feel weird when he saw her like that. Calm, relaxed, free and even full of power and rage. He should have known that it was his heart trying to tell him that he had a fat crush on her.

But now looking at her in the dim lights, he laughed to himself.

“What’s so funny?” She asked.

He snorted. “I should have known.”

She cocked her head slightly with a questioning look. “Known what?”

“That you like me.” He stated and her eyes shot open wide like a deer in headlights.

“W-what-I” Her face had flamed up to the color of her sister’s bow and she began to panic. “I don’t-”

“And that I like you.” He said before she could pull away.

“Oh.”

He sighed. “I really should have seen it sooner. I mean come on BC, you’re a firecracker babe and my dumb ass couldn’t comprehend that all those feelings over the years were because of you? It's pretty lame.”

“It's not like I made it easy.” She whispered.

“Easy? It was crystal clear!” he laughed. “The hoodie stealing, the pine, the way you would run your fingers in my hair.”

“It's soft.” She bit her lip.

“I even started wearing flannels because of that damn ad you were looking at.”

“Is that why?” It was her turn to laugh.

“And then the skate park.”

“Oh when I tried to kiss you.”

“Ya when you tried-WAIT WHAT?” His voice boomed and some couples turned around before getting a glare from him.

That panicked look came back onto her face. “I like, leaned in and everything but you turned your head and I just accepted the fact that you didn’t like me I guess.”

“Wow I really am dumb, you should start calling me Boomer.”

“Ew no.” She shook her head. “I’d take you over anyone any day.”

Those words gave him a small tinge of pride. “You’re such a sap.” He murmured as he felt his cheeks turn pink. He held her closer before moving a strand of hair out of her face. Her eyes were bright and soft and he thought she looked beautiful.

“I think you were wrong.”

“About what?” She asked.

“The dress.” He looked down, then back to her face. “You look stunning.”

The expression on her face was of genuine bliss as she leaned forward and this time he knew what he was supposed to do. His lips touched hers and that jolt of electricity that happened all those years ago in his bedroom came back. He felt her lips turn up into a smile and knew she felt it too.

They pulled apart and just stared in silence at one another. It was like the world had faded into the background and it was just them. Dark and neon green dancing through the night.

She giggled, a wonderful sound that was rarely heard.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Buttercup ran her fingers in the back of his hair as they danced.  “I’m just glad you didn’t blow up his time.”

“Fuck me too.” His nose brushed against hers. “That just means I can kiss you more.” He said before his lips crashed to her again. It was quicker and more hasty as she melted against him. It was as if he was trying to make up for lost time, to show that he had truly cared about her deeply through the years.

There's a lot of people who probably care about you more than you think.

He thought back to when she had said that. It was a phrase that played over and over in his mind and now he knew she was talking about herself. He pulled away and she pecked him quickly again before leaning her head against his chest. She felt like she was on cloud nine and he liked his lips. She could feel the vibration of his laugh through his chest and looked up at him.

“Don’t make fun of me for being sappy or I’m going to kick your ass.” She gave him an icy glare.

“No it's not that, I think it's cute.” he kissed her forehead. “I just think Lamb Chop isn’t a good nickname anymore.”

Her eyebrows quipped up. “Really?” She was surprised because he was so determined to call her that at any given time. “What would be better?”

His lips pressed to her ear as his hand squeezed her hips lightly. “Cinnamon.”

And when he kissed her again, she then realized what flavor her lipstick was.

---

BONUS: THAT YOU DIDN’T SEE YET :) 

--

Butch: Age 18

“You know how you asked me about Mojo all those years ago?” He said out of the blue. Buttercup propped her head on her hand as she rolled onto her side. 

“Yeah I think so.” She responded, not really understanding why he brought up the topic. Over the years the conversation had been put to a stand still and it was something he rather not talk about. 

“I remember asking if anything would come out good for Mojo.” 

She hummed as she wrapped her finger loosely around the string of his hoodie. 

“Well the thing is, I was thinking. Maybe it wasn’t what good Mojo got from the creation, but instead the good that came out of it for me.” 

“That’s a better thing to look at. A lot of stuff is good. You have a super sweet mom and you just graduated high school. Colleges want you to play for their teams and your brothers have grown closer over the years.” She said. 

His lips turned to a smile as he reached out to brushed the hair kissing her face. “And you.” He chuckled as her face flamed up and she buried her face into his chest. 

“Sap.” She stated, her voice slightly muffled. 

“I’m just saying.” Butch ran his fingers through her hair. “I think out of all the things that could have happened, you were the best thing.” 

She tilted her head slightly to meet his eyes before looking to the side. “You weren’t too bad yourself.” 

