#to immediately pick up and understand and use a language flawlessly before they even know that the species around them speaks it

[swagging-back-to]

i was just about to show what i think altean markings look like (full body) when i realized that lance is borderline skeletal?

both of them are. their legs should not be that small. where is thick thigh lance.

[seafleece]

Hey, random question, but what do you think are the M9's love languages?

oh, anon, you absolutely did not sign up for this and i am so sorry, but here we are. i had to look up the five types and keep them in the google doc to remind myself what they were, but uhh here’s almost 4000 words of character analysis and discussion of debatable quality

jester: 

my initial thought was quality time— an obvious and painful one, as it’s the one her mother wasn’t able to provide. i think the sleeper, though, for jester, is acts of service. 

with beau, this especially shows up in reference to healing— jester having a more healing-focused cleric around is a big relief, especially for someone so close to warlock status that she almost was one, but very notably, she very much wants to heal beau. she specifically apologizes for not doing so in the chantry, and attributes that to beau’s absence rather than anything else; more generally, there’s a huge amount of distress on jester’s part when beau is hurt, and that she wants to be the one to heal beau (notably, with the gorgon, she RAN to beau, was immediately upset both times beau started getting petrified, and even dissuaded caduceus or caleb from using their turn to heal beau so she could instead, making sure to be Right There even while nott was applying the oil). she also seems to really value the instances when beau does things for her, especially since there are specific acts that beau reserves for jester (engaging with religion in any capacity, wearing a dress for jester and more broadly allowing jester to pick her clothes, a concept which beau probably has an explicitly negative association with from her mother).

it’s also muddled jester up the worst when it comes to relationships she understands less— the “kiss” with fjord in the temple that was a vehicle for giving jester air, most specifically, comes to mind— and she’s really come to terms with this by realizing that romantic feelings weren’t really what he was expressing, and that it wasn’t necessarily what she was feeling, either. it’s noticeable in how she describes her relationship with the traveler— she feels like her service to him is doing little things for him, and asks, when she’s unsure, when the traveler failed to act on her behalf when they were kidnapped, if she did something wrong to make him angry, and literally desecrates a temple to make up for it as soon as they’re back in town.

and the thing is, quality time isn’t really what was lacking in her relationship with marion— marion probably did have time to spend with jester for at least a little while every day. the problem is that marion simply couldn’t provide jester with things that she needed: access to the outside world and companionship. she had to learn from near-scratch how to navigate relationships of varying intensities, and it shows with her initial zeroing in on fjord as an iteration of the dashing sailor her momma told her about, as well as her more slow-burn come to trust and really invest in and love beau, because she’s never had a relationship like that with a girl, and maybe didn’t even know it was something she could have, or something she could want.

jester’s her proudest when she’s doing things for other people, even if they maybe wouldn’t love her doing it if they knew— threatening beau’s dad because she hates that he hurt her, hearing that beau was thinking about leaving and marching in to modify memory a hag, writing astrid a letter because caleb seems like he liked her, asking essek if he likes caleb because caleb seems to like essek, painting yasha’s room in the xhorhaus, finding outfits for everyone. she struggles with how to rein in showing it and thinking first about the potential consequences, and is unsure how to navigate what it means when she’s shown it in return, but it’s messy and heartfelt and sincere. with her mom, she really clearly appreciates when her mom does do things for her— providing a home for her friend’s family, allowing the m9 to stay in the chateau, coming to the party with them despite her agoraphobia. i’m sort of banking on a scene where jester talks to her about it, apologizes for leaving, and reaffirms that it means a lot to her that marion is stepping out of her comfort zone for her.

beau: 

words of affirmation. this is NO DOUBT something her parents didn’t give her, maybe ever. this is baked into her relationship with them— she knew that her father wanted a boy, he probably Told her this, and she wasn’t one. it’s something she could literally never be, an aspect she would be forever resented for, that would tinge everything her father ever said to her. her mother also probably didn’t give her much if any affirmation, as she was trying to police and fix beau’s behavior to avoid thoreau’s anger for both of them, and never properly elaborated to beau that her intention was to keep beau from being punished (not that it would have made it okay, for the record). it’s also why her conversation with her parents in 92 immediately threw her off, because for once they actually told her she’d impressed them, that she’d done good, and it’s rough as hell to see that. 

unfortunately, it’s also the thing she’s least likely to get from everyone else unless she’s at her worst, because almost everyone else, including fanon, seems to have profoundly absorbed this idea that beau is rude and abrasive and sarcastic and she’s just. not. she might have been at the start, but she’s always been especially soft with jester, she and caleb are very mutually assured about the sort of affection they show each other, she’s always been either openly flirting with or just sort of tenderly awkward with and trying around yasha, she and caduceus have a fun and pretty peaceful dynamic i always love to see, and we know caduceus, for at least a while, considered beau his favorite. 

then, there’s the characters she’s known for butting heads with the most: fjord, with whom she’s developing a sibling dynamic to rival hers with caleb and really obviously is ride or die for; nott, who used to openly insult beau and just about everyone else, and who is now 1/3 of the chaos crew beau is also in; and molly, whose death was a HUGE turning point for beau in terms of a) taking stock of her morals and how she intended to act on them and b) expressing love for someone so you know they know it, before it’s too late. 

jester seems to see this the most, no surprise there, and dairon also sees a lot of potential in beau not because she’s strong or fast (she’s from a martially focused monastery), but because she’s smart. dairon talks about and to beau very affectionately compared to other mentor/guardian figures she’s had, and i think it means a lot to her coming from both jester and dairon. she certainly returns the favor for both of them.

fjord: 

this one isn’t immediately apparent, so i’m gonna start by talking about the nature of his relationship with caduceus (and see where it gets me). 

okay, i lied, i’m starting with molly.

fjord and molly had a thing. it’s clear in retrospect, and i’ve talked about it, but i think it has to do with where fjord was in his quest to reinvent himself. molly was someone who, for all intents and purposes, had flawlessly become a new person— not necessarily because of a concerted effort to change who lucien was, but a different person nonetheless. fjord wanted desperately to believe that that was attainable for him, and thus saw a lot in investing in molly. molly was a silent affirmation that fjord could really pull this off, could really reinvent himself and be fine.

also, molly was hot. enough said.

caduceus, on the other hand, offered something different. caduceus came along right before fjord’s willingness to help uk’otoa was first tested— fjord rose to the occasion, but the whole time there was someone new along, someone whose faith in his deity seemed assured. assured, that’s something fjord never had.

afterward, he got to see what it meant to believe in a god like that, and he started to want in. caduceus seems like a very honest person— though really, it’s just because m9 doesn’t know the right questions to ask him— and his god is the god of the sea, too, right? fjord really lost a rock in molly the way i don’t think a lot of people realize, and it’s why his swallowing the summer’s dance felt so meaningful. he was keeping a part of molly with him, and i wonder if he misses that part of his falchion. after he lost his inspiration for recreation, he started to put stock into authenticity as the answer, and caduceus as the vehicle. and the wildmother was very accepting, too, took him in like a lost sheep.

where fjord is now, i think he values the covenant (which i realize i actually define later, so if i forget to reorganize these before i post, then oops) in a similar way to caleb. more specifically, though, he decidedly the word owe in talking to beau about the group’s relationship, which, among other things, speaks to acts of service. fjord has work to do to earn his place as a paladin of the wildmother (and a good amount of work to do indeed, if getting trounced by darrow was any indication), and he feels the need to repay caduceus for his help, companionship, and guidance. fjord also gets hurt and KO’d. a lot. i think he takes it on the chin as his role in the group— that’s his job, and he has faith in caduceus and jester to keep him up. they’re not done yet, they haven’t finished serving one another, so beau leaving is of considerable offense (near-mutinous, to be specific).

caleb: 

words MEAN SHIT to caleb, you can tell in the way he talks. everyone remembers the times he’s told nott he loves her, he responds best to beau because i think he really loves the way she talks, he shows his feelings in really passionate speeches to nott, to beauregard, and most recently to essek. there’s absolutely a reason why so many goddamn quotes from campaign 2 are attributed to this dude, and it’s because he monologues like a fucking champ. their group is named after his accent. 

as for receiving love, though, i think it’s a little different. we know from talks that he’s placed a lot of value on the things jester has done for him, and moreover to be herself as someone who gives recklessly, but as far as we know he doesn’t intend to do anything with it. with nott, i’m tempted to create a new category that’s something like a covenant? he and nott agreed to travel together and help each other under the worst conditions, and they’ve stuck to this fastidiously. this covenant, this commitment to the group, is something he extends to everyone— he is not willing to walk away from this, and hasn’t been for a long time, he believes in all of them, truly, what they can do— and cherishes the fact that everyone has kept this, except for two very specific moments. beau, when she introduced the threat of her leaving the party, and yasha, when she was taken over by obann. for beau, he actually seemed fairly quiet compared to fjord, and i’m not sure yet on why this is, other that i think he trusted fjord and jester to talk her down. as for yasha, he seems to be really invested in commiserating with yasha as two haunted ones (literally), and sees her as someone who also really values the group but sees her ability to belong as tarnished by what she’s done. 

for the purposes of this, i’m gonna refer to it as that, as a covenant (yes i’m a failed church kid, what of it) and as separate from acts of service, because it’s more akin to the promise of one major, permanent act of service to each other. i wonder if it’s this steadfastness in that idea that partially led caduceus to continue and develop the idea of his role, because caleb and the rest of team cockroach, as i call them, were gonna keep that covenant if it killed them, and caduceus could keep them from getting killed, at the very least, if he entered into it.

but anyway, that covenant now extends to essek, if he decides to take it. and if he does, that will mean something infinite to caleb, i think. 

caduceus: acts of service.

okay. i wanna talk about caduceus and danger.

caduceus doesn’t heal himself. we know this. he heals everyone else, and not himself. 

i’ve been checking critrole stats on this, and if i’m reading correctly, he has taken the most damage (157) in one episode than anyone else. and it’s not a small margin. the closest is yasha (129) and i’m almost certain that’s from the episode where she decided to literally get attacked until she passed out. i was trying to guess which episode this was from, and then it hit me: probably the episode where he fucking died, right? because it really just never came up again.

caduceus has: started to drown at least 3 times in his first month on the job, been killed by nott, been beaten near to death when yasha was charmed, and been very quietly and very badly stabbed in the back by a disappearing assassin. he’s also died at home, as a family tradition.

there’s a million better meta posts about caduceus’s relationship with death, or even about him not healing himself, but I just want to set it as potential precedent for the idea that caduceus, to some degree, sees value in himself as someone who doesn’t mind dying in a fight. for one thing, it’s been a temporary thing almost from day one with m9, as jester immediately invested in diamonds when they got back to town. it’s not his first rodeo, either, and his family has normalized death to an, and i say this more because of how it’s affected him rather than because i dislike the idea of normalizing death, an upsetting degree.

giving healing, that’s his job, but eliminating himself as someone who needs help or healing, well, that’s healing in a way, too, right? if he doesn’t get healed, it’s more for everyone else. worst comes to worst, jester can heal him if need be. or, y’know. not heal him.

caduceus’s relationship with m9 has noticeable transaction rhetoric, and i wonder where that really fits in with his family. obviously, his role in the family was implied as the one who stayed behind, and his parents definitely imparted a need for him to be stable, a role he’s continued to fill for m9 to his quiet detriment but i think he’s also jumped on the opportunity to finally be the older one, the wiser one, of the group. there’s a power caduceus has over the group that’s really understated— they just sort of listen to him, even if what he’s saying doesn’t actually make sense, because he started with nott, beau, and caleb as a wise savior, a protector, and upon finding the others, it’s not like jester, fjord, or yasha were filling that role. molly certainly wasn’t either— it’s funny, how in retrospect caduceus seems inevitable to the group because they really didn’t have anyone like him. the closest thing to a voice of reason they had was fjord and caleb, and early on, caleb was not in great standing because of his and nott’s perceived standoffishness, and fjord threw up ocean water, so like, what’s up with that, right?

at the very least, he definitely believes he owes the mighty nein something, a role to fill, a job to perform. a service to act out, if you will. his job is to heal, and he does less healing if he heals himself. he seems to view him taking a hit as a win, in a way— it’s a hit that someone else doesn’t take.

i have a lot of hope that reconnecting with his family and seeing how he’s grown while they haven’t allows him to revisit his notions of what he needs to be, and i have a lot of hope that moving forward, he’ll be able to invest more in the other motif he’s developed, which is gift-giving: fjord, with the star razor; his sisters, with the hat (which seems small but like. boy’s had it for a while) and the flute; and, most recently, in helping jester pick out everyone’s outfits. it allows him to feel like he’s giving something to the people he cares about without it hurting him.

yasha: 

truly everything. it’s hard to get a read because yasha really just soaks in all the love m9 wants to give her. if i had to guess further, i’d say we should look at her and molly’s relationship, because molly’s the only character we’ve seen her unabashedly love, and the thing that stood out most to me was physical touch. that echoes really depressingly with her “fight” in 89— she got something out of being that close to someone, even if it felt like reparation or atonement, and i think the only person in m9 who’s been really unafraid to touch yasha is jester.

i’ll admit i have a soft spot for yashter, but, like, it’s there, right? the obvious trust, the faith jester has in yasha and the fear and turmoil when that was tested? i remember really clearly jester giving yasha a piggyback ride in zadash in an early ep, and like— when’s the last time someone was strong enough to do that? when’s the last time someone wanted to do that for yasha? everyone’s mistrusted yasha to some degree for the entire run of the campaign, and, like, how much did her hopes to get close to everyone else just evaporate after the king’s cage? does she really even believe she can have it again? she was so close— jester trusted her fully, she and beau were in a comfortable mutual place with flirting, she’d talked to caduceus and jester about zuala, she even felt comfortable picking up nott and throwing her around (which, by the way, i love their dynamic).

she seems to have leaned more into the protective, threatening stance since they got her back, which, if she’s comfortable with it, is just fine— maybe she’s shifting more towards acts of service, but i just hope it isn’t her just accepting the idea that everyone will always be afraid of her, that she won’t be close like that again. because molly wasn’t afraid of her. jester wasn’t, and i don’t think she is, now— but fjord showed a lot of distrust, and i think yasha’s scared of the degree to which she hurt beau and how to even broach that discussion, and she attacked them, how could they ever forgive her or trust she wouldn’t do it again? 

(i wish i had a happier end to this, so i’ll just say that she did seem comfortable last ep, and that she may or may not have interest in getting a tattoo from jester? interesting stuff.)

veth: 

on a person to person level, veth definitely feels she and caleb are acting on the promise they’ve made to help each other— now she’s reached it, things are a bit more nebulous, but it’s obvious she wants to stick around for him. i’ll admit, her words to everyone in 97 were a bit surprising to me— she hasn’t really been good at conveying emotion like that before unless she’s desperate or really upset, and i imagine it was something she started planning in her head to say to everyone as soon as the first ritual didn’t work. that might be, i think, what she felt as relief, just not being able to articulate what she wanted to say to everyone.

as for her family, veth believes she owes her best self to yeza and luc— she kept herself from them not because she couldn’t have gone back, but because she felt like someone else, like someone worse, and the exaggerated tendencies from her previous life only reinforced this— she didn’t believe she deserved to be around them, before now. before caleb, i don’t know if she had any hope for returning to them at all, and he changed that entirely.

i’m also very interested in why veth is able to reconcile her marriage with yeza as veth with her loving caleb as nott, and if she sort of considers herself as two different people. we’ve seen so little of what she feels comfortable expecting from other people— for now, i’d say acts of service seems appropriate? but maybe something closer to just. fulfilling promises.

bonus: for the other two who are considered part of the mighty nein

kiri: 

words of affirmation. i’m a HUGE kenku stan, anyone who’s played d&d with me knows this, and i’m especially fascinated with the relationship with words when you can only speak the words you hear/remember. on the most basic level, if you speak to kiri, you are giving her a gift, you’re giving her the ability to speak, too. and if those words are affirming, then she can say them back! and you’re giving them to her, in a sense, to use as she pleases and repeat them to herself, even, and i just love that image— her, to herself, saying “i love you” in other people’s voices. i’m ride or die for kenkus, and kiri started it.

essek: 

okay, so almost everyone in the m9 could be read as needing words of affirmation, because it’s so clear that they need more love and knowledge of love than they’ve received, and have found it in each other. essek has quite literally found it in m9 for the first time. he absolutely needs all of these, like, ASAP, but i think it’s what everyone says to him that get him the most. caleb’s speech, obviously, but it’s also them casually referring to him as their friend, it’s jester’s messages, even if he’s busy. it’s important to say, though, that i think it’s a specific type of affirmation: things that have nothing to do with his magic ability (and moreover, any of these gifts that have nothing to do with it). essek’s built his entire life on the idea that he is someone incredibly powerful and smart for his age— m9 are probably the first people to make him feel like he was more than that, because they want to know about the rest of him, and in becoming friends with them, he’s confronting the fact that he doesn’t really believe there is a rest of him. they want to know a part of himself that he at best has neglected and has been neglected by others, and at worst that he believes does not exist. when they talk about him as a friend, it adds to who he can be. he’s seeing, for the first time, that he can exist as someone else than his abilities and his ambition.

i initially started off with words of affirmation and he clearly needs that, but i think he really just needs all of these in a very specific way: he needs to feel love that is not based in merit, that pertains to who he actually is in this life rather than what he can become in the next, that values the life he’s living right now, because he’s not getting that from the dynasty. it seems like a low bar, maybe, to people who only have the one life, as far as we know, but his arc this campaign shows that it really, really isn’t.

[hopeshoodie]

Rarepair Sunday- Hopeisol

I meant to post this yesterday but petered out towards the end (how on brand is that). But here’s a fluffy little fic about Hope and Marisol going on a double date with this week’s rairpair- Bobby and Noah.

Words: ~2500

Warnings: None, maybe slight angst and mention of doing the nasty but not at all descriptions of it 

When she walked into the kitchen, rummaging through her purse on the counter, Noah couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows. He exhaled out his teeth, whistling slightly. Hope looked up, a cheeky grin spreading across her face as she stepped back, forgetting the quest to find her keys.

She gestured down at herself, posing with her hips and flipping newly installed box braids over her shoulder, “How do I look?”

“Stunning.” He said without thinking. And it was true. The closest he’d seen to her going this all out was at the villa prom, but even that was a shadow of the visage standing in front of him now. The new hair style that she’d spent the better part of the day in the salon getting struck a balance between startlingly different but radiant, her expertly applied makeup sharpened her jaw and eyes flawlessly, the rich jewel tones of her body con dress made her skin glow in the low light of the apartment. But more than the look, there was a lightness in her eyes and smile. The tension that normally stiffened her shoulders had vanished, and she appeared more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. 

She threw her head back with a laugh at his comment, “do you think so?”. She moved in between several poses, turning to fully show off the look and gracefully moving her arms. He couldn’t help but smile, watching her playfully lean and posture. Before he said anything else, her focus snapped to Noah, sprawled out on the couch. She walked over slowly, lips pursed in silent thought.

Hope hesitated before quietly, tentatively offering “And you look…”

Sensing her judgement he sat up, brushing the wrinkles of his dress pants away and straightening his tie. He offered her a beleaguered smile, “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s fine, you look great.” She bent slightly and loosened the knot of her tie, pulling it into the proper shape then tightening it again. “I just… Do you own more than one suit?”

“What do you mean?! This is a new shirt, and tie! I picked it out specifically for this-”

“There’s no way that’s new.”

“It is!”

“If it’s new, then you have at least two of the exact same. Noah, how many navy button downs do you own?”

He blushed, looking down at himself. She offered him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before turning back to her purse. As she walked away, she quipped over her shoulder, “at least you’re not wearing a vest.”

“I look good in a vest!” He called back.

“Who looks good in a vest?” Marisol walked out of the bedroom, holding the keys that Hope was still rummaging around for. Hope spun around and her face lit up. 

“Noah, allegedly.”

Marisol smiled and pressed the keys into Hope’s palm, leaning in and kissing her cheek lightly. “Aw. Are you teasing him?” Then she raised her voice so Noah could hear without looking away from Hope, “I think you look nice in vests.”

Noah’s response was lost in the fumbling of their lips, fingers seeking each other out to interlace. When she pulled away, Hope murmured, “you look beautiful.” Marisol offered her a coquettish smile before releasing her hands, “I know.” Hope’s jaw dropped and she swatted at her girlfriend, “I know” she mimicked. 

“I do know! It took an hour and a half to look this good, babes,” Marisol retorted. 

“Speaking of which,” Hope turned back towards the living room, “have you heard anything from him?”

“Radio silence.” Noah called back. 

Marisol frowned, “I just checked the flight tracker, it said he’s still on time.”

“I knew I should’ve scheduled the reservation for later.”

Marisol slid a comforting hand around Hope’s waist, rubbing her skin gently with her thumb, “don’t go into damage control yet. We don’t know for sure either way.” Hope leaned into her hand, but didn’t say anything. After a bit, Marisol turned back to Noah, sensing she needed to take control.

“Well the plane’s still landing at 6:00, so we might as well assume everything’s fine. I’m sure you’ll get a text during the drive. Let’s just get going.”

Noah nodded silently, a look in his eyes that meant he wasn’t sharing his concerns. But he still stood up, grabbing his coat off the back of the sofa. Hope smiled tightly and grabbed her purse.

“We’re gonna have a great time. Come on.” Marisol kissed Hope lightly again, then walked over to Noah. She pulled at his tie, trying to get the knot to lay flatter than it was. Noah swallowed a laugh and glanced conspiratorially over at Hope, who rolled her eyes through a smile. 

The drive to the airport was quiet. Noah sat in the backseat, scrolling through his phone, and the ladies held hands up front as Hope drove. Periodically, Noah would share a news story or joke from his timeline, and they would all collectively chuckle at it. The silence that had previously been terse and anxious morphed into a comfortable, content silence. 

It took another 45 minutes for them to park, go through security, and find the right gate. Noah had gotten progressively quieter, lips turned slightly downwards as they waited outside of the gate. Hope gently held his forearm, “it’ll be fine, babes.”

Noah nodded, not speaking the fact that they were all acutely aware of. It’d been five months since they’d last seen each other, the longest stretch of time they’d gone since they started dating. While they both agreed long-distance would be doable while he looked for a new job, the separation was wearing on them. 

As the door opened and people started meandering through, the coil in Noah’s throat rose higher. Both Marisol and Hope gently patted and held him, sensing his anxiety. He almost brushed them off, feeling like a child, but instead he remained frozen in place, staring at the doorway.

Like it was nothing, suddenly he appeared. Frumpled shirt halfway unbuttoned, eschew, massive headphones perched around the back of his head, smile brighter than the pastel orange of his slacks. He immediately locked eyes on Noah and squeezed past the woman in front of him, running to them. Without thinking, Bobby launched himself at Noah, wrapping his arms around Noah’s neck and pulling his legs up around him as well. Noah lurched back but caught him intuitively, pulling him up into a long kiss. He had to let Bobby down earlier than he’d normally- the backpack strapped to the shorter man weighed nearly as much as Bobby did. 

 Bobby grinned up at him, “hey.” Noah couldn’t help himself from smiling, giddiness making his cheeks flush and eyes squint. “You were supposed to text me when you landed.”

Easing back onto his own feet, Bobby flushed, “yeah, sorry. They didn’t have ports- my phone’s completely dead.”

Noah nodded gently, “but you’re here.”

Marisol cleared her throat, and the couple glanced over at her. “Bobby, what are you wearing?”

“What do you mean, I’m-”

Hope’s face fell and Marisol cut in before she had a chance to react, “Hope made a reservation for dinner at 7. You were supposed to wear your suit on the plane… Is it in your backpack?” She disdainfully glanced at it, not relishing the wrinkles being crammed in a pack would cause.

Bobby’s face fell too, “Shit- I totally forgot-”

Hope started to match Marisol’s agitation, but instead of frustration, tears began welling in the back of her throat. “It has a dress code, Bobby-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Noah tried to sooth them, “we’ll just swing back to your place. I have an extra shirt, and I’m sure Bobby has some more understated pants-” Bobby visible cringed, shooting a look at Noah. 

Marisol nodded, using Hope’s distress to launch from anger into problem solving mode. “If we leave now we’ll have time to run back, it’s fine. Let’s do that, come on.” She gently pulled Hope into moving. 

