#of the plants i had last year outside two have died for real

[kawaiianimeredhead]

Now that the weather is getting on the warmer side and also places (mainly lowes) is getting some fun plants in I've had a bit more pep in my step and getting back on track at tending to them. Here are some of my new children for this year!

A purple kale thing that nick got me because he liked the look and color, the start of some cucumbers from a lil grow kit I got on sale last year at DG (this is very exciting because I didn't expect to see any growth yet the kit said it'd be like 3-4 weeks and it has not been), two different strawberry plants that nick also surprised me with, and lastly a bonfire peach tree that we both gravitated towards and then impulse bought (I was there for potting soil and neem oil...) it's beautiful and I've been enjoying watching its leaves come in and open

[fanficsforloki]

Bootstrap Paradox - oneshot

Wordcount: 10k

(this is only the first part, i know it gets weird but don't worry, it's not what you're thinking i promise ahah)

Warnings: mention of suicide, a bit of angst, daddy issues

What if Loki has a daughter...? And what if she gets in trouble?

Joceline is a not-so brillian physician who had a daughter with Loki. Unfortunately, he had died by the hands of Thanos, and their daughter grows up without knowing who her real father is.

But one day, Joceline decides to introduce her daughter to her father traveling through the time, but she's going to make a huge mess...

Year 2027.

Joceline Finch was a down-to-earth woman with her head firmly planted on her shoulders.

With her biting cynicism, she always said that far too many people believe in eternal love. A tragedy of biblical dimensions, and her stance on the matter hardened when, ten years earlier, she couldn't even imagine what it felt like to be deeply and passionately obsessed with the man who would leave her forever.

-Sixteen years…

She murmured as she leaned over the sink in front of the bathroom mirror, rubbing the lip balm on her lips with the tip of her finger.

-If only you had seen the pandemic or the war in Ukraine… You would have laughed. Pervert.

Every now and then she spoke aloud to herself, hoping to be heard by the person implied.

Loki had died far from her, and she never saw him again...

Sometimes she found it hard to believe. She didn't even see his body, they didn't allow her to see it. He was in a terrible state, they said. But he's still my husband, she would've replied. The last memory she had of him at least, was one of the most tender.

She had met him sixteen years ago, when she was still a trainee for Stark Industries.

In theory she was an engineer, in practice she was an awkward, shy and absent-minded girl who did nothing but make troubles that Tony Stark himself always had to put his hand to. Perhaps it was precisely this tragicomic quality that attracted that wicked Loki.

When he was taken prisoner by the Avengers she was designated as his overseer; Tony figured that putting her sitting quietly for a few hours in front of a cage wouldn't make any mess.

You all can imagine how things went...

That man, no, that cultured, astute and manipulative god had in his hands the sweet beating heart of little Joceline; the two used to talk to each other a lot to pass the time, despite Loki’s initial resistance and his muteness, irascible. From the outside, the beginning of their story can be traced back to Beauty and the Beast, a fairy tale in short.

But then, Loki was taken aback to see that the girl’s kindness and optimism were genuine. And she was naive enough to amuse and upset him. Every time they looked at each other, separated by the glass of his cell, Loki was torn: he could have exploited her as he pleased, but on the other hand he didn’t want to betray her trust.

She managed to awaken in him feelings such as benevolence and compassion, and the young woman seems to sincerely appreciate him.

They fell in love, sharing weaknesses, imperfections and vulnerabilities, but never touching.

The first time she was able to hold him to her was only the day Thor brought him back to Asgard. She had to wait six years to see him again, hearing of him only from Thor.

Loki was certainly not a manageable partner, nor a shin of a saint, always ready to combine one of his own, but he never made her lack the love of the world and adoration, he even asked her to marry him.

From the mirror in the bathroom, at the end of the corridor, she saw the reflection of the wide-open door that led onto a small bedroom. Some clothes were scattered on the floor, at the end of the bed a pair of soft and pretty slippers, just like the little girl who was still sleeping blissfully, covered by the duvet up to her nose. She had pasted anything from magazine clippings to book pages to postcards of landscapes and animals to the walls, but she had the permission to do so. A row of LEDs ran along the entire perimeter of the room and seemed to change color according to the rhythm marked by the girl’s sleep.

Joceline spoiled her daughter, but she wouldn’t let her rest for much longer: although it was Sunday, the girl had to wake up, or her mother wouldn’t have had time to show her what she was working on…

She turned off the light in the bathroom and walked down the corridor, entering the bedroom without too many ceremonies.

-Phoebe, it’s already nine, you know dad doesn’t want you to stay in bed too long, plus with such a beautiful day.

She slalomed through the clothes on the carpet and opened the curtains, illuminating the pale face of her daughter who moaned half asleep.

But in that moment, Joceline's sweet companion returned home. His exaggerated enthusiasm always put the two girls in a good mood.

The little girl, Phoebe, seemed to forget the winter chill and leapt up from the bed, running down the corridor to jump on the neck of the man who still hadn’t taken off his jacket.

-Oh, dad! You’re finally back!

The man squeezed the girl, holding her with one arm without any effort as he arranged the breakfast on the table.

-Yeah, I’m sorry i was away these days, but in New Asgard they needed me.

He didn’t let go of the child, continuing to hold her in his arms and sway as if to cradle her. Joceline stopped in the small adjoining hall, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.

-Thor, welcome back.

That giant was all smiles and went to embrace the woman with the same enthusiasm of a golden retriever.

-Oh, Joceline, how I missed you, sooo much!

Though he was the god of thunder, renowned for bringing storms with him, he had the power to bring an almost golden, clear light to that house, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm. That’s how Joceline saw it, like a big oxymoron.

The times when he called her Miss or Lady and were long gone.

Thor crushed both her and the child, leaving both short of breath from the heat of his affection. Joceline was sure that the more time Thor spent with Quill, the more neurons he lost.

Her and Thor had shared the same joys and pains that had united them in a relationship that was not much romantic, but more familiar.

The pain of Loki and Jane’s deaths had rearranged their hearts as best they could, keeping them together.

Thor looked after the child as much as he could (although Joceline had strong doubts as to which of the two was actually the child), and Phoebe herself admired and loved him. They were really best friends. He had never missed a play, a dance recital, a father’s day in class. He was always there, even when he was on some mission. And now that Thor had moved in with them, Phoebe didn’t give him a moment of break.

The three lived in a modest house, a wooden prefab, where they had only the essentials. They often traveled together to go to his old people in Norway, at other times they returned to the heart of New York to meet their old colleagues and friends.

In that house, nothing could be traced back to Joceline’s old husband.

She kept the memories in her mind, and for a lifetime she kept it hidden from her daughter, as if her black ringlets and ice-cold eyes weren’t a hint…

And Thor, oh, Thor… Thor loved the child as a last memory of his brother, and Joceline as a last memory of Jane. This was the explanation she had given herself for the continuous and warm presence of the god of thunder. It was a sincere affection, but bypassed by that for those who were no longer there.

No one had loved her like Loki, and if he had known how it was about to end, in a very selfish way, she wouldn’t have even wanted to experience that feeling.

Luckily she had a reason to live. Phoebe was a mature, brilliant, witty, clever, intriguing, sharp-tongued girl with a huge and pounding heart. He was like her father, his real father, as if it had been a trick (or a gift) of fate. She was her light, as the name suggested, pure and bright.

While she was lost in her thoughts, that good housekeeper that Thor was had already set the table, made the coffee and sat down with Phoebe to eat.

Life.

Joceline needed life and clung to it desperately.

Thor’s vitality was a panacea for the little girl who, otherwise, would be alone and silent reading, closed in her room, intrigued by tragedies, new to strong feelings and sensitive. Hot tempered, ardent and spiteful, she didn’t open up to anyone but her good old Thor.

Joceline smiled warmly to see Phoebe eating happily and trying to sweeten the coffee as much as possible by adding milk and sugar, while asking her stepfather a thousand questions about how the visit to Norway had gone, with a big smile on her lips.

She was growing up, and soon it would be time to introduce her to her father. The woman took her place at the table, pouring herself some coffee and watching the hot steam rise to the ceiling. She couldn’t leave her in the dark any longer.

She had devised a way for her to meet him directly. Joceline had thought of time travel as the Avengers had. She needed to use the Quantum Realm Time Vortexes, but what was she going to do without Jane?

Her calculations were always disastrous. She had checked Tony’s files, already suppressing her nervousness at the thought of his friend’s taunting. Wish he had been there too, to tease her and maybe give her a hand… Wish they had all been there, without having to resort to those extreme methods.

Alternate and parallel realities to avoid temporal paradoxes, she remembered that sentence well. She had to find a solution to not find herself like in Back to the Future. What if taking her daughter with her into the past changed the present? She had to be careful. Whatever they did, direct contact or some accident, the flow of time would form branches other than the main reality. Variants…

The woman looked up at her daughter laughing with Thor. She half smiled, taking a sip of her bitter coffee and then stood up, making the legs of the chair screech against the floor.

-Today I’m going to the lab, I have something in mind…

Thor held back a laugh.

-Yes, but don’t blow the roof off again.

Grinning, the big man got a newspaper on his head, making the girl laugh.

-Phoebe.

Her mother called her back and she raised her clear gaze at her, asserting herself instantly, as if to show herself innocent.

- I wish you could come too.

Phoebe snorted and got up from the table, slamming the door into her bedroom.

It was a yes, but he only did it to please his mother.

*

Along the highway, in a large and rather desolate space, Joceline had managed to reorganize an old shack with all its work tools. It was his scruffy workshop that she’s already had to pull out of the wreckage a couple of times with Thor. It was... bad… There she had reproduced a device for entering the quantum realm. To the past; she wanted to go there, in her own linear timeline, so that the past could not be changed. Like in that little book her daughter was reading, “Before the coffee gets cold”.

The past cannot be changed because it has already passed.

Among the dust that covered every corner of that ruin, Joceline shed light with a small torch while making small adjustments to the machine.

Phoebe stood a few paces behind her, sneezing impatiently from the dust.

-So, did you want to show me a tin can or does it actually do something?

As the little girl breathed in her impatient words, the machine lit up a deep blue.

-There we go!

Joceline exulted as she leapt to her feet, throwing her arms in the air as she still clutched the screwdriver. Phoebe didn’t look too convinced. Mom’s creations usually always turned out to be failures and yet she persisted in spending the nights in that place teeming with some kind of syphilis-like disease. Phoebe hid her nose in the collar of her jacket at that thought.

Her mother, however, this time seemed to be more convinced than usual of her success.

-Quick, Phoebe, come here and give me your hand. A space-time portal has just opened.

- You’re joking, aren’t you!? I don’t wanna go in there. Do you even know how to get back?

Phoebe jumped back, shrinking into her coat and glaring at her mother like crazy. To think of it, Mom couldn’t have been a totally cool girl. To be with Thor, she couldn’t have all the wheels working.

Joceline took her daughter’s hands, forcing her to come closer with her.

-I have to show you something very important.

As she spoke, the two were pulled into the portal, and Joceline gripped her daughter’s hands tighter and tighter.

-And what would that be???

Phoebe felt like vapor, dematerialized and glowing. Ahead, in a swirl of lights, she saw only her mother’s lips moving, but she couldn’t hear. Sh tried at all costs to get away to go back. She tried to scream, but she didn’t even hear her own voice. It was such a serene sensation that it terrified her. She closed his eyes, trying to get closer to her mother.

When she opened them again, she found that she was still intact, but her mother was not there. Phoebe looked around. The haze made the wasteland even more gloomy. Phoebe whirled as she walked across the barren, scrub-covered ground. The sky was gray, and there didn’t seem to be a soul alive. She stopped, heaving a sigh. It was hot, but there was rain in the air.

What did her mother want to show her, nuclear disasters? Because it looked just like a post apocalyptic land. She was short of air, but not so much that she couldn’t bellow in exasperation and walk briskly. She had to absolutely find shelter, quickly.

Joceline regained consciousness, leaping up with her heart in her mouth.

She was standing in what seemed to be a golden observatory, in front of which a huge rainbow path stretched out.

She did it, she had gone back to the past!

And the Bifrost was still there, which meant she was back in Asgard. Her excitement turned to terror when she saw that her daughter was missing. It wasn’t there anywhere. She had lost her in the quantum realm.

She screamed desperately, falling on the ground as if to pick up what was left of her daughter.

-Joceline

A little-known voice, but which she had already heard, reached her ears. When she turned around, she saw a dark warrior towering solemnly in front of a sword stuck in the center of the room like a keyhole.

Joceline thanked heaven, coming to kneel in front of him, even placing her hands on the ground. It had been so many years…

-Heimdall, is it really you…

He nearly moved.

-I know where you're from and why you're here.

Heimdall cut it short immediately, letting the woman formally bow before him.

-Please, I beg you, tell me where Phoebe is, my daughter.

Joceline clasped her hands in front of her chest.

Heimdall closed his eyes and seemed to roll them inside his skull. When he opened them again they had changed color in a living, divine gold.

He seemed to be in a distant place, he looked as if he saw and heard beyond the space that surrounded him, beyond time.

Statuary, with his hands gripping his sword, announced:

- She's s on Earth. Year 2052.

Joceline gasped for breath.

-Take me to her, Heimdall.

The guardian shook his head.

-I will send you home, but the girl is not alone.

With that, he swung his sword, and Joceline felt herself being dragged away.

-Wait, who is she with!?

-No need to rush, Mrs. Laufeyson.

*

Year 2027.

Joceline snapped her eyes back, looking up from the rickety table where she was working. At first she thought she had a bad dream, but the bluish pulsing light of her machine which had closed made her lose hope.

-…Phoebe is in trouble.

Gathering her things in a hurry, Joceline ran to her car and started calling Thor constantly, always getting voicemail.

Good heavens, she kept telling himself, this is the biggest shit I’ve ever done.

*

Year 2052.

Phoebe was a brave girl, there was no doubt about that. She had found refuge near a makeshift camp, behind a caravan. She had managed to scrape together some wood to light the fire. She was proud of herself, she wanted to show it to Thor. But the question was: how on earth would she turn it on?

She kicked the pile of branches, sitting up in frustration and huffing loudly.

She began to think: she was undecided whether to enter the passenger compartment to steal what she needed or not. A weapon, she needed a weapon. She was only thinking of daggers, but who knows what stuff the people in those parts were equipped with…

Phoebe snorted, squeezing even more into her jacket, sinking her face into the collar held up.

She had to get away, not only was she afraid, but she also had a bad feeling if she stayed there longer.

She stood up on shaking legs, steeling himself. She slapped his cheeks a couple of times and resumed her journey.

Walking on that steep ground was not easy, and every now and then she tripped over a few pebbles, because she paid too much attention to the surrounding place.

It looked like a cemetery, evidently there weren’t even any survivors left.

The wind blew weakly, bringing the heat with it, but she was so anxious that she shivered. There was no oxygen, the air was warm.

Not far away, she glimpsed two figures sitting in front of a camper. The discouragement led her to run, intent on going to ask for help from them.

-Hey, sorry, sorry!

She began to speak loudly, slowing down as she got closer.

-Can you tell me where am I-

Corpses.

They were two corpses in an advanced state of decomposition. Phoebe was petrified at that scene and started to back away. Choked with panic, she gasped for air to scream, but someone behind her covered her mouth and lifted her off the ground, making her turn around.

-Don't even try!

*

Year 2017.

-What do you think of us having a daughter?

That very specific question stopped Joceline’s frantic fingers tapping on the computer keyboard.

Thor, facing them, seemed to choke on the beer he was drinking.

Loki kept both elbows on the table, intent on looking over the laptop of his girlfriend who raised her frowning gaze at him.

-Loki, you know how I feel about having children…

Faced with Loki’s exuberance and his always intense gaze, she was sorry to have to repeat her harsh opinions to him.

-It no longer makes sense to have children, the world is going to ruin and they would only experience disasters. I don’t want to be cursed by a baby, it’s heartbreaking enough having you throwing tantrums.

Loki stretched out a hand to the pc, calmly pulling the screen down and moving it away, returning to look more seriously at the girl.

-We will have a daughter.

That tremendous austerity left Joceline speechless, causing her to burst into a thunderous laugh that infected even Thor; they were convinced he was joking, but he immediately got annoyed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away, snorting through his nose.

-I said we will have a daughter.

-Of course, it’s already the third time you’ve said it, and who would have told you, sorry?

Loki looked at the two who continued to laugh sternly.

-You told me, Joceline.

The cold and melancholy tone of the man silenced the two, who resumed doing their things without saying a word.

-And we’ll call her Phoebe.

Two weeks later, Joceline discovered she was pregnant.

*

Year 2027.

Joceline hurried into her house, turning on the lights.

-Thor, where the heck are you, Thor!?

It was evident that he was not at home, so she tried again to call him on the phone, with no answer.

-damn…

Joceline couldn’t hold back the tears and had no other choice.

At the height of desperation, she tried to scream Heimdall’s name, asking for help.

It was only by God’s good grace that she found herself sobbing again on the fine floor where the Bifrost’s sentinel triumphed.

Caught up in tears, Joceline hadn’t realized she’d made it into the Bifrost. She had no way of accessing it, or at least she believed so…

It must have been 2012 or 13, Earth year.

Joceline dried her tears and thanked Heimdall who motioned her to continue towards the kingdom.

The woman sniffed and nodded, running through the various changing colors of the rainbow as she saw more and more clearly the realm she had never managed to see before: Asgard.

*

Year 2052.

Phoebe was kicking with her legs and screaming at the palm of the hand of the man who was carrying her the other way from where she had come. She was tenacious, but this guy was much stronger than her. Blocked in that position, the little girl could not see who it was. He carried her under his arm as if she were a lamb.

-Calm down, I said, calm down, you silly!

He scolded her, but it was soothing and he spoke in a low voice. He didn’t seem bad from the tone, not at all. His timbre was quite hypnotic, but Phoebe had held on to her instincts and didn’t trust it.

After so much walking, that someone put her feet on the ground, letting go.

Mist covered the surrounding view, but to their right a huge concrete wall rose, as if a boundary had been drawn into it.

Before she could even think of running away, the man grabbed her by the wrist making her turn towards him.

He was wearing a tan suit, he looked like a stupid postal worker. A very stupid one. He was well built and very tall, probably as tall as Thor. When she raised her head, Phoebe gasped: she had no idea who he was, but he was looking at her with exasperation and curiosity, as if he were studying her.

In fact, he snorted annoyed, looking up at the sky and slapping his hand on his forehead.

-God, look where that idiot sent me to pick you up…

Phoebe frowned, trying again to free herself from his grip, expressing the effort of her attempts in almost savage noises.

- No no no. Calm down, tiger, I’m taking you home now.

The man bent down in front of her, a gesture so humble as to seem out of his own character. He was certainly not accustomed to those uses. Phoebe nearly growled, finding herself mirrored in the man’s frown. From the raven hair to the icy eyes and tight lips, both with furrowed brows. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, twenty-five years old, yet his gaze reflected an ancient, ancestral soul.

-Mom hasn’t told you anything yet, hasn't she?

*

Year 2012, maybe 13.

When Joceline entered the palace she was mesmerized. She remembered that heavenly place perfectly and her heart cried remembering that it would soon be destroyed. It was almost Ragnarok, less than five years.

She had to find Loki, but she knew very well that (if for once her calculations were correct) she would find him locked up in a dungeon cell. Maybe if she went to talk to him, she could save Phoebe. She no longer cared about distorting the present, her little girl was the priority.

The castle, however, seemed to be in an uproar. Joceline was confused to see so many guards scurrying up and down the stairs, in and out of the building, as if preparing for an attack.

At the center of the atrium was Frigga, as beautiful and seraphic as ever. Stern in her face, she looked disappointed. How could Frigga be there? Joceline knew very well that she was dead, that it had happened just before…?

Her doubts were resolved when she heard Odin’s mighty voice bouncing off every wall, even shaking the clear glass. The loud echo made her cover her ears.

-You better bring my scoundrel son back here! Dead or alive! This is already the second time he steals the Tesseract!

Second?

Joceline raised her eyebrows. How second? Wasn’t it enough for him once? Had he managed to escape and recover that cursed cube? Had he escaped to the Avengers?

-... I ended up in another timeline, haven't i?

Joceline was already ready to backtrack and apologize to Heimdall, since she had obviously called the wrong one. She must have ended up in an alternate reality and she had to find a way back to her own world.

When she turned around, a pair of guards in totally different attire stood behind her. They didn’t even look like they were from Asgard, they looked like normal agents. Only three letters stood out on their uniform.

TVA.

They weren’t Asgardians at all, but Joceline didn’t have time to wonder what those people were doing there.

-Forgive me, I have to go.

Joceline tried to pass between the two women, but she couldn’t, being blocked by the bigger one.

-Joceline Finch, I’m placing you under arrest for violating the Sacred Timeline.

And having said that, she opened a portal beside them. On the other side there was a huge building that stood out against the boundlessness of space.

-Reset the timeline.

The second agent dropped a strange instrument on the ground that released a light that passed beyond all forms and people.

They went beyond that portal, without anyone having seen them.

-But where am I?

-Don’t say a word

-Can I have at least a lawyer?

-You better be quiet, Mrs. Finch.

-Yes, yes, anything you say can be used against you. If I told you cats, would you throw a kitten in my face? I want at least some explanations!

As she was escorted through these large offices that seemed frozen in the seventies, with their soft lights and sad colors, Joceline looked up at the various framed posters hanging on the walls.

It was a dark and gloomy place, but it was teeming with life, people hurrying and coming from all over the place. It looked like an old press office in a frenzy, or the highly improbable offices of corporate accountants. It was a vast place, but she had no idea what it could be. Joceline was under arrest for violating the sacred timeline.

But wasn’t it dumb?

Where has relativity gone?

Being arrested for something like that was trivial to say the least. Once past the lobby, the elevators and the various floors of the building, she found himself hearing only her own footsteps and those of the agents rumbling in the long corridor. Joceline swallowed.

-Looks like the hotel from The Shining. Don’t you think so? Have you ever seen it? Does Kubrick exist here?

A laugh in front of them made them stop. The agents weren’t surprised, on the contrary, they respectfully greeted the one who was sneering at it.

-It’s really something of the family that you can’t stop that tongue, huh!?

A blondish little man with a questionable mustache was laughing in front of the woman handcuffed and wrapped up in a prison overalls. She’d been turned inside out, run over machinery (making her wonder if she was a robot without her knowledge), yanked around and now that bastard was laughing in her face.

The woman’s expression was clear: she would have made him spit out all his teeth if he continued.

The man composed himself, clearing his throat with a couple of coughs, extending a hand to the lady to introduce himself.

-Mobius M. Mobius, I’m in charge of TVA Law Enforcement and Violation. I have to admit, I’m a great admirer of your husband.

Joceline thought she was going crazy. Whose admirer!? There was no respect, and then why the hell did he reach out a hand if she couldn’t shake it, was he really that stupid or was he just an asshole!? She was on the verge of an hysterical crysis.

-I’ll be repetitive, but where-the-fuck-am I.

-Well, Mrs. Laufeyson, you are now at the base of the TVA, an organization responsible for monitoring the multiverse, or rather the various timelines. Looks like you have altered your past and future, so you’ll have to go through her due process. But, there's a but: since yours is a delicate situation, I allow you to speak to your dear spouse. Be careful though, he doesn’t know you’re married. In fact, he knows nothing at all.

As he spoke he walked down a corridor so long it seemed circular, full of ups and downs that repeated themselves at regular intervals. When she saw the same door for the tenth time she realized she was trapped in a loop and felt tricked.

-It’s a huge joke, isn’t it?

Mobius shook his head and finally opened that door where she was slammed in without hesitation.

Once it closed, in the semi-darkness of the room, Joceline was able to recognize and retrace the contours of the man she had given up for good. Her lips quivered and her breath caught as the god of Mischief stood there, with his pale face and imposing stature. He smiled at her between please and amusement, nonchalantly keeping his hands in his pockets.

-…L…Loki

She only managed to whisper his name, she hadn’t heard or pronounced that harmonious word for years, overcome with emotion.

The other’s eyes were laughing as well as he barely shook his head, holding back a laugh between his thin lips.

-I was hoping that over time you would become less clumsy.

*

Year 2052.

-Mom hasn’t told you anything yet, hasn’t she?

The man released the girl’s slender wrist, getting up and starting to walk again. Hearing those words, Phoebe scrambled to keep up with him. Two of her steps were only one of that dude.

-she told me she had to show me something, but then I crashed here.

The man stopped, and she slammed into his strong back.

-Then, welcome to the future, Phoebe.

The man opened his arms as if to show her that vast desolation.

The little girl’s eyes widened. She was sure she was in the future, but she was surprised by the way he called her. Not only he did know her name, but he said it with such passion that her heart skipped a beat.

That man, that young man looked at her over his own shoulder, remaining serious. After observing the girl’s expression, in which he recognized her mother’s helpless one, he moved forward again.

-We need to hurry, no one has see you here.

Without any question, Phoebe followed the man. She purposely stood half a step behind him, watching him. He never turned to her, nor did he open his mouth. They were just moving away from that giant wall. Who knows what was behind it…

It was an indefinable place, they could be anywhere.

“As soon as I get the chance, I’ll knock him out, steal anything from him that might be of use to me, and flee,” she thought, keeping her eyes glued to him as they walked into a forest of conifers. At that precise moment, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

-I know what you’re thinking, those tricks don’t work on me.

At his defiant display, Phoebe stopped, the soles of her shoes scuffing on the path. No one had ever dared to challenge her cunning like this, belittling her as if she were inept.

-So tell me why I should trust you and follow you.

Phoebe was already ready to run, one foot pointing in the direction they’d come from. She would wait for nightfall, dig a hole under that wall and find out what lay beyond.

The man turned completely towards her, not deigning to remove his hands from his pockets.

-I work, to my detriment and completely against my will, for the TVA, a sort of time police. Your mother has, as usual, made a mess and I must get you back to her, send you home and reset the timeline as soon as possible. Also because I have a lot of other things to think about…

She hadn’t understood much of it, but it seemed exhaustive. The conviction with which he spoke made her think of an old family friend, or one of those relatives you rarely see.

-How do you know my mother…?

The little girl scowled, stepping back half a step. All that confidence of his was absurd.

The man in front of her smiled for the first time, dare I say shy, just shrugging his shoulders.

-You see, Phoebe, apparently I’m your father.

*

Year 2027.

Thor was still tormenting Banner, now shaking him by the shoulders as well.

-I TOLD YOU THEY ARE DISAPPEARED INTO NOWHERE, I tried to look for them in that chamber of horrors that Joceline calls lab, but they weren’t there. I only found this little cube that fizzes furiously.

He pointed again to the thing his tender companion had created on the university laboratory table. Thing, he didn’t know how to define it better. Even Bruce seemed upset and embarrassed by that thing.

-…It’s all completely wrong.

-I KNEW IT! I mean, shit, I knew it. Is there a way to get them back?

Bruce adjusted his glasses on his nose, continuing to examine Joceline’s contraption.

-There are chances, but after this please tear that place down and tell her once and for all that science isn’t her field.

*

TVA

Seated facing each other on two small red chairs, the two were distant again, just like when Loki was under her surveillance. Looking at his immaculate little face, Joceline understood that this Loki (who evidently wasn’t hers, but from another timeline) had managed to escape to the Avengers, ignoring the exact passage of time and finding himself there, more or less in her same situation.

-Hell, I haven’t seen you in years…

Joceline let that line slip after Loki quickly explained her the situation. He had been forced to help the authorities of the time to stop a huge threat that was none other than himself. Mobius, however, had just implicated him in the arrest of his wife. Or rather, of her slightly aged friend. He had prevented her from being brought to court on her own, surely putting Loki to exam.

He felt like laughing, looking away.

-I haven’t seen you for a few days actually.

Joceline smiled, shaking her head slightly.

She felt a little silly, but looking at him she felt like she had sixteen years ago, a little hot and embarrassed. Shee tried to suppress those emotions, remembering the fights and how annoying and hostile how childish, fantastic... charming... idiot he was.

Loki sat with his arms folded and legs apart, rocking slightly in his chair.

-I won’t ask you how the future is, I already know I won’t be there, and I don’t want to hear it again.

Joceline looked at the ground, Loki at the screen where a while ago he had seen the entire film of his life scroll. It had been a pain for him, but somehow he had accepted it. After all, he was there now, he had no way of going back. And he never would, it was just a source of suffering.

-There are some things you don’t know…

Joceline said softly, keeping her knees together and still looking at the tiled floor. It felt like she was talking to a ghost. Every time she spoke to him alone, she would never have imagined seeing his serious face frowning at her, pursing his lips in a line.

Loki shifted a bit in his chair, looking around.

-And it has to do with why we’re both here now. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Joceline looked up at him, ready to ask him to pick up their little girl, wherever she was.

*

Year 2052.

The tension was tangible, thick as a loaf of stale bread, hard and difficult to chew and swallow.

Phoebe was shocked, watching that boy tell her in an almost bored and cynical tone that he was her father. She shook her head, mocking that ugly reptilian.

-Don’t fool me, my father is Thor, the god of thunder, the strongest of the Avengers, after the Hulk, but you don’t tell him i said so.

Loki looked at her even more confused than she was. He raised an eyebrow, laughing slightly and looking up at the sky.

-No, Thor your uncle at most, but what… the heck…?

That damn Thor had stolen away his girlfriend, no, his wife as soon as he had stepped aside, huh? How many snakes he would have make him swallow! Horizontally!!!

Phoebe rolled her gaze and back at him, angrier than before.

-Thor is my father.

Taken by anger and nervousness, Loki began to speak peevishly, approaching the girl with heavy steps.

-Oh yes? So tell me, what are your powers?

Overwhelmed by the man, Phoebe almost broke her neck to look at him. Her back was against the trunk of a fir tree, and the other gritted his teeth in front of her, as if to hold back.

-My…powers?

-Yes, you are a demigoddess, aren’t you? Then show me what you can do.

-uhm…

The little girl was embarrassed.

-You should also be semi-immortal, right? What’s your weak point? Why are you ten years old and don't look like a baby like any celestial creature?

As Phoebe wrung her hands for an answer, he took her shoulders and shook her a little, looking her straight in the eyes.

-Your mother never even told you about me, did she?

Phobe shook her head slowly, watching as the man’s anger reached its climax and faded into displeasure which transmuted into contempt in seconds. His eyes were on fire, and he was squeezing her shoulders more vigorously.

-Your mother is just a liar.

He released her, standing up so quickly that Phoebe lost her support and staggered.

The man clenched his fists, turning his back to her.

-You, you are not Thor’s daughter. You have no powers, nor will you have eternal life, do you know why?

With every word he spoke, he grew more and more enraged.

The little girl watched in horror and fascination at the green energy that was being released from his fists.

She had seen a lot of powers and magic, but she was taken aback. Shedidn’t expect it, from someone dressed like a loser.

The other had slowly turned towards her.

-You are only a mere mortal because you are the daughter of a nonentity and a useless human.