“Gee thanks.” He teased as he tapped her nose. “But I am serious babe. You make me want to be a better person. Someone who is worthy enough to stand by your side.” 

“I think you’re worthy.” 

“I know you do.” 

“And I don’t care what anyone has to say because you make me feel like no one else can.” She placed a hand on his cheek before he reached and put his own over it. “

Her eyes fell to his before he leaned and kissed her softly. It was a mystery of how he actually let himself get through high school without kissing her. It was his favorite thing to do as it provided a comfort and he really liked the taste of the chap stick she wore on the daily. Not to mention that her lips were incredibly soft anf he relished in the fact that it was something only he got to do. 

“I love you.” She whispered as they pulled apart. His eyes widened slightly as if he didn’t hear those words correctly. He blinked as he stared at her and she only gave him that soft gaze he adored so much. 

They were hardly any words to describe how he felt about her in that moment. “I love you too.” He said back and she looked like she was glowing.

“How much do you love me?” She winked as teased him with a feathery kiss.

“More than you could even know Cinnamon.” He finished before capturing her lips again into another passionate kiss.

--

I hope you all enjoyed! This was a monster to complete and really fun

[vettelewis]

Lewis Hamilton: ‘There are so many things to fight for’

In his 14th season in Formula One, Lewis Hamilton has won more races than anyone else. And with his win in Turkey earlier this month, he achieved a milestone not just in his career but in the history of his sport: a seventh world title. But it’s also his actions off the circuit that make him our Game Changer Of The Year, as he takes a knee and raises a fist for the global Black Lives Matter movement

By any standards, even if Lewis Hamilton hadn’t spoken into a single microphone this year and hadn’t sent a single tweet and hadn’t once bent knee to ground in order to shake up the very male and oh-so-pale world of Formula One, he would have had one of the most remarkable years of his life. In winning the Portuguese Grand Prix in October, the 35-year-old surpassed Michael Schumacher’s record of 91 race wins, a feat most in the sport felt untouchable. And with his victory at the Turkish Grand Prix earlier this month, he equalled the German’s seven world championships. As his race engineer Peter Bonnington succinctly put it, “You are rewriting the history books.”

But GQ’s Game Changer Of The Year is not only a sporting great: he has quite literally used his exalted platform – or, more specifically, podium – to raise the issue of race in a sport for which it rarely comes up, precisely because there are so few black faces in it. In taking a knee before races – and even making his team change the colour of its car – he has pushed for change in a world that badly needed changing, consequences and criticisms be damned. GQ spoke to him as he was on the cusp of claiming his seventh championship and found that, both on and off the track, he’s just getting started...

Misan Harriman: What was your motivation when you first decided to take the knee?

Lewis Hamilton: I remember watching the video [of George Floyd’s death]. This life extinguished in front of my eyes by the people who are hired to protect others, and I heard when he was calling for his mum. This happens time and time again and that’s why there’s been such a large cry out. When I was watching it, tears came, so many emotions came up. It brought stuff up of my past. I started experiencing racism when I was five and people looked upon it so lightly, when someone would throw out these words, the bullying and the beatings and the intimidation... My dad always said, “Do your talking on the track,” so I held my tongue, but we suppress a lot of things and all my suppressed emotions came up and I was like, “You know what? I have to do something. I cannot stay silent.” If we all stay silent, it will continue for generations. I look at my niece and nephew and do not want them to experience what I experienced.

How do you feel about the response from F1? Thirteen drivers knelt with you in Spain and I think seven didn’t...

It’s not always a good thing for me, but I often post out of just kneejerk reaction, passion. And I called everyone out. I see all of you out there who have platforms, who have a following and just stay quiet. My team was the first to react. Since I joined, I remember mentioning that this team is not diverse. Year on year, I would talk about how our team is not diverse, how our sport is not diverse. So I got to sit down with my team and get into deep conversation of what is going on. And, you know, we changed the car to black and that had to go through a chain of command. Everyone got on board and it was overwhelming to see the response from our partners, because logo colours had to change. Brands put the issue first rather than themselves. I think as a sport, they were very, very nervous of what the right steps were. We saw the reaction: 13 drivers, as you said, took the knee. Obviously, the ones that didn’t, I don’t know if some drivers were like, “I’m not doing it because this is what Lewis is doing” or whether they didn’t get it... I think there are plenty of people in our sport that still don’t understand what we’re doing.

Do you think it helps that your record is so extraordinary that it adds to your ability to do this within the sport? If you weren’t winning, would it be harder?