Bobby rested his head on Noah’s shoulder as they drove back, playing with his hands. They giggled between themselves, and Hope tried desperately to swallow her irritation and just be happy for them. It was good to see Bobby. 

Noah always seemed to be more comfortable around him too, chatting much more and openly laughing. That was the thing that convinced her Bobby and Noah were a good couple, or at least a better couple than she and Noah ever would be. When she was with Noah, he was just as sweet and considerate as ever, but it always felt like she had to guess what he wanted. Like there was some barrier, like he was speaking a language a little too fluently for her to understand. There was no need for it either, she tried desperately to communicate with him. At times, it’d felt like he willingly stonewalled her instead of just saying what he wanted, just to be difficult. Just to be frustrating. Therapy had made Hope realize that she’d done the same, in part, focusing on little conflicts instead of addressing her underlying insecurities about the relationship. 

But it still hurt some, to see how vibrant Noah became when Bobby whispered in his ear. Not that she wanted him still. But Hope had a hard time letting go, taking the L. Noah had been something she wanted so deeply, and couldn’t make work no matter how hard she tried. Maybe that was the problem, Noah’s love was a thing she wanted. With Marisol, it wasn’t like that. 

Hope didn’t want, didn’t demand, Marisol’s love more than she wanted the dumb memes sent to her phone sporadically throughout the day. Than she wanted the slow and soft mornings waking up to the smell of coffee and her tender hands. More than she wanted to wrap herself in Marisol’s affection and never let go. 

A relationship with Marisol was work, true, but it felt like Marisol wanted to work for it in a way Noah was never willing to. And that remained a slight bitterness in Hope’s friendship with Noah. No matter how much they’d put the show behind them, Hope couldn’t forget how in love she’d been with him. How angry she’d been. The show’s reruns made her cringe, but also caused a dull ache in her chest. Reconnecting with Marisol had dulled that ache to nearly nothing, but seeing Bobby and Noah carrying on as if Noah was never hers caused it to flare up again. 

Glancing at Marisol from the road dissolved that twinge of resentment into shame. Here she was, angry that her friend had found romance in the exact same way she had, when the love of her life was quietly humming along to the radio next to her. It’s not as if Noah realizing his crush on Bobby after the show was any more disloyal than her and Marisol’s friendship growing into more with time. As much as she tried to rationalize it away, there was still a hint of frustration. Marisol quelled it but sliding a hand into Hope’s lap and gently squeezing her thigh, but Hope had to force herself to stop glancing in the rearview mirror anyways. 

When they got to the apartment, Noah pulled Bobby into the guest bedroom to some side eye from Marisol. Hope sat tersely at the kitchen counter, and Marisol slid behind her, gently rubbing her shoulders.

“Don’t let it ruin your whole night babes, we’ll still make the reservation.”

Hope huffed, recognizing it was more than that but taking the out provided, “I spent so much time planning it all out. I made the reservation two months ago-”

Marisol kissed her shoulder, then her neck, whispering, “I know. We all appreciate how much time and effort you put into planning everything.” 

“I just want this to be a good weekend. They haven’t see each other in forever and-”

“And they’re already really happy with each other. You can’t make yourself responsible for their relationship success, darling.”

“I’m not-” she snapped, letting out a breath when Marisol raised an eyebrow condescendingly. Without conceding, Hope sighly loudly and nodded. 

The sat like that for awhile, Marisol gently running her nails across Hope’s back and Hope vacantly staring out the kitchen window. After a considerable bit, Marisol went to the bedroom door, intending to knock. She raced back with a smug grin, and blurted out in a hushed voice, “they’re shagging!”

“What?!”

“Absolutely. They are 100% going at it-”

“Are you kidding me.” Hope pushed up away from the table, spinning on her heels. Marisol caught her arm and pulled her back.

“Oh babe, come on. Don’t interrupt-”

“Our reservation started five minutes ago and you want me to-”

“They haven’t seen each other in awhile-”

“They literally just had to wait four more hours!”

“As if you haven’t been late to a meeting because we were getting a little indecent.”

“That’s not remotely the same thing,” Hope glowered at her girlfriend, and Marisol just laughed, pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her forehead. 

Hope huffed again, and stomped over to the living room, dropping into the loveseat. “Fine. I won’t interrupt. I won’t urge anyone to hurry or worry about a schedule or plan anything. We’ll see how much fun everyone has when everyone just says ‘it’ll work out’ and never puts in any effort to make it work out.”

Marisol watched her storm away, then waited until she was finished. Against her better judgement, she offered, “I said I appreciated your effort.” Which earned her a sour glare. She shrugged, then turned and disappeared into the main bedroom. Hope turned on the tv and attempted to care about the cooking competition that came on. After twenty more minutes, she called in and cancelled the reservation.

Nearly an hour later, the guest bedroom door pushed open. A flushed Noah stepped out, his clothes obviously straightened but the knot of his tie sloppily done again, followed by Bobby. Bobby had put on one of Noah’s shirt, apparent from the looseness and bunching of a shirt that was far too big for him and the signature navy pattern that only Noah and newly graduated business majors would pick out. The boys had so intelligently paired the shirt Bobby was currently swimming in with a pair of khakis. 

Hope turned, most of her irritation haven softened with some alone time. She barked a laugh, partially in genuine humor and partially in disbelief. “You’re going to wear that to a five star restaurant?”

Bobby blushed and Noah looked down at him. “I thought we managed to cobble a look together.”

“No tie?”

“I only brought one.” Noah raised a hand to start pulling his own off, before Hope shook her head, “It doesn’t matter. They only hold reservations for a half hour after they’re booked for.”

“I’m sorry, Hope-”

“As you should be.” Marisol walked out of the hall, she strode past Bobby and Noah, sparing a withering glance at Bobby and snorting her amusement. Without saying anything else, she opened the door and disappeared into the apartment hallway. Hope watched her go in confusion, then turned back to the boys.

“It’s fine.” Her voice softened. It was fine, really. At the end of the day, they were all together, and happy. That should be enough.

“It’s not my fault I’m so incredibly irresistible-” Bobby quipped, and Noah looked away while Hope grimaced, “gross.”

“Bobby, don’t-”

“No it’s not even true,” Hope cut in, grinning, “you look like a 9 year old trying on dad’s shirt for the first time, and you want to brag about being irresistible?” 

“I make it work, lass.” Bobby pulled the back of the shirt tight, trying to give himself an hourglass figure, and posed. Hope stuck her tongue out, and he winked in return. 

The door pushed open again and Marisol shoved her way through, arms full of plastic bags. Hope shook her head in confusion before rushing over to help carry things. 

“When did you-”

“I know Bobby doesn’t mind, but Noah do you like pho? It’s a trick question, I already ordered it. But still.”

Noah smiled, “yeah, I’ll eat some pho-”

“Fantastic, to the terrace!”

Hope trailed behind Marisol as she led through the open screen door onto their small patio. Setting the bag of takeout down on the coffee table, she couldn’t smother her excitement.

“Babes, when did you do all this?”

“Just now.”

Marisol had toted blankets and pillows from their bedroom out to the patio furniture, and carried their TV out as well. Four three wick candles were sat on the ground, waving in the breeze, and Marisol had strung multi colored christmas lights they had in storage along the railing.

“I didn’t hear you,” Hope said, eyes twinkling as Marisol leaned in and kissed her temple.

“Yeah, and it was a pain to try to carry that thing down the stairs and out the door silently. Thank god for your lack of awareness.”

“Sod off,” Hope whispered, wrapping her arms around Marisol’s neck and kissing her deeply. 

After the food was opened and everyone got settled, some movie was turned on. Hope couldn’t remember what they’d played for the life of her. But she did remember one specific moment. One warm, contented moment. Wrapped in Marisol’s arms, nestled into her side. Hope had glanced over at the boys, who’d pushed two patio chairs together and were spooning, Noah’s legs hanging off the chairs at the knee. The air rustled across her face and the sounds of the city far below harmonized with the movie audio. Hope could’ve gotten lost in Marisol’s breathing, in the comfort and safety of her arms. But she made a salient mental note not to lose that moment. 

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - In the Flesh?

Part 14

Happy New Decade present. Soo this part got split up as well since I got really long winded on some parts and now this is almost 3k and it was getting ridiculous. No warnings that I can think of here?

CLOSED list of people who deserve good things: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Falling back into Marinette's body felt surprisingly gentle. It offered a sense of nostalgia from back when they use to settle in for switches back before… Well, before.

Lifting his head, Jason realized he was leaned into Marc and surrounded by the entire group all watching him wearily in a semi-circle as though to keep him from running. He had to wonder if that's what she'd been in the middle of when they swapped back. Preparing to run to him the same way he planned to hunt with Damian for her.

"What happened?" His voice came out rough and harsh around the French, having switched to English when speaking to the kid.

"Mari? Oh thank god you're back!" Chloe exasperated, moving closer to his side as Juleka spoke up.

"I thought Kagami said you lost your soulmate, but that was them, wasn't it? They're here then?"

"Did you want to find them? We can help, did you find anything out from where they were?" Marc asked next, keeping some distance.

"Horrible timing if you ask me. Must've freaked out, considering they got launched into a rogue's attack. Honestly, I can't say I blame them for taking off the way they did, or panicking when we essentially cornered them," Kagami went next.

"Ran off? Panicked? You cornered them?" Jason spoke in an almost frantic rush, "What the fuck happened?"

"Fear gas, apparently. Took us all out into lala land. Woke up to a bunch of masked guys laying all over the place. No one died, but it was a bloodbath," Juleka offered a dark smile at that, "You were gone though. Nowhere to be found, so we ran out the back door and started calling for you."

"Only when we found you, you shoved me up into a wall and started speaking in something that definitely wasn't a language you knew," Marc pursed their lips.

"Whoever they are, they stood there in a daze and suddenly tried to bolt away. Marc yanked them back and here we are. Not surprised, we are pretty intimidating," Chloe huffed, tossing her hair.

"She wasn't intimidated."

"Why wouldn't she be? Bunch of overly strong strangers crowding her in speaking in a language she doesn't understand? I'm surprised she didn't fight back more now that I think on it," Kagami gave a thoughtful hum, picking up on the pronoun use immediately and adjusting accordingly.

"She understands French just fine. It's her first language after all. English is her second. And she wasn't running away from you."

"Well then, miss know-it-all, why was she running? In a direction that was decidedly away from us," sarcasm thickly layered Chloe's tone at that.

"There's a kid in her apartment. He was shoving me out the door to go find her. She probably wanted to get back to him to make sure he didn't freak out," Jason explained, not really thinking his words through.

"Woah, what? She's got a kid? How much older than you is she?" Marc piped up.

"No, God no, not her kid, like, like a little brother or something. It's complicated. Point is, she probably felt desperate to get back to him. She wasn't intimidated by you four, hell she probably took down Scarecrow and his goons herself. Fuck, I need to find her." He rattled on at this point.

"Mari, what's going on?" Kagami finally moved closer, grabbing his hand and tilting to look him in the eye.

That's when it truly hit him. They didn't know. He never told them the truth and had assumed he never would. Had assumed his soulmate was gone forever and this particular omission would never come to light. Glancing down to where Tikki peered out from his jacket, he saw the little goddess give a solemn nod and look towards a nearby fire escape to direct him. Looking back at the people gathered around him, people who had laid their trust in him for years. Who stuck by his side all this time, never knowing the truth, looking at him with concerned eyes, he took a deep breath and prepared himself to lose them all.

"Come on, I can't have this conversation here," he gestured them forward and led the way up to the rooftops where he peered out in all directions to be sure they were alone, despite knowing the aftereffects of the miraculi made all of their senses too strong to possibly be caught unaware by a non-holder. Taking a seat on the roof edge, foot propped up against the brick and arms folded, he waited for them to gather round and settle in, either on the ledge beside him or against random pieces left up there, before he began.

"I know she understood you. She wasn't afraid or intimidated or any of those things. Wouldn't make sense for her to be. Honestly, she knows more than I do. I have no idea how she's alive. Considering she died for me three years ago."

He was met with confused looks, some more critical than others, but no one interrupted. Letting out a sigh, he decided he might as well start from the beginning.

"We switched often when we were young, but we learned to act like each other. She didn't want anyone to worry and later on, I couldn't afford for us to not switch flawlessly. No one could tell when or if we switched, though you were all aware I had a soulmate. We both lived dangerous lives. We knew the risks. Knew the consequences. We switched in the middle of her morning class three years ago, a week after her fourteenth birthday. I jolted in her seat and had a panic attack. Only a moment before, I had been held captive by the Joker. I tried to switch back, but she wouldn't let me. She held my body hostage. We'd done that before, you know. Taken an injury for the other and held on until it healed up. Been sick for one another. It wasn't that surprising that she wouldn't let me back in. And the tug calmed down, ao I assumed she was fine and going to heal up and we would switch back. Fucking stupid of me. It took a week before I realized something was wrong."

Juleka stepped in here, quiet but sure, "You're not Marinette. Are you?"

Clenching his fist, he shook his head.

"Marinette died, didn't she? She's dead?" She asked.

"Only she isn't, otherwise you wouldn't have switched today. It makes sense why you're so sure then, she would have no reason to be afraid of us," Kagami interjected before he could respond.

"I thought it was you recognizing me when you loosened your grip, but it was actually her realizing what happened, wasn't it?" Marc offered up.

"That's all good and well, but it begs the question. Why didn't you tell us?" Chloe turned towards him, slight betrayal pushing through.

Jason went quiet as they all turned to wait for his answer. How do you explain that? That the depression and guilt became too much? That you couldn't handle being treated as an outcast and stranger by the people closest to her. That you couldn't look them in the eye and tell them it was your fault that she was gone?

Tikki took this moment to come out.

"I knew. Plagg and all the other kwamis as well. He chose not to tell you. But if he hadn't, we would've stopped him ourselves. Even if he wanted to tell you, we wouldn't have allowed it."

"Why?" Kagami narrowed her eyes, flicking her gaze between her and Plagg, who had just now come out of hiding.

"At the time, we were facing an emotional terrorist. It was bad enough he could've been compromised at any given moment, was better suited to me, and had to deal with Chat all the damn time. It'd be idiotic to allow him to emotional screw all of you up. What a mess that would be," Plagg growled, looking grouchy and put out, despite a slight joy hiding in the glint of his eyes, "She's really alive?"

Tikki nodded, moving over to pull the other god into a nuzzle, "I felt it. It's definitely her."

"And after Hawkmoth was defeated?" Marc this time.

"It'd been around two years by that point. And all of us were releasing a lot of pent up anger. How well would that have gone over without the knowledge that she's alive?" Juleka cut in, saving him from having to explain.

All four of them looked to each other, having a silent group conversation, one he was left out of for once. Seemingly coming to a decision, they turned to him once more.

"So what's your name then?" Chloe demanded.

Eyebrows pinching in a weary, guarded expression, he slowly answered, "Jason. My name is Jason."

"Well then Jason, it's good to finally know who we've gotten so close to all this time," she teased.

"You're," he struggled for the word, "okay with this?"

"She's alive. Has been for who knows how long. We've worked by your side for three years now. We know you even if you weren't who we thought. Honestly, this explains a lot about some of the personality changes recently." Kagami shrugged.

"There's no use in getting upset over it now. It wouldn't help us to move forward," Marc added.

"Sure, we're hurt and annoyed and put off, but we get it. It makes sense and we're not going to hold it against you. And you heard the literal gods. You wouldn't have been able to tell us if you wanted," Chloe continued on.

Juleka nudged his side, pulling him from his shock and awe, "You know where to find her? I think I'd like to meet this new Mari."

"Y-yeah. I know where she is."

"Lead the way then," Kagami nudged him on. 

And with a small, shaky smile, taken off guard by their response, he led them back off the roofs and through the streets of Gotham towards her home.

…

Finding the place didn't take long, though he hesitated at the front door to the apartment, a shock of fear and uncertainty pulsing through for what was to come. With a nudge from behind, he knocked thrice and moved away.

After a moment, the door opened two inches and Damian peered up at him, assessing the situation and closing it an inch.

"Who are you?" 

"It's Jason," he breathed out.

The kid glared as he glared at the others behind Jason and turned ever so slightly to the side, switching effortlessly to a language he couldn't understand. A gruff response returned it and suddenly the door closed further only to open up.

"That's the same speech pattern from before!" Marc whispered excitedly.

The open floor plan of the kitchen and living room gave an open view of the dark haired figure sitting on the couch facing away from them. At his confused look, Damian spoke up.

"You need to sit down before the two of you speak. I assume you know why. You four will wait here by the door until addressed."

"Excuse me?!" Chloe gave an indignant screech.

The person on the couch tensed either and Damian growled lowly.

"We do this on our terms or you will be removed forcefully. If you're lucky, it'll be by my hand."

"Damian," the figure called, still facing away but letting off an ominous aura, as though they are aware of everything behind them without needing to see.

Damian glared and stayed in the doorway until Kagami gripped Chloe's hand and nodded their agreement.  The kid gave a huff and moved so Jason could pass. He would've just past him when he started acting up, but Jason knew better for now. Damian was closer to Marinette than any of them were and any cue from him that they were making him uncomfortable or anxious and she'd shove them out in a heartbeat. Well, the rest of them. He's not sure on himself.

Moving slowly, he moved around the far end of the couch and sat down beside her, calming himself. He could see his old body in the corner of his eye, larger and taller and way further built than it'd been the last time he saw it. A white tuft of hair curled in the front. The eyes seemed to have more green from what he could make out. His body looked very much alive. Although he was sure there were far more scars than three years ago. That was okay, hopefully she could forgive him for the scars added to her own body.

He could tell she was viewing him as well. Seeing her body as it is now, at seventeen years old and put through its own hardships and training. It felt very surreal to be sitting next to their own body, feeling like a stranger to it. No longer knowing how it would feel or react or how it moved. It was even more surreal to be sitting next to each other. Knowing that after all this time and everything they'd been through, this would be their first meeting. 

In the next minute, they would greet each other and the bond would solidify. They would either get locked in each other's body or be violently thrown back for what could very well be the last time. They couldn't know for sure which body they would settle more permanently into until they made that step though. Jason could feel the bond strengthening and vibrating between the two like a live wire, but he waited nevertheless.  This was under her terms even if he did feel like he deserved an explanation. He knew she wouldn't keep him in the dark for long, so he waited.

With a soft, almost inaudible sigh, she turned towards him at last and he mirrored her movements, meeting eyes for the first time.

Within a fraction of a second, a crackle of electricity bolted between them and they found themselves looking at the body they occupied moments before with a jolt. This time without any blackouts or confusion or yank on either of their parts. Both were glad to be sitting however as the shock wore off. As he looked at the small woman he once occupied the body of, he watched a soft smile grow on the surprisingly delicate features. How had he never noticed how she looked? He had seen that face nearly everyday for three years whether he avoided looking in a mirror or not and yet he never saw that glow to her eyes. Saw the sweetness to her smile, even when miniscule and sad. Never saw the curve of her jawline and the way her hair framed her face perfectly. How could he not notice how beautiful his soulmate was? He was in awe and he was surprised to see it reflected back at him from where he suddenly found himself looking down at her. They had moved closer as though on instinct. Reaching forward, she laced her fingers with his already partially outstretched hand and softened further as a warmth spread from their point of connection. Opening her soft pink lips, she spoke in a soft, melodic tone, one he could never manage in his time with her voice.

"Hello Jason."

"Marinette," he breathed out the name like a prayer.

Tears sprung into her eyes and with a soft laugh that doubled as a sob, she launched herself towards him, wrapping him in a tight hug and pressing her face into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jason. You must be so confused and upset and angry with me and I'm so sorry you had to find out like this," she whispered soft enough he was sure even the trained and animalistic hearing in the room wouldn't catch it. Tightening his grip, he curled himself over her, unused to his new size, but taking full advantage to engulf her into his chest in a protective manner.

"It's okay. I. I would've done the same for you," he admitted.

Suddenly a small figure appeared at his side, tugging on his sleeve. Turning to look, Damian stood there, wide eyed and shaking ever so slightly, staring at Marinette.

"What's happening? Why is she crying? What'd you do to her, Jason?" The boy shot him an accusing look. Marinette must have warned him that upon meeting, she would possibly return to her old body and was able to spot the change when it occurred.

"She's just a little overwhelmed kid, relax."

"She's never overwhelmed. Marinette doesn't cry, what did you do to her?" he lashed out once more, expression growing in anger, but also fear.

She chose this moment to pull back, untangling a limb and reaching out for the kid.

"It's okay Dami, he didn't do anything wrong. I never meant to scare you," she soothed, her voice immediately smoothing out and the watery texture to her eyes retracting as if on command. Damian's shoulders came down from their hunched state as he eased forward into her grip, still darting his eyes in Jason's direction as he was drawn towards them.

Jason felt annoyance at her forcing her emotions back into a bottle for the kid but couldn't really say anything without being a hypocrite what with how he avoided the topic like the plague with the others. 

Oh shit, the others. Turning slightly, he caught sight of their bug eyed expressions, taking in the scene before them. Tapping on the back of her hand with the fingers still intertwined with hers, he caught her attention and felt as she steeled herself. Lifting her gaze towards them, demeanor calm and assessing, she looked over the group still in the entrance way. 

"You can come over now."

[notquitecanon]

New Routines// Criminal Minds x Marvel Crossover pt. 4

Part One   Part Two   Part Three 

“So Captain Rogers,” you started, watching him look around the room in curiosity before he corrected you.

“Please, call me Steve, ma’am.” He nodded, eyes settling on the computer sitting on your desk. You nodded in return, pretended to take note of that but actually scribbling notes about his body language. You had already worked up a ridiculously preliminary profile on the three-hour train from DC, but the combination of the extenuating circumstances and outdated material made it hard to get a feel for his personality. You scratched out ‘profile’, and wrote down Psychological Eval at the top of your notes. It would be easy enough to bend a normal psych eval and throw around a few improvised questions for Steve. 

“Alright, Steve, as long as you don’t call me Ma’am.” You smiled, before continuing, “Like Director Fury told you, I’m just here to assess how you’re doing mentally. As he said, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” 

You paused, a snap decision to tell him a little about yourself flashed through your mind. You hoped it give him a little confidence in your work, or at the very least build some rapport. “I formally worked in the FBI, with the BAU. I was recruited to SHIELD a little under a year ago. Before we get started, do you have any questions?”

“Sorry, what is the BAU? And Director Fury said something about a Psych Eval.” He asked, one eyebrow raised, and hands folding in his lap. You smiled, apologizing quietly.

“BAU, behavioral analysis unit. We’re specially trained to ‘profile’. We use behavioral cues to analyze, prevent, and catch criminals. But, this can also be used just to learn about people and how/why they do what they do. And a Psych Eval is just a series of questions that helps me understand where you are mentally with what’s going on.” You watched him listen intently as you explained. “If you have any more questions, please feel free to stop me. Ready?”

And with a nod, you began as you flipped to a blank page. Most questions were fairly standard for an evaluation, and he answered flawlessly- showing you that he could at least come off as well balanced, but he also seemed exceedingly genuine. Forty-five minutes later, you were nodding along as he answered a question. Finally, it came to a natural pause long enough for you to interject, “Thank you for your honesty, and due to the uniqueness of this situation, I’ve drafted a few questions for you. 

The blonde man in front of you, nodded eyes catching a helicopter outside the window. When he zeroed back in on you, you smiled before reading off the question, “As you’ve seen, a lot has changed. And while I know you haven’t had a chance to explore, what seems to be the biggest change?”

“Well, obviously, there’s the physical things. Clothes are different, the city is different- I almost didn’t recognize Time’s Square. I don’t know if I’ll ever wrap my head around technology- computers used to be the size of a room, and now they’re barely radio sized. But, the biggest change is the people.” He explained, eyes looking past you and out of the window to the New York streets.  His interest piqued your interest. 

“Can you elaborate on that?” You asked as you shorthanded notes. He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing while looking at his hands. 