From that light, the man materialized two daggers, making her jump, but when she realized that he was handing her one, she grabbed it, looking up again at the man.

Phoebe was speechless for a while. She had never seen anyone like him, someone who mirrored her.

She decided to believe him.

-…You are my father.

The man nodded.

-…But we don’t look alike at all!

The man raised his eyebrows and looked around.

-Uh, questionable.

He looked back at her, smiling slightly. She was a pretty little girl, beautiful like her mother, but she had all his characteristics that made her special, a real source of pride for him, narcissistic as he was. He certainly didn’t expect that she would jump in his arms, but neither would he have expected to immediately feel such affection for that nasty young girl. Maybe just because he was aware that he was her father, or maybe because he saw potential in her.

He resumed walking, followed by her.

-Yes, but Thor is still stronger.

-Ah, ah…I wouldn’t say so.

-He has the hammer and Stormbreaker and defeats everyone with it!

Loki gave her a push, making her slide to the ground.

-See? Who needs a hammer? I pushed you with my bare hands.

He waited for Phoebe to get up and they looked at each other defiantly, walking again.

-First of all it is unacceptable for you to leave the house dressed like this.

Again, the man cast some spell and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. When she looked at herself, her clothes had completely changed.

-Not only you have very bad taste, but you would have died of heat.

-Are you crazy?

Phoebe didn’t stop walking, but looked herself up and down. Now she wore a light, graceful, well-made shirt of brilliant emerald green. She was wearing a pair of tight black pants and a pair of combat boots.

-But like this I’m bitterly cold … um … you.

-Loki. My name is Loki.

The girl looked up at him, stepping over a log. Luckily she had a pair of boots on her feet, with her converse shoes she would have risked getting caught in some brambles.

-Loki?

She repeated to himself, looking down the path.

Suddenly she stopped, looking at him with wide eyes. She realized who he was and pointed at him, dumbfounded. So he was the dead brother that Mama and Thor never wanted to talk about. The one she’d read about in several volumes of Norse mythology and old New York Times articles.

-Loki???

This time she called him and he stopped to look at her again, waiting for her to speak again, not putting any pressure on her as she rushed over to him.

-How should I call you?

Loki shrugged, then he took off his jacket and leaving it to the girl, covering her shoulders.

-Call me whatever you prefer.

Phoebe put on the outrageously big jacket on her.

She smiled at him, giving him complete confidence.

-All right, Loki.

-Damn, didn’t Thor teach you anything at all? Nothing about magic, combat bases to protect you, nothing at all?

Loki had lit up a fire without any problem, thanks to his magic. The sun was now setting, and from dint of walking the little girl got hungry.

He had nothing to give her but a packet of candy he had in his pocket for another investigation he was carrying out with Mobius.

-No. I even asked Stephen Strange to teach me how to use magic, but he said he’s had enough of brats.

Loki nodded, but had no idea who she was talking about. They had come out of the woods, but he decided to give the young girl a break before taking her to the TVA.

Phoebe brought her hands to the fire, rubbing them together for warmth.

-I think I know why you’re always so cold…

The girl looked at him quizzically, returning her focus to her frozen hands.

-Do you know the story of the Nine Worlds?

Phoebe nodded.

-Do you know what Jotunheim is?

-More or less…

-Home of the Frost Giants, a barren and dark world, dictated by a perpetual winter.

Loki explained their origins to his daughter, while gesturing with his hands. Born on that land of ice, Loki was abandoned as a newborn, too frail and weak to have any hope of living. He was found by Odin who took him with him to Asgard.

Phoebe followed him closely, letting him tell the story without intervening. The discovery that he was adopted was still a raw nerve, he still hadn’t forgiven Odin for lying to him. The king of all gods had always neglected him, leaving him to his wife, Frigga, who not only gave him motherly affection but also taught him magic.

-I learned to master my powers thanks to my mother.

Phoebe had pulled her jacket over her head, almost using it as a blanket. She quietly chewed those strange blue candies. She realized that he was a stark contrast to Thor, in every sense: besides being like the Sun and the Moon in appearance, Loki looked imposing and frightening, but he was an emaciated, whiny and at times comical outcast. He was emotional, she recognized it from his gaze lost in the flames as he spoke to her. She could distinguish vividly anything he told her. He constantly danced on the thread of darkness and that of redemption. He really was a twisted individual.

Phoebe didn’t blame her mother… It was hard for her to think of him as her father, seeing him so young. At that moment he gave her more the idea of an older brother. Or a trendy uncle.

-My father, on the other hand, wanted to use me only as a tool to reconcile the kingdom of Asgardians and that of the Jotunheim.

-Rip. Sad story.

Loki looked up with annoyance at the little girl.

-what was that…?

She shrugged, not understanding where she had gone wrong.

-…What the hell does “rip, sad story” mean to you?

Phoebe found herself embarrassed.

-Language, Phoebe. Semiotics is fundamental. Never come up with Lol, Lmao, dude or any other crap or I swear I’ll cut your tongue out and make you eat it. And I am capable of it.

The girl nodded, shrugging.

-I meant I’m sorry…

Loki nodded, then looked up at the sky.

He thought of Joceline, of his Joceline… The current one, if only he had her in his hands, would have strangled her. She let his daughter leave the house disheveled, dressed like a homeless girl and let her talk like a stutterer.

Loki hadn’t made the decision to have a daughter, it had just happened to him, yet as he thought of all the things he would have done for her he couldn’t help but think: “Thor definitely did it better.”

Because as wild as she was, you could see that she was happy. The things he cared about were superficial, while Thor had been her father with all intents and purposes. He made her take her first steps, he held her bicycle seat, he braided her hair to go to school and he was the one who fell asleep in her bed after reading her fairy tales. He was in the photos of her birthday parties, he was the man that, when she grew up, little Phoebe wanted to marry.

He was a hero, Loki was not.

Phoebe’s hero was Thor, Phoebe’s lifelong love was Thor!

What did he want? To recover the admiration of a little girl who didn’t even know of his existence until an afternoon before? An existence above all questionable, given that in his reality he was dead and buried before she was born. Sitting together by that fire didn’t matter; as soon as he would have brought her and her mother back, this story will never have happened. He was jealous, his brother always got the better of him.

Phoebe, looking at him from the outside, thought he was just ruminating on his past.

She shrugged, tossing the candy wrapper into the fire.

-The past is now gone. And I think it should be left where it is.

Loki lowered his gaze to her. She looked like she was on the verge of tears, exasperated by her mother who had gotten her into all this mess.

-You are right.

Loki nodded harshly, watching the fire crackle.

What a nuisance, what a huge annoyance.

Phoebe took a deep breath, then stood up.

-Well at least this is the future.

She put the jacket back on, looking at the man who was still sitting on the ground giving him a warm smile.

-I’m pissed off as hell.

Loki chuckled and stood up.

-I’m glad I met you, but I don’t think I’ll ever speak to my mother again.

The god shrugged, looking at the darkening sky.

- It’s time to go.

Saying so, Loki started walking again, but he was stopped by the girl who grabbed his arm with both hands, pulling him back.

-No, wait, I still want to be with you!

Loki gently took her hands, making them let go.

-It is my job to bring you and your mother home, to your reality.

Phoebe put her hands on her chest and then pointed to the ground.

-But now this is my reality. Please Loki, I want to talk to you again, I want to know everything I don’t know.

Loki shook his head bitterly.

-You can’t miss what you never had, Phoebe.

-You are wrong!

The girl raised her voice so much that the man in front of her barely flinched.

-You know it too, don’t you, that what you just said is just nonsense?

-Phoebe, listen to me.

Loki dropped to one knee, taking the girl by the shoulders again.

-I have nothing to do with your life. I’m not your family, and I’m not the man you will always rely on. I’m not even the same man who gave you life, Phoebe, I’m the he from another universe, a Loki foolishly infatuated with your mother and that will abandon her. He will abandon her only to find her and marry her never to lose her again, but who then inevitably lost her. You have to go home, you have to go back to arguing with your mother, calling Thor dad and living your life.

Phoebe’s lips trembled, a couple of tears ran down her cheeks.

- But that’s not fair…

She protested in a faint voice, choked with tears.

-No, it’s not, nothing is right, the world, the universe will work against you, but you will carry on, Phoebe. You will carry on even without me, because you lack of nothing. You have everything with you.

Phoebe let out a sob, covering her face with both hands. Who knows how bad he must have felt at that moment. Phoebe was torn for him, and she didn’t want to be without him anymore.

Disappointed, angry, still shaken by that adventure, the little girl freed herself from Loki’s grip, going back to crying in front of the fire.

Loki looked at the ground, keeping his hands tightly in his pockets, still having the feeling of that child in his hands.

He searched for the words, looking around and taking a breath before approaching her again. He waited for her tears to subside, almost asking her permission to wipe away the tears that had become trapped between her eyelashes.

-Your mother is incapable of speaking to other people’s hearts. She wanted to protect you from a pain too great even for her to handle, just that. No one, not even the most evil in the world would like to see their children in tears.

-But then why did you bring me here? What did it cost her to tell me the truth from the beginning. And Thor? Thor made fun of me.

-No, Thor would never have done that, Thor really considers you his daughter.

Under that night sky, in that gloomy silence, Phoebe kept crying.

-I don’t want to go back.

She sniffled.

- I wish you were there too.

Loki shook his head again.

-I can’t, I’ve already created a time variant once and I’ve been pardoned. At the second they’ll kill me here too. Definitely.

From the back pocket of his pants, he took some kind of gameboy. Pressing a few keys, he opened a portal in front of them, like a door. On the other side, Joceline could see them and got up from her chair.

-Phoebe!

*

TVA

-Phoebe! Thank goodness you're fine!

After crossing that gap, the little girl found herself in her mother's arms who kissed her head and forehead.

She had heard a thousand stories: once papa had a brother, but he was terrible; that brother must never be mentioned, or papa will weep; you got your dark hair from your mother and your light eyes from your father.

Loki was bad.

We mustn't talk about him.

He shouldn't be named.

Her mother had made her believe she hated that entity, and now she felt hated herself.

Phoebe pulled away from her mother, looking at her sternly.

There was no need for explanations, it was clear that her daughter had discovered the truth.

-I am sorry…

Joceline mumbled her apologies, placing both hands over her mouth.

-You are right to be angry with me.

She became aware that Phoebe was holding a dagger and gripping it firmly.

In anger, she did nothing but cry, she didn't say a word as her mother kept calling her, but without approaching her.

Loki knew what the little girl was thinking: it was better if I had never been born.

In order not to hurt those around her, that little girl would have stabbed herself.

She had a pain all enveloping herself.

Thor, at least Thor could have talked to her, why had they been carrying on this charade for so long? He felt disappointed, and marveled at his brother's ignorance.

Leaning close to her, Loki took her dagger, making it disappear as he had made it appear.

Instead of a weapon, she now held Loki's hand in hers.

He left his timepad in her hands, stepping back a couple of steps.

-You choose, Phoebe. Choose whether to go back to your old life or if you prefer to embark on a new one.

Phoebe looked at him in disbelief, exchanging gazes between him and her mother.

-Loki, are you crazy!? These were not the agreements!

Joceline began to punch him in the chest until he stopped her.

Phoebe was still there watching them arguing and closed her eyes, studying the gimmick a bit and clearing a path of her own.

-Just move between the apocalypses, they won’t find you there.

Loki warned her.

With a smile on her lips, Phoebe disappeared through the gap, leaving her mother shocked and grieving.

-You let her go…

Loki nodded, then called the guards and Mobius, leaving the room.

The verdict had been concluded: Joceline was eliminated with her daughter’s name choked down her throat.

Loki walked down the corridor and down the stairs, then going into the office lobby.

In the waiting room, a rather gloomy girl with short hair and military clothes sat watching the TVA commercial for the hundredth time on the small television in front of her.

She kept her legs crossed and was constantly swinging her foot.

Loki went to sit next to her, putting himself in the same position as her with his legs crossed and his arms folded.

-Mobius warned me you were coming.

The girl let out a smile, turning to look at the man next to her.

-Hi Dad.

Loki let out a smile, letting affection overflow from his gaze.

-Hi, Phoebe.

*

A few years later

Phoebe walked through the portal with her favorite alligator in her arms, actually, AlligaLoki, as she called him.

-For fuck sake, you can't leave when you're ten and come back when you're as old as me!

Loki pounded his fists on the desk as he watched the girl rub her cheek on the alligator's scales on his back.

-I'm going to see how the Hulk beat you to the ground like a puppet. Alli-Loki is also coming with me.

-…It's the third time you go there this week.

-Yeah, and it's just Tuesday! Isn't that great?

Loki let his head fall on the desk.

-You're really too embarrassing.

-No, YOU are the embarrassing one, "qnd i'm not gonna be bullied by- UH!", but I still love you. Platonically, huh.

-Yes, yes, platonically. Make sure you don't get caught again: Mobius said he'd tie your ass to that chair over there if that happens again.

-Sounds like something you would have said.

-I may have given him some hints…

Phoebe opened the portal, already grinning with pleasure. New York in those days was magnificent.

-See you later, ugly rat!

-Jeez, a little respect every now and then!? Until…six seconds ago? You used to jump on my lap and now you call me that.

-You're right, sorry Diva of the Multiverse. Bye Byeee

As soon as big Phoebe left, little Phoebe returned, holding a frog.

-Oh my God, look how pretty she is, I found her on a way tooooooo beautiful planet.

Loki looked up at the ceiling.

-I think I'm seasick…

*

Year 2012

When Phoebe arrived in the past, she entered Stark Tower, passing the guards and slipping into the bathrooms on the ground floor. She opened a portal for AlligaLoki to go to his variant friends, then began to change.

She put on a pair of slacks, a jacket, and some smarter shoes. She arranged her black curls, reviving them with a little water and put on perfect make-up.

Well, she was identical to her mother.

She went outside, running to the elevator.

Arriving on the penultimate floor, she pretended to be out of breath, hurrying along the corridor.

-Captain Rogers.

She greeted Captain America with a typically military salute, making fun of him a bit.

She knocked on Bruce’s door and waved to him, then finding Natasha blowing her a kiss.

She came to Tony, feigning concern.

-Oh God Tony, I’m sorry, the bus was late!

-Don’t worry, Joceline, I didn’t see you locked yourself in the bathroom for twenty minutes before coming here. Look, starting today I’m entrusting you with a new assignment: you’ll just have to watch over Thor’s crazy little brother. You won’t be alone, however, and it won’t be full-time.

Joceline, or rather, Phoebe, blinked a couple of times.

-Are you sure you want to leave this task to me?

Well, it was time. She was fed up with making calculations for experiments and physics stuff, she didn’t understand anything of it.

Tony nodded, motioning her out.

-They will take you directly to the place.

Phoebe thanked him and left, breathing a sigh of relief.

It had been all too easy to replace her mother for the internship and pretend to be her, she was afraid of being discovered at any moment.

She followed the two agents along the dark corridor, arriving in front of a hyper-armored room.

They opened the door, and she was able to enter.

It was a rather dark place, only in that cell there was some light.

The one who was a prisoner was strolling placidly back and forth.

Phoebe’s eyes widened as she stood in front of the door which was closed behind her.

-Ansee how he growls…

She babbled to herself, walking towards him.

She looked up, but he turned his back directly to her.

-HI! I’m your new guard. Please do your meany stuff when I’m not around, I’m in enough trouble already.

The other walked with his hands behind his back and looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

She followed him with her eyes.

-Don’t you get seasick walking back and forth?

Phoebe sat down on the floor.

The image she had of Loki in her mind was completely different from the one she had in front of him.

She had butterflies in her stomach.

-My name is Joceline, but I’m sure you don’t care.

From that moment, Phoebe never stopped posing as her mother.

[mothmans-cumrag]

Rewatching The Apple be like

finally! I took a break of about a year but I'm back!

I feel like I'm always saying this but how many people, especially high ranking people does it take for them to go on a mission? because of "strange sensor readings"??

I forgot how hot Bones is, fuck (<- this is also Jim's and Spock's internal monologue whenever they see him, btw)

"Husbandry would be quite efficacious" Spock I had to google that word before I was sure but I think you just proposed

Ah, the garden of Eden was just outside Moscow scene, we've all seen it

So he just used kilometres which I am happy about but before they were talking about the planet having an average of 76° which must mean Fahrenheit. I am confusion

killer flowers over here lol

Scotty fishing for shore leave <3 love him

Pavel using this situation to flirt as if he did't just see a colleague die like two metres in front of him

no matter how often I rewatch it, the explosive rock scene is one of the funniest things ever to me

Spock diving in front of a deadly plant for his boyfriends is the best thing ever to me, sorry not sorry <3<3<3<3<3<3

Oh wow, the transporters don't work, that's something I've never seen before in my life.

Spock calling the hypospray "potion" <3

Jim is so fucking right every time someone jumps in front of someone they could just fucking yell for them to get out of the way. This way it's much more romantic tho so...

These lighting bolts are so... realistic

Three redshirts down, and one of their dads apparently helped Jim get into the academy? But why did the redshirt not get a better job than redshirt if his dad apparently had some sort of influence?

ah, the survivor's guilt mixed with the guilt of being in charge... getting real Hans Kammerlander vibes rn... (google his name and the Manaslu if you don't know what I mean)

"what do you want, Violins?" will now be my answer every time someone comments on my tone of voice

ohhhhh, this was the planet of the Aryans! (not sure if my being German makes it more or less ok for me to say that, but there isn't another word I know for blonde ppl with blue eyes who are conventionally attractive)

Spock just touched this man's chin. With his hand. Is that cheating?

"If you don't get those Warp engine's working you're fired" mate if he doesn't fix them he'll literally die. WHat are you, Hermione?

Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me no more

"It makes me uncomfortable" bitch I bet, those things look scratchy as fuck

I like how half of them immediately got rid of these flower things <3 literally me

you tell him Spock! Humans literally are the minority!!!

"stawp fighting!!!! They've got the Enterprise!!!!" Jim I hear you but philosophical arguments are literally my only life source

sex. the word you're looking for is sex.

goddamnit they are all so uncomfortable talking about one of the most natural things in the world, idk if I should be amused or sad for them

awwwww, she calls him Pav!!! they are actually pretty cute

i feel gross watching the natives kiss and idk why

how to kill someone 101

oh really Spock. you telling me James Tiddies out Kirk wants to ignore the prime directive? wow. what a shocker. I am shocked.

Bones stepped on the belt of his tricoder when getting up and for some reason this is endearing to me

This is the third time Spock injured himself this episode and yet he is still capable of more sass than any squatch I know (get it? sasquatch. haha.

Damn, Martha can fight! Oh, and the last redshirt has died

awww hell nah, Scotty lost his job :(

awww hell yea, Scotty got his job back :)

They should give them actual sex ed wtf

the bickering at the end is always my favourite thing <3<3<3<3<3<3 10/10 will watch again (and again and again and again)

[gaykarstaagforever]

There is a place in Northumbria, UK, called Alnwick (which is pronounced AL-nuck, because of course it fucking is). It contains a cave (more like rock shelter, but) called the Nine Year Aud Hole.

Yeah. And no one knows what the hell that name means.

Or is willing to admit it.

The only story about the cave is about how three thieves escaped there to bury their stolen treasure, but then they all turned on each-other and everyone died (two of them stabbed one of them when he got back from town with food; then one stabbed the other while they were celebrating; then the last one died of poisoned food, since the one who went to town had been plotting to kill the other two all along. Good story). Still doesn't explain the uncomfortable name.

But that isn't the weirdest part.

Here is another shot of the outside of the cave:

No one knows who that guy is, or why he's there.

They call him The Hermit, and he dates from 1777. There are similar statues elsewhere in the area from the same time, and everyone assumes an artist working for the landholders at the time scattered them around.

But why, and who they are, no one knows.

I guess they're like 18th century garden gnomes.

I'm not opposed to this. Real life being like The Elder Scrolls Oblivion, with weird ruins and statues scattered around in the woods everywhere, sounds fun as hell. I suppose that's what the island of Great Britain is like? I'm from the US and have never been there, so I don't know. The oldest ruin we have around here is that abandoned Coca-Cola bottling plant where the city police stage illegal dog fights.

...But I'm not sure now if that is public knowledge yet so I better end this post.

Like how Alnwick should stop calling a rock shelter the Nine Year Aud Hole. Especially if it has the statue of a Catholic monk in front of it.

Images come from here:

Youtube video where I learned about all this nonsense:

[marvinswriting]

ménage, chapter two

previous chapter, masterlist there’s two worlds, so obviously two world building chapters. meet the borrowers clare pov

Waking up to absolute chaos was- normal. It’s an effective alarm, to Clare at least. “Otis and Teddie do not kill each other before breakfast!”

It was a borrower’s cue to get up when the noises in the home around them died down. And in addition- a good clue was when other borrowers started yelling at each other. Clare took in the mostly vacant room around her. Her brother’s bed next to her was empty- as with Audwin and Teddie’s across the room. On her other side, though, Kye slept soundly. The bedroom was in the process of getting redone. It was a big deal, to have the extra supplies necessary- but it helped when one of the humans on the other side of the wall had taken up sewing recently. Needles, fabric, and string were arguably the top three supplies borrowers needed, and now there was a surplus at all times. The five old matchboxes were pushed away from the walls, which Clare and Otis painted yesterday with an abandoned tube of acrylic paint somebody had lost under the radiator. New fabric had been hung over their ‘doorway’ for privacy, and a new battery was found for the LED tea light that had been dead for years. Clare was tying her hair up when the fabric at the entrance was pushed to the side. “Oh, you’re up.” Audwin smiled at her, turning on the light. “I was just coming in to wake you.” “Kye’s still asleep.” “I’ll get her, you go get ready for tonight's run.” Clare nodded, stepping past the older man and into the living area. It mirrored the human one, as close as it could. Where the humans had a big sofa, there were old spools pushed in a line. Instead of a coffee table, Teddie and Audwin had rolled in an old bottle cap. There was no TV, but after some struggle Otis and Clare got a sticker designed with birds onto the wall. Only after unsticking it from Otis, of course. Kye insisted they find leaves and small flowers from outside to keep in the corner like the human’s big plant. Kye, of course, had never actually seen the real living room before. Audwin’s rule was to wait until eleven to borrow, which Kye had done last week. Which Clare through was stupid since all four young borrowers came under his wing after a borrowing trip on their own gone wrong. Or maybe that just proved his point. Either way, Kye had the older borrowers describe the home past the walls enough time to probably walk through with her eyes closed. She tried her hardest to recreate their own home in a similar manner- using the poor supplies they had. It was a big reason for the redo. Despite living in the walls of Wynn’s Orphanage since Audwin was “just a speck of a boy”, his words, the place looked pretty much the same. They had the same ‘furniture’ since Otis and Clare met Audwin seven years ago. But they were redoing it for Kye, so she can get the authentic human home look to herself. And just to make sure they nailed it- she was to join the other four in borrowing. “Good night,” Clare said, joining Otis and Teddie in the main room. They were messing around with their tools, jabbing each other and dodging hits. “It is possibly too early for this?” “Hello to you too, Clare. We’re practicing our skills!” Otis grinned “What if we come across a mouse or something?” “Poking the dull end of a needle into Teddie’s side will not save you from a mouse.” “Sheesh, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Teddie said and Audwin ushered a half asleep Kye into the room. “What does that one mean?” The younger girl asked. Her fascination with the humans didn’t stop at their furniture. Teddie liked to repeat odd phrases he heard past the walls and teach Kye about what Clare hoped was the right definition. Hell if she knew through. “It means Clare is being a grumpy buzzkill because we woke her up so early.” “Close enough,” Audwin sighed. Unlike Teddie, Clare trusted him to know what the human sayings meant. “Kye,” Otis says, “Are you ready for your first borrowing trip tonight?” The girl’s face lights up instantly, all traces of sleep gone. She knew it was coming soon, but Audwin didn’t tell her the actual date so it could be a surprise. I smile. “Baby’s first borrow!” Audwin had taught Clare and Otis everything they knew about borrowing and gave Teddie all the tricks in the book. There was no one better suited to teach Kye. Clare could still hear Audwin’s rules when she borrowed, even if he wasn't there with her. Like a ghost over her shoulder, or a whisper in the wind: ‘only borrow what will not be missed.’ That corner of the tissue that a human won’t notice is gone. The one petal of a flower that people just assumed fell away. A sugar cube that they won’t care to look for. That bottle cap that missed the recycling bin. Or the sewing needle that the human’s simply thought they misplaced. It was how borrowers survived. Only necessities to remain under the radar. And maybe splurging for the first time in decades to get a bit of a redo. “Kye will come with me tonight,” Audwin said, packing his bag. “I need to cancel out the reckless tips Otis has given her.” “Hey!” “And this way I can really take my time showing her around as you three get what we need.” “Sounds good.” Teddie said, swinging his pack over his shoulder. I passed him a hook before sliding a sewing pin through my pant leg, letting my hand rest against the white circle on the end. Otis was geared up and ready as well, so we waved goodbye and set off- leaving Audwin to explain each tool to Kye. She already knew most of it- after all she’d been watching us eagerly since Teddie found her last year. But it was a more in depth explanation this time. And this time it mattered. “It’s gonna be useful to have the extra pair of hands around here.” Teddie said as we walked. “Now we don’t need to keep somebody home to watch over her.” Otis nodded. “It’s really like, two extra pairs.” “And Kye’s fast. We can use that.” Otis twisted his hook in his hands. “What’s our stops for tonight, boss?” Teddie thought for a moment. “We’re low on sugar, but we also haven’t been using it as much. I don’t know if we need more, but likely Audwin and Kye will grab some since it’s an easy catch for beginners. But we definitely need more tissues, water, and general food.” “So, kitchen and literally any other room for the tissues.” “What about that one bedroom upstairs?” Otis suggested. “That way we can also scout for new sewing tools.” “It’s not a great night for long multi-floor trips.” Teddie shook his head. “Megan’s room is a trip for another time.” “How do you know it’s Megan?” Clare asked. “That’s the name engraved onto the box. And although we don’t use the paths on the upper floor often, Audwin told me it would be a good idea to memorize them. There’s five rooms up there, each with different supplies. Megan’s is really the only useful one.” “Audwin didn’t tell us it was a good idea to memorize them.” Clare frowned, with no actually sadness behind it. Her and Otis liked to tease Teddie for being Audwin’s undisclosed but very obvious favorite. Maybe it was because he was the oldest and most rational of the youngers, or maybe it was his natural borrowing skill- but Teddie was Audwin’s 2.0. Otis tsked. “Wow, favorite privilege.” “I’m nineteen, guys. Just more mature, you know.” “Sixteen is so mature in borrower terms!” Otis countered. “If we lived with a typical family, we’d have moved out to face the world a year ago! This is adulthood, boss!” “But we aren’t really a ‘typical family’ are we?” Teddie asked. “None of us are related, all of us are abandoned. You and Clare got separated from family at age nine, Clare with a broken leg and neither of you in condition to live. Audwin may not be your parent but he sure as hell raised you to be the borrowers you are today.” “What's your point?” Clare asked. It had started as some light hearted bickering, but Teddie seemed to know what he was talking about on a more serious level.  “Maybe he hasn't taken memorizing this home a step further with you guys because he thinks it's only a matter of time before you move out.” “Did he tell you that?” “No, but I’ve thought of it myself.” “Of us moving out or you?” Otis asked. “Honestly? Both.” The conversation ended there. The three of them walked in silence to their first stop- the kitchen. Clare thought about what Teddie said about moving out. She never lingered on the topic for too long, but clearly he did. Were her and Otis over staying some welcome by still staying with Audwin at sixteen? Did he not tell them about the paths upstairs because he didn’t want them sticking around long enough to need the information? Teddie was by far more mature and a better borrower than them. It was plausible. “Okay.” Teddie broke her from her thoughts, likely for the best. “Water and food.” He ducked under some wires and shouldered an outlet out of place. “Kitchen time.”

wc: 1540 as always, plot starts text chapter the past two were jsut world building dw

[deeisace]

Dream in which the last episode of Leverage Redemption was on at the cinema

And with about 20 minutes left it showed a screen like "in memory of Eliot Spencer (date - 2022)"

But! It turned out, a minute before then (I was obviously like "this can't be happening, Eliot can't die"), someone used she pronouns for Eliot, and it did turn out that the "in memory" screen was that she was transitioning, not that she'd died

Then the next dream, was a bit longer and more complicated?

So I went round to someone's house - they had a van outside covered completely in frost, and I knocked a bit off the slidey door handle and she told me off cs they were "growing" the ice??? Anyway then their husband came home, briefly, and cycled away when he saw me and also to go to work at the school up the road - I ran after , somehow caught up despite him being on a bike, then fell at the gates and he helped me up

The school was one of those old Victorian ones, red brick and carvings above the doors

And there was a bit of standing in a field and talking about idk what, and then it was nighttime

And there was a greenhouse/potting shed built into the side of the school building, with four mottoes carved above the door

And wriggling pots full of green stuff

And we were all (me, the cycling teacher, couple of students sat up on the flowerbed walls, idk) like ????? wtf is that

Worked out that the mottos were instructions from 150 years ago on how to care for these alien plants once they like activated?

So we just lifted them up out of the little set of six pots - once I took the lid off, the wriggling green stuff solidified into soil, so it was like normal basically

Except the plants grew immediately, and fast, and we put them in the wrong places according to the instructions - they should have been 3-3, but they were 1, 2, 1, 2 (based on where they would fit, quickly, into the existing beds) - which is not useful for making into an arch, as they were supposed to

They looked like roses, sort of, but they were sentient, really, cs when we tried to move the first 1 to go over with a 2, it shoved it's flower in my face and thereafter didn't like me going near it

Then as we were all arguing about what to do, a little homunculus fellow kicked his way out of the bark on the nearest tree

And it was his job? to look after the alien roses? And we tried to explain - turned out he only spoke Dutch, so then the teacher explained - that we'd planted them wrong

And he said - 2 inches tall, mind, with these plants that were now as big as my tomatoes ever got - don't you worry, I'll sort it, I'll explain to the plants what to do

And I said, it also says up on the wall, they should be this round, but the last two are growing this flat, can you fix that?

He could, and we said alright we'll leave you to it for the night, and then that dream faded

Only to be briefly replaced by confusion involving Emma Othick - there is, in the paper, an Emily Othick who drowned herself because her husband had died the previous year - but my Emma Othick she died several years later, I'm as sure of that as anything else about her, and she also (from her prison records, which is chiefly her stealing just little bits to get by) doesn't seem the type to give up in that way

The papers are real, I was looking through them last night

So I have a great deal to check over this morning - is Emily my Emma, is her husband also a William who's an iron moulder - and is my Emma dying in 1921 entirely correct

I'm really not sure of anything about this woman whatsoever, it's terribly frustrating not to,,, have a time machine, tbh

[meg-moira]

The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind

Sequel to Eindred and the Witch

In which Severin, the golden eyed witch, learns that his greatest enemy and truest love is fated to kill him.

