#they ‘loaf’ their son I’m not crying you are-

[zibiscusloon]

Yeah Imma be away for a while I need to process everything that happened in The Owl House-

[sepublic]

Reminder that the Titan was probably watching when King agonized and worried over the possibility that his dad left him, until he was to the point of tears over his grief and loneliness; Crying out so hard that it unlocked his roar.

The Titan was watching when King disavowed his father for not being there for him, unable to do anything to explain to it comfort his child as King cried over the fact that he might not ever reconnect with his heritage, not even know what he’d look like when he was grown up! Helpless as King turned to resentment to cope with his pain and anxiety over his lost family...

I love you Lilith but I’m pretty sure projecting your parental issues onto King and the discomforting worship made the Titan a tad salty towards you. At least until Season 3, hopefully...

At least the Titan was here to see this. Glad to be hugged by his son and be able to hug him back, in any capacity... King got closure and understanding and forgave, even before being told “I loaf you.”

[superloves4]

The Flame we Held (Fëanor son of Melkor AU) - Chapter 5

Relationships: Melkor/Mairon, Melkor & Fëanor, Mairon & Fëanor, Fëanor/Nerdanel Summary: Miriel made a deal with Melkor, she'd be able to bear children but in return the dark lord asked for her firstborn. When he gets imprisoned she believes herself to be free of her promise but Melkor shall claim his prize. TW: none! A/N: Mairon: Christianity? Near my child?? Are you crazy?!

Masterlist and on Ao3

Fëanor was crying, it was the third time that month. Melkor was looking at him with a shit eating grin and Mairon was doing his best to ignore it.

Perhaps he had taken some measure of pride that the child never cried with him, and perhaps this was far more humiliating than he cared for, and perhaps it was a great pain to the ears. Mairon hated to admit to it, but he had no idea what to do now.

“I’m just waiting for your words, precious,” Melkor said, holding back the laughter.

He bit his tongue but through his teeth he hissed “I need help”

Melkor’s laughter bellowed through the halls of Angband as he clapped his hands in delight, rushing to grab the nearest orc he could find.

The orc came back with one of the elven thralls, a shivering thing who thought their end was nigh, and it would, if they didn’t make Fëanor stop crying. Mairon’s eyes must’ve betrayed his irritation for the thrall stopped dead in their track at the door.

Mairon sighed, honey, not vinegar, he reminded himself.

He beckoned the prisoner closer and the orc dragged them whenever needed “If you are able to solve my problem, you and the others of your company shall receive an additional loaf of bread for a week.”

“Oh, you’re truly desperate.”

Mairon ignored his lover.

The thrall gulped, staring ahead, trying to ignore being under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord himself, noticing then the cries they’d heard came from a crib, a very well made, with very expensive covers, new crib. Was that the Lord of werewolves and the Dark Lord’s child? Had their terrible romance born a new abomination? They took a step forward, only to see a child, a normal child, if it wasn’t for the people presenting him, Sùlben would’ve thought it was elven.

“Have, have you fed him?” they asked, withering under the lord’s glare.

Mairon’s voice echoed in the palace “Do you take me for a fool?! The child has been fed and changed and yet has not stopped crying in days! What is the cause?!”

Sùlben was no healer but there was nothing that they could tell to be wrong with the baby and if all his needs had been met, maybe. They reached towards the baby but their hands were grabbed by the Dark Lord.

“I can kill you faster than you can do anything,”

Sùlben shivered again “N-no! I didn’t want to hurt the child! I just-”

“Let them, love.”

Sùlben thanked all the Valar’s they could think of, watching as the two lords stared at each other instead of them.

“Are you sure?” the Dark Lord looked at his lover, waiting for his permission, it was almost strange to be able to pry as such on their relationship, to see as the Dark Lord acted not so differently from the wolves waiting for their masters command. It was almost normal in a way, Sùlben thought maybe that was why the child was so normal.

Mairon nodded and Melkor let the thrall go.

Sùlben cowered a little but once more reached into the crib, taking the baby into their arms and just rocking him, they would’ve liked to have a child once, alas they’d never found the one for them but it was nice to know that holding one was as soft as they always imagined. Singing a little ditty from the Journey they never finished, choosing to remain for king Thingol instead.

Mairon watched in confusion as the prisoner seemingly stupid actions did, in fact, yield results, Fëanor’s cries diminishing to nothing, and the thrall hadn’t even used songs of power! Mairon didn’t want to use too much power on Fëanor, he had no idea what consequences it could have, but with the constant crying he had, so he could at least have some peace, so why had he been forced to do so but not this lowly thrall?

“What are you doing?”

“You do not hold your child much, do you?” the prisoner asked cheekily, too cheekily, they quickly changed their tune at another glare “All children want to be held by their parents”

Mairon would have disagreed on the parent part, he was merely the overseer of his lord’s prize, but the elf didn’t need to know that much.

“It is unnecessary,” he answered, holding his head higher, ignoring Melkor’s snickering.

The thrall bit their lower lip before continuing “Babies do need to be held, they could die without it, besides,” they hesitated again but Mairon ordered them to continue “Babies want to bond with their parents, do not deny your child as much, lord.”

He scoffed, for all his knowledge, elven children had that kind of weakness? That was something he never took in consideration before, but with elven babies being so helpless, the forming of a strong bond with the caretaker was an advantage to help them survive, yes, it made sense, he had to write it down later. To think the answer was so close all along… did that make him the mother? Mairon shook that image from his mind.

“Give me,” he ordered.

Sùlben gulped and grudgingly handed over the baby.

They then hesitantly said “Do not forget the rocking, it soothes children.”

Fëanor stared at him, not a tear in sight for the first time in a week, Mairon could cry, it was almost funny and it appeared to amuse the child as well, for Fëanor chose than moment to smile for the first time, the screaming little beast finally appeased. He’d gladly fight Manwë’s champion instead.

“Very well,” Mairon proclaimed “You are dismissed.”

Sùlben was quickly approached by the orc that had brought them there and they knew they were expected to run along and not to disturb but they gathered whatever courage they still had to ask “The bread, shall you keep your word, master?”

They squirmed under Mairon flaming look but amidst the pounding of their heart in their ear, they heard:

“So be it, be gone now.”

And gone they were, as quickly as their legs could carry them.

Melkor intently watched the elf leave before leaving to stand closer to Mairon, who seemed more preoccupied with letting Fëanor play with his fingers, it was something he was noticing more and more lately, Mairon would pay more attention to Fëanor than their projects and it displeased him, the child had been his idea but he never meant for that to become a priority.

“Should I kill them?” Melkor asked, taking back Mairon’s gaze.

The lieutenant thought about it for a moment, before shaking his head “No, I see there is still much I don’t understand about the eldar, that prisoner will be good for my studies” his flaming eyes sparkling for the project to come.

“You could just leave Fëanor with them, you won’t have to see to it so,” he shrugged “personally.”

Mairon rolled his eyes while in his arms, Fëanor cooed “And let his elven ideals poison the child? Next you see, he will be worshiping the damned Valar”

Melkor pouted.

[brightdeadthing]

- Ocean Vuong, from Time Is a Mother (text under the cut)

We are shoveling snow, this man and I, our backs coming closer along the drive. It’s so quiet every flake on my coat has a life. I used to cry in a genre no one read. What a joke, they said, on fire. There’s no money in it, son, they shouted, smoke from their mouths. But ghosts say funny things when they’re family. This man and I, we take what will vanish anyway and move it aside, making space. There is so much room in a person there should be more of us in here. Traveler who is inches away but never here, are you warm where you are? Are you you where you are? Something must come of this. In one of the rooms in the house the man and I share, a loaf of rye is rising out of itself, growing lighter as it takes up more of the world. In humans, we call this Aging. In bread, we call it Proof. We’re in our thirties now and I rolled the dough just an hour ago, pushing my glasses up my nose with a flour-dusted palm as I read, reread, the hand-scrawled recipe given me by the man’s grandmother, the one who, fleeing Stalin, bought a ticket from Vilnius to Dresden without thinking it would stop, it so happened, in Auschwitz (it was a town after all), where she and her brother were asked to get off by soldiers who whispered, keep moving, keep moving like boys leading horses through wheat fields in the night. How she passed the huddled coats, how some were herded down barbed-wired lanes. The smoke from our mouths rising as the man and I bend and lift, in silence, the morning clear as one inside a snow globe. How can we know, with a house full of bread, that it’s hunger, not people, that survives? He pours a bag of salt over the pavement. From where I’m standing it looks like light is spilling out of him, like the dusty sunray that found his grandmother’s hands as she got back on the train, her brother at her side, smoke from the engine blown across the faces outside, which soon fell back into pine forests, washed pastures, empty houses with full rooms. The man clutches his stomach as if shot, the light floods out of him—I mean you. Because something must come of this. When the guard asked your grandmother if she was Jewish, she shook her head, half-lying, then took from her bag a roll, baked the night before, tucked it in the guard’s chest pocket. She didn’t look back as the train carried her, newly twenty, toward where I now stand, on a Sunday in Florence, Massachusetts, squinting at her faded scrawl: sift flour, then beat eggs until happy-yellow. The train will reach Dresden days before the sky is filled with firebombers. More smoke. A bullet or shrapnel, failing to find her. The brother under rubble, his name everywhere outside her like the snow falling on your face forty years later, on December 2, 1984, while your mother carries you, alive only three hours, the few steps to the mini-van where your grandmother, sixty now, crowns your head with her brother’s name. Peter, she says, Peter, as if the dead could be called back into new, stunned bones. The snow has started up again, whitening the path as though nothing happened. But to live like a bullet, to touch people with such intention. To be born going one way, toward everything alive. To walk into the world you never asked for and choose a place where your wanting ends—which part of war do we owe this knowledge? It’s warm in this house where we will die, you and I. Let the stanza be one room, then. Let it be big enough for everyone, even the ghosts rising now from this bread we tear open to see what we’ve made of each other. I know, we’ve been growing further apart, unhappy but half full. That clearing snow and baking bread will not fix this. I know, too, as I reach across the table to brush the leftover ice from your beard, that it’s already water. It’s nothing you say, laughing for the first time in weeks. It’s really nothing. And I believe you. I shouldn’t, but I do.

[prideplus]

“Hello! I’ve been working at Tumblr for a bit over two years, but have been on [tumblr] since 2012. I’ve identified as bi since high school, but in the last year or so, I’ve been doing a lot of introspection and have come to realize that while I’m biromantic, I’m also demisexual. TBH [tumblr] has helped me a lot with coming to terms with this, and I find a lot of comfort in the vocal and open support for aro/ace folks here. So…thanks for that!”

What’s your favorite food, and why is it garlic bread?

Funnily enough, I’ve been baking my own bread for YEARS. I got really into sourdough in 2018, and this is an excellent reminder that I need to feed my starter, which is named My Smol Microbial Sons! Baking bread is really comforting for me, especially because I get to share it with people I care about. I get a lot of joy from giving a fresh warm loaf of bread to family and friends. I don’t know if it’s my favorite food, but it’s definitely my favorite food to make!

You find a magical bow and arrow—what/who do you aim for, and what happens when you hit your mark?

I aim for my friends and family with every arrow, and when it hits them, they immediately feel how much I appreciate their love and support. It’s been a rough few years, and we’ve all been through so much, and I wish I could convey how important the people I love are to me. We’ve been there for each other through thick and thin, and having a core group of folks to laugh and cry with means the absolute world to me.

[darkmulti]

(Yandere and non con warning)

Def not the only one who wants a 18th century h.c of possessive and controlling, husband!Jungkook x forced wife!reader. Jungkook gets jealous after witnessing another man asking you out and when you come back home at night, he breeds you. Please make it rough and non con. Thank you❤️‍🔥

-> you’re definitely not the only one. I can assure you that I’ve thought about this too many times😫

⚠️: NON CON, YANDERE!JUNGKOOK, Squirting/piss play, Physically, mental and emotional abuse, spit play,

-> sorry for any mistakes

Your parents owned a local bakery store

All the recipes were from your late grandmother

You spent almost all of your time there because you were in charge of everything

The store was under your parents’ name but you were the one running it

Sometimes, you even slept there because it’d be too late to walk home

Your dedication to the bakery made it successful

Although, you were the one doing all the work, you parents took all the credit and money

They weren’t paying you because you’re their child

They don’t need to pay you

“It’s a women’s place.” Your father said

You wanted to go back to school however, your parents laughed in your face

“School aren’t for girls, Y/N. Learn how to cook and clean. That’s all you need to know. Let the men handle everything else.”

You were tired of fighting with them and eventually stopped because they threatened to set you up in an arrange marriage

Now, it was just you and the bakery

You had many loyal customers and recently, one has been coming everyday, at the same time

He’d always buy a loaf of banana bread and if he was in a good mood, a blueberry muffin as well

Then, he’d sit in the corner table and eat two - three slices before getting up and leaving

He’d always leave a tip behind and you always kept it for yourself

One day, he didn’t come and you were surprised

For a year straight, he came and bought the same two things

Now, he hasn’t visited in 4 days

Tonight, you came back home for the first time in a while

Your parents had visited the bakery to collect “their” earnings and told you that you have to go somewhere with them that evening

After closing up and cleaning up, you went home and got ready

Your parents were taking you out for dinner as a treat for all your hard work

You were really excited because they were finally acknowledging your hard work

Once you arrived at the restaurant, your parents lead you to a table that already had three people seated

You immediately recognize one of them

It’s that guy who buys your banana loaf!

You sat in front of him while your parents greeted the two other strangers

“Oh, so this is your daughter? She’s gorgeous! Come here and give me a hug.”

You awkwardly chuckled and got up to hug the middle aged women

“Oh! Where are my manners? My name is Jeon F/N, this is my husband, Jeon F/N and this is our son, Jeon Jungkook. We’re your soon to be in laws!”

You heart dropped to the floor

“I-in laws?” You asked, confused

“Yeah, honey. Is this your first time hearing about this? We’ve been talking to your parents for a while now.”

You snapped your head towards you parents and they looked emotionless

“No, no they didn’t tell me anything.”

Dinner with them was hell

Your parents were talking about your wedding arrangements right in front of you

You didn’t know what to do

You wanted to rebel but then your parents would disown you

Just like that, you’d be homeless with little money to survive

In the end, you’d be paying the heavy price

You looked at Jungkook who was staring at you the whole time

You wondered if he knew about this

Maybe, that’s why he came to the bakery everyday

“Did you know anything about this?” You said loud enough for him to hear

“I did.”

“For how long?”

“Since last year.”

You eyes widen, in shock

You were right!

“Why didn’t you stop it?”

“Why would I stop it when I’m the one who wants it?”

You scrunch your eyebrows, in confusion

“What’re you talking about?”

“Since the first day I met you, I wanted to marry you. I told my parents and now, we’re getting married.”

Now, you were mad

You got up and stormed off, catching everyone’s attention

You walked to the bakery and locked yourself in

Here, you thought your parents were acknowledging you for first time, when they were actually setting you up for a marriage so they don’t have to take care of you

You cried yourself to sleep that night

The next couple of weeks, the bakery was closed due to your wedding

The wedding was spectacular

You would’ve love it if you weren’t being forced into a marriage

After the wedding, Jungkook took your precious virginity

He made sure to pleasure you until you passed out

He was so in love with you

Now, he was finally able to show you how much he loved you

And mark you as his

The next couple of months, he was attached to you

He took over his family’s business and you took over your family’s business

He’d visit you every day at work to check if you’re with another man

He was so paranoid about it, sometimes he’d come by 3 or 4 times to make sure you were not cheating

You thought he missed you and that’s why he kept stopping by (which is half true) however, you had no idea that he was possessive and controlling

You had to learn the hard way

Sometimes, you wouldn’t leave work until midnight

You had so much things to do like preparing for the next day, making a to-do list, making a grocery lists, and cleaning every area of the shop

It’s time consuming, so obviously you finish up pretty late

Jungkook absolutely hates that

Although you stay late in the shop once in a while, he can’t stand it

He wants you to be in his arms every night

Jungkook gets angry when you’re not

This was your fourth time staying out late in the shop and he’s had enough

He couldn’t help but feel paranoid about what you were actually doing in the shop

What if you lied and went on a date with another man?

What if you were running away from him?

Or even worse, what if you were having sex with another guy?

He raced to the bakery and banged on the door, which scared you

You saw that it was him and let him in

“W-what’s wrong?! You scared me!”

“Grab your stuff, we’re going home.”

“But I’m not done yet! I only have a couple more things to do and then I’ll come home. I told you already-”

“I don’t think you fucking heard me!” He yelled and grabbed your hair

“Grab your shit, we are leaving right now.”

He pushed you towards the counter and crossed his arms

You let your breath out in shock but scurry to get your stuff

You’ve never seen him like this and it terrified you

“I have my stuff.”

“Good, let’s go.”

He helped you lock the door and wrapped his arm around your waist

The walk home was silent

You were scared shitless

All you wanted to do was run back into your parents’ house

But he didn’t let you move an inch away from him

Once you got home, he started pushing you around and arguing some more

“Jungkook, I told you this afternoon when you came to visit! I said I have to stay late so I don’t have to stress myself out in the morning!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me! Who were you fucking seeing?!” He screamed, frightening you more

“No one! I swear, no one!” You whimpered

He corned you into your shared room and locked the door

“Jungkook, I swear! Nothing happened!”

He didn’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth

It was like you were talking to a wall

He pushed you onto the bed and stripped you naked

Jungkook pushed two fingers into your cunt and pretended to scoop out cum

“If nothing happened, why is your cunt full of cum?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t have sex with anyone!”

You weren’t very educated about sex, so Jungkook had an advantage

You began apologizing even though you didn’t have sex with anyone

You just wanted peace between you two

“I’m sorry! I didn’t cheat or anything, but I’m sorry if it hurt you! I really am!”

Jungkook slapped you and spat on your face

“Dirty slut. Telling me that you’re not cheating but still apologizing.”

“No! Please, I didn’t do anything!”

Jungkook pulled his cock out and shoved it in without warning

You were still new to sex so when he didn’t let you adjust, you automatically started screaming and crying

“Please, slower!” You cried, holding onto his biceps as he went faster and deeper

“Stop! Please!”

Jungkook loved the sound of his balls clapping against your ass

It honestly made him harder

All night, he was on top, fucking you hard

Your legs were spread apart, tears in your eyes and sweat dripping down your forehead

You looked like a hot mess

And he loved every second of it

“Mmh- Jungkook!”

You squirted around him and had a trembling orgasm

You couldn’t stop releasing your liquids on him and he couldn’t stop pounding you

The bed sheet was soaked by the end of it

He pushed his cock deep inside and came

After Jungkook fell asleep, you cried for while

How were you supposed to tolerate him for the rest of your life?

The next morning

You woke up in severe pain

You lower region was begging for some pain relief

But there was nothing you could do about it

Jungkook was still sleeping next to you

You decided to leave before he wakes up

After getting ready by leaning on everything, you slowly walked to town

When you arrived at the bakery, you saw a big “for sale” sign

You panicked and went inside the store, only to be greeted by your parents

“Mother, father! Why is there a “for sale” sign on the bakery?”

You parents looked at each other in disappointment

“You see, we have to explain the obvious to your daughter. Be grateful that someone willingly married your idiot daughter.” Your father said before walking out

His words did hurt but you cared about the bakery more than your father

“Why’re you selling it, mother? Can you not afford it anymore? Why-”

“Shut up, Y/N! You’re married now, you have wifely duties. You don’t have time for this bakery so the best option is to sell it.”

Your world fell apart right before your eyes

“But mother-”

“Save it. You already made your father upset. I’m warning you now, you don’t want to get on my bad side.”

You cried the whole morning

After you opened the bakery, lots of people gathered in line

All breads, cakes and muffins were going on sale

After you served the people in line, you went up to the tables and took their order

After you served them, a regular customer who was sitting alone gestured you to come over

You went over to the man and asked him if he needed anything

He told you to take a seat and accompany him

Since the crowd died down, you sat down in front of him

“You look a bit stressed and sad. What’s on your mind?”

You were touched by his words

Finally, someone cared about you

You told him you were upset about the bakery closing

He understood and even offered money to help you keep it open

You were flattered but didn’t accept the money

“Money’s not a problem, my parents just don’t want to keep this shop open.”