Well, you can look at some other sports and there’s some people that aren’t super successful yet, but the more successful [you are], the wider your audience, the wider the impact. I’ve had a very, very difficult life and I’ve been thinking a lot about all these wins. I’ve had a lot of success in my racing career. It’s a great feeling, it’s a real privilege, but what does it really mean? All these numbers... what is it? Why was I the one who was chosen to represent black people in our sport? But I think as my life is unravelling, as the journey unravels itself, my purpose here is to utilise my voice to help encourage change. And my goal, really, is to shift the sport in a direction that it perhaps wouldn’t have gone if I wasn’t here. And most certainly not have gone if the Black Lives Matter movement hadn’t started, if George’s life wasn’t so visible.

You were critical of Vitaly Petrov’s comments about Black Lives Matter before the Portuguese Grand Prix. Was it a mistake for the FIA to appoint him as race steward?

I don’t know whether they call it a mistake. I think that the FIA is a large organisation and they are leaders and if you’re going to state what your values are and what you fight for, yet you hire people who don’t seem to have those in common... I don’t understand. I don’t personally get that. I don’t really know the guy very well and I won’t really comment about whether he’s good or not – I think his results speak for themselves over his career – but I thought that it was a step in the wrong direction or even a step backwards. But, you know, you look at Donald Trump, people can obviously see he’s racist. He even said, “I am the least racist person in this room,” so he’s acknowledging [it]. But people are willing to put aside the fact that he’s said so many bad things about minorities, for wealth or for other policies.

Formula One rules were changed after the Tuscan Grand Prix to effectively ban T-shirts with political statements after your Breonna Taylor message. Will you ignore those rules in the future?

If I believe it is important enough, I will. I will do it again. Going into that weekend, the case with Breonna Taylor had really been on my mind and I’ve been chasing down this shirt for weeks. Every weekend that I arrive, we have the spotlight on us and every weekend there is an opportunity to raise awareness. We don’t live in a time when everything is OK. And I remember as I went through the day I was like, “OK, I’ve got to win this race. I can’t come second and wear this top.” So I remember racing my heart out, pushing with every ounce for first place and I remember getting that win and I was like, “OK. I’m here for you, Breonna.” And I put that shirt on and in the 70 years of our sport, no one’s ever stood up there for anything but themselves. And I was standing up there for someone else. It was one of the greatest feelings.

You’re virtually in uncharted territory, on the verge of a record-equalling seventh F1 world championship. Is it sinking in? Is your operating system even able to process what that means?

I remember winning my first championship when I was ten years old and I remember how great that day was. My dad was – is – a tough man. It was really not easy to make that man happy, but I remember winning that championship and we had the best moment – we went away singing, “We are the champions.” And I remember the relief I had in that period of time, because I wasn’t good at anything else. I struggled at school, no matter how hard I tried. Then I won these other championships and, as I started getting older, I realised it doesn’t change anything. Like, it’s a relief of tension for a second, the muscle can let go, but then you’re like, “OK. What’s next?” And it’s taken time to be present and enjoy the moment for a longer period, because it passes so fast. I never thought I’d get to seven. No one ever believed that I would ever get to seven. And now I’m on the verge of equalling the most successful driver of all time and [have] more race wins and I have a chance to potentially go and win more championships. Even if you just take my name away, there will always be at the pinnacle of our sport someone of colour. So I’m very proud of that and I think that’s probably the thing I’m going to be most proud of.

Do you think you have reached your own limits or do you think you can get even better? And would you love to race everyone in the same car, without any advantage?

Well, firstly, on the driving side of things, you know, I was just doing the race yesterday and I was going through this race realising that I’m getting stronger. My skills are getting sharper – my intuition and understanding of strategy, my understanding of my tires... I’m getting stronger and I didn’t expect that. And I didn’t know at what point I was going to plateau, but I’m realising that I’m getting better and that is a great feeling. But it doesn’t come without the hard work. There’s no coincidence that I’m driving the way I am. And, of course, we do live now in a sport where there’s such a gap between all the teams. And people try to devalue what I do because of the machine that I have, so without doubt, I would love to have everyone in the same car, with a track that enables you to really, really race. And then we’ll see... Like, [Fernando] Alonso, I beat him in my first year, straight out. I was 22 years old, a rookie, and I finished ahead of him. Even today, you know, people talk about Max [Verstappen]. Like, it’s probably never ever going to happen, but if I did have Max come into my team and I did the job I currently do and beat him, people would say, “Oh, it’s rigged.”

What about the rumours of you ever being tempted by the red paint of Ferrari?