-

-

Dealing in prophecies is a dubious work. Anyone who knows anything will tell you as much.

“Think of all of time as a grand tapestry,” his great-grandmother had said, elbow deep in scalding water. Her hands were tomato red, and Severin watched with wide golden eyes as she kneaded and stretched pale curds in the basin. “You might be so privileged to understand a single weave, but unless you go following all surrounding threads, and the threads around those threads, and so on - which, mind you, no human can do - you’ll never understand the picture.”

Severin, who was ten years old and had never seen a grand tapestry, looked at the cheese in the basin and asked if his great-grandmother could make the analogy about that instead.

“No,” she replied. “Time is a tapestry. Cheese is just cheese.”

And that was that.

By fifteen, Severin who was all arms, legs, and untamable black hair, decided he hated prophecies more than anything in the world. He occupied himself instead with long walks atop the white bluffs well beyond his family’s home. Outside, he could look at birds, and talk to the wind, and not think about the terrible prophecy which followed him like a shadow.

His second eldest sister had revealed it - accidentally, of course. Severin lived in a warm and bustling house with his great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, two aunts, and three sisters. All of whom were generously gifted in the art of foretelling (a messy business, each would say if asked), and every one of them had seen Severin’s same bleak thread.

He would die. Willingly stabbed through the heart by his greatest enemy and truest love.

Willingly. That was the worst part, he thought.

Severin, who had no talent in the way of prophecies, but plenty of talent in the realm of wind and sky, marched along the well-worn trail, static sparking around his fingertips as the brackish sea breeze nipped consolingly at his face and hair.

I will protect you if you ask me to, it blustered, and Severin was comforted.

He didn’t care who this foretold stranger was. When this enemy-lover appeared, Severin would ask the wind to pick them up and take them far, far away. Far enough that they could never harm him. The wind whistled in agreement. And so it was settled.

At seventeen, he was still all arms and legs, though his eldest sister had managed to tame his hair with a respectably sharp pair of shears. The wind, who had delighted in playing with his wild, tangled locks, did not thank her for it. Severin did thank her; in fact, he’d asked her to do it. He was of the opinion that his newly shorn hair made him look older - more sophisticated. And he left his family home with a new cloak draping his shoulders and a knotted wooden walking stick in hand, thinking himself very nearly a man. He was far from it, of course. But there was no telling him that.

He set out on a clear, cool morning to find his own way in the world, and was prepared to thoroughly deal with anyone who so much as dared to act ever so slightly in the manner of enemy or lover.

He discovered, soon enough, that this was not a practical attitude to take when venturing into the world. Severin spent his first months away from home making little in the way of friends and plenty in the way of thoroughly baffled enemies.

When you meet his gaze, you’ll know, the wind chided as it whisked in and out of his hood.

“His?” Severin said aloud, lifting a single dark brow. “Do you know something I don’t?”

The wind whistled noncommittally in answer.

The wind did know something, as it turned out. At twenty, Severin stood on the warm, sun-loved planks of a dock. As gulls cried overhead, he pressed his fingers to his lips. The young sailor had touched his lips to Severin’s in a swift, carefree kiss before departing on the sea. And though the feeling was pleasant enough, Severin knew that his enemy-lover was not on the great ship cleaving a path through the cerulean waves.

“When I meet his gaze, I’ll know,” Severin said, golden eyes sweeping the horizon. The seaward breeze blustered in such agreement that the gulls overhead cried out in alarm.

What will you do? The wind asked, delighting in whipping the gulls into a proper frenzy.

“Get rid of him, of course,” Severin replied.

What if you don’t want to?

Severin thought that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “He’s going to stab me through the heart. Why in the world wouldn’t I want to get rid of him?”

People are foolish, the wind answered, shrugging the nearby sails.

“Not me.” Severin leaned on his stick and looked out at the sea. “I won’t let anyone get away with stabbing my heart.”

When he was twenty-two, Severin knelt at the bedside of a withered, wilting woman. She was a stranger, but the town’s herb witch was away, and Severin happened to be passing through. Though his true strength would always remain with the wind and the sky, the youngest of Severin’s two aunts had a special way with plants, and she’d taught him a fair bit about the many healing properties of the region’s hardy, windblown flora.

He boiled water, adding the few herbs he carried to make a rejuvenating tea. He helped the woman drink, his hand supporting her head and fingers tangling in her sweat drenched hair. After, he pressed a cool cloth to her head, and in the half dark room, she murmured, sharing delirious fears that she would accidentally speak cruel dying words and lay a curse upon him.

Kindly stroking her forehead, Severin assured her that he was not afraid of curses. Even uttered by the dying, a true curse was rarer than the superstitious soldier’s and barbarians liked to believe. Besides, she wasn’t going to die. Severin, who’d seen just enough of the world to have a taste of wisdom, was certain he could save her.

She died within the day.

Whether her condition had been beyond help, or Severin lacked the skills to twist the herbs to his bidding, he would never know. The wind rustled reassurances through the sparsely-leaved trees, but Severin was beyond consolation. Clouds gathered on the horizon, and by nightfall, great branches of lightning crackled across the sky.

He spent the next year and a half in the wilds. Beneath the jubilant light of the sun, he collected plants, acquainting himself with the earth. And beneath the soft, watchful light of the moon, he whispered to the wind and dared to wonder at the shape of his enemy-lover’s face. He could never seem to summon the slightest picture in his mind. Though it really didn’t matter, he supposed. Their eyes would meet, and Severin would know. And then he’d use all of the power at his disposal to send his enemy-lover away.

During this time, Severin sometimes saw bands of barbaric warriors crossing the plains. He kept his distance, but he doubted any of them were interested in either recruiting or killing a scrawny young man in a worn woolen cloak. Few he encountered ever suspected he had any great abilities, and Severin certainly didn’t go out of his way to advertise the fact that he could command the wind and sky when he wished. The barbaric companies had their eyes on more obviously lucrative targets, anyway. A handful of city states which spread across the great peninsula were openly at war with the barbaric tribes from the north.

It was when Severin was returning from his self-imposed isolation that he had his first real encounter with war. He held his sturdy walking stick in hand and carried a bursting bag of herbs, poultices, and leather-bound journals over his shoulder. Severin was so surprised by the sudden, brutal clash of metal and the primal cries that erupted nearby that he halted where he stood. His curiosity both outweighed and outlasted his fear, and after a minute or two of tense consideration, he pressed cautiously onward in the direction of the noise.

By the time he arrived, the battle was done.

It had surely been an ugly, bloody affair, if the splayed out bodies of the city soldiers and barbaric warriors were anything to judge it by. Holding a hand over his mouth, Severin gingerly navigated the carnage and valiantly resisted the impulse to be sick right there in the field. He was nearly on the other side of it when movement caught his eye. Squinting, almost afraid to look, he glanced from the corners of his eyes, sure that it was some grotesque remnant of warfare which awaited him.

Instead, it was a man.

Just a man.

The movement Severin had spotted was the rise and fall of his chest.

Only after turning a careful look around the terrible and silent battlefield did Severin approach the fallen man.

The barbarian’s eyes were closed and his pale brows drew together, as if reflecting pain. His face would probably have been handsome in a rough, simple sort of way if it weren’t smeared in dirt and blood. His light hair, braided and pulled away from his face, was bloodied as well, and Severin frowned at the sorry state of him. After a second wary look around, he knelt with a sigh.

The barbarian’s leather vest was cut, and his thick, scarred arms had earned several new slices as well. Severin, who had more than enough herbs and poultices on hand, reluctantly tore his only spare shirt into bandages. Within the hour the stranger was fully bandaged and muttering in fever addled sleep.

“Don’t worry,” Severin murmured, knotting the last makeshift bandage. “I’ve learned enough from the plants and trees to save you from both fever and infection.”

Behind closed lids, the barbarian’s eyes flitted anxiously to and fro and he mumbled something that sounded like no. Nose wrinkling, Severin leaned in. He heard the sleeping barbarian say, his voice low and cracking, “The curses will take me.”

Severin frowned down at him, unimpressed. “No they won’t,” he snapped, and yanked the bandage tighter.

The barbarian silenced then, and Severin stared at him a moment longer, pursing his lips in consternation. It wasn’t that he minded using his supplies to heal a stranger. But a part of him worried that healing a warrior made Severin responsible for whatever slaughter he resumed when he rose.

Severin abhorred warfare. It was such a terrible waste. But he supposed there was no helping what he’d already done. The barbarian was already on his way to recovery, and Severin certainly wasn’t going to murder him in his sleep. He reached out, intending to test the temperature at the man’s temple, but no sooner had Severin’s fingers touched his overheated skin than the world bled around him. In its place: a vision.

Shock echoed through him, because he was not like the women in his family, able to see phantoms in time. He’d always simply played with the air. The vision dancing before his gaze, however, didn’t seem to care.

Like droplets of ink spreading in water, a prism of colors twisted, threading together into nearly tangible shapes. From the chaos, rose a blond child holding a knit sheep. He was ruddy cheeked and pouting up at his mother. Then ink and water swirled and the images collapsed and shifted. Hulking shadows loomed over the child. The mother wailed her grief. The formless ink shivered, morphing from one scene to the next, nearly too quickly to follow, and Severin was swallowed up in it, overrun and overwhelmed by violence, blood, and pain. Beneath his fingers, Severin felt the movement of shifting, slipping thread.

Just as abruptly as it had started, the vision ceased. Severin’s knees ached where they pressed against the dirt and the barbarian’s skin beneath his hand was no longer overheated. How long had he been within the vision’s grasp, he wondered?

As Severin shifted back, the barbarian groaned. Severin watched as the man’s eyelids fluttered - and at once, the air turned heavy, as if the wind had drawn and held an anticipatory breath.

Dread flooded Severin and he rushed to stand. The barbarian had not yet opened his eyes, and Severin knew with a terrible nameless certainty that he must not be here when this man awoke. Severin could still feel those elusive, unknowable threads beneath his fingers, and his hands shook as he rose. Awakened by his urgency, the wind roared, lending him speed as he fled the clearing.

By the time the barbarian cracked open a single, world weary eye, Severin was long gone, heart still safely beating in his chest.

Severin endeavored to forget about the barbarian. He convinced himself that the vision had been the hallucination of an overexerted body, and that the sensation of inexorably moving threads beneath his fingers was nothing more than a flight of fancy. Severin did not think about how the threads had felt - certain and unyielding - beneath his fragile, very mortal hands. If he did, he feared he might ask the wind to whisk him away from the world altogether, and that, surely, was no way to live.

In a deep, secret place, however, Severin suspected the reason he was granted such a vision was because the stranger’s thread was woven perilously close to his own. Because of this, he set upon an easterly road, endeavoring to put a healthy distance between himself and the pale barbarian.

After nearly a month of travel, he arrived in a small village which sat nestled in foothills, tucked beneath the shadows of great mountains which stood like sentinels above. Severin hadn’t intended to stay, but when it was discovered he had some skill with plants and medicine, the villagers eagerly led him to a hut some distance from the village. It was empty, they explained, and had been for some years. A healing woman had occupied it, some years back, before she’d passed on. The villagers had been saving it, hoping the space would be enough to entice a new healer to make their isolated village a home.

Severin had nowhere else to go, and he supposed a distant, mountain village was as good a place as any to avoid a blade to the heart.

Two years passed, and Severin settled into his little hut. He spent his mornings taking long walks around the surrounding lands, collecting herbs and specimens. Returning home, he’d throw open the windows to allow his friend the wind a brief but wild rampage through the hut. With the air freshened, Severin spread plants across his square dining table and sorted them into jars to be sealed, dried, or preserved in vinegar. His neighbors in the village visited frequently, just as often for his company as for his medicines, and Severin delighted in visiting the town on market days and making the streamers dance in the wind for the children. Evenings were spent in his rocking chair, with a book in his lap and his feet pressed near to the low fire in the hearth.

He was happy, and hardly thought of the barbarian he’d found bleeding in the dirt. That is, until fate caught up with him.

One day, when he was foraging for moss on the hillside behind his hut, Severin felt the whisper-soft touch of thread against his palm. He sat upright at once, and turning and craning his neck, he absently rubbed his palms against his robes.

A company marched into the village. From up on Severin’s hill, they appeared a swarm of ants overtaking the miniature thatched roof homes. The slipping, shivering feeling beneath Severin’s palm intensified, and he stood. His heart drummed a frantic beat against his ribs, and Severin felt with a terrible certainty that fate, like a hunting hound on the scent, had sniffed him out at last.

When Severin called out, begging the wind’s help, it rushed to him, howling atop the hill.

I am here. I am here.

Cradled in the gale, he begged the wind to take him and hide him away, so that the tapestry’s relentless threads might cease dragging him toward the one he never wished to meet.

So be it, the wind said. If that is truly what you wish, I will take you and hide you away forever.

In that moment, nearly caught as he was, Severin was willing to do anything to avoid meeting this man who would kill him - until the screams rose from the pastures in the valley beneath his hut. Severin’s heartbeat was in his throat, on his very tongue, as he held up a hand to stay the wind.

“Just a moment,” he murmured, and turned bright, pained eyes toward the village. The terrified screams of his neighbors pierced him as surely as any blade, and with a mournful twist of his fingers, he bade the wind disperse.

By the time he reached in the pastures, the shepherd, the blacksmith, and Helvia’s two sons lay dead. At the sight of his friend’s bodies, grief and rage stirred within Severin, and the wind, always nearby to him, trembled in sympathy. Gaze sweeping the warriors, he marked the five whose weapons were stained red. Severin was not violent by nature, but if he was to die this day, he resolved to remove from the earth at least these five men, who with bloodied blades, uncaringly spoke of feasting upon the village’s few precious sheep.

When the warriors turned and finally noticed Severin, he lifted his chin and prayed his voice did not betray his fear. “These are simple people. They have little in way of money or goods. It wasn’t for nothing that the shepherd, blacksmith, and teenagers died. They need these sheep. And I cannot allow you to take them.”

The men glanced at one another, eyes filling with a cruel sort of mirth. They laughed at him, and Severin steeled himself for what must come next. He was friends with the wind, but to call down the heavens was an entirely more serious matter. And he’d never done it. At least, not like this.

Severin turned his palms up and glared at the heavens, daring them to refuse him now when he needed them most.

For a long, terrible moment, nothing happened.

And then, the skies erupted.

He had never felt pure, visceral power in such a way, and as it whined and crackled, Severin, with splayed fingers, used all of his strength to tear the lightning from its home in the sky. It rained upon the warriors, screaming in wild, untamable fury. Severin watched the men cry out in agony, and he felt horror and satisfaction in equal measure.

When a single figure broke from the group, agile enough to evade the lightning and charge across the field, Severin could only look on in exhausted realization. It was the pale barbarian. The man from the battlefield. The child in the vision.

The barbarian charged like a beast, his thickly braided hair bouncing. His brows were drawn down in focus and his lips poised on the precipice of a snarl. It was with a hopeless sense of finality that Severin met the stranger’s gaze.

He met eyes of icy gray, the color of hazy, snow capped mountains in winter, and Severin knew, he knew with a certainty that was sunken into his bones and twisted in his marrow, that this barbarian was the shadow which had haunted him. And he knew, more than anything, the crude blade in the man’s scarred-knuckle hand was fate’s exclamation point at the end of Severin’s ephemeral existence.

Watching as the barbarian pivoted, drawing back his blade, Severin only wished he understood why the women in his family had persisted in calling this man Severin’s truest love. If this was love, the man had a spectacularly terrible way of showing it.

Time slowed to a crawl, and sunlight flashed, reflecting off the blade. As the jagged edge touched the fabric of Severin’s robe, the wind whispered at his ear. Let me show you a piece of the picture.

The wind around him froze, and so too did the world.

Look up, said the wind, a rustle within his ear.

Severin did.

The complexly woven image was shaped by currents in the air - all but invisible to any whose eyes are untrained to look for them. But Severin had a born understanding of the wind and sky, and when he looked up, he saw bits and pieces of an impossibly complex tapestry.

He saw scarred knuckles gently shaping wood. A small child that sat upon broad shoulders. Rocking chairs placed side by side before a glowing fire. Warm hands enveloping his own. Safety. Home.

It was...everything, and Severin’s heart ached with a strange and complex longing for a future that surely could never be.

It’s not impossible, the wind whispered. But the threads will have to tangle and untangle just perfectly so.

“How?” Severin asked, and wondered if he was a fool to feel so desperate a pull towards this life glimpsed in impressions and half images.

The warrior must weep and repent. And a curse must come to fruition.

“And if these things do not happen?”

Then your soul will fade from the earth.

Severin felt torn in two.

The blade has not yet struck your heart, the wind murmured, kind and conspiratorial. There is time still for me to secret you away. I could pull your thread from the tapestry altogether.

“But there would be no hope for that life,” Severin said with a last wistful glance at the scattered mosaic above.

No, none, the wind agreed.

“Okay,” Severin whispered, “okay.” And it felt terrifyingly like surrender.

The wind stirred, and a breeze like a kiss tousled his dark hair.

The blade struck.

It was an intense pressure and then swift, vibrantly blooming pain. Severin wavered on his feet, and looked up. For the second time, he met the warrior’s gaze. And Severin saw and understood that there was no malice in those wintry eyes. Not even frustration or anger. But, instead, an exhaustion deeper than Severin could conceive.

When Severin toppled backward, it was concerning to realize he could no longer feel the grass beneath his body. The man knelt down, and Severin blinked tiredly up at him.

It seemed as though the man were waiting for something. Severin’s slipping mind struggled to think of what - until he recalled the dying woman and her talk of curses. And hadn’t the barbarian said something about curses when he was fever addled and hurt? What had the wind said? Severin was struggling to remember. As his life trickled away in red rivulets which stained the grass and soil, he thought of the boy in the vision - lost and afraid. And he thought of the man he’d become, kneeling stonily over him.

And Severin knew exactly which words should be his last.

Swallowing, he mustered the strength to whisper, “-my hut…it’s just past…the next hill over. In it, I keep medicines and herbs. For the villagers. And travelers who pass.”

For the barbarian would have to stay if he were ever to show remorse. He couldn’t very well continue going about fighting and murdering his way across the peninsula. Which brought Severin to his final words. It took all of his remaining strength to lift his hand. When he reached out, the barbarian startled, as though he expected more lightning to spring forth from Severin’s fingers. But Severin merely tapped his chest and smiled. “May you live a life of safety and peace.”

It was a fitting curse, he thought, feeling particularly clever. And there, on the field, surrounded by sheep, Severin’s heart stuttered and stopped.

It was an abrupt, slipping sensation, like losing your footing on iced over earth. Raw existence rushed around Severin, and he was battered and blown about, like a banner torn loose in the storm. This continued for a dizzying moment, or perhaps a dizzying eternity - Severin really had no way of knowing which. But it stopped when a familiar presence surged around him, blowing and blustering until the wild chaos of existence was forced to let him be.

The wind could not protect him forever, Severin knew, and so he focused his energies until, like a wind sprite, he swirled about the hillside. Below him, he saw the barbarian, his great head bent. Severin, as incorporeal as a breeze, could not resist blustering over the barbarian’s shoulder and observing himself, limp and pitiful in death. Whipping around, he beheld the barbarian - because surely this sight would bring him at least to the verge of tears.

The barbarian frowned down at Severin’s body and rubbed a scarred hand over the patches of stubble on his chin. And then he rose with a great sigh and set off down the hillside, away from Severin and the village.

Severin, who was nothing more than wind and spirit, watched him and despaired. He could do nothing more than whip and howl through the hills as his murderer left him without a backward glance.

Months passed.

Severin did not follow after the barbarian. What good would it do? In this form, it wasn’t as though Severin could speak to him. And if he was doomed to fade and dissolve from existence, he would much rather do so here in the hills he loved than in some strange land trailing after an even stranger man. The wind kept him company, at least, and Severin spent his days whistling through the black, porous stones at the base of the mountains and blowing bits of dandelions across wild tufts of grass.

One day, long after Severin had begun to feel more spread out and thin than was entirely comfortable, the wind rushed to him, carrying with it the scent of dust and dirt and faraway lands.

The barbarian had returned.

Severin was an icy breeze that whipped around the edges of town, and he watched with cool distrust as the man trudged through the streets. His shoulders were slumped and his blond head was turned down. He looked utterly defeated, and any sympathy Severin might have felt was eclipsed by petty spite. He didn’t hold any of the pettiness against himself, though. He was dead, and therefore felt he’d earned at least a little pettiness.

When the barbarian crossed the field, stopping to stand before the place where Severin had fallen, Severin swirled around him, newly curious. The man didn’t look grief stricken, but his face was difficult to read. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes and lines of exhaustion around his mouth. Mostly, Severin thought he just looked tired.

When the man approached Severin’s home after having ignored the invitation for months, Severin had a second moment of pettiness and whipped the wind up on the other side of the door, sealing it closed as the barbarian tried to open it. Only when the man shoved it with his great, muscled shoulder did Severin retreat, allowing the door to swing open.

It was with a strange sort of melancholy that he watched the barbarian’s silver gaze sweep over the room. The man looked first at the damp, unkempt hearth before slowly making his way across the room. He glanced from Severin’s well-loved walking stick to the bookshelf built into the wall. He fumblingly ran the backs of his fingers along the spines of the books, as if he was unlearned in the ways of a gentle touch.

Severin was still very much put out about the whole being dead business, but as he watched the barbarian’s almost reverent inspection, he unthinkingly twisted the air in the room, drawing out the cold and pulling in a bit of sun warmed breeze.

By the second day, the man was sitting in Severin’s chair. Severin stewed, swatting at floating dust by the window as his killer rocked to and fro in Severin’s favorite seat. Later, the barbarian stood, stretching his strong arms overhead and twisted his back experimentally. Brows lifting in pleasant surprise, he gave the chair an appreciative pat.

By the third day, Severin had no more dust to swat about. The barbarian had rolled up his ragged sleeves and set about scrubbing every inch of Severin’s little hut. When the hulking man worked open the stiff windows, the wind rushed in, delighting in whipping about the space once more.

He’s done a better job of cleaning than you ever did, the wind sang, slipping once more outside.

He was dead and that meant the wind had to be nice, and Severin told it as much. It’s reply was a soft rustling of chimes that hung from the house’s eaves, and the sound was almost like laughter.

Days passed, and the man began reading Severin’s books. This was probably the most surprising development yet, in Severin’s opinion. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading, just - well, he hadn’t thought the large, scarred warrior capable of reading particularly well. But the man seemed to be doing just fine, and sat in Severin’s rocking chair, putting a far greater strain on the sturdy wood than Severin ever had, as he thumbed carefully through the book’s smooth pages.

When little Mykela took ill, Severin knew it well before anyone else. He’d taken a spin through town and as he rode the wintry wind past where she played in the yard, he’d felt the rattle of air in her lungs. But at this point, Severin was little more than a memory on the breeze, and though his worry was agony, he could do absolutely nothing. He spent the rest of the day roaring about the mountain peaks, sending snow flurries spilling down the far side of the cliffs.

Two days later, Severin was idly observing the barbarian, watching the crease between his brows twitch as he slept, when a great pounding broke out against the door. The barbarian rose at once, and Severin watched him cast a brief glance at the walking stick before turning instead to the candle on a nearby shelf. With warm light cupped in his palm, the barbarian approached the door.

When Dormund, Mykela’s father, entered the hut, carrying a limp mound of blankets, Severin felt a spike of icy terror. As the barbarian poked and prodded the fire, Severin carefully stirred the wind to better feed the flames. Severin would have shouted instructions, had he lungs to shout, but the barbarian already had two jars in hand. He held them up, looking a little lost, before he hurried to the bookshelf and selected a thick book. Muttering under his breath, he flipped hurriedly through pages until he found what he was looking for. And then he was kneeling before the pot of water he’d set over the fire, and Severin watched as he scooped careful measurements of Severin’s dried herbs into the roiling water.

Mykela was saved, and as the barbarian sent the girl and her father off with a bag of herbs, it occurred to Severin that he wished to know the barbarian’s name. He wouldn’t learn it until two days later, when Old Cara arrived at the hut, seeking the barbarian’s help for her arthritic knee. After supplying her with the appropriate poultice, the barbarian helped her to the door, and looking up, she patted his shoulder and asked him his name.

Eindred, was his answer.

Eindred.

Severin wished he had lips to test the shape of the name.

Months passed, and was easier now to watch Eindred move about Severin’s hut. In fact, Severin had even begun to enjoy riding the soft breeze from the windows as it wafted around Eindred’s shoulders, curiously observing whatever small thing he happened to, at any given time, be doing with his hands. One day, Severin was surprised to find Eindred’s hands at work, deliberately whittling the curved back of a rocking chair. When the chair was done, Eindred set it carefully, almost reverently beside the first. At the sight, Severin had a bright, nearly overwhelming flash of recognition, and he thought of the image the wind had shown him - of the rocking chairs before a warm, crackling fire.

Severin was fading, he could feel it. To hope was to court a greater disappointment than Severin could rightly comprehend, and yet - he watched Eindred set out with Severin’s walking stick to join the festival, and saw when Mykela took his hand. The barbarian’s stony expression softened, then melted as the girl tugged him after her.

It was the strangest of sensations, because while Severin didn’t strictly have a heart these days, watching the great Eindred meekly follow little Mykela made something in Severin’s incorporeal being ache with unexpected warmth.

Whatsmore, Eindred had been reading Severin’s journals and he would sometimes stop and stare about the hut, as if trying to picture the ghost of Severin’s life there. Once, Eindred draped a thick blanket over the back of one of the rocking chairs and ran his rough hands over it as he frowned contemplatively into the fire.

Summer had come and gone and Severin feared that parts of his soul had already begun to slip into that other-place. And so, with a tender sort of weariness, he drifted on the sunbeams cutting through the clean window glass, and watched with only mild annoyance as Eindred carefully tore a blank page from one of Severin’s journals.

Lips pressing together in focus, Eindred wrote in with small, precise letters, what appeared to be a list.

Confused, Severin drifted closer.

May your every loved one die screaming in pain.

I hope you die with your eyes stabbed out and your heart in your hands.

You will never know happiness.

Your existence will be suffering.

It was a list of curses, Severin realized. Morbid curses, by the looks of it. The last two, however, caught his attention.

May your greatest enemy rise from the grave and never leave you alone.

And,

May you live a life of safety and peace.

And Severin understood.

When Eindred set out from the hut, looking drawn but resolved, Severin began at once to gather his energy. It had been nearly a year since his death, and he feared that there might not be enough of him left to make a return. The second to last curse would help things along, but Severin knew it would be a mistake to rely on it.

And so, as Eindred entered the village, Severin stretched upward and out, calling wind and storm clouds with reckless, hopeful abandon. For his entire life, Severin had lived, certain in the knowledge that love and happiness were not meant for one such as he. How could they be? When a blade was foretold to make a home in his heart?

But Eindred had changed. And the patchwork pieces of tapestry were there, a life Severin had never dared to dream of, right there - if he could only summon the strength to reach out and grasp it.

Below, Eindred bowed his head before the townsfolk, confessing his part in the tragedy which played out on their soil. Above, Severin swallowed the skies and became the storm.

Severin felt it, distantly below, when the people in the village forgave Eindred. And he felt when Eindred’s bittersweet tears tickled the earth. He felt Eindred return to the hut, and then after pacing restlessly about, return at last to the pastures where it had all begun.

And then came Eindred’s pained voice, calling out from the fields below. “Severin!”

Eindred had never said his name before, and Severin, who was the clouds and the wind and the rain and the sky, rumbled his joy at the sound of it.

“It was my hand which ended your life,” Eindred continued. His deep voice was shaking. “And with your dying breath you gifted what I thought was a nightmare. Did you know that it would turn out to be a dream? I think you did.”

Just wait, Severin wanted to tell him, because he’d seen a future better still. The only question that remained was whether he had strength enough to reach it.

Rugged face upturned, Eindred called to Severin and the sky, which were one and the same. “Though it’s a dream, I’ll never know peace. How can I? When I live in the home of the one I so coldly murdered? I would leave, but the villagers have my heart - as they had yours. In this state, I don’t think I’ll ever truly know true rest or true peace - despite the great power of your curse.”

You will, Severin said, and lightning streaked across the sky. I will.

“Even now,” Eindred said, through wind and rain, “I’m not sure if you are my greatest enemy or ally.”

There it was.

His greatest enemy.

Severin, with every ounce of power he possessed, claimed the title. For he was the greatest enemy the old Eindred, warrior and killer, had faced. With his parting curse, Severin had forced the old Eindred to do the one thing he’d feared most of all: to live and face all he’d done.

Severin felt a rushing, coursing energy thrumming within and without and he knew that he must catch it and hold it, though he wasn’t sure how.

The tapestry threads, the wind whispered. Severin had spread so thin, his old friend was nearly a part of him now.

Severin listened, and felt for that thread which had teased and tickled his palm. And when he was sure he felt it, he wrapped himself around it and pulled. The sky around him screamed as he dragged himself forward toward something - something -

White light was all around him, and then it wasn’t. The air was cool and damp, and the evening sang with the wind’s gleeful gusts and the soft patter of rain on grass. Severin lifted a hand, and looked it over in tentatively blooming relief. Pressing the hand over his heart which beat with a strong, steady rhythm, Severin breathed a relieved, ragged sigh.

Eindred stood in the field, turned away from him. Drawing in a breath, Severin delighted in the sound of his own voice. “May your greatest enemy rise from the grave, Eindred, and never leave you alone.” He smiled as he spoke, and very nearly pressed his fingers to his lips to feel the shape they took when saying Eindred’s name.

Eindred turned. “So you are my greatest enemy then?” He sounded wary.

“I don’t think it’s so simple as that. Do you?”

Eindred’s expression shifted and he shook his head. When he next spoke, it was soft and fumbling, as if he still hadn’t fully adjusted to a world which was kind. “I made a chair,” he blurted out. “A few actually,” he added, rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

Severin wanted to say, I know. I saw. But that would require more explanation than he cared to give at the moment, so instead, he replied, “Do I get the new rocking chair or my old one?”

“Any,” Eindred stammered, “Either. Both?” He looked at Severin, and the earnest weight of his gaze held the promise of all the chairs Severin could want and anything else Eindred could possibly make with his scarred hands.

The fondness that bubbled up within Severin was so abrupt and filled him so thoroughly that he wanted to laugh with it. “Lucky for you, I only need one chair. You can keep the old one if you like it. I trust your craftsmanship.”

Severin turned then, because it was cold and every part of him felt so entirely bright and buoyant that he thought he might die if he didn’t move. However, when he realized Eindred was not following, he stopped. “Well? Are you coming?”

Eindred looked up, as if he’d been startled. “Where?” he called.

Standing there, sodden in the field, Eindred looked after Severin, as if he was afraid to hope - as Severin once had been afraid to do. And it occurred to Severin that Eindred would need to hear it said aloud.

“Home, of course. Where else?”

“Home,” Eindred repeated, as if confirming it to himself.