You talked with this guy for a couple of hours

Although this was your first time talking to him, you talked to him like he was your best friend

When closing time came around, he got up and asked you out on a date

You didn’t know what to do

You were married but you really liked this guy

You were considering saying yes when someone pulled his shoulder back and punched him across the face

“Jungkook! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“You think I didn’t see that?! I saw it all. I saw you flirting with my wife for three hours straight and then asking her out on a date!”

Jungkook beat the crap out of the guy and pushed him outside

He then came back in the store, looking at you with devil eyes

“Yesterday’s punishment clearly wasn’t enough.”

The entire way home, he was yelling at you, slapping you, spitting on you, pulling your hair, pushing you to the ground and choking you

You were crying the whole time, apologizing over and over

When you arrived home, he seriously had no mercy on you

No foreplay, no lube, no adjusting

Just a raw, thick cock being forced into you

You were begging him to let you go but tonight, nothing was going to stop him

He was moving his hips insanely fast, not giving you enough time to breathe

You were choking on your own sobs

“Jungkook, please no! I’m sorry!”

“Why did you hesitate to deny his offer? You are a married fucking women!” With each word a hard thrust followed, knocking all the air out of you

“Answer me! Is he better than me? Does he take care of you? Does he provide money for you? TELL ME!” He was yelling so loudly, it was making you cry harder

“N-no, he doesn’t. He was just the first person to care about me.” You whispered the last sentence but, Jungkook was able to make it out

“Are you saying that I don’t care about you?”

He got more aggressive and fastened his pace

“Tell me, Y/N! Do you think that I don’t care about you?!”

You couldn’t answer him because you couldn’t catch your breath

He was going too fast and you were crying so hard, you couldn’t breathe

Jungkook noticed how much you were struggling and added onto your struggle by holding your neck down

“Apologize, right now Jeon Y/N!”

You softly apologize but it wasn’t good enough for him

He lifted your legs a little, giving him better access and fucked you till you squirted

This time you sobbed your apology and begged for forgiveness

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook! It’ll never— ah! It’ll never happen again! I’m so sorry! Please for- forgive me for my dumb m-mistake. Please! I’m begging you.” You held onto the bed sheet, praying he would stop

He huskily growled and pushed his cock in deep

“For the next 9 months you’ll be swelling with my baby. Now, everyone can back off.”

He shot his hot cum right into you, filling you up to the rim

Sorry for any mistakes. It’s 3:41am 😄

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 29, Story #1 is by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: In Vino Veritas Author/Artist: Floreatcastellum Pairing: Gen (Harry - Molly platonic/parent-child) Prompt: In Vino Veritas Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Heavy alcohol consumption, mild language.  Molly Weasley was not stupid, and was well aware that young men enjoyed going out and getting drunk. She was not even particularly opposed to it - in principle - and she had to admit that she was very relieved to see George so excited about something. He hadn’t been excited in several long months.

‘Just don’t be too silly,’ she told him.

‘Us? Silly?’ he said, affronted.

‘I mean it, things might be safer but you’re all still targets - especially Harry, he needs to be particularly aware-’

‘I think he is more than aware that people out there want him dead. What he needs is a lot of alcohol to forget that.’

‘No, George.’

She knew he was winding her up, but she also knew that they were planning a big night out, because Ron and Harry had never really had one before, and in all honesty as much as she couldn’t help her disapproval, she did also feel that it was a shame they had missed out on such a rite of passage.

All the same, since George had let it slip, she knew she was going to worry, and her way of coping with that twisting, maternal anxiety was to insist that after their night out they returned, not to the flat in Diagon Alley they shared, but to the Burrow so that she could make them a full English in the morning.

She had also intended to stay up waiting for them, and to call the Law Enforcement Patrol if they were not back by half one to go and search for them, just in case something terrible had happened. But it was an awfully cold Halloween, and so she had got into bed next to Arthur so that she could have the warmth of the duvet, propped herself up against the headboard, and started knitting. The next thing she knew, she was being woken by an almighty crash.

‘Oh, fuck!’

‘Wahey!’

Both Molly and Arthur had already grabbed their wands in a panic before they heard their son’s exasperated voice.

‘Get up - get up, you idiot - George, hold him - oh for crying out loud-’

‘RON-’

‘Ssh! Don’t shout-’

‘Get him some water-’

‘He needs more than water - ahhh I have a brilliant idea-’

‘No, you don’t, whatever it is, abandon it-’

‘HEY, WOW, LOOK AT-’

‘SSH!’

‘That’ll be the boys back, then,’ said Arthur, turning on the bedside lamp and giving her a wry smile. The clock on the table said that it was approaching three in the morning.

‘Sounds like it, what on earth is all the shouting about?’ she asked, pulling on her dressing gown. Tying the cord tightly about her waist and slipping her feet into slippers, she listened to the commotion echoing up the stairs, and tried to figure out what exactly they were doing.

She could hear snorting laughter as she descended the creaking stairs, and Ron’s voice again, sounding remarkably grown up, saying, ‘don’t encourage him, stop it - put that down-’

She could hear saucepans clattering and tins falling, and the hissing spit of the gas; she looked over her shoulder to exchange a bewildered look with Arthur. ‘Are they cooking?’ she whispered, though there was no need, because there was no chance of them hearing her above the noise of George hooting.

‘Beans on toast, beans on toast!’

‘BEANS ON TOAST!’ came Harry’s echo.

‘Shut up, shut up, shut up, both of you, shut-’

‘BEANS ON TOAST!’

Molly had heard enough; she threw open the kitchen door so violently that George jumped and threw an open tin of baked beans several feet into the air. They landed with an impressive splatter across the slate floor. Harry, meanwhile, reached for his wand, but had instead seized a loaf of bread which he now brandished threateningly as he leaned against the counter. Ron had frozen in the middle of filling a glass of water, which now flowed over his hand. All three of them were still streaked with smears of paint from what she assumed were their Halloween costumes.

‘What on earth is going on in here?’ she demanded loudly.

Ron gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh. ‘You woke Mum and Dad,’ he told George and Harry pointlessly.

Harry lowered the bread, and held it sheepishly in both hands, like a child with a toy. George, in a carrying, apologetic whisper, said, ‘...sorry. We’re a bit drunk. Go back to bed.’

‘We can see that,’ said Arthur. ‘Harry,’ he added sharply. ‘What’s wrong with your foot?’

‘Oh, I… I fell on it. It doesn’t matter.’

‘He was dancing on a table!’ exclaimed George, with an accusatory point.

‘I wasn’t dancing, I was standing-’

‘Look at the state of you all!’ she said furiously, as Arthur calmly went over to Harry and guided him, hobbling, to a kitchen chair. ‘So irresponsible-’

‘I’m not that bad!’ said Ron defensively, and in truth Molly was rather surprised and a little proud at how he was being the responsible adult of the group, but there was no denying the heavy slurring, and the slight sway as he towered above her.

'You're not going to lose your bones,' she could hear Arthur saying reassuringly.

‘Mum,’ George was saying urgently, ‘Mum, can you make us beans on toast?’

‘No I will not make you beans on flipping toast! I’ll make you breakfast at a reasonable hour, right now you need to-’

‘Molly,’ Arthur called, ‘Molly, I think we’ll need some Skele-gro-’

‘Noooo - no, Mr Weasley, it’s fine, look, I can-’

Arthur gave a horrified yelp. ‘Don’t do that!’

‘I’ll get it,’ said Ron loudly, and, weaving erratically, he crossed the room to the Healing kit on top of the cupboards.

‘Mum,’ George continued, ‘if I hover up those beans, they’ll be all right, won’t they? Ten second rule, and if I let them boil for a bit?’

In short, it was chaos. Noisy, drunken chaos. In truth, she found it rather amusing, though it was still equally easy to frown and scowl at them. Somehow, and she could not muddle through the boys drunken logic, rooms were assigned and she found herself - and, again, she could not quite see how she had ended up in this situation, guiding Harry into Ron’s attic room and trying to help him into pyjamas. She had noticed before that Harry was a little more open, a little more affectionate, when he’d had a drink, but she had never quite seen him drunk before, and though the first time he had stopped her on the way up the stairs so he could hug her had been rather endearing, by this point she was getting rather fed up.

‘Mrs Weasley,’ said Harry loudly. ‘Mrs Weasley - I-’

‘Come on, dear,’ she said, more grumpily than she had ever spoken to him before.

‘I love you so much, Mrs Weasley-’

Her heart melted in an instant, she tried very hard to hide her smile, continuing to hold out the pyjama top. ‘You need to get into bed, dear.’

‘I love this whole family-’

‘That’s very sweet, Harry,’ she said patiently.

‘Bes’ family in the world-'

‘All right…’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he slurred, and, though he was usually a very shy boy, he pulled his shirt off over his head, knocking his glasses half off in the process.

She looked politely away, but a few muttered swearwords made her look back, and, with a tut, she proceeded to help him untangle himself from the twisted shirt. ‘Hold still - this arm this way- that’s it-’

She had never realised just how covered in scars he was. On his chest, his arm…

The shirt fell to the floor, and she caught his glasses as they tumbled off his ear, and set them on the windowsill. When she turned back, he had one arm in the pyjama shirt, but was missing the other arm and twisting dramatically to try and get at it.

‘Silly boy, here you are,’ she said, helping him, and he started telling her thank you, over and over and over again. When it came to the pyjama bottoms, he seemed to realise that she was there, and gain a sense of shame, and he loudly asked her to turn away and not look, but when she went to the door to leave him to it, he shouted again.

‘No - no wait - Mrs Weasley don’t go, just don’t look - hang on-’

Finally, after the sounds of heavy, staggering hopping and a few more muttered swear words, she said, ‘can I look now?’ and he mumbled an agreement.

‘Oh, no, where are are my glasses?’ he asked, as she guided him to the bed. He sounded very worried.

‘They’re on the windowsill, and look-’ She pointed her wand at the bedside table, and a large jug of water and a glass appeared. ‘You’ve got water, and in a few hours you’ll have some food too, you just need to sleep some of this off. All right, dear?’

He collapsed heavily onto the bed. ‘You’re like the mum I never had,’ he mumbled into the mattress. ‘Mrs Weasley. My aunt never was this kind. Wish I’d been here all ‘long.’

She swallowed, and perched on the bed beside him, and reached out to brusy back his messy hair. ‘I wish you had too,’ she said quietly. ‘But you’re part of the family now, aren’t you? For good. I love you too, we all do.’

'I'm sorry,' he whispered suddenly, rolling onto his side with what must have been considerable effort.

'It's all right, you're just a bit drunk, you know I play the grumpy Mum act up a bit.'

'No. I… I’m sorry for everything I put you and your family through.'

She placed her hand against his face, and looked into his bright eyes. ‘I’d do it all again,’ she told him. ‘In a heartbeat.’

‘Would you?’ he asked quietly. ‘If you knew? If you knew everything that would happen?’

‘I absolutely would still talk to the little boy alone in Kings Cross,’ she said firmly. ‘In fact, I think I would probably go looking for him.’

His eyelids drooped, he sighed heavily. ‘Kings Cross… Thank you.’

Within seconds, she was sure that he was asleep, gone to the world, utterly unwakeable. She smiled, kissed him on the temple, and left the room. From the sounds of it, Arthur was still arguing with George about beans on toast.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Headcanons for Jamil if/when Kalim decides to end the Vipers' indentured servitude? What would he do with newfound freedom and chance to live a normal life?

"Genie Jamil, you're free." - Aladdin Kalim

(These headcanons are set post-NRC graduation!)

Curiouser and Curiouser...

As soon as Kalim gives the word, Jamil's off like a bullet to pack his bags. Kalim lingers in the doorway, watching the whirlwind preparations while wearing a sad smile. He’s there every step of the way, even seeing his friend/rival (?) off at the airport.

Of course, Jamil packs lots of anti-bug items, from bug spray and mosquito nets to a first aid kit full of bug bite treatments and antidotes...

"I'm off to see the world,” Jamil declares, suitcase in hand and backpack strapped to his back. “... Take care of yourself while I’m away, Kalim. You’re your own responsibility now, not mine.”

And so begins Jamil’s journey across Twisted Wonderland to sate his wanderlust. As the plane lifts up from the ground, he can make out the crying form of Kalim—waving and smiling through his tears as he sends Jamil off.

Early in his journey, Jamil picks up a parrot (naming it Iago after the Great Sorcerer of the Desert’s faithful companion) as a travel companion. He teaches it how to speak by using crackers as positive reinforcement, but he later regrets it, as the parrot soon squabbles with him. Though they’re constantly at each other’s necks, Jamil has to admit that the conversation and the company are appreciated. (And not gonna lie, being called “Master” by the parrot really strokes his ego.)

He takes his time visiting the various countries of Twisted Wonderland, sometimes staying as much as a few months at a time just to explore every corner of his current residence. While he’s staying abroad, Jamil makes a living offering his housekeeping and cooking services to the locals. (He doesn’t want to rely on his family’s money to fund his travels, he wants to be self sufficient!)

Jamil doesn’t really need to be doing something specific to be satisfied. He likes just wandering through the towns and cities, drinking in the sights and sounds. After all, now he has all the time in the world to relax and take life as it comes.

Jamil makes his own fun! He keeps very little of his personal belongings or means of amusement on him, bringing only the essentials. Whenever he’s bored, he can just pick up his feet and dance through the streets. It sometimes attracts a crowd that cheers him on (which greatly embarrasses him).

He’s a bit of a sneaky one! If he’s in an area that’s impoverished (say, the slums of the Afterglow Savanna), Jamil will spare some of his food or money in his own “Jamil” way. “Half of this loaf of bread is for me, and half of it is for you,” he’ll say, right before dropping “his” half into the hands of a second child. “Clumsy me, I’ve dropped it. Well... finder’s keepers, as they say.

Sometimes he has to apologize to his neighbors at the hotels and homes he stays at, since Iago can make a racket when he’s upset or hungry.

He passionately avoids making a trip to the depths of the Coral Sea no matter how many invitations Azul sends to him.

Jamil remains relatively polite to others, but he’s now much more free to let his venom and snark shine through in his words. Don’t be surprised if he makes a biting remark here and there.

Jamil sends letters and postcards of the various places he visits back home to Najma (just so she knows he’s safe/not dead). He thinks of Kalim too, but his pride won’t allow him to casually send things to the son of a family that once brought him great pain. (... Well, that’s fine, because Najma shares his letters and postcards with Kalim anyway! “Thank goodness Jamil is happy,” Kalim sighs.)

In the summers, Jamil’s struck with this sense of homesickness. The hot weather reminds him of the climate of his home country, and of the many fond childhood memories he had there, exploring the bazaars and watching fireworks light up the sky. When that happens, he’ll pick up souvenirs and make his way back to the Scalding Sands.

Jamil passes out gifts to his family (though he insists he just “happened” to have the souvenirs on him and had no use for them), then excuses himself—only to be stopped by Najma. “You can’t fool me. There’s someone you’ve still got to pay a visit to, you know? Luckily for you, I know just where he is—though he might be a bit busy!”

Taking her brother by the hand, Najma leads Jamil to the Asim estate (yes, by foot). Once they’ve cleared the front gates and entered the foyer, the Viper siblings are greeted by a familiar face, beaming as brightly as the sun.

“Welcome, strangers. This year’s Silk Ciry Fireworks Festival is hosted by the Asims. As the new head of the family, allow me to welcome you, both to this great city and to the festivities.” Kalim announces, happily spreading his arms out. “And welcome home... Jamil.”

“Squawk! Welcome back, Jamil!!” Iago echoes from his master’s shoulder. Jamil glares at his parrot and gestures for him to zip his beak.

“It’s been so long!! You'll have to tell me all about your travels!” Kalim cries, happily bounding over and taking Jamil’s hands in his own. “Please, stay over! We’ll have a banquet and chat under the stars, just like old times!!”

“Kalim... I return after years away, and you still treat me as though I’m your friend? You really haven’t changed at all.” Jamil folds his arms. “I tried to usurp your power before—yet you can so easily forgive me for that? Only a fool would...”

“Heeeey! Jamil bought you a souvenir! It’s sticking out of his backpack!” Najma interrupts, pointing at the telltale pocket. “Don’t mind him, Kalim. My brother must have really missed you too.”

“Wha—Najma, don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!!” Jamil turns to swat his sister’s hand away from his backpack... but then, Iago takes flight and snatches up the souvenir! He flaps over to Kalim and deposits a cute star-shaped charm safely in his hand.

A childish squabble breaks out, just like old times.

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Nights So Hollow, Of Legends So Great

Night Culture AU!Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Angst, Uh..Scary? I guess?

Author's Note: This is based on the wonderful @bunnvoid Night Culture AU and I felt compelled to write this at midnight because I couldn't stop thinking about it. Bunn, I hope I did your ideas justice! Honestly, I keep going back and forth between the drawings to make sure! I had fun writing it! -Thorne

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

It was said that at the heart of every legend there was a grain of truth. Legends are just pieces of history fabricated beyond wildest belief, built upon by centuries of retelling, each story sewing a new thread into the tapestry from whence it came. But that’s all that legends are. Threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable.

***

The old castle was a legend. Perhaps not the castle itself, but what supposedly resided inside. Supernatural creatures that skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out fresh blood in the night. That was one form of the legend, if you believed it. The other form was that of creatures who skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out evil and destroying it where it plagued innocence.

The chateau lied in the midst of the Devilwood Wilds, just outside the City of Old Gotham. Even during the days when the sun would peek through the gray clouds, it appeared gloomy, blackened stone walls, charred shingles and shutters. The giant Devilwood and Shadow trees prevented sight of the doors of the castle; only the top could be seen, to get the real view, one would’ve had to go into the forest. There was another legend: the horrors of the Wilds.

Whispers on the school-grounds told of a creature, big and terrifying that could be summoned with ritual stones and fresh bat blood; those that summon the beast are never seen again. The adults were less convinced of the idea, though they still forbid their children from reaching even the edges of the forested area. Whilst they believed those that went in were never heard from again, it wasn’t from a creature eating them, but a lack of guidance. Starvation. Wild animals. The freezing fog that made your breath turn to frost.

Timothy remembers hearing those whispers when he passed the old schoolhouse. His mother and father didn’t let him interact with the common children, instead his lessons were taught by private tutors from the wealthiest lands, paid for with the Drake treasure of gold and gemstones.

What more so Timothy remembered was the inhuman being that appeared in his father’s manor, striking down his mother with a slash of black magic, his father following. He remembers the way his father’s eyes rolled back in his skull, fear spreading through his body as he hid in the corner of the room, whimpering and crying. And he most certainly remembered the cold hand of the demon sliding between his shoulder blades before it dug into his skin, piercing his flesh, laughing as he cried out in pain as pricks spread out along his back and down his arms.

Warmth bled down his back as black feathers pushed from his skin and Timothy panted as his fingernails grew in length, sharpening as they darkened. He remembered scrambling to his feet, darting away from the creature as he ran. Forgetting the corpses of his family and staff around him, throwing the door open, bursting into the night, and sprinting down the street, leaving a trail of bloody, black feathers in the direction of the Devilwood Wilds.

***

The first night was the least remembered but the darkest. Violent and corrupting nightmares slithering inside his head as he tossed and turned along the frigid ground in a feverish deathlike state, the wings at his back only growing in size.

The second night was less nightmare-ridden, but much more painful. Timothy had pierced a wing on a stray Devilwood tree, the syrup like poison only infecting the wound. He was hungry and cold. Exhausted and scared. He tried to remember all the books he read as a child of the knights facing the elements for a week in order to ascend knighthood; he couldn’t seem to recall a thing.

The third night seemed to be his last. He lay huddled up against a raised Shadow tree root, the ebony wood providing stability for his wounded wing. Timothy sniffled, dragging his knees to his chest as he lay his chin on his arms, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach as it ate itself in hunger.

A tree branch creaked above him, and he craned his neck up, eyes widening when he saw the glowing eyes of the masked creature. The legends were right. The creature’s head twisted sideways, reminding Timothy of an owl, then the other way, like it was observing him. It made a noise and he scrambled to the floor of the forest, curling his injured wing above his head and over his body to protect himself.