That’s not going to happen. The Ferrari thing is not going to happen... I think. I’ve always been positive about Ferrari. I watched Michael win there. I’ve always been a Ferrari fan. I remember one of the first cars I ever bought was a Ferrari. And I think it’s a hugely iconic team and brand, particularly. I think the team has, in my period of time... There have been things I’ve seen that I don’t necessarily feel mirror my values and my approach. However, it is a team that every driver, I think, has dreamed of what it would be like to sit in the red cockpit. No disrespect to them, but when I stop I want to work with Mercedes in helping them be even better in the outside world. You know, they’ll always have beautiful cars, but how can we be a more diverse industry?

So when you stop, what are you going to do? Salsa dancing, fishing, Fifa?

Definitely not salsa dancing. And definitely not fishing. I’m vegan! I’m not going to catch fish out of the sea! There’s a lot of different things that I want to do. I would say on the fun side of things for me, I’d love to try a bit of acting. I love my music, so I’ll continue to do my music. And I want to continue to want to learn to play the piano. I really would love to learn a language. My mum is a dancer, so I may take her to go and do a dance course with her son. But then, on the business side of things, there’s not a lot of black-owned businesses in the Fortune 500, for example, and I’ve had the privilege of working with someone like Tommy Hilfiger, who’s really opened my mind to the fashion industry. And I love that industry. I really do have a dream of one day having a fashion brand that’s fully sustainable, fully ethical. I’m always going to be trying to get involved in tech, because that’s the key to the future, I think. And then, most importantly, working with organisations out there to raise awareness for important issues that I care about. There are so many things to fight for.

Lord Hain, who was a Labour cabinet minister and who vice-chairs the All Parliamentary Group On Formula One, said it was “unacceptable” that you hadn’t had a knighthood yet. Is he right?

Well, it’s the first I’ve heard about this! It’s not what I’m racing for. I’m not like, “I’ve got to win these races so I can be knighted.” My granddad served in the Second World War – I’ve got all his medals – and I was so proud to see Captain Sir Tom get his knighthood this year. I think the unsung heroes are the ones that deserve these things. If I’m one day honoured, I don’t think it’s something I’d say no to, but it’s not an issue for me right now. Like, I’m really grateful. The fact I’ve even had the opportunity to go to Buckingham Palace and I’ve got an MBE – like, wow, a kid from Stevenage, so I’m grateful for that. Look at Captain Tom, he was 100 years old before he got recognised.

The black community, obviously, are very proud of our own and sometimes I think the frustration is your level of success should have been recognised a lot earlier on. And maybe, ironically, your activism is getting that kind of attention, instead of what you’ve done on the track, which is a surreal thing to say. I actually think the Lewis Hamilton of 2020, what you’ve done off the track, is almost making as much noise as you making history by beating Schumacher’s record.

The mixed feelings that I’ve had this year... I could never have ever dreamt of having the year that we’ve had, in the sense of the sadness, the isolation, the trials and tribulations. This is going to be the one I remember the most, I think, and, you know, I still have a job to do: I’ve got to win the seventh title. And when I win that seventh title, what am I going to do with it? I’m still going to be taking a knee and using my voice on that day. But I’m near. I’m closing in on it. I’m still energised. I came back last night [after the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix in Italy] and I was like, “I can’t believe I just won that race,” but the thing is, the world moves on so fast, you just keep going.

[inknopewetrust]

adieu, remember me. (1)

The Old Guard Booker x Female! Original Character

Summary: After a few years away, one member of the immortal team must return to protect their immortality and secrets as enemies begin to uncover their past.

Word Count: 1.6k 

Warnings: nothing yet!

Parts: ... | 2 | part 2 coming soon!

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think about the work and it will def be more than 2 or 3 parts and longer than this one. Requests are CLOSED at the moment and I apologize in advance for any mis-wording or spelling in different languages because I don’t know french/italian but I feel in some cases it was necessary to use for character interactions. Published on 8/9/2020.

if you want to be tagged for the next part please let me know!

All original content is owned by me. Anything from the film/comic is property of the writers, studio, and director. Gif not by me.

Versailles evolves every so often but over 172 odd years, more visitors pack its halls and recall its history. Tourists from around the world flock to the once functional palace and the home of infamous, complicated monarchs. Passed the sweeping halls and the paintings of untouchable status, a special exhibit was placed at the end of the hall with cases full of crowned jewels of French royalty.

Tourists flashed photos of crowns and rings and pearls that adorned the exhibit cases. In the center of the room laid perhaps the most famous of jewels, as well as the crowns that found themselves on the heads of women who suffered terrible fates. The Hope Diamond sat in a case between crowns that once adorned it and worn by Marie Antoinette and Louis Philippe I’s controversial daughter, Vivienne, Duchess of Auvergne. On loan from its final resting place at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., the diamond once found itself imbedded in each of the crowns on momentous occasions.