And when Severin turned again towards home, Eindred followed.

By the time they reached the hut, both were shivering from the cold, and as they crossed the threshold into the warm space, Severin swayed on his feet. He’d almost forgotten the immense power he’d used, and now the harsh ringing in his ears was a stark reminder. Warm, rough hands steadied him and when Severin tilted his head up, he saw that Eindred wore an expression of poorly concealed terror.

“I’m not going to die all over again,” Severin assured him. “I just used a lot of magic.” As he said it, he swayed once more, this time falling forward.

Eindred caught Severin again, one arm wrapped around his back and his other hand braced against his chest. Beneath where Eindred’s palm pressed, Severin’s heart thrummed. And Severin watched, curious, as Eindred’s expression twisted. He no longer claimed the title of warrior, Severin knew, but it was nonetheless with a warrior’s gravity that Eindred met Severin’s gaze.

“These hands will never again harm you. I swear it.”

“I know,” Severin replied, and pressed a hand over the back of Eindred’s rough knuckles. “Help me to a chair?”

Eindred did, and helped to remove Severin’s thick outer robe before Severin sank gratefully in front of the fire. Eindred left him a moment, and Severin closed his eyes. 

He intended to just rest them for a second - maybe two, but when Severin next opened his eyes, the room was darker and he was draped and bundled in blankets, softer and thicker than any he recalled owning. The fire was still crackling, and the warm light made soothing shadows dance across the hut’s wooden floor. The other chair was occupied, Severin realized, and he watched as the hearth’s orange light played across Eindred’s sleeping features. Compared to Severin’s mountain of blankets, he had just one draped over his lap, though he didn’t seem cold. Nonetheless, Severin shifted a bit, and peeled a soft fleece blanket off his own pile to toss it onto him. The blanket fell short, and with a quick whispered word, the wind slipped under the door and flipped the offending blanket up onto Eindred’s chest.

“That’s better,” Severin said.

The wind played a little with the fire before tousling Severin’s hair and departing with a sibilant, save your strength foolish human. You’re still recovering, and slipped out the way it had come.

When Severin turned back to Eindred, he saw the large man was sitting up and his eyes were now open. Blinking, Eindred rubbed a hand over his face and then, stiffening in sudden shock, he whipped to look at Severin. Heaving a great sigh, he rocked back in the chair. “Still breathing,” he said.

“I don’t plan on stopping.”

Something almost like a smile twitched at Eindred’s lips and Severin was enchanted by it.

“You were dead and now you’re alive. Forgive me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

“You’re the one who believes in silly curses.”

Eindred’s brows rose. “Silly? Says the one who was brought back from the dead by one.”

Severin waved a dismissive hand. “The curse might have set the stage, but I was director, crew, and cast.”

And there was another smile, like a glimpse of sun between clouds. Severin was beginning to fear there might be no practical limit to the lengths he’d be willing to go to see another smile.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Eindred replied. “I get the feeling you know a great deal more about the world and magics than I.”

“Well Eindred,” Severin said, scooting his chair a little closer to both Eindred and the fire. “What do you know of grand tapestries?”

Eindred, looking more than a little lost, shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one.”

“Well,” Severin said, and grinned. “What do you know of cheese?”

.

.

EDIT: A novel based on Eindred and the Witch and The Witch Who Spoke to the Wind is in progress! I will post news about it on my Tumblr and my Patreon as news becomes available :)

[violettelueur]

— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE FOUR || CURSE WOMB MUST DIE

↳ featuring : itadori yuji + fushiguro megumi + kugisaki nobara + ryomen sukuna + ijichi kiyotaka from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : swearing + violence + mention of blood + mention of poison + EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 23 february

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 6.1k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : girl of steel

↳ next episode : curse womb must die II

↳ barista’s notes : i am back again with another episode of jujutsu kaisen everyone ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆ i hope you guys haven’t gotten bored with this whole series, to be honest i forgot how long they take to write since it is a whole epsiode i am trying to retell with a new character in ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ ALSO i have created a masterlist for it as well as future stories i might write in the future! are you excited?  ʕ￫ᴥ￩　ʔ

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter

2.5 for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique

Destructive Curse Spell number one: Sho : 3:26-3:34

Binding Curse Spell number eighty-one: Danku : 3:03-3:07

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing

Shutting your dorm room door closed, you carefully wrapped yourself in the thin white cardigan you had brought out with you before quietly making your way outside the Jujutsu Tech dormitory wanting some form of fresh air due to your incapability to sleep for the time being.

As you began to walk around aimlessly, you quickly looked down upon your phone - nearly blinded by the brightness of the screen -  to find out that it was exactly 2 am making you come to the conclusion that everyone was probably asleep and that no one would find you out for the time being. 

To be honest, it wasn’t a surprise that you couldn’t sleep, it wasn’t like you never had these types of nights before. Although, they were becoming a bit more common than what you would have liked during your lifetime, especially at the age you were now where sleep was essential.

Finally making it to the track field (where you were supposed to be in the next few hours for training), you slowly crouched down to take a seat on the stone steps that lead to the tracks itself before cuddling into the warm cardigan since the light winds were slightly colder than what you have imagined.

‘It’s such a drag knowing that I have to be here, later on, to train with the second-years,’ you thought to yourself for a second before letting out a sigh of frustration, while running your hand through your hair as if it was some coping mechanism for the pending stress that was about to explode anytime soon.

“How long has it been?” you quietly uttered to yourself before looking onto the field as if there was something interesting insights or someone was going to answer your rhetorical question.

“A week? Two?” you continuously questioned yourself, before gently placing your hand on your upper arm as if you still felt the linger cursed technique you had used during the battle you had with him.

‘You possess such intellect, such skill, such power and such talent and yet you refuse to go against me with your full potential, are you mocking me?’

“Maybe,” you whispered your answer, before going back to the electronic device you had in your hand to open Spotify as you decided you needed something to fill up the silence with hint sounds of the wind, grasshoppers and passing cars that were surrounding you. 

However, before you could press play on the chosen song you deemed was quiet enough to play out loud, there was a sudden presence your felt from behind causing you to raise your index finger to hit them with some sort of curse spell to warn them only for a familiar voice to call out.

“It’s just me”

Turning your body around, you found a tall male with erratic hair standing behind you with a non-expressive face before looking down at the dog that was right beside him with what some people say a happy grin on its face. 

Turning back around, you shut your phone off before placing it in the pocket of your black joggers that you wore to bed, allowing the shikigami sorcerer to sit beside you with a gap while his divine dog took the opportunity to sit between the two bodies as it processed to rest it’s head on your shoulder, which you allowed since it was adorable not to deny.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked Fushiguro, as you processed to look onto the field while raising your hand to pet the dog’s head causing it to let out a happy sound before further resting itself upon your shoulder.

“Yeah..same for you?” Fushiguro then questioned, leading you to let out a hum in agreement to tell him you were in the same situation before silence took over between both you and him once again.

To be honest, the silence between you both wasn’t awkward at all, it surprisingly felt natural. Although, even if it was comfortable between you and Fushiguro, you both still have questions for each other, well rather Fushiguro had more questions for you than you had for him. 

He just didn’t know where to start.

“L/N?” Fushiguro called out quietly (so quiet that some people might not be able to hear), leading you to turn your head towards his direction while his divine dog’s head covered your vision slightly. “How strong are you?” he then asked, causing you to express a confused look before turning back to the track field in front of you as if you were trying to find the right response to answer his question as if it wasn’t an easy one to reply to.

“Not that strong,” you replied in a nonchalant tone, leading Fushiguro to look at you with widened eyes as your returned response didn’t make any sense to him. 

It really didn’t at all.

However, he didn’t have the strength to question your answer.

If he had listened to you back then, would your other classmate be alive with you all right now?

“Fushiguro?” you now called out causing the sorcerer to give you a hum informing you that he was listening in to what you had to ask or say. 

“How long has it been since that day?”

                                              ꕥ

The rain was currently pouring. However, it wasn’t too heavy nor was it too light but it was enough to make the mission that you, Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki were assigned to be eerier than it considered to be.

“Our window verified the curse womb three hours ago,” a man, who you recalled was named Ijichi Kiyotaka, mentioned before continued with, “once ninety per cent were successfully evacuated, they made the call to seal off the centre, citizens within a 500-metre radius has been evacuated, as well”.

‘Only ninety per cent? That means either the other ten are missing in there…..or dead’

“Ijichi-san, question,” Itadori stated before raising his hand as if he was in a classroom asking a teacher a question, “what’s a ‘window’ here?”

“A window is a member of Jujutsu Tech who can see curses, they aren’t sorcerers, though,” Ijichi explained as his arms were behind his back in a professional manner.

“Oh, okay,” Itadori muttered, as he understood the explanation that was given to him.

“Let’s continue,” Ijichi quickly stated as it seemed he had more information to be given to all four of you. 

“Detainee Block 2, at present, five detainees remain there with the curse womb, if this curse womb is the type that metamorphoses, we predict it will become a special-grade cursed spirit,” Ijichi announced in a serious tone causing you, Fushiguro and Kugisaki to express a stern look upon your faces.

‘Special-grade? Wouldn’t they make a special-grade sorcerer take the job instead of us? Unless….’

“Hey, so...I still don’t really understand what ‘special grade’ means,” Itadori expressed with an innocent face as he looked at the three of you leading Fushiguro and Kugisaki to give him the fed-up look, while you just shifted your eyesight at your classmate since you understood why he didn’t understand any of the terminologies that were thrown at him, your adoptive father wasn’t the best teacher when it came to non-practical work after all.

“Then allow me to explain it so even idiots can understand,” Ijichi stated as if he was calling Itadori an ‘idiot’ causing you to zone out of the quick lesson to look at the detention centre that was in front of everyone right now. From what you could sense, there was an overwhelming presence beginning to loom over from the building that the other sorcerers didn’t seem to feel causing you to look at Itadori will a worried expression since you knew he didn’t have control of the newfound cursed energy he had gained from eating Sukuna’s finger.

Looking around to make sure no one noticed you, you quietly went up to Itadori from behind before hovering your hand over the back of his neck before using your cursed energy for the spell you were trying to prepare for him in advance.

‘This should protect him for one hit if we come into a surprise attack, but there is nothing else I can do without the other’s noticing’ you thought in a frustrated mindset before silently taking a step back to where you were previous to make sure no one noticed that you had planted a protective spell on your classmate.

“That’s real bad!” Itadori shouted, causing you to zone back into the conversation that was in the process.

“Normally a jujutsu sorcerer on par with the cursed spirit would take on the mission. On a day like today, that would be Gojo-sensei,” Fushiguro explained into further detail, while Kugisaki seemed to now paint a worried expression on her face.

“I-I see,” Itadori stuttered as he looked at the erratic-haired sorcerer before looking around as he then asked, “so where is Gojo-sensei?” which made sense since none of the sorcerers in front of you had ever fought with a special-grade from what you could sense.

“Away on business,” Fushiguro answered in a serious tone, which caused Itadori to give him a confused look as he then stated, “he’s not someone who should be loafing around that school in the first place,”.

‘But that doesn’t explain why four first-years have been sent to deal with this situation...”

“Unfortunately, we’re constantly short-handed in this business, you’ll often have to undertake missions beyond your power,” Ijichi expressed as he pushed up his glasses. “The current case, however, is an abnormal one, and most urgent. Do not fight under any circumstances, if you encounter a special-grade, your options are to either run or die,” Ijichi then stated with a serious tone leading you to internally scoff at the warning he gave.

‘That’s easier said than done’

Even though you knew he cared about the safety of everyone that was preparing to go in, it was ridiculous to say to any sorcerer not to fight since once you knew once you encountered a curse, there was no way of getting out of the fight at all, you knew that from experience.

“Please just listen to your fears, do not forget that your mission here is strictly the verification and rescue of survivors,” Ijichi repeated.

“Sorry, but as we are talking those ‘survivors’ in there are most likely dead, there is only a one to five per cent chance that there are any survivors,” you commented with a straight face causing all three of your classmates to look at you with a surprised expression on what you just said, but before anyone could deny your statement.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, where’s Tadashi?!” a worried voice cried, causing everyone to look, only to find a woman waving her hand while guards tried to push her back, preventing her to come any closer to all of you.

“Is Tadashi...Is my son Tadashi all right?!” the woman asked in a panic, leading you to give her a sympathetic look before you slowly walked up to her with a calm expression on your face. 

‘If someone asks if someone is okay at the beginning of the mission, take it like a way a doctor calms down a patient or how a police officer informs the public about a case, dear. Imagine it from your perspective, you would want to know if I was okay, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yeah, I would mother’

“Ma’am, we are going inside to see if there is anyone else in the building, if we find your son, we will inform you as quickly as we can, is that okay with you?” you gently asked the worried mother since you needed to calm her down in the worst-case scenario that you, your classmates and she had to prepare for. 

Looking at you straight in the eye, she timidly nodded at you causing you to present her with a small smile to help calm her down further. “Please, I need you to step away for the time being since there is a possibility that someone has spread a poisonous gas throughout the centre, but I can not give you any more detail than I can offer,” you explained to her causing the mother’s expression to turned into a shocked one before dropping onto her knees as she grew numb.

“Please find my son,” she begged quietly as tears flowed down her face.

“We’ll try our best ma’am,” you answered her before turning back to your classmates as they looked at you with amazed faces since it seemed like you had done this a million times before - like a profession.

‘Let’s hope that one to five per cent change is in your favour’

“Fushiguro, Kugisaki, Gojo, we’re gonna save them!” Itadori announced in a determined tone causing everyone to turn to him with a determined expression on their faces.

“Of course we are,” Kugisaki answered.

                                          ꕥ

All four of you were now walking towards the entrance of Eushi Detention Centre’s Detainee Block 2 after you have given your black cloth bag that was holding your katana for Ijichi to hold since there was no need to hide the weapon anymore.

“Be careful,” Ijichi said, before raising his fingers to prepare the sleeve that was needed to consume the detention centre, so the outside world didn’t see what was going on inside.

Suddenly, a dark blue aura was cast onto the middle of the sky before slowly descending on all sides like a dome covering a plate of food causing the sky to darken to Itadori’s surprise.

“It’s becoming night!” Itadori shouted as he took a full preview of what was going on, leading Fushiguro to take a glance behind him to inform his obvious classmate that it was the veil Ijichi was placing.

“There’s a residential area nearby, so the barrier conceals us from the outside world,” Fushiguro explained, leading Itadori to express his amazement while Kugisaki gave him the irritated look as well comment since it was basic sorcerer knowledge to know what a veil was.

Suddenly, you heard a loud clap that echoed around the area causing you to look in the direction on where you heard it, only to see Fushiguro’s hands be in a position that was familiar to you.

“Demon Dog!” Fushiguro said before a shower suddenly took form from his to summon the white divine dog that you knew so well from the first time you met him to appear as it howled in response. “He’ll let us know if the curse gets close,” Fushiugro informed you all as the dog looked in his master’s direction.

“Oh, I see!” Itadori said in a light tone before he made his way towards the shikigami to pet it’s snow-white while chanting ‘good boy’ to it as he then expressed his gratitude for its support. However, it seemed like the dog was interested in something else as it stood up on its back legs to make its way towards you before whining as if it wanted something from you.

Looking down at the dog that was now staring at you with its yellow eyes, you couldn’t help but rub its head leading it to relish your affection that you were giving it as it moved it’s head further into your palm as if it can get more out of you.

“I think it’s time to go to Fushiguro don’t you think?” you asked the dog in a light tone, causing it to whine for a moment before going back to its master so it was prepared for the mission that it was about to undertake.

Pushing the door open, Fushiguro and Itadori were in front while Kugisaki and you were behind as everyone prepared themselves for what they were about to go into. “Let’s go,” Fushiguro stated before taking the first step leading the dog to follow in next as well for the rest of you.

However, before you took one step closer into the building you realised something was not what it seemed. From what you can recall, according to Ichiji, the building was said to be a two-story dorm and not the one, you were standing in front of right now, there was no possible way, it was too high up.

‘It’s not a maisonette, it’s too advanced for that,’ you thought as you continued to analyse the surroundings before concluding what you had dreaded, ‘it’s an incomplete Innate Domain, meaning the curse has already fully developed!”

“Hold up!” you shouted at the three sorcerers behind you causing them to pause before turning to look at you, only to find you staring up which led them to do the same leading them to realise why you had halted their movements in the first place.

“Right now, we’re in the middle of the development of an Innate Domain! Is there a door behind me?” you asked in a panic, causing everyone to look at you, only to discover the door had disappeared.

“Th-The door’s gone!” Itadori mentioned in a surprised tone causing you to look at him with widened eyes before turning around to only discover he wasn’t lying to you at all.

‘Shit! How the hell am I going to get everyone back safely? They don’t know how to deal with a special grade from what I can tell, let alone an incomplete Innate Domain’

“How?! We just came in through here, didn’t we?!” Kugisaki mentioned in a stutter as she pointed at the direction where the door should have been while Itadori nodded at her with a few cold sweats dripping down his face.

“What do we do? Ah, what do we do about this?” Itadori and Kugisaki sang as they danced in circles, in a way trying to ease their stress and the tension that came along with the whole situation nearly causing you to giggle at the sight.

“It’ll be fine, the dog remembers the scent of the entrance,” Fushiguro interrupted as he looked annoyed at the two dancers, while the mentioned dog looked back to check on everyone.

“Oh, my~” Itadori and Kugisaki warmheartedly expressed before they started to pet the dog once their mood was lifted with them shouted how they were going to give him jerky later and how much of a ‘good boy’ it was, letting the dog once again relish in the attention that it was being present with.

“You are way too calm!” Fushiguro angrily expressed at two since the mood didn’t match the setting they were in at all.

“You really are dependable, Fushiguro!” Itadori expressed with a grin causing Fushiguro to snap out of his anger. “Thanks to you, we’ll be able to recuse people and save ourselves, too!” Itadori then commented, leading Fushiguro to look at the ground before you suddenly decided to take the first step of carrying on since you were being cautious with the three other sorcerers with you.

‘How long has it been since I faced a special-grade in a fight?’

“Let’s keep moving,” the shikigami user commanded in a stern voice since he saw you making the first way through, letting the other two know that they needed to start moving as well.

While walking, there were the eerie echoes of your footstep causing you to wonder where the actual curse was before entering what seemed to be the centre of the domain. However, you suddenly paused leading the other three to wonder why you came to a halt before looking at the sight that you were looking in the direction of.

Being the first one to react, Itadori rushed to what seemed to be someone’s body - well half of it - and maybe as the second victim since there was a full skeleton that was seemed to be curled up in an excruciating way next to the main body causing you to give your condolences to whoever the person was before observing the area around you to make sure the mention special-grade curse wasn’t near at all.

“Atrocious,” Kugisaki commented in disgust as she stared at the corpses insight.

“That’s...three people, right?” Fushiguro questioned as he quickly took note of how many more victims or survivors there could be - if there were any at this point.

Crouching down, Itadori didn’t answer his classmate’s question, as he then tugged on the detention centre’s dark blue uniform to check the person’s identification, only to realise something that he didn’t want to happen.

“Let’s take this body back,” Itadori suddenly stated, causing confusion to rise within the group since they didn’t know what caused the salmon-haired boy to comment something like that.

“Huh?” Kugissaki asked in confusion.

“It’s that woman’s son,” Itadori regretfully stated, causing you to close your eyes before letting out an internal sign of disappointment before coming to the realisation that you weren’t really surprised at the outcome.

‘Sorry, Ma’am, it seemed the one to five chance wasn’t with you for today’

“But…” Kugisaki slowly stuttered out before being interrupted by Itadori as he then explained that the victim’s face wasn’t mangled and that they still had to give the body back to the mother since it wouldn’t be hard to accept that fact without the body, yet before he could carry on with the plan he was unexpectantly coming up with, he felt someone pull him back by the hood causing him to be surprised at the sudden movement.

“We have to find and verify two more, leave that body behind,” Fushiguro once again commanded, which caused Itadori to shout at him back as he didn’t understand why the body should be left behind.

“Quit joking around! We turned around, and the way we got in here was gone! We won’t be able to come back for it later!” Itadori stated.

“I didn’t say come back for it! I said to leave it behind!” Fushiguro argued back in the same volume of tone, trying to make Itadori understand the situation that they were in and it was not possible to bring the body back at all - there was no point to him. “I have no intention of risking my own life to save someone I had no intention of saving in the first place!” Fushiguro frustratingly stated, only leading Itadori to grab his collar in return as a way to rebuke.

“No intention of saving him? What do you mean?!” Itadori asked in a perplexed tone, confused on what Fushiguro meant when it was their mission to save the remaining survivors that might be in the centre right now.

“This is a juvenile detention centre, Jujutsu sorcerers are granted access to all information about the scene beforehand,” Fushiguro declared before continuing his explanation by stating, “this Okazaki Tadashi hit a little girl on her way home from school while driving without a license, it was his second offence of driving without a license,” leading Itadori to look at his friend in vexation and surprise at the news he was receiving about the man he was going to ‘save’.

“I know you’re stuck on saving lots of people and guiding them to proper deaths, but what are you going to do when someone you saved kills someone else in the future?” Fushiguro asked with a stern tone trying to make his point of view understandable to the boy in front of him.

“Then why did you bother saving me?!” Itadori cried out, as a way to rebuke his statement due to the situation of him being the vessel of Ryomen Sukuna, only to gain nothing but silence from the shikigami user in front of him as he tightened the grip on the collar he was grabbing.

“Oi stop being such drags, I didn’t come to Jujutsu Tech to hear your reasons for being a jujutsu sorcerer, get moving!” you demanded in a menacing tone before unhooking your katana that was secured on your lower back horizontally, preparing to use the weapon to separate them.

“Cut it out! Christ, what are you two doing?! You’re both idiots” Kugisaki shouted in equal frustration with you, as she made her way towards the two boys with her fists in the air.

“Think about the time and place if you-”

However, before she could continue the angry rant, she was suddenly sucked into the floor causing you to quickly react by trying to grab her hand, only to be too late when she was fully consumed into the hole that was created.

“Kugisaki?” Itadori called out in confused, only for Fushiguro to become shocked at the new situation that had occurred before turning forwards to see the sudden and dreadful outcome of his divine dog that was supposed to detect if any curses were near leading you to look at the same direction before suddenly feeling a presence of what you should have felt earlier.

‘If those two drags didn’t distract me with their argument, we shouldn’t have to worry about our wellbeing right now!’

“Itadori! L/N! We’re running, we’ll search for Kugisaki la-” Fushiguro panic before you suddenly screamed at both of them.

“DON’T MOVE!” you screamed, once you suddenly made eye contact on the curse that was standing right in near them, causing you to grip on your katana tighter as all three of you stayed completely still while you were coming up with a plan to see if you could put a distance between the curses and your classmate.

Suddenly, you saw Itadori’s shaky hand reach over to his weapon as he unleashed it from the leather casing before violently swinging it to cut the curse in some way, only for the sudden decapitation of his hand to be the result of his attempt causing massive amounts of blood to spill like a fountain.

“Itadori?” Fushiguro's voice shook while you were in the opposite of that mood right now.

Swiftly, you slide your feet around, landing between the boys before raising your katana making sure the tip on the black wooden casing was pointing at the special-grade curse’s face. 

“Destructive Curse Spell number one: Sho,” you chanted, causing your curse energy to travel from your arms to the length of your sword before a small shot of cursed energy to thrust its force against the curse’s face leading it to be violently pushed back against the concrete wall before turning towards Itadori with an angered expression, “I told you not to move and you decide to go against me!” you screamed in frustration before quickly turning back to look at the direction on where the special grade was flung in a confused but equally concentrated manner.

‘That curse spell isn’t even that strong, it’s my weakest, yet it managed to make it fly across the room, is it really a special grade by nature…..or did it eat something?’

“I can’t escape after it’s gotten this close! Hey, Sukuna! If I die, you die too, right?” Itadori determinedly asked, causing you to look at him with a startled expression.

‘Does this guy have a death warrant? Are you even listening to me?!’

“If you don’t want that, then help me out!” Itadori commanded leading you to further look at him like he was the craziest person in the world right now.

“Are you stupid?!” you screamed, only for Itadori to ignore you as Sukuna’s eye and mouth appeared on his cheek.

“Nope! Even if the parts of me inside you die, there are eighteen other fragments of my soul. Still, irritatingly enough, I don’t have control of this body, if you want to switch, go ahead and switch,” Sukuna taunted as he continued with his threats, “but once you do, I’ll kill that brat before the cursed spirit can, then I’ll go for that woman, she’s a lively one, I’ll have fun with her then I’ll go to her right there, she seemed like someone that knows how to fight,” leading you to place your weapon inches away from his eye.

“Stop talking, you’re making me lose concentration Sukuna,” you stated in a nonchalant tone before going back to find an explanation on why your cursed technique managed to give so much force to the special grade that was now starting to stand back up on its feet.

“I’m not going to let you do that!” Itadori declared in an inflamed tone, only for the King of Curses to taunt back without any hesitation.

“I bet! But if you’re too focused on me, your friends are gonna die,” Sukuna teased, causing you to look at the small eye and mouth with an annoyed look on your face.

“I said stop talking, you’re making me lose concentration,” you threateningly stated, only to suddenly realise that the special-grade was about to attack once again, leading to your cursed energy to flow from the palm of your hands to the tip of your fingers as your placed you left hand up like you were stopping someone.

“Binding Curse Spell number eighty-one: Danku!” you chanted, leading to the familiar large rectangular defensive wall to form in front of you, Itadori and Fushiguro, protecting you from cursed energy that the special-grade it was about to attack you with, but the concrete that wasn’t behind the wall didn’t seem to survive since the concrete turned into debris leaving evidence of its strength for you and Fushiguro to observe.

‘Pure cursed energy? So it doesn’t have any cursed techniques….ah what a drag…’ you concluded before turning to Fushiguro only to see him with widened eyes to that attack causing you to predict that he also thought the same thing as you.

“Fushiguro! Fushiguro! Fushiguro!” Itadori yelled out, trying to get the skikigami user’s attention before his third call caught his awareness as he turned to look at the screaming boy. “Take L/N and Kugisaki and get out of here!” Itadori demanded, causing you to look at him once again with an astonished look on your face, yet before you could grab his red collar in a way to argue his point, Itadori continued with, “I’ll keep this one bust until you three are out, as soon as you’re out, give me some kind of signal and once you do...I’ll switch with Sukuna,” to which Fushiguro screamed at his reckless plan. However, you were too focused on the curse in front of you, wondering why it was considered a special-grade then it took some sort of damage from a weak technique of yours.

As of right now, the curse seemed to be enjoying itself even when you managed to damage it and deflect its attack with two simple cursed spells. There was no point in letting your katana out of its wooden casing, it wouldn't be able to take the damage but there was the situation with Kugisaki being somewhere in the building as well, so there was a risk of taking your weapon out.

‘It’s definitely ate something, but what? There is a chance that it is Sukuna’s finger but that’s rare, besides it seemed like the fool hasn’t sensed anything from it to be his finger’

However, before you could even prepare your next attack to exorcise the curse to end the life and death situation Itadori and Fushiguro were in, you surprisingly felt someone grab your wrist before pulling you away from the battle that you had started leading you to look at the culprit to find out it was Fushiguro, who was dragging you away from the situation.

“What are you doing?!” you shouted before trying to pry your hand away from his grasp, only for him to tighten his hold in a way to not let you escape.

“We’re running, we need to find Kugisaki before giving Itadori the signal to get out of there,” Fushiguro explained in a stressed manner leading you to scream back at him on the thoughtless decision that had been made without your input.

“Are you crazy? You need to take back Itadori and let me fight that curse Fushiguro, he won’t be able to survive at all!” you yelled out in anger.

“Are you the crazy one? We don’t know what grade sorcerer you are and you want to exorcise that thing?!” Fushiguro argued back.

“So what makes Itadori capable? He doesn’t know how to control cursed energy or any techniques, TAKE ME BACK!” you panicked, only for his grip to tighten more at your comment of going back.

No one words were exchanged.

                                            ꕥ

Within a flash, you and Fushiguro managed to grab Kugisaki before she was devoured by the curse she was fighting against while both of you were trying to find her.

At this current moment in time, you were outside the exit with Kugisaki in Ijichi’s arm, Fushiguro on the floor tired from running while you were standing behind the other divine dog that was giving Itadori the signal. However, even though you knew the signal was for Itadori to switch with Sukuna, you were conflicted on the idea leading your body to move forward towards the entrance to enter again. 

However, you were stopped by the black dog using its body to push you back, once it was done with the signal it was giving to Itadori.

“Stop it!” Fushiguro stated as he stood up to put his arm in front of you to prevent you from moving forward. However, you were angry, pissed off and frustrated at this point.

“You should have listened to me, you drag!” you screamed at him before gripping the arm that was blocking your path. However, while you were looking at the erratic-haired sorcerer with pure rage in your eyes, Fushiguro was startled about the immense amount of cursed energy that was surrounding you as he was shocked that he didn’t notice it earlier when he had met you, it was alarming and intimidating to him as he didn’t even stand a chance to dominant his over you, it extended in power and strength than he had ever thought it would have.

How did you hide it so well?

                                             ꕥ

Currently, you were at the gated entrance to the Eushi Detention Centre, where you had laid Kugisaki down at the back seats of the car before closing the door to stand in the rain with Fushiguro - much to your annoyance.

“Please explain the evacuation area to ten kilometres,” Fushiguro stated in a serious tone since he didn't know what could happen next since Itadori was still inside the building. Expanding the evacuation area was the best thing to do right now.

“What about you and Gojo?” Ijichi asked in a worried tone as he turned to look at you both through the gap on the window of his car.

“We’ll wait here for Itadori to return,” you stated in a serious tone to which Ichiji understood since you were so adamant to enter back to the building despite the many attempts Fushiguro tried to stop you.

“After I take Kugisaki-san to the hospital, I’ll return as quickly as possible,” Ijichi declared, only for Fushiguro to give a discouraged look to him before stating, “no, there wouldn’t be much point in you-”

“I need you to come back but I want you to stay at least one kilometre away from the evacuation area, at this rate if Itadori has switched, I want you to be as safe as possible but in the end, if you don’t hear from us at least an hour when you come back, go back to Jujutsu Tech immediately,” you interrupted Fushiguro by pushing your body in front of him while giving Ijichi the instructions you needed him to hear since you didn’t know the possible outcome that this was going to go to. 

“If you can, please send a grade one sorcerer or higher but that won’t be necessary if I don't die,” you sternly commented, leading both Fushiguro and Ijichi to shiver at the statement you just announced.

Still shaken at what you had just said, Ijichi sent himself off before closing the window to prevent any cold raindrops from coming at him as he drove away from the area you and Fushiguro were standing in right now.

“If you don’t want to listen to me, I ain’t going to listen to you at all then Fushiguro,” you stated with a frown painted on your face before looking back at the building behind his body.