THUNK!

Timothy whimpered, ready to be torn to shreds, but when no vicious claws or snapping teeth came at him, he carefully peered between his open wing. There lie a satchel, as long as his forearm and as wide as his middle was. He looked up towards the tree branch to where the creature had sat, but there was nothing there anymore; he glanced around, it wasn’t in sight.

He blinked and shuffled towards the satchel, untying the drawstrings with fumbling clawed hands. Inside lay a pair of thick wool socks, a small blanket, and another small bag. Timothy pulled it from the satchel and opened it; half a loaf of bread and a chunk of meat the size of his hand were stowed inside.

Timothy forewent the etiquette he was taught as a child, giving into his ravenous desire as he devoured the meat. It was tender and juicy, the glaze a mixture of honey and cinnamon.

A memory flowed to his mind, the dinner after the rising of the first star, his family and staff all surrounding the dining table, a divine feast laid before them. The smiling faces of his mother and father stilled his hunger and he placed the food back in the satchel, uncurling the wool blanket. Timothy lay underneath the raised Shadow tree roots, one wing curled around him, and he fell into a restless sleep with tears frozen on his cheeks.

***

When he awoke the next morning, his wing was no longer torn and infected. A new feather had appeared where the wound had been. Timothy wanted to learn to fly. He’d owned a bird once. A Ruby Firebird, with long, crimson-colored feathers and big ruby eyes. It had been his only real friend and he’d watched it a lot. It couldn’t be that hard.

He stretched his wings out, unable to fight the urge to touch them with a single black claw. It tingled. Timothy blinked and beat them, unsure. He beat them again, this time a little harder, keeping at it until with each beat he was able to blow the long grass flat against the ground. A giddy smile came across his lips when the tips of his toes grazed the ground.

What he had not counted on was how tired he was going to get after only a few brief minutes of trying. His wings felt sore. Timothy would try again tomorrow to rise above the tall grass.

***

The creature would appear at odd times during the night and Timothy had stopped feeling the cold fear in his gut when it did. It never came near him; it just watched with the cocked head, back and forth, then would drop the satchel again and disappear. Sometimes there were scribbles inside. He didn’t know what they meant; but he knew the language. Thaatisgani. An old language his writing teacher had shown him one day. A language long died out amongst the common and even the elite folk.

Timothy wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know what the creature was. His determination drew him to the front of the castle during the night of the harshest season storm. Lighting crackled across the sky, the thunder rolled along the clouds and the rain came down in torrents. He was freezing and soaked to the bone and the weight of his wings had him crawling up the steps, collapsing at the door.

He weakly raised a clawed hand, one nail scratching the black glazed door and he descended into darkness.

***

His mother liked to wear scented oils. They smelled of Queen’s Briar and Golden Belladonna. Before he was older, she used to let Timothy sit beside her when she would apply them to her wrist and ears. She would smile at him and tell him stories of far away lands.

Warmth spread across his eyes, and he rolled over in what he thought was his dream, only to roll onto the ground, landing awkwardly on his wings. Timothy whined and unfolded himself off the ground, rubbing his eyes, only to see the creature a hair’s breadth away from his face.

Timothy choked on his fear and scrambled away, only for the creature to grab his shoulder.

“Stay.”

He halted, looking back at it. “You speak the common tongue?”

The creature stared at him. “You are Timothy Drake. Son of Earl Drake.”

“I am,” Timothy responded, then looked at his hands. “But my family is…is dead.”

“Killed by a slithering demon from the Farstead realm.”

Tears prickled Timothy’s vision. “It killed my parents and cursed me.” He looked at the creature. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re cursed to believe what you think you are.” The creature waved a glowing hand and Timothy blinked in shock as the wings disappeared and his hands turned to normal. “It’s merely an illusion. You’ve only been tainted with cursed magic.”

It was much too complicated for Timothy to pull apart now. “Can I be healed?”

The creature blinked its glowing obs. “Cursed magic cannot be healed…but it can be trained.” They leaned forward, getting in his face. “I can teach you to control and transform.”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

“You hesitated just a bit right there.”

A bottle rolled out from the corner of the room and the creature sighed, turning its head to it. “Richard. Jason. Come here.”

Two young boys, not that much older than Timothy appeared from behind a corner, guilty looks on their faces as though they’d been caught eavesdropping.

The creature nodded to Timothy. “Take him upstairs. He is dirty and tired.”

The tallest one, Jason, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just like that, Bruce? You’re going to take the witch boy in?”

“Pot-kettle,” Richard coughed, smiling when Jason elbowed him.

The creature, now known as Bruce, sighed. “Take the boy. He is tired.”

Jason and Richard obeyed, each hauling Timothy up under the armpits, leading him to a dimly lit staircase.

“Are you two going to eat me?”

“Yes,” Jason replied without hesitation.

“Jason!” Richard barked. “Stop.” He looked down at Timothy. “We’re not going to eat you Timothy…we’re going to help you. And that includes having a warm bed to sleep in and hot food to eat.”

Tears once again gathered in Timothy’s eyes, and he lowered his head as he sniffled. For once since that night, he felt safe.

These were the legends that prowled the city streets. They were supposed to be vicious and dark, evil and bloodthirsty, not ribbing and warm.

But then again, what are legends, but threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable?

[jedimaesteryoda]

The Kingsmoot: An Allegory for the War of Five Kings

The kingsmoot in Aeron’s POV in A Feast for Crows shows the Ironborn lords and captains selecting the next king to wear the Driftwood Crown after Balon’s death. Each candidate gives a speech for their pitch and disburses treasure as a way of buying support. There are six candidates total from Greyjoys to more obscure lords. However, look more closely and you can find an allegory for the political situation of Westeros as a whole. 

Lord Gylbert began to speak. He told of a wondrous land beyond the Sunset Sea, a land without winter or want, where death had no dominion. "Make me your king, and I shall lead you there," he cried. "We will build ten thousand ships as Nymeria once did and take sail with all our people to the land beyond the sunset. There every man shall be a king and every wife a queen." 

His eyes, Aeron saw, were now grey, now blue, as changeable as the seas. Mad eyes, he thought, fool's eyes. The vision he spoke of was doubtless a snare set by the Storm God to lure the ironborn to destruction. The offerings that his men spilled out before the kingsmoot included sealskins and walrus tusks, arm rings made of whalebone, warhorns banded in bronze. The captains looked and turned away, leaving lesser men to help themselves to the gifts. When the fool was done talking and his champions began to shout his name, only the Farwynds took up the cry, and not even all of them. Soon enough the cries of "Gylbert! Gylbert King!" faded away to silence. The gull screamed loudly above them, and landed atop one of Nagga's ribs as the Lord of the Lonely Light made his way back down the hill. 

Gylbert Fawynd is clearly mad, as even Aeron notes. His eyes were described “as changeable as the seas.” Gilbert is Mad King Aerys, a madman whose house’s bid by the end is left only supported by itself. 

The speaker was borne up the hill in a carved driftwood chair carried on the shoulders of his grandsons. A great ruin of a man, twenty stones heavy and ninety years old, he was cloaked in a white bearskin. His own hair was snow white as well, and his huge beard covered him like a blanket from cheeks to thighs, so it was hard to tell where the beard ended and the pelt began. Though his grandsons were great strapping men, they struggled with his weight on the steep stone steps. Before the Grey King's Hall they set him down, and three remained below him as his champions.

Sixty years ago, this one might well have won the favor of the moot, Aeron thought, but his hour is long past.          

"Aye, me!" the man roared from where he sat, in a voice as huge as he was. "Why not? Who better? I am Erik Ironmaker, for them who's blind. Erik the Just. Erik Anvil-Breaker. Show them my hammer, Thormor." One of his champions lifted it up for all to see; a monstrous thing it was, its haft wrapped in old leather, its head a brick of steel as large as a loaf of bread. "I can't count how many hands I've smashed to pulp with that hammer," Erik said, "but might be some thief could tell you. I can't say how many heads I've crushed against my anvil neither, but there's some widows could. I could tell you all the deeds I've done in battle, but I'm eight-and-eighty and won't live long enough to finish. If old is wise, no one is wiser than me. If big is strong, no one's stronger. You want a king with heirs? I've more'n I can count. King Erik, aye, I like the sound o' that. Come, say it with me. ERIK! ERIK ANVIL-BREAKER! ERIK KING!"                  

As his grandsons took up the cry, their own sons came forward with chests upon their shoulders. When they upended them at the base of the stone steps, a torrent of silver, bronze, and steel spilled forth; arm rings, collars, daggers, dirks, and throwing axes. A few captains snatched up the choicest items and added their voices to the swelling chant. But no sooner had the cry begun to build than a woman's voice cut through it. "Erik!" Men moved aside to let her through. With one foot on the lowest step, she said, "Erik, stand up."

A hush fell. The wind blew, waves broke against the shore, men murmured in each other's ears. Erik Ironmaker stared down at Asha Greyjoy. "Girl. Thrice-damned girl. What did you say?"     

"Stand up, Erik," she called. "Stand up and I'll shout your name with all the rest. Stand up and I'll be the first to follow you. You want a crown, aye. Stand up and take it." Elsewhere in the press, the Crow's Eye laughed. Erik glared at him. The big man's hands closed tight around the arms of his driftwood throne. His face went red, then purple. His arms trembled with effort. Aeron could see a thick blue vein pulsing in his neck as he struggled to rise. For a moment it seemed as though he might do it, but the breath went out of him all at once, and he groaned and sank back onto his cushion. Euron laughed all the louder. The big man hung his head and grew old, all in the blink of an eye. His grandsons carried him back down the hill.             

Erik Ironmaker is up next, a warrior of great repute on the Iron Isles known for strength and ferocity, his warhammer, and virility, but he clearly is not the man he once was in his youth. Erik Ironmaker is Robert Baratheon, a once powerful warrior and embodiment of society’s ideals of masculinity gone to seed with his glory days far behind him. In the end, House Baratheon couldn’t stand on its own two feet with Renly and Stannis’s attempts to retake the Iron Throne ending in failure. 

The Drumm came next, another old man, though not so old as Erik. He climbed the hill on his own two legs, and on his hip rode Red Rain, his famous sword, forged of Valyrian steel in the days before the Doom. His champions were men of note: his sons Denys and Donnel, both stout fighters, and between them Andrik the Unsmiling, a giant of a man with arms as thick as trees. It spoke well of the Drumm that such a man would stand for him.                 

"Where is it written that our king must be a kraken?" Drumm began. "What right has Pyke to rule us? Great Wyk is the largest isle, Harlaw the richest, Old Wyk the most holy. When the black line was consumed by dragonfire, the ironborn gave the primacy to Vickon Greyjoy, aye . . . but as lord, not king."

It was a good beginning. Aeron heard shouts of approval, but they dwindled as the old man began to tell of the glory of the Drumms. He spoke of Dale the Dread, Roryn the Reaver, the hundred sons of Gormond Drumm the Oldfather. He drew Red Rain and told them how Hilmar Drumm the Cunning had taken the blade from an armored knight with wits and a wooden cudgel. He spoke of ships long lost and battles eight hundred years forgotten, and the crowd grew restive. He spoke and spoke, and then he spoke still more.    

And when Drumm's chests were thrown open, the captains saw the niggard's gifts he'd brought them. No throne was ever bought with bronze, the Damphair thought. The truth of that was plain to hear, as the cries of "Drumm! Drumm! Dunstan King!" died away.

Lord Dunstan Drumm is up next. He is noted to be younger than the previous candidate, and he has a Valyrian steel sword named Red Rain, which likely came from a Reyne. He starts off well, pointing out that there is no historical precedent that says only Greyjoys could only be kings over the Iron Isles. However, he just goes on and on about his ancestors’ accomplishments to bolster his credentials, boring everyone and his gifts are pretty cheap. His candidacy ultimately crashes and burns in the end. 

Drumm is Tywin Lannister. His champion Andrik’s description as a large man with “arms as thick as trees” matches Ned’s description of the Lannister’s champion, Gregor Clegane, and his champion being his stout warrior sons which brings to mind Tywin’s son, Jaime, himself a stout warrior of note. Lannister royal candidates, Cersei’s children, are the youngest candidates for Iron Throne. Tywin prides in his crushing of the Reynes in their rebellion (taking their lands after he exterminated them), with a song made about it that he plays at events, showing his obsession with the glory of his house. His house has a good start holding the Iron Throne after Robert’s death and the Battle of the Blackwater with the backing of Highgarden, only for them to likely lose it all in the end. The Lannisters never really had any bold ideas other than holding onto power, and as Aeron put it “no throne was ever bought with bronze,” or no house can hold onto the throne with the poor offerings they have, and nothing in the way of vision. 

Who shall be king over us?" the priest cried once more, but this time his fierce black eyes found his brother in the crowd. "Nine sons were born from the loins of Quellon Greyjoy. One was mightier than all the rest, and knew no fear."          

Victarion met his eyes, and nodded. The captains parted before him as he climbed the steps. "Brother, give me blessing," he said when he reached the top. He knelt and bowed his head. Aeron uncorked his waterskin and poured a stream of seawater down upon his brow. "What is dead can never die," the priest said, and Victarion replied, "but rises again, harder and stronger."      

When Victarion rose, his champions arrayed themselves beneath him; Ralf the Limper, Red Ralf Stonehouse, and Nute the Barber, noted warriors all. Stonehouse bore the Greyjoy banner; the golden kraken on a field as black as the midnight sea. As soon as it unfurled, the captains and the kings began to shout out the Lord Captain's name. Victarion waited till they quieted, then said, "You all know me. If you want sweet words, look elsewhere. I have no singer's tongue. I have an axe, and I have these." He raised his huge mailed hands up to show them, and Nute the Barber displayed his axe, a fearsome piece of steel. "I was a loyal brother," Victarion went on. "When Balon was wed, it was me he sent to Harlaw to bring him back his bride. I led his longships into many a battle, and never lost but one. The first time Balon took a crown, it was me sailed into Lannisport to singe the lion's tail. The second time, it was me he sent to skin the Young Wolf should he come howling home. All you'll get from me is more of what you got from Balon. That's all I have to say."

With that his champions began to chant: "VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!" Below, his men were spilling out his chests, a cascade of silver, gold, and gems, a wealth of plunder. Captains scrambled to seize the richest pieces, shouting as they did so. "VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!" Aeron watched the Crow's Eye. Will he speak now, or let the kingsmoot run its course? Orkwood of Orkmont was whispering in Euron's ear.

Victarion Greyjoy is next, the youngest of Balon Greyjoy’s brothers of House Greyjoy that rules over the isles. He has the backing as well as blessing of the priest presiding over the kingsmoot, Aeron. He promotes himself as a traditionalist, offering just a continuation of the old policies and plays up the image of a warrior king. For the moment he stands out from the other candidates with plunder he gives out. 

Victarion is Aegon, the (supposed) scion of the old dynasty that sat the Iron Throne, and youngest known child of Rhaegar who promises just a continuation of the ancien regime of House Targaryen, and will likely be receiving the backing and blessing of the High Septon. He isn’t offering anything new. 

However, he isn’t the only from his house pressing a claim as someone crashes his party. 

But it was not Euron who put an end to the shouting, it was the woman. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, a sharp shrill sound that cut through the tumult like a knife through curds. "Nuncle! Nuncle!" Bending, she snatched up a twisted golden collar and bounded up the steps. Nute seized her by the arm, and for half a heartbeat Aeron was hopeful that his brother's champions would keep her silent, but Asha wrenched free of the Barber's hand and said something to Red Ralf that made him step aside. As she pushed past, the cheering died away. She was Balon Greyjoy's daughter, and the crowd was curious to hear her speak.

"It was good of you to bring such gifts to my queensmoot, Nuncle," she told Victarion, "but you need not have worn so much armor. I promise not to hurt you." Asha turned to face the captains. "There's no one braver than my nuncle, no one stronger, no one fiercer in a fight. And he counts to ten as quick as any man, I have seen him do it . . . though when he needs to go to twenty he does take off his boots." That made them laugh. "He has no sons, though. His wives keep dying. The Crow's Eye is his elder and has a better claim . . ."    

"He does!" the Red Oarsman shouted from below.

“Ah, but my claim is better still." Asha set the collar on her head at a jaunty angle, so the gold gleamed against her dark hair. "Balon's brother cannot come before Balon's son!"                 

"Balon's sons are dead," cried Ralf the Limper. "All I see is Balon's little daughter!"

. . .

"Go home and know your wife," Asha shot back. "Nuncle says he'll give you more of what my father gave you. Well, what was that? Gold and glory, some will say. Freedom, ever sweet. Aye, it's so, he gave us that . . . and widows too, as Lord Blacktyde will tell you. How many of you had your homes put to the torch when Robert came? How many had daughters raped and despoiled? Burnt towns and broken castles, my father gave you that. Defeat was what he gave you. Nuncle here will give you more. Not me." 

. . . 

"And what have we grasped, Nuncle? The north? What is that, but leagues and leagues of leagues and leagues, far from the sound of the sea? We have taken Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, even Winterfell. What do we have to show for it?" She beckoned, and her Black Wind men pushed forward, chests of oak and iron on their shoulders. "I give you the wealth of the Stony Shore," Asha said as the first was upended. An avalanche of pebbles clattered forth, cascading down the steps; pebbles grey and black and white, worn smooth by the sea. "I give you the riches of Deepwood," she said, as the second chest was opened. Pinecones came pouring out, to roll and bounce down into the crowd. "And last, the gold of Winterfell." From the third chest came yellow turnips, round and hard and big as a man's head. They landed amidst the pebbles and the pinecones. Asha stabbed one with her dirk. "Harmund Sharp," she shouted, "your son Harrag died at Winterfell, for this." She pulled the turnip off her blade and tossed it to him. "You have other sons, I think. If you'd trade their lives for turnips, shout my nuncle's name!"                  

"And if I shout your name?" Harmund demanded. "What then?"

"Peace," said Asha. "Land. Victory. I'll give you Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore, black earth and tall trees and stones enough for every younger son to build a hall. We'll have the northmen too . . . as friends, to stand with us against the Iron Throne. Your choice is simple. Crown me, for peace and victory. Or crown my nuncle, for more war and more defeat." She sheathed her dirk again. "What will you have, ironmen?"         

"VICTORY!" shouted Rodrik the Reader, his hands cupped about his mouth. "Victory, and Asha!"                 

"ASHA!" Lord Baelor Blacktyde echoed. "ASHA QUEEN!"

Asha's own crew took up the cry. "ASHA! ASHA! ASHA QUEEN!" They stamped their feet and shook their fists and yelled, as the Damphair listened in disbelief. She would leave her father's work undone! Yet Tristifer Botley was shouting for her, with many Harlaws, some Goodbrothers, red-faced Lord Merlyn, more men than the priest would ever have believed . . . for a woman!

Victarion is challenged by his niece, Asha. Asha is the daughter of the old king described as mad, and though younger, is smarter than her uncle (although to be fair Victarion doesn’t set the bar too high). Asha has the backing of the Reader, lord of the wealthiest house on the Iron Isles. She points out that what Victarion is offering is a continuation of a failed policy that brought only defeat and disgrace, and promises peace and victory instead. She offers land and allying with the North, of course, missing that their invasion and supposed killing of Ned’s sons by Theon made that impossible. 

Asha is Daenerys who is the daughter of Mad King Aerys, the only female claimant and is backed by a bibliophile who is lord (though not officially) over the wealthiest seat in the land, Tyrion. She will likely be offering a new policy that is in some way a break, but still falls short. 

But others were holding their tongues, or muttering asides to their neighbors. "No craven's peace!" Ralf the Limper roared. Red Ralf Stonehouse swirled the Greyjoy banner and bellowed, "Victarion! VICTARION! VICTARION!" Men began to shove at one another. Someone flung a pinecone at Asha's head. When she ducked, her makeshift crown fell off. For a moment it seemed to the priest as if he stood atop a giant anthill, with a thousand ants in a boil at his feet. Shouts of "Asha!" and "Victarion!" surged back and forth, and it seemed as though some savage storm was about to engulf them all. The Storm God is amongst us, the priest thought, sowing fury and discord.