“I mean this with all due respect. You. Director Fury. The people on the street. People have changed. You’re a woman who was a field agent for the FBI, I only knew a few women who carried a gun in the 40′s and they had to work endlessly just to get a foot in the door. You take orders from an African American man and people genuinely respect him, no more segregation. That’s amazing, I didn't think I’d ever get to see that. People seem more abrasive on the street, but are so much more accepting.” He seemed to ramble, but every word was perfectly chosen.  Not knowing what else to say, you softly smiled bobbing your head up and down.

“A lot of that progress was actually made in the 60′s/70′s and still even today.” You remarked, finishing off your notes as you looked up to him. He smiled down at his hands before meeting your eyes. 

“Well, if I woke up and nothing had changed- I’d be a whole lot more worried.” 

Immediately after you excused yourself, you were ushered into a meeting with Director Fury. He quickly skirted around his desk and into his seat, leaning into his desk as he prompted, “Well...?”

You quirked an eyebrow, cocking your head to the side, “Well what, sir?”

His good eye narrowed in on you, deadpanning as he continued, “Could he work in the Avenger’s initiative?”

You sighed, flipping through your notes. “Do you want him because you think he’s a good fit, or because he’s an American Hero and the public will react well?”

He just stared at you, tell you your answer. Finally, he continued, “Are you telling me he’s not a good fit?” 

“I don’t know yet, There’s still a lot to learn.” You nodded, not liking the gut feeling you got. You had a lot of respect for the director, but every now and then his hidden intentions made you uneasy. 

“Like what?” He pressed, voice stern as he leaned in. You slid the file across the desk as you squared your jaw. 

“Well, I only did a baseline, slightly modified psych eval. He fell asleep in 1945 and woke up in 2011- like every veteran, it’s likely he has PTSD, which he would know as shell shock or combat fatigue.” You began, eyebrows furrowing at the eccentricity of the situation, “He’ll need to be reintroduced to society, socialized to today’s societal norms. And that could arise or create issues all in of its own.”

Fury flipped open the files, eyes darting over your notes as the two of you fell into silence. It was a loaded silence, and you felt the pressure of it as you watched it. Slowly, your brain ticked through ideas. “Sir, I may have an idea?” 

He motioned for you to speak without looking up from the file, you nodded as you began training your eyes on the hair tie you were fiddling with, “First, you move him to DC. Closer to SHIELD headquarters first of all. Secondly, New York’s a lot to take in any way.  DC is still a big city, but is less likely to overwhelm him as much. Over a period of 6 months, you can assign an agent to reintroduce him to the world. Monthly, have him meet with a psychologist to gauge his progress. In six months- that would be June, right?- I’ll meet with him again.”

You paused, looking up to see Fury watching you intently, so you kept going, “Then, after the six months, I’ll draw up an official profile, and we can revisit the Avenger’s Initiative conversation then.” 

He stared at you for a moment, eye narrowing before nodding, “We’ll cut out the middle man. You’ll be in charge of getting him out in the world, and monthly you’ll report to me about his progress. In six months, we’ll discuss his involvement in SHIELD.” 

Your eyes widened and you resisted the urge to drop your jaw, “Sir, you want me... babysitting... Captain America?” 

He smirked, the file in his hand slapping against the pristine desk. 

“Think of it as real-time profiling.” He chuckled as he walked out of the room. You couldn’t do anything more than gape after him. 

____

Two weeks later, coming up on the end of January, Steve was issued a clean bill of health- even with the super immunity, they played it safe by revaccinating and running a ridiculous amount of tests- and the two of you were relocated to DC. In those two weeks, you set to work. You were issued a SHIELD credit card, to use for ‘Steve related costs’- funnily enough, Steve was still awarded his pension, adjusted for inflation. You bought him furniture, new clothes, a cellphone, and tracked down his belongings. You mentally thanked Howard Stark for paying to have Steve’s belongings stored.

Annoyingly enough, they placed you back in your old apartment which made it incredibly annoying to unpack your belongings. Steve was your upstairs neighbor. He was almost your next-door neighbor, but you suggested even a floor's worth of distance would give him a better feeling of independence. You had gotten the feeling that Steve valued his privacy.  You now regretted your suggestion as you heard him pace around at all hours of the night. Despite sneaking into several Nazi bases, he was a very loud walker. 

Despite his nocturnal habits, Steve was nothing but polite and thankful as you helped him. He’d been extremely attentive when you taught him the basics of how to use his cell phone (how to add contacts, make calls, text, take pictures, download apps and music, use google), and he picked it up pretty fast. It was a slower process teaching him how to cook, so for the first few weeks, he usually ate with you, or stuck to sandwiches. You got him 

The task that truly overwhelmed you was figuring out how to go about actually reintroducing him. Coma victims felt lost enough after a month, but 72 years (give or take) was a long time- and a lot had happened. Politics, History, Technology, Culture, Pop Culture. The task made your head spin. Spencer was a big help, more than happy to take you up on your challenge of creating a thorough timeline of everything he could think of- which was a lot. Everything from politics to pop culture, but you redacted the bits about the serial killer knowledge. 

The timeline was very helpful, as Steve would break it down by decade. In the 1950′s he took interest in rock ‘n’ roll (he was not a fan), the Korean war, the beginnings of Vietnam, Alaska and Hawaii becoming a state, and the invention of color TV. Then in the 1960′s, it was JFK (election and assassination), The Space Race (he was astonished that not only was there a man on the moon, but we also had colored video of it), integration of Ole Miss (and then consequently the Riots of Ole Miss), the Cold War, Cuban Missile Crisis, The Beatles, Civil Rights movement, the height of Vietnam, and Nixon.

Steve decided he was better off for sleeping through the sixties, “There was a lot going on, even in the 40′s I was basically propaganda for Stocks and Bonds, who knows what I would have “represented” with all that going on.”  

Then in the 70′s, it was Disney World, the end of Vietnam, Star Wars, death of Elvis, and things becoming digitalized. 80′s was similar: the election of Reagan, first space shuttle launch, assassination attempts on Reagan and the Pope, first female supreme court judge, first woman in space, Chernobyl, decommissioning of nuclear warheads, and the fall of the Berlin wall.  Then in the 90′s, it was the Hubble telescope, Gulf War, dissolvent of the Soviet Union, OJ Simpson trial, and successful cloning of a Dolly the sheep. And then, the most modern, the 2000s, the second Bush presidency, 9/11, invasion of Iraq, Hurricane Katrina, the rise of cell phones, first iPhone, North Korean tension, the election of  Obama, and death of Osama Bin Laden. 

You were very careful to keep most of your opinions to yourself, as it was very important to let Steve decide his own opinions. When he wanted to know more about the subject, you always jumped in to help him research- it was like a refresher course in World History. (Spencer Reid was a constant contact, and you were grateful he didn’t ask what you were up to, and Garcia was amazing at finding playlists to really explore the music of the decades, and for fashion trends.) 

Like Natasha, Steve had become a friend. Believe it or not, under all that 1940′s manner and modesty, he had a good sense of humor. And after spending nearly all of his time with you, he finally loosened up and showed you. Of course, it helped that he was honestly one of the best guys you knew. He was honest, well-mannered- a perfect gentleman. Just as you listened to him, he listened to you when you were having problems (usually when one of the BAU got hurt or was going through something). Helping him get used to the world felt less like an assignment and more like off time. 

It took a while, but by March you settled into a weekly routine. Monday/Wednesday was reserved to show Steve around the city, exploring new things and old- introducing him to new and old things. Fortunately, DC was a hotspot for museums that Steve seemed to enjoy. Over the past two months, he seemed to warm up to you- you’d even dare to call yourselves friends. Tuesday was reserved for Natasha, she’d come and hang out with you- and work out with you, you might have passed your field test, but that didn’t satisfy her. 

“I’ve seen a lot of agents that passed this test get their asses handed to them. I’d rather not see you do the same. Well, unless I’m the one doing it.” She smirked after, in fact, heading your ass to you. You’d just rolled your eyes and get up to go again. “But you are getting better. It’s getting slightly more difficult to hand your ass to you.”

Afterward, she’d hand you a water bottle and take you to lunch/dinner. Every now and then, Clint would come with her. You and Clint weren’t close, but it was comforting to know he tolerated you. Or at least pretended to for Natasha’s sake. 

Thursdays were reserved for the BAU, when they were in town. Sometimes that meant stopping by the office with coffee offerings and ‘book club’ with Reid, and sometimes that meant ‘family dinner’ at Rossi’s. Derek slowly seemed to completely forgive you, but still gave you shit on a near-daily basis. Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia made girl’s night a more frequent event, and you were still working on convincing Nat to come with you one night. And on the rarest of occasions, Hotch would call you up to babysit Jack. 

Fridays were to recover from Thursday nights- (Surprisingly babysitting was almost exhausting as a night of drinking at Rossi’s). Friday afternoons were reserved for Fury to call you and harass you for details about Steve. 

Weekends were for larger expeditions like taking Steve to neighboring cities. Boston, Baltimore, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and Richmond were all on the shortlist, and New York was a constant. Thankfully, Sunday ( or at least Sunday Afternoon) was reserved for you. 

That was your time to rest, relax, and recharge. On rare Sundays that you were already home, Steve would stop by after his morning run after picking up coffee and breakfast from his favorite breakfast place you had shown him- an old fashioned diner with amazing breakfast- as a small thank you for your help. (Truthfully, you only knew about it because Gideon had treated the whole team to breakfast after the jet landed one day at six AM).

But on most Sundays, you got home mid-afternoon. You’d run some errands, maybe cook yourself dinner and a movie. But most importantly, you were home and ready to rest and relax.  

So at 7:23 PM, you were startled out of a nap by your phone vibrating off your desk. You shot up looking for the source of the disturbance, slowly becoming aware of your surroundings as you dove off the couch for the offending device. Quickly reading the caller ID, you tried to clear the sleep out of your voice as you picked up. 

“Hotch?” You asked drowsily, propping yourself back up on your elbows as you drug yourself up. Your eyebrows crinkled, it had been a long time since you got an impromptu call from Hotch. 

“(Y/N), we need you to come in.” He started, straight to the point as usual. Your mind became steadily more cleared as you wrenched yourself off the comfortable couch. “We have a case, and it’s bigger than we can handle. We’re calling in JJ as well.” 

You were speeding into the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee- knowing this phone call meant a long night- as you responded, “Hotch, you know I want to. That I’d be back in the BAU in an instant. But I have to get clearance from my supervisors, take off of my assignments, and that could take-” 

Your worries were cut off by both Hotch’s voice and a knock on your door. You listened to Hotch’s voice as you set out a mug before letting Steve in- not even sticking around long enough to smile at him as you returned to the kitchen. 

“You’re already cleared, and cleared to use SHIELD intelligence. Anderson is coming to get you in 30 minutes. Pack a go-bag. You’ll be briefed in person. This is highly sensitive.” His voice was stern, but you picked up on how fast he was talking- a habit he had when was anxious. You bit your lip, putting the mug back in the cabinet and retrieving a travel cup instead. 

“Hotch...” You paused, eyes flicking to Steve who looked at you with concern in his blue eyes, he’d probably just come back from an evening run and was hoping to mooch off your dinner, “Is everyone alright? Are you safe?” 

“It’s Emily. I’ll see you soon.” 

And with that the line went silent with a click. You sighed, relishing the last minute of peace before spurring into action. Leaving your phone on the counter, you went to retrieve your old go-bag. Steve was hot on your heels, “(Y/L/N), is everything alright?”

You didn’t miss a beat, retreating into your bedroom- which Steve never followed you into, instead, waiting in the hall as you threw things into a bag. You shoved business clothes in, neglecting the pajamas- knowing the team wouldn’t sleep until the case was solved. Dry shampoo, face wash, deodorant, toothbrush and paste, and makeup were quick to follow; these were the toiletries that you could use in a police station bathroom to freshen up. Just like old times. You’d honestly forgotten to answer Steve’s question, mind-boggling all of the very few details Hotch gave you. 

He’s calling JJ in- so this is a multibranch operation, probably organized crime, It involves Emily, she worked for Interpol, so international organized crime... You breezed past Steve again, tossing your bag onto the couch and gently tossing your SHIELD tablet on top of it. Just as quickly, you turned to go back to the bedroom but ran smack into the super-soldier. You’d almost forgotten he was there. But he grabbed your arm, minding his strength so it didn’t feel threatening. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?” 

Even with the analytical part of your brain working through the situation, you couldn’t help but worry for your friend and the possible danger she was in. You wanted to cry but knew it wouldn’t help anything, instead, you took a deep breath, “My old team just called me in, there’s a case they need my help with. One of my friends might be in danger. If they’re calling me in, it has to be bad.”

He slowly let go of your arm, and you could tell his mind was somewhere else, but he offered a quiet sentiment as he let you pass, “With you on the case, your friend has nothing to worry about.” 

Not knowing what else to say, you retreated back to your room to get dressed. After slipping into some of your old work clothes, you attached your holster and slid your loaded gun into it. Taking a deep breath, you looked in the mirror, Just treat it like a routine case. You don’t even know if Prentiss is even hurt. Just do your job. 

____

You repeated that in your head as you buzzed about the apartment, finally, with Anderson ten minutes out, you shouldered your bags to leave, or at least to wait outside. Nervous energy bubbled in your stomach as you turned to the blonde who was still eyeing you with worry, “I shouldn’t be gone more than a few days. You should be fine but if not, call Fury and he’ll send someone. There are leftovers in my fridge. I’ll have my phone if you need me and-”

Steve cut you off with a soft smile, knowing your rambling wasn’t an insult, “(Y/N), I’m a grown man. I lived on my own for years before I was even a soldier. I’ll be fine.” 

You sighed, running a hand through your hair and smiling apologetically “Sorry, Steve, I know.” 

“Just be careful, don’t do anything stupid or reckless.” He ordered. This time you actually smiled, recalling all the stories of his own reckless stupidity. 

“That’s your MO, Mr. I’ll Sky Dive into a Nazi base by myself.” You teased, pausing when your phone dinged. Anderson was waiting. Steve chuckled, ducking his hand and crossing his arms over a broad chest. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He chuckled as you turned to leave, “Seriously, be careful.”

You turned back for a moment, nodding your head like a promise, “I will.” 

_________

Shorter than usual and I don’t really like it, but I think Y’all know what’s coming. Also, should I put a romantic interest in this?? 

Taglist: @irishfaulk97 @viarogers @toboldlyscream @benji-booxx

[underatedcharactersunite]

A Tale Of Two Souls; A Tale Of A Life Before

Summary; As Geralt and Y/N get accustomed to being a trio, Jaskier proves to be more observant than they originally considered as Jaskier asks Y/N a question that will take her back to a time she would have preferred to forget.  Pairing; Jaskier X Female Reader WordCount; 3350 Warnings; Angst, Mentions of death, torture, past abuse, Strong Language  Read Part 1 here

Series Masterlist 

"Credit where credit is due. That whole reverse psychology thing you did on them was brilliant by the way. Kill me. I'm ready." Geralt turned back glaring at Jaskier's impersonation of him. 

"That's the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the Elves." 

"We were lucky. Filavandrel chose to spare our lives. Despite everything, he chose the right path. The coin should help them survive for a little while at least." You felt for Filavandrel truly. Elven history's battle to live equally among humans had been arduous and troublesome. Geralt was right, the humans were better at adapting to chaos. You wished that the Elves would find a way to survive, and one day perhaps humans would one day learn to accept the Elves. 

"Filavandrel's lute not gift enough for you." 

"Yeah she is a bit sexy, isn't she?" Over many travels and many miles across a variety of different lands, not once had you heard a man speak so lovely about an instrument before. Jaskier was as passionate about music as he was embracing other people. While others could dispute that the man currently wandering beside you was as a total fool? Was he? In the tavern, he had already proven his musical ability. So the monster's in Jaskier's had never existed before, that could not take Jaskier's talent away from him. 

"I do have respect for Filvandrel they survived the great cleansing once you know this. Maybe he could do it again. Be reborn." The thought of a war breaking out due to people's inability to be accepting one another made you think about your situation. Being outraged at Geralt for volunteering to die so immediately, had broken your heart to smithereens. Fighting monsters alongside Geralt had always been a deadly path, and you had accepted that long ago. Geralt voicing his willingness to die only confirmed that it could happen to all three of you at any given moment.

"Will the Elf King heed, what the Witcher entreats. Is history a wheel doomed to repeat" Jaskier's voice broke out into a beautiful melody, one filled with truth and sincerity. Bringing peacefulness like a warm bath after a long day, you listened as he played every note flawlessly. 

"No, that's...that's shit."  

"This is where we part ways, Bard, for good." 

“Look, I promised to change the public's tune about you. At least allow me to try. Furthermore, I think Y/N would miss me too much if we were to part ways so early." 

"Is that so Jaskier? We only met a matter of hours ago. How can you know what I am thinking? Unless you're telepathic, that is." 

"I know you've been looking at me, all doe-eyed." You stopped Tarot halting to look at the Bard who had been so courageous to challenge what he believed to have witnessed in your eyes. Releasing the Tarot's reigns, you advanced forwards towards Jaskier, his eyes being unable to pick a viewing point on your body. One moment, he was focused on your eyes then on your shoulder, then your lips. 

"Doe-eyed? At least I can make eye contact with you Jaskier. Perhaps it's you who becomes nervous around me. Tell me Jaskier, do I have that effect on, you all ready? If that's the case than travelling with us could be found tricky. Last chance to back out."

"Not a chance. I like the challenge I see set out in front of me." Sauntering backwards towards Tarot, you mounted her, giving her a gentle pet as you did so. The day had been long you anxiously anticipated the three of you finding a camp for the night. Hearing Geralt grunt, you knew he was conscious of the game that Jaskier had chosen to play. 

"You'll lose Bard."

"Not a chance." 

"We'll see Jaskier we'll see."With a gentle strum of his lute, Jaskier began to play a new song. Jaskier's nimble fingers worked effortlessly, as the song wrote itself. You wouldn't deny that the song was beautifully sung, however, the historical accuracy of the song appeared lacking. 

‘When a humble bard, graced the ride along with Geralt of Rivia and Y/N the enchanting Shieldmaiden Y/N. Along came this...song. From when the white wolf fought a silver-tongued devil, his army of elves at his hooves did they travel.  

They came after me, with masterful deceit. Brooke down my lute and they kicked in my teeth. While the Devil's horns, minced our tender meat and so cried the witcher he can't be bleat.’

"That's not how it happened. Where's your new-found respect?" 

"Respect doesn't make history." 

The three of you continued to ride onwards with no location in mind. The time in Posada had unquestionably been eventful. Never in your wildest dreams could you had fantasised of any of today's events. Especially Jaskier's introduction into your journey, previously you had been content with you and Geralt travelling the world alone.  

However, in a few short hours, Jaskier had successfully fought his way into our lives.  Despite the punch to his abdomen and Geralt and yourself warning Jaskier that the travelling life was not glamorous or simple. He preserved and never succumbed to persuasion. You and Geralt were officially stuck with the Bard. 

"I'm sorry." Your face creased as you Geralt apologise. In the past, whenever the two of you disputed, the two of you would give each other time until the other had calmed down and the two of you were able to discuss it calmly. Geralt approaching you first was unfamiliar. 

"You have nothing to apologise for Geralt. I was overreacting, that's all." 

"Y/N, I've never seen you overreact. Your thought process is always valid. I know I am not the best when it comes to emotions Witchers do not feel."

"Bullshit, I know you better than that. Besides, we both know you don't enjoy others knowing that you feel. I just did not appreciate how prepared and waiting you were to die. You are aware of how much I lost before I discovered you and Roach. While I've learnt how Witchers are, it does not mean I do not fear for your life every time we're in danger." 

Geralt inclined his head to look at you, riding side by side as Jaskier proceeded to play his new song ahead of you. Geralt appreciated your ability in reading his body language and mind. Many occasions, people had expected some variety of reasoning behind his actions, apart from you. You backed his decisions, and when you believed the situation ahead of you could be dealt with differently, you voiced those opinions. You didn't yell, or attempt to start an argument, you spoke gently and with conviction. 

"You know me too thoroughly. I didn't tell Filavandrel to kill me to harm you. If he was going to kill anyone, I would have rather it had been me. You and Jaskier have lives to live."

"As you do dear friend, fancy placing a friendly bet?" 

"Go on?" Your eyes twinkled in mischief, you adjusted your gaze to look over at Jaskier. 

"How long do you think it's going to be before he grows tired and asks one of us if he can ride on either Tarot or Roach? I say to the end of the dirt road when the path will become even more treacherous."

"Three Silver pieces says he cannot get to that large tree just in the distance." Shaking hands with Geralt, the three of you continue your journey as a brand new triage.  

                                                        ***

"I believe you owe me three silver pieces." Geralt's voice grumbled behind you. That was the last time you ever get Jaskier the benefit of the doubt. You had considered Jaskier would have been so immersed in his song that he would forget about his aching feet. Oh, how wrong you had been. The moment the luscious green tree had come into view, Jaskier had redirected back to you both. 

"Would any of you fancy allowing me to ride along with you...it's just my feet are extremely tired?" 

"Don't touch Roach!" 

"Okay, we're still overly possessive. What about you, my beautiful enchantress? You'll let me ride with you, will you not?" Sighing you looked down at Jaskier. You couldn't understand what was happening. You had precisely lost a bet to Geralt of Rivia. A bet that you had produced. The slight tug on Geralt's face knew that he was never going to let this go. 

"I don't know Jaskier. I'm sure we'll stop for camp soon. Perhaps you could walk for a little longer." Jaskier placed his hand over his heart, acting to be wounded while he paced backwards. In the few hours you had known Jaskier, you come to realise a lot about him. While he was confident and flirtatious, brilliant and creative, Jaskier could also be a total idiot. With his attention solely on you, Jaskier had forgotten on the rugged road that he currently stepped on. Unbeknownst to Jaskier in his path was a large and rough rock. Stepping onto the rock, Jaskier slipped onto the rock, tumbling over.

"Shit, Ow!" 

"Jaskier!" Jumping down from Tarot, you ran to his aid crouching beside him. Meanwhile, Geralt halted Roach remaining where he was. This was the second time in a matter of hours that Jaskier had injured himself. You were beginning to contemplate covering him up in some variety of guarding material. 

"What is it with you and rocks? Earlier, you had one thrown at your head, and now you've landed on one." 

"It's not my fault. If you would stop being so mesmerizing, then I would not keep distracted so easily. You smell good by the way. What is that?-Shit Y/N!" While Jaskier had been entirely oblivious to the situation before him, it had given you the perfect time to check him for any injuries. Unfortunately, the rock's edge was pretty sharp and sliced through Jaskier's overcoat and his undershirt. The wound appeared pretty deep. It wasn't something you could attend to on the side of the road. 

"How bad is it?" Geralt questioned, looking up at him, you slightly shook your head side to side, proving Geralt with all the information he needed to know. 

"What's going on? What's wrong with my back? Am I going to die? Dying in your arms Y/N, would not be the worst way to die, I suppose." 

"Jaskier, you are not going to die. Lesson two of being a Witcher's companion; you will, unfortunately, get the occasional injuries. We're going to get you on Tarot, and we will find a place to camp for the night." 

                                                         ***

That is how you ended up with a smug Witcher and an injured Bard. Withdrawing the money from the pouch, you placed the three silver pieces in his hand. Standing in front of him, you smirked. 

"The next time you will not be so lucky Geralt. Jaskier overcoat and undershirt off."

"Well, that didn't take as long as I thought it would." 

"Really? Do you want me to make this hurt way more than it has too." Jaskier suddenly became quiet as you approached him with the salve and the all of the bandages you currently had in your disposal. 

"Y/N, who are you?" Jaskier questioned, leaving you puzzled? It had been very apparent early on that Jaskier had heard of your adventures early on with Geralt. So why was he asking about your identity?

"You know who I am, the enchanting Shieldmaiden Y/N." As Jaskier hunched over sitting on a tree stump, you lightly cleaned the wound with some freshly boiled water off of the fire. Trying to clean the wound as painlessly as possible, Jaskier did not deserve to feel pain. 

"I heard what Geralt said to Filavandrel earlier, one human, the other's complicated. What did he mean by that?" 

"Enough Bard!" You stopped cleansing Jaskier's wound pulling away from him entirely. Your history before Geralt had been one you had desired to forget. While you knew it allowed you to become the person you aspired to become in the end, it was far from pleasant.  