Taking your katana, you looked at the bottom of the handle to find a metal loop at the bottom with a red charm tied before it was simply slowly unwinded by you as you prepared for the worst that was about to come.

“What are you doing L/N?” Fushiguro asked in a worried tone, causing you to turn to look at him with a deadpan expression.

“Just preparing for the worst Fushiguro”

 © violettelueur 2021 : written and published by violettelueur - do not steal or repost

[hansoulo]

you’re just a bottomless pit

part one of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW - explicit language, allusions to violence, discussions of mild harassment, mentions of being royalty, kissing, choking, light non-descriptive smut, slight elements of dubcon, boba’s a big dick gotta be what you have amirite

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: this is empire strikes back boba when he was just fucking around and finding out so i took a lot of liberties with canon don’t @ me. i offer u this picture as a helpful visual aid. merry christmas xx

༓ series masterlist ༓ 

Darth Vader was to be a house guest, and you promptly dunked your head underneath your bathwater.

The perfumed pool burbled for a few seconds while you groaned, listless and in the throes of dramatics, but your attendant only clucked in sympathy. Mila was long accustomed to your disdain for the Imperials who had come to occupy more and more of the palace. So, it seemed, was everyone except the Imperials.

After a long moment you emerged from below the water, droplets of it clinging to your face and trailing into your mouth. “Another Lord?” you asked incredulously, groaning even louder when the servant nodded.

You swam the two short strokes it took to go from one end of the small pool to the other, then floated bare on your back and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “Is he the one with all the strange…” motioning towards your mouth, you made a vague gesture. “Apparatus?”

“I believe so, your Highness.”

Humming noncommittally, you let your gaze trail off for a moment and stood rightside up again before returning to the bath’s edge. Its intricate tiles were cluttered with bottles, little glass tinctures and oils and soaps that all wrapped themselves around the room in a heady, heavy incense. You inhaled deeply and sighed. Lord Vader with the strange apparatus.

You couldn’t remember a time before your father, the sovereign ruler of Quas Killam, was a puppet for the permanently stationed General and a yes-man for Emperor Palpatine. Then again, you supposed it wasn’t really his fault his planet just happened to be Mid-Rim and full of exactly what the Empire needed. Being a yes-man was probably the only thing keeping his planet intact during the civil war that was supposedly raging right now.

But it was hard to feel sympathy for a man who dressed you up like a paper doll and never let your mother talk.

A soapy sponge was brought up against your back, smelling of lavender. Closing your eyes, you let Mila’s motherly hands scrub at your shoulders and arms until the skin tingled in a pleasant burn.

You picked at the tile grouts with a polished fingernail, head swimming with rows and rows of grey uniforms and white shelled armor. “Wonder why they’re here this time,” you said, speaking softly to no one in particular.

“Princess, if I may...” the older woman began.

“You may.”

“I believe they’re building another weapons factory to supply the Empire, in the north fields. Lord Vader was invited to oversee its induction.”

You kicked your legs lazily in the water, half-asleep and lulled into slowness by the refresher’s warm steam. “And I suppose he’s bringing along an entourage?” you asked, already knowing the answer. They always did, those Imperial sorts. It was just a question of how many and for how long they decided to stay, having taken any real power from your family royalty years ago after they’d discovered the trinium mines your planet was known for.

Your title had rotted of its relevance, made even lesser by the fact that you were the youngest daughter of seven. Your infant brother was being groomed for ventriloquism and you, you were being groomed for obsoletion.

Mila’s hands, roughened by years of laundry and lye soap, rubbed warm oils into your skin. “There was talk of a bounty hunter, your Highness.”

Your eyes shot open.

A bounty hunter?

 ⫸ ——— ——————————————————————————— ⫷

You saw him a few weeks later, in the flurry of transport arrivals and mindless, droning ceremony. It was only a flash of his helmet, but it was enough to keep your imagination spinning for days.

Whispers from entreating servants and talk from stormtroopers that couldn’t keep their mouths shut had informed you of his reputation, his station, and his name. Boba Fett.

A particularly loose-lipped security droid regaled you with rumors of his being hired by Lord Vader, hunting a man named Han out in the Outer Rim. Quas Killam was on their way, apparently, good for information and heavy on the underworld dealings you’d always been shielded from. Truthfully, you didn’t much care. You knew no one got close to the Empire without blood on their hands. Whether they be kings or bounty hunters.

When you actually talked to the man, having been caught trying to eavesdrop on the chamber meeting he happened to be exiting the moment you leaned your ear against the door, any delusions of decorum were shattered the moment he opened his mouth. “Out of the way.”

You bristled, gathering up your skirts in a huff as you stepped away. Rude.

He was taller than you thought he’d be. Taller and broader than he looked before back on the cargo bay, a mere smudge in your peripheral vision. Now that he was alone save for you in the cavernous hallway, his words echoed on the marble tile. So much for espionage.

“My father’s in that meeting,” you replied shortly, putting on airs and doing your best to look like your mother, regal and cold.

Boba only stood there, thumbing the notches of his blaster until he caught the thin sparkle of the diadem crowning your head. A scoff, dismissive. “Then out of the way, princess.”

It wasn’t the title that bothered you. After all, it’s not like he was wrong. It was the way he said it. It was… it was patronizing! Condescending. Absolute inappropriate to a person of your station.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, more than a little attractive.

You shifted your weight onto one hip, scowling. “Don’t call me that.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, static-y and made even rougher by his helmet. “What? Princess.”

Stars, you heard that word a million times a day for a million different reasons. His saying it shouldn’t have felt so warm in your mouth.

Before you could volley back a reply, something equally biting and smarmy, the double doors he stood in front of began to groan open again.

“Better scram, little one.” Boba jerked his head towards the sound of your father’s advancing footsteps. “Daddy’s coming.”

⫸ ——— ——————————————————————————— ⫷

You often dreamed about what it’d be like to leave. Your title. Your station. All the bloody bores that came along with it.

But you had never even been outside the palace grounds. Probably never would, unless your father found someone willing to marry a low-ranking princess and hoisted you over their shoulder, a piece for a game you were never taught and never allowed to play. You’d already resigned yourself to that fact and half-way convinced yourself you were okay with it. But prisons were still prisons. Even if they were made of silk.

On the eve of Lord Vader's departure, everyone in the palace was preoccupied. Your father was most likely schmoozing some Imperial officer. Your mother, in bed with yet another headache. Your governess spent the day preening over your younger brother and your handmaiden was nowhere to be seen. You had a sneaking suspicion she was with one of the guards in a dark hallway.

So you slipped out behind a servant’s entrance and looked for a place to breathe.

Hardly anyone knew about this part of the palace gardens. It was sequestered behind so many winding footpaths and barely-oiled gates that the security droids never bothered patrolling past the main entrance, making it simple to duck underneath the overgrown hedges. The air was quiet; heavy-scented with all the flowers that had been planted and forgotten, left to grow wild across the footpaths and be crushed underneath your feet.

You used to come here quite often, when you were younger and it was easier to slip away. There were long spaces in your memory made of cotton, with hazy sun-soaked afternoons and the fountain that somehow still spouted out streams of cold water from the hands of a statue, some relic of an ancient ruler who had long since died. It was only a small courtyard, made smaller by the thick surrounding hedges and large chunks of cobblestone, but it felt like a whole galaxy to you.

A few minutes passed, then an hour. Two hours. A long, slow, summer stretch of day that just confirmed the fact of your irrelevance. It was filled in only by the mindless reading of your holopad and a few short naps. But better out here alone than stuck back inside, surrounded by those insufferable stormtroopers.

Maybe you spoke too soon, because a few seconds later you were toe-to-toe with Boba Fett, your back pressed to the garden wall. Stars, you didn’t even hear him walk in.

You’d think by now you would have learned to be more careful. Listening and being listened in on.

The helmet tilted up and then down, examining your sour expression. Rolling your eyes, you slumped against the ivy-covered brick, still smarting from your encounter with him a few days prior. “Why are you here?” A haughty, affected wave of your hand. “Were you sent here to fetch me?”

The man straightened out, stepping back from you with a broadening of his already broad shoulders.  Chips in his armor reflected tiny bits of sunlight, little silver speckles on green armor that looked even greener surrounded by wild flora. He hunted people for a living, so the fact that you were made quick work of didn’t really bother you. Still, it was a bit disappointing. Having to go back to the palace was the last thing you wanted.

“The king was concerned for your safety.”

Oh for Maker’s sake. “You mean he was concerned for his reputation.”

“I was told to find you-”

“-and bring me back so I could sit in a parlor and be supervised like a child.”

“Princess,” he sighed.

There was that word again.

A heavy swallow bobbed the lump in your throat, your chest flushed and littering the space between your bodies in a low buzz. You narrowed your eyes, not trusting your own head for something more articulate, and spit the question out. “What?”

He motioned towards the footpath, one hand resting on his belt. “Let’s go.”

You only crossed your arms with a raise of an eyebrow, mind floating an acknowledgement that you were very much acting like a child who needed to be supervised.

“I don’t make a habit of tracking down spoiled royalty.”

No one had ever called you spoiled before.

It was sort of refreshing.

The man cut an imposing figure, you’d give him that. With the helmet and blaster and��� armor and such. You weren’t even entirely sure you remembered to put on real shoes before coming out here, still slippered and in stocking feet. What a pair you must’ve made. Incongruous.

You cocked your head and leant against the wall with the fabric of your dress swishing out around your ankles. Caught by warm, humid winds, its layers separated themselves into thin sails before falling down together again. Rhetorical questions were blooming alongside flowers. “Are spoiled royalty below your paygrade, then?”

A tip of his helmet said yes, yes they are.

You supposed as such, with the sort of reputation he had. Skilled bounty hunter. Feared mercenary. Expensive and coveted.

A lap dog.

Maybe there was more in common between you than you thought.

Another breeze whistled past, but the man in front of you was silent. “Well,” you finally spoke, brushing away the imaginary dirt on your dress. “I don’t make a habit of following around strange men, so we’re in a bit of a bind.”

There was an edge in his voice when you moved to walk away, a gloved grip snaking up and resting a deadweight on the back of your neck. You pushed up against him. Lothcat and mouse. You were both, but he was too. “I’m not telling you again, Princess.”

If he called you that again you were sure something would happen. What that something was you had no idea, but the epithet, mocking as it was, felt too good soaking in your sternum for it not to be a catalyst.

A breathy smirk left your lips when your hips canted downward and the gauzed fabric of your dress caught on his cuisse plate. “If I didn’t know any better,” you whispered, reaching to flatten your palms across his chest, “I’d say you almost enjoyed chasing me.”

The hand on your nape tightened and his leather fingerprints dug unspoken threats into your skin that simmered, burning up and down your spine. You faked a pout. “Shame you already caught me, isn’t it?”

The grip surrounding you loosened just slightly, letting your back slide down the garden wall whose ivy-covered stone dragged at your bodice back. A small voice chirped up in the back of your head, chiding you for dirtying the delicate fabric before you willed it away, done with listening.

Boba almost growled. “Don’t push your luck.”

“My, my,” you clucked, shaking your head. Your fingers trailed towards the edges of his helmet and traced stripes where his brow bone would be. They were gold. For vengeance. “Aren’t we feeling insolent today?”

The man underneath the beskar scoffed, the palm that was at the back of your neck now wrapping itself around your outstretched wrist and pulling your hand away. You let out a quiet whine of protest, both at the loss of contact and just to see what it might do to him to hear it. When he stiffened, leaning away with every muscle seeming to tense and release and tense again, you were unreasonably pleased. There was still red blood underneath all that red paint.

Boba’s voice was clipped when he finally replied; the vowels came through strained and raspy. “I could say the same for you.”

Yes, he probably could, couldn’t he?

Then again, maybe your two wrongs could cancel out into being right and not at all compromising.

It’s not like you really did anything erroneous. Well, besides the running away part. But that was par for the course for you. All that was new was… him. And his hands. And his being alone with you. Which could possibly be construed as something wrong and compromising but how wrong could it be, really, if neither of you did anything?

Of course, this all hinged on neither of you doing anything. Compromising.

“Take the helmet off and I’ll go with you,” you offered, knowing how juvenile you sounded. You just wanted to see if he’d hear you. If he’d listen.

He did.

Boot spurs clinked as he stalked towards you, closer than he was before. It was invasive; almost chest to chest with no room for breathing as you were pushed up against the wall again, and you were met with the revelation that whatever you were toying with was probably a really, really bad idea.

Static filled your ears from the husk of his vocoder. “You know I can take you back whether you want to or not.” The roof of your mouth went dry and you remembered how Boba’s palm spanned the entire back of your neck, cradled delicately by leather fingers. He could crush your throat in one hand. Squeeze until you went limp. You wouldn’t be able to stop him. “I don’t need your permission.”

Your thumbs reached up to the lock mechanisms on either side of his head anyway. “I know.”

Fire felt good when you were close enough to be warmed by it. Whether or not you’d be burned was left to be seen.

The helmet lifted with a soft click.

Truth be told, you’re surprised he let you do it.

You dangled the helm almost carelessly by your hip, curling your fingers around the lip of it whilst your other hand stayed hovering near his face. He looked a bit older than you imagined, mid-thirties maybe, scarred and stern-looking. Handsome.

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead but all you wanted—stupid, stubborn, and yearning for a plaything—was to feel the black curls cropped close to his ears. Which probably counted as compromising.

Without the modulator Boba’s voice was deeper, the rumbling kind of richness that was used to giving orders and used to having them followed. It bore down on you as a concrete weight. “I’m not a kind man, princess.”

He forgot that you were used to giving orders too.

The coarse material of his collar chafed your palm as you held it, gripping a lifeline, and tilted your mouth up to his ear. The softness of your voice disguised your intention. It sounded innocent when you whispered it. Gentle, even. “I never said I wanted you to be.”

His lips bruised you and tasted like salt.

It was all tongue, teeth, barely cloaked violence, pressed until your throat felt raw and your heartbeat dropped below the ground to join whatever was left of your dignity. When your knees buckled, a gloved hand settled large between your shoulder blades.

You didn’t think your first kiss would be like this.

Hypothetically it would have been clinical, fumbling and awkward in your own inexperience. Out in front of a crowd somewhere after you met the eyes of a stranger at the altar. Or maybe in secret, like it was now, with a tryst of boyhood and a peck on the cheek.

Boba Fett was a stranger, but he wasn’t a boy. And this wasn’t a peck on the cheek.

You didn’t realize he had lifted you up by your hips until you were placed back down again, his having crossed the few steps from the wall to the nearby fountain with arms firmly wrapped around your middle and not so much as a strain of his hips. His strength should have scared you. It did scare you, a little, but the same hands that had gripped the blaster still at his side were deceptively gentle around your waist. You let yourself be brought down by his bended knees.

“Easy there,” Boba said, still crouching on the ground beside you as you slowly lay back on the lip of the waterwork, white noise burbling from the quiet fixtures. The flat, curved slab surrounding the shallow pool was wide enough that you needn’t worry about balancing, speckled gray stone warmed from weather and soon by skin. There was one moment where Boba allowed you to catch your breath and then it was gone, knocked out of your lungs in another assiduous touch.

“Poor thing,” he mocked, sardonic even as he cooed gently into your open mouth. Your back arched in an unwitting presentation and blood pounded a drumbeat in your ears. All you could see was Boba; his face and his shoulders and his arms braced beside your head, leaning over your horizontal form. Like you were prey. Maybe you were. “What would your father say if he saw you like this?”

He wouldn’t be able to say anything. Would stand there, mouth agape and his eyes doing that strange bulging thing it always did when you did anything besides sew embroidery squares. Fainting wasn’t out of the question. It would be ridiculously fun to watch.

You huffed, chasing Boba’s mouth with your own when he shifted above you. The midday sun hung high, edging the bounty hunter’s tanned face in white. You could see your own eyes in the reflection of his pupils, could smell his warm skin. His canines scraped your collarbones. Everything was fast, blurry, and burning.

Stars above.

The whole situation was ridiculous. Twenty minutes ago you’d never been kissed on the mouth and now you were letting a killer-for-hire grope you like you were a back-alley harlot.

It wouldn’t end well. You’d curse after he left and hate yourself for letting him stay, because his staying would be brief and shallow and cruel, but right now, lying on the edge of a fountain with sunshine on your neck and a low voice in your ear, staying was the only thing you wanted him to do.

What an egregious lapse in judgement.

What a beautiful, electrifying lapse in judgement.

“You’re so—” a slurred pitchiness invaded your vocal chords, coating everything in bitter syrup. Your jaw was starting to numb from unforgiving lips. “—so rude,” you choked out, mind struggling to find footing amid its own dizziness. You felt like an overheating droid, full of bad code and faulty wiring that made your words and your actions discordant because even as you insulted the man, your hands were curling around his shoulders to pull him closer. “Always so rude, so… so mean to me. Makes me want—” you panted, voice breaking off into a whine when a calloused palm slid across the back of your thigh, “...want…”

His accent curled the consonants into a dance. “Want what, Princess?”

Expectant in their heaviness but teasing a smile in their lined corners, Boba’s eyes were the color of charred umber. Squirming in his arms, you nosed your face into the junction of his collarbones. “Want you,” you finally mumbled, admitting it in one long, pathetic exhale.

His promise had sharp teeth.

“You can have me.”

[bamf-jaskier]

What the fuck are the Trials

Since the show is based on the books and not the games, and more people are more familiar with the games that the books, I thought it might be helpful to sort of officialize the posts I’ve done about specific topics in the books. 

Here are the previous posts on Triss&Geralt as well as Coën

TLDR: So looking at this process, according to the books the way a Witcher becomes, well a Witcher looks like this:

There is the Choice which is the decision to become a Witcher made when you are a child

Eat a lot of magic mushrooms that give you the strength and ability Witchers are known for

Then the Trial of the Grasses which is a concoction of mutagenic elixirs injected into the bloodstream which mutates you into a Witcher

Then finally there are the Changes. This is a big step and one that requires a mage. This is when the hormones are changed and a Witcher becomes permanently sterile

then there is training until you earn your medallion and BOOM, out onto the path with you

Now, have a post about what the trials are as far as the books are concerned

It’s important to note that in the books, The Witcher are a dying breed so the Trials are really only mentioned in Blood of Elves when Ciri trains with the Witchers and the two prequels, Sword of Destiny and The Last Wish. 

Let’s start out with the basics of the Trials, here is a passage from Blood of Elves where Triss is wondering why the Witchers at Kaer Morhen are being so secretive in regards to Ciri:

“It’s obvious. They want to mutate the child, subject her to the Trial of Grasses and Changes, but they don’t know how to do it. Vesemir was the only witcher left from the previous generation, and he was only a fencing instructor. The Laboratorium, hidden in the vaults of Kaer Morhen, with its dusty demi-johns of elixirs, the alembics, ovens and retorts… 

None of the witchers knew how to use them. The mutagenic elixirs had been concocted by some renegade wizard in the distant past and then perfected over the years by the wizard’s successors, who had, over the years, magically controlled the process of Changes to which children were subjected. And at a vital moment the chain had snapped. 

There was no more magical knowledge or power. The witchers had the herbs and Grasses, they had the Laboratorium. They knew the recipe. But they had no wizard.”

Later:

“And now they want to mutate the girl but can’t. And that might mean… They may ask me to help. And then I’ll see something no living wizard has seen, I’ll learn something no living wizard has learned. Their famous Grasses and herbs, the secret virus cultures, the renowned, mysterious recipes…”

Now, what Triss doesn’t realize is that Geralt and the others are not planning on subjecting Ciri to the trials at all but are instead trying to hide Ciri’s magical ability from Triss. They are worried she will report them to the Chapter. 

Of course, until they tell Triss this, she is deeply suspicious and goes on to talk about the mushrooms Witchers have access to which are extremely unique. 

“Of course, thought Triss. They’re feeding her those legendary cave saprophytes – a mountain plant unknown to science – giving her the famous infusions of their mysterious herbs to drink. The girl is developing quickly, is acquiring a witcher’s infernal fitness. Naturally, without the mutation, without the risk, without the hormonal upheaval. But the magician must not know this. It is to be kept a secret from the magician. They aren’t going to tell me anything; they aren’t going to show me anything.”

Later:

“I don’t give a fig for your trust, witchers. There’s cancer out there in the world, smallpox, tetanus and leukaemia, there are allergies, there’s cot death. And you’re keeping your “mushrooms”, which could perhaps be distilled and turned into life-saving medicines, hidden away from the world. You’re keeping them a secret even from me, and others to whom you declare your friendship, respect and trust. Even I’m forbidden to see not just the Laboratorium, but even the bloody mushrooms!”

Triss as a mage has extreme bias against the Trials and for good reason! Most of the populace doesn’t have access to any information on the Trials outside of vague ideas but Mages have access to first hand accounts such as this from Blood of Elves: 

“On the third day all the children died save one, a male barely ten. Hitherto agitated by a sudden madness, he fell all at once into deep stupor. His eyes took on a glassy gaze; incessantly with his hands did he clutch at clothing, or brandish them in the air as if desirous of catching a quill. His breathing grew loud and hoarse; sweat cold, clammy and malodorous appeared on his skin. Then was he once more given elixir through the vein and the seizure it did return. This time a nose-bleed did ensue, coughing turned to vomiting, after which the male weakened entirely and became inert.

For two days more did symptoms not subside. The child’s skin, hitherto drenched in sweat, grew dry and hot, the pulse ceased to be full and firm – albeit remaining of average strength, slow rather than fast. No more did he wake, nor did he scream.

Finally, came the seventh day. The male awoke and opened his eyes, and his eyes were as those of a viper…”

~Carla Demetia Crest, The Trial of Grasses and other secret Witcher practices, seen with my own eyes, manuscript exclusively accessible to the Chapter of Wizards

When most people think of the Trials, they are thinking similarly to Queen Calanthe in Sword of Destiny. 

Here is what Calanthe says to Geralt when talking about what he might do with his child surprise: 

“You are astonished,’ she stated. ‘Well, I’ve studied a little. Since Pavetta’s child has the chance of becoming a witcher, I went to great pains. My sources, Geralt, reveal nothing, however, regarding how many children in ten withstand the Trial of the Grasses. Would you like to satisfy my curiosity in this regard?’

‘O Queen,’ Geralt said, clearing his throat. ‘You certainly went to sufficient pains in your studies to know that the code and my oath forbid me from even uttering that name, much less discussing it.’

Calanthe stopped the swing abruptly by jabbing a heel into the ground. ‘Three, at most four in ten,’ she said, nodding her head in feigned pensiveness. 

‘A stringent selection, very stringent, I’d say, and at every stage. First the Choice and then the Trials. And then the Changes. How many youngsters ultimately receive medallions and silver swords? One in ten? One in twenty?”

Later Calanthe asks Geralt:

“Do you believe a Child of Destiny would pass through the Trials without danger?’

‘We believe such a child would not require the Trials.’

‘One question, Geralt. Quite a personal one. May I?’

He nodded.

‘There is no better way to pass on hereditary traits than the natural way, as we know. You went through the Trials and survived. So if you need a child with special qualities and endurance… Why don’t you find a woman who… I’m tactless, aren’t I? But I think I’ve guessed, haven’t I?’

‘As usual,’ he said, smiling sadly, ‘you are correct in your deductions, Calanthe. You guessed right, of course. What you’re suggesting is impossible for me.’

‘Forgive me,’ she said, and the smile vanished from her face. ‘Oh, well, it’s a human thing.’

‘It isn’t human.’

‘Ah… So, no witcher can—’

‘No, none. The Trial of the Grasses, Calanthe, is dreadful. And what is done to boys during the time of the Changes is even worse. And irreversible.”

Later:

“The risks are too great,’ Geralt said quickly. ‘As you said. At most, four out of ten survive.’

‘Dammit, is only the Trial of the Grasses hazardous? Do only potential witchers take risks? Life is full of hazards, selection also occurs in life, Geralt. Misfortune, sicknesses and wars also select. Defying destiny may be just as hazardous as succumbing to it. Geralt… I would give you the child. But… I’m afraid, too.’

Then in The Last Wish, Geralt describes his own experiences with The Trials:

“Kaer Morhen…That's where the likes of me were produced. It's not done anymore; no one lives in Kaer Morhen now. No one but Vesemir. Who's Vesemir? My father. Why are you so surprised? What's so strange about it? Everyone's got a father, and mine is Vesemir. And so what if he's not my real father? I didn't know him, or my mother. I don't even know if they're still alive, and I don't much care.

“Yes, Kaer Morhen. I underwent the usual mutation there, through the Trial of Grasses, and then hormones, herbs, viral infections. And then through them all again. And again, to the bitter end. Apparently, I took the changes unusually well; I was only ill briefly. I was considered to be an exceptionally resilient brat…and was chosen for more complicated experiments as a result. They were worse. Much worse. But, as you see, I survived. The only one to live out of all those chosen for further trials. My hair's been white ever since. Total loss of pigmentation. A side effect, as they say. A trifle.

“Then they taught me various things until the day when I left Kaer Morhen and took to the road. I’d earned my medallion, the Sign of the Wolf's School. I had two swords: silver and iron, and my conviction, enthusiasm, incentive and…faith. Faith that I was needed in a world full of monsters and beasts, to protect the innocent. As I left Kaer Morhen, I dreamed of meeting my first monster. I couldn't wait to stand eye to eye with him. And the moment arrived.”

So looking at this process, according to the books the way a Witcher becomes, well a Witcher looks like this:

There is the Choice which is the decision to become a Witcher made when you are a child

Eat a lot of magic mushrooms that give you the strength and ability Witchers are known for 

Then the Trial of the Grasses which is a concoction of mutagenic elixirs injected into the bloodstream which mutates you into a Witcher 

Then finally there are the Changes. This is a big step and one that requires a mage. This is when the hormones are changed and a Witcher becomes permanently sterile

then there is training until you earn your medallion and BOOM, out onto the path with you

This is why it’s such a big deal that Triss was brought to Kaer Morhen. Without a mage, someone cannot become a full Witcher and Triss believed that was why she was there. Of course, this wasn’t true but it’s a valid concern to have. 

One thing I want to note, there is absolutely NOTHING in the text that says that being a Witcher is limited to any sort of gender boundary. The fact that Triss so readily jumped to Ciri becoming a Witcher and the fact that Geralt didn’t specify  boys until he was talking about the sterilization process...well, there is a likelihood female Witchers actually existed. 

Again, in the books Witchers are a dying breed and you can literally count on one hand the number of Witchers we meet. Of course, considering mages are the ones who made Witchers, it makes sense that female Witchers are either strongly discouraged, banned or simply not talked about. 

One big point Triss has against Ciri’s training is that she won’t “develop” correctly like a woman “should” due to the mushrooms and harsh training and considering how so many northern mages place importance on beauty I could definitely see mages not wanting to have female Witchers, considering it a “perversion”. 

Just a fun thought I often have about the books that I haven’t seen anyone point out. 

So overall, here is what the books have to say about the Trials, it’s a touch different from the games but I find this very fascinating and interesting. Let me know if you want me to do a specific topic or relationship next, but for now, thanks for reading!

[evakuality]

Matteo - Episode one

Okay bear with me.  I know I’ve talked about this season a LOT over the last couple of years but I’m not going to do a rewatch (or first watch in some cases) of the Druck seasons and not include this one.  And knowing me, I will be very verbose about this one because I do just love it so much.  Even though I already talked about it at length.

So, to mix things up, I decided to watch this one in real time mode.  Which has been both lovely (revisiting what it was like to follow along with everything back then) and really frustrating (revisiting what it was like to wait for clips back then).  But it’s been a good exercise, particularly with this episode because I didn’t get truly involved in the show til a couple of weeks later so there’s a lot I missed in terms of social media etc the first time around.  So let’s start there.

Social media: It was nice to get the stuff leading in to this season which I hadn’t seen before.  The decisions around moving into the new place and getting Matteo involved etc were all super cute.  I liked the stuff with Sam after her party and how they kept that story - at the time it must really have felt like an immersive thing moving from Mia’s story to Matteo’s.  The stuff around the flatwarming party is interesting too.  Matteo and Sara’s posts make it seem like they’re at two different parties.  Matteo’s has barely and hint of Sara at all whereas hers makes it seem like they were joined at the hip all evening and super happy together.  And then even through the week her things were much more focused on Matteo (and on Leonie’s crush on David) whereas again, with his Sara only comes up if he’s asked about her.  I know it’s very clear in the clips as well, but honestly, the texts and instagram posts etc really make it clear how much she had built this up in her head vs how indifferent he is to it.  One really interesting one is where she asks Leonie not to spread it around that she and Matteo are together.  It suggests that she already knows this isn’t what she wants it to be, but either through desperation or naivety or by lying to herself, Sara doesn’t allow herself to see it.  It’s very sad for her and I do feel for her a lot more than I ever did for Emma.

Clip one: I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again now.  I really really love this clip.  It’s a perfect introduction both to Matteo’s PoV and to all the themes of the season.  Matteo is surrounded by people through the whole thing, and on the surface and from the outside it probably looks like he’s slotted in and having a great time - he talks, he dances, he appears to be having a good time and his social media is curated to make it appear that way too.  But it’s clear since we’re in his PoV that he’s actually isolated and on the outskirts of what’s going on.  That’s done both in the music and sound (the way he fades in on the discordant, out of place note will always always get me as well as the way that the chatter and ‘reality’ of the party only comes into focus when Sara makes him kiss her) and in the conversations that are held.  The way the boys really do just focus on sex sets us up for Matteo’s explosion later where he accuses them of only talking about sex - which is sadly fairly true in these earlier episodes.  And Matteo tries to join in but all he manage is ‘that looks exhausting’ and ‘you bet’ when asked about him and Sara.  The fact that his contribution is about how exhausting sex (and by extension relationships) must be is really telling of his mind set.  Everything is too exhausting for him and he’s not ready to put in much effort at all.  The isolation goes deep with this boy and it’s all already so well shown in this first clip.  I like that we got hints of that through Mia’s season as well (and the seeds were planted in Hanna’s - what with his tagging along to the cabin and his stuff with his family etc etc), and so while this is a much more closed off and sad Matteo than we’ve seen before it’s not come out of the blue.  The fact that he’s still curating his social media to look like he’s happy and connected also reminds us that what we saw before isn’t necessarily what the truth was.

Clip two: I like how Matteo, unlike Isak, is clearly already very well aware of his feelings and his attraction to boys.  His pining over Jonas is both obvious and very sad.  He’s well aware that he can’t let anyone know, and the reminder with the number on Jonas’s arm is gut wrenching for him and for us to watch.  And then scattered through the whole episode is a lot of reminders that Jonas is a ‘player’ now - it’s shown by Jonas himself, by the boys teasing him, by Hanna’s sad little ‘I’m happy for him’ message etc etc.  And all of it serves to remind Matteo that he can never have what he’s wanted for so long.  So it’s no wonder that he removes himself from the situation to go get rolls or whatever it was that he bought.  The ‘I’m waiting for you’ banter would absolutely be the last straw.  Jonas can joke that he wants a guy, but Matteo knows that he’s not going to ever be able to have it be true for real.  As an aside, I can see why a lot of people thought Jonas might be GerEven at the time because a) Matteo’s thing has always been a lot more obvious and b) Jonas seems much more open and willing to consider the ideas.