There seems to be a split among the Ironborn between the two major candidates from House Greyjoy: Asha and Victarion. This likely foreshadows the conflict between Targaryen supporters with Aegon and Dany in the second Dance of Dragons. Of course, just as Asha’s makeshift crown falls from her head, Daenerys likely won’t get to keep her crown in the end as another claimant comes forward. 

Note: it was after a pinecone is thrown at her, which came from the North. 

Sharp as a swordthrust, the sound of a horn split the air.

The squabbling is interrupted by a sorcerous horn. I think the hellhorn as Aeron called it is the Horn of Joramun (or hellhorn as Melisandre described it) that brings down the Wall, and exposes Westeros to the threat of the Long Night. 

Euron Greyjoy climbed the hill slowly, with every eye upon him. Above the gull screamed and screamed again. No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair, Aeron thought, but he knew that he must let his brother speak. His lips moved silently in prayer.                  

Asha's champions stepped aside, and Victarion's as well. The priest took a step backward and put one hand upon the cold rough stone of Nagga's ribs. The Crow's Eye stopped atop the steps, at the doors of the Grey King's Hall, and turned his smiling eye upon the captains and the kings, but Aeron could feel his other eye as well, the one that he kept hidden.

"IRONMEN," said Euron Greyjoy, "you have heard my horn. Now hear my words. I am Balon's brother, Quellon's eldest living son. Lord Vickon's blood is in my veins, and the blood of the Old Kraken. Yet I have sailed farther than any of them. Only one living kraken has never known defeat. Only one has never bent his knee. Only one has sailed to Asshai by the Shadow, and seen wonders and terrors beyond imagining . . ."                  

"If you liked the Shadow so well, go back there," called out pink-cheeked Qarl the Maid, one of Asha's champions.

The Crow's Eye ignored him. "My little brother would finish Balon's war, and claim the north. My sweet niece would give us peace and pinecones." His blue lips twisted in a smile. "Asha prefers victory to defeat. Victarion wants a kingdom, not a few scant yards of earth. From me, you shall have both.  

"Crow's Eye, you call me. Well, who has a keener eye than the crow? After every battle the crows come in their hundreds and their thousands to feast upon the fallen. A crow can espy death from afar. And I say that all of Westeros is dying. Those who follow me will feast until the end of their days.

"We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with even less . . . but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor. Oldtown. The riverlands and the Reach, the kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros." He glanced at the priest. "All for the greater glory of our Drowned God, to be sure."                  

For half a heartbeat even Aeron was swept away by the boldness of his words. The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he'd seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods of the septons and the white trees of the northmen . . .

"EURON!" shouted Left-Hand Lucas Codd.          

"EURON! CROW'S EYE! EURON!" cried the Red Oarsman.                  

The mutes and mongrels from the Silence threw open Euron's chests and spilled out his gifts before the captains and the kings. Then it was Hotho Harlaw the priest heard, as he filled his hands with gold. Gorold Goodbrother shouted out as well, and Erik Anvil-Breaker. "EURON! EURON! EURON!" The cry swelled, became a roar. "EURON! EURON! CROW'S EYE! EURON KING!" It rolled up Nagga's hill, like the Storm God rattling the clouds. "EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON!"

The final claimant comes forward, Euron “Crow’s Eye” Greyjoy. As he boasts, he has gone further than Greyjoy before, going as far as Asshai by the Shadow and Valyria (which is a lie), and he had been a longtime away from home due to being exiled by Balon for having slept with or rather raped, Victarion’s salt wife. He is the black sheep of the family, captain of the Silence rowed by a crew of mutes. He offers the greatest plunder of all the candidates combined with offering the grandest vision, promising the Ironborn all of Westeros. 

Euron is, I think, Jon Snow, who like Euron is associated with a crow (synonym for member of the Night’s Watch), ventured further than any Targaryen before him going beyond the Wall, will likely be the last person to put their claim forward and will likely offer the grandest vision. Just as Euron has mute supporters, Jon has the mute direwolf, Ghost, as well as people who remained mute about his royal heritage. He was in hiding for a while given he is the son of the man who had taken the arranged wife of Robert and impregnated her. He will likely appear after the Horn of Joramun is likely blown, bringing the Wall down. 

[levis-hazelnut]

Levi x Reader Hate At First Sight

Summary: after hearing about you getting into a fight with some Military Police, Erwin and Levi go to try and enlist you as a scout, much to Levi’s dismay. Though, after some months spent there, you found yourself to be disliked by many scouts.

(a/n: look at my baby his side profile he’s so beautiful. also i do not hate petra it’s just for the sake of the fic so please don’t @ me lmao)

You gripped your knees, your back hunched while your chest rose and sank as you tried to catch your breath. The reason you were running was that moments ago, some men tried to molest you. Though you were able to beat them down, you obviously didn't want to stay around that area of filthy MPs. Yes, they were everywhere, but that particular place isn't somewhere where you should be late in the evening. Only whores would walk around there. And you definitely aren't one of them. You may have the face and figure of one, but you would never stoop to that level just to get money and to pleasure foul men who treat women as objects. It's good that you're poor because then you have loose clothes that don't make your curvaceous body show. Walking at a slower pace, you made your way to your 'home' which was just a place behind a store, which had sacks piled on top of each other, making it comfortable enough to sleep there rather than the gelid ground. And to be able to get the owner to let you stay there, you had a massive dispute that caused you to get attention to yourself and you were on the verge of pulling out the blade you keep in your boot. But now, you are on good terms with him.

A lot of the friends you had didn't remain with you because of your temper. Or they would have been caught by the Military Police. Either way, you don't have any of your past friends. Hey, it's not your fault you would go out of control at any time, sometimes for no reason. Well, it is your fault but you didn't make yourself this way, so tell that to whatever god is up there.

You plopped down onto the stack of sacks, staring up at the midnight blanket, where stars sparkled in and the gleaming moon gazed down at you. As you rested your head on your arm and your other arm laid across your torso, your stomach slightly grumbled from being deprived of food. Sighing, you jumped up, heading inside the shop you laid behind. Thankfully, it was a small restaurant. As you walked in, the owner glanced at you with a frown. "(Y/N), it's closing time. Why are you coming in now?" You put a hand to your stomach. "Don't tell me. It's my hollow stomach." "Here." He chucked you a whole loaf of bread and an apple. "Now, leave. I've got to clean up." "Thanks.” Sitting back down, you threw the apple up in the air and caught it in your left hand as you ate the bread. After finishing the food, you relaxed and closed your eyes, so you could escape from the life you have and dream about living somewhere else, somewhere cosy, somewhere warm and more home-like. And maybe even someone you could spend your life with without them leaving you because of your fierceness or dying. ~/~ "Corporal Levi?" "What?" aforementioned person replied with an exasperated sigh. "Commander Erwin said he needs to talk to you." "Tch. Okay." He walked away with profanities soaring through his mind, wanting to just go to his office and avoid people that were getting on his nerves. Stepping into the Commander's office, he crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall after shutting the door. "What do you want?" The Commander gestured to a chair in front of him so the other male could sit down and he could inform him of the situation. "A while ago, in Wall Sina, there was a woman who got in a fight with a few Military Police and took off with ODM gear. She isn’t a soldier or anything, so she most likely hadn't handled gear before, but she was able to use it with ease, meaning she's someone skilled." "So?" "We need to go get her to enlist as a scout." "Tch. Why? She already sounds shitty and bratty." "We're going tonight, Levi." He stood up and left the office, clicking his tongue. All he wanted was to avoid people and now, he has to go get some bitch who probably doesn't even know how to wipe their ass. An hour, or so, ago... A group of four Military Police surrounded you, all of them having smug expressions that made you want to punch them in their faces... and then their balls. You wouldn't let them get away with only a punch to the face. Who do they think you are? A princess? You steal some gear thingy, that looked intriguing to you, from one of them and suddenly you're the bad guy? These idiots think they can beat you as well. You could just laugh. "Do you really think you can beat me?" you chuckled. You did just laugh. "We don't want to hurt you, darlin'. Just give us back the gear." "Who said you can call me darlin'?" you snarled and fly kicked one of them. He ended up slamming against the building behind him, sliding down the wall, knocked out. You charged at another, kicking their crotch and punching the top of his head as he dropped onto the ground with a thud.

Two more left... One of them came towards you with their fist drawn back to punch you with a force meant to harm you but you caught their fist and twisted their arm, pushing it towards their chest as they let out a cry of pain. You thrust your foot at his abdomen as he held his arm, groaning.

"Are you really going to try and beat me?" The last one only smirked, approaching you, so you pulled out the blades from the equipment you took from him and pressed it to his neck. He froze on the spot and gulped, cold sweat appeared on his flesh and dropped with a patter on the ground. "I'm going to give you five seconds to take your comrades and get your asses out of here." You put the blade back into its place and watched the panicking man pick up the other dirty humans and hurry away, not wanting to wait to see what you would do after five seconds. Ignoring the people gawking at you, you dusted your clothes before figuring out how to use the gear to head to your favourite shop, wanting something to drink. You were able to do it with ease, flying through the doors and swiftly landing on your feet. The bell rang to notify people that someone came in.

You sat on your table. Yes, it was your table and all the regulars knew that after seeing you pound a man for taking your table. Ever since then, no one has sat at that table apart from the drunk idiots who want your attention or people that haven't been to this place yet. It was near the window and it had the sofa seat so you would lean your back against the window, stretching your legs across the seat. You placed the equipment you took on the table.

"Oi, Luis," you called to the owner, and he looked at you from where he was at the counter. "The usual." He nodded at you and proceeded to make you your black tea with no sugar. After about five minutes, he placed the cup of tea in front of you as you handed him some money you were able to 'earn', paying him for the food he gave you the last few days as well. But you always got a discount so it wasn't too much of a problem for you to stea-- earn a bit of dough. "Hi, (Y/N)~" Yay, another drunken fool trying to hit on you. You rolled your eyes, disregarding his presence that sat opposite you as you drank your tea. He was saying shit you weren't listening to. But, seriously, who gets drunk during the day? He's probably just another jerk whose wife ran away from and took most of his money or something like that. All these snobby, egotistic people, who live within Wall Sina, piss you off to the extent that you want to make sure that their pained screams reach Wall Rose, so that those citizens would know what would happen if they pissed you off. "Hey, idiot, I'm going to give you three seconds to get out of my sight," you growled. All he did was smirk and lean over the table, trying to get closer to you. You punched him the middle of his face, but it didn't look like he could feel it. You stood up and dragged him off the seat, kicking him over and over as he laid on the sparkling, marble floor. "Hey, hey, hey!!" Luis jogged up to you. "(Y/N), you need to stop beating up my customers! Soon, you'll be my only customer." "Tell this bastard to get the fuck out and leave me alone, then." "I can't kick someone out for you." "Tch." You trudged out of the shop, wandering around the streets, hiding from any MPs that walked past, so you could evade another fight since you weren't in the mood for any action. "Hey, (Y/N)!" "Moritz," you greeted as he came up to you. "I haven't seen you in a while." "Just trying to stay away from any bastards. So, get away from me," you joked to which he chuckled softly. "My offer still stands... I'd like a daughter like you." "Sorry, Moritz. Leon isn't my type." "My son is in love with you. He's a kind and soft lad and if I'm being fair, he's handsome." "Exactly. That isn't my type. I want someone strong, feisty and someone able to handle my temper and maybe get into heated arguments with me. But of course, I want someone attractive." Several hours later... "Levi, are you ready?" "Yes." The stoic man let out a heavy breath and proceeded to leave his office, following the tall blonde. They both got their gear before leaving the building and entering a carriage waiting for them. "Why is this brat special? There are so many cadets that can use ODM gear." "As I said before, she isn’t a soldier and was able to use it without practice." "What's her name?" "(Y/N) (L/N)." The rest of the journey was quiet, only a few words of what they were going to do and the occasional click of the tongue because of how long the trip was. Finally, they arrived in front of a classy restaurant and it was filled with people due it being the evening when couples go there. You shimmied past the couples all dressed up in fancy clothes and you were able to make it out of it. Looking back over your shoulder, you rolled your eyes before frowning when you saw two men standing in front of you. You crossed your arms over your chest and arched an eyebrow. "Look, I took your friend's gear hours ago. Why are you still chasing after me? It's not that big of a deal." "Are you (Y/N) (L/N)?" the taller male asked. "... Yes. What do you want?" "May I see the gear you were talking about?" "Are you going to take it?" "No." "Okay. Follow me." You walked to your pile of sacks, expecting them to be behind you but they were in their place. "You coming or what?" They slowly approached you, wary of their surroundings. "What is this place?" the stoic male questioned, clearly disgusted. "Welcome to my humble abode." You ignored his criticism. You looked about for the gear but you couldn't find it, that's when you realised that you had left it in the restaurant. You hoped that no one took it. You sighed and looked into the restaurant, telling the two males where you left it, so they dismissed you, allowing you to get it and they followed you but waited outside. You opened the door, pushing people out of the way. "Move out the way, you fucking arrogant idiots," you muttered. You looked around your table where a couple sat but you didn't care since you weren't going to sit there and there wasn't any other space. You frowned when you didn't see it. Who the fuck took it? ... Oh, they did. There were two men and a woman on a table with the gear in front of them as they all put their nasty hands on it. The woman was drunk and holding a wine glass filled with a red liquid, one of the men was smoking and the other had a beer. You barged through the crowd, striding to their table. "Excuse me. This is mine." You tried taking it, but the man closest to you stopped you from doing that as he stood up, coming closer to you so you backed away. You could smell the cigarettes emitting from him as you held your breath at the foul smell. "Now, why would I let you take this without anything in return?" "Tch. Give it before I prevent you from having kids." "I wouldn't mind having a baby with a gal like you." "Get your breath out of my face. And give it to me. I swear, I'll knock you down so you won't be able to get up ever again," you grumbled. "I like my women feisty." You punched his left cheek and he stumbled back into his seat as you picked up the gear, turning around to face the entrance but all you saw was more people entering. Okay, you didn't care anymore. You swiped a man and stepped on him to get closer to the door but a woman came in your way, her boobs blocking your way. You slid through what little space there was and jumped over a short person, enabling you to exit and go back to the two men outside. The one with blue eyes looked surprised as you passed him the material. "That was impressive." "What?" "How you got past all those people." "Eh, it was nothing." "Anyway, are you able to use this properly?" "Yes. It isn't that hard." "Can you show me your skills with it?" "Why? Wait... how do you even know my name? Who are you people?" you inquired after realisation hit you. "I'm Commander Erwin Smith and this is Corporal Levi Ackerman. We're from the Scout Regiment and we heard that you got into a fight with some MPs and you were able to easily use this so I wanted to see your skills and see if you're worthy of becoming a scout." "Why would I want to join you? All of you are stupid to leave the walls to fight titans. I don't want to become like you. And there are a lot who don't even know how to fight and I don't want to fight with morons,” you responded. "Yes, I don't have a great life but it's better than risking it to go do something stupid. I don't care if you're the Commander and he's Humanity's Strongest Soldier, I'm not becoming a scout." "Tch. We don't do something stupid, we fight for humanity. You only fight to get away from trouble. I don't know why we have to save the likes of you but we do and we don't do it because we want to, we do it because we have to. And they may be idiots, but they're damn good soldiers who shouldn't be ill spoken about by someone like you," Levi growled lowly, venom laced in his words. 'Someone like you', who does this fucking midget think he is? You were probably around his height but women are generally shorter than men. You narrowed your eyes and proceeded to thrust your fist at his face but he dodged it before headbutting you. He punched your nose, causing it to bleed and he struck your gut straight after. He threw punches at you, one after another, until you had enough, bringing your leg up to kick the side of his head. He put his hand there, weakening the blow, and grabbed your ankle, slamming you down onto the stone ground. You felt slightly dizzy but you shook it off, standing up immediately, ramming your knuckles into his face and you tried to trip him over but he kept his balance. After punches being thrown and both of you being beaten up, to finish the fight off, he slid behind you and twisted your arm behind your back, stepping on your foot as his other hand held your wrist by your side. You tried shaking him off, but it was futile. He twisted your arm more, getting a quiet hiss of pain from you. "You may be able to beat up some useless MPs but we, at the Scout Regiment, are nothing like them. You better think twice before you try to fight with me." "Thank you, Le--" Erwin started but was cut off. "(Y/N)?" a gentle voice uttered, and you turned your head towards it. "What are you doing here, Leon?" "I-I came here to see you..." he shyly said, his ginger hair hiding his emerald eyes as he gazed at the ground where blood trailed. "What's happening? Who are these men?" He looked back up with concern pooling in his orbs. "It's nothing. Do you want to talk about something?" "It can wait. It looks like you have to deal with something." "Oi, get off of me. I won't try to put up a fight, or run away." "I don't trust you." You clicked your tongue and lifted your foot up to kick his groin but he wrapped his leg around yours so you weren't able to strike him. "Can I not talk to him?" you snapped. "Levi, let her go." "Idiot," you murmured loud enough so he was able to hear but he didn't say anything. You walked up to the boy. "Leon, I don't think you should tell me anything important because I don't know if I'm going to be able to see you after today. They're from the Survey Corps and they want to enlist me. I don't want to go, but it looks like they're going to force me." "But--" You could see the tears welling up in his pretty eyes. "I love you, (Y/N)." "I know. But that's how it is. Sorry." You didn't sound sorry at all, your tone was your usual dull, yet harsh one, but you genuinely did feel a bit of compassion for him. After two years of trying to get you to be his wife, you're going to leave his life without leaving any feelings for him. He was a gentleman and you liked him, however, not as a lover or whatever, he was just delightful to have around. You didn't want to leave him like this so you embraced him, gently rubbing his back and whispering a few words. "Will you ever come back?" "I don't know. It's a high possibility that I won't." "If you do, will you marry me then?" "We'll have to see," you smiled; it was the first smile you ever let break out onto your lips since you were around ten. "Tch. Why did I come to see this?" "Shut up, Levi. Just be glad that you'll have a valuable soldier on your side." A scowl replaced your smile. He scoffed. "We've got plenty of useful soldiers, including myself." "I might see you later, Leon. Bye." "Bye, (Y/N)." He took your hand and softly kissed it. And with that, you left the boy in heartbreak and started a new life as a scout after showing them your skills, which Levi scoffed at so you backhanded him. On the way to headquarters, you and Levi sat opposite each other and argued as Erwin silently sat there, wishing for the ride to be over. Since the journey was long and it was around midnight, you had fallen asleep after some time, allowing peace to settle into the carriage. Once you reached HQ, Erwin stepped out and stood by the carriage, waiting for you and Levi to get off. "Oi, brat, get up." Levi tried to awake you. "Brat, wake up." "Who you calling brat?" you asked tiredly, failing to convey your irritation. "You. Now, shut up and get out." "Tch. Don't go telling me what to do, Ackerman," you muttered angrily, too tired to put up a fight. All three of you entered the building and coincidentally, you were walking next to Levi, starting another argument so Erwin walked in between the both of you, leading you to his office, while Levi went to his.