"Geralt, he has a right to know. You desired to get rid of him, understanding who I am is enough to make him run a mile."

"The Bard is not my concern right now you are." 

"Geralt, it's better if he knows-" 

"As much as I enjoy the little back and forth you have going on right now. Am I not allowed to come up with my own judgement?" 

"This is going to hurt a little. If it gets too much, tell me to stop okay?" Dipping your fingertip into the salve that you made whenever you could find the right ingredients. Slowly, you began to spread the salve over Jaskier's wound, simultaneously hearing Jaskier wither in pain, your spare hand laid tenderly on his shoulder. 

"So before Geralt, so rudely interrupted, who are you exactly?" Gently rubbing the salve over the wound, you halted briefly. Repeating your history for Geralt had been challenging enough. He had understood the difficulties that the world often brought. Jaskier witnessed the world being light and merry the darkness happened elsewhere. 

"My name is Y/N, however before I encountered Geralt and Roach, my name was Princess Y/N of Autumndale. My Father had just learnt that he was about to become King when he met my Mother. You see my Mother was an intimidating, and powerful Sorceress. Everywhere she went, she frightened people to achieve her goals. There was no limit to my Mother's powers. 

Upon hearing my Father being an eligible bachelor, my Mother conducted a love potion, so there's no way she would lose the other potential candidates. As she expected the moment my Father laid eyes on her, he was put into a trance. No one could compare to her. Not long after that, they were married, and my Mother's plan began to unfold.

My Mother wanted to create an unstoppable creature. She had been using various creatures' blood and combining it with her own. However, what she didn't know was she was already pregnant with me. So instead of the spell serving on her. It was myself the spell worked on.” Finishing applying the salve onto Jaskier's back, you began to slowly wrap the bandage around his torso, when you wandered around him, Jaskier took ahold of your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles softly. 

"What happened when she found out?" 

“She wanted me to become like her. Cold and calculated. Heartless. She placed a mirage for the people they were never able to witness the reality of the situation they were in. 

From an early age, it was clear I was unlike my Mother in any way. I was always too kind, too diplomatic. Rather than destroying people, I used my powers for good. There was a farmer's boy whose shoes were rotten, without even realising what I was doing a new pair appeared in front of him. For punishment, I was locked away for a month. 

For years she attempted to turn me into her. I was forced to watch her experiments. I watched her kill people in front of me. She endeavoured to get me to kill people and conduct her tests. Time and time again I refused, getting thrown back into the same cell, left alone for months on end. She knew then she could not break me.”

"So, what happened?" 

"She exploited the situation to her advantage, or so she thought. She told everyone it had been me who was conducting the experiments, that I was a fraud. The person I allowed them to see was not my true self. The people believed her every word of course; however, my Mother had forgotten the only way a love potion could be broken." 

"How?"

"If the drinker of the love potion had fallen in love absolutely with someone. My Mother assumed that meant romantic love between two lovers. What she failed to release, it meant any form of true love. From the moment I was born, my Father had gradually begun to break a hold from her grasp. When he heard what she had done, he began to plan my escape. 

That night, my Father sent me off on foot, afraid the galloping of hooves would alert the town. I've never run so hard. Nowhere was safe.However, the people were not foolish and were on high alert. They came at me with stones and rocks, throwing anything they could at me. I continued to run as painful as it was. Every time something hit my body, it was more than a physical injury. It impacted me mentally. I failed them. Despite my powers, I didn't attempt to stop my Mother.  I fled from them. I wasn't the enemy, I wanted to help them and did so as frequently as I could. No matter the consequences.

In a state of desperation, I stole a horse and rode as hard as fast as I could. As soon as I got further away, I allowed the horse to go free. He was not mine, someone loved him, you could tell by the condition he was in.” 

"How did you meet Geralt?" 

"Now that's the lighter side of the story. I had been on my own for a little over a year, teaching myself to hunt and which plants and mushrooms were good to eat. I had been accustomed to being alone, in fact I quite enjoyed it. 

One day I was staggering through the forest when I came across a horse. She was sweet and didn't mind me talking to her. Being alone for a long time you don't get to be sociable. I stood with her for a while until I felt someone's blade on my neck. Geralt thought I was trying to steal Roach, which was far from the truth. However, back then, Geralt was encountering the same problem I was. We both were dealing with trust issues humans hated us because they are unable to deal with uniqueness. 

After everything that I'd been through, I was not willing to die. I and Geralt fought, at the time he was better at combat. He won easily. However, I pleaded to him for my life. I told him who I was, albeit with a blade on my throat. I never expected Geralt to offer me to become his companion. I never expected Geralt to teach me everything about surviving on my own. Geralt saved my life." Sending Geralt a tender smile, you witnessed his lips tug up ever so slightly. You owed him everything, and nothing nor anybody would ever stop you from protecting him as he had done you. Jaskier's reaction was peculiar he was dead silent. Fearing the worst, you attempted to remove your hand out of his grasp however, his only tightened. 

"Why did you think I would believe you're a monster? Do I come across like some variety of a judgemental Prick?" 

"Of course not Jaskier. I dreaded deeper than anything that you would fear me. That is the last thing I've wanted. It's not even been a day, and yet you've already grown on me. If you decide to stay-" 

"I promised Geralt that I would change the public's tune about him, and now it appears that I've got to prove to you that I'm not like those people who threw stones and rocks at you. Frankly, I do not mind in the slightest whether your entire human or a mixture of whatever creatures your mother was cruel enough to experiment on."

"I was not implying that you were like my previous subjects, but we have only known each other for a day, and you deserve to know who your travelling with." 

"I do not care if that's not what you were implying. I am going to prove to you that I am not like them, my enchanting beauty. I will prove it to you." 

[crowcaged]

read on ao3

Beatrice killed the first band of Scorn that came close to their safehouse before Uldren pointed out, acerbically, that if Fikrul were trying to decide whether to approach, slaughtering his scouts would not encourage him. The next group sniffed around and went away unharmed, so Uldren hoped that Fikrul would appear soon. But in the meantime, they waited.

The oppressive silences clearly didn’t bother Beatrice, and Uldren would be damned before he’d prove any less patient than she was, so it was Jolyon who broke first. He pulled out a pack of cards. “Guardian, do you know how to play Queen’s Bluff?”

She didn’t, so Jolyon said he’d teach her. Then he glanced up at Uldren, very nearly the first time he’d met Uldren’s eyes the entire trip, and added, “It’s quite difficult to play with just two people, though.”

Not quite an invitation, and Uldren considered rejecting it, just to show that he wasn’t desperate for company -- but he was. So he went and sat on the floor with the two of them as Jolyon started shuffling the cards.

It proved an immensely satisfying exercise, because Uldren happened to be fantastic at Queen’s Bluff, and Beatrice decidedly was not. She did, of course, have an excellent poker face, though lacking facial muscles was arguably cheating in that regard. But like any beginner, she struggled, and Uldren took great pleasure in beating her again and again.

“Come on ,” Jolyon said, sounding almost as frustrated as Beatrice’s body language suggested she was, as Uldren casually tossed down yet another winning hand. “Give her a break.”

“Why should I? She’s never given me a break.”

“We did get you out of prison,” Beatrice’s ghost pointed out. “And spare your life, before that.”

“That was your mistake,” Uldren said, snottily.

“I’m rather glad she did,” Jolyon said mildly, as if he meant nothing by it. But Uldren looked at him sharply, because that was the first sign his old friend had given him that he actually cared that Uldren was still alive.

“So am I,” Uldren said finally, after a notable pause. He was glad, these days, although there had been times when he’d thoroughly cursed her decision to prolong his misery.

“Then the least you could do is let her win at cards,” Jolyon replied.

“Not to interrupt,” said Beatrice’s ghost, interrupting, “but all our external sensors just went out. And the last thing I registered on them was a large group of Scorn heading this way.”

Jolyon dropped his cards and went for his guns. Beatrice took the time to put her helmet on before standing. She didn’t have to go fetch a weapon; her ghost materialized a sword onto her back, a pistol at her waist, and her bow into her hands.

Uldren got to his feet more slowly, since he had no gear to grab -- except his helmet, but he suspected he’d fare better if the Scorn could see his face.

They’d prepared the area immediately outside the safehouse for combat, the ghost transmatting sturdy crates and barriers into strategic spots. Jolyon climbed into a sniper’s nest while Beatrice and Uldren picked defensive positions. Beatrice’s wasn’t very well-chosen, Uldren saw, looking over, but he wasn’t about to offer her advice.

Uldren himself still didn’t have a gun. Of course, if all went well, he wouldn’t need one; he was just here to talk to the Scorn. But when in his life had events ever complied with the best-case scenario?

The three of them sat there waiting for the better part of a minute before the safehouse door slid open behind them and a spiny Eliksni captain emerged, glanced across the battlefield, and immediately started shooting at Beatrice, who -- with a guardian’s idiotic courage -- stood mostly exposed behind a waist-high barrier.

They hadn’t expected attack from within the safehouse; their defenses weren’t set up for that. As more Eliksni joined their captain, Uldren darted into a new position that offered him better cover from behind and jammed his helmet on just in time to hear Beatrice’s ghost over comms: “ -- der betrayed us!”

“And he knows how to deal with ghosts,” Uldren said, “so I recommend you keep yours hidden.”

If she was even still alive … Uldren looked over to see that Beatrice had found better cover, too, and the scorch marks on her coat were fading as her ghost repaired her gear alongside her body. Must be nice. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up at him and, to his surprise, and slid her hand cannon across the floor towards him. Her aim wasn’t good, but he managed to catch it. Well. Good. A moment later a box of ammo landed by his foot as well.

Then the shooting started proper.

The three of them were vastly outnumbered. It was a bloodbath. Or, rather, an Ether-bath.

Beatrice was, Uldren had to admit, brutally effective, even if she fought in a way that a mere mortal never could have gotten away with. She seemed to have only a vague understanding of the concept of “cover,” preferring to stand and face the Eliksni head-on until they shot holes in her, then duck behind a barrier while her ghost healed her. Uldren, more cautious, made it through without a scratch, pleased to find that his combat abilities had not utterly atrophied. And Jol performed as expected: flawlessly.

“The Scorn should be here any second,” the ghost said as the Eliksni corpses cooled. It hovered over them, scavenging ammo, and Uldren joined it. If Spider had prepared his soldiers to deal with Beatrice and her ghost, then -- ah, yes. That would be useful. He also grabbed one of the Vandals’ rifles, to explain his search and because he might genuinely need it. Though if all went well, the fighting was over -- the Scorn shouldn’t attack Uldren, not once they recognized him. Towards that, he took his helmet off.

But of course it wasn’t that simple. The first wave of Scorn were Stalkers, throwing firebombs at Beatrice and rushing Uldren, and he looked one full in the face before it smashed its bludgeon down towards his head. He dodged as Jol shot it, but it still grazed his side with enough force to knock him to his knees. For an instant as the Stalkers converged on him he knew he was going to die and could only think Damn it, not now with more frustration than fear . Then lightning struck beside him, vaporizing a couple Scorn and sending the rest staggering back; Beatrice landed in front of him with Arc Light leaping from her hands, sparking harmlessly against his skin -- harmless to him, but not the Scorn. The Stalkers were all dead by the time he scrambled to cover and pulled his helmet on.

“They don’t recognize me,” he reported, with a sense that he should have expected this. He wasn’t actually sure if the Scorn could even see -- their helmets usually covered their eyes. Perhaps they had previously identified him solely by the Darkness pulsing under his skin, the same corruption that ran through their own veins.

“That’s a problem,” Jol said, with a note of humorous understatement. “What do we do?”

“Stay alive until Fikrul shows himself,” Uldren replied. Surely Fikrul would know him, even if the rank-and-file Scorn did not. If not -- that would be, in Jol’s terms, a problem. Well, Beatrice had killed Fikrul before, hadn’t she? She might have to do it again.

Fortunately, they didn’t have long to wait. Fikrul had to duck to make it through the door, and for a moment Uldren’s breath froze in his throat as he registered anew just how large and imposing and hideous the Fanatic was. Before, he hadn’t really noticed how repulsive the Scorn were -- their glistening stretched skin, frenzied scuttling limbs, jagged masses of teeth, and the acrid smell of Dark Ether.

Beatrice raised her bow to shoot Fikrul and Uldren hissed, “Don’t!”

This was the moment they’d waited for, his time to shine. He pulled his helmet off and stepped out from behind the crate he’d used for cover, calling, “Fikrul!”

The huge head turned towards him, heavy with that massive, iconic headdress. Fikrul straightened slightly, tilted his head slightly, with a sort of confused hesitance that Uldren had never seen from him before. In an unusually soft voice he rasped, “Father?”

“It’s me,” Uldren confirmed, moving closer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Beatrice slide closer to Fikrul, between him and Uldren, sword in hand. Uldren looked at her; Fikrul followed his gaze.

Uldren could have told him to stand down. He didn’t. Instead he watched Beatrice spasm as Fikrul skewered her like a fish, Arc energy playing through her limbs, an ironic contrast to her earlier elemental mastery. Fikrul shook her body off his spear and watched, lips drawn back, as her ghost rose over it, raising the weapon again, and now Uldren said, “Wait.”

“Uldren, I can’t -- ” the ghost said, its shell closing back around it.

“I know,” Uldren said: he could feel the Darkness roiling off Fikrul himself, knew the Light was too weak here to bring Beatrice back. In one motion he grabbed the ghost out of the air, pulled the collapsible cage he’d scavenged from Spider’s Captain from his belt, and snapped it shut around the little drone.

“You bastard ,” the ghost said.

Uldren ignored it, looking at Fikrul instead. “There’s a sniper there. Bring him to me -- unharmed.”

Fikrul nodded, face twisting in a horrific smile, and gestured with his spear; the Scorn around him obeyed, scurrying off after Jolyon. Uldren looked up towards the sniper’s nest. He couldn’t see a muzzle or scope from here, but he knew he was in Jol’s line of sight; he knew those crosshairs were trained on his head, and he knew Jol wouldn’t miss.

No shot came, not before Fikrul made the same calculation and moved between Uldren and Jol. Uldren turned away.

Fikrul put a heavy hand on Uldren’s back. “We should leave. I have a place, a safe place …”

“Yes,” Uldren said. He glanced back at Beatrice’s body. “Bring that too.”

With a nod, Fikrul led him away.

[channy-mae]

Instagram Couple

“Again?” You mumble under your breath when the director called for a retake on the 12th take that night. Irritated you walk up to the backup dancer who kept making mistakes. “Listen, you don’t bend over until the 5th beat and you spin on the 3rd.” You calmly try to explain it to her so you wouldn’t be there all night long. Her attention wasn’t even on you and you followed her eyes to a shirtless Jay Park, his expression was one of irritation as well considering how the first part of the music video wasn’t finished yet. “Hey! Pay attention to the dance instead of drooling over him.” You snap at her. The director motions for you to go back to your original position, so they could start again. After three more retakes, the girl finally stops making, dare you say it, stupid mistakes. You were in the middle and the end of the MV and positioned on and around Jay, “Okay, now put your hand on his chest and cue.” The minute the camera starts rolling you begin to move your body against his to the beat of the music. You could feel him moving against you and for a second that felt like it was just the two of you, “Cut, perfect!” The director’s voice tore you both out of the trance that was each other and Jay quickly lets you go. The rest of the recording goes by flawlessly without a mistake by the other dancers.

“Ah, that’s a wrap, good work everyone!” The director calls out and the crew starts packing equipment up to leave, you start walking to the dressing room to change back into less provocative and casual clothes, when you hear giggling. “Oppa, the song is so good! When you perform it live are you using all the dancers again?” you look and see the same girl who was making mistake after mistake obviously flirt with Jay. She was twisting a lock of her hair around her finger and was attempting to act cute, “Yeah, I’m only going to use one of the dancers since so many isn’t necessary.” Jay smiles at her. “Oh, really if you do pick I would really love it if I were to be that one dancer.” her hand was now on his arm and you couldn’t take it any longer, “Hey I wonder who’s clothes they just threw out, anyone came in wearing a pink hollister dress?” you call out. The girl rushes past you thinking her clothes were thrown away. A week goes by uneventful for you, but your boyfriend on the other hand not so much. Jay walks through the doors of your shared apartment to find you on the couch, “Y/N what are you doing up so late? It’s,” He glances at the time on his phone, “1:30 in the morning.” You purse your lips and don’t say anything, taking out your phone you unlock it and place it on the table. Jay just stands there confused about what was going on, huffing you begin talking.

“I can understand you not choosing me to be the dancer in one of your live performances, I really don’t mind. But, what I do care about is now everyone thinks you’re dating the dancer you chose for said performance and you have yet to say that they are wrong. What am I not your girlfriend, is this some sort of illusion I’m making up?” you were standing up now with your arms crossed wanting an answer from him. “Y/N you are my girlfriend and I love you, the only reason I haven’t said anything yet is because I didn’t think I’d need to. These things die off on there own jagi, you see it all the time.” his voice was calm as was his body language and that just pissed you off. You knew you were a secret, that your relationship wasn’t public and that was frustrating. “That’s why we should go public, I’m sick of having to hide the fact that we are together, it’s stressful and frustrating, not to mention that people have been on this for a week now. It’s just irritating to see the other dancers, and see her smug face. ” You walk up to him and wrap your arms around him trying to get him to understand how you felt about it. He hugs you back, “Not yet, I’m in the middle of a deal that will really benefit everybody and I’m thinking about-.” You shove him away. “What? You’re in the middle of a deal so our relationship is pushed to the back burner? Why does she get to be your girlfriend in the media then if it’s so important. Or is that a ploy to ensure it, because she’s korean and I’m a foreigner?” You spit out.

“What! I never said that!” Jay raises his voice, “You didn’t have to say it, you suggested it when you didn’t call people out on this!” you yell at him angry. Jay runs his hand over his face in agitation, “I’m not going to argue with you y/n” Jay turns around most likely to go to the room. “No,we need to talk about this, I want us to go public. It...it will make me feel better about this.” your voice was barely above a whisper. “I already told you, I can’t do that right now.” You open your mouth to interject, before you could say something he continues. “A week, that’s enough time.” Jay looks at you with a hopeful expression. Your eyes mist over and you could feel yourself about to cry, you rush into your bedroom and start throwing stuff into a bad. “Where are you going? Y/n….jagi why are you packing?” Jay reaches for the bag you were holding and you jolt away from him. “Don’t..a week, you want to let this fester on for a week, for some deal! Why do I have to spell out the fat that this is upsetting me? If that’s the case then for a week we can just not talk. Since I’m a secret it won’t matter right. Focus on the deal that’s just so special.” You didn’t give him time to say anything, you were out the door and hailing a taxi. You get in and tell the driver your best friend’s address, not even looking out the window to see if he followed you. That was the worst you’ve ever been angry at Jay and the worst fight. Once you arrive you find the key underneath the potted plant next to her door, walking in you remember that she wasn’t even home being out of town for some convention. Sighing you toss your stuff onto her couch and flop down. Your routine for the last couple of days were the same, go to the studio to practice, go home to your friend’s place, ignore any calls from Jay, and stream your favorite drama. You were on the couch eating ice cream and chips, when best part where the long awaited kiss scene for the two main characters were when the doorbell rang. Upset you drag yourself up and to the door, with a mouth full of potato chips and ice cream you open the door. In front of you stood a flushed Jay Park, you swallow and attempt to close the door not wanting to see him.

“Wait, wait listen y/n, I’m sorry.” you stop trying and motion for him to come inside, wanting to know what he had to say. “What?” You ask with your arms crossed. “I wasn’t thinking about how you felt about it when you were clearly upset. So, I did the right thing and revealed us.” Jay wraps you in hug smiling brightly. “What! When?” to answer your question he takes out his phone and hands it to you. It was his instagram page and the recent posts were pictures the two of you had taken together, or just pictures of you he had taken. You lean up and kiss him, happy that he decided to mend your relationship and put an end to the rumors. It didn’t take long for the kiss to go from sweet to lustful, you pull back “We can’t, not here.” you try to reason with him. “Jagi, I haven’t seen you in four days. I couldn’t even talk to you to tell you how sorry I am, so instead let me show you. Plus whatever she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Jay picks you up and walks you to the bedroom you were using. You two continue the kiss, rapidly undressing each other and throwing the clothes out of the way. You pull away to catch your breath and Jay takes that as an opportunity to take off your shirt and his. No matter how many times you see him, the sight of him shirtless and his tattoos are enough to leave you breathless and drooling. He starts kissing your neck, nipping on your collarbone aiming to leave marks. Moaning out you reach down and fumble with his belt trying to remove it. “Having a hard time?” He smirks at you and gets up to take off his pants, once in just his boxers you stand up and push him to sit on the bed. He was hard clearly evident of the tent in his boxers, you trail your hands up his thighs to his boxers and slowly slip them off. His cock pops out and twitches, Jay moans looking at you. You take one hand and cupped his balls, then enclosed the tip of his penis into your warm mouth.

“Ah… ohh, God, y/n… that… feels so good,” Jay managed to say. His encouragement made you smirk around his cock, you moan around it sending vibrations through his body. You take another half inch of his dick into your mouth, then pulled up to its tip. You started to get into a bobbing motion, able to take a little bit more of his cock into your mouth each time, until you were swallowing a little more than half of his length. Take him out of you mouth and blow on his cock, drawing out your motions as your lips slide along all sides of his cock as you bob up and down. “Ah...ah fuck jagi, stop I’m going to cum.” Jay gently pushes your head away. You stand and shed your panties and lay back on the bed, Teasing you, he ignored your glistening pussy and kissed and licked your inner thigh, then you felt his mouth travel to the other side where he licked and gently bit the inside of your other inner thigh inching closer your pussy. By this time, you were moaning and bucking your hips. You could no longer stand any more of his teasing and you grabbed his face and moved him so that his mouth was in line with your vagina. That was all the prodding he needed, as he immediately started sucking on your clit and running his tongue up and down your wet slit. Gasping, you look down as he extended his tongue and pushed it deep inside of you. You feel him put his hands on your ass cheeks, which he massaged roughly while keeping his tongue buried in your wet sex.

The intense pleasure he was giving you with his mouth made you feel like I was slipping in and out of consciousness and you could hear the slurping sounds emanating from between your legs. Your hips were bucking wildly as you ground your pussy roughly into his face. You shook and shuddered and experienced your first orgasm of the evening. He let you recover by licking the wetness from the inside of your thighs and his mouth stayed away from your sensitive clit for a minute or so. Once he saw that you had recovered, he began to lick up and down your slit again. This time, he put two fingers inside of you, curling them upwards, while working his tongue over your clit hard and fast. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire. You always appreciated his talented tongue and he drove you to two more orgasms before you pushed him away. Huffing he sits up and lines his cock to push inside of you, “Are you ready?” You simply nod your head. He kisses you, while continuing to kiss you, he takes his shaft in his hand and you feet him run the head over your wet slit. He positions himself right above your opening and slipped the head inside and then powerfully pushed forward, instantly opening and filling me. You pulled your mouth away from his gasping and moaning in pleasure. Almost instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he starts to slowly thrust in and out of you. He begins to move inside of you with a slow and steady pace of long even strokes. He then moves forward and you feet his weight on top of you sensually crushing your breasts against his chest. You moved your hips up to meet his thrusts and feel another orgasm rock your body. Seeing you release, he begins pumping furiously into you. As he quickened the pace, you begin to thrust your hips up hard against him. You were both grunting and sweating profusely as he fucked you hard and fast. You could feel he was close as well and you started screaming as another powerful orgasm overtook you and my body shook almost uncontrollably as Jay continued his powerful thrusts. After you had come down from another peak, you could tell by his breathing he was close to orgasm, when he suddenly pulled out of you. He takes his cock and starts to stroke it and cum erupts from him landing on your stomach and chest. You both were breathing deeply and Jay gets up and heads out of the room, “Where are you…” before you could finish he comes back with a damp towel in his hand and he cleans you off. “I missed you. And we probably shouldn’t tell your friend we had sex in her house.” Jay giggles. You laugh as well and you both drift off to sleep.

[writingismyhappytime]

Good Little Demon: Angelo Part 2

Angelo Parente x OC

Warnings: language, and babies

A/N: Red finally had her baby! Meet the newest addition to the demon family. 