Clip three: Well, I don’t have a lot to say about this one.  Except that !!!!! this first ‘meeting’ with David is so good and so well done and it works to rock both of them out of their little ruts and makes them both ‘wake up’ in a way.  It’s nothing, just a chance meeting in a hallway, two boys passing then looking back at each other.  But we can see just how much that one glance affected Matteo as he walks off and while we don’t see it in David as yet, he also makes reference to how knocked off course he felt when he met Matteo.  I have always liked that they’re in the same year and so on a real equal footing from the start and this is all part of that.  This moment affects both of them equally, knocking them out of their complacency, and it’s such a perfectly framed and filmed and edited moment.

Clip four: One thing I hadn’t noticed til this time around is that the girl who ends up sitting next to Jonas was at the back of the classroom, already sitting at a desk, earlier.  She obviously saw her moment and scrambled to take it - the second Matteo was out of his seat, she was in it.  Perhaps news of Jonas’s new ‘player’ status is getting out and she wants some of that action.  I really like that Matteo and Amira already clearly have a much more friendly history than Isak and Sana.  They’re both forced to work together by circumstances and a teacher, but here there’s already more of a history.  Also, correct me if I’m wrong, but Sana came to Isak but here Matteo goes to Amira.  That’s because of course Matteo more obviously stashed the weed on Amira and so he immediately knows who has it and where he has to go to get it back.  But it again makes him more proactive than Isak was at this early stage.  Amira is rightfully pissed at him - Sana was defending a friend from Isak’s shitty behaviour, Amira was herself affected and so she is much more firmly involved and has more reason to be cold.  Which works because in general Amira is softer and less aggressive and cold than Sana is so it fits for her to be directly angry for herself.

Clip five: ugh, so uncomfortable!!!  Sara is trying really hard to actually communicate with Matteo, and kudos to her for actually using her words, but it’s so painfully obvious how awkward and artificial this conversation is.  It’s not really a surprise that she doesn’t feel like this is totally settled as yet and asks Leonie to keep it to herself.  On the one hand, he agreed that they’re together (after making her make the decision) but on the other hand, he broke away from kissing etc so they could watch something together.  His words may be saying what Sara wants to hear, but his body language etc is saying something entirely different.  She deserves a whole lot better than Matteo and the way he’s using her, but I guess this is how it can be - he’s cute, he’s not totally rejecting her and so she lets herself believe.  

Clip six: well, again.  This clip does such a good job of properly introducing David with several hints to what’s going on with him but no actual answers.  It’s another example of two people talking at cross purposes, but where Sara lets it drop and the conversation dies out once she hears what she wants to hear, here David picks it up again once Matteo backs off.  Again, they are a good pair - equally invested and equally willing to set and respect boundaries and try to make connections in a safe way.  Imagine how this must look to David - this boy who did shake his world up a bit in their one small moment together (as another aside - ugh the wait between that first sight and this one is so long in real time!!!), is intriguing and interesting and asks him to go smoke with him.  Which is all very cool and David wants these connections and to make friends and this boy clearly appealed to him in some way at that first meeting.  But also, this boy is asking all kinds of invasive question which threaten the things David is trying to keep private, for example the pressing of ‘you’re new’ and how ‘weird’ it is to change schools at this point.  It’s no wonder David goes cold and distant and does his best to stay aloof.  But then of course Matteo respects that boundary and pulls back and so then David is able to make connections in a safer way, talking of things that matter to him but which aren’t quite so confronting for a first chat.  Detroit, running away etc and Matteo shows that he gets it and understands those impulses.  And so by the end they’ve fairly quickly established a connection and a rapport and so Sara’s intrusion is unwelcome to both of them.  Given that David literally runs away when she appears, I wonder how much he knows of her from their shared class.  She certainly doesn’t seem to know much except that he’s the guy Leonie likes.  Speaking of which, Matteo’s ‘I think that’s someone else’ is so bizarre in this situation.  He’s talking to a ‘new’ kid at school and Sara made it clear that Leonie likes the new kid, so he shouldn’t be surprised.  But it’s obvious he already wants David for his own and acknowledging that Leonie may also like him is too much, I guess.  After Jonas and his string of people hanging off him, I doubt Matteo wants to be caught up in something similar with David.  We’ve already seen how painful a crush on an uninterested guy is for Matteo and how much of himself he has to hide away - no wonder he wants David to be ‘someone else’ and actually be someone he can think about in that way after they started to make a connection.

[binniesthighs]

call me babydoll | reader x chan

a/n: ahhhhh holy holy heck this chapter is SO DAMN EXCITING hehehe I had sosososo much writing and doing all the research!! please let me know if there is anything factual/cultural that I need to fix! I tried the best I could although I most def am not an expert in Egyptian culture so I appreciate it a lot :) hehe i hope ya have fun reading this chapter teehee oh! also I love hearing what you thought of it too! :D 

Four 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan 

Genre: action, mystery and suspense, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) bodyguard au, secret agent au, royal au, moderndayprince!chan, secretagent!reader, secretagent!jeongin, secretagent!jisung, collegestudent!seungmin, royal!minho, skz side characters, adventure and mystery, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, sexual tension, explicit language, several mentions of food and alcohol as well as getting tipsy/drunk that good, good making out, suggestive themes

CWs: mentions of guns, mentions of knives, themes of jealousy (expressed by the reader) 

Word count: 7.5k

Parts 

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE 

“Well, we’re in Cairo alright.” 

Two tugged the amazed young stow-away-student, Seungmin, by the hand of his backpack to keep him from running into one of the palm tree planters decorating the terminal. The young man had nearly slept the whole flight due to the length as well as the exasperation that he had just been through. While his eyes were still darkened from his nap, his glossy pupils still wondered all around him. 

“I take it back. I’m so glad that I almost died so I could end up here with you guys.” 

Jeongin slapped him from the backside of his head. “Never be thankful for almost dying. Life is a lot more fucking fragile than you think. This isn’t just some joyride--” 

“--Ease up F.” You interrupted your partner as you shouldered your bag. The kid had already been through enough already: he didn’t need accosting on top of it all. 

The dashing prince sighed out and stretched his arms. “Ahhhh Cairo. It’s been a while; too long actually.” 

The airport was humid: the kind of sticky warmth that dripped down your neck in a matter of seconds to then get caught above your lip. It wasn’t much help to the anxiety that already had seeped into your veins. The closer you got to a gun the more comfortable you would be. You and the other two guards created a formation around the prince with two in the front and the other in the flank. While each of you were dressed in regular street clothes, your responsibility of his detail still hung over your head with a severe air. 

Chan threw his arm over the young student with an obscene grin. His hair had become a little disheveled from the plane seat and his hoodie, but he didn’t appear to mind. Seeing him so normal was somewhat of an odd change to your previous unbreakable impression of him. 

“Seungmin my friend, you’ve never lived until you’ve been to Cairo. I’ve never seen another place so enriched in history in my whole life...it puts my kingdom to shame. It’s almost like...you can just feel the time here: hundreds of thousands of years...beauty, art, food, industry...I’ve got a thing or two to learn.” 

Seungmin nodded at the prince’s grandiose gestures in the terminal with an enamored smile. “I can’t wait to see it!” 

Your partner put a firm hand on the prince’s back to guide him to the baggage claim. “We won’t be here for long, so, don’t get too excited. We’ve come here for one reason and we shouldn’t dally otherwise.” 

The young boy appeared to frown, and Two bit his lip with a little chuckle. “Way to crush the kids dreams F.” 

“You know the mission, J.” Jeongin gritted his teeth with the words. “Everything is set, there will be a car waiting for us in the garage, and at the hotel we’ll have anything we need.” 

Prince Chan lulled his head back with heels clicking on the flooring. Rogue strands of his hair hung over his sunglasses where he threw a look back at you while pulling them down. 

“Don’t forget our little deal Bee? We’ll have time for a little pleasure.” 

The white haired agent rolled his eyes with gusto then adjusted the royal’s glasses over his face. “We’ve still got to be careful, you Highness. We never know where they could have eyes.” 

“I know where I’ve got mine...” He turned back once more to throw his cockiness in your general direction. 

“Listen to F, your Highness...if you want to live.” 

“Oooo. Feisty as ever, Bee. I love it when you bite back.” Chan turned to his new pet, Seungmin, “She’s really something isn’t she?”

The young man nodded, but not necessarily because he agreed, but it just seemed like it better to agree with a prince than to disagree with him. 

The air appeared to turn even thicker in the summery and arid city and your group approached the parking lot half shaded. Outside of the cement lot, iridescent waves of heat wiggled on the horizon, and further, the astonishing urban sprawl of Cairo, and just over it, the stretch of the Nile and Giza. Palms and other varieties of plants spotted the landscape and above it all, a perfectly crystal blue sky streaked with thin clouds. Had the circumstances been different, you really would have wished to have been there for pleasure. 

“This one. Right here.” Jeongin announced upon spotting the black armored sedan. It wasn’t the most inconspicuous vehicle, but you were prioritizing safety over aesthetics. Your partner touched his index fingerprint to the car door’s invisible panel, and it flashed blue just as the lock had at the safehouse with the ticking clock insignia. 

Two whipped his head around to make one last check of the surroundings before taking off his sunglasses and reddened eye. “Get in. Both of you.” He urged the prince and the student. He popped the drivers side open to find a different pair of glasses in the storage compartment: gold framed aviators. 

“Huh,” He said happily while putting them on. “This is more my style.” He rummaged around a bit more to find a new pair of black framed glasses there too. “Fox! Think fast!” He threw them over to your partner who sighed out with relief. 

“Thank god.” 

The trunk opened with a mechanical sounding creek, and you lifted up the trunk bed to find your whole arsenal: Heckler & Koch MP5′s submachines, Remington 870 shotguns, and Glocks complete with thigh holsters. Among the pile of metal, various knives and other weapons were held in foam holders. 

“They’ve got knives back there?” Two asked while pulling the rearview mirror to see. 

“Oh yeah. What? You more of a knife guy?” You teased while looping your thigh holster over your cargo pants. It fit just right. 

The illusive man popped his gum with a shiny smile. “‘Don’t ever have to reload them...that’s what I’m saying.” 

“Thank you Carroll.” Jeongin sighed upon seeing the thick laptop among the weapons. “Finally I can do some real work. That kid’s damn Chromebook was killing me. I nearly short circuited it trying to connect to our network.” 

“You what?!” Seungmin was suddenly much more interested. 

“Dont worry yourself too much, its still fine.” 

“Are there cameras in here?” You quickly asked your partner. 

“Agency should’ve fried them a long time ago. Why?” 

From the trunk bed you sized up the Glock to feel its weight and how cool it settled into your sweating hand. You unloaded the magazine to see that it had already been filled. 

“Carroll. She really is too kind to us.” You slid the magazine back in then, pulled back the slider to lock it once more, catching Chan’s adoring glance. 

“Something interesting pretty boy?” 

The prince appeared to shiver a little, but brushed it off sighing, “Oh, nothing.” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

Either it was Carroll or the King, but someone had spared no expense on the young prince. The sun set upon the sparking Nile where you had arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel Cairo at Nile Plaza. 

Anything for His Royal Highness The Prince. 

The towering and gleaming building was a sight to behold in and of itself. It was nestled right into the riverside anchored with several leisurely sailboats bopping in the evening breeze. As day crept into night, the city grew with a swell of lights washing as far as you could see. Extensive bridges and roadways glowed with headlights and every building appeared to be illuminated along with more boats strolling down the river in a rainbow of colors and music. 

The prince craned his head as close to the window as he could and rubbed together his hands excitedly. He looked from you to your partners, finally making a disapproving scoff. 

“Come on. You’re not just a little excited to be here?” 

“We’re here on business, how many times do we have to explain?” Jeongin typed away at his computer from the front seat. 

“Bee?” He looked back to you with a hopeful little glint to his eye. 

“Like Fox said...tomorrow is our appointment with White Rabbit, then we’re on the first flight back home for you.” 

The young prince frowned, but this quickly faded once he had seen the golden brass doors to the magnificent hotel. Seeing the state that the four of you were in, it was a bit comical that you had rolled up to a place such as this. Immediately a valet and bellhop jogged up to the car wearing perfectly pressed uniforms and spotless shined shoes. Little did they know you had no belongings to your name...the rest was waiting in your suite: the royal kind. 

Seungmin cranked his neck to take in the scale of the building in all of it’s regal glory and let out an airy laugh his with his backpack straps snapped tight. 

“Holy shit.” He exclaimed with a giant smile 

Two rose a “no thank you” hand to the valet, and asked him where the garage was in perfect Arabic. The gesture surprised you...as many things did with that man. Jeongin gave a little nod in appreciation to the bellhop and expressed with his own broken version of Arabic that you group had no luggage. The young man was confused, but still gladly took the bills that Jeongin had slipped into his hand for the inconvenience. 

“We’re staying here?” Seungmin wondered while he followed you in. 

“When you travel with The Prince, it comes with some perks.” Chan tore off his glasses with a particularly prideful grin. 

“I feel like I need to pay for just...breathing in here.” 

Indeed, it was a luxurious and grand place. The atrium was patterned with various plush lounge chairs and benches and the path was made of emerald green marble tiles with swirling designs of beige loops. Thick, round columns also supported the ceilings in the lobby, and crystal glass chandeliers sparkled. On several tables, massive floral arrangements had been freshly placed, and you wondered how much the hotel must've paid for them to look that good just to have them replaced the next day. 

A couple formalities were exchanged with the worker at the front desk, and soon the keycards to the royal suite were placed into your hands. Seungmin held his piece of plastic as if it were a gold bar in his hands whereas Chan shoved it right into his front pocket. 

“Everything that we should need should be up in the room.” You told the group who were too distracted to hear what you had just said. 

Just before you had entered the elevator, a tug at your sleeve stopped you in your tracks. Jeongin pulled you back, nodding at Two to go with the others up first. 

“Remember what we talked about before?” He muttered in the hollow and stone corridor. “About the prince?” 

“I need to stay beside him?” 

Your partner nodded with a furrowing brow. “We’re out in the open here, it’s a big city...anyone could be watching us. No distractions, no messing around, no anything. We see White Rabbit and we leave. Hell, I’m even inclined to make sure he doesn’t leave the room...” 

“Jeongin...” You squeezed your partner’s shoulder which felt stringy and tense under your fingertips. “I got it. Trust me. He won’t leave my sight. I promise.” 

“..Okay.” He said with a nervous brush to his hair, then he pressed the elevator button with his knuckle. 

“You...okay?” 

The young man appeared to snap out of a trance. “What? ...Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m keeping it together fine. It’s just...there’s a lot riding on this mission. I don’t...” 

The gold and reflective elevator dinged to the ground floor. 

“We can’t disappoint Carroll with this one. There’s too much riding on it...I can’t disappoint Carroll.”      

You invited your partner into the marbled and mirrored interior of the small space. 

“Don’t worry, we won’t.”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━ 

 Even without the help of his royal helpers, Chan managed to clean himself up nice...provided, only the finest clothes had been sent for him to wear. While they weren’t the usual designer labels that he was used to, it was clear that they had been picked out from the finest markets and boutiques in the area. Chan, as he always was, was a prince to the full extent of the word. After a shower and some perfume to his chest, he was the same man that you had been introduced to. 

A loose linen shirt swayed from his frame with little regard for the usage of buttons. He wore slacks that had been pressed made of a kind of fabric that you had never seen before, but looked airy and comfortable. As always, there was a small assortment of shoes for him to choose from as well. He picked brown leather loafers, then tucked up his sleeves to reveal his arms; scratched as they were, but still strong and spiderwebbed with thick veins. 

Arrangements had been made for you to share one of the bedrooms with him--as much as you had fought it at first. Chan was thrilled with the idea, and gladly let you settle into his room with your small assortment of sidepieces and modest set of clothes by regulation of The Agency. While it had mostly been denim button downs and several kinds of functional trousers, they had sent an evening gown. 

The silky white fabric was not unlike the dress that had worn for the gala, but it appeared to be even more sultry once you held it to your frame. The thin spaghetti straps barely held to your shoulders and the back dipped nearly halfway down your back. 

Knowing the man that you had an appointment with, you figured the dress would make it just a little bit easier to talk to him. Along with it, there was a matching set of diamond earrings and a necklace that glinted with the same sheen of the sea. 

“You’ll look gorgeous in that.” Chan said while slipping on a wristwatch. “I’m sure that it will suit you perfectly.” 

The wooden bedside nightstand creaked when you put your holster and Glock in with a matching matte black knife. You had to be careful with that one, as it had nearly cut your finger upon inspection earlier.         

“Hm. I think the both of us know that you’d prefer it on these lovely marble floors rather than on me. Correct?” 

The confident prince strode across the room in the dim lighting of a couple lamps with stained glass shades. Outside of the balcony attached to your room, the sheer curtains blew in the night air and distorted the city lights across the river. Further, Cairo Tower surged with a pink light wrapping around the length were the cylinder pierced the sky. 

“Maybe.” He tutted, then crinkled the king-sized bed where he sat. The prince’s disposition was alluring, there was no denying. He tiled his head to inspect you further, jaw clenching with a sharp angle and a testing glare to his brown pupils. The man smiled slightly while rubbing his index and ring finger down the sleeve of your considerably less scratchy blouse. 

“I hope that during our time here Bee, I’ll get to know you a little better. I’m...really looking forward to our drink later. I made reservations for us.” 

“Reservations? When did you do that?” 

“Oh. When you were showering.” He smirked at his sneaky plans unbeknownst to you. 

“If you think that I’m letting you go anywhere else besides this hotel--” 

“--Bee?” The young royal grew quieter, softer, careful even. His hand cascaded from your arm down to your waist where he tentatively went to grab at your hip and squeeze lightly there. 

While your first reaction was to swat him away, your second crept up on you unexpectedly, and swelled with a kind of confused euphoria feeling the pressure of him on your body. You let his hand linger there, thumb pressed into your hipbone. 

“You don’t need that dress to be beautiful.” 

His words snapped you back; sickly sweet, and sticky in your chest. You cast his hand off of you. 

“You’re crossing the line, your Highness. Don’t...don’t touch me again.” 

The royal sighed as he rose, then inspected his face in the sizeable mirror. Each of his cuts and scars had been skillfully covered with makeup the best he could manage.  

“Bee, I’d cross multiple lines for you. I thought you knew?”    

“THIS BED IS FUCKIN’ AMAZING!!” Seungmin called from the opposite of the suite. 

The prince smiled, then followed you to the door. 

“I’ve already got enough on my hands, your Highness. I ask that you not distract me.” 

“Distract you?” 

As soon as you had said it, regret bit at the tips of your ears. You couldn’t meet his teasing glances, but rather slid one of your more discrete sidepieces into your crossbody bag--as if guns as such could be such a thing. 

“I-I...I’ll sleep on the couch.” You then resolved out loud, however the prince chuckled at your sudden break. 

“As you wish Bee.” 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“I think that this is the best meal that I’ve ever eaten in my entire life!!” 

Seungmin kicked his legs under the table to the embarrassed glances of both Jeongin and Chan. Before you, the prince had ordered a variety of both cold and hot mezzah dishes with a couple main entrees for you to share. While he was the only one to drink, he indulged in the most expensive wine that the hotel had to offer. Granted, everything would be paid for in cash from The Agency, however the Prince swore up and down that anyone could order anything that they wanted and that The Agency would be paid back in full. You and your partners ate modestly, however the young student didn’t hold back. As the boy shoved his face, it appeared to make the prince happy to see him eating so well. 

You were still an odd group, and garnered curious glances from other restaurant guests. While they were only glances in passing, they still didn’t make you feel any better. You had already drawn enough attention to yourself with you being an odd mix of foreigners who each held themselves differently. You could sense that you partner felt it too while he sipped at his seasonal soup with eyes up to scan the room as he did so. 

Chan threw his arm behind your chair to take in the rest of the room: perfectly decorated with jade green chandeliers and perfectly symmetrical wallpaper and furnishings. It was as if he felt somehow content with your strange little group; like he was the ringleader of it all or some king of the round table. For a moment, he paused to watch the way that the boats passed by on the river from the window nearest to him and sighed. Knowing him, he was probably enjoying running for his life in this way. 

Two cleared his throat and unbuttoned his fashionable suit jacket as the waiters came to clear the table for dessert. 

“So. What are the specs for tomorrow?” 

Jeongin fiddled with his glasses, then dabbed away at the corners of his mouth. “He’s invited us to come around 11pm. He wants us to dress up too--as I’m sure you’ve all seen the clothes that have been provided for us. He apparently loves his formalities, but, anything to make him feel more comfortable I suppose. His men will meet us in the front and take us to him, then we try our best not to fuck it up.”

“--Which we won’t.” You soothed your partner. 

Seungmin perked up, “I’m coming too?” 

“How else are we going to look after ya, kid?” Two ruffled up the young man’s hair. 

“W-wait. Didn’t you say that it’s a club? Will they even let me in? I’m not like, 21 yet? I mean, I will be in a couple months--” 

“--Ahhh you’re so cute.” Chan beamed. “If you’re rolling with us that doesn’t matter.” 

Seungmin blushed and played with the condensation of his water glass. “Oh.” 

Your partner shifted in his seat. “Speaking of. Considering that you’re “one of us” now. We need to discuss something important with you. Your identity.” He looked over to you to finish the rest of the speech that had been pushed off for just a bit too long. 

“Your name...is your most valuable asset. It’s the only thing about yourself that you can keep for yourself. No one else should know it besides you...and, well, us. If they know your name, they know your family, they know where you live, where you go to school, even that girl that you had a crush on in the fourth grade. Got it?” 

Seungmin gulped dry with blown out eyes. “I-I think that I understand.” 

“What do you want us to call you from now on?” 

He paused, considering towards the ceiling. ”Well...if you’re B, and he’s F...and he’s J...I could be S? Simple enough right?” 

“S it is then.” 

The waiters arrived with every dessert possible: chocolate cake, Crème Brule, fruit cheesecake garnished with mint, as well as traditional desserts like Om Ali and Mehalabiya--a type of milk pudding dressed with delicate, pink, edible flowers. 

Seungmin--now dubbed S--made happy little eating sounds while he tried a little bit of everything. 

“Thank you.” You finally spoke to the prince, who now smelled strongly of Lotus and Jasmine. 

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind treating my friends.” 

The word hung in the air, and you didn’t quite know what to do with it. 

Friends. 

“Where is this reservation that you mentioned?” 

He took a swing from his crystal glass with finesse. “Hm. That’s for me to know and you to find out.” 

“Jeongin told me that I need to keep an eye on you, you know that? It would be best if we didn’t leave the hotel at all--” 

“--But what would be the fun in that?” The prince nearly pouted. 

From the others side of the table, Two in his aviators brushed off his lap before standing. “I’m going to get some sleep, if that’s alright with you? I’m feeling pretty jetlagged and I want to be prepared for tomorrow. Excuse me.” 

The slender man bowed to you at the table, then even deeper to the prince. 

“What was that about?” Jeongin muttered while he poked at the thin caramel layer of his French dessert. 

“Actually, I think I want to head to bed too, I’m stuffed.” Seungmin rubbed his belly in his contentment. “Also...I think I might have homework due...heh. I don’t know...I’ve got to figure out all these all these time differences and stuff.” He pushed in his chair then gave the prince a deep bow. “Thank you, your Highness.” 

“My pleasure.” Chan said with a tiny bow back. “Rest up, kid.” 

With the empty holes at the table, the silence was deafening. 

“And then there were three.” Jeongin yawned. “Bee? Wanna do some laps in the morning? I saw that they had a pool? Wanna see if you can beat my record...again?” 

“Psh. I was coming off that biochemical cocktail the last time we tired. You had an advantage.” 

“Then you’ll beat me? Hm! I look forward to that.” Your adorable partner flashed the first smile that you’d seen in a couple days. You missed it, you realized. 

“Sleep tight Bee. Goodnight your Highness.” 

“Thank you Fox.” The prince mirrored his warm smile. 

Knives and forks clinked on china in the dining room, and music softly payed the soundtrack of the evening. A low hum filled the space where the tourists and patrons chatted among themselves. It was peaceful and normal amidst everything that had been pricking your skin and plaguing worry over your mind. The prince merely sighed, sparking eyes reflecting the candles dying out on the table. 

“And now it’s just the two of us.” 

“Seems like it.” 

“Can I whisk you away now?” 

“Whisk? Who said that I would allow any whisking?” 

“Come on...Bee. Just this one time? I promise to be on my best behavior.” 

You laughed out incredulously at the comment. “You out of all people can’t promise something like that.” 

“I guess you’re right about that. But...still, I won’t try to make a scene or anything.” 

The royal placed his napkin on the table with his knife and fork respectfully tilted off the edge of his plate. 

“Follow me?” 

Chan held out his hand. It was pink with heat and scraped a little from the glass that had pierced the fragile flesh. In some way, you had felt a twinge of guilt seeing the small injury knowing that you couldn’t have protected him well enough then. You allowed him to lace your fingers with yours, and felt the rough cuts of his scars in your palm. 

You had promised to yourself that he would never know such pain again. 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

“Annnd...this is it!” 

You had taken all of twenty paces outside of the hotel when Chan gestured with open arms to the riverfront. Just at the riverbank, a steamboat was anchored with open doors for hotel guests to enter. The massive, multideck, white steamboat shone like the moon peaking at the ocean’s horizon. Each of the semi-circle windows were lined with white lights and from the inside, the delightful sound of laugher and live music spilled out to the glossy water of the Nile. 

“W-what is this?” 

“Well…it’s a dinner cruise but I just signed us up for the bar part. Are you...surprised? I thought that it must be pretty safe considering that we’re on the water and no one can drive up and shoot at us.” 

“I mean...it’s a bit closed off, but nothing that I can’t handle.” 

The prince held out his arm for you to lead the way, then took your hand to help you watch your step down the stairs. Chan provided his name to the conductor in elegant sounding Arabic, leaving you shocked. 

“Y-you speak Arabic too?” 

Chan chuckled once more, taking your hand in his to bring you down the creaking wood deck with swinging with lanterns above your heads. 

“As a royal and diplomat, it’s best for me to know how to communicate if I might need to.” 

“I must say your Highness, I am definitely impressed.” 

“What? You thought I was just another pretty face?” The charming prince escorted you to a room within the steamboat that was lined with red velvet carpets and small bar tables with tea candles and water lilies floating in a shallow dish. He pulled out your chair before his own, then settled with hands folded in his lap. “I’m trained in hand-to-hand too, although I could use a refresher; that was so long ago, back when I went to school.” 

“Hand-to-hand? Well! You really are full of surprises.” 

The prince appeared smug and faintly amused by the compliment as he crossed his legs under the table and leaned in with his dizzying floral scent. 

The waitress appeared and Chan flexed his language skills once more while he ordered a Hemmingway Daiquiri for himself and a French 75 for you. Somewhere off in the distance or perhaps a different part of the boat, louder and more excitable music played along with the echoing claps of those who listened along. Here, it was much quieter, and the loud sound was replaced with a jazz song that you had heard before--likely from your more formative years. 

“It’s a beautiful night.” Chan began, “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me. I know that I’ve been a bit forward, but, I appreciate you entertaining me.” 

“If I had said no, what would’ve happened then?” 

“Well, maybe I would’ve dropped it, but...knowing you...I don’t think that I would’ve given up easily.” 

The waitress returned with the drinks on a silver platter: his grapefruit pink and yours the color of a lemon drop. 

The royal rose his glass for you to clink with yours, “To...adventures.” 

“To adventures.” 

With a resounding sound, the glasses met, and you watched the way that the shimmering liquid ripped across the prince’s nose. 

The two of you sat for several moments more, saying nothing, but sipping and soaking in the night breeze and the humidity that made your whole body feel blanketed with a sense of calm. You had felt this way before back at the safe house, and it snuck up on you once more. Simply exisiting with the prince provided you with a sense of solace that had long since faded from your life. The sense of responsibility that you felt for the man was noticeable, but you couldn’t help but notice how he provided for you the same sense of safety that you did for him. 

Perhaps it was the loneliness of the job and the solitude that came along with it. Was that you craved to be touched? Listened to? Admired? You had distanced yourself from irrational things such as love and other feelings of attachment. In your line of work, people died often, and you had to move on just as fast as their lives had been taken from them. You supposed that you had become unfeeling at this point...but this prince, so full of himself and focused on the material...there was something about him that reminded you how to feel. 

“Bee? What are you thinking about?” He asked carefully. 

“Oh...nothing.” 

“You looked kind of lost here.” 

“Was I?” 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah...yeah. I’m fine. Maybe the drink is just...getting to me.” 

“Just one drink?” Chan giggled a bit, “I didn’t take you for being a lightweight Bee. I thought that they gave you like, drinking lessons or something back at that agency of yours.” 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have more than one drink anyway.” 

The prince nodded, understanding. “So, what will you tell me about yourself? Is there anything that you’re allowed to tell me? Or...will you always be this mysterious, beautiful, enigma?” 

“Me? Enigmatic? Ha! Hardly.” 

“Well? What then?” The prince sucked at the lime garnishing his glass. “Since I don’t have the pleasure of knowing your real name, I’d love it if you could tell me something.” 

Over the stereo, the muted trumpet played along with the twang of thick upright bass strings,

“I suppose I could tell you how...” Chan leaned in, “I didn’t want to join The Agency. At first.” 

“Oh? Why’s that?” 

“It felt like a bit of a last resort and anything that is a last resort is something that can’t come easy.” 

Chan titled his head as if to say, I’m listening. 

“Life...fucking sucks sometimes. Sometimes...you’re left...living with your sleazy uncle with a letter addressed to you post mortem telling you to carry on the family name if you want to feel some connection to the parents that you never knew.” 

The royal cast his eyes down, “I-I’m so sorry.” 

“The Agency has been everything I’ve known since I was a teenager. This life...it’s everything. I think in a way I feel obligated to it...since it was what took my parents from me...I owe it to them to do a job that they spent so much energy on so that it wasn’t in vain.” 

You stopped, realizing the weight of your words in the air and how they cut like the blade of the knife that you kept tucked in your waistband sheathed in a leather cover. Once the sharp metal was taken from it’s confines, there was nothing to protect those from the damage it could do. 

“Bee...I don’t know what to say besides I’m sorry. That’s terrible. I can’t imagine what it must be like to loose your parents and have been thrown into this life...no one deserves that.” 

“Its okay.” You sighed. “I did it to myself. Now, it’s of no concern. I can take care of my own, and I have a new family. I try not to look back.” 

As he had done numerous times before that night, Chan’s hand reached out for yours under the table, brushing up against the white cloth. 

“I can’t say how much I appreciate you enough for what you do; risking your life for me...I owe you everything Bee.” The prince softened, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. 