"Take a seat, (Y/N),” he told you. "This is the key to your room. We'll fill out the paperwork and do everything tomorrow. For now, just go sleep and I'll tell you all you need to know tomorrow." "Whatever." You left his office after he told you the directions to your room and you went there, finding a single bed with a bedside table that had a lit lantern. The first thing you wanted to do was have a shower since you felt sweaty from all the action you had today. Once you showered, you went straight to bed, snuggling into the blanket, able to have a good night's sleep for once in ages. ~/~ After changing into your uniform, you looked at your reflection. It fit you very well but you didn't want it to. You don't like showing your curves, but it's not that you feel insecure with people looking, you just don't like it. You don't want your body to be the thing that attracts people and you don't want people coming after you because of your alluring figure. With no hesitation, you would punch anyone that tries to touch you. As you were told to, you went to Erwin's office before breakfast started, ignoring the gazes that were focused on your form. You rolled your eyes as you stepped into his office, slamming the door behind you. "Gosh, these idiots don't know how to keep their eyes in their sockets." You turned your head to the door, not noticing Erwin's cerulean eyes on you. He blinked to break himself out of his daze and cleared his throat as he gestured to the seat in front of him. You sat down casually, not caring about being formal. "Sit up, (Y/N)." "Tch." "Sit up," he repeated. "You shouldn't disobey your superiors." You sighed and did as he said. "Happy?" "I've got these papers for you to sign," he told you as he handed a few sheets. "And these papers have information that you'll need to know but I'm going to go through it with you. I'm going to put you in Hanji's command..." After about half an hour, you were able to leave his office and make it for breakfast. You entered the mess hall with him and grabbed some food, sitting down on an empty table since you have yet to get to know these people and you thought that people would come up to you first. "Who is she?" "Mmm~ Look at that ass." "Look at those boobs." "You lot are pervs." "You only say that because you have Krista." "Yeah, and she's better than whoever that woman is." "I think she's pretty." "She's certainly not ugly." "Eren?" "Mikasa, do you not say anything else?" "Eren?" "What?" "Stop ogling her." "I-I wasn't." "Yeah, right, Jaeger. Wipe the drool from your mouth." "I'm the one drooling? You look like you have rabies." "You want to take this outside?" "Both of you, stop being children." You glanced at the table making the most noise and saw that all ten of them were looking in your way. Some averted their eyes as others smiled at you, however, you gave a cold stare in return before looking back at your food. It wasn’t exactly intentional to look at them like that, it's basically just your usual expression. "Did you see that?" "She may be pretty, but she's rude." "Who does she think she is? Looking at us like that." "I didn't see what happened." "Of course you didn't. You were too busy stuffing your face with food." "I think we should go talk to her." "Yeah, teach her a lesson." "Guys, sit down. You can't do that do a new person." "Yeah, guys, what's wrong with you?... Wait like a week, then you can teach her a lesson." "Jean! Don't encourage them!" "Oi, you lot?" You stood at their table, their heads turning your way as they had just noticed that you were there. "If you try to beat me up, you'll be s-- What the hell are you doing?!" you yelled at the person on your left who just touched your ass. "Feeling your ass," he stated nonchalantly. "You people are pervs. I agree with whoever that it is." "Whoever that it is, is Ymir," said girl inserted. They all introduced themselves to you but you couldn't be any less interested. "Okay, whatever. I don't give a shit about who you are. I came here to tell you that if you, Eren, Ymir, Jean and Reiner, try to beat me up, you'll be sorry. And I don't understand, do you want to grope my ass or beat it, Reiner?" "Who said I can't do both?" he smirked as you rolled your eyes, about to go back to your table. "Wait, (Y/N). Why don't you sit with us?" "So I can get harassed? No, thanks." "Just sit with us. We promise we won’t do anything," Jean told you. With slight reluctance, you got your plate from the other table and sat on the end of the table next to Armin, everyone focused on you as you spoke about your life before you came here.

At times, you would notice brown eyes belonging to a strawberry-blonde girl and grey eyes belonging to a raven man flutter towards you, but every time you looked up, they pretended as if they weren't staring at you. You could feel their glares burn into you. And you knew Levi's stare was of anger, but what was that girl's problem? ~/~ You wore a vest top and shorts, training with Reiner who volunteered to, probably just so he could see you with fewer clothes on. It's been going on for the past few weeks. You were a bit distracted during training because you felt as if someone was watching you and they were giving off a dark aura. You looked around but couldn't find anyone. "(Y/N), are you okay?" "Yeah. Come on." You waited for him to attack you and he did but you were able to knock him down before you saw the cause of the dark aura in the distance. "Hey, you!" you shouted, going towards them. "Do you have something to say to me?" You crossed your arms over your chest. "No. Nothing at all." She clenched her jaw. "You're Petra, right?" "Yeah. Actually, I do want to tell you something, you stay away from Corporal Levi," she growled, scrunching your vest in her fist. "Woah, Petra! What are you doing to (Y/N)?" Reiner jogged up to the two of you. Damn, now you can't beat the crap out of her. She let go of you and put on a bright smile, facing Reiner who knew that that smile was fake. "Nothing. I was just giving her some advice about making friends." "We need to train so leave us alone," Reiner took your arm protectively and dragged you away, but you protested. "Wait. I'll train with Petra today," you smirked devilishly. "No." "Oi, Petra! How about you spar with me?" "... Why?" "Just." You shrugged. "Sure," she agreed when she saw Levi come outside of the building, taking the chance to get his attention. You knew she wasn't strong enough for her to beat you, so this wouldn't end well for her. You both got into a fighting stance, before you threw your fist forward at her face, but you stopped just before you hit her so she dodged the potential blow and wasn't able to elude the kick you gave at her side. She was about to topple over but she caught herself, not letting you be victorious just yet. She attempted to punch your gut but you blocked it by making a cross over yourself. A crowd formed around you two, including the Corporal that Petra seemed obsessed about. But, of course, with his short stature, he wasn't able to see who exactly was fighting, so he pushed people out of the way, able to reach the front and see you and Petra. She tried to trip you over but that failed miserably and she fell flat on her face. A few from the huddle snickered quietly as others applauded even though it wasn't a real win. You crouched down and whispered, "Good luck in impressing that stubborn idiot." You got back up, grabbed your uniform and walked off, ignoring Levi who called for you. "Hanji!" you called to get her attention as she strolled through the castle. "Yes?" "Does Petra like Levi or something?" "I think so, yes. Why are you asking?" "During my training, she was watching me and she said to stay away from him. We got into a small fight which quickly ended because of her stupidity. I'm guessing the only reason this happened is that she's jealous. But she's moronic if she thinks that I would try to move to Levi." "Who's moronic?" a familiar voice spoke from behind you. You turned around. "Petra. Why the fuck would she think that I like you? You're bothersome, you're stubborn, you're irritating, you're an ass, you annoy the hell out of me and you're a bastard." "Thanks," he replied sarcastically. "The same can be said about you." "Tch. Shut it, Ackerman." "You know, you have a temper problem. And you shouldn't talk to me like that." "This is who I am. I can talk to you in any way I like." "You might not be able to talk after I knock your teeth out," he threatened with a glare. "I'm not scared of you." "We'll see about that," he muttered before walking away. "And put some clothes on." "What did you do to Shorty to make him so angry with you?" "I called soldiers stupid. Got in a fight with him. We've argued a lot of times." "Oof. I would have advised you to stay on his good side." "Too late." You shrugged. "It won't last long. He'll soften up after some time." "I don't think he will. Whatever, I need to go 'put some clothes on'." "Okay. Can I borrow you after for help with experiments?" Hanji asked slowly, hoping you wouldn't yell at her like last time, saying how you didn't give a sh*t about it. "No," you bluntly said as you left her, going to your room but was stopped by an annoying figure who you rolled your eyes at. "Looking good, (Y/N)." "Shut up." "You look a little dirty, want to have a shower with me?" You grabbed Jean's collar and brought your face close to his, a glare etched on your visage as you saw his Adam's apple move down and then back into its place as he gulped. "Shut the hell up and I'll let this one time slide." He nodded and scurried off once you let you go of him, entering your room and locking the door behind you. You decided to shower since you were covered in sweat and you felt nasty. ~/~ "Eurgh, look who it is," a voice whispered a little too loud as you entered the mess hall for breakfast, striding to your usual table with a few of people that you don't mind being around and the few that aren't annoying you or bothering you in any way. "She doesn't belong here." "You know, I heard that before she came here she worked in a brothel." "Everyday, she wears her vest top and short shorts, acting like a slut." "The other day, she was being a bitch to me. She laughed at my figure when I was looking in my reflection. Then, she said that no one would love me when I have a body like this." "I've heard that she's flirted with every man she's had contact with." This has been going on for at least three months: people making fun of you, talking about you, pushing you about, calling you names and such. You haven't taken any of it to heart, but you wondered what happened to make nearly everyone despise you. Everyone but superiors and the ten scouts you had befriended first, and even though Levi dislikes you, he doesn't contribute to the crowd that is being cruel to you. He already hated you from the start. "They're still going at it?" "Forget about them," Erwin told you. "How can I when they're practically saying it to me? All of what they're saying isn't even true. And they shouldn't try to start a fight with me because I'll beat the sh*t out of them." "Well, you are a bitch, so that's true," Levi murmured. "Ackerman, I suggest you shut up before I beat the shit out of you." You rammed your heel into his foot under the table since you were opposite him. "Tch. You should be happy that some of us aren't part of those dumb brats." "Dumb?" you repeated. "So, you're saying that they're dumb for saying all that stuff about me?" "... No... They're stupid in general." "Mhm." "What was that?" He frowned. "What?" "That 'mhm'." "Nothing." After staring at each other questioningly, you both went quiet as the other superiors on your table carried on their own conversations. Halfway through breakfast, you felt something cold and wet being poured onto your head, soaking your shirt and falling down your shirt which sent a shiver through you. You stood up and turned around to the laughing bastards, kicking the boy in the nuts and slapping the girl which shut them up. "What the fuck is your problem?! What did I do to you?!" "Someone decided to go braless today," the girl whispered to the other. You looked down and felt your cheeks growing red, out of rage and embarrassment. Something landed on your head and hung over your chest. You realised that it was a cape that Levi threw at you, which you wrapped around yourself before heading to your room to change out of the drenched clothes that you had just changed into. "Why the hell are you doing this? Yeah, she can be a brat, but all of you are, so I don't know why you lot are acting like this towards her when she didn't do anything. Both of you have kitchen duty for two months. If I see you one of you two do anything to her, you won't see the end of it." "Yes, sir." "Now, get the hell out of my face," Levi ordered as he sat back down in his seat, the others on the table looking at him with surprise. Who knew he would stand up for you like that? "What are you looking at?" "How come you stood up for (Y/N) like that?" Miche asked. "I didn't stand up for her. I was scolding them for acting like that towards a cadet." "Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say," Hanji said quietly with a smirk. "You shut up, Shitty Glasses." "I'm just saying that I don't think you would have done that for any other scout." "... That may be true, but they're mistreating (Y/N) for no reason." "Getting close to her, are we?"

"Tch. Just shut up." "Shorty has a crush~" Hanji sang in a low voice near his ear as she sat next to him, her 'best friend'. "I've only known her for five damn months. How could I already like her?" "Why are you asking me? And five months isn't that short, it's quite long if you think about it." "I don't care. I don't like her." "Okay~ Whatever you say~" Levi shot daggers at her before going back to eating in silence, not interacting with any more annoying people who seem to have a habit of bothering him nearly every day. One day, they'll leave him and he can live in serenity. One day, when all the titans are rid of and he can leave this shithole. All he has to do wait for that damn day that's taking its time to arrive. Can't it be a little more considerate? "I have to agree with Hanji. You seem to be a little protective over (Y/N)," Erwin stated after some time. "I. Don't. Fucking. Like. That. Brat." "Calm down, Levi. It's not a bad thing to like (Y/N)," Moblit teased. "Tch." The raven stood up and left the mess hall as he could hear the others laughing at him in the background. He slammed the door shut and trudged to his office with a scowl. He found you standing outside his office, your hand reaching for the handle but you stopped when you saw him come your way. "What are you doing, brat?" "I was going to give you your cape back. Thanks," you muttered. "Shut up," he grumbled, snatching the material from your hands and stepping into his office, locking the door. "Oi! Why are you telling me to shut up when I said thanks?" you shouted. "Get away from my office!" he yelled back. You rolled your eyes and started to go back to the mess hall. "Last time I thank you, bastard," you mumbled to yourself. ~/~ Your door shut with a bang after you had stormed into it, and leaned your back against the wood, hiding your face in your hands as you cried. Your legs gave out so you dropped to the ground with your legs arched and your arms resting on your knees as you placed your head on your arms, feeling tears drop onto your lap, seeping through your clothes. Two minutes later, you heard laughing, yelling and then footsteps approach your room. Light knocks sounded from the door with the soft call of your name. You knew who it was, but didn't respond so they turned the handle, slowly pushing the door open, however, you prevented that from happening by sitting by the door. They slid through the small gap before closing the door again, crouching down to you. "(Y/N)." "Leave me alone!" you shouted, though it was muffled behind your sobs and your face was hidden. "No. You obviously need someone right now." "I hate you! I hate all of them! Just get the fuck out!!" you roared, tearing your face away from your arms and looking at Levi's gentle expression. He didn't seem startled at all. "... Why are they doing this to me?" you whispered and concealed your face again, not wanting Levi to see you in this state. "Ignore them." "You know, it's all that Petra's fault. The bitch is envious of me and just wants to break me down into nothing. All because she's in love with you and she thinks that I like you!" "Tch. I don't even like her. She can fuck off. And how is doing this going to make me fall for her? I was wondering why she was being more clingy than usual," he muttered, but it was more to himself before he turned his attention back to you. "Don't let her break you down. You're a strong woman, so don't let something petty like this ruin you." "What am I meant to do? You don't know how hard it is to overlook them. You don't know how hard it is to keep a straight face when I'm hurting inside. I don't care if Petra may be making them do this, I hate it!" Surprisingly, you felt arms loop around your cowered form and haul you onto Levi's lap which made you remove your head from your arms again, looking at the raven, who was now right in front of you and gazing at your bloodshot eyes. He gently wiped your tears away and brushed a few (H/C) tresses that stuck to your tear-stained face.

More tears escaped as you shoved your face into his chest, soaking his shirt with the salty moisture and snot. He cradled you in his arms until you stopped crying which was about under an hour. "Are you okay now?" "Yeah. Thank you," you murmured as you wiped your face with tissue that Levi got for you. "Don't mention it. Do you need to talk?" "What's there to talk about? Petra hates me so she got people to make my life hell and I broke down." "I don't know how you were able to put up with it for half a year." "Barely. I just put on a poker face." Levi gently grabbed your chin in between his index finger and thumb, tilting your head towards him as you saw a slight smile creep onto his lips. "Don't hide your feelings anymore," he whispered before tenderly kissing you, his eyes fluttering shut. You were taken aback before you were brought back to your senses, finding yourself kissing him back as you cupped his face with a single hand. One of his hands trailed up from your hips to your scalp, tangling his slender fingers in your tousled locks. He was the first to pull away with gleaming orbs gazing at you with affection, licking away the strand of saliva that connected his lips to yours. "I'll always be here for you. To protect you, to talk, to comfort you, or whatever else you want." "Thank you, Levi," you hummed, leaning your forehead against his, pecking his lips once more. "Come on. Let's go eat." "I don't want to go," you said with pleading eyes. "I told you that I'll be here for you. You have to eat something before you sleep." "Please, don't make me go." "Just sit with me. I'll make sure that no one does anything to you." "I can't." "You need to endure it to become stronger. I'll be right next to you, okay?."

Sighing shakily, you stood up with a nod. "Okay." "I like seeing this vulnerable side of you," Levi teased as he walked out of your room, you padding beside him. "Shut up. You aren't allowed to tell anyone about this." The Corporal only smirked as you rolled your eyes.

As you strolled through the corridors to get to the mess hall, a few people were lingering, standing on the side and snickering when you went past. You tried to ignore them, though, it was difficult. "I heard that she got Corporal Levi drunk to sleep with her." "I can't, Levi. I'm going back to my room." You proceeded to turn and walk away but he grabbed your forearm. "(Y/N)." He cupped your face with both of his hands, making you face him but you averted your eyes, feeling tears welling up. "Look at me." You reluctantly brought your eyes back to his. "She's a whore. She tried to make me have sex with her and my friend. She wanted a threesome!" "Levi, I'm going." You tried freeing yourself from his hold, but he didn't let you. "No. Look at me. Ignore them." "How am I meant to ignore them?!" "Look at me!" he commanded. "... You can ignore them if you put your mind to it. Don't let them cause you grief because then it pains me to see you hurt. I don't like seeing you in pain so don't get affected by them. Ignore them and keep your eyes on me." A tear rolled down your cheek so he embraced you tightly, stroking your back soothingly. He let out an inaudible huff, wishing he could relieve your pain. "I won't force you to go to the mess hall. Go to my office, I'll bring you food." You nodded and pulled away from his grip. When you made your way to his office, people would say or do things but you stayed strong, and you were kind of proud of yourself once you made it into his office. You sat down on his sofa, waiting for him to come back. About five minutes later, the raven appeared with a tray of two bowls, bread and two glasses of water. He settled it onto his desk after you helped him clear the surface. You both sat down and ate together, allowing him to see your smile that he was deprived of ever since people started to harass you. After years of dreaming of having a home, having someone to stay with you, they came true. You have someone strong, feisty and you're sure you'll have plenty more heated arguments to come. On top of it all, he was damn sexy.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch.3: Jesus Is A Pisces

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder has forgotten Scully’s birthday every year but one. Actually, make that two now, since this year he’s determined to make the day special for her somehow. He’d asked her casually what her plans were, and she admitted that outside of a lunch with her mother and some church friends on Sunday the 22nd, she didn’t really have any intention to celebrate.

“It’s been a rough couple months,” she’d explained softly, and that’s all he needed to hear.  She’d gained and then buried a daughter within a few days’ time over Christmas, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know how she managed to stay sane after that, and if he thought about it for too long the waves of powerlessness and guilt that rolled over him were debilitating.

So instead he focused on what he could do.

“You wanna do something after work on Monday? I promise to be as un-festive as possible,” he offered.

She looked uncertain, licked her lip. “Just us?” she asked.

“Just you and me,” Mulder assured her, the words giving him a tiny, shameful thrill.

She was quiet for a moment. “Sure,” she said finally.

Come Monday, February 23rd, it’s business as usual in the basement office. They finalize their reports from the previous week’s case, wrangle their receipts, argue over who broke the stapler (It was him, she insists; while he claims she jammed the staples in and made it impossible to use properly).

At three minutes to five o’clock, she clears her throat softly as she gathers her things, and he can feel her preparing to speak.

“Yeah, Scully?” he murmurs.

“We still on for tonight?” she asks, sounding almost cautious, and his heart fractures.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he confirms, leafing through a file. “Be sure to bundle up.” He looks up at her and gives her a reassuring grin.

She looks happy and… relieved? Huh.

“Well, I’ll see you then,” she says, shrugging on her coat as she leaves.

Mulder smiles at the door as it clicks shut behind her. He’s unusually giddy about what he has planned for the evening.

Over the weekend he had gone to the grocery store since his refrigerator was barren, then camped out in his building’s laundry room all day Sunday washing every blanket he owned. He even stopped at the little bakery around the corner from his apartment, purchasing a single chocolate cupcake and a loaf of rye bread.

After work he packs his car with a cooler, a duffel bag, a large thermos of coffee, and a pile of blankets.

He’s surprised to see that she’s waiting for him on the steps of her apartment, wearing a heavy jacket and thick turtleneck sweater.

“I got too hot wearing all this inside,” she explains, climbing into the passenger seat. She seems almost excited, and he strangely wants to cry. God, he’s so fucking glad he had the balls to invite her out again.

“Where are we going, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“It’s a surprise,” he replies.

Seven minutes and three wrong turns later, he reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out the map, handing it to her. “Rock Creek Park, please, Navigator,” he says.

“Aha! I thought the route we were taking seemed… circuitous,” Scully says with a smirk, unfolding the map.

“Just tell me where to go; I don’t need a running commentary,” he gripes, secretly relishing her needling.

In about twenty minutes, they arrive at the park’s nature center. Mulder pulls into the lot next to the field across the road and cuts the engine.

“We’re here?” Scully asks, looking around. “It’s deserted. Mulder, please don’t tell me we’re ghost hunting,”

“Ghosts? No,” he says, climbing out of the car and going around to the trunk. “Help me with some stuff?”

Scully comes around to the back of the car, where Mulder hands her the cooler and thermos. He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and gathers up the pile of blankets. “Close the trunk, will you, Scully?” he says, walking towards the field. “My arms are full.”

They trudge out to the middle of the field, cold winter air biting their cheeks. Mulder stops abruptly and drops the blankets onto the ground in a heap.

“We’re here,” he announces, setting down the duffel bag. He picks up a heavy wool blanket and spreads it out on the grass.

Scully sits down on the blanket, cooler and thermos beside her. “What exactly are we doing out here, Mulder?” she asks.

“Well first, we eat,” he replies, reaching for the cooler. He opens it and pulls out two waxed-paper parcels, handing one to her. “Pastrami on rye,” he announces. “I went a little crazy with the mustard on one of them, we can trade if you want.”