"So this is the babe with the power."

Red glances up in irritation, her red gaze narrowing dangerously as the spots the demon lingering in the doorway of the nursery. She's sitting in a black rocking chair, trying to quiet her screaming son, who definitely has his fathers' lungs.

"The hell do you want?" She snaps, her red hair done up in a hasty twist on the back of her head. She's exhausted and very, very temperamental, so if this demon thinks he's going to fuck with her ---.

"I come in peace." David lifts his hands, showing the blood witch he means no harm. He might not like his second son, but he's been very interested in the birth of his grandson, now that they know he's a boy.

David figured as much.

His mother was a bloodwitch, and he suspects the reason that all of his sons have extra little talents whereas normal demons can wield hellfire and are strong, but that's the extent. It's what gives his sons that extra edge and makes the world fear them, makes their family infamous. He's quite proud of the reputation, honestly.

He's so excited to see what his grandson turns in too.

"Did the two of you settle on a name?" David asks curiously, gliding flawlessly into the room. He can see that Angelo had a hand in decorating the nursery, what a gothic looking bassinet. There's the regular furniture, a dresser of clothing, little odd and end baby toys, the rocking chair and a sofa, the crib, and the bassinet.  Strange to see such innocent items lying about a castle of death.

"Yes." Red eyes him warily.

Angelo is in his dungeon taking a nap, she basically banished him so he could get some sleep. The baby's only about four days old, and he's so little; the witch still has a hard time understanding how something so small and innocent was created from the two of them. But the moment she held the baby, the moment she heard it start screaming, she wouldn't have cared if it was twin girls --- she wouldn't have let them go, no matter the consequences.

Luckily it was just a boy, and she doesn't have that concern.

She'd been so worried.

There's only one female demon in existence, a genetic fluke, and her life started off so miserable. Demons would love it if they didn't need to breed with humans to produce offspring, and Red can't imagine what monstrosity a purebred demon would be --- hopefully it never exists. Her family only produced females due to their magic, and so when she learned she was pregnant, she nearly had a heart attack! The fact she had a son is, well, a blessing upon everyone.

"Well?" David is curious what the newest member of his family is called. He's never named any of his children, usually the mothers take care of that business.

"Well," Red shifts, sighing as she adjusts the screaming baby wrapped in a blue swaddle. "We settled on Lucian Azrael."

David snorts. "I suppose Angelo wanted it to be the other way around? Azrael first, yes?"

"Maybe." Red knows that's the angel of destruction, Angelo wanted his son to have a fearsome name, something to inspire horror and the like when announced. Red didn't like it, so they compromised; she also didn't feel the need to tell him he was also considered a good angel, not a bad one.  "But we're calling him Luca, whether Angelo likes it or not. He says he's going to call him Azrael anyway, but ---."

"He'll pick his own name," David chuckles, daring to edge a little closer. Red lets him near with a wary look, black circles beneath her eyes that speak of sleepless days and nights. David knows the birth was hard, he could feel his sons terror for hours, but he didn't dare visit, he thought that might make the situation worse considering how little the two of them get along. Besides, he knows Christopher and Richard were around, as well as the fairy girl. They were in good hands.

"He has Angelo's eyes so far," Red says after a moment, tilting her head back against the chair, sighing. "And his mouth."

David tries not to smile, peering down at the scrunched, screaming red face. He gingerly reaches forward, very slowly so Red doesn't snap his fingers off, and brushes the child's small cheek. He tilts his head a little, earrings jingling, gazing at the small thing.

The only child he ever held as a newborn was Richard, although of course he doesn't know that. He knew that he'd gotten Richard's mother pregnant, he could smell it on her, and he was there during the entire birth, and for a few months after until her husband finally returned from his business away.

"They'll cry consistently when they're first born, you can try some gentle tonics in his milk, or drink them yourself if you're feeding him." David offers, withdrawing his touch. He never thought one of his sons would finally have one of their own, not after they'd made their silly little oath not to keep expanding the line; perhaps a good idea, David doesn't want too many demons of his blood roaming around, too many to remember their names. He should have figured Angelo would mess up first.

"He's fine," Red scowls, not appreciating the parenting advice. It's not as if the older demon can say anything, he didn't raise or even try to keep in contact with any of his sons! He's always left everything to the oldest brother Christopher, who is now too preoccupied finally living his life to care for his younger siblings. "He's just --- just ---."

God, Red doesn't know. He just cries all the time! She's not sure if it's growing pains, but he's only four days old. Is he hungry again? Is his tummy hurting? Does he need changed? She feels like pulling out her hair! She's worrying constantly, hovering over him, almost panicked someone might try to take him, just because of how strong he might be one day.

She's so afraid for this child.

"Why not let the hellhounds care for him for a while?" David suggests, his hands going to his hips. He looks as eccentric as always with his large blond hair and excessive eye makeup, long black boots to his knees like he's going horseback riding at any moment; he's the epitome of the eighties with his bright colors.  "Rest."

"Like I'm going to trust one of those lumbering oafs with my child," she snaps, finally rising to her feet. She paces back and forth with a huff, muttering curses under her breath as she tries to quiet the baby. She doesn't need any advice from him, he can go fuck off! For all she knows, he's going to try to steal her baby and turn it into a goblin!

She figured he would visit eventually, his curiosity always gets the best of him, but she wishes Angelo would wake up already! She really wants him up here, being alone with David makes her nervous. She could break him in a second, one prick of her finger and she'd have him writhing in the floor screaming, so that's not her concern --- she's just... tired.

So very, very tired.

"They're actually quite efficient," David says in amusement, watching as the baby finally starts to grow tired of screaming. Red looks relieved, gently laying it in the crib, raising her hands in fear instantly when it moves a little before settling. She can't really think of the child as a person just yet, it just seems so unreal... her as a parent? She never thought it would happen, it wasn't supposed too.

"Are you here to patronize me, David?" Red finally asks, glancing over her shoulder, pieces of her hair straggling to frame her shoulder as she stares at him; her normal colored eyes are bloodshot, and a color of red that's very unsettling, but mothers do bleed many days after giving birth.

Which makes David a little uncomfortable, as it means that Red can use her blood magic on him at any moment she pleases.

"No, not this time. I came to visit the child. It's completely human as of now."

"I know," Red can tell, but technically he's a warlock. "His magic won't manifest for some time either."

"He'll be able to perform it, you know, until his demon side comes out."

"How do you know that?"

"I know many things, I've been around a long time. Do you think this is the first child a blood witch and a demon?" David brazenly walks forward, noticing the magic in the air; Red cast a silencing spell so the child won't hear them, didn't she? He can still read magic just fine, but he's noticed he can't hear witches do spells lately, his attention must be slipping.

Red bites her lower lip, crossing her arms uncomfortably. "They always become demons?"

"Yes. The demon genes are always the strongest."

The witch doesn't like that; she'd prefer her child a warlock instead, he wouldn't be in so much danger.

"But, until then, you can enjoy your time with him. Teach him the magic, teach him control, it'll carry over when he's a demon." David adds, unsure why he's offering his knowledge on the subject. Red is arrogant, merciless, if he reached for the child now she would cause every blood vessel in his body to burst spontaneously --- while not fatal, it would really hurt, and David hopes to avoid that experience again. He supposes she's a good fit for Angelo, they're so similar in natures at least they won't guilt the other for their actions. "You might be able to even keep him."

"Well, of course we're going to keep him," Red scowls immediately, sending him a vile look. "We're not sending him away when he changes!"

"Well, I didn't mean he would be leaving." Surely she knows that demons turn on their human kind during times of transformation? Well, typically they do, their natures come through so sporadically it's just not safe. "You will."

"I will not be going anywhere!"

"You won't have much of a choice. Do you wish for him to have Christopher's fate, killing his own mother?" David does regret what happened, but he was so young, he didn't know what that feeling meant! he had no idea he'd gotten that slave pregnant, not until his own father had commented about it. "It's plagued Christopher since his humanity has taken hold again."

"Luca would never hurt me," Red disagrees vehemently as she looks at the demon, eyes burning. "Look at Vinny, he's never hurt his mother. He's spent a lot of time with her and she's always been perfectly fine."

"He spent some time, but not all. His temperament is a rare exception of his breed."

"You have a fucking answer for everything, don't you?"

David shrugs nonchalantly, looking back down at his child. Black sprigs of hair sprinkle his scalp, and he has dark eyes from what his grandfather could tell from the few moments of them being open. His face is puckered, round and still a little wrinkled, skin red from tears. He'll be a handful, probably make both of his parents suffer before it's over.

"Father, why are you here?"

"Ah, Angelo, wonderful of you to join us," David turns brightly as he hears his son, giving him a serene smile where Angelo looms in the doorway. "I was just admiring my grandson."

Angelo glowers. The only rest he's gotten is when the sun is up, and even then it's fitful --- it's as if even when his eyes are closed, he can still hear that child crying, feel Red's unhappiness. It's strange, but the moment she had him, something shifted a little for the demon. He can't begin to explain it, but he supposes that's just the feeling all demons get when their spawn is born --- they just know it, know where he is. Angelo could find that child in the middle of a wind storm if he needed too.

"Is he bothering you?" Angelo directs the question at Red, who exhales heavily, her hair moving around her face.

"I'm fine. And Luca is finally asleep."

Yes, Angelo noticed he'd finally stopped screaming, which he can hear all the way in the basement. He cuts his eyes at his father as he starts forward, coming to stand beside Red, his hand absently going to her shoulder as he glances at the baby.

He's so proud of him, even if he doesn't do anything yet. He's the most handsome creature to look at. He might have his fathers hair and eyes, but Angelo thinks he'll be more like Red, more practical, less spontaneous --- okay, well that's what he hopes anyhow. He's excited for the child to grow, to become his own person, see what his personality will be like.

As long as he's not like David, everything will be okay.

Or their Uncle William, for that matter.

"The two of you did very well, and you haven't killed the child yet," David adds. At first he was very against Angelo helping raise the child, it's just not done that way, not for a demon. The only mercy they can give their children is letting them enjoy their humanity in ignorance, blissfully unaware of what will happen on their sixteenth birthday. That's how it should be done, but if Angelo and Red just insist on going against the grain, that's on them.

Red should be taking it away, teaching it witchcraft and letting it live it's life. She might even tell him about his father, what to expect, and once his birthday arrives, Angelo should come and get him, at least for twenty or thirty years, however long it takes for him to get in control of himself. Perhaps after that Red could see him, but not until then.

David figures the boy will probably kill her, she doesn't have good sense, won't listen to reason. Her son will be the death of her.

But, David warned them, so that's on them.

He can just imagine the rage Angelo will feel, he's so attached to the witch, they've been together for a few years now. Not very long even by human standards, but still longer than David has ever seen.

"Just be aware that the child will be vulnerable to all human afflictions," the older demon sighs, deciding to cut his visit short. With both his son and his witch in the room, David isn't quite on top of the foodchain now, and he doesn't like that feeling. "Sicknesses, broken bones, scars. You'll want to teach him how to defend himself, he is a Bowie after all and we have our enemies. You might want to get Gretel to teach you more about defensive spells and warding since you're no longer in a delicate condition, you should be able to take a beating now. I'm sure the old gingerbread has been just dying to teach you the stronger spells."

Well, yes, Gretel has. Gretel is another blood witch, friends with Christopher, if you can call it that. She's managed to stay hidden for a long time, but everyone's nature comes out eventually. She's taught Red a few spells, but none that require great strenght or effort, at risk of the child of course. Red doesn't really feel up to learning anything new at the moment, she just wants rest, for at least a few years after what she had to go through.

Labor took hours, it's as if the baby was punishing her before it was even ready to enter the world! She had contractions, and they were just... not close enough apart, apparently. Gretel came through and tittered about, but it wasn't until Rosie arrived that the baby decided it was time to meet his family, unfortunately.

Red won't admit how grateful she was for the fairy, having her at her side, holding her hand, breathing with her, telling her stories to keep her distracted. To be such powerful creatures, no matter the species, it's terrible to give birth. The witch never intends to do it again.

Rosie is the only reason she was able to make it through one of them! She's so patient and kind, and her hands are so... oddly soothing,  which is probably due to her nature. Fairies might be tedious and fleeting, but they make great midwives, and it's supposed to be good luck to have one of them at a birth.

Red took that to heart.

"It will be fine," Red mutters, looking at her child. "I'll make sure of it."

"He," Angelo corrects, frowning. "He will be fine."

"Right, whatever." Red rolls her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

"How can anyone sleep with you two yammering so loudly up here?" Angelo growls, looking pointedly at his father. They've never gotten along, their relationship... well, they avoid each other most times. Angelo never wanted to be a demon, he caused the most fuss about it, gave David the most grief. David's always been cruel to him, and Angelo has never forgotten it; he won't let that continue on to his son.

David will never get to see him again if Angelo has anything to do with it.

"Don't you have virgins to ruin or something?" He asks pointedly, earning a derisive snort from his father. "Or villages to burn or tax?"

"Don't be cross, Angelo, this is merely a cursory visit. Did you think I wouldn't visit my first grandchild?"

"First and last, probably." Red mumbles.

"Mmm, I wouldn't be so sure." David has a feeling that's not the case. His sons get too lax, and some of their mates are too... well, seductive. He can imagine, now that Angelo has broke the promise, that someone else will mess up, will produce another heir. It's almost amusing to think he might have many grandchildren to visit and turn against their parents.

He wonders who the next one will be?

~~~~~~~

"What fucking nerve," Angelo growls as he paces back and forth in front of his desk, furious. "What the fuck does he think he's doing, coming here like this?"

"Well, Luca is his grandchild." Red points out as she slowly sits down in one of the arm chairs, grimacing. "Of course he came to see him, you know he would."

Yes, well, Angelo just didn't expect to be asleep when it happened! He was napping so well, but the moment he sensed David, he panicked; he was worried his father might do something to the baby, or to Red. Both are terrible options he could never tolerate, and he would turn the entire family against their father if need be.

"We need more hellhounds."

"Hellhounds don't work against your father."

"Well, we fucking need something then!"

"Oh, do stop yelling," Red sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leans back wearily. "I'll ask Gretel if she can cast something, she hates David just as much as the rest of us."

"Yes, but she also hates me."

"That's because you're a condescending asshole and you tried to bite her and make her a pet! She doesn't even like men!"

"Okay, that was decades ago! Centuries, actually, she should be over that by now."

"Well, if you didn't have such an entitled attitude, we wouldn't have issues with her, would we?"

Angelo's insulted. "I'm a demon, of course I'm entitled!"

"Well, Luca isn't going to be that way."

Yeah, sure, totally. Angelo frowns, but he doesn't want to fight with Red, even if she's picking for one. Instead, he goes to her, kneeling down in front of her and taking her hands with a heavy exhale.

"You need rest," he says after a moment, kissing her fingers. "Not even witches can go days on end without sleep."

"I don't want to leave the baby for too long. He'll start crying any minute." Red frets, having a hard time keeping her eyes open. She worries too much, but isn't that just what new mothers do?

"I'll stay with him until sunrise, why don't you go and sleep?" Angelo suggests, squeezing her fingers. Sure, it's not like he's trying to run a business or anything, make sure he isn't double crossed or his product stolen. The world might think he's distracted since he's had a son, although of course he's tried to keep that information nonexistent, but he worries.

He doesn't want his enemies, human and supernatural alike, thinking he's grown soft because of a child, that just won't do. He has a reputation to keep, after all, but maybe he should inquire about a nanny. Red can't handle that child by herself, she needs rest, and he wouldn't mind just letting the hellhounds take hold but she already shot that idea down.

Perhaps he should get one of his pets? He can control them completely, a simple bite from him will make them willing to do anything for him. He's not really needed a pet since he met Red, and what he has to do to satisfy his hunger doesn't count. She satisfies his needs in every other way he could possibly need.

"That's alright, I know you're working tonight."

"Oh, that's okay. I can work and have Azrael down here with me."

"We are not calling him that."

"I think it's a good name."

Red twitches, pulling her hands from his. "You know that Azrael isn't a bad angel, right? He was known as kind, his name literally means one who helps." She did her googling first. "So if you're wanting him to sound terrible and frightening, that name is not going to do it."

"I know what his name means." Angelo retorts, standing in aggravation. He wants his son to be fearsome of course, but --- well, he's hoping the name actually helps. "My name is Angelo, Red. I'm literally a demon named Angel."

Red finds it ironic.

Angelo was raised by a very religious father, he knows exactly that Azrael was actually considered the kindest of angels, just the one over death. He chose that name with purpose, as he hopes that means his son won't.... well, be out of control. He wants this family thing, he wants Red at his side, their child with them, not to be separated.

It might happen anyhow, demon natures are a fickle thing, but... well, Angelo wants family. He misses family. He was so close to his human father, he was so bitter when he realized what he was and what he'd lost. Family meant everything to him then, even if his human mother was a whore and none of her children belonged to her husband, it didn't mean he didn't love his half-sisters.

"Luca just.... sounds more like it should be for a werewolf and not a demon." Angelo finally grumbles, crossing his arms.

"I like it. Call him Lucien, it sounds intimidating." Red doesn't give a shit, but she's not calling her son something weird. Luca is good, and Lucien means light. So they essentially gave their son the nicest name possible, didn't they? Hell, might as well named him Adam.

Angelo rolls his eyes, feeling like they're going to roll into the back of his skull. "Go and rest, Red. If you don't, I'll hire a nanny and you won't have a choice."

"There is no way in hell anyone is looking after that child but us!" Red snaps immediately, rising to her feet so quickly she startles the demon. "I won't risk someone stealing him, Angelo! It's bad enough your father stopped by, now you want to invite a stranger into our home!?" She shrieks, and Angelo cringes, taking a step away.

"I was only kidding." Somewhat. "You know nothing will happen to the baby."

"I don't know, that's the problem! Your family has so many enemies ---."

"Don't put this off on my lineage, you have just as many as I do."

"Angelo, no one has any personal vendettas against me. They just don't like me because of my magic."

True.

"What if someone tries to take it, though? Because of who we are?" Red finally says, wringing her hands as she looks at Angelo. "Because of what he can become?"

"No one is taking the baby." Angelo shakes his head; he wishes there was something he could do to make Red believe that, to stop worrying herself before she gets wrinkles. "He's not safer anywhere else in the world, you know that. No one even gets on this property without my hounds alerting us."

"But what if your father, or one of your brothers ---?"

"You think one of them would steal my child?" Angelo dismisses that instantly. "None of them have use for that, and they would not gain anything. Besides, why have the wrath of demons coming after you? And who would want a screaming loaf of bread anyway?"

Red groans, running her hands down her face; the baby does scream a lot. "He's got your lungs, that's for sure."

Angelo chuckles, reaching forward to cup the face of the woman he loves more than anything; he never thought he would ever love anyone again, not after his human family died out, but here he is. He presses a soft kiss against her forehead, feeling her lean into him. "Everything will be fine, Red. Once you're back in top shape, you won't feel so bad either."

"I just... need to make a healing potion, I've just not had time." Red could make her aches and pains and post-birth issues go away, it's just she's either asleep or with the baby. Well, maybe she could haggle Gretel to making her one instead, or ask Esme to ask Gretel; for some reason Gretel does anything Christopher's girlfriend asks, and isn't so much a bitch about it.

"I know," Angelo kisses her cheeks. "But it won't be like this forever."

"Just a few more years."

"Mmm, but that's not so terrible, is it?" Angelo murmurs, pulling her into his arms; she feels so fragile right now, so easily breakable, it's hard to believe she's such a strong person. She melts into him, wrapping her arms tightly against his back. "Just think, soon he'll be rebelling, sneaking out and going to parties."

"Worshipping Satan and sacrificing virgins under the full moon."

Angelo snorts. "No, actually I was going to teach him the proper way to do that."

Red chuckles despite herself. She knows Angelo is full of shit, but maybe that's why she likes him so much. "You should put a bassinet down here, near your desk so you can watch over him while you work. He seems to like watching you."

"He's absorbing my evil aura already." Angelo replies, giving her a gentle squeeze. He'll have a hellhound put one in the office for him, although he's not sure how intimidating he's going to be trying to conduct a business call that needs some harsh tones with a child screaming in the background. If he can't control his own son, how is he expected to run a business?

He might just let the hellhound do the mothering, he just won't tell Red.

But he will think about the pet thing. Should he mention that idea to her? Well,  maybe not just at this moment, but later on.

Once his venom is in someone, they're pretty much his slave, they won't do anything he doesn't want. So if he tells them to love and cherish that child like it's their own and attend to it's every need, that's what they'll do.

No problem.

"Now, how about a nap?" Angelo murmurs, although he does enjoy holding her. She nods her head against his shoulder.

"Fine. I'll text Gretel and ask her for what I need, hopefully she won't mind."

"Why don't you text Esme instead and get her to ask? That usually works out better."

"True." Esme is so nice, if not still naive and a little air headed, but Christopher seems to want to keep her that way. "Christopher really needs to get her out in the world more."

"No, he's too protective. She'll never go anywhere without him, without some sort of escort. He likes the innocent ones, just like Father does."

Red wrinkles her nose; pervs. "Esme is a sweet girl, she doesn't ---."

"Come now, let's not get off on that." It must be the mothering instincts, but if Red gets started on what almost happened to Esme, she'll go on for hours. Angelo supposes it was because Esme's situation was so close to hers, that they were both kidnapped and enslaved, and the wound is still tender for the witch. She just feels this fierce need to protect everyone lately. "Nap."

"You don't have to keep fucking using the word at me, Angelo."

She definitely needs a nap. Angelo purses his lips, and closes his eyes in exasperation as he suddenly hears the faint wails of a child echoing down his stone castle right to the dungeon. Red groans, pressing her face harder against his shoulder, squeezing her fingers in his sweater.

"Please make it stop." She's going to have a mental breakdown, she's sure of it.

"I'll take care of it," Angelo says quickly, caressing her messy hair. "Rest. Let me handle it."

Red would let Martha Stewart handle it at this point, so long as she was under a watchful eye.

~~~~~~~~~

Angelo has no clue what he's doing.

He frowns down at the child he holds carefully in his arms, hoping he doesn't drop him. Is he supporting the head right? He obviously doesn't want the baby to have a crooked neck or something, is that why you support it this way? He has no idea.

At least he's not crying.

"That's a good boy," Angelo murmurs, lightly moving the baby back and forth. No tears, just big glossy eyes, little fists defiantly waving in the air. He's a good size for a baby, Angelo figures, having not ever really been around children. He seems healthy, Rosie and Gretel both said so.

Angelo wonders how many babies Gretel has helped deliver. She didn't seem as horrified by the whole birthing thing as everyone else was.

Angelo had no idea it was so horrible, why do women want to go through that?

It's not as if they could take Red to a hospital with professionals, so Rosie and Gretel were all they had. At least it was quick once it actually started.

Angelo doesn't want to think about that anymore.

He looks back down at the boy he holds in his arms, frowning. "You're going to have to watch yourself growing up," he mumbles, the big brown eyes completely focused on him. "You're going to have a lot of responsibility. A lot of enemies. Well, maybe not too many. Hopefully no one will even learn of you and you'll be a surprise when you're finally old enough to hold your own." Angelo says brightly, but he knows that's not going to happen.

David is bad enough, but he won't do anything to his own kin.

"So you're going to have to be tough, a big man, but be kind to your mother, she's a little insane." Angelo decides, wiping a little drool off his son's lips. "I saw her eat a man alive once, terrifying to behold. You're going to have to be as ruthless as her, but don't break her heart."

He feels foolish, talking to a baby as if he actually understands. Angelo could spill his life secrets, and at least no one could ever repeat them.

He glances at his office door, frowning as he senses his brother. Why can't anyone leave him alone? They know he just had a child! Does no one have respect for new parents these days!?

"What have I said about showing up unexpectedly?" Angelo grouches the moment Christopher appears in the doorway, looming and blocking the light.

"I did text, you didn't answer." Christopher replies, dark eyes finding the small addition to their family. He walks forward curiously; it's strange seeing Angelo, with his sulky expression, handling anything so delicate with such care. "So that's your son."

"Yeah, this is him." Angelo looks down, moving his arms a little so Christopher can get a better look. "He's got our hair and eyes, so he's definitely one of us."

Angelo had sort of hoped he'd have red hair.