The chug of the steamboat hissed softly behind you in that back bar room, and just through the windows, you could see the stars dotting the sky just as they did in any corner of the world. They were a reminder that while some things changed, others didn’t. 

The echo of footsteps on the deck clicked, causing you to turn a careful glance back to the direction of the sound. The man who entered was dressed in a casual cotton button up and navy slacks. On the white of his breast, he wore a pin holding the symbol of a crest.

“Lee Minho?” Chan gasped. 

“Your Highness!” The handsome man bowed immediately with a startled little smile. 

The friendly prince stood immediately upon seeing the other royal to shake his hand. “What a coincidence that we meet again!” 

Lee Minho shied with a polite smile while fiddling with his hair that looked to be masterfully styled. “Must be...fated. Or something like that.” 

“Are you alright? Last I saw you was at the shooting at the gala. I’m so glad to see that you’re safe. You didn’t get injured I hope?” 

This close, Lee Minho had oddly cat-like eyes that were as intense as they were alluring. He was just as you had remembered him to be--put together and polished like a true royal, dastardly handsome with all the right curves to his body, and just enough mystery to him to pique the interest of anyone who had sensed his air--just as the prince had. 

“What are you doing in Cairo?” Chan asked, gesturing for the stranger to pull up a chair. 

Lee Minho swatted away the question with an annoyed cringe. “Royal stuff, you know how it goes. Everyone is always trying to poke their noses in places where they shouldn’t be...unless they’re looking to get themselves killed. That's why they send me. I’m dispensable.” 

“Oh, I’d hardly say that.” 

In seconds the prince’s entire body had shifted towards the direction of the other man, and hung onto each of his words as if they were a siren song. 

“When you’re not as high up in the ranks as you are your Highness, royalty starts to feel more like servitude than a legitimate position.” 

“So, where are you poking your nose?” 

Lee Minho’s eyes nervously flicked to you, and Chan realized that he had skipped right over introductions. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce the two of you. Minho, this is Bee, my--” 

“--I’m a member of his detail.” You spoke for him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you formally Lee Minho. I recall seeing you at the gala.” 

Minho bowed slightly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” 

It was obvious that you had made the man uncomfortable, just as you had liked it to be. While you could see what the prince had seen in him, you had the disposition to be much less trusting than his Highness. 

“Which royals are employing you? I’d love to know! It’s always exciting for me to learn about who is plotting what. The royal drama keeps me really entertained.” 

Minho sat up straighter, then waved a hand for the waitress to come scuttling over. 

“Some of my family members. You wouldn’t know them, we’re all dreadfully insignificant to be honest. They heard all this business about those men with the red crests and they’re starting to get scared. After they targeted...you, they’re wondering which royal family might be next...if any. I’m here to find out who they are, their whereabouts, anything else.” 

“Wow! That’s actually what we--”

“--And where are you planning on getting this information if I may ask?” You hushed the prince’s loose lips as quickly as you could. 

Minho leaned in over the flickering candle to lower his tone, “I heard that there’s an informant here in the city who might now something about this group. They’ve been popping up on national news too as of late. I’m looking to talk to him tomorrow evening. Luckily, I was able to make an appointment but it was no small feat. I had to bribe him to high hell to get him to speak with me.” 

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” You mumbled. 

Chan’s eyes widened, then he looked back to you to ask for permission. You gave him a nod.

“It seems like we’re here for a common purpose my friend.” The prince leaned in to bridge the gap between them, his hand notably reaching to rest on the other man’s thigh below the table’s surface. “We’re seeking similar information and I think we might be speaking of the same informant.” 

“But your Highness, isn’t it dangerous it you to do something like this?” 

“Not when I’ve got her around.” Chan threw a sly grin to you across the table. “I’m well protected. And you? Where’s your detail?” 

“I’m afraid that I’m out here alone. Like I said, when you’re as low in the ranks as I am...” 

“What? That’s terrible!! They aren’t even protecting their own? Bee!!” 

“Yes, your Highness?” You already knew where this was going. 

“Let’s bring Minho along with us tomorrow! We know that there’s safety in numbers--” 

“Your Highness, in case you haven’t noticed, our hands are already a bit full...”

“I can fend for myself.” Lee Minho suddenly piped. “Travelling alone, I’ve picked up a few things about protecting myself. You don’t have to protect me, but, I appreciate the offer.” 

“Nonsense! You should come with us! I would feel more comfortable if you did rather than went by yourself.” 

Lee Minho gave the royal a smile in his thanks, it was pure and a little adorable you had considered...but that was likely the champagne going to your head. 

“Really? I appreciate it, your Highness.” 

While you were distanced, you nearly could’ve sworn that the prince had squeezed the other’s leg reassuringly, and you were willing to bet he had rubbed it with his thumb too just as he had done to you. 

After long, the waitress returned with Lee Minho’s drink, and the two men chatted like old college buddies while you slipped away at your drink in an attempt to make it last as long as you could. While Chan did try to engage you in conversation, it would never last for long until he would become puppy-eyed over the stranger again. In the end, you wondered if the tipsy prince would’ve also confessed to this man if he had one too many drinks. 

The table bumped with their jovial and restless legs, and you could only imagine what wandering hands sought to discover. 

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The hotel was quiet save for the click of heels on the marble floors from ladies who had just gotten off the steamboat and clung to their husbands in their drunken stupor. They cackled in the empty and golden lobby, then pressed hasty kisses into the stuttering mouths of their husbands who’s mouths then smeared with hot pick lipstick. Chan giggled at the sight while he tripped over his own feet too. 

“Ahhhh. Being in love is so cute.” He adored them once you had entered the elevator. 

“You’re not going to throw up on me, are you?” 

The prince hiccupped, then shook his head. “Unlike you I know how to hold my liquor. I’m fine. Just a bit sleepy I think. Must be the jet lag.” 

The tones for each floor beeped in the compartment, and Chan lulled his head back and forth. 

“So. Lee Minho huh?” You said, not even able to help yourself. The alcohol had brought you a bit of an edge...so you thought. 

“Lee. Minho.” He sighed out dreamily. “What do you think of him?” 

“I think I can’t trust anyone as long as I haven’t ran at least three background checks on them.” 

“Awww, Bee, you’re so thoughtful of me.” 

In the empty hallway, the prince with squinting eyes leaned against the doorframe to the royal suite, reaching out to brush up against your blouse once more. You let him, excusing his drunken state. After he did so, his eyes hazed over with something much different, while he looked exhausted, it was laced with something else: something much more longing. 

“Bee...fuck, I really want to kiss you again.” 

“Hm. That’s ripe coming from you who was just viciously flirting with Lee Minho.” 

You could see his head spinning in his dilated pupils. “What?” 

The door clicked open and you less than gracefully lead the prince through the dark to your shared bedroom. 

“B-Bee, what are you talking about?” 

You scoffed, “I’m not blind, you know.” 

“A-are you...jealous?” 

“W-what? Fuck no. I’m just...you can’t just...toss people around thinking that they’ll all bend to you.” 

Chan sat at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his temples when you turned one of the lamps on. 

“I-I was doing that?” 

You tore a pillow from the bed as well as the throw blanket at the end. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Good evening, your Highness.” 

“Wait! Bee!” The young prince stumbled after you, stubbing his toe against the bedpost in the process. “Ah-FUCK!” He grunted. 

“What?” You growled back to him, half shrouded in the darkness of the suite living room. 

The royal stumbled out, eyes blank and backlit from the bedroom. While you couldn’t see him fully, you later could assume that there was something in him terribly torn and ripped in that moment that made little sense to him, as it did to you to. 

Arms reached out, bodies softly illuminated by the lights of the city, and the prince leaned himself fully into you, pressing bitter tasting lips to yours with a heat and desire that only seemed amplified the breather he had gotten. While he tasted of lime and grapefruits, with a twinge of alcohol. He was just as addictive as any vice. You wanted to feel him. As infuriating as he was, and oblivious, your abhorrence to him was just as strong as your attraction. 

“Mm, Bee--” He moaned directly into your mouth while shuffling both of you back to the bedroom. 

The prince’s trembling breath floated from his mouth to yours where he used both of his large hands to pull your face closer to his. You knew that in some way, there must have been something ingenuine about the whole scenario, but you didn’t care too much, not when kissing him felt like something. Maybe he had kissed you out of pity, or because he really had wanted to kiss you. You broke for seconds before both of your tangled limbs hit the bed. 

“Before...you said that you wouldn’t kiss me.” 

“I didn’t make any promises...but, how come...you said that you wouldn’t hesitate...? But you kissed ba--” 

You silenced the prince’s words with your own heated kisses that made little sense, only that kissing him as such felt good. You straddled the man while his hungry fingers traced all the way down your back. The prince’s hips sunk into the cushiony mattress, and you screwed him down even harder into it with your own heated hips grinding into him with as much pressure as you could muster. 

“This is what you want, right?” You pulled at his lip with your teeth to hear him groan from it. 

“Is it...what you want?” Chan got out between more kisses. 

You could blame it on loneliness or lack of touch all that you wanted, but it wasn’t even close. 

“Wait. Wait.” Chan suddenly interjected. 

“What? What is it?” 

The prince looked up at you, that haze in his eyes now fading to something much different that wasn’t covered in the lust that he held before. 

“Bee...I-I don’t know if I want it to happen this way. It feels...it’s not...” 

“Not what?” 

He brushed his hand upward now to caress your face, lingering on the side of the peach fuzz on your cheek. “You deserve better than whatever the hell this is.” 

“Oh, so when I finally want to fuck you, you’re saying it isn’t right?” 

“I’m saying, I’m drunk, it’s late, clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you, and I want to know what it is before we do anything else. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

It might’ve been Lee fucking Minho, or it might’ve been something else much stickier for you to admit, but seeing the prince like this, it was too much. He was gorgeous under you, practically angelic looking. 

“I-I’m...complicating things.” You whispered out, and the prince softened even further. 

“That’s what it is? Bee, I told that you don’t have to worry about--” 

“--Yes. Yes I do...your Highness. I-I can’t feel...” 

“Bee--let’s just talk about--” 

The prince might’ve said more, but his words faded into murmurs once you closed his door behind you, then crawled onto the couch in Jeongin and Seungmin’s room, locking their door too. 

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

[pagingdoctorbedlam]

Ready for zombies, Zoro, and some hurt/comfort? Then take a swig of this potion for @quirkyseastone ‘s “Brew a Love Potion” event! (But please read the warnings first!)

Characters: Zoro x Reader; appearance by Bartholomew Kuma

Genre: Zombie/Apocalypse, Hurt/Comfort (a bit light on the comfort though, woops)

TW/CW: Violence, guns and swords, blood, light gore, mentions of cannibalism, undead bodies

Inspiration: The concept for zombies in this fic is inspired by the novel Breathers by S.G. Browne (at least, what I remember from having read it over 10 years ago...)

Word Count: ~3.1k words

...

"Hold still, we're almost..." You apply the last bit of blush before appraising your handiwork. Not bad, if you said so yourself. At a glance, Zoro doesn't even look dead. "There. Want a mirror to see?"

"I trust you not to doll me up too bad." Roronoa Zoro yawns, even though the legendary zombie hunter no longer needs to sleep, having recently been turned into a zombie himself. Which, contrary to popular belief, is not in and of itself a death sentence. Most zombies act as they did in life, even if their bodies no longer recover the way a living human's does. The danger comes from the zombies who try to stop this decay by feasting on human brains...and sometimes more dangerous are the humans who've decided that every zombie is a ticking time bomb regardless of said zombie's intentions. 

At least Zoro had never been that way, but now he's got to hide from the hunters who once considered him a legend. Sure, it wouldn't be hard for him to fight off hunters, even if you've had to stitch each limb back on at least twice (and you're still not sure where one of his eyes ended up). But you'd rather your newfound partner in protecting innocent zombies not cause a scene simply by walking through the market.

"Remember, don't rub your face. This makeup cost me a fortune. And try to fake breathing this time, okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I got it." He manages to take a breath that's believable but isn't so deep that it rattles the loose bones and organs in his slowly decaying chest.

Both of you get to your feet and finish the rest of your preparations for the outside world. Your clothing hides as much skin as possible, even with the warm temperatures outside. You spray Zoro down with cheap cologne so he smells less like roadkill and more like a teenager trying to cover up a bad case of B.O. And you slip on filtration masks in a vain attempt to avoid the ever-present smoke and dust beyond your walls.

No one's sure if the zombies came about because of the bombs, or if the bombs were secretly launched because the powers-that-be learned about the first nascent zombies and failed with their pre-emptive strike. But now much of the world is a wasteland, and bargaining for resources is bad enough without half the population lobbing accusations of cannibalism at the other half. You can't hold off this trip any longer, because you've ended up looking after a number of innocent zombies, and they need medical supplies before they fall apart any further.

You shoo Zoro away from the driver's spot on your motorbike. "Nuh uh buddy, we aren't getting lost today." You've heard a new band of hunters is coming to town, and the last thing you want is to run into them before you have a chance to secure your supplies.

"I don't get lost! They just keep changing where the market is." Zoro still reluctantly waits for you to take your place at the front before he sits behind you and firmly snakes his arms around your waist. You pretend you can feel his pulse when he holds you, even though you know the heart in his chest has long stopped beating.

Markets are supposed to be neutral ground. Everyone needs resources to survive after all, and one of the few things that bombs and zombie outbreaks couldn't kill is commerce. Stalls line the aisles of what was once a grocery store, faded advertisements promoting foods that no one's seen in years, and someone has fixed the speaker system to play the same old pop hits in a vain attempt at normalcy.

You hold tight to Zoro's hand, both to keep him from getting lost and so he stays close in case of danger. He obliges, and even holds bags for you as you pull him around. You might've called this romantic in the times before, back when your purchases would've been far more frivolous than bandages and shelf-stable rations, but you're unsure how close you and Zoro would've been without being thrown together by circumstance.

You pause by one stall, eyes wide. Zoro doesn't notice and keeps walking until he notices that you won't budge. He raises an eyebrow when he finally joins you. "What, some kinda' plastic plant?"

"Not plastic. It's real." You forgive him the mistake though, as the plant has sturdy, waxy leaves that almost look sculpted. It feels like so long since you've seen anything green (aside from Zoro's hair), much less an actual plant. But you note the name scribbled in tape on its battered plastic pot. It's nothing useful, not medicinal or edible in the slightest. Just a begonia that hasn't even bloomed yet.

The shopkeeper asks, "Gonna gawk, or you gonna' buy?"

You know you can't afford a plant, what with how rare they are. You might be able to bargain and beg if it were something more useful, but...

"We'll buy." Zoro slams something down on the table. "This'll be enough?"

You catch the glint of gold peeking from between his fingers. Jewelry isn't useful anymore, but human greed has a hard time giving up old habits. The shopkeeper smiles wide and practically shoves the begonia at you with one hand while snatching up Zoro's earring with the other. You thank him and depart the stall without another word, clutching the flower close to your chest.

"What was that about?" You hiss at Zoro.

"Looked like you wanted it," he says with a shrug. You squint up at his remaining earrings, only to realize that in his haste to remove the one he traded away, he tore the hole in his ear a little in the process. Probably didn't even notice that he'd done so, the stubborn fool...

Well, what's done is done. "Thank you. I'll make sure to take excellent care of it."

"Don't mention it." Which you know is Zoro-speak for "you're welcome". So you smile back at him without saying anything more on the subject, and continue the rest of your trek through the market.

You make the mistake of thinking this is a surprisingly nice day. But you don't realize that someone has noticed how Zoro isn't bleeding.

When Zoro pulls out one sword and tightens his grip around your midsection, you don't have to ask why. You're being followed.

You absently wonder what gave you away. Never removing your masks? A smudge in Zoro's makeup that revealed the deathly pallor underneath? It doesn't really matter, you think. Whoever is after you will chase you down until they can swing their weapons and play at being heroes, so all you can do is fight on your own terms. You avoid going home and swerve the bike toward the burned-out husk of an abandoned store that not even the most desperate zombies would hide in.

You glance at the tilted rearview mirror on your bike. The figures chasing you are hulking brutes, but nothing compared to their ringleader. He's built like a brick house with legs, and his imposing figure is thrown off by the pristine white hat topped with small bear ears. Instead of a holstered weapon, he has a bible strapped to his side. You've heard of this man. Judging by the look in Zoro's eyes, he does too. One of the most notorious zombie hunters in the country: Bartholomew Kuma.

What is he doing here, of all places?

Zoro says, "Soon as we touch down, hide. It's me they want."

"I can't just leave you. You know who that is back there?"

"Doesn't matter. I already died once. They can't do worse than that to me. But they could still hurt you plenty. 'Specially if you came back before they were done with you." In the rearview mirror, Zoro's eyes are sharp and cold as his blades.

You know how to handle a weapon in self-defense, but you're nowhere near the master that Zoro is. And he has a point. You're still human, you can bleed, you can hurt. And that might chew Zoro up worse than anything Kuma and crew could throw at him. You resign yourself to your fate and think of where in that burnt-out building you might be able to hide, preferably while still keeping an ear out for danger.

You speed on, trying to shake your pursuers, but soon the road runs out. The bones of burnt buildings jut out before you like oversized tombstones. You remember scouting here before, trying to usher out displaced zombies before the remnants of the building could collapse on them. Much of the ruins have fallen since you were last here, but there's still a concrete bunker that was once a stockroom, and it's mostly intact. You can lay low there until the fighting's over. 

You relay this plan to Zoro, and you tell him, "I'll be safe there, don't worry about me. Once the fighting's done, I'll come back down and patch you up. So don't die on me again, alright?"

Zoro nods, even though he surely knows the claim is more for your comfort than anything. He's a zombie, after all, and they don't heal the way humans do unless they devour human brains. He won't bleed, but if he looses a limb, or even his head? There's nothing you can do to fix that. And to be honest, you're not sure if that'll do him in, or if he'd continue living in pieces. You don't want to find out.

You park. And you know you should hit the ground running, but your heart is hammering in your chest. You turn to Zoro as he pulls out his blades.

You quickly put your warm hands on his cold cheeks and pull him in for a kiss. You two never attached words to what's simmered under the surface for so long, but in case of the worst...you couldn't handle him not knowing how  you truly felt. He blinks as you pull away, briefly stunned. You wonder if he'd blush if he could.

You run into the burnt-out husk of a building. The touch of your lips on Zoro's is replaced by a sword between his teeth.

In another lifetime, before people stopped dying right and the world went to hell over it, this building was a clothing store. You shopped here for outfits you haven't seen in years. Once, a friend who worked here snuck you into the back room, and you ate cheap takeout while surrounded by wall-to-ceiling racks of clothing and shoes. If you took time to wipe away the dust, you might still find graffiti left by the workers during their final shifts. You wonder if your friend left one.

You cannot look because you are huddled on a shelf and trying not to make a sound. The shelves are sturdy metal and easy to climb even without the rolling ladder. You're hidden high above the heads of anyone who might come in and pressed against a wall. No one should find you here.

For awhile, you heard sounds from outside. Speaking at first, though you couldn't make out what was being said. Then battle, swords colliding and guns firing. Screams. Then...nothing. You don't know if it's safe to come out. You'll find out soon. There are footsteps approaching.

A voice you do not recognize says your name.

"Roronoa Zoro is dead. Again. I am sorry that it had to happen." Heavy footfalls contrast a voice that is soft, almost even kind. "I understand why you might want to save him. You've built quite a reputation for that, you know. But I'm afraid it ends here. We cannot allow you to keep any more abominations alive. You understand that is what they are, don't you?"

You know he's trying to goad you into revealing yourself. It takes everything in your power to hold still and silent.

Metal crumples nearby with a shrill squeal, as if it could protest its false bones being broken.

"If you were to go on a trip...where would you like to go?"

The question throws you off guard, almost enough for sound to escape your lips.

"We do not have to kill you. All the government wants is to talk. If you cooperate, you'll be transported somewhere safe. Free of zombies, even." More metal crumples, and you wonder how Kuma is doing it. Does he have a weapon, or is he strong enough to break the storage shelves with his bare hands? "All you have to do is come willingly, and when we're done, you can go wherever you'd like, and you'll be kept safe."

But the only place you can think of is home. With Zoro. No matter what might come after you there.

The shelf under you shifts, and your body spasms as if you fell in a dream and awoke with your mind still lurching. You reach for anything to grab onto, but your fingers only touch air. (For the briefest instance, you spy graffiti drawn by a familiar hand upon the wall.)

You do not immediately recognize the feel of the arms, because they are warm and pulsing with life. You stare up at Zoro's face in disbelief. He's missing an eye and his face is smeared with blood, mouth drawn in a thin line.

"You survived," Kuma intones softly. "You ate them." And you wish you could refute him, but even before he spoke, you knew it to be true. Zoro's bloody fingers dig into your clothes to hold you tight. You hear his heartbeat for the first time, and it rarely skips a beat. Kuma says, "Let your friend down, Roronoa. You don't want to do this."

"Think I'm some mindless cannibal? Think again." Zoro sets you down and looks  you dead in the eye. "Told you I wouldn't die. And neither will you. Now, get out of here." Half a second before returning his sword to his mouth, his tongue flickers over his blood-stained lips. "Hurry!"

You do as he asks and flee to the doorway of the building. You know you should run to the motorcycle and drive out of here, but there are two problems with that. One is how you don't want to leave Zoro again. The other is that even if you admit the truth to yourself, that he finally gave in and consumed the brains of his enemies like the zombies he used to put down...you don't want to turn around and see what he did to the corpses of Kuma's followers.

The fight is swift and brutal. You've seen Zoro fight before, but while he's normally a whirlwind with his blades, now he's a demonic torrent. Much as he tries to stick to his traditional fighting forms, they slip into more instinctual slashes when Kuma pushes back, and the only thing that keeps Zoro on top is sheer ferocity. He moves so fast, you swear he's slashing three times faster than a normal man, leaving the afterimages of a three-faced demon. (You've heard rumors of zombies growing entirely new parts when they've eaten too much mortal flesh, but surely those are only rumors, survivors not understanding what they're seeing...)

Kuma is far quicker than his size would suggest. But even he begins to buckle. He blocks one blade with a bible far sturdier than it appears, and then lunges forward in a final desperate attack. Zoro braces to parry an attack, but is taken aback as no blow comes. Something metal and blinking is clasped onto his wrist.

"We will not meet again."

And Kuma is gone. You blink in surprise. You swore you didn't see him leave through the other holes in the building, didn't feel anyone pass you, and yet...

The normally composed swordsman growls as he sheathes his swords and tries to pry the blinking metal bangle (a tracking device, what else could it be?) off his arm. You want to approach him, but are unsure if you should; all you can do is watch as he uselessly paws at the bangle. Until he stops suddenly. You catch a glimpse of fresh crimson.

Zoro freezes as the reality of what he's done, what he's become, finally settles in. He's a statue slowly dripping red, most of which isn't his own. His breath shudders, and that too takes him off-guard. He sways where he stands, almost falling to his knees but somehow staying upright.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet carry you toward him, and you reach out. Your fingers brush against his back. He growls, "Don't. I'm not..."

"It doesn't matter what you are. You're still Zoro." 

Gentle pushes at his shoulders turn him around so he faces you. His face has more color than you've ever seen, blood red and flesh pink and mottled blues and violets of bruises. His closed eyelid twitches as the eye underneath regenerates. How long will it be until all the color's gone, and electrical impulses run short to leave his heart to hang heavy and empty in his chest, and how much longer than that until he gets a taste for life again regardless of the cost?

That doesn't matter right now. The future looms taller and more frightening than Kuma, but right now, you're two scared humans in a broken warehouse. You wrap your arms around Zoro and pull him close.

For the briefest moment, you feel his mouth open, hear the click in his jaw. His teeth brush against your ear. You close your eyes and refuse to think about it.

His chin rests on your shoulder. Mouth closed. Arms wrap around you right and your hearts beat together, lungs scramble for air together, blood and worry (and tears, you think, but you're not sure whose) intermingle and crawl to a slow stop until only a numb and temporary peace remains.

"You'd be forgiven for walking away." His voice is raw and tired with the weight of living again and all that took.

"Maybe. But someone has to keep you from getting lost." You give him one final squeeze before letting him go. "Come on. Let's go home and get you cleaned up."

When morning comes, you'll have to face what the future holds for a brain-eating swordsman and the one who looks out for him despite it all. But tonight, the both of you are miraculously alive and breathing, and there's a green new plant in the window ready to soak up all the sunlight tomorrow can offer.

[capitainelevi]

For @pufferssss, happy late birthday!! ❤️

Waiting for sunrise

Words: 2968

The first and last time Levi visits Petra`s grave.

Levi arranged his cravat again, self-conscious at the thought of visiting her for the first time. He stood frozen in place, with a bouquet of orange lilies in his hand. Her favorite flowers. Just a mere coincidence, not an effort on his part, of course. He never imagined he would visit her here so early on. Staring at the newly carved headstone, he tried to set aside the nagging thought that the earth underneath it only held an empty coffin.

What should he say to her?

“Your dad came to see me after the mission, and I had to tell him that I don`t even have a body to bring back home to him”?

“I failed in getting justice for you and the guys”?

“I miss your tea”?

The only words he could spurt out were “Hi, Ral.”

He groaned at his awkwardness and settled on presenting her with the flowers he chose for her. He could feel his hands getting sweaty from anxiousness, much to his confusion. He had nothing to be nervous about. It was just Petra in front of him. His subordinate. Petra, who fought by his side for years. Who swore to devote her life to him. Just his Petra.

Levi sat on the ground next to the gravestone, unconcerned about the dirt he would have to clean out of his clothes at the end of the day. “I hope you can hear me, wherever you are. I like to think you`re listening.” He never spent much time concerning himself with death and the life that supposedly followed it, but ever since losing them as well, he found himself wishing they were happy. He knew that those brats would be wasting the rest they earned to look over him, no matter how much he objected.

“I hope you like the spot I chose for you. It`s sunny, but you also get some shade from the tree. I thought you`d like listening to birds singing." On their free days, he could always spot Petra with a book on her lap, under the shade of the oak tree in their yard. He never dared to bother her, worried he would disturb the angelic aura of the image, content with being fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of it. He never dared get so close to the sun.

"I`m going to bring some flowers we can plant next time I visit. I know you had a green thumb.” Levi omitted in letting her know it only took a month for the plant in his office that she cared for years to wither away in his care. Or maybe it just knew Petra would never be back.

Levi closed his eyes, lulled to sleep by the quietness around him and the feeling of the afternoon sky on his skin, considering if someone would bother him if he moved to the tree trunk to nap. He craved some peace.

“I`m sorry I didn`t get to come earlier. You missed a real shit show in Sina.” He took a glance at his wounded leg and sighed. “It`s not as bad as it looks, no need to mother me.”

Without raising his eyes from the ground in front of him, Levi admitted to her in a hoarse voice- “I kept calling out orders for you, and Erwin had to remind me that you`re not here anymore. Like I could ever fucking forget.”

Despite the emptiness in his chest, he went on- “Eren misses you. I really wish you could help me manage that brat. You always knew what to say to him. Hange misses you. I… everyone misses you.” They left a hole behind that he doubted he would ever patch.

Levi cleaned off some dust from her headstone before promising her he would be back as soon as he could.

As promised, the second time Levi visited her, he got her some daisies to plant next to her resting place. After wiping his hands clean on a rag, Levi sat down against the tree trunk to admire his work. He was sure Petra would be proud of the progress he made regarding gardening. He had even gotten a new plant to replace the one on his desk.

“Tch, not talkative today, are we? That`s alright, you know I always talk a lot.”

Visiting her calmed his restless spirit. His anxiety over the plan, his worry over Erwin`s wellbeing, his longing to have his old squad by his side again, they were all pilling up for the last few days. Levi found himself losing even more sleep lately. But he would never tell her that since it would most likely end in another one of her scoldings.

“You`re missing it, the final push. The brat`s finally going to do it, he`s going to seal the Wall.” Levi hoped that they would be able to carry out the mission. That his squad`s sacrifice to keep Eren alive would not have been in vain.

“You`re not being fair, are you? You already know what we will find in the basement, and yet you keep it all to yourself. Tch, be like that.” Would it all be worth it? The pain, the countless sacrifices, and the lives lost along the way? He wished Petra could answer that for him.

He never wanted to upset her, but Petra always encouraged him to let others help him carry the burden. Levi took a deep breath before speaking again- “I think Eren misses you. He`s been going on about how he wants to visit you again. Bring you flowers. To help me maintain this place clean." Levi rolled his eyes again and the memory. "Like I would ever need his help with that.”

Levi took the ribbon out of his pocket and started fiddling with it, ignoring the slight pang of guilt at how he came into its possession.

“I hope you won`t mind I took that.” The first night he spent without them, Levi found himself roaming the empty corridors of the castle. When his steps took him in front of Petra`s door, the urge to hold on to something physical to remember her overtook his sense of shame. He was aware that her belongings would go back to her parents in the next few days, but he hoped the red ribbon Petra used to tie her hair with would not be missed.

“I took your patch at first. I was going to keep it in my breast pocket. To have a reminder of your sacrifice. But when I saw that kid eaten up by guilt, I knew what I had to do. I knew what you would have wanted me to do with it.” He had no regrets about that. It was the perfect way to honor the kindest soldier the Survey Corps ever had.

When the light began to fade, Levi got up from his spot and left without saying another word to Petra. He did not want to say goodbye to her. Levi felt no need for it since death could be in his cards the next day. And he could get to see her again sooner than he thought.

The third time Levi visited her, it was not with a flower bouquet in his hand but with a bottle of cheap alcohol he found on Moblit`s desk. That night, Levi allowed grief to consume him.

"Erwin died. But I have a feeling you know that already, don`t you?" Levi wiped his nose with the back on his hand, too absorbed in his anger to even care about the disgusting habit.

"Are you mad at him? Are you mad that he chose to sacrifice your life?"

But only silence greeted him.

"Are you mad that I didn`t even question it?"

No answer again. The rage burning inside him overtook him, and Levi smashed the bottle against the headstone.

"Shit. I`m sorry, I shouldn`t have done that." Levi crouched down and collected the pieces of the bottle into his handkerchief. The grief, the anger, and now the shame for denigrating her place of rest were eating him alive.

"We found out the truth, you know? It`s a shitty world out there, Ral. But I have a feeling not even that would have cut off your wings."

Levi found himself craving touch. Her touch. And for the first time in his life, he felt the need to be comforted. He smiled to himself bitterly. How cruel must the deity who created him be for making him desire the impossible?

The fourth time Levi visited her, he brought a special gift for her. A small, odd thing that Armin called seashell.

“We saw the sea today. Just a big old pile of saltwater. But you would have loved it.”

Seeing the brats play in the water with carefree smiles on their face made him yearn for a glimpse of amber hair in the picture. He missed them all dearly.