“You made these?” she asks, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. “Oh my god,” she groans. “Mulder, you’ve been holding out on me. This is delicious.”

The satisfaction in her voice makes him flush. “It’s pretty hard to mess up pastrami.”

“True,” she agrees, “but I was starting to doubt you could even make food. Your refrigerator is usually pretty sparse.”

Mulder shrugs, opening the thermos of coffee and pouring her a cup. “Cooking for one doesn’t hold much appeal,” he explains.

“Mm,” she agrees around a mouthful of sandwich, taking the proffered cup. “So Mulder, tell me; is there a reason we’re having a picnic in the dark?” She eyes the duffel bag beside him suspiciously.

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies, unzipping the bag and pulling out a tripod. “You know anything about constellations, Scully?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. He already knows.

“A thing or two,” she replies casually, clearly attempting to hide the smile sneaking across her mouth as she eats.

“Well that’s good, seeing as I lugged this telescope and a star map all the way out here,” he says, pulling the telescope case out of the bag.

Scully is enraptured, and Mulder thinks this might be the best thing he’s ever done for anyone.

“I haven’t done this in years,” she says, peering through the eyepiece as she adjusts the telescope’s position. “Not since…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. He remembers her telling him once, on a long car ride to some anonymous, unremarkable town, about stargazing with her father when she was a child. Captain Ahab and his Starbuck, navigating the night skies by way of celestial markers.

The temperature’s dropping, and Mulder drapes the ratty tribal weave blanket from his couch around her shoulders as she searches the heavens.

“You want a turn?” she asks, drawing back from the telescope for a moment.

He shakes his head, plops down on the blanket and gazes at her instead.

They could be astronauts together, sailors of the stars. Dropping anchor in pools of the Milky Way, swimming through constellations and running their fingers through glittering strands of nebulae.

“I’m good,” he replies softly.

“Mulder?” Scully says from under a pile of blankets.

They’re lying on their backs now, side by side, eyes on the sky. Waiting for a meteor, or a passing satellite, or for God to wave hello.

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Do you give any credence to astrology, or is that too close to religion for you?”

“I appreciate its historical and cultural significance,” he replies. “Beyond that, I can’t say I have much of an opinion on it. Aren’t you a Pisces?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know that she is, and that he’s a Libra, and that the shitty magazine he picked up in the dentist’s office says they’d be a tumultuous but passionate match. Not that he gives horoscopes any weight.

Passionate, though…

“I am. And I’m inclined to agree with you, though astrology’s link with early Christianity is fascinating. For example, did you know that Jesus is linked to Pisces? His birth coincides with the dawning of the astrological Age of Pisces, which spans from 1 AD to the year 2150. There are many scriptural references to fishermen, and early Christians used the fish symbol as a sign of their faith.”

“Huh,” he says, tucking a blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

“I don’t believe that the stars dictate my temperament, by the way,” Scully continues. “But there’s something beautiful about having a constellation in the sky that corresponds with your own birth. Missy knew more about this stuff,” she say wistfully. “She’d read me my horoscope every morning before school while we brushed our hair or whatever, in the bathroom where Mom couldn’t hear. It was fun,” she says with a sigh.

“Do you think she’s out there, in the stars?” Mulder asks and immediately regrets it. He didn’t mean the question to sound flippant.

Scully takes it in stride. “Is it crazy if I say maybe? There’s… there’s things I’ve seen and heard, Mulder, that I can’t explain. Who am I to say how God operates? Maybe He’s laid the stars out like a map for us to read. That’s probably wishful thinking, but life would be a hell of a lot simpler if everything was dictated by heavenly bodies.”

“Better that than by governing bodies,” Mulder agrees.

Their eyes drift along the razor-sharp curves of the crescent moon.

“My mom wants to set me up with one of her church friends’ sons,” Scully says without preamble.

“Huh,” Mulder replies, tracing Orion with his eyes. “Let me guess; he’s a dentist.”

“Emergency physician, actually,” she replies. “He’s nice.”

Mulder suddenly feels the weight of gravity pressing him down to earth. He can feel the rotation of the planet under his back, spinning him at a thousand miles an hour. “You’ve met him?” he asks.

“Yesterday, at lunch,” Scully replies. “He’s a widower, with a six-year-old daughter. I think… I think my mom thinks we could help each other.”

Mulder’s stomach churns, a facsimile of seasickness rolling through his body. “What do you think?” he asks, voice oddly hoarse. “Do you… agree with her?”

Scully pulls the blanket higher under her chin and sighs. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m thirty-four today, and my career runs my life. I’m not sure how many chances at a family will come my way in the future. It’s not ideal, but maybe I’m past the point of getting to choose.” She pauses. “I’m sorry, I’m being fatalistic.”

Despite the near-freezing temperature, he’s got a cold sweat forming on his back. “You can always choose, Scully. As far as I see it. It’s-it’s important to me that you know that.”

She rolls onto her side, snaking a hand out of the blanket to prop herself up on her elbow beside him. “Mulder, I know you blame yourself for the things that have happened to me. But they’re not your fault.” He opens his mouth and she interrupts him before he can speak. “Don’t argue with me. It’s my birthday.”

He’s grateful for a change of subject. “That reminds me,” he says, sitting up and reaching over to open the cooler.

He pulls out a small pink bakery box and opens it to remove a single chocolate cupcake with a candle stuck in the middle. He digs a lighter out of his coat pocket and gives it a flick, igniting the candle.

“Happy birthday, Scully,” he says sheepishly, holding out the cupcake.

The single flame shimmers in her eyes as she takes the dessert. “Mulder,” she says softly, in a tone that makes his heart turn to liquid. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Just make a wish and blow the candle out before the wind does it for you,” he replies. There’s only a bit of a breeze but he’s not taking any chances. She deserves a wish.

Her eyes fall closed, and she sighs contentedly, no doubt formulating her request. Suddenly she opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his over the flickering candle, and Mulder feels a thousand words rumbling in him like an approaching avalanche.

Before he can say anything she purses her lips and extinguishes the lone flame with a breath.

She pulls the candle out of the cupcake and pops the end into her mouth, licking off chocolate frosting, and Mulder thinks he might die right there on a blanket in Rock Creek Park. He’s been so good, keeping his feelings to himself, but in this moment his only thoughts are that he loves her and wants her; no, needs her. He needs to touch her, taste the icing on her lips, map the constellations of freckles hiding beneath her sweater. Shake the winter chill out of his bones, letting the flames of her red hair lick across his skin and light his whole body on fire.

She’s saying something to him, biting into the cupcake, chocolate crumbs falling onto the blanket.

“Hm?” he asks, returning to terra firma.

“I asked if you wanted a bite,” she reiterates.

Yes, his body responds. Please please please-

“It’s yours,” he says as a declination.

“Therefore it’s mine to share,” she declares. She holds it out to him, and his stomach flutters as he leans in and takes a bite. He thinks of his parents’ faded wedding photos, of them feeding each other cake in black and white.

Don’t date the doctor guy, he pleads silently as he chews. Stay with me. Show me galaxies.

She falls asleep on the car ride home with one of his blankets tucked around her, the car’s heater cranked all the way up. When he parks in front of her building she stirs, likely awoken by the sudden cessation of warm air on her feet.

“Scully,” Mulder says softly, “We’re home.”

“Mmm,” she responds. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” he answers, glancing at his watch. “Can you walk or should I carry you up?” The question feels faintly suggestive, and he’s only being so bold because she’s drowsy and likely not registering the subtext.

“I can walk,” she says, sitting up and removing the blanket. Her hair is a fuzzy red halo in the glow of the streetlights.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Make sure you don’t pass out on your way up.”

“Thanks,” she yawns. “I don’t know why car rides make me so drowsy,” she says. “It’s like I’m five years old again.”

“Or it’s hypothermia,” Mulder suggests jokingly. “It got pretty damn cold out there.”

“Winter night picnics aren’t the most practical, it’s true,” she says. “But the blankets and coffee were a good idea.”

When they reach Scully’s apartment door she turns to face him. “Thank you for this,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

He smiles softly at her. “Happy birthday,” he replies.

He’s mentally debating giving her a hug when she reaches out and pulls him in gently, arms looped around his waist. He wraps his arms around her and drops a light kiss to the crown of her head.

It’s over way too soon.

“Goodnight,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

If he says anything else to her before she slips into the apartment and closes the door, he doesn’t remember it. His feet are firmly on the ground, carrying him out of her apartment building and back to his car, but his head is far above the atmosphere, adrift in space.

He’s so in love he feels as though he’s running out of air.

[im-totally-not-an-alien]

Final Fantasy 7 prompts #70

1. Time traveler au where everyone remembers, and I mean everyone!

Hojo? Incredibly curious about this new phenomenon and is hunting Cloud like a Zolom slithering up to a Chocobo

Sephiroth: Also hunting Cloud, although for entirely different reasons

Genesis full on tackle-hugged Angeal to the ground and not even a half hour later the scene repeats with the puppy

Random people on the streets scream and cry in delight at seeing thier loved ones for the first time since The Plate/Meteorfall/Geostigma took them from the world of the living.

Its a mess.

2. Cloud was never a selfish man. At least, he never considered himself to be. But standing here, aiming a gun at a sleeping man's head, he couldn't help to feel like he was.

3. Cloud sniffled, staring at his campfire as the wind blows at it. Its as if the wind god himself is trying to snuff out the only comfort he had left. He didn't mean to betray the group, he swears.

Not that it meant much.

(Au where Cloud never got mako poisoned after giving Sephiroth the black materia and swam away from Tifa, losing her in the lifestream)

4. After going through yet another tragic event, his mind shuts down. He fell into a coma (again) this time within the lifestream

Now its up to Zack and Aerith to save him from himself by entering Clouds dreamworld and spending time with him in hopes of convincing him to leave. They didn't count on Cloud not remembering what happened in the real world, nor for Cloud to have been given everything he had ever wanted.

Zack struggles with the morality of taking Cloud from a happy dream world and dumping him back into a bleak reality

5. Yuffie dumped a bucket of water onto Cloud, prompting the blond to grab a bucket of his own and chase the ninja through the jungles of Wutai.

Playtime was cut short however, when Yuffie fell into a hole in the ground. It was covered by large ferns and plant life, completely obscuring it from view. Still, she was a ninja! She should have seen this coming.

Cloud also feels a bit foolish for also falling in while looking for her.

They wake up and climb out of the hole, and head back to Godo, expecting nothing to have changed, only to find they-

A. Had been missing for 20 years

B. Are in an alternate reality

C. Have time traveled to the past

(Take your pick)

Cloud has no time to feel down, not with his precious annoying baby sister around. Someone has to keep the princess safe, and thats not easy when she's her own worst enemy.

(I intended this to be a fun sibling fic)

6. Before Crisis Shinra gets reports of a silver haired woman with reddish purple eyes dragging an unconscious blond man around like a stuffed animal.

Aka Jenova herself has come out to play

7. Sephiroth comes out of the labs much more woozy than normal. He doesn't think much of it at first, and by the time he realized he was in trouble, it was too late.

Genesis came into the Generals office to complain to the silverette about Shinra, only to find Sephiroth spacing out and acting rather...odd.

"Sephiroth," the redhead asked gently, "Are you...high?"

Sephiroth blinked slowly at him, and the commander couldn't help but to feel it was a greeting of some sort.

The silverette smiled before saying. "I am higher than you, yes."

"Thats not what i- Wait. Did you just make a joke?!"

Or

A certain blond trooper walks in holding paperwork for the general, who proceeds to pick up the smaller man and coo at him.

This somehow culminates into Sephiroth saying, "I know. I should adopt you!" Before spinning the young man around in the air like one wood a toddler.

Clouds confused shout was audible a whole two floors down, catching the attention of the honorable commander and his puppy, who went to investigate.

(Inspired by a dream I had of Sephiroth holding a struggling Cadet Cloud and saying "This is my son now." To Angeal)

8. Genesis munching on popcorn while watching Cloud beat up Sephiroth for the umpteenth time.

He even has the audacity to cheer for the blond

9. General Sephiroth encounters a child who is dressed up like him when out on a walk.

He talks to the child and leaves the situation feeling much better about himself.

(I need some wholesome Sephiroth fics)

10. Kadaj as a cat loaf

11. Sephiroth and Cloud have a shared dream about them being happily married and Cloud being pregnant.

The moment Cloud wakes up he barricades the doors and windows.

Sephiroth...well he doesn't know what to think about this situation. He's kinda just staring off in a daze.

He attributes it to trauma and neither ever bring it up.

12. Time traveler Cloud, but with all of Jenova-fied Sephiroths abilities. The problem is that Cloud has seemingly little control of these abilities, leading to Cloud being very tired and the writer being very amused.

13. Sephiroth rescues a blond fae from the rubble he was pinned under.

This was how he gained his silent stalker. The man never spoke. But his calming smile said enough.

14. When Lazard discovered there was two red clad men, who spoke in loveless quotes, he had to fight the urge to bang his head onto his desk and groan like a teenager. When he found out there were three of the man, he actually did just that.

Finding out there was only one Angeal was a bit concerning, especially since these other two worlds were supposed to be further along in the timeline. Thankfully, Zack hasn't seemed to change much in either. Then again, the one carrying the mako poisoned blond seemed wary of everything. Strange.

Strangest of all were the Sephiroths. One refused to come to this meeting, stating that it wouldn't be worth his time, which shocked the entire board of directors. Nothing they did or said seemed to faze the once dutifully obedient man. Luckily, Shinra still had thier own Sephiroth on thier side to protect itself if necessary...and the people too if they were lucky.

The third Sephiroth only commented something about searching for clouds or some such nonsense.

Lazard couldn't help but to feel disaster looming on the horizon.

15. "I'm pretty sure they would trade everyone here for a single corn chip if I got hungry." The blond deadpanned. "They're heartless."

Yes, food good. The voice interjected. Nutrition. Survival.

Cloud wanted to tell it that he didn't even like corn chips, but talking back to the voices in your head is usually considered to be a bad idea. Even if they're real.

Especially if they're real.

Aka the J and S cells mutate and begin communicating with thier host.

Cloud is not pleased.

Bonus: Sephiroth and Cloud reacting to your fanfiction.

[capseycartwright]

but at the cost I payed, I'm pretty sure I got screwed

buck wasn't exactly sure how to process the fact he'd been lied to, his entire life - that his parents had forced maddie to keep such a fundamental part of his past, his life, from him. but - at least he wasn't alone.

or - eight conversations between buck and his true family as he comes to terms with the existence of the brother he never knew he had. set post 4x04

ao3 link

i. albert

Buck had forgotten that Albert would be home, when he managed to stumble through his own front door – breath catching in his chest as he tried to process the bombshell Maddie had just dropped on his life. Maybe – maybe it was rude of him, cruel to forget that he shared his apartment with the younger man, that Albert lived on his couch, but Buck had forgotten, and how he wasn’t sure of a kind way to tell Albert that if he had to have a conversation with another human being, there and then, that he would scream.

And he might not be able to stop screaming.

Albert was looking at him with genuine concern written all over his face, sliding the pan he was using to cook off the hob, so it wouldn’t burn. “Are you okay, Buck?” he asked, and Buck knew he could talk to Albert, and he would try to understand; burdened by his own family issues in ways that would make it easier to admit the insanity of the Buckley family aloud.

But Buck couldn’t.

“That’s kind of a loaded question, Albert,” Buck managed to choke the words out, anxiety clawing at his chest.

Albert inclined his head slightly. “Okay,” he conceded. “Are you well enough to be here, alone – or as alone as you can be with me, here,” he grinned slightly at his own words. “Or do you need me to call someone?”

“I don’t think I know,” Buck admitted, forcing himself to sit at the kitchen table, his blood thundering in his ears as he tried to process everything.

He had a brother. He has a brother – even if that brother wasn’t alive, anymore. Buck had a brother – he wasn’t the only Buckley boy, like he’d believed for so much of his life. For twenty-nine years, he’d thought Maddie was his only sibling, but she wasn’t, and Buck’s entire world felt like it had been spun on its axis and nothing made sense, anymore; but somehow everything made more sense than it ever had before, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

Albert pushed a glass of water toward him, a kind look on his face.

“I don’t think I can talk about it, yet,” Buck admitted, the cool condensation dripping down the side of the glass – a housewarming gift from Hen and Karen, glasses nicer than he’d ever buy himself, if he was being honest – grounding in the way it reminded Buck that he wasn’t dreaming, the glass wet to touch.

“That’s okay,” Albert shrugged. “I can talk, instead, if you want.”

Buck could have cried, with relief. “Yeah, that would be great, Albert.”

Albert grinned. “Okay,” he nodded, moving his pan back onto the hob. “So – I had an online class, today, and one of my classmates, they were clearly not paying attention, but as it turns out, they had taken a series of photos of themselves, and were playing it as a video……..”

Buck forced himself to focus on Albert’s words, his roommate talking about the perfectly mundane happenings of his day, how his online classes went, how their neighbour down the hall still firmly believed he and Buck were a couple, and how its quite sweet, really, because she’s trying her hardest to make sure that they know she accepts them, and she’ll be dropping by a loaf of banana bread, in the morning.

It wasn’t until Albert set a bowl down in front of Buck, a simple pasta dish that made Buck’s stomach growl in acknowledgement of how hungry he was, that Buck spoke, looking at his roommate – his friend – with watery eyes.

“Thank you,” Buck managed to sputter out.

Albert shrugged. “You need to eat,” he said, pushing a fork toward Buck. “My grandmother – she always said that the problems of the world looked a little less daunting, when you looked at them with a full stomach.”

“I don’t just mean for the food,” Buck croaked, though he was grateful for the food – because he wasn’t sure if he had the mental energy to try and make himself dinner, to remember how to cook any of the ingredients that sat in his well-stocked kitchen. “I mean – for taking me out of my head, for a minute.”

Albert smiled, in that endearingly sincere way he always did, Chimney’s brother always one to wear his heart on his sleeve. “What are roommates for?”

ii. bobby

It’s not as though Buck particularly wanted to tell Bobby, about what was going on – but after the incident at the fire, after the way Buck had been acting, he knew he had to, he knew that he had to admit to his boss what was happening. He’d been insufferable to work with, Buck knew, and his boss was owed an explanation.

What Buck hadn’t expected was Bobby’s reaction. It wasn’t – it wasn’t the reaction of a Captain, a professional acknowledgement of a personal trauma that Buck wasn’t able to compartmentalise and leave at home, like he was supposed to, it was the reaction of a friend, Bobby pulling Buck in for a determined, bone-crushing hug.

“I’m so sorry, Buck,” Bobby’s voice was calm, against the sea of static that was buzzing in Buck’s head, something Buck could cling to as he stood, still as a statue, in Bobby’s embrace.

“You didn’t do anything,” Buck found himself saying, confused.

Bobby pulled back, hands on Buck’s shoulders. “I can be sorry, even if I didn’t have a role to play in this,” he said. “Buck, I’m sorry for you as your friend – what your parents hid from you, it was cruel. You didn’t deserve to be lied to like that.”

Buck swallowed his tears, focusing his gaze on one of the photos hanging on the back wall of Bobby’s office. “Their kid died,” he said, voice robotic as he voiced the sentence he’d practiced over, and over. “I can’t blame them.”

“Yes, you can,” Bobby’s voice was fierce. “Buck – I had to bury my own children. That is a pain I will never forget, and one I will live with for the rest of my life. I can’t even begin to describe to you what that grief, the grief of losing a child, feels like, and I hope you never, ever understand it,” he said. “But I have never put the burden of that grief on May, or Harry. Your parents had no right to force you, and Maddie, to bear their grief in the way they did. It was wrong. It is wrong.”

Buck hated how easily he was crying – how easily he’d always been reduced to tears, too soft, too emotional, not enough of a tough guy to please his father. “It was?” his voice was tiny as he spoke, unsure if he could take Bobby’s words at face value. Was Bobby saying that just to placate him? To make it so he could suck it up, and work?

“Yes, Buck,” Bobby’s voice was firm. “It was wrong – and no one in this team is going to begrudge you the time you need to process this. We’re your family, and we’re here for you. Okay? I’m here for you Buck, whatever you need.”