Crown worn by Vivienne, Duchess of Auvergne and third daughter of King Louis Philippe, killed by French revolutionaries in February 1848. Crown was commissioned by the King for his daughter’s twenty-eighth birthday. Was worn on the night of her death on 24th of February, 1848.

Twenty-eight. 172 years later she still remember the party, the food, the smell of the candles that burned from the chandelier and the man who caught her heart. Pretentious was the only word that came to mind when she thought of the party and the woman. At the time she felt deception too but the world has a funny way of making villains look like heroes depending on the perspective.

Clara felt the surge of memories remind her of the life she knew before the one she was in now. She didn’t know how long she had stood in front of that particular case with that particular diamond and crown but by the time her feet began to ache she knew it had been long enough. Clara also wasn’t sure how long a small English girl had been standing next to her, also staring at the silver diamond encrusted crown and the plaque underneath it.

“You know, she’s kind of a rebel and I dig it. It reminds me of Princess Margaret in a way. She was Queen Elizabeth’s sister and she partied a lot too.”

“Excuse me?”

“Vivienne. She was a rebel in her own right and I admire her for it.” The woman turned, her face meeting the girl taking notes on a piece of paper. The girl couldn’t have been more than thirteen and certainly had a bold personality if she was talking to someone she didn’t know.

“The revolutionaries didn’t see it that way, so why would you?”

“She was independent. I think it was progressive and cool for her not to follow the rules of her family. Not to mention the glamour in her style. She had the best dresses and crowns since well, Marie Antoinette probably.”

“That’s a little naïve, no?” The woman raised her brow at the student but the girl simply shrugged. The young one looked at the older woman and analyzed her face and features as she spoke.

“She spent the people’s money like water and saw no problem with the poverty in the streets. Vivienne was oblivious to the world around her because she lived in a world of riches with everyone at her disposal.”

“Perhaps.” The girl paused before continuing. “There’s a tv show about her on... um-I don’t remember- HBO maybe and they say she took a commoner for a lover and he sold her secrets to the revolutionaries which led to her death. Her body disappeared after the broke into the castle and people think they threw her body in the Seine.”

“I would advise you to stop watching whatever movies are giving you that perspective on the issue because it’s not true.” Clara scoffed and turned away from the girl.

The girl listened but was too entranced by the figure in front of her eyes. Brown hair, medium length, waved. She looked nice to say the least. She had on pretty clothes and may have been an employee because she knew so much but the girl wasn’t sure. All the student was certain of was that the woman standing in front of her looked very much like the Duchess in the paintings that lined the modern wing.

“You look like her.” The girl told her and she put her pencil down holding the pad of paper at her side. Before she had a chance to answer the girl, a teacher called out to the students as a signal to leave and the girl picked up her bag.

“Have a nice day.”

The girl left with the class and the woman stayed in front of the case watching them leave the room before turning back to the crown that once adorned her own head. A soft rumble came from her pocket and she pulled out the burner phone with a number she didn’t recognize but an area code she did, Goussainville.

France, safe house #4

“Hello?”

“Clara.” The Italian on the other line sounded relieved that she simply picked up the phone. Clara’s face contorted into one of worry than one of happiness she had been called.

“Nicolo, s’il tu plaît dites-moi que tout va bien?” Clara moved over to a window, away from the crowds to answer the call she had been anticipating for the last day. She dreamt of a black girl and her throat being sliced open. Waking up gasping for breath that wasn’t her own and cautious of who it might be.

“No-no. Il y en a un nouveau ... mais ce n'est pas le problème. les gens essaient de nous trouver et Dieu sait quoi.” Nicky told her and Clara felt helpless, disappointed in herself that she wasn’t there to help them. Not only was there someone new who needed guidance but the others needed her too if they were going to protect their own skin.

“Andy went to get her. We are at the safe house in Goussainville and they should be here later today. If you can make it... we really need you, Clara.” Clara sighed and looked out the window that faced the vast gardens the palace was surrounded by. Serenity before the inevitable storm.

“He’d kill me if he knew I’m telling you this but Booker needs you. It’s getting worse since the last time he saw you and I am not sure what to do.”

“That was three weeks ago, Nicky.”

“I can’t explain it... it’s just gotten worse. I know he has to help himself but he’s always a bit brighter when you’re around.”

“I can be there later tonight. What time are they getting in?”

“7.”

“I can be there at 8. I’m in France so I’ll take a train as soon as I can.”

“We will be waiting.” Nicky told her and she hung up the phone. Clara looked back at that glimmering crown and what the young girl said about the Duchess. Naïvety at its finest.