“I would have to pull you out of it by the collar of your shirt, I bet.” For as devoted and strict as she was, Petra always seemed to cause him distress. Not that he minded it, of course. Levi found himself wishing to hear her timid knocks on his door again, even in the middle of the night. He longed for those times, where she shyly approached him after needing his help in whatever problem she found herself stuck in again.

While that was not his intention when he first came to her, his heart was heavy with words he never said to her. "The world hates us, Ral." He could never imagine how someone would ever detest someone as kind as Petra just for the blood running in her veins. But if he had to be true to himself, a part of him hated Petra as well.

"Maybe I hate you too."

Petra broke his promises to him, after all. Two years ago, when death was imminent on an expedition, and Petra put down her swords in acceptance, Levi fought with her. He made her promise she would make it to the end. That she would be by his side the day they kill the last titan.

"Do you remember your promises to me? Such bullshit. Never thought you were a liar, Petra."

But Levi knew she would have never left him had she had a choice. That she would have fought for even just a second more by his side. But it never dulled the pain of losing her.

With a heavy heart, Levi said his goodbye for the evening, guilty for blaming her for things out of her control.

The fifth time Levi visited her, it was snowing outside.

It was always a wonder how someone radiating light and warmth could be a winter child. But Levi was sure he memorized the date right. It was an important one for him, after all. Levi fought to make sure he had enough time to get ready for celebrating her birthday. She deserved nothing more than a perfect day. Hange had been more than understanding, the wound left by losing Moblit still fresh in their heart.

Levi put the bouquet of twenty-two golden roses on the frozen ground. “Happy birthday. Twenty-two, huh? You`re turning into an old woman, Ral.” The irony of his words made a slight pang of guilt rise in his chest. The passing of time would never touch her again.

“I have your favorite”- he said, lightly shaking the box containing a small vanilla cake. Sugar was a rarity, but getting a cake was an unspoken rule in his squad. Their lives were too short to worry about the money. The first thing Levi noticed about Petra was the faint flower smell emanating from her. The first thing after setting his eyes on her clean nails, of course. On her first birthday that they celebrated as a squad, Levi gifted Petra a bottle of scented body lotion. And some high-quality cleaning rags, of course. But she did not pay attention to that. She and the rest of the Survey Corps never knew how to appreciate the finer things in life. But Levi did not miss the way her face lit up when he noticed something she enjoyed.

“I could never understand your sweet tooth, but today, I`m going to have a slice of cake.” Levi always refrained from indulging in this vice. Having grown unaccustomed to sugar, the idea of sweetness was unappealing to him. He always felt bad for disappointing her each year when she sat in front of him, with a small piece of cake she had cut for him. “Or two slices. Two is more appropriate anyway. If I get cavities, it`s on your ass.”

The ground was too cold for him to sit down on, and Levi made a mental note to build a small bench close to her headstone. He opened the box and eyed the cake wearily, considering if he should change his mind. He took a small bite of the cake, and he almost choked on it. “Oi, this is so damn sweet. How the fuck could you eat so much of it?” But it did not stop him from finishing his slice.

Levi expected to find some flowers lying in the snow or at least some tracks leading up to her grave.

“Does your old man still come around? I`ve never crossed paths with him since the expedition.” Sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, he could still recall Mr. Ral`s pained expression when he realized there was no one left for him to wait for.

“Maybe it`s for the best. I bet he doesn`t want to see me again.” To see the face of the man who was supposed to protect his daughter. The face of the man his daughter wanted to devote her life to. The man who could not even bring him a body home to bury.

“I`m a shit. Ruining your birthday with talk like this.” Levi was never good at this. In his spot, Eld would have teased Petra about her first expedition. Tell her how now that she was a big girl, she ought to refrain from soiling herself again. Petra would turn red from embarrassment and elbow Eld in the ribs. Gunther would point out that despite their age, they are still children. And proceed with teasing Petra himself. Oluo would try to defend Petra`s honor to gain her attention, which would make him the target instead. Levi gave a small smile at the thoughts. He missed them dearly, more than he would ever care to admit.

Levi crouched down and cleared the layer of snow covering her headstone. He ran his finger alongside the letters of her name, wishing he would have had more opportunities to write it down.

“Happy birthday again, brat.”

The last time he visited her, Levi had company. Gabi and Falco did not give it another thought before offering to help him see her again before they would all leave for a new life. A better life, he hoped. But without her by his side, it was never going to be perfect. Gabi set down the flowers before they gave him privacy. While they never asked him about who she was, they knew Levi must have cared for her a great deal.

"Hi, brat. It`s been a while."

He had so much to say to her, and yet, he did not know where to start. A part of him expected to join her during the last battle, but fate always had something new in store for him. Levi was uncertain if it was luck by his side or a curse to watch everyone he ever cared about die. But life was looking brighter, and Levi promised himself he would never lose anyone again.

"Are Hange and Erwin with you now? How about the guys?" He wished for nothing more than to be there by their side. But Levi knew they would never forgive him if he did not try to live the remainder of his life to the fullest. And for them, he would try.

"Does Oluo still bite his tongue? Did he try to flirt with you again? Is Eld still teasing you? Does Gunther still treat you as a little sister?" Levi chuckled at the memory of their antics. He learned the hard way that he never appreciated them enough before he lost them.

"I hope there is an afterlife. I hope it`s peaceful. You all deserve it. Such a shitty end..." He closed his eyes and sighed at the words coming out of his mouth. "I`m sorry, I didn`t mean it. But you already knew that. I was always an open book to you."

Levi felt guilty for leaving the home they bled for behind, but if he were truthful, it had not felt like home to him for years. With no one left by his side, nothing was keeping him in Paradise anymore. While neither of them voiced it out, he had dreamed of a future with Petra by his side. And for her, he would try to live a long and happy life. Before he got to be with her.

"I`m sorry... for the future I never got to offer you. The one you deserved. I`m sorry for the house I never got to build for us, for the vows we never got to take, for the brats that will never play in my backyard." Levi knew Petra would encourage him to find love, but he never would again. He could never imagine a future by someone else`s side.

Levi glanced back at her grave for one last time before he set out for the remainder of his life- "I`ll see you soon. Wait for me."

ao3

[papa-rhys]

Thoughts on Jack and His Borderline Personality Disorder and How It Shows Through His Behaviour - Because I Cannot Stop Analysing Things That Ultimately Aren’t Important

Symptoms/behaviours under the cut because holy hell this guy has a lot of them. Like, honey, are you okay?

Okay, so I’m pretty sure I can trace Jack’s BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) back to his grandmother. His mum abandoned him, which shows a reckless/irresponsible behaviour and her mum had fits of rage that didn’t correlate at all with the trigger (ie; drowning Jack’s cat because he didn’t make his bed). So I think he has a family history of it, with both his mother and grandmother having BPD and passing it down to him.

Either way, Jack definitely has it. In fact, he’s a textbook case of it.

Impulsivity

Spending sprees: he bought a pony made of diamonds because he was bored and throws money at all kinds of ventures to keep him occupied and because he wants to. I really don’t know how else to describe this one lol. He bought a pony. Made of diamonds. Because he could.

Gambling: won some of the things on his trophy shelf through poker and owns an entire casino. Hunting the Vaults themselves were a huge gamble too, especially the first two, since he wasn’t truly sure that they existed. He was prepared to sacrifice a lot in order to come out on top in both his career and his social standing. All in all, he’s reckless.

Binge eating: he doesn’t even like pretzels, but still eats them because he’s either bored or stressed. Talks about food quite a bit in conversation, too, especially his cravings.

Substance abuse: admits to being high on uppers for the duration of the pre sequel (and his time on Elpis as a whole) and tells further anecdotes about drugs and getting high in tftbl.

Promiscuity/unsafe sex: nothing about having sex with Nisha is safe lol. But in all seriousness, there’s no way to prove this one. He does strike me as the reckless sex sort though. No proof, just 7 years of knowing him as a character.

Emotional instability

Inappropriate trigger response: he strangles a man to death for simply mentioning his wife, stabs Lilith for talking about Angel, and tries to kill Rhys for not being sure about his grand plan (more on this later). His response to triggers is disproportionate, often resulting in extreme anger over small things that don’t warrant that intense of a reaction. He gets big angry about almost everything; there’s no middle ground. His reaction is never really “you’re annoying me a lot” or “don’t talk about that, I don’t like it.” His reaction to almost everything is “oh my god I will murder your first born child how dare you-”

Quickly changing mood: aside from being prone to fits of rage at the flick of a switch, Jack also flicks back to “normal” pretty quickly, too. He flips between telling you to kill yourself after surviving the train and then talks casually about his day. He’ll be filled with rage after Angel’s death and then suddenly he’s laughing about you jumping into lava and having fun tricking you into visiting his grandmother. He can be intensely angry or sorrowful one moment and then nonchalant and sociable the next. His moods don’t last very long.

Idolisation/devaluation

Jack does this with numerous people across the games, but the two shining examples are Moxxi and Rhys; Rhys being the most notable. He idolises Moxxi, complimenting her on how attractive she is and how smart she is and including her in his circle of close friends/teammates. Then the inevitable happens and she lets him down and he instantly changes his opinion on her as if he’d never thought she was good to begin with. The same happens with Rhys. Throughout tftbl, Jack is best friends with Rhys and seems to form a one-sided connection with him where he idolises him and thinks they’re going to be best friends for ever and that they’re the perfect team. You cannot make him mad at you in tftbl (trust me, I’ve tried). He’s encouraging to Rhys the whole way through, like they’re brothers. Then the second Rhys displays doubts about something Jack is passionate about, Jack reacts violently and completely devalues Rhys, claiming him to be his mortal enemy and trying to kill him. People with BPD do this often. They have strong convictions and have a tendency to feel betrayed by people who go against those convictions. Jack does this regularly and it leads to the breakup of a lot of his relationships.

Paranoia

He vented a room full of scientists into space, just in case. I mean, that pretty much sums it up, really. Jack is under a lot of stress at this point in the game and stress-induced paranoia is a particularly difficult symptom of BPD. With him already feeling the pressure, the mention of a possible mole is a huge trigger for Jack. Especially since he’s reeling from the recent betrayal from a friend. His brain is already working over time, planting uneasy feelings of distrust and being unsafe. So when he’s presented with the idea from an outside source, he runs with it. Betrayal goes on to become a big button to push in Jack’s life to the extent that he actively betrays people before they get a chance to betray him (ie; killing Wilhelm). Paranoia feeds into a lot of Jack’s bad decisions, particularly in the pre sequel era.

Delusion

Jack wasn’t lying when he told us that he’s the hero. He absolutely was not the hero at all, but he wasn’t lying about it. Because lying about something implies that you know it’s not true, and Jack genuinely believes he’s a good person. The best person, in fact. It’s not a lie because in his mind, it’s the god given truth. He’s massively delusional, even before the events of the pre sequel. He’ll spout all the cheesy 80s movie lines about saving the moon and being the hero and he thinks he’s the protagonist of his own big adventure. We know that’s not what’s happening, but Jack doesn’t see it that way. Another delusion is the idea he has about how much everyone loves him. He thinks Moxxi is obsessed with him and he thinks Angel is being forced to work against him. He cannot conceive of a world in which people don’t like him or agree with him. Because why wouldn’t they agree with him? He’s the hero. Everybody loves the hero...

Intense but unstable relationships

Moxxi, Angel, Lilith, the Vault Hunter; I could go on. Jack’s relationships with people are volatile and rocky, even when they’re seemingly on the same side like with Moxxi or even Nisha (who he forms a tight bond with very quickly). People with BPD feel all emotions intensely, which causes a roller coaster. Jack really likes Moxxi, but then he doesn’t want to talk to her, but then he wants her on the team, but then he gets mad at her for calling him a pet name and beign friendly, and then he’s telling her she’s sexy, and then he’s cursing her, and then he’s hanging pictures of her in his casino. It’s the same with Angel - he subjects her to physical torture, then he loves her, then he’s mad at her for helping the Vault Hunter, then he’s doting on her, then he’s manipulating her, then he’s grieving for her. Everything is a whirlwind.

Distorted self-image

Oh boy. Jack has this physically and mentally. Mentally in the sense that he thinks he’s a good person when he actions are abhorrent and also because he’s massively insecure. BPD often comes with a lack of identity, which causes insecurity to begin with. Throw that in a pot alongside some childhood abuse, betrayal, work place bullying, and grief, and you got yourself a big pot of insecurity soup. Put plainly, Jack doesn’t really know who he is at his baseline. His personality and interests and ideas and needs all change on an hourly basis. He morphs to suit his circumstances. He can be open, honest and down to earth when he’s trying to trick Rhys. He can be full of worry and desperation when he needs you to head to grandma’s house. He can be cunning and clever when he’s tricking you into killing Wilhelm. He can be fatherly, he can be nasty, he can be torturous, he can be laid back, he can be clever, he can be ignorant, he can be sheepish, he can be cocky. He’s everyone and no one all at once and this probably leaves him feeling very hollow and empty; which is another symptom of BPD. In the physical sense, Jack issues with self image are pretty clear. He wears a face over his face to hide his face. Yup. And he does this because he thinks he’s disgracefully ugly. This scar he’s so vehemently protective of is something that defines his whole persona going forward. He literally claims himself as Handsome Jack, forcing people to adhere to the idea that he’s so attractive that it should be his title. Even though he doesn’t feel that way and does everything he can to hide the real him. He thinks he’s hideous and he struggles between loving himself and hating himself because of it.

Fear of abandonment

Aaaand here we are at the crux of the problem. BPD boils down to the intense fear of abandonment and this is probably what guides Jack for most of his life. His father died, his mother literally abandoned him, his grandmother neglected him, his first wife died, second wife left, girlfriend and friends betrayed him, and daughter killed herself to get away from him. Abandonment is practically coded into Jack’s DNA at this point and every time it happens, it confirms his fears more. He clings to Moxxi after she betrays him - taking her ideas to try and rile her up and even going as far as to recreate her entire bar in his casino because he wants to keep her presence around. He fights tooth and claw against Angel’s rebellion, begging both her and you to stop what you’re doing and leave. The only time he begs you is when he’s facing perceived abandonment, that’s how strong the fear is. His final words to Angel are “I’ll still forgive you.” Jack isn’t a forgiving man by any stretch, but he’ll say anything he has to in order to prevent her from leaving him. He’ll stalk people, he’ll manipulate them, he’ll lie to them or keep them physically locked up - all to prevent them from abandoning him. The worst possible thing that could happen to Jack is that, and we see the spiral he slips into after Angel. After Moxxi. After the Meriff. After his wife. He can’t bare the thought of someone leaving him and he’ll do anything and everything to prevent his fears becoming a reality.

So yeah! There it is, I finally got around to posting it lol. There’s probably a lot more little details that I’ve forgotten, but I cannot think of them right now. I’ll probably update if I think of any more! The tl;dr is that almost all of Jack’s behaviour can be linked to massively untreated BPD. He needed meds and therapy, but he didn’t get them and he spiralled as a result.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

A dad, but make it official.

summary: All Harry has to do is sign the papers. 

word count: 3.8k

a/n: sooo, a lot of you have been asking me about harry adopting artemis and them moving in with harry, and i’m sorry for not answering!! but here it is, sorry to keep you waiting! btw, i’ll start putting the dates in each blurb so none of you get confused with the timeline!!

you can find more of my shy little boy here

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

August, 2019.

To many people in the outside, it seemed like Harry and Y/N haven’t been together for much, but to anyone who actually knows the couple and gets to see how they are with each other, it seemed like they’ve been dating for years.

Harry knew Y/N was the love of his life, and he also knew there were two things that he wanted more than anything in this world: put a ring on her finger and give his last name to her son.

There wasn’t a protocol on what to do first when it comes to take big decisions with your partner, and they weren’t a normal couple either. But what Harry was sure of, was his endless, unconditional love for the both of them.

The actual conversation of Harry becoming Artemis father legally didn’t come up for a long time between the couple. Harry’s heart ached to know what Y/N thought about them being an official family, but by any means he wanted to make her uncomfortable.

So he kept the thoughts to himself for some time, focusing on being happy with what they had right now and knowing they were in for the long run and it would be just matter of time until his wishes would finally come true.

It was a rainy day in London, a storm was supposed to happen at any time now. Y/N’s car was at the shop and Harry promised her to pick her up at UCL so they could go for Artemis afterwards.

They were hoping to get there before the rain started but still had umbrellas and a raincoat for Artemis, just in case. The sky was gray and the wind was extremely strong, so Harry drove carefully.

“Will the two of us get down?” Harry asked once he parked the car, looking through the window how different parents would get out of their own vehicles and ran to the doors of the school.

“Yeah, but let’s hurry”

The couple went out of the car and held hands while hurrying inside. Artemis’ classroom was just down the hall, and by the time they reached it, it was almost empty.

Artemis was sitting on one of the chairs coloring a book, but as soon as he looked up and saw Harry and his mum enter the room, he put the book away and ran towards them.

“You’re here!” He exclaimed, happily hugging Y/N’s legs and then Harry’s.

“Was everything okay today?” Y/N asked while Harry took Artemis to grab his things.

“He was a total sweetheart, as always” The teacher smiled. “If the storm gets worse, class might be cancelled. We’ll be sending an email”

They thanked the teacher and walked out of the classroom. Harry scooped the little boy in his arms and Y/N carried his backpack. It was already starting to rain so they hurried inside of the car.

“Where are we going now?”

“Harry’s house, honey. Is that okay?” Artemis nodded excitedly, kicking his legs back and forth.

“Harry, can you put your song?” Harry chuckled, knowing exactly which song Artemis was requesting.

“I can’t believe he likes this song” The curly haired man sitting on the driver’s seat laughed as the first notes of the song from his old band started playing in the car.

“They say that we’re not good together, and it’s never gonna work out!” Artemis screamed the lyrics of the song he had listened to so many times Y/N has already lost the count.

“I mean, who even showed this to him?” Harry was dying from embarrassment but was also enjoying himself.

“Perhaps I might be responsible for that” Y/N said, smiling innocently.

They had no choice but to join him and sing along too. These were the kind of moment where Harry felt at his happiest, two of his favorite people with him, doing something so mundane like riding a car but at the same time it felt so special and dear to him.

Harry’s house was a little further away from Artemis’ school, so the ride was longer. But they had fun during it.

“So, what do you want for lunch?”

“Nuggets!” Artemis threw his little arms over his head, actually thinking Y/N would allow chicken nuggets.

“What?! We need real food in our tummies!” Harry exclaimed while laughing.

They ended up eating pasta and Harry might have or might have not slipped some chicken nuggets under the table while Artemis was helping Harry cook.

After eating all three together, Artemis asked for permission to play with the toys he kept in Harry’s house, so Y/N and Harry were left alone in the living room.

“Hope you’re in the mood for red wine” Harry sat down beside his girlfriend, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Think he’ll be there for long?”

“He does like the toys you bought him, so he might be there for a while”

Harry leaned towards her, capturing her lips in a kiss. He put his opened palm on the side of her head, deepening the kiss. Y/N pulled away to breath, but she planted little pecks all the way through Harry’s jawline until she reached his lips again.

“I love you so much, baby” Harry whispered, inches away from her face.

“Mhm, I love you more” She cooed, smiling at him. Y/N gave him one more peck before pulling away and sighing.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, putting one piece of hair behind her ear. “What’s on your mind, uh?”

“It’s… I don’t know, we don’t have to talk about that”

“Talk about what, darling?”

They adjusted on their seats so they could be facing each other.

“Just… don’t freak out” she told him. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and… well, you make me, us, very happy. And I really do want this to be… you know, a permanent thing” she started rambling, Harry’s face started to form a goofy smile. “How would you feel about adopting?” She asked abruptly.

“Well, it depends. Adopting a new baby or… my little fella over there?” He pointed down the hall. “Because I’m pretty fine with either, love”

“How are you so calm about this?” She frowned.

“Because I want this too, Y/N. You two make me very happy and I do see us as a permanent thing. I’m glad we’re both on that page, you know?” He took her hand. “I’m also glad we’re talking about this. There’s nothing more I want than give Artemis the Styles last name, legally. But adoption can take a little while so I’m happy we’re discussing this now”

Y/N smiled big at him, looking directly at his gorgeous green eyes. “So, you only want to give my son your last name?”

“I mean, I guess we can sort something out for you” Harry rolled his eyes playfully. Y/N opened her mouth, pretending to be offended, making him let out a big belly laugh.  

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

For the next few weeks Y/N and Harry met with an adoption attorney to start looking for the process. They were told it shouldn’t take longer than six months, and that the fact that Artemis’ other parent was absent and did not have any paternal rights, it would be easier to get through the process.

“There’s something else” the attorney said. “You must live with the child for at least six months before we can make any moves, it’s the law”

Harry nodded, sinking in the information the man in front of them was giving. “If there’s more questions, feel free to give me a call”

They shook hands and Harry walked him out of the house. “Well, that went good, innit?”

“Yeah... I mean, at least we know how the process works now” Y/N sighed, whipping the sweat from the palms of her hands. She kind of had an idea of that the process was, and somehow she wasn’t scared of the adoption part but the whole living together wasn’t something they’ve really discussed.

“At least now we have the perspective for the future” Harry gave her a big smile. His mind started to imagine their future together, as a family, and he couldn’t be more excited for it.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

October, 2019.

Harry’s been really nervous lately. The trial against the man who’s been stalking him had him on his nerves. He’s been asking Y/N to stay in his house because he was scared the man would go there while Harry wasn’t with them.

It was safe to say he was scared. And so was Y/N. She knows exactly who’s he talking about as she herself has had an encounter with the homeless guy. Recently.

Three days ago she was out in a morning run before going to work, she had a late class to give and Artemis was already at school so she wanted to take advantage of the free time.

When she was running back to her house to get a shower and drive to work, she noticed someone standing in front of the house. Y/N slowed down, trying to get a better look of the person who was there.

He was just looking at the house, staring. She gasped when the man turned, giving her a clear look to his face. It was the same man who’s been tormenting Harry for quite some time.

She knew Harry was taking that man to court, but she didn’t understand why he was in her house and how did he get her address.

Was he following her?

Too scared to come any closer, Y/N got her phone out of her pocket and called Harry.

“Are you sure it’s him?” he asked in the other end of the line. It sounded like he was looking for something around his house.

“Yeah, he turned and I saw his face” She mumbled, her gaze still focused on that man.

“I’ll be there in five”

He hung up and Y/N waited for him to get there. It didn’t take Harry long to get there, as he was driving real fast. He was mad, furious even. But he was also terrified.

One thing was tormenting him, but his family? The people he loves and cares about?

When he saw Y/N standing a few houses away from her own, Harry almost jumped out of his car. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He scanned her body up and down, trying to make sure she was in one piece. “Where is Artemis?”

“He’s at school, I went for a run. Can… can we go?” Y/N was practically shaking and Harry almost had to carry her inside of his car. They drove off and Y/N was finally able to breathe. “What did he want?”

“I don’t know, love. Was he there when you left for your run?”

“No, I didn’t see him”

“I’m gonna handle this, okay?” He put a hand on her knee. “He’s not gonna hurt you or Artemis” He promised. There was something about his voice and his hand on her knee that soothed her.

She only felt safe again when they were back inside Harry’s house, all the doors locked. Y/N had to call the school and say she was sick, and to be honest she kind of felt like she was.

“I can’t believe it, Harry. Did he follow me? Or you?”

“Probably me” He sighed. “God, I just want it to be over. I don’t understand why he would do that two weeks before the trial”

“Well, it was fucking terrifying. What a bloody creep” Y/N wrapped her arms around herself.

“I’ll take care of it, okay?” He leaned to kiss her forehead. “Everything’s gonna be fine”

She nodded and watched how he disappeared from the living room, probably to call his lawyer. Y/N started thinking about the next steps she should take. Perhaps it was time to look for another house, one with more security or in a gated community. But, could she afford that? Yeah, her salary was nice and she was able to provide for her and Artemis just fine, but she wondered how buying a house would affect her economy right now.

Harry returned to the living room with a glass of water for his girlfriend, sitting next to her on the couch. To Harry, she seemed a lot more relaxed than when he left. It was hard for him too, his mind was going places and thinking things he’d rather not to.

“I know it might be a dumb question, but how are you?”

“I’m a little bit freaked out, but I’m fine” She gave him a half smile.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You don’t deserve this”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. It is not your fault someone thought they had the right to harass you, or that it was okay to stalk you” She took his hands in hers, looking directly at her eyes.

“Move in with me, both of you” He said, tightening the grip in her hands.

“Harry…” she whispered.

“Just, hear me out. I’ve been thinking about it since we had that meeting with the attorney, and… I’m ready whenever you are, okay?” he paused. “But I have to admit it would give me a lot of peace if you two were here full time. I hate to think something could happen to any of you while I’m not there” Harry sighed. “Please, just think about it. Promise me you’ll at least consider it”

Harry was looking at her with big puppy eyes. It was already impossible to say no to him on a daily basis but when he pulled out that look… He could get whatever he desired and he knew it.

“I’d think about it. It’d be a big change and I’d be more comfortable if I talked with Artemis first. His opinion is important too”

“Absolutely. Thank you, baby” Harry pulled her in a hug, kissing the top of her head.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

Turns out, Artemis was more than okay with the idea of living full time with Harry. When Y/N talked to him, he started jumping around his room, saying how he couldn’t wait to see Harry again.

She must admit it took a huge weight out of her shoulders knowing Artemis agreed. The man never came back to their house, but Harry insisted on them moving as soon as possible.

“Jesus, mate. How many toys do you have?” Harry asked, playfully groaning while carrying one of the boxes that were filled with Artemis’ toys.

“Harry, will there be enough space for my toys at your house?” Artemis was watching Harry carry the boxes, he was sitting on top of other box.

“Of course, monkey. I know you already have a room there, but if you want to choose another one, we can decorate it as you please”

“Can it have a cool wallpaper?”

“What would you like?” Harry chuckled.

“Clouds!” Artemis has been obsessed with Toy Story lately, and he wanted his room to be exactly like Andy’s.

“If clouds is what you want, clouds is what you’ll get”

Y/N decided to not take any furniture with them, as Harry’s was plenty enough. She had decided to rent the house to one of her friends that was looking to move.

Harry of course didn’t let Y/N carry anything relatively heavy, so he did all the lifting. The moving truck that they rented along with the people they hired were out of the house, putting everything inside of the car.

“These are the last boxes. We left Artemis’ room for last”

“God, I never noticed how much stuff he had until I started packing it” Y/N laughed.

It only took them another hour to get everything out of Y/N house. She felt nostalgic after the last box was out of the house. She knew she made the right choice, and couldn’t be more excited for this new chapter, but this house held so many memories.

Y/N’s moms bought this house for her and for Artemis. He was only one when they walked through the door for the first time, back when it was only the two of them and no one else.

But now it wasn’t just Artemis and Y/N anymore. And that was more than okay.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

January 30th, 2020.

It was Harry’s birthday week. He was supposed to play this concert in Miami and Y/N had the biggest surprise planned for him.

Y/N made sure they were there to see him play, and to bring onstage his birthday cake. There was something else she wanted to give him, but that surprise was something she’d keep to herself until they were alone.

“The weather doesn’t seem to get better” Harry said, looking through the window of the hotel room they were staying at.

“Do you think the weather will get better before the concert?” Y/N was knelt down in front of Artemis, tying up his sneakers.

“I hope so” He sighed.

“You still joining Lizzo for her number tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fun. Will you two watch me?” Harry walked towards the bed and sat next to Artemis.

“Who’s Lizzo, daddy?”

“A very nice person. Would you like to meet her, bud?”

Artemis nodded shyly. They headed downstairs to eat lunch at the hotel’s restaurant. Harry was in the middle of helping Artemis clean his face with a napkin when some girls approached them.

Y/N sent a kind smile their way as they asked for a picture. Harry being Harry, agreed.

“Is that Artemis?” One of them asked. “Hi, Y/N” They both smiled.

“Hi, girls” She smiled back.

“This is Artemis. Say hi, baby”

The little boy mumbled a little ‘hi’, looking down his plate. Harry got up from his chair and Y/N took the pictures for the girls. They were actually very nice and Harry was very pleased with the way they treated his loves.

Ever since he started dating Y/N, Harry took special attention to the way fans treated her and Artemis. Most of them were polite as they’d never really do anything to upset Harry, but there were still the ones that would get a little pushy. Especially with Artemis.

Usually he tried to understand. Artemis was an extremely adorable child, and people liked to compliment cute children, right? But his baby didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Harry was pretty sure Artemis would riot if someone tried to pinch his cheek.

“They were nice, weren’t there?” Y/N asked once the two girls walked away and they went back to their lunches.

“Yeah, they were very kind”

Rest of the lunch went smoothly and then Harry had sound check at the venue. Artemis wanted to go to the pool so Y/N and he stayed behind. Some other fans approached them when they went by the pool and talked for a little.

After a little while they had to back to their room to get ready to go to Lizzo’s concert at 9pm. It was a little past Artemis’ bedtime, but this was a special occasion.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

January 31th, 2020.

The weather wasn’t getting any better, and Harry was nervous the concert would get cancelled. He really wanted to start his birthday celebration on stage, singing in a room full of lovely people.

But it really did seem like the universe didn’t want that.

Later that afternoon they got a call from the fire department saying that under any circumstances they show would be played tonight as it wasn’t safe with the storm coming in the way.

Harry felt really bad about it. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone but even if he’d want to (and he really wanted to), there was no way he could play the concert.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, but it was not safe, honey” Y/N sat behind Harry, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Artemis was with Mitch and Sarah at their dressing room. They were waiting for their car to pick them up from the venue. “You’ll still have a great birthday, H. I promise”

“I just don’t want to make them upset” He mumbled.

“They’re not. You can’t control the weather, Harry. This is not your fault” She moved to look at him. He looked very sad, he was really looking forward to this show.

The car arrived shortly after and they were back at the hotel safely. Harry still looked upset so he didn’t talk much in the ride back. Artemis was already sleepy, so as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.

After brushing their teeth and doing their nightly routine, they were ready for bed. Harry was sighing and pouting like a baby, and Y/N felt really bad for him.

“Okay, I was going to wait until tomorrow for your actual birthday but you clearly need a cheer up” Y/N got out of bed and walked to her suitcase.

Harry looked at her confusedly but got out of bed as well. “What are you talking about?”

“So, I know we haven’t talked about this in a while, but I received a call from the attorney the other day”

“And…?”

“He told me he had the papers ready if we still wanted them” She had the papers hid behind her back so she slowly put them in front of him. “He said all you had to do was sign and you’ll be officially a dad” She flashed him a little smile. “It’s okay if you’re not… ready yet or have changed your mind. You can sign them whenever you want… or not. Your choice”

Harry looked up at him, his emerald eyes were full of tears ready to come out. He was truly speechless. It had slipped through his mind, being honest. It truly did catch him by surprise but he couldn’t stop the butterflies on his tummy.

It hit him. All he had to do was sign. And his boy, would be his. Officially, Legally his.

He nodded furiously, breathing a smile. “Do you have a pen?”

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

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