Buck hadn’t been hugged a lot, as a kid – not by his parents, at least. That was a pitifully sad thing to admit, but it was the truth – for all the ways Maddie had been kind, and affectionate, pressing kisses to Buck’s curls and hugging him close, his parents had been cold, and physically distant, never giving Buck more than a pat on the shoulder.

He knew why, now. They looked at him and all they saw was Daniel – all they ever saw was the son who would forever be twelve, frozen in time. They had watched him grow up, and maybe he was tolerable, when he was younger, when he was going through all the same phases that Daniel had – but as soon as Buck had turned thirteen, and lived longer than the brother he didn’t know existed, his parents had kept their distance more, and more, and then Maddie had left, and Buck had been left to crave physical affection, taking that intimacy wherever he could get it, regardless of the impact it had on him, regardless of how it would all leave him feeling even lonelier, when it was over.

But –

Bobby was a dad.

Not his dad –

But someone’s dad.

“Could I…” Buck cut himself off, embarrassed. “Could I have another hug, Bobby?”

Bobby’s eyes were sad, and full of sympathy – but not pity, Buck noted. “Yeah, kid,” Bobby said, pulling him in for a hug, Buck forced to stoop a little, to match Bobby’s height, comfortable in the embrace, this time. “You can have a hug.”

iii. hen

“Hey there, Buckaroo.”

Buck looked up to see Hen approaching him, doughnut in hand.

“You were missing out on the sugar delivery,” Hen explained, hanging him the plate. “So I snagged you your favourite flavour.”

Buck wanted to cry. “You didn’t have to do that, Hen.”

Hen shrugged, sliding down the wall so she was sitting on the concrete next to him, the bright sun of the Los Angeles afternoon beating down on them, the corner they were sitting in slightly secluded, distant from the noise of the firehouse that Buck normally thrived in – just, not today.

“I wanted to,” she said, taking a bite of her own doughnut – cinnamon sugar, Buck noted, her favourite. She’d always been the one to support Buck’s belief that simple was best, when it came to doughnuts, never making fun of Buck’s preference for plain old raspberry jelly flavour; unlike Chimney and the rest of the team, who favoured the hipster doughnut place around the corner from the station, and all the weird flavours they sold.

“Because you feel sorry for me?” Buck found himself asking.

“Because you’re my friend,” Hen corrected, nudging Buck’s knee with her own. “And I can see you’re hurting, Buck, so I wanted to do something nice for you.”

Buck knew he didn’t look the best, rocking up to their shift that morning – his eyes were red raw from crying, because he was in that stage of processing it all, now (Dr. Copeland had assured him that crying was a perfectly healthy trauma response, but Buck was tired of Albert’s quietly concerned looks, because apparently even crying alone in his shower didn’t guarantee privacy in the tiny space they co-existed in.)

He just hadn’t realised he looked that bad.

“I guess you know, then,” Buck murmured, poking at his doughnut. He’d given Bobby permission to tell the team, if he felt it was appropriate – he just hadn’t been able to face the prospect of telling them himself.

“No,” Hen’s voice was firm. “Whatever is going on with you, is your story to tell, Buck. Unless you want to tell me, I have no intention of finding out what is happening.”

Buck shot her a confused look.

“Chimney, he gave me the impression that whatever you’ve found out, is something that was kept from you by the people you love most in the world, and you didn’t have a choice in who found out, because Maddie told him first, and when – and when you got trapped, in that fire, Chimney panicked and told some of the team,” Hen said, explaining what Buck already knew – what Chimney had already desperately apologised for, terrified that Buck’s newfound knowledge of his dead brother had pushed him from resident daredevil to on the verge of suicidal.

Buck didn’t blame him, really.

“I didn’t hear the secret, at the fire,” Hen said. “And I asked Bobby not to tell me. I want you to be able to tell at least one person, on your own terms, if you want to tell me. And if you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay too – I just want you to have the option. I’m happy to be the friend who doesn’t know, if that’s what you need.”

Hen’s sincerity was making Buck want to cry again, his friend looking at him earnestly as she spoke. He knew that if he asked her, Hen would do her best to never find out what Buck’s secret was – Hen was good with secrets – and Buck wasn’t sure how to voice his appreciation out loud in a way that felt appropriate for the magnitude of what Hen was offering him.

Peace.

The power to take control of his own situation.

Buck hadn’t felt in control from the moment he had picked up that photograph of Daniel, and Maddie had admitted who it was, but now, for a second, at least, he felt in control.

“I had a brother,” Buck admitted, hot, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. “I had a brother, and they never told me – they kept him from me. For my whole life, they kept him from me, Hen.”

“Oh, Buck,” Hen’s voice was thick with emotion as she spoke. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I know – I know it wouldn’t have change the fact he died, when I was a baby,” Buck continued, managing to talk about it, even just a little, for the first time since he’d found out. “But I deserved to know, Hen.”

“Yes, you did,” Hen was fierce in her agreement. “They had no right to keep his existence from you, Buck.”

“It explains it, you know,” Buck glanced at Hen, the protectiveness that was written all over her face making his heart twist in his chest. “Why they never loved me, not really – I was never Daniel.”

“I’m not even going to pretend to understand your parents,” Hen said, wrapping her arms around Buck’s shoulders, pulling him close, running a hand through his curls, the same way Maddie used to, when he was younger. “But I’ll tell you something for nothing, Buck; I love you. I love you like a brother, and I know its not the same, but I love you. And loving you has been damn easy, from the moment you stepped into this fire station – because you have a heart of goddamn gold, Buck. And your parents inability to see that is not your fault.”

Buck let out a shuddering sigh, leaning into the comforting embrace Hen was offering him. “I’m not sure if I believe you, Hen.”

“That’s okay,” Hen reassured. “I’ll keep reminding you until you do.”

“You will?”

“I will,” Hen confirmed. “Because that’s what family does, Buck. Now – eat your doughnut before we get called out.”

iv. chimney

Buck hated the tentative way that his friend – and teammate, and future brother-in-law, probably – approached him, looking nervous. He hated it – and he hated how he didn’t have it in him to put a stop to it, just yet.

“Hey, Buck,” Chimney greeted.

Buck paused what he was doing, the chrome of the ladder truck already gleaming from the thorough polish he had given it. “Are you here as my sisters boyfriend, Chimney, or my friend?”

“As your friend,” Chimney answered without a second’s hesitation, which Buck had to admit he appreciated.

“Okay,” Buck put the polish down entirely, nodding. “Because I’m not ready to talk to Maddie about this yet.”

“She knows,” Chimney nodded, quiet for a second. “I wanted to talk to you as my friend, Buck, because – and I would walk through fire for your sister – you were my friend before I ever met Maddie, and I don’t want you to forget that. I care about you as more than just my girlfriends brother, Buck, and I’m – I’m sorry this is happening to you.”

Buck didn’t have a reason not to believe Chimney – really, he didn’t. “I’m still angry,” he admitted. “That you knew before I did. You had no right to know before I did, Chim.”

“I know,” Chimney agreed, rocking forward on his heels as he spoke. “I wish I didn’t know, Buck,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t found out before you. I – I said, from the moment I knew, that you deserved to know, but as much as it wasn’t my place to know before you, it wasn’t my place to tell you. It needed to come from Maddie, and your parents.”

Buck nodded. It was true – that it would have been worse to hear it from Chimney, and not Maddie, or his mom and dad. Of all the people to hear it from, Chimney would have been the worst one. It should have come from his parents, really – from the people who’d forced a child, their daughter, to keep their older brother’s existence a secret their entire lives. Maddie had been nine, when she’d been forced to pretend Daniel had never existed. She couldn’t have possibly understood the consequences of their parents refusal to acknowledge that Daniel had been a part of their lives, once.

“I know,” Buck said finally. “I know, Chim. I just – I can’t pretend like I’m feeling all that logical, about all of this. I’m trying – I’m just not there yet.”

Chimney’s expression was genuinely understanding. “You don’t need to be logical about this, Buck,” he shook his head. “You’re entitled to deal with this and grieve – and be angry as hell – in whatever way works best for you. I just – I wanted to know that I’m here for you, that I’m your friend. And if you need to talk to me, I can be your friend – and just your friend, not Maddie’s boyfriend. What we talk about, it stays between me and you, Buck.”

Buck gave Chimney a grateful smile. “Thank you, Chim,” he said, awkwardly wringing his polish rag between his hands, twisting, and pulling, the material taut in his hands. “I just don’t think I’m ready to talk about it with anyone, yet.”

And that was the truth of it –

Buck wasn’t ready to talk about it with anyone, not his friends, not Maddie, not even with his therapist – not yet.

“Then let’s talk about something else,” Chimney said, grabbing another polish rag, smirking at Buck. “Like your terrible polish job.”

Buck glared good-naturedly at Chimney. “I’m not a probie anymore, Chim, don’t start this.”

Chimney whistled cheerfully as he started to polish, grinning. “You’ll always be a probie to me, Buckaroo.”

v. athena

Buck hadn’t seen Athena in a while – their calls didn’t actually crossover, all that much, so it wasn’t all that unusual to have not seen her in a few weeks. A part of Buck was glad – and not because he didn’t love Athena, but he wasn’t sure if he could cope with seeing the anger she carried on his behalf in person. Buck didn’t like when other people felt burdened by his issues.

“Buck.”

Buck paused, halfway back to the truck. He couldn’t exactly ignore his Captain’s wife – or anyone, for that matter. Maddie (Maddie, always Maddie, not their parents) had raised him better than that, had raised him to be polite. “Hi, Athena.”

“I know you’re not ready to talk about it,” Athena said, hands on hips, stance fierce and protective and everything Buck never had in a mother. He was glad, May and Harry had her, at least. “But I wanted you to know – parents shouldn’t lie to their children the ways yours have lied to you. It’s cruel, and I’m sorry it happened to you, Buck.”

Buck didn’t quite know what to say. “Uh – thank you?”

“I’m not trying to overstep,” Athena raised her hands in surrender. “I’m not your mother. I’m your friend, though, Buck – and I’m someone’s mom, and I can’t stand the thought of you thinking that your parents did all this out of some twisted sense of protection for you, and Maddie. Parents – however hard – should teach you how to grieve. Not teach you to be invisible as a punishment for something you never knew happened.”

Buck nodded, shaking hands gripping tightly to his halogen. “You’re a great mom, Athena,” he said quietly.

“And you’re a great man, Evan Buckley,” Athena gave his elbow a squeeze. “I just thought you should hear that from someone today.”

vi. christopher

Buck had an armful of Christopher the second he walked through the front door of the Diaz household, the little boy flying at him, crutches and all. “Oh, hey, buddy,” Buck laughed, easily scooping a wriggling Christopher up, easing his crutches off of his arms so he could hug him properly.

“I’m glad you’re here, Buck!” Christopher said, grinning widely at Buck, his new braces glinting in the soft light of the evening, reminding Buck of how grown up the kid in his arms was getting – on the cusp of his teenage years, all too soon.

“I’m glad I’m here too, buddy,” Buck replied, holding Christopher close. He wasn’t even the kids dad – and he couldn’t imagine ever lying to him, like his parents had to him, couldn’t imagine doing anything except loving the little boy with everything he had.

“Dad said you’ve had a bad week,” Christopher said matter-of-factly. “So we have a surprise for you.”

“Oh, you do?” Buck gave Christopher a watery smile, flashing Eddie a confused look.

Eddie raised his hands in surrender. “It was all this guy,” he said proudly. “I just did the driving.”

Buck laughed, looking back at Christopher. “Where are we going, then?”

“Kitchen!”

Tossing a giggling Christopher over his shoulder, Buck made his way to the kitchen, Christopher chatting excitedly as he moved. Buck felt like he was going to cry – really, properly cry – when he spotted the feast of all of his favourite things on the Diaz kitchen table.

“We got all your favourites!” Christopher explained. “Popcorn, and chocolate – and pizza! And we’re going to watch Inside Out, because its your favourite film, and me and dad, we’re going to make sure you feel better, Buck.”

Buck wiped roughly at his eyes. This kid. “I already feel better, buddy.”

Christopher’s brow was furrowed. “But you’re crying.”

“People can cry when they’re happy, Chris,” Eddie explained, running a soothing hand down Buck’s back. “It doesn’t always mean someone is sad.”

“Your dad is right,” Buck confirmed. “I’m crying because I’m happy – and I’m very grateful to have such a thoughtful kid taking care of me.”

Christopher grinned again, patting a sticky hand against Buck’s cheek. “You’re gonna be o-kay, kid,” he beamed, and for the first time, Buck almost believed it.

vii. eddie

“He’s out like a light,” Buck said softly, half closing the porch door behind them – enough that they wouldn’t wake Christopher, with their conversation, but still open enough that they’d be able to hear if Christopher woke up in the night.

Christopher had insisted on Buck being the one to put him to bed, that night, despite how hard Eddie tried to get Christopher to give Buck a break – but Buck had enjoyed the routine of it all, if he was being honest, Christopher’s happy snorts as Buck (badly) danced around the bathroom while Christopher brushed his teeth making him forget the car-wreck his life was for a few minutes, at least.

Eddie nodded, nudging a beer toward Buck. “You spoil him, you know,” he said, not a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I know you read him two chapters of his book, not one.”

Buck hummed gratefully. “I know,” he said, voice dropping. “Kids deserve to be spoiled, a bit at least.”

“How are you doing Buck? Really?” Eddie asked, and Buck felt a dam inside him break – he’d kept everything he was feeling so bottled up, for so long, and all of a sudden, on his best friends back porch, it all came pouring out, tears cascading down his cheeks.

“I had a brother,” Buck hiccupped out, bordering on hysterical as he cried, Eddie moving quickly so he was crouching in front of Buck, soothing hands on Buck’s knees. “I had a brother, Eddie.”

Eddie’s face was twisted, a mixture of heartbreak and sympathy. “I know, Buck,” he soothed softly, gentle hands wiping at Buck’s tears, taking Buck’s hands in his own, grounding Buck in the new reality he had found himself in, the past few weeks – a world where he was suddenly the youngest of three siblings, the third Buckley, not the second.

“I always wanted a brother,” Buck admitted out-loud for the first time, unable to stop his tears, gripping tightly to Eddie’s hands. “I love – I love Maddie, but I always wanted a brother, too, and I had one, and I didn’t know, and I can’t stop thinking about how different life might have been if he was still around. He was ten years older than me.”

Eddie was quiet.

“His name was Daniel,” Buck said, shakily voicing his brothers name out-loud for the first time to someone other than maybe. “His name was Daniel, and he was ten years older than me, and I’d have been a really good brother to him, and that’s all I know, and I just – I wish I knew more.”

“You know,” Eddie’s voice was soft, and reassuring, comforting and grounding in ways that Buck wasn’t sure how he ever lived without before, his best friend the kind of anchor Buck needed, in his life. “I bet Maddie knows more.”

“Eddie….”

“I know it hurts,” Eddie squeezed Buck’s hands, his expression encouraging as Buck forced himself to look at the older man. “And it’s going to hurt for a long time, Buck, and I’m sorry for that – but you’re not alone in that hurt. Me, Chris, Hen – the others – we’re here, and we love you, and we’ll do our best to understand, but there’s one person in the world that shares this hurt with you.”

“But she knew, Eddie, she knew all along, and she didn’t tell me – and I know she was a kid and it wasn’t her fault, but it still hurts, because she got to know him and grieve him, and I didn’t.”

“Did she?” Eddie countered, wise as ever now he went to regular therapy. “She had to pretend he didn’t exist. To grieve properly – you need to talk about the person, about who they were, and Maddie didn’t get to do that. As much as she can help you get to know who Daniel was, you can help her grieve the brother she wasn’t allowed to remember. I can’t help you do that.”

Buck tightened his grip on Eddie’s hands. “I can’t, not yet,” he admitted hoarsely. “Not tonight.”

“No,” Eddie hummed his agreement. “Tonight its just you and me, and the rest of these beers, and as much crying as you want. Okay?”

Buck laughed. Back when he first met Eddie, he could never have imagined their friendship getting to this point – to where they could sit, and talk, and drink and cry together. Somehow, somewhere along the way, they’d created this safe space, together, and Buck had never been more grateful for his best friend than he was, there and then.

He had a brother.

And tonight – tonight was the first time he’d said that out loud and hadn’t felt bitter, and angry, about it. Tonight had been the first time he’d said those words out loud and wondered who the person was, who Daniel had been – instead of focusing on the lies, the hurt of it all.

That was progress.

Swallowing thickly, Buck wiped at his sore eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he directed his question at Eddie.

“Anything?” Eddie’s lips quirked up in the beginnings of a smile.

“Anything,” Buck confirmed.

Eddie grinned. “Did you know - nearly three percent of the ice in Antarctic glaciers is penguin urine?”

Buck snorted, the sound outrageously loud in the quiet of the evening. “I don’t want to know how you know that.”

(He knew – of course he knew. Eddie was the only person who knew exactly how to bring Buck out of his own head, with odd facts and quirky news articles, anything to distract Buck from the overwhelming noise of his own thoughts).

Eddie took a swig of his beer, smiling contently. “You’re not the only one who can know weird things.”

viii. maddie

When she opened the door, Maddie greeted Buck with a relief he didn’t feel deserving to be on the receiving end of.

“I’m sorry, Maddie.”

“No,” Maddie interrupted, pulling him close, clinging tightly to his shoulders, refusing to let her pregnant belly be an obstacle to squeezing the life out of Buck – and he couldn’t say he was opposed to a bone-crushing hug from his sister. “You don’t need to apologise, Buck, not to me – not about this. I should be apologising to you.”

Buck pressed his face into the material of Maddie’s cardigan, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. She’d worn the same one since she was a teenager, and in the years when they weren’t in contact, Buck – well, he’d sometimes go to the perfume section of the department store, and sneak a sample, desperate to feel close to his sister, even if Doug had long since cut her off from him.

“I can’t hear you,” Maddie admitted, her voice soft as she ran a gentle hand through Buck’s hair.

“I said,” Buck pulled back slightly, Maddie’s tears reflecting his own. “I know we’ve got a lot to talk about – but uh, Maddie, will you tell me about him?”

Maddie brushed away a few stray tears of Buck’s before they had the chance to drip from his chin, nodding. “I’d really like that,” she confirmed, tugging Buck toward the couch. Her baby box was still on the coffee table, a photograph of Daniel – the same one Buck had found – propped up against the wood, another one next to it.

Of the three of them.

Buck looked as though he couldn’t be more than a few weeks old, in the photograph, Maddie proudly holding him in her arms, a little boy who was familiar, in so many ways, hair blond and bright like Buck’s had been, as a child – and unfamiliar in so many others, a kid who would forever be twelve years old.

“Is that us?” Buck asked, doing his best to fold his long limbs, curling himself up against Maddie, thinking back to when they were kids, and all the evenings they’d do the same – Buck curled up in her lap as they watched TV, or as Maddie soothed his tears after a fight with their parents. Her belly got in the way, a bit, and a part of Buck’s heart ached with the knowledge that someone else, his niece, would curl up in Maddie’s lap the same way he used to, in just a matter of months, but he pushed the thought aside.

“I told everyone you were my baby,” Maddie said, sounding like she was smiling. “Oh, I loved you so much from the moment you were born, Buck, and I wouldn’t let Daniel go near you – because you were mine.”

Buck didn’t try and stop his tears, now.

“He loved you just as much,” Maddie continued. “He would tell dad, how excited he was to be able to teach you to play soccer, one day, and ride a bike.”

All the things Maddie had taught him, in the end, Buck thought to himself.

“He picked your middle name,” Maddie continued. “Because he had a best friend called EJ, and he told mom and dad that you should have the same initials – Evan James - because you were going to be his new best friend.”

Closing his eyes, Buck let Maddie’s words wash over him, painting a picture of someone he would never have the chance to know – but loved, Buck thought, all the same, because Daniel couldn’t have known, how life would turn out without him, because he had only been a kid, when he died – and he wouldn’t have understood.

“He’d be proud of you, I think,” Maddie said quietly, pressing a kiss to Buck’s curls. “Because I am, Buck, I am so proud of you. You are not a disappointment. You are the greatest man I have ever known and I am so proud of you, and I love you, and I’ll tell everyone the same thing I told them when I was eight and I held you for the first time. You’re mine, Buck, not theirs.”