"Mmm, that means the blood is strong." Christopher sighs. Vinny turned out a little different, his hair is brown, and Joshua, his eyes are a bright blue --- both of them are pulling away from the family. Everyone else with their dark hair and eyes, it seems that's where the demon blood is strongest. "Red alright?"

"She's resting for a little bit, I said I'd watch Luca."

"I thought his name was Azrael?"

"Eh, it is. I just call him that now to annoy her, but Luca is fine. Not very terrifying, but," Angelo shrugs.

Christopher clasps his hands behind his back, tilting his head a little as he studies the child, black hair framing his face. He was curious about his nephew, someone he didn't think would ever exist, and right now has a blank face and big brown eyes. He's still wrinkled and small, round head, toothless --- it's hard to imagine that every creature originates from something so defenseless.

"Rosie told Esme she handled the birth quite well."

Gossips.

"I suppose if you count nearly bleeding to death and pushing him out." Angelo responds; it was probably one of the most horrifying experiences of his life, nothing had prepared him for that. He could gut a man in under a minute and create a dog out of his intestines, but birth --- he never wants to see another one. "I wouldn't recommend getting anyone pregnant."

Christopher snorts, pressing his lips against a smile, the light glinting off the studs in them. "I'll keep that in mind. Are you going to keep the infant, or send him away?"

"Red wants to keep him here, where we can keep him safe. She worries already he'll get kidnapped."

"The threat is always present, but would be foolish." Christopher shrugs, watching as Angelo ever so gently deposits the baby in a bassinet, absently letting it rock back and forth with his hand.

"I know. Do you think if I made a pet to be the nanny, that would be sufficient?"

"A pet as a nanny?" Christopher hesitates. "Would Red agree with it?"

"Well, I'm obviously not going to be fucking the thing," Angelo rolls his eyes in annoyance. "But if I bit someone to be a nanny, I would have full control over them. They wouldn't harm him."

"You would just need to be particular about your pick, but I don't see why not. Just make sure it's not someone as air headed as Serena, you know she was resistant to Devin's venom in some ways."

"Probably due to the fact she barely had any brain cells for the venom to attach too."

Both brothers chuckle.

The baby makes a sound, immediately taking Angelos' attention, his head snapping. "Shh, shh, quiet now, Satan, let's have a nap." He sighs, hesitating as the baby threatens him with shaking fists. "Don't get all feisty on me and make your mother mad, she'll have my guts if she can't sleep."

Oh, that reminds Christopher.

"Here," he reaches inside his black coat, pulling out a tiny glass vial with a stopper. "Gretel sent this, it's why I stopped by. Esme said Red was needing a healing tonic?"

"Oh, yeah. Put it on the desk." Angelo waves his hand, the other keeping a steady pace for rocking, trying to get his son to quiet. "I'll give it to her when she wakes up. Birth takes a lot out of a woman, apparently."

"Mmm." Christopher really doesn't want to hear about that, and he definitely doesn't intend on putting Esme through it. He only came tonight because she wouldn't leave him alone about it and threatened to come herself, which he most definitely does not want! "I don't intend to stay, but congratulations on bringing another demon of hell into the world to cause misery and destruction for all of us."

Angelo makes a sour face. Christopher said that in much too bright of a tone, he hangs around his witch too much. "Thanks."

Christopher chuckles, turning on his heel and disappearing.

What a day for visits.

Angelo sighs as he looks down at the baby again.

"Well, Luca, you have a lot of uncles, you know. They're tough assholes, but unfortunately, we all have souls. And weaknesses. I'll have to tell you how to use those to your advantage so you can get whatever you want out of them." he says, admiring the baby. "Your mother likes chocolate filled croissants, it's her favorite right now --- or it was when you were still there. She hasn't mentioned them yet, so maybe that's changed. You better enjoy the food while you have an opportunity, eat all of it. I hear it's even better these days then what it was when I was growing up. Except for something called fructose corn syrup? Ah, I'm sure you'll figure that out."

Angelo absently tucks the blanket around the baby, hoping he's not too warm. It's usually cooler in the dungeon, so actually, what if he's cold and that's why he's upset?

He needs a baby whisperer.

Is that a thing?

He needs to find out.

Angelo glances up, hearing stirring upstairs. That better not be Red, she needs rest, and she better not be checking on him, he's doing just fine.

He's having a casual conversation with his son after all, which he feels is going to become a regular occurence.

His son.

How strange to think that.

He smiles slightly, his brown eyes meeting his son's.

He really does have a family again, doesn't he?

Tags:  @isaxhorror   @lucifersnudes (anything miw) @allthepeppercorn. @iknightwriter. @miss-mcbotty.  @my-gothic-doctor.  @little-h0rr0r @imaginemiw.  @lilybellsworld   @tokyoghoulyz    @imaginemiw   @bigdaddyfairywinkle @riegan @lucifersnudes    @horrorshow365    @imjustareject99    @nikkihorrorxx   @miss-evil-one   @itstrashleydude.  @kapowski-sitkowski.    @the-angriest-angel

[aspiratinganxiety]

Christmas Dinner Part II

The much awaited final chapter of the Christmas dinner prompt! This is pure fluff with a delectable finish, if I do say so myself. The first part of this fic can be found here.  

I am so sorry that I had to repeatedly bump back the post date for this piece. You guys were so excited for it, and I swear that I got it to you as soon as I could. I’ve had a couple of weeks with a new job and some stuff that needed to get done around the house for the change in season. 

As always, I am grateful for your patience, and I would love to know what you think of my work!

(Side note: If you want to be added to a taglist, let me know. I don’t really have one yet, only a small one for Part II of the Ballerina/Dick fic. Not really sure if anyone is interested. Drop me an ask or message me if you’d like to be tagged in my work, and please specify if there are certain triggers that you’d like not to be tagged in.)

"Just make sure to act... ya’ know.... natural. Like we willingly spend time with one another romantically. Also please, please do not take Jason’s bait. He’s always an especially bitter pill during these parties. I don’t know why. It’s just like, one of his things. One of his many things. Oh! And remember-”

“Christ on a bicycle, Tim!” you interrupt him, patience completely evaporated. “I know how to be a girlfriend. I’ve been in more relationships for an amount of time that totals longer than your go with Stephanie. I know all the weird quirks with your family, even Jason. I understand what jokes not to make. All of my major etiquette lessons were from Alfred himself, and I don’t drink. Won’t make a habit of it in front of Bruce as an underage date to the only son functioning as a public figure for Wayne Enterprises. I get it. I know. Chill the fuck out and get off my back, or I’m going to punch you in your bird throat.” 

Usually, you do not threaten violence to anyone, especially people as kindhearted as Tim. Jesus God though, 45 minutes of his frantic dictation about your expected behaviors and you’re ready to strip off your bribery gown, roll out of the moving car buck-ass naked, and hoof it back to your apartment in the snow.

You have enough anxiety of your own, poured into a buh-jillion dollar dress that was made to push your boobs up to your chin and mold your butt into some kind of evergreen-colored peach. You can barely walk in your shoes, you’re wearing jewelry that cost more than your education, you are terrified that Damian might mistake your fake fur for the real thing and try to murder you on the spot, and the flower crown braided to your head is made of poky pine twigs, baby pine cones, and glittery sugared berries that are all working together to make your scalp itch worse than the week and a half you spent fighting a colony of lice in the fourth grade.

Fucking Lacey Whitaker and her four-feet of infested hair...  

In short, you want to die and you haven’t even tried to lie to Batman yet. 

“Wow.” Tim blinks, mouth scrunched into an unimpressed line. 

You sigh, hanging your head. “Tim, I am not going to punch you. That would be unkind and, frankly, a stupid move on my part.” You shake your head. “Not a fight I can win.” 

“I’m honestly less offended by the punching and more hung up on the bird throat comment.”

You cut your eyes at him, incredulous. “Yeah, well, that scarf isn’t exactly doing you favors.” 

He balks, jaw falling open. “Okay, first: you must be going blind. Francisco hand delivered all of the accent notes for my attire, including this scarf, so that I would match your dress. The one that you picked. The one that is on your body this very minute, if you would recall. The botanical embroidery is even consistent. So, yeah.” He motions to the fitted portion of the gown that can be seen hugging your thighs below the hem of your fluffy false fur coat. “Second observation: you are hella’ mean when you have The Anxiety, and I did not intend to fan that flame.” 

“Well, you’re hella’ bossy when you get nervous. Not a great combination to be crammed in a sports car together.”

“Noted,” he says, pulling the scarf looser.

The rest of the drive is somewhat tense as you both deeply question your life choices and rehearse the practiced cover story about first dates and whatnot. The sidewalk that leads to the main entrance of Wayne Manor is mercifully devoid of ice, having been flawlessly scraped and salted ahead of time. Alfred greets the two of you with a broad smile and ushers you into the bright, impeccably decorated foyer. 

“Happy Christmas,” he says, looking down at you in his warm, if distant, way. “Aren’t you a sight, Miss?” 

You acknowledge the compliment as Alfred hangs Tim’s coat and scarf, ducking your head in an awkward cross between a nod and a bow, frantically trying to peel the fur coat away from you before Damian gets a look at it. 

It is then that Tim sees the bodice of your dress for the first time. He stares, too struck by the full effect of the incredibly intricate, fitted garment to be ashamed that he is staring. The gown envelops you tightly from your bust to just below your hips, flowing seamlessly into rounded pool of silken fabric at the floor. Delicate lacework that echos the embroidery running throughout the piece act as wide, gossamer straps that tip over your shoulders and dive into what the cut of the dress would indicate to be a deep hemline baring a good portion of your back. With the high notes of red in your wreath, on your shoes, and staining your pretty, pretty lips, it’s hard for Tim to decide if the incredibly flattering silhouette created by your gown is more provocative than the contrasting, complimentary colors of forest green and holly-berry red that work to draw eyes up and down your body, then back up again... and down.... and up.

It is Alfred’s voice, chastising him, that breaks Tim out of his awed silence. “Take her coat and put your tongue back in your mouth immediately, Master Timothy.”

“Right!” he says, closing his eyes with a nod and stepping toward you. And again quietly, he almost sighs, “Right.” 

You hand him the fur, somewhat confused. Meeting his eye, you attempt to convey a look that asks whether or not he’s begun acting. After all, it’s only Alfred, and you both knew that there was zero hope of convincing the brilliant Englishman from the get. Tim was relying on the gentleman’s steadfast discretion to allow him this Christmas of peace from his brothers. 

Your initial reaction to Tim’s obvious admiration isn’t playful banter or a controlled taunt, as rehearsed. Rather, you are overwhelmingly flattered and suddenly battling an absolute tidal wave of uncharacteristic bashfulness. Heat burns in your cheeks from more than the rush of blood brought up by the warm house as you pass off your coat. Tim seems genuinely embarrassed too, as he avoids touching your hands and keeps his body far from you, using the full length of an outstretched arm to snag the outerwear. The left side of his face is crumpled in an apologetic wince, and the expression cuts clean through you. The bubble of your sheer delight implodes into a million little radiant drops as you try to decide whether or not the wince means he regrets having found you an attractive sight. 

That is not how boyfriends who enjoy your dress behave. Tim’s presenting a friend reaction, a friend who is afraid of having objectified or offended you. You steel yourself against the rush of anxiety that previously dimmed your flattered reaction and accept that you are gonna’ have to hem this tattered patchwork of a plan all by your lonesome if it’s going to be believable.

The Red Robin’s body language indicates that he’s all but thrown in the towel here at the door. 

And so, you take a deep breath, unfolding the neat, tidy little booklet of repressed feelings that you’ve been harboring in the pockets of your heart since you were 15, and you let yourself smile at him.

Really smile. The way you do when his back is turned. When his woefully dedicated or unimaginably funny words are in text. When you know it’s safe and no one will see the way that you smile for Tim.  

Your lips curve up a bit wry, teasing but encouraging. Teeth flash, a porcelain sign advertising your giddy joy and the silly sense of eagerness you allow yourself to feel, all-too-easily engaging the fantasy that this is a real date. Your shoulders half-shrug, and you catch the perfectly manicured nail of your ring finger between the knuckles of the opposite third and fourth fingers, running the corner of your thumbnail beneath it. The gesture is a nervous, fiddling one that communicates that damnably predominant shyness creeping up again.

You keep his eyes too, pegging him with an expression that communicates all of the softness and the intensity that you’ve been fighting to hide for so long. 

Tim goes stone still, like he’s been struck by lightening and his brain decided to exist stage left for intermission. He stares at you, staring at him like he’s answered some kind of prayer by grabbing your coat. 

For a brief, breathless moment, he feels like Gods must.

He’s dizzy with the sensation. It echos from his temples through his skull, then all the way down to every toe. A reverberation of unmitigated glory as delivered by the expression of someone he loves.

Nobody has ever looked at him that way. 

Not even right after he saves their life.

“Heavens,” Alfred mumbles behind him, a shared note of awe in his voice. 

Tim jerks, having completely forgotten where he was, why he’d be there, or that other humans who weren’t you existed at all.

The older gentleman relieves Tim of the coat, casting a prideful, knowing look over the much younger man. “I’ll just take that. Everyone is socializing in the parlor. Go on to the party, and I will call when the dinner preparations are in order.”

Tim, grateful that Alfred habitually motioned both of you toward the heavy mahogany doors that lead into the front sitting room, realizes that he somehow lost all memory of the manor’s blueprint. He also cannot recall the name of Damian’s dog.

“Well,” you say, waiting until Alfred bustles away before leaning toward him with a much more contained smile. You nod toward the parlor, a curl falling from its place pinned to your crown. 

“Uh,” Tim delays, closing his eyes and giving his head a quick shake. He dares to step closer to you and carefully brushes at the strand of loose hair. “Actually, do you think it would be okay if... um.... well, I was wondering if you’d like the plan being that this-” he motions between the two of you. “This was less for pretend and more for real?”

He speaks so quietly that you are straining to hear him. Beyond that, what you can make out of his words seem to imply a notion that has your heart hammering so hard that it isn’t leaving any room for your lungs to expand.

You get closer and whisper more distinctly. “More real how?”

“Like, real real.”

“You are not helping me understand, Tim,” you hiss, feeling rather vulnerable and unsure.

He grins haltingly, schooling his features into a gentler expression before balancing your chin on his thumb and forefinger. Tim tilts your face up, sure to keep gauging your reaction to his approach with inquisitive looks and plenty of pauses. Your eyes flutter shut after the tip of his nose presses into yours playfully, and he angles his head to brush past the bridge of your own nose and nuzzle into your cheek. 

Time stops again when you’re on the very cusp of kissing, lips together in a tickling brush with warm puffs of breath mingling between you. “Is this okay?” he asks, the press of his mouth to yours causing you to silently mirror the formation of his words. 

“Uh-huh,” you answer a susurrant hum, eyes still closed and oh so excited for a proper kiss.

“Ah, crap.” Jason’s voice booming out of the parlor behind you has both you and Tim jumping out of your skins. “That’s 60 bucks to Selina, guys! Turns out Timbo and Bo-peep are an item after all. They’re kissin’ in the foyer like animals! Catwoman takes the pot.”                                 

[kerfufflewatch]

just 1500 hastily-written words of “what if Hanzo did the incredibly cheesy thing of learning to speak bits of Spanish for McCree”

(if any of it’s wrong, I sincerely apologize and please correct me! I know some Spanish but it’s been awhile, so it’s really a combination of my sparse knowledge and that of Google :| )

--

McCree steps off the shuttle into the Watchpoint hangar, weighed down by the bone-deep exhaustion of a ten-day mission and the intense desire to collapse face-down in his bed and remain unmoving for as long as circumstances will allow. On the ride home, he had entertained the notion of a shower and food before the collapsing, but at this point, not even those could sway him from his course.

However, when he catches sight of Hanzo waiting by the entrance–waiting for him, he realizes with no small amount of joy, because Genji had already passed through– he decides bed can wait just a couple more minutes.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” McCree sighs, leaning immediately into Hanzo before Hanzo can even lift his arms, letting Hanzo take half the weight of his body. Hanzo chuckles, the sound of it rich and warm to McCree’s ears, and envelopes him in a welcoming embrace. “Hey, sweetness.”

“Hello, Jesse,” Hanzo murmurs. “¿Como estas, mi querido?”

“Cansado, pero bien,” McCree answers absently, face pressed into the crook of Hanzo’s neck. Then he pauses. Lifts his head. Looks down at a smiling Hanzo, whose eyes glimmer with mischief.

“Where in the hell’d you learn that?” he asks.

“Internet.”

“Really.”

Now the mischief is replaced by a hint of apprehension. “Is that alright? I admit, I only know a little, and I do not fully understand the rules of the language yet . . .”

McCree had been paying so little attention in his exhaustion that he has to think on it now, take a few seconds to remember what Hanzo actually said. Once he recalls the words, however, and the way they sounded in Hanzo’s rough, low voice next to his ear, he grins.

“Reckon you ought to tell me everything you’ve learned,” he says. Hanzo smiles, too, and as he leans up to give him a proper welcome-home kiss, the words echo in McCree’s memory.

Mi querido. My dear.

–

Hanzo doesn’t tell him everything he’s learned. Instead, he makes McCree wait.

He hasn’t endeavored to learn the whole language. At least, not yet. “Just a few things,” he explains, embarrassed, when McCree hassles him about it (in English and Spanish, just in case he can get Hanzo to respond in the latter). “I … thought you might like it, if I learned a little.”

McCree does. Very much.

Hanzo drops the occasional word or phrase when McCree isn’t expecting it, as though he is deliberately attempting to surprise him with a new bit of Spanish here and there. McCree shouldn’t be so surprised every time, but he is, pleasantly so.

Hanzo’s accent isn’t flawless–something about the transition from the strong, syllabic tones of Japanese to the smoother lilt of Spanish seems to trip him up at first. There are a few words that aren’t pronounced quite right, although never so badly as to mix them up, and he’s pretty clearly not a native speaker. Still, it seems like Spanish was developed over some thousands of years just for the day when Hanzo would start speaking it, because pronunciation or no, every word that passes his lips sounds like the sweetest music to McCree’s ears.

He can’t pretend, either, that he isn’t awful flattered by the effort Hanzo’s putting in. Hanzo doesn’t devote his attention to projects he does not deem important, after all.

–

“No, listen, listen,” McCree insists, laughing. He gestures with his drink, overexaggerating in his tipsiness. “You gotta roll the Rs! It’s not that hard!”

“It absolutely is,” Hanzo responds, half-angry and half-laughing. He points an accusing finger at McCree, sloshing the drink that’s in the same hand. “You only do not know because you grew up speaking it!”

“No, it ain’t. If a bunch of thirteen-year-old white kids in middle school could do it, so can you. Listen. You just gotta–tip of your tongue behind your top teeth and sorta blow past it.” He demonstrates, trilling an elongated R sound with the practiced ease of 38 years of learning. Hanzo frowns comically at him.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” he says before immediately attempting it himself. McCree swallows down his drunken giggles as he watches Hanzo try a good four or five times, visibly overthinking the position of his tongue in his mouth and making awkward R noises that could be considered flipped once or twice, perhaps, but not properly rolled.

Then he does it, just once, and he looks as surprised as McCree is. “Hey, there you go,” McCree says.

Hanzo makes the noise again, a perfectly rolled R. Pleased with himself, he smiles and says, “¿Te gusta, mi amor?”, unnecessarily but flawlessly rolling the ending R.

McCree’s mouth runs dry. Hanzo must see how that affects him because he smiles, slow and seductive. “Mi amor,” he murmurs again, but he hits the R too hard and flubs the pronunciation, McCree snorts, unable to help himself, and Hanzo frowns deeply.

“Fuck,” he says, sending McCree into fresh peals of laughter.

–

“Buena suerte,” he says before McCree boards the shuttle for an assignment in Russia, followed by a dry kiss to his jaw. McCree fancies Lady Luck does favor him a little more that evening when his infiltration goes off without a hitch.

“Ten cuidado,” he says before they separate on a shared assignment, and he smiles a little when McCree repeats the sentiment.

“Te extraño,” he murmurs, averting his gaze, when a mission keeps him away a bit too long and their video calls are their only chances to see each other for two weeks. That one makes McCree’s chest ache viciously.

--

“What do you think?” McCree asks, turning to Hanzo for approval. He hasn’t worn this suit in a good long time, and he’s not too sure about the fit anymore, but he’s not keen on getting a new one and he can’t very well walk into tonight’s swanky event in jeans and spurs.

Hanzo eyes him up and down slowly, reverently. McCree lets himself feel a little proud. Must not fit too bad after all.

“It is very good,” Hanzo says. He steps into McCree’s space, taking the ends of his tie in both hands. He leans up, brushing his lips against McCree’s jaw. “Estoy muy guapo.”

McCree can’t help the sudden laugh that bursts forth. Hanzo looks up at him, startled and affronted. “What?” he demands. “I am certain that was the right word.”

McCree coughs, clears his throat, swallows down the chuckles that still threaten to be known. “I know what you were goin’ for, sugar,” he says, “but you conjugated that a bit wrong. Just called yourself handsome.”

Hanzo frowns thoughtfully, and McCree can all but see him running through the words in his head, trying to pinpoint the mistake.

“Well,” Hanzo says after a moment, “that one is also true.“

McCree doesn’t even try to hold back his laughter this time, and Hanzo laughs too, shaking against McCree’s chest with the tie still gripped in both hands. “Well,” McCree says, “thank ya anyway, sweetheart. The effort’s appreciated.”

–

That suit only last about six hours. Between the two bullet holes in the back of the coat (a small price to pay, considering the bullets almost ended up in the back of him), and now Hanzo’s hands desperately ripping the thing off of him in the heat of the you-were-almost-hurt-and-I-need-you-now frenzy that followed the near-miss, it never stood a chance. McCree doesn’t mind much.

“What do you want?” McCree asks breathlessly as Hanzo pushes him back onto the bed, already worming a hand past the band of Hanzo’s pants.

“Anything,” Hanzo says through his teeth. His hands come up to frame McCree’s face and draw him into a hard, sweet kiss, and when they break, he lingers, lips brushing McCree’s.

“Tu,” he murmurs. “Solo te necesito.”

Hearing Hanzo use Spanish to say he needs him is certainly more of a turn-on that McCree had expected and immediately lights a spark in his gut, but it’s the utter sincerity in Hanzo’s voice, the grip on his face that’s just this side of too tight, the worry in Hanzo’s brow that hasn’t unknit since McCree first got back from the mission that cause something in McCree’s chest to twist painfully.

“Alright,” McCree says, throat tight. “You got me. You always got me.”

–

In a way, McCree sees this one coming. It’s three syllables and damn near everyone in the Western world has heard it in some form, so he imagines Hanzo probably picked up on it ages before he actually started trying to learn anything. It should be cheesy and terrible. 

Still, though, he is not prepared–not for the way Hanzo’s lips form the words against the back of his shoulder as they lie together in bed, not for the hitch in Hanzo’s voice as he starts to speak, not for the way Hanzo’s hands tighten minutely around his middle, not for the low, nervous, wonderful rasp of Hanzo’s voice murmuring, “Te amo.”

It takes a long moment for McCree to trust himself to speak. He wraps a hand around Hanzo’s, brings it to his lips, presses a kiss to the backs of the knuckles. “Me too,” he whispers. “Me too, darlin’.”

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Styles & Co || Chapter 20

Authors Note: I am so sorry it took me so long to finally get this out, but I really didn’t want to rush or half ass this chapter, I am still not satisfied with it, but it will do, I can sit here all day and nitpick at it. With that being said, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter as much as I have enjoyed writing it!! 

Rated M for Mature audiences: May contain, violence, sexual content and/or strong language. Don’t forget the other links: Can also be found on WattPad, HERE Previous parts found HERE  You can find my blurb Master list HERE 

                                      The Twelfth of May, 2021.

                                                       ||Elise||

“I love you, not only for what you are but for what I am when I am with you. I love you, not only for what you have made of yourself but for what you are making of me.” -Roy Croft.

Six years ago if someone had informed me that the Green eyed twenty-one year I stumbled across would be a multimillionaire, I would have laughed and rolled my eyes. If I had of been told that I would be marrying the CEO of the multimillionaire company—I would have questioned whether they were sober or not— not for any reason but the fact Harry and I, when we met, were not the marrying type.