At the safe house in Gousssainville, the three immortal men unpacked the bag they brought and washed up after the ambush in Afghanistan. Nicky stood alongside the small counter space prepping dinner when Booker came to fill a cup with wine.

“Who was on the phone?” Booker asked in a low grumble and Nicky set down the knife he was using to slice tomatoes.

“It was Clara. I called her and told her we needed her here. She dreamt of the girl too.”

“And?” Booker pushed further and downed his glass in an instant upon the news.

“She could catch a train to be here at 8.”

“How did she sound?”

“Worried.”

Booker nodded and filled his glass again before going to sit in front of the tv in a chair he had designated as his own many years ago. Nicky watched as he sat, drank more and tried to remove himself from his thoughts but was too lost to do so. He was observant and cared deeply for the others in his life but there was only so much he could do for a man as stubborn as Booker.

“Hai bisogno di aiuto?” Joe called out to Nicky from everyone’s shared bedroom before also joining the two in the common space. Nicky shook his head and glanced at Booker who wasn’t looking but certainly listening.

“I called Clara. She is on her way to us now. She knows we are in trouble.” Joe smiled at Nicky and gave him a quick peck. While they were all very close, Joe and Nicky had taken Clara under their wings and helped her acclimate to the world as an immortal, especially after they found her and the two french immortals clashed. 

“It’s been too long. I miss that woman.”

“We all do.” Nicky said before returning to his meal. Without much time having gone by, the door to the cemetery sounded and Andy walked through the door with a nervous woman behind them. The girl was young, no more than 25 and had blood stained on her forehead. One hand was clutching her arm but out of nervousness not injury. Her eyes looked at the three men. Two sat staring at her in chairs and the other by the refrigerator and the only sound that played was the cheering of fans from a football match that played on the widescreen. Andy looked over her shoulder and then back again, breaking the silence to introduce the newest member of The Old Guard.  

“Everyone, this is Nile.”

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

Tag List: (Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the next part!) 

@holychocopie 

[silvereddaye]

Would you ever consider writing some sort of Medieval AU (maybe with magic) where Vaderkin is a king and he discoveres Luke as his son?

I can’t believe I haven’t written it yet! So I will! Here’s a WIP. I think a few things are going to change but enjoy what I’ve done so far:

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

Luke’s hands tightened on the reins as he looked up uncomfortably at the angry skies. He had never seen the sky like this before. It was thick with grey clouds, filling the damp air with an unwelcome chill. The Grey Lands, appropriately named, were nothing like Luke’s home back in the Tatooine Desert. In the Bright Lands, the sun never set, at least not truly. It would get low in the sky, and during the winters it might sink just below the horizon, but the sky never darkened. There was no night for night had long been claimed by the Shadow Lands, leaving nothing for the Bright Lands to enjoy.

Luke sat up in the saddle. Would he be able to see the Shadow Lands? The Gray Lands divided them, an in-between place where the ancient magic that separated day and night mixed. It created this depressing void where there were always clouds and everything was constantly damp. Luke’s horse trudged through the mud. He was glad he didn’t have to walk in it. It looked sticky and uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but wonder if this would affect his racing.

He looked over at Biggs, his best friend, who had brought Luke out here to participate in a horse race.

“I bet you can outrace any of them,” Biggs had said. “Plus the prize is so good! Think of what you could do with that money, Luke!”

That was how Luke found himself here. His family thought he was just helping Biggs’ family with some work over in Mos Espa. They didn’t know that the two youths had gone to the Gray Lands to race. Uncle Owen would have never approved such a thing. He was distrustful of the Gray Lands and even more so of the Shadow Lands. Luke couldn’t blame him because in the shadows lurked the Empire. It was ruled by Darth Vader, a vicious and brutal man who had conquered all of the shadow countries, and was now working on claiming the Gray and Bright Lands as well. Luke’s homeland had been mostly untouched. He had seen Imperial troops before, but Tatooine had little to offer Vader. There were simply better prizes to go after.

Would there be any Imperials at the race?

It took another hour to make it to the starting line. It was a small canyon amongst some barren and rocky foothills that sat at the bottom of massive mountains. They were taller than anything Luke had ever seen, stretching up into the clouds, their tops heavy with white snow.

“The capital is that way,” Biggs said as he pulled his horse beside Luke. Biggs had traveled the Bright Lands and Gray Lands with his father for work. He had never been as far as the Shadow Lands, though he claimed he had seen the dark sky once on the horizon. “Alderaan is still free of the Empire,” Biggs continued, “but rumor has it Imperial forces are amassing on its Shadow border. This may be the only race you get to run in before the Empire claims this place.”