Buck nodded, not trusting himself to open his eyes. “I love you, Maddie.”

“I love you, little brother,” Maddie sounded like she was crying too, now. “We’re going to be okay.”

Buck –

Well, he didn’t have a reason not to believe his sister.

He wanted to believe her.

And maybe –

Just maybe.

He already did.

Yeah.

They would be okay.

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 1

Masterlist  / Playlist for reading

The f!reader is a servant to an English lord, when one day Eivor raids their village and takes the reader and others with her as prisoners.

For this chapter there is a big content warning for graphic violence, suicide, death, abuse, and blood. If you want to know what exactly happens regarding to specific triggers, feel free to message me and I'll let you know or give you a censored version.

Inspo Picture by @anaakeart​

Chapter 1: Cutting Ties

You were kneading dough on the big wooden kitchen table when Henry rushed in, out of breath and red-faced from the cold outside. He was the head of the servants and had been tasked by your lord to prepare a feast for tonight. You had been cooking since before sunrise and everyone in the village was excited for tonight. Lord William’s wife and daughters were decorating the house and preparing an enormous bonfire in the center of the village. Delia, one of the daughters, was supposedly getting engaged tonight, forging important alliances with the neighbor shire.

“How are you holding up, Y/N? Everything according to schedule?” Henry asked, placing a friendly hand on your shoulder and squeezing it in reassurance.

You wiped your sweaty forehead with your upper arm before taking a knife to cut intricate little patterns into the dough, William’s emblem in the middle of them. This was the last loaf of bread, two dozen were already cooling off in the corner.

“Everything seems to be going well so far,” you said, “is the bonfire ready?”

Before Henry could answer, you heard loud sobbing in the corridor, accompanied by footsteps coming closer. The door sprang open and Delia stumbled into the kitchen, holding her cheek and crying inconsolably. Henry was quick to help her to a chair before dipping a towel into the water basin and holding it to her face.

“Did he hit you again?” he asked with a tenderness in his voice that made you look up at them. Delia had laid her hand on top of his and looked at him through a veil of tears, only managing to nod in response. She grabbed his linen shirt and pulled him closer, burying her face in his side.

Oh no. This wasn’t good.

“I told him I don't want to get engaged to some old, wrinkly toad. He screamed at me, saying I had no worth to him and the only way to put daughters to use was to marry them off. I couldn’t help myself, I said that I loved someone else and he struck me four times for it. I can’t be seen like this tonight!”

She was right. A bruise was already forming on her cheek and brow bone, no one would take a battered bride. William had always wanted sons. Because his wife hadn’t given him any, he let his anger out on her and his daughters as he pleased. He was a tyrant, but there was nothing anyone could do. He was the lord.

You used a wooden shovel to put the last loaf of bread in the stone oven, then you left the unlucky couple alone in the kitchen and tried to find Eda, Delia’s sister. You met her in the stables, her head pressed against the neck of her beautiful red mare. She was mumbling to her and the horse stood perfectly still, seeming to listen and provide comfort to the young woman. You announced yourself by clearing your throat and Eda turned to look at you. Her face was tear-streaked. Oh, what a day.

“Miss Eda?” you tried to keep a light tone. “Your sister isn’t well. I think it might be best for you to come and take a look at her.”

Eda gave you a solemn nod, rubbed over the mare’s soft nose in parting and followed you back to the kitchen. As you entered, you could see that Delia had stopped crying and Henry was applying a salve to her face. The air was filled with the scent of mint and lavender alongside the wonderful smell of freshly baked bread.

“Oh, sweet sister.” Eda rushed to Delia’s side and cupped her face in her hands. “What have you done?”

Delia pressed her lips together and Henry helped her out.

“She told Milord that she wouldn’t marry anyone for him. He was furious.”

“Damn this place.” Eda suddenly blurted out. She stood up and balled her hands into fists. “He can’t treat us like this, we’re his daughters, his own flesh and blood. He can’t just sell us off like cattle!”

You and Henry exchanged a quick glance, both holding your breaths. She was right, but you were not allowed to make any remarks of that kind. Delia started crying again, but Eda slammed her hand on the table in frustration. You knew the feeling too well.

Suddenly Henry straightened up. “Y/N, what’s that smell?”

Fuck. The bread.

Quickly you pulled it out of the oven, but it was already coal-black and hard as stone. You threw it on the table. The kitchen immediately filled with the stench of burned grain. How much could go wrong in one day? You couldn’t picture it getting any worse than this.

You were in for a surprise.

The door suddenly banged open and the small frame of Lord William, II. of his name, entered the kitchen.

“What is this? Are you all conspiring against me? Sitting around while I do all the work! Unforgivable!” he bellowed, pointing his fingers at each one of you.

“Delia, stop this madness, you ungrateful wench! You have the opportunity to honor this house and here you sit, moping and wailing! I should sell you to the Danish savages!”

Delia cried out in horror and ran out of the kitchen. No one dared to follow her.

William’s gaze fell on the burned bread on the table. His face became even redder than before, a thing you had not thought possible. With one step he was in front of you, grabbing your shoulder with icy, piercing fingers and shaking you.

“You useless, stupid girl! I do not pay you to burn my hard-earned grain! Do you know how much I am paying for this day? This will cost you your week’s earnings, mark my words!”

He let go of you and was about to turn to Eda when you answered: “There are two dozen perfect loaves with your emblem ready for this night. I was taking care of your wounded daughter.”

Before you had even the chance to regret this remark, he had whirled around and struck you with the back of his hand. He hit you so hard that you flew back against the shelves, tearing down vases of onions and carrots with you in a terrible cacophony of Eda screaming, clay breaking, and the ringing in your ears. His seal ring had caught your cheekbone, blood instantly beginning to flow down your face and neck. You were paralyzed for a second, struggling to breathe as you lay between the broken pots and vegetables and stared at William, still in disbelief at what had happened.

There was a flicker in his eyes, just the hint of realization that he had gone too far. He huffed and turned on his heel, then he was out the door.

Henry fell to his knees next to you and tried to pull you up to a seated position. You could feel the blood spreading downward through the fabric of your dress and warming your chest. Eda was still paralyzed, staring at you from the table.

“Miss Eda, a cloth, please!” Henry commanded. She caught herself and grabbed Delia’s cloth before rushing to your side. Henry gently dabbed the wet fabric on your cheek and while Delia began cleaning your neck and chest with another towel.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? How are you feeling?” he asked, trying to suppress the panic and concern in his voice. You looked at him and managed to croak: “I’m alright.”

“Good. This is going to need stitches, and quickly.” He stood up and grabbed a bottle of brown liquor from the top shelf, handing it to Eda. “Give her this. She’ll start feeling the pain in a minute.”

He rummaged around in a small chest next to the door and found a needle and thread. You took the opened bottle from Eda’s hands and quickly gulped down a good amount before it could start to burn in your throat. Your head started spinning almost immediately.

“I had to do this a lot when I was in the army. I’ll try to be quick.” He gave you an apologetic smile as he crouched down next to you, then he went to work.

Eda left at some point to look for Delia, taking the bread with her to give it to the pigs. Henry had helped you up and sat you on a chair in the corner before starting to clean up the terrible mess. You slowly came back to yourself and to reality, feeling dizzy from the blow and the liquor but glad about the fog in your mind finally clearing up.

After an hour or so, you got up and back to work, starting to assort the cheese and meat platters and sending after a few other servants to carry them to the table. Henry helped you at first, but then he had to go and make sure everything was set and ready. After there was nothing else to do in the kitchen, you went to your chamber to change into your more formal clothes.

A metal plate was hung on the wall next to your door to serve as a mirror. As you stood in front of it and held a candle up to your face, you didn’t recognize yourself. Your left eye was swollen almost completely shut, your cheek was a dark, almost black purple and the wound was held together by four stitches. It was still seeping blood occasionally, but when you wiped it off there was no real difference.

You took off your dusty, flour-stained linen dress and managed to put on your black dress with the white apron and bonnet. This evening would stretch forever and sleep seemed years away. Now you were really wishing for another swig of that cheap servant’s whiskey.

-

The feast began without any further incidents. Lord Wulfred from the shire north of yours had actually come and was sitting next to William and opposite your Lady at the head of the table. You stayed in the shadow, keeping an eye on the table and advising the other servants to get more wine or bring more cheese at times. Delia sat next to Wulfred, a man in his fifties, almost as wide as he was tall. His grey beard was yellow around his mouth and food got stuck in hit as he ate. His promised bride looked miserable. You could see she was holding hands with her sister next to her, trying hard to keep her composure.

As the meal came to an end and the table had almost vanished under a heap of gnawed off bones, crumbs, cheese rinds, and fruit stones, William rose from his chair, holding a bronze cup in his hand.

It got silent in a matter of seconds. Delia’s face was as white as snow, her fingers desperately clinging to her sister. Wulfred was gulping down beer and it was trickling out of the corners of his mouth into his beard. Poor Delia.

“I have assembled you all here tonight because there is a special occasion, one that calls for a second celebration very soon.” William was relishing in the attention of his guests and savoring every word. “As some of you may know, my eldest daughter Delia has now reached an age where there is more to do for her than sitting around all day and eating me out of house and home.” He laughed and all the men in his audience joined in, hollering and raising their cups in approval while the few women at the table smiled politely.

“It is for that very reason that Wulfred and I have come -”

There was a bang outside and you could hear men’s voices yelling, sounding alarmed. William’s face distorted into a sour grimace, angry about the ruined tension. Another loud noise, now downstairs inside the house, caused a few people to jump up from their seats.

“Everybody calm down. Henry, see what’s going on,” William said and motioned to the door. Henry gave Delia a short, but deeply meaningful look, then he vanished into the dark corridor. Now you could hear metal clanking outside and finally, someone rang the alarm bell. Everyone stirred now, some people running to the windows or pulling weapons.

Wulfred got up with difficulty and waddled to one of the windows as well. He stuck his head into the small frame and immediately snapped back around. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, an arrow pierced his head from the back, the bloody tip sticking out in front of his surprised eyes. He fell to the floor with a thump and let out a last huff, then he lay still and one of the women started shrieking in horror.

There was noise on the stairs now and suddenly Henry reappeared, his shirt torn down the middle and a gash on his shoulder. He shut the door behind him and called to the other servants who immediately pushed a big chest in front of it, barricading the entry for the moment.

“Milord, Vikings are attacking the village. Their leader is a colossal woman. It must be the She-Wolf from Norway.” He was breathing heavily and braced himself on one of the chairs to keep himself standing up.

Something was ramming the door in a slow, steady rhythm. The heavy chest moved ever so slightly with every new blow. You whistled to get the other servants’ attention and waved them over into your corner. You were terrified, but you tried to seem calm and collected so the others wouldn't panic.

“We are not their targets, we have nothing to our names. If you want to fight, fight. I will not risk my life for this tyrant. Everyone who wants to live can stay here with me.” No one moved. You nodded. “Thank the lord. Now let us sit down, fold our hands, and pray.”

With a deafening crash, the door exploded into the room and a tall, broad-shouldered woman with long blonde hair and gruesome black paint around her eyes jumped through the hole in the wood and over the chest. Four men followed, swords drawn. The she-wolf let her eyes wander over the faces in the room, the men with their daggers and swords, the women behind them and William in the middle. Then her gaze fell on you. You had told all the other servants to sit behind you, bow their heads and show their empty hands in their laps while you sat before them, willing to do whatever it took to protect your chosen family. You locked eyes with the Viking woman and your blood froze in your veins as she narrowed her eyes for a second, then she turned to William.

“Are you Lord William, master of this shire?”

Delia and Henry were slowly crawling along the wall toward you and managed to sit down next to you without getting too much attention. Their fingers were intertwined, tears were streaming down Delia’s face and Henry held her close as he watched the scene in front of you unfold.

“I am.” William proudly lifted his chin. “Who are you, Viking whore, to come into my house uninvited?”

The men behind the she-wolf laughed, but she just lifted an eyebrow and laid her hand on the handle of her sword. It was still sheathed. She seemed incredibly calm during all this.

“This is no longer your house. The decision is yours: die at the hands of my men or give up now and come with us as prisoners.”

The stare she gave William pierced him like a spear, making him writhe underneath its sting and making you hope to never become the target of her wrath.

William shook his head and huffed, then he lifted his sword.

“We will not cower before you, Viking whore. For England!” he bellowed and the other men repeated the war cry before storming towards the small group of warriors.

The woman unsheathed her sword in the blink of an eye and the men behind her jumped forward to meet the English guests. You saw the chance immediately. Slapping Henry‘s knee, you nodded toward the opening in the door. He alerted Delia and she silently agreed. Both of them crawled on all fours, staying low and going along the walls until they had reached the door and quickly climbed out. You wished them the best of luck and said a prayer in their wake. You couldn't leave the others behind. You would stay, no matter what happened, no matter how terrified you were.

The fight was quick, one of the Vikings caught a sword to his arm and bled from a mean gash but the others stayed unharmed. They killed their opponents in a matter of minutes and did not shy away from killing some of their wives who had also drawn knives in hopes of defending themselves. In the end, there was only your group and William’s wife with two other women left. And Eda, standing in a corner all alone.

The two women fell to their knees and swore to follow and to serve if their life was spared. Your Lady however stayed standing up, her chin raised and her eyes filled with terrible sadness and immense pain.

“I have served all my life. I have endured beatings, rape, and being treated like an animal.” Eda whimpered next to you as she realized what was about to happen. Her mother pulled a tiny dagger from her sleeve and held it gently in her hand. The she-wolf motioned for her men to wait.

“I will not bow my head to anyone else. This suffering has to end.“ She gave a loving, sorrowful look to her daughters, then she turned the dagger toward herself and drove it into her chest. Eda cried out and tumbled towards her mother, catching her mid-fall and cradling her head in her lap as blood began to pool on the floor.

The Viking woman turned to you and took a few steps in your direction. She looked down at you with a curious twinkle in her eye. You clenched your fists, asking God for assistance.

„And who are you?“ she asked, her deep voice suddenly much kinder. You forced yourself to breathe in and straighten up.

„We were Lord William‘s servants. We have no love left for him. We will go with you freely.“ You held out your empty hands for her to see. „I am not your enemy.“

She took one of your hands and pulled you up, not letting go of your hand as she stared into your eyes. You let out a shaky breath, but held her gaze.

„You're still English,“ she said before letting go of you and taking a few steps back, not turning from you. Of course she wouldn’t trust you.

„Bind them and take them to the ship.“ she ordered her men, then she pushed the heavy chest away from the door like it was nothing. She simply pulled the door frame, which was in shambles, out of the wall and let it fall to the ground. Then she was gone.

[the-unknown-storyteller]

i will keep you safe

(sequel to a matter of trust)

Summary: Ranboo’s never thought about it, but the Nether is never really dark. There’s no sun, no moon, only the lazy lava rivers far below and the glowstones high up on the ceiling of the Nether, but they’re enough to keep everything bright and lit up. There was just one small problem with that.

__

After months of building up trust and bonding with the little zombie piglin, Ranboo brought Michael to the overworld. He was dead set on providing him with a house, food and a family. Especially after he saw Michael’s “home” two or three weeks after they had met. His chicken had recovered enough to flap its wings and run around again, though Ranboo didn’t miss the way one of its wings would only respond sometimes, hanging limply at its side most of the time. 

But Michael was happy all the same and trusted the half-enderman enough to show where he lived, so that the other could come find him there if he wasn’t in any of his usual spots. 

It was just a hole dug into the netherrack. Ranboo could spot a small pile of half-eaten crimson fungi and gnawed on warped roots. The chicken probably lived off of the nether sprouts that were growing in the far right corner of the “room”. There was also a bed, mostly consisting of weeping vines and some strange red leaves. It was decided at that moment that Michael would live with Ranboo and Tubbo.

It was an oversight on Ranboo’s part, really, bringing a baby piglin to the overworld without thinking about any of the effects it may have on the child. He’s never thought about it, but the Nether is never really dark. There’s no sun, no moon, only the lazy lava rivers far below and the glowstones high up on the ceiling of the Nether, but they’re enough to keep everything bright and lit up. There was just one small problem with that.

When they brought Michael to the overworld, the first thing the baby piglin did was shriek in pain. The long whining sounds that escaped his adopted son distressed Ranboo greatly, who awkwardly stood in front of the piglin, too scared to touch him and not really knowing what was hurting him. There were tears running down his face, while Michael put his hooves in front of his eyes.

It’s too bright out here, Ranboo suddenly realized, looking up at the sun that was mercilessly burning down on their backs and pierced their eyes. The light is way too harsh.

He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around Michael’s head, making sure to block off as much light as he could. The whining stopped and all that remained were quiet sniffles and the rustling of fabric, as Michael wiped at his eyes. 

“Ok, ok, I can work with this. Everything will be alright, Michael. I am so sorry,” Ranboo muttered, cradling him against his chest to block off even more light. He lightly stroked his ear that poked out from underneath the suit jacket. “I’m sorry, Michael…”

There was a small grumble and a shift, as the baby piglin settled in Ranboo’s arms. “Just hold on tight, Michael, I’ll fix this.” He carefully put Michael’s chicken into the messenger bag at his side. With hurried steps, he ran towards the snow capped roofs of Snowchester in the distance.

In the end, Michael adjusted. After just a few hours in the dimmed attic of Tubbo’s house, he could not only open his eyes fully, but also risk a few glances outside the window. From then on, he would sit on the window sill and look outside as often as he could. The light wasn’t hurting him as much anymore. Ranboo stayed with him, only leaving to get him a loaf of bread and some meat. The chicken settled on the bed, clucking quietly in its sleep and ruffling its feathers every once in a while. 

As the sun set, Michael’s posture sagged, slumping against the window. 

“Getting sleepy, huh?” Ranboo chuckled, picking the baby piglin up and depositing him on the bed next to his chicken. He snuggled into the soft woolen blankets, breathing deeply.

 “I guess that journey was pretty taxing, but I’m glad you’re here, you know? With us, with me.” He smoothed out the blanket, tucking him properly in. The sun set completely, plunging Snowchester in darkness. “You can’t imagine how much I love you, Michael. I really, really do.” He gave him a small kiss on his little head, carefully getting up from the bed. He put out the lantern above the bed, before he left. 

“Goodnight, Michael.”

Not only was the light in the Nether very warm and easy on the eyes, but it was also constant. While the mobs in the Nether did have some type of aligned sleeping cycle, there wasn’t really a night-day cycle in place that would dictate when it was time to sleep and when it was time to wake. It was all based on instinct.

The clock struck midnight. Tubbo had given Ranboo a temporary sleeping spot on an old mattress on the floor until they could get another proper bed into the house. It was a bit short for his long legs, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to be close to Michael.

As he laid there facing the ceiling and listening for the light sounds and snores of Tubbo next to him and Michael in the attic, he heard some quiet whimpering from above him. It was faint at first, growing louder and more panicked. Within minutes, Ranboo was out of bed, scrambling to climb up the ladder when he heard crying.

He lifted the trapdoor and saw a small form curled up on the bed, covered in the woolen blanket. “Michael?” More sniffling. “Michael, is everything okay?” There was a high whine, only interrupted by the sound of stuttering breath. Ranboo ran over to the distraught piglin.

“Hey, hey, Michael, what’s wrong? Is something hurting again?” He reached out towards the ball on the bed, carefully enveloping it with his long arms. He squeezed lightly.

“Did you have a nightmare?” He could feel movement against his chest in a clear no. He could feel him shiver next to him. “Did something scare you?” Looking around the room, he couldn’t really find anything. It was almost too dark to see. 

Too dark to see. “Michael, is it too dark right now?” A nod. Of course, I’m such an idiot. Ranboo reached over to the lamp above the bed and relit it with a practiced flick of his wrist. Michael immediately calmed down, peeking his head out from underneath the blanket. 

“There we go. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I leave it lit from now on.” Michael gave him a relieved grunt, as he climbed into his lap and curled up there, tightly wrapping his blanket around him. “Oh, okay! Let me just…”

Ranboo laid down on the bed, hugging his son tight. His breath soon evened out.

“Goodnight, Michael.”