But, here I am, standing in front of a mirror with a stunning A-line dress complimenting my figure in every way, trailing flawlessly behind me as the crystals of the dress shine against the lighting of the bridal room. The dress shows a lace bodice, pleated Romance satin belt at the waist, and finishes itself off with a soft Vicenza organza skirt- I couldn’t ask for a more perfect dress that isn’t remarkably extravagant, but instead, demure and sophisticated.

I have been challenged countless time this morning if I am nervous and to be honest, I am not. I know exactly what I am wandering down the aisle to; I am walking to spend the rest of my life with the person I love more than life itself. There isn’t any ounce of me that is scared, nervous, or hesitant to the decision I am making—I am walking to my future, to the rest of my life, and it is the best rest of my life I could ask for.

This is our kind of meant to be. This is our story, our happily ever after.

My Bridesmaids, covered in various A-line, floor length, dresses in chiffon Light Blue, circle me one last time, making sure every inch of my dress, hair, and accessories are in the right place, refusing to permit anything to be out of order. I take in one last breath and chuckle to myself, amused by bridal party as they continue to gawk at me.

“Well, I think I am about ready, if I take any longer I think he will start pacing the cathedral floors’ if he isn’t already.” I beam towards my bridal party, all their eyes flickering to glance at me instead of the dress, or the hair.  

Harry’s sister raises a brow as her lips crook into a smirk in the exact same way her brother does, “He is already pacing, quite amusing to watch.” Her voice travels softly around the room, the bridesmaids nodding and snickering. Gemma has always gotten a rise out of her brother’s nerves when they arise to the occasion.

“Let’s not keep him waiting.” I grin, “So, I have something borrowed,” referencing the necklace draping around my neck,  “something new,” I chime with a smile, my eyes catching a glimpse of the heels peeking out from under my dress as I clasp my bouquet of flowers in my hand, “and… where’s the blue?” My eyes abruptly widen as the thought of not having something blue flows through my mind. “No, I forgot the ring,” I mumble, disappointed in myself for neglecting the ring Harry picked for my something blue. It would just be my luck to forget something on my wedding day

“Calm down, I have a gift for you,” Gemma immediately hushes me, halting me mid panic. She hands me a velvet box, “My brother said you’d probably forget something new or blue,” she grins, taking my bouquet of flowers from my hands and placing the box in them.

I open the box and find a gorgeous bracelet with sapphire stones, surrounded by diamonds. Even on our wedding day, he has managed to know me better than I know myself, how he knew I would forget something, I do not know.

“The doors to the entrance are closing, we need to start lining up,” Gemma informs me, giving me a small smile of encouragement.  

While standing outside the large doors, I can apprehend the whispers of the guests, and for a moment I wonder what they are talking about. I always found myself discussing the flowers and the nerves of the groom when attending weddings. 

The guests hushed voices grow silent the moment I over hear the priest, “Please stand for the bride.” 

I smile to myself glancing down at the flower girl and the ring bearer, both clothed adorably in their small outfits with their dainty little smiles. The flower girl lines the aisle with white rose petals as she steps in front of me, my father takes my arm and commences to escort me down the aisle, the aisle that I practiced shuffling down the other night at the rehearsal, but now, now it feels completely different, the aisle seems longer and narrower as we cruise down it slowly. I politely smile at the guests who have their eyes on me, staring at me intently, trying to get a glimpse of my dress, the flowers, and everything else possible that people look at when the bride walks down the aisle.

As I wander down the aisle to the rest of my life, my eyes meet the ones I fell in love with many years ago. I never thought the sparkling eyes of grey would be waiting for me at the end of the aisle with tears in them.

I glance down at him as I walk closer, my emotions full of nothing but love for the man before me. His eyes shine radiantly within the cathedral, glistening brighter than a thousand stars. His lips curve into a sweet smile as he subtly wipes a delicate tear from his eyes. He has never been one to show much emotion; I have only seen a few tears shed those beautiful eyes over the years and never have they been matched with the wide smile covering his lips.

I stand before Harry, my father still on my arm before I feel him parting ways with me. 

The end of the aisle signifies a new beginning. 

I turn to my father, his eyes welling up with tears at the thought of having to give his little girl away. Even though he has known this day was coming, I don’t think anyone could prepare him for this, I don’t even think I am entirely prepared for this and I’m the one getting married. 

My Father gives me a tightly squeezed hug before pressing a lovely kiss to my cheek before presenting me to my Groom, he places my hand with Harry’s before stepping away, allowing me to begin my new forever.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness this man and woman join together in holy matrimony.” The priest welcomes our guests, essentially beginning to unite our family and friends’ as one.

Harry holds my hand before he is given the queue to express his vows, vows that he has kept a secret from me.

We agreed we would write our own vows and take each other by surprise on the day, it was his idea, it was something he was adamant to partake in.

He clears his throat before taking a deep breath.

“Six years, that is 2,190 days, 52,560 hours, you have graced my life with your unconditional love, today, today I promise to spend the rest of my life with you, and only you. I choose to spend every day with you, through the ups and downs, and to be faithful and encouraging. I choose you as my best friend, my love, and my wife for as long as we live. I promise to cherish you through everything, to be your anchor when you need it, to be the shoulder you cry on, and the one to hold you up when you’re down. On days when you can only give twenty percent effort, I will give the other eighty. You have shown me what it is like to be in love, and I promise to devote my love to you. I promise to make you feel loved and to remind you every day how beautiful you are to me. I take you to be my wife, to have and to hold, in tears and in laughter, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish from this day forward, I do.”

My eyes glaze over from his words, words that I had never expected to hear, even on our wedding day.

Everyone eyes become focused on me, their dazing gazes waiting for my devoted vows written for the man in front of me. I take a deep breath, my lip quivering, my glossy eyes threatening to allow a few tears to fall. He gives me a reassuring smile as his hands benevolently squeeze mine before I shakily begin to say my vows.

“The last six years have been memorable, we have had our ups and downs, but I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything else. We have grown with each other and taught each other various things, six years ago, I never thought I would have such a comprehensive understanding of the business world. Six years ago, I don’t think you thought you would know how to cook a roast without calling your Mum or sister to help you when things go wrong. You have shown me unconditional love and support, you have held me at my weakest and stood by me at my strongest. You have done nothing but encourage me throughout the years and I hope I have done the same. From this moment, I take you as you are, the man I fell in love with years ago. I take you as the grey eyed man that swept me off my feet at the age of 21. I love you for who you are and what I know of you, I love you for everything you do, for the way you hold me and the way you put others first. I vow to give you my deepest love and affection, to honour you, and to uplift you when the going gets tough. I vow to be faithful, to give you my fullest devotion, and my tenderest care through the pressures of the present and the uncertainties of the future. I will stand by your side and respect each and every decision you make for yourself and for us. I will stand by you as your wife, your best friend, and your number one fan. I vow to love you, through sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer.”

*** *** 

“Hey, they’re ready for our first dance,” I beam up at Harry, his eyes flicking down at me before he presses a kiss to my lips,

“Do we have to?” He whispers, curving his lips into a scanty pout, “My dancing skills have not improved,” he informs me, causing a chuckle to emerge from my lips.

“Mhm, I am eager to see what song you picked from my list,”

“Would now be the right time to tell you that I didn’t pick one from your list?” Harry questions, his proposal catching me off guard, I give him a small shrug of the shoulders as he takes a sip of his beer.

He takes my hand and guides me to the dance floor, being extra careful of my wedding dress that he has already stepped on a few times. He brings me to the front of him, a wide smirk painted across his face.

The first few piano chords send my mind wondering for what song has been chosen for our first dance, but I am abruptly distracted by the gleaming green eyes staring into mine, my heart fluttering at the sight of his lips arcing into a smile. "I’ll try not to step on you this time,” He snickers as he draws me in closer, his hand securely pressing to the small of my back while can’t help falling in love with you, plays around us.

“Think the dance lessons paid off,” I wink, teasing Harry as he flicks his eyes to the floor, making sure he isn’t stepping on the dress.

He looks back at me, a crooked grin forming across his lips, “Enough out of ye’,” .. “Fuck, sorry darlin’,” he mutters, catching the edge of my shoes.

I chuckle to myself before smiling up at him and shaking my head. “You’re forgiven, Mr.Styles,”

“Thank you, Mrs.Styles.” … “Told ya we needed the extra lessons,”

“You needed the extra rehearsal,” I wink, playfully teasing him as he rolls his eyes.

“Come here you,” he gently tugs me even closer, closing the gap between us, a brave move on his behalf considering he is likely to step on my toes again.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can’t help falling in love with you,” the sound of his voice humming in my ear is something I don’t hear often, but when I do, it is the most soothing, and heart-melting thing. I could never grow tired of hearing the sound of his voice being whispered in my ear, no matter how old we may get. The sound of his voice melts my heart, it is something I tend to cherish more because it is rarely heard, he never hums or sings in front of other people. I feel privileged to hear him sing softly in my ear.

He looks at me and gives me a small smile, “Darlin’ don’t cry,” … “Being married to me isn’t that bad,” he snickers, causing a sniffled giggle to escape my lips.

“They’re happy tears,” I assure him, trying to smile up at him as he continues to wipe away a few of my tears.

As the song ends, I can’t help but stay focused on the two of us, there is no other place I would rather be at this moment then completely and utterly in love with the man in front of me. 

He carefully guides the pad of his thumb over my cheeks, wiping away a few tears before pulling me into him, his arms wrapping around me, “I love you, and I fall more and more in love with you with every passing day. You, my dear, have made me the happiest man alive by marrying me.” His voice whispers in my ear before distance is put between us.

“I love you,” I smile, taking his hand as the dance floor becomes flooded with our guests.

We stand at the bridal table, Harry reaching for his beer as I adjust my dress for the hundredth time for the evening. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Anastasia and Niall snuck off,” Harry begins with a cheeky smile, his eyes flickering over towards their empty seats at our table.

I raise a brow, curious as to where they snuck off to, “No way,” I glance around the area, trying to find the two of them who I thought would be dancing on the dance floor and flirting it up. They have been flirting for the last year, for some odd reason they have yet to make anything official, for what reason, I do not know. 

“I saw them slip off halfway through our dance, that’s firing grounds, right? Leaving during our first dance,” Harry jokes, placing his beer down on the table, his hands reaching for his tie around his neck.

“Nah, I like Niall at the business, he sends you home occasionally,” I grin, helping Harry with loosening his tie that has been bugging him since he put it on this morning.

“I still don’t see why I can’t just change into sweatpants and a t-shirt, this is so uncomfortable,” Harry huffs, drawing at the ends of his tie until they are no longer bound and just draped around his neck loosely.

“Stop your whining, Styles,” I lean up and kiss his lips quickly, finally stealing a kiss without being interrupted by our guests.

“You know,” he trails off, biting his lip, “We could slip out like Anastasia and Niall did,” he gives me a devilish grin, his eyes beaming radiantly at me before giving me a subtle wink.

I playfully hit his shoulder, shaking my head in disapproval, we can not slip out of our own reception…. Can we? No, no, that is not okay.

Harry gasps as I bite my lip and look away from his gaze. “You’re thinking about it,”

I shake my head, disputing his comment, “I am not,”

“You are! I see it in your eyes, you’re blushing,” he lowers his voice, “admit it,”

“Shut up, Styles,” I whine playfully, trying my best to hide the thoughts swirling through my mind on whether or not we could get away with sneaking away for a little bit.

A smile dangles in the corner of his plump pink lips, “Mrs.Styles,” Harry gasps with a wide grin,

“Mr.Styles,” I mimic his tone of voice, “you’re being naughty, stop,” I playfully scold as our flower girl stops at our legs and looks up at us with her bright smile.

She tugs on Harry’s hand and he gazes down at her, “Hey, cutie,” he extends his arms and picks her up and holds her on his hip, “are you having fun?” he bounces her and she shrugs, giving Harry and I a pouty look. “Aww, what’s wrong? Hmm?” he queries, giving her his undivided attention, his hand already moving to rub her back a little bit. She mumbles something I can’t quite make out. “It’s okay sweetie, here, I will dance with you. You don’t need those boys,” Harry assures her, “You’ll have to ask Elle if it is okay if I dance with another lady,” Harry tenderly pokes the little girl. She shyly looks at me, her hand pressed to Harry’s shoulder, her eyes glistening shyly at me.

I give her a reassuring smile, “I can make an exception, I have to warn you, you will have to teach him, he isn’t good at dancing,” I press my hand to her little arm before kissing her cheek,

“Thanks, darling,” Harry rolls his eyes, “I’ll find you in a little bit,” he leans over and kisses my cheek before wandering off with our flower girl.

                                                  || Harry ||

I am distracted from finding Elise when the familiar voice I can’t stand catches me off guard, "Harry, can I talk to you?” Logan enters my site of view, diverting me from finding Elise. “I don’t want to hear whatever bullshit that’s about to come out of your mouth, Meyer. Not tonight.” I shake my head, to be quite honest, I don’t care for anything he has to say, he isn’t really here at my reception because I want him here. “Harry, fucking listen.” He groans, his tone of voice becoming more of a plea than anything. “I’m all ears,” I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest as I stare at him, quite amused by the fear in his eyes and pleading tone of voice. He takes a breath “I’m in trouble, Harry.” “I give zero fucks,” I shrug, His eyes crinkle with fury as he doesn’t get the reaction he had hoped for, “This is serious, Harry.” “I don’t care, Logan. Your fuck ups are your problem.” His body stiffens at my remark, “So, you won’t help me?” he challenges, not amused with me in the slightest, and to be honest, I don’t give a damn. “Why the fuck would I help you?”  “You know exactly why.” I chuckle to myself, finding humour in his ridiculousness, “You’re mistaken. You know that means shit to me.” I mutter, knowing precisely what is is he is referring to. “I have a wife to get to,” I venture to dismiss him and the conversation. “I don’t know what Elise sees in you, she’s too good for a dickhead like you.” Logan bitterly mutters, a clear indication he is not satisfied with me and my refusal. He isn’t used to not getting his own way. “You’re right, she’s way out of my league,” I agree, “Whatever, I think someone is after me, Harry.” Logan breathes out, taking me by surprise. 

Surely he is kidding.

“Huh, well, it isn’t me… if that’s what you’re getting at. I’ve been busy planning a wedding and running a business to be after you.” 

“Good to know it’s not you trying to get rid of me. The breaks in my car were cut, other things have happened.” Who wants to hurt Logan to that extent? Sure, he’s an annoying fucking twat who pries into my business and tries to copy my company, but I’d never go as far as tampering with his car. 

He must have really pissed someone off for things to go that extreme. 

“I guess you should stop pissing people off, me included.“

The muscles in his face tighten, his eyes burning with hatred, fury not suiting his appearance in the slightest, “I don’t know why I came to you, you’d be the one to want my breaks fucking cut anyway.” “Ehh, kinda.” I shrug with a dead pan expression, not being too sympathetic to the fact Logan has an X on his back for the time being. “Look, if I was you, I’d stay quiet and not fuck around, that means don’t do shady shit. If you haven’t noticed this is my damn wedding night, so go fuck off somewhere and stay out of trouble.” I mutter, stepping around him and storming away. My sister pulls me to the side, her hand wraps around my wrist tightly with no intentions of letting me go. I frown for a moment, perplexed as to why she could be doing such a thing. “I have never seen your eyes so dark, why were you so rude to him?” She immediately questions, gesturing towards Logan as he settles himself at the bar with a beer in his hand. “I need to find Elle,” I clear my throat, having no desire to have such conversation with my sister, not now. 

She shakes her head with the same determination to her eyes that she has always had, “Harry, it’s not like you.” “I really need to find my wife,” I press, doing my best to avoid the conversation my sister is prying for. “Elise is fine, you clearly are not.” She murmurs, demanding me to pay attention to her as her voice becomes more firm, “what the hell was that about Harry?” She presses, her eyes staring into mine the same way our mothers does when she is exceptionally angry and wanting answers. 

I sigh and chew on my bottom lip, unsure of how to wiggle myself out of whatever Gemma may have seen. “He’s just Elise’s boss,” I grunt, not wanting to give her too much detail, all she, and everybody else needs to know is that he is Elise’s boss and it was out of courtesy for me to invite him… the fact that him being here is more of a sly business decision doesn’t need to be announced. “So why were you so angry?” “I just—I don’t think we need to discuss this. Do you know where Elle is?” I keep my voice low, trying not to lose my patience, I can’t, not tonight. I go to step away, but my sister’s hand catches my wrist again, dragging me back. “I think we do,” she disputes, staring me dead in the eye with no intentions of letting me leave this conversation. “Gemma, you do not want to go there,” I warn her with a strict sounding tone, she should know better than to challenge me and my better judgment. “You’re being shady, you have been for a while. Tell me. Or do I need to ask your wife?” Gemma narrows her eyes, somewhat threatening me with going to Elise. Elise does not need to know about my encounter with Meyer, all Elise needs to worry about is cutting the cake and enjoying her time as my new wife. “You’re like a dog with a bloody bone, you don’t give up, fuck.” I grouse, beginning to feel frustrated, “that’s Logan Meyer, take note of how he walks and talks and you’ll figure it out.” I mutter, gesturing towards Logan. My sister’s eyes flicker from me to Logan, narrowing down and observing him eagerly as she stands beside me. After a moments silence and my eyes scanning the area for Elise, Gemma breaks the muteness with a gasp. “Harry… is that—” “Yes, that’s him.” I nod, already knowing what my sister is referencing when she motions towards Logan. “Does anybody know?” “No, just you. Keep it that way.” I inform her, getting ready to step away from the conversation before it becomes something I do not want. “Not even Elle?” “Not even Elle, now I really need to find her, excuse me.” I excuse myself from my sister, walking away before she can even attempt to pull me back in. I don’t need, nor want her interrogations and curiosity. — “I’ve been looking all over for you,” I smirk as I ultimately make an appearance in front of Elle. I seem to have lost her for quite a while, unintentionally. “I’ve been trying to find you,” She responds, and I take note of how her eyes are glistening radiantly at me, a certain glance in her eye indicating she’s currently attempting to intently read me. I cock my head to the side and observe her features, finding it adorable the way her eyes narrow to focus on me and the way her brow raises slightly when she’s striving to figure me out. “you’re pissed, what’s the matter?” She directly summons, her eyebrows furrowing as I attempt to cover up my expression with a faked smile that I know she can see right through. “’M fine, darling.” I shake my head and assure her, “You sure?” She questions and I take a step closer, encircling my arms around her lower waist and drawing her closer to my body. “I’m sure,” I murmur, leaning down and kissing her lightly before trying to deepen the kiss, only for us to be interrupted, as usual. I sigh heavily and flick my head towards one of my mates. 

I’m honestly getting annoyed with the amount of times we get interrupted every time we find each other. Elise tries to step away as I converse with my mate, but I benevolently tug her back closer to me, not wanting her to wander off again.

I politely cut the conversation short and dismiss my mate, allowing my full attention to go back to my lovely wife. “You okay, sweetheart?” I question, “I need to get out of this dress,” … “it’s getting too damn heavy and hot.” She groans, “Mmm, how I’d like that dress on the floor of the room,” I whisper, her eyes widening before her hand playfully hits my arm, “let’s go upstairs,” I gesture towards the exit doors. “Harry, we can’t,” Elise softly responds, her hands pressing against my chest as she looks at me with her gorgeous eyes and smile. “We can, don’t you want to take this dress off?” I question, gingerly running my finger up the side of her dress. “We can’t leave our own reception early,” Elise whispers as I wrap my arm around her. It’s midnight, our wedding is technically over, and we can do whatever the hell we want, it’s our wedding anyway. “Smile if you want to have sex with me.” I intentionally make her blush and beam with the cheesy pickup line, her head burying into my chest. “You said yourself that you need to get out of the dress,” I comment with a grin, eager to help her out of the dress that has been playing with my emotions all damn day. “We can’t,” Elise pulls away her eyes flickering to our guests behind us, “Addilyn is signalling for me, I’ll catch you in a minute.” Elise promptly kisses me and steps past me. I carefully grab her and pull her back, “Harry?” She questions, trying not to smile, “I think I ought to tell you what people are saying behind your back. Nice ass!” I lower my voice, and she rolls her eyes playfully, “You’re naughty,” she grins before she is off, leaving me to find myself at the bar. 

I swear she has been teasing the fuck out of me all night, gently tugging on my tie, giving me that crooked, adoring grin of hers, and flashing those eyes at me. With a drink in my hand, I watch our guests dancing and having fun, drinking and socialising. 

I never knew until recently how much fucking effort goes into planning a wedding. I got the better end of the deal and was handed the easier things to deal with, I really give Elle credit for stringing most of the wedding together. I swear the woman can do anything— even when she has to deal with working with Logan— that prick. I plan to convince her to quit once we get back from our honeymoon, I don’t really require her to work with him anymore. I have all the information I need to continue to triumph him. He is no real threat to me business wise, he has no more leverage over me. The files are gone, burnt to ashes. My eyes darken the moment Logan comes into view. He steps closer and shakes his head, “I come in peace.” “Mhm.” I sound, not amused by him what so ever. Our previous encounter wasn’t peaceful nor wanted. “Congratulations on getting married,” he offers his hand and I politely shake it. “Thank you,” I nod before taking my hand away and showing dominance over him. He takes the hint and leaves me to lean against the bar with my drink. I see Elise walking closer and I smile, unable to take my eyes off of her. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a mind like mine?” I greet as she steps closer, “You flirting with me, mister?” Elise grins, and I give her a shrug, I give her a grin and cocky wink, “Have been for a while,” my gaze dipping to her décolletage. “Uh-huh.” She hums, “That’s a nice shirt. Can I talk you out of it?” that smile dangling in the corner of his lips killing me with each second that passes. Damn, I am one lucky guy. “Oh darling, it’ll take more than that.” I wink. She stands in front of me and takes my hand before pressing her body closer to mine, her lips pressing to my ear, “upstairs?” She murmurs delicately, a small chuckle flying my lips. “Dunno,” I abruptly stop when she subtly glides her hand over me.

“Those are some nice pants! Mind if I test the zipper?” She challenges in a seductively teasing tone, her hand causing my head to spin. Holy fuck. I take a breath and move my lips to her ear, “This Liquor is not the only hard thing around here, let’s go.” I whisper, her hand giving me sanity when it leaves the outside of my pants. I take her hand and promptly guide her out the doors of the reception, not caring about the guests that have still not left. While we walk, all I can think about is her and how wonderful it will be to finally take her as my wife... Oh, how I have been waiting so long for this night. We are stopped for the fourth time and I sigh, bothered that we continuously have been stopped the entire night. “Harry, we never finished our conversation,” my sister smiles at me, letting me know that she’s not going to let go of what was previously said and mentioned. “I’m sorry to cut it short, jus’ trying to get her to the room,” I half smile, trying to sound polite but also firm. I have been trying to get my wife to our hotel room for the last three hours, I’m not going to be defeated this time around. “Did the reception end?” She raises a brow, “Mm no,” I shake my head, “she’s not feeling the best, think the whole day has exhausted her, we will be back down in a little bit… Maybe.” I dismiss my sister, ushering Elise along towards the elevators. “Lying to our guests for a quickie isn’t how I thought our wedding night would be,” Elise’s voice echoes through the quiet elevator and I chuckle. She has a point. “Who said it would be a quickie?” I question, earning myself another spirited hit to my arm. I’ve been on quite the roll with my sexual jokes this evening, especially in the last two hours. 

I gingerly drive her against the wall of the elevator, my hand cupping her face as I brush my lips against hers, waiting for her to consent to what is being initiated. My touch sends light shivers down her body, something I have grown accustomed to acknowledging.  She takes me by surprise when her hands clutch my shirt and she takes bold possession of me, her tongue slipping into my mouth, entirely giving me a run for my money with the way her lips work in perfect sync with mine; I no longer give a damn about her lipstick, I have waited long enough to ultimately take advantage of it and smear it to my delight. 

She pulls me harder against her, her fingers digging into my shirt as she lightly groans deep in her throat. I can taste the champagne against her lips and can feel the eagerness between the two of us.

Her taste is something I could never get enough of.