Luke nodded.

The canyon had widened out in a large circular area surrounding by short cliffs. Racers and horses of all types were scattered around. There were a few wagons offering fresh hay and feed, at a price of course. At the very bottom of the area was a small pond fed by a thin stream that worked its way along the canyon floor. A few horses were drinking from it while their riders eyed the competition.

This would be the largest race Luke had ever run in if all of these people were racers. Surely some were just spectators or companions of racers. Biggs was leading Luke towards the largest and most ornate wagon that was pulled by two white horses. A man sat in the driver’s seat talking to a few people gathered.

“He’s the one hosting the race,” Biggs said. “We pay him our entry fee.”

Luke wondered how much of a cut this man kept as he looked at the rich red paint on the side of the wagon. Or perhaps he had a second job and he ran races and betting pools on the side? Whatever he did, he clearly didn’t do it in the Bright Lands as his skin was so pale it was white. Luke had never seen anyone with such skin. His own skin was dark and tanned from the constant presence of the sun. Had this man ever seen the sun?

“Wait here. I’ll do the talking,” Biggs said. He nodded and Luke pulled his horse to a halt as Biggs approached the wagon. It was for the best. Biggs smiled and nodded. He knew how to talk to others; he was charming.

Luke patted his horse, Skyhopper. It wasn’t that unique of a name, but he had been young when he named her. Uncle Owen had gotten her quite cheap from a traveling caravan in Anchorhead. She had been thin and small. She wouldn’t make a good workhorse, but Owen had given her to Luke as a traveling horse. He was getting old enough to be able to travel by himself. Luke was just happy to have a horse instead of being gifted a camel or worse a nerf.

Horses were fast. You could enter races with horses. At least the ones with bigger prize pots. Camels, which were faster on sand, were only found in the Bright Lands. If one wanted to race, to truly race, you had to race against Grey and Shadow Landers. That meant having a horse.

Luke hummed and felt Skyhopper relax a bit from under him. No doubt this cold and wet place was bothering her as it was him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He looked around and spotted a tall man sat on a large black horse in the shadow of a cliff wall. Both the man and the horse were outfitted in all black leather. The man wore a black cloak with the hood drawn, but under it, Luke could just make out a black mask.

A mask?

Who would wear a mask to a race? Wouldn’t it block some of your vision? Was that man a Shadow Lander? He wasn’t a Bright Lander, not wearing all that thick black clothing. Luke looked away not wanting to be caught staring, but the unease and sense that someone was watching him didn’t go away.

He looked around the rest of the area in hopes of distracting himself. There were a few other Bright Landers, which he easily identified due to their dark or tanned skin, light-colored clothing, and even the type of horses they rode. There were a few Luke guess to be Shadow Landers. They had pale skin and horses with markings he had never seen before. There were also a few that looked to be Gray Landers. Their horses were large, stocky, and grey. Even the clothes the riders wore were grey.

“You gonna race on that thing, kid?”

Luke turned to see a man approaching him. He was older but only by a few years. He rod a light grey horse with dark grey spots.

“Skyhopper is a fine racer,” Luke said. “She’s won several races.”

The man laughed. “This ain’t the Bright Lands, kid. Some of these racers all they do is race. They travel the world hopping from one race to another. They race hard and dirty.”

“Do you?” Luke asked.

The man paused before he barked out a laugh. “I don’t mind racing whenever there happens to be one. Me and Millennium Falcon here have won the Kessel Run thirteen times.”

Luke only nodded. It sounded impressive, but he had never heard of the Kessel Run before. It was then Biggs returned.

“You’re racer T-16 and I’m T-17,” Biggs said.

“I’m T-13,” the man said. Biggs gave him a look. “I’m Han Solo.”

“The Champion of Kessel Run?” Biggs asked.

Han gave a huge smile. “So you know your competition. I’ll be on the lookout for you two from the winner’s circle.” Han pulled on his reins and steered his horse away.

“Is he good?” Luke asked.

“He’s got a few decent wins under his belt,” Biggs explained. “He works a smuggler when he isn’t racing. Taking things from one side, running across the Grey Lands, and selling them to the other side.”

Luke nodded knowingly. The Shadow Lands weren’t well liked in the Bright Lands, especially in Tatooine. Even owning Shadow goods could be a cause for ostracization, but there were people who bought them in secret. Biggs had once shown Luke a few Shadow items his father had purchased over the years.

[openingup2u]

To my futur self, I want to say congrats.

Growing up as an overweight girl who's biggest bully was her mother and herself, validation, in any way, shape or form, was a must. You did not get any, ever, until HE came around. You were thirteen going on fourteen, that summer, you met HIM. HE was nice, charming, funny and gave you that validation that you were craving. HE complimented your curves, as if they were a blessing, a gift from god. While you were busy enjoying that male validation, he was using your body for his own pleasure. HE told you he loved your ass and your boobs, then proceeded to use them for his own pleasure. He told you HE loved your lips, then forced them around HIS manhood. HE asked you to give him a bj, you said you "never even had your first kiss yet". HE forcedly grabbed your neck, gave you a sloppy kiss, pushed you back on the ground and said "I gave you your first kiss, now suck me". You felt pressured and scared at the thought of losing his validation, and so you obliged. For the rest of that summer you gave him pleasure in exchange for validation. You were blinded by love and HE was getting off on manipulating you. At the end of summer, you parted ways. It took you two years to admit that you did not consent to any of it. Moving on from HIM felt like trying to swim up with rocks attached at you ankles. After two years, you called that "the worst summer" of your life. You had it wrong. That other summer came around, you were 15 going on 16. You went on a family vacation and spent a good first month making nice memories. Then THAT NIGHT came around. Your sister and mom slept next to each other, and you next to your brother. THAT NIGHT, you wore a pyjama dress and no bra, not thinking anything of it. Your brother was 17, at the time. Two AM struck and you felt a hand up your dress trying to cop a feel at your rear end. In denial, you did not move. His hand went further up and latched onto one of your boobs. Squeezed it, again and again, like it was a stress ball. No longer paralyzed, you budged so he would understand that he was waking you up. His hand jerked back, fast. You thought that was it and tried going back to sleep. Half an hour later, you felt his hand go up your skirt again, but this time directed at you private area. You could not ignore it anymore and got up. At the corner of the room, there was a couch. One that you would never be able to sit on again, not after THAT NIGHT. You stayed seatted on that couch for six hours until they would wake up. THAT NIGHT, no sound was made, no facial expression was shown, just straight tears streaming out of your  eyes uncontrollably. You can’t recall a single thought that came to you THAT NIGHT, just a blank stare directed at him for hours. You had decided to ignore it and never talk about it to anyone. Somehow, all you could think about was the repercussions your brother would have if you told anyone. You adore the relationship you and him had and were very grateful to consider him your best friend. You were set on taking that secret with you to the grave. The next day, your sister, your rock, sensed something wrong and you could keep it in. You cried in her arms for an hour trying to convinced her to not tell mom. You were crying for the wrong reasons, trying to protect the one that hurt you. She didn’t listen and went straight to mom. At the time you were mad at her, now you know that she did her job as your older sister. Your mom did not believe it at first but still took your brother to talk privately. When you saw them getting in a room together, your heart sank lower than the floor. She called you in 12 minutes later, the longest minutes of your life. The first thing you saw when you came in was you brother in tears on his knees. He came right in front of you and begged for your forgiveness. He said "As your older brother, my role is to protect you from that, and yet I'm the one who did it to you". The sight of him crying on his knees shattered your heart and in that moment, for some reason, you felt more love for him than ever. Later that day, your mom told you that, as a teenage boy, he was having a sexual dream and that he wasn’t aware of what he was doing to you. Your mom, sister and aunt all believed him, but you knew that it wasnt just a dream. You did not want to push any buttons and tried to move on. To this day, you and your brother have never brought up that subject, I doubt you ever will. The next year, you transferred schools, hoping to have a new fresh start. Sadly, your brother was popular so his name would follow you everywhere and you would just be "----- little sister". You started getting really bad anxiety problems and suicidal tendencies, all whilst keeping your joyful and social personality that everyone loved. For two years, not one of your smiles were genuine, but they didn’t need to know that. Three years later, THAT NIGHT stills follows you and let's not forget about HIM. You have trouble falling asleep at night because of your recurring nightmares. You now need to sleep with eye masks and ear plugs because the slightest movement, sound or light wakes you up and you can't fall back asleep. you still can't form real romantic relationships with anyone, and if you do, you tell them your asexual so they never feel the need to touch you where they did. At this rate, your intimate parts might stay untouched forever because even you can't touch them. They say that your body shedds into a new skin every six years, so you wait, only three years until you feel fully clean again. This year, you graduated to a new school were everyone would know you by your name and not your brother's. You have finally had the courage to open to your best friend, and you don’t feel as alone anymore. She knows but can't relate, or at least you hope she can't. You almost made it. You only have a little way to go and you will have that fresh start you always dreamed of. If you ever stumble upon this again, I hope that at that moment in time, you made it. If you did, congrats!

To my future self, I want to say congrats.