I pull away the second I feel the elevator stop, she lets out a breath and I wipe away some of the smeared lipstick across her lips. She stares at me, her eyes holding the same daring love that my own do, there is nothing more in this life I could want more than her. She is everything I have ever wanted and dreamed about. “I love you,” the words slip effortlessly from my tongue, and she leans up and caresses her lips again to mine, teasing me and breaching my every defence. 

“I love you,” the words become muttered against my craving and greedy lips. I take a breath and step away from her, every nerve in my body wanting to latch onto her and kiss her deeper and longer, but I can’t…I have to wait… I take her hand, our fingers intertwining before we step out of the elevator.  We reach the door of our hotel room and unlock the door, “Wait,” I stop her from stepping through the door. 

She immediately stops and glances at me with a confused expression, “I have to carry you, it’s tradition.” I inform her, wasting no time in picking her up bridal style and stepping through the room. I thrust the door shut with my foot and her lips latch to mine, her arms circling my neck. The feel of her instantly sends my heart rate to quicken, she is so eager and demanding, it is hard for me not to throw her to the bed and take her. The enticing image of her under me flashes through my mind as I lead her further into the room. I carefully put her down, steadying her to her feet. Her warm hand takes mine and her gorgeous eyes flash up at me.

“We did it,” she murmurs with a grin, 

“We did,” I nod, as I feel her fingers gliding over the wedding band on my finger, “Mrs.Styles, you have made me the happiest man alive, you know that, right?" 

Her fingers stop fiddling with my wedding band and instead intertwine with my own, "I do… I love you.”

“With all my heart,” I brush my lips against hers lightly, “I love you,” I murmur against the softness of her lips…

[ooobirdy]

Let go (A hurt/Comfort Hamilfam one-shot)

He was in shock.

Hamilton didn’t get fired. Hamilton got other people fired with his big mouth, but had never had it happen to himself.

The kicker? He not only got fired, he was unhirable from his less than satisfactory exit.

Don’t punch your boss square in the face, kids. It doesn’t bode well for anyone at all.

Words: 2,411 Tags: Hamilfam (including all the kids. all of them), swearing, inappropriate conversations, mentions of being fired, emotional distress at being fired, and comfort from multiple sources, John Adams is a dick, and Burr is here too Pairing: Eliza Schuyler/Alexander Hamilton (they’re married, it’s an established relationship) Alternate Universe: Modern era, the government branch officials and politicians work at a banking firm

The door shut with a resounding click. It was too quiet. All the kids were at school, and his Dearest Eliza was working. Heh, working.

Alexander ran a hand down his face, sighing heavily as he set down his briefcase on the table, shuffling from the room. It’d be hours before his family came home. It gave him time to think, to try to gather his bearings and understand what he had truly done.

He was in shock.

Hamilton didn’t get fired. Hamilton got other people fired with his big mouth, but had never had it happen to himself.

The kicker? He not only got fired, he was unhirable from his less than satisfactory exit.

Don’t punch your boss square in the face, kids. It doesn’t bode well for anyone at all.

His metaphorical pink slip weighed heavy on his mind. Maybe fast food was hiring… He needed a job to support his family. What he really needed was something that matched his banking finance, but that wasn’t coming his way anytime soon, his former employer would make damned sure of it.

Alexander flopped down at the breakfast bar, hiding his face in his hands as he shook with barely contained rage and grief at his stupid decision. It wasn’t just him he was hurting with that stupid move. It was his family. They could still live on a budget with his wife’s paycheck, but that just wouldn’t be fair to his family, especially said wife.

He had made a mistake, but was too stubborn, too prideful to admit it to anyone but himself.

The Caribbean man slid his face from his hands, sighing again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

How would Eliza even react to this news? He’d had it where they could live and still splurge if they wanted to… Would his wife even want to remain with him?

His phone buzzed in his pocket and Alexander froze, blood turning to ice, breath hitching. He stayed like that for the full minute his phone went off before finally fishing the object out of his pocket and checking who had been calling.

Aaron Burr?

Alexander called him back.

“Alexander?”

“Aaron Burr, sir?”

“I...I heard what happened. If it’s of any consolation, you have my condolences.”

Alexander scoffed, laughing mirthlessly.

“It’s just a job.”

“Which you’re probably beating yourself up about.”

“...”

“Your silence says all I need to know.”

Alexander sighed, running a hand down his face.

“You’ve only called to express pity, and as much as I appreciate it, I don’t rightly need it. I do, however, need to figure out what the hell i’m going to do to support my family..”

“Jobs aren’t that easy to find, Alexander.”

“Gee, Burr, it’s like I didn’t know that already.”

“Hey, I’m not here to be mocked, I’m just being honest.”

“Be honest elsewhere, sir.”

“Your pride is gonna be the death of us all.”

And with that, the line clicked to a close, static playing over the phone. Hamilton frowned.

“Ah, jeez…”

Setting his phone aside, Alexander paced the hallway of his empty foyer. What was he going to do? Should he apologize? Get on his knees and beg Adams, the bastard, for forgiveness? Should he shut up and let the man scorned become him? Should he immediately go a print a new resume and hope for the best? Jeez, what if he ended up a cashier again? He hadn’t been in retail work in almost ten years, he doubted he’d be able to do it flawlessly if it came to that.

That’s when it hit him.

Law school.

He had never finished being a lawyer!

Would they still take him?

Would Burr recommend him?

Hamilton thought quietly, stopping his pacing before running to his phone and dialing.

Surprisingly, Aaron picked up.

“If you’re calling to yell at me-”

“No, no, quite the contrary, sir!”

Aaron was taken aback by the suddenly chipper man. He had just gotten fired, what the hell had him so excited?

“Your mood flipped pretty easily.”

“Do you still have your lawyer buddies?”

“...Did you do something illegal?”

“No, no, I didn’t do anything like that….Yet.”

“Think of a plausible alibi if you’re gonna do something stupid.”

Alexander laughed.

“You’ve got a dry sense of humor, but it’s definitely still there after all these years.”

“Aging me up, aren’t you?”

“Face it, Burr, you’re old.”

“I’m only a year older than you.”

“I never said I wasn’t getting old. Which, for the record, I’m not.”

It was Aaron’s turn to laugh.

“Why’d you need my lawyer friends?”

Alexander smiled sheepishly on the other side of the phonecall.

“Well, you and I used to work together on cases, and I wasn’t too bad at it. I think it might help? I mean, sure, it isn’t a bank, but I can live with righting injustice and putting wrong doers in their place again.”

Aaron paused, absorbing the information.

“You know this means you can’t blow everything out of proportion, right? You have to redo your training and do as they tell you to do.”

Alexander blew a raspberry into the receiver.

“And not do childish stuff like this.”

“I’m fiiiiiiiiiine. Can they help me, or not?”

“You’re a grown ass man, Hamilton.”

“Are you saying that to my ‘fine,’ or to me asking if they can help, because either way, it works, and it’s disturbing how accurate that is.”

Aaron stifled a laugh on the other side of the phone conversation.

“You’re such a kid, remind me again how you kept the bank afloat in Washington’s wake?”

“Because I’m a fucking badass, and I knew what I was doing. Watch, it’s gonna close under Jefferson and Adams’ thumbs.”

Burr chuckled.

“Your confidence is astounding, Hamilton.”

“Hah, you say that like it hasn’t always been.”

“Just minutes prior, you were a shell of this exuberant facade.”

Alexander rolled his eyes, hmmphing.

Aaron paused.

“I’ll talk to them. I know that’s what you’ve wanted to hear, not to me rambling.”

“You weren’t rambling, Mr. Burr, sir. We were bantering.”

“Still, I apologize. I’ll talk to William, but you should get a hold of Pendleton if you want to see if he still needs a partner.”

“Oh-! I had forgotten all about poor Pendleton!”

“Isn’t he one of your best friends?”

“Yes.”

Aaron facepalmed.

“It’s a wonder you have any friends.”

Hamilton laughed.

“Hey, Aaron?”

Burr blinked.

How...Informal.

“Yes, Alexander?”

“Thank you. For everything. You’re always so succinct and persuasive. I’d botch it somehow, and I appreciate you picking up the phone even after I made it seem like I didn’t need your help. Well, i mean, i didn’t at the time, but still.”

Aaron chuckled.

“I knew you’d come back, either to yell at me, or ask for help, so I kept my phone nearby.”

“Wait- Aren’t you still at work?”

“Lunch break.”

“And you’re spending it talking to me? Geez, Aaron, go feed yourself.”

It was Aaron’s turn to scoff.

“You’re not allowed to lecture me about not eating when you probably haven’t eaten today at all.”

Alexander snickered.

“No need to get so peeved, sir.”

Aaron sighed.

“Just go call Nathaniel. I’ll get with Van Ness, and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“ No problem, Alexander.”

Burr ended the call.

Hamilton felt a little bit more at ease now that he had a plan. All that was left was to tell his wife. But first, time to binge Hell’s Kitchen now that he had free time.

---

Alexander was about ten episodes into Hell’s kitchen when his kids and wife walked through the door, confused to see him there, dressed up in his sweats and with his hair in a messy bun, not in his normal business attire, eyeing his briefcase on the table near the front door wearily.

“You’re home early, pops,” Philip said, flopping down on the couch next to his father.

Alex paused the tv, smiling, albeit strained.

“Heya, Pip, how was school?”

“It went alright. I passed a test with really high marks.”

“ Nice!”

Hamilton’s second oldest child peeked her head around the corner before taking a running start and leaping onto both her father’s, and her brother’s lap, wedging herself into a comfortable position that left both men cringing in pain.

“ANGIE, WHAT THE SHIT!”

“Language,” Alexander laughed.

“She’s squishing my dick.”

“Your dick is too tiny for me to squish, it’s practically concaved.”

Philip shoved her off his lap and onto the floor, fuming.

Alexander Jr. blinked, raising a brow at the display before asking the obvious question looming in the air.

“Dad, how was work? You’re usually not home until a couple hours after us.”

Alexander Jr’s father sighed heavily, curling in on himself.

“Go get your mother and sister, I have an announcement.”

Alex left to go get both Eliza’s, John Church wandering into the room, sipping on a caprisun that were for the younger children, but not really giving a shit otherwise.

“Sup, pops.”

John raised a brow at where Philip and Angelica were bitching at each other, pushing each other in a makeshift wrestling match. Alexander was just watching his children with a far-off look on his face. John could tell something was wrong.

Both Elizas wandered into the room, the eldest one holding her daughter’s hand.

She eyed where her two eldest children were fighting with displeasure before letting her daughter’s hand go and going over, pulling Angelica from Philip, and vice versa.

“Can you two not stop fighting for even five minutes?”

“He’s insulted cause i said he has a little dick.”

Eliza blushed deeply, covering her mouth.

“Angelica!”

Angelica laughed and Philip blushed, looking off to the side angrily.

For once, Hamilton was glad the spotlight wasn’t on him. This was far more amusing.

But it could only last for so long when his little prodigy came back into the room, toting James along with him.

The only one missing was William, but he was probably down for a nap. He was too young to understand ‘fired’ anyway.

Hamilton cleared his throat.

Everyone paused and turned to face the man, and Alexander felt hot under the scrutinizing gazes.

“I’ve called you all here for a reason...”

“Mhmm, yup, we’ve all heard this one before,” Philip said offhandedly, flinching when his father turned and glared coldly at him, actually recoiling to the other side of the couch.

“You asshole,” Angelica said sternly.

Alexander took a breath, running a hand down his face, careful of his glasses.

“As I was saying...There’s no easy way to say this, but it has to be said. I got let go from my job.”

There was a lot of collective gasps, and a sputter of disbelief from Philip, who was spewing apologies for his comment earlier, having thought his father was just going to tell a terrible dad pun.

Little Eliza crawled up into her father’s lap, staring him in the eyes.

“What are you gonna do now, daddy?”

Alexander smiled sadly.

“Daddy’s gonna go and try lawyering again.”

His youngest daughter lit up.

“Lawyering? Daddy’s gonna be a law man?”

Alexander laughed, ruffling his daughter’s dark hair.

“A lawyer, sweetheart.”

“Ooooooh.”

He chuckled, lifting his daughter up and setting her more comfortably on his lap, playing with her hair. He looked up at the rest of his family carefully, trying to gauge their reactions.

“Any questions?”

His wife raised her hand and he couldn’t help but feel more in love. That was such an innocent, dorky thing to do. He loved his teacher wife.

“Yes, love?”

“Why were you let go?”

“I, uh- They didn’t need me at the firm anymore…”

The eldest Eliza looked upset.

“They just let you go out of the blue? That’s horrible!”

Alexander felt a sharp stinging in his chest and sighed, setting his daughter down before getting up and kissing his wife’s cheek, whispering in her ear.

“I’ll explain more tonight, love.”

Philip raised a brow.

“Please don’t use dad getting fired as foreplay.”

His mother balked.

“Philip James Hamilton!”

Alexander was bright red at this point, praying to anybody who would listen that his younger kids didn’t ask what foreplay was.

He considered himself lucky when they brushed to a new topic completely.

---

As they were getting ready for bed, Eliza and Alexander fluffed the pillows and made the duvet, talking aimlessly, just trying to get things about their day out in the open. Eliza’s students had painted flowers.

“They were so lovely, too. They’re very talented kids.”

“I bet,” Alexander replied, changing into his sleep clothes, tossing his others in the hamper and letting his hair down from its messy bun.

Eliza shimmied out of her dress and slipped on her nightgown, trying her hair up and stretching, walking over to the light and flipping it off before walking back to the bed and slipping in. She snuggled into the covers as she waited for her husband to do the same.

He didn’t.

She frowned and sat back up, raising a brow at him in the dark room as her eyes adjusted and she spotted him waiting on the end of the bed, lost in thought.

“Alexander?”

He jolted from his thoughts.

“S-Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“About what, love?”

Alexander sighed, turning to face his wife in the dark room.

“I ran that firm under Washington for years..But then Adams takes over, calls me undeserving, and with the help of Jefferson, the fucker, dethrones me completely..”

Eliza frowned, crawling back out from under the covers and padding over to her husband, sitting beside him and running a hand soothingly over his back.

“Come to bed, sleep it off, love.”

“I punched him.”

Eliza paused.

“What?”

“He called me a creole bastard. So I socked the bastard in the fucking face.”

Eliza sighed, leaning over and kissing her husband.

“Defend your honor in a way that doesn’t hurt someone.”

“He had it coming!”

"You're strong and capable of picking yourself back up even after this, and that's what really matters. They lost a valuable person at the firm today."

Alexander took his wife’s hand.

“And I’d do it again if I could.”

Eliza rolled her eyes, but smiled and kissed Alexander’s forehead.

“Come back to bed, that would be enough.”

And for once, Alexander indulged her.

They’d work through this later, but for now it was time to sleep.

[sleepy-savior]

I normally don’t do this, but I really need to write down my thoughts on Mass Effect Andromeda.

So I’ll start with this; Before you defend Andromeda, let me explain. It has come to my understanding that a lot of the animation bugs don’t happen to everyone. I have them bad, but I have friends who flat out don’t have them, characters are animated fine for them. So, I am talking about my bug riddled experience.

Character Creation

It sucks. There are virtually no options, you can really only take the default faces and tweak them a TINY bit. Usually making them look uglier. Females are slightly better looking, but that’s because all the males look like they’re in their 50′s and out of shape. Animations

So this one is the most obvious complaint. Animations suck. Faces are static, emotionless stares, and most of the time they don’t even stare at the right spot. My character has spent the entire game staring in roughly the direction of faces, but not once has it seemed like they’re actually looking at who they’re talking to. it’s game breaking. And walking, every character walks like they’re trying not to shit themselves. All the time. As for everything else, movements, camera angles, picking things up, interactions, it all looks like a rough draft. Graphically and animation wise the entire game looks like an Alpha for a game two years from release. It’s bad. Voice acting

This has been one of the worst aspects of the game for me. I can handle bad animations, but the voice acting falls just as short. Without the facial expressions, I have no idea what emotion characters are having. Everything just sounds like they’re reading a script with no emotion. The timing is off so people say something and the next person responds IMMEDIATELY after. An example would be that it sounds like “Hey how are yougoodandyou?” and to top it off, the characters tones don’t match, they don’t sound like they’re interacting, they sound like they read lines completely separately from each other. Map design

I might be in a minority here, but I hate the maps. Same issue I had with DA:I, the maps are just... Wrong. They’re simultaneously too crowded and empty. The designs make no sense, layouts of settlements and ruins are just scattered in nonsensical ways. They all look like map designs that would be great in first person, but in third person everything is super far away, yet it also feels like you have no space. I don’t know, I’m picky with map designs, I spent a ton of time as a kid designing maps, cities, all that stuff, so bad designs just really bother me.

New races

The new races feel... Old. They’re just more ‘aliens’ that look like humans in costumes. It takes place in an all new galaxy, they could have gone as crazy as they wanted, and instead the new races just look like a combination of previous races. One looks like the offspring of a Drell/Prothean, the other like a Krogan/Asiari. There’s nothing new or alien about their designs, just more of the same.

Setting

The Andromeda Galaxy setting feels entirely pointless. There are only two new races, the currency, government, everything just feels like the Milky Way still. I have not seen any reason why the game couldn’t just be set at the edge of the Milky Way. They had a fantastic opportunity with this, a whole new home, a six hundred year journey across the blackness of space. New species to discover, new alliances to join or fight, possibly an entirely new system of government to try and figure out. But they focus on none of that.

Story (Spoilers?)

The story is, for me, the most disappointing aspect of the game. It’s just the same story we already had. There was massive opportunity, a massive group of aliens that just showed up to make a home unannounced. They could have made the story about us trying to prove we’re peaceful to species that don’t understand us, made translators useless because the aliens don’t use language like we do. There were was a perfect story lined up, ready to go. and they ignored it and told the same story we just finished. An alien race is using ancient technology, colonies are disappearing, you need to go find out why. They set up for an epic story about overcoming adversity and making peace with radically different species, and instead gave us Collectors with new faces. The stupid (spoilers?)

Deserters. The fact that right off the bat you start running into people that gave up, abandoned mission and defected to do their own thing? Fuck that. These people gave up their home system, traveled millions of light years over six hundred years, and within a year people gave up? That is the dumbest plot device I have ever heard. Again, six hundred years and millions of light years, and they gave up almost immediately. An Ark didn’t show up on time, so they gave up hope. There was no margin for error on that massive journey? Even a 0.00000000001% speed differential than expected would delay or advance a ship by possibly years, and they had absolutely no plans for the most minuscule error margin? Just purely expected everything to go flawlessly while traveling to a new GALAXY? Laziest writing I’ve ever seen.

[eriwrites]

Pages Of Our Story - Namjoon

Pairing: Kim Namjoon | Rap Monster - Reader

Rating: G

Summary: You’re traveling through the country side when you come across a little bookstore in a small town.

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

The air smelled of fresh flowers and summer grasses. The sounds of the city were far behind you, with only a soft rumble of a car passing you on the dirt road every now and then. Warm sunlight filtered down through the trees onto your back, but a soft breeze kept you from getting too hot. The South Korean countryside was incredibly beautiful, you were glad you took the guidebook’s advice to take a few days out of the cities and get to know this area of the country. Another truck rumbled past you, its back filled with children who called out to you and waved as they passed. You smiled and waved back, laughing and twirling in the dust storm the truck brought up. It was just too beautiful out here!

With a glance at your watch, you moved quickly towards the small cluster of buildings in the distance, almost skipping there. Another mile or so till you reached the town and then you could take a break, have lunch, and explore a little.

Birds chirped as you walked by them, calling out and flying away when you got too close. The summer flowers brought in hordes of butterflies that fluttered all around you when you stepped off the road to walk through the flowers a little. Laughing, you plucked a little flower from its stem and placed it behind your ear, snapping a quick photo to send to your friends when you got a wifi connection.

In no time at all you reached the little town, marveling at the cuteness of the buildings. Pictures and guidebooks did not do it justice! Or maybe it was just the atmosphere of the place. Store owners swept up outside their shops, children ran about chasing one another, friends called out to each other from across the street, not bothering to look both ways before they crossed since there wasn’t a car in sight. Who needed one when everything is within walking distance? You quickly found a café, ordering a sandwich and something to drink. Quickly finishing off your meal, you continued to look around the town. There wasn’t a whole lot to do or see, you supposed it was just the tranquility of the countryside that brought tourists to come and look, but once you reached the edge of the town, you were nearly beside yourself with excitement at your find.

A bookstore! An old bookstore with a thatched roof and stonewalls and looked like it had been sitting there for decades. Tall grasses grew up the sides of the walls and a couple trees shaded a small outside reading area from the sun. You stepped inside and were immediately met with the smell of old books and aged leather. You exchanged pleasantries with the owner before he left you on your own to explore the store. Most of the books were in Korean, of course, which you didn’t read very well, but it was still an exciting find. You were so engrossed in the books, you didn’t even hear the door to the shop opening and closing, the storeowner offering whoever entered a soft greeting.

A sudden voice startled you out of your reading.

“H-huh??” You spun around, eyes wide as you tilted your head up to look at the tall man’s handsome face.

“I said, have you found a good book? Though I guess it answers my question since you didn’t even hear me.” The stranger laughed and you offered a confused smile but couldn’t reply since you had no idea what he said. Your Korean was good enough for very simple conversation and asking directions when you were lost, but you were by no means fluent. You caught a few words of his, but not enough to say anything back.

He tilted his head at you in contemplation, or perhaps he was waiting for a reply? With a blush, you fumbled with the book in your hands, bringing it to your chest to hold on to in nervousness.

“U-um, sorry I don’t speak Korean very well,” you stuttered out.

The man let out an ‘Aaahh..’ in understanding before clearing his throat. “You, uh, speak English?”

At his words your heart flipped in your chest. You didn’t think anyone in this little town would speak English! The woman at the café didn’t and you’re pretty sure the bookstore owner didn’t either. But now an extremely handsome man, who seemed to share your love of books, since he was in a bookstore, and spoke English, with an incredibly amazing deep voice, was talking to you! Can you say score?

You nodded hurriedly, a flustered blush overtaking your face as you realized he was waiting for a response while you were practically drooling over him.

“Yes! Yes, I do. Do you? No! I mean, obviously you do, since you asked, I mean, you were speaking it when you asked, so of course you know how to speak English, heh… Well at least a little! Probably? Um, sorry I shouldn’t make that assumption, I mean, I don’t know anything about you and that was rude, I’m so s-“

“Stop, stop! Please,” the man waved his hands in front of you, laughing nervously. “Slow down, I can’t, uh, keep up.”

You slapped a hand to your mouth in horror, face going bright red from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry!! I’m so sorry. Um- ah, do you speak English, uh, well?”

He shook his head. “I speak some, not that much.”

Shoot, so close. But, some was definitely better then none. You could still have a conversation, and maybe he could teach you more Korean!

“My name is Namjoon, by the way.” He offered you a breathtaking smile, your insides practically melting at the little dimple that appeared on his cheek. Giving him your name, he nodded before turning to look at the books on the shelf next to you.

“Um, what did you ask me before?”

Namjoon glanced over at you, sliding a book off the shelf and flipping it open. “I asked if you liked books, since you’re in here.”

“Oh! Yes! I do like them. Books are incredible.” With a fond smile you looked over the store, eyes skimming over the hundreds of bound pages just waiting to be opened. Namjoon watched you with a small smile on his face; entranced by the loving smile you gave the books. You looked back over at him, a blush dusting his cheeks when you caught him looking at you. “Do you like books, Namjoon?”

The way you said his name in that accent of yours sent a pleasant shiver running through him. “I do. I like to come here when I can and just spend hours reading in the outside space. Did you see it?”

You nodded, “Yes! It looks like a fantastic place to read.”

“Would you, um, would you like to head out there then? With me?”

“That would be amazing!” A bright smile spread across your face, sending Namjoon’s heart fluttering like the butterflies that had taken over the flowerbeds. Your smile suddenly fell, though, and a strike of panic went through him, thinking that you were going to say you couldn’t, that you had somewhere else to be, or someone else waiting for you somewhere…? “But, all the books are in Korean and I can’t read it very well.”

With a relived inner sigh, Namjoon smiled, holding out a hand to take the book you were holding. “That’s alright, I can read them to you, if you’d like.”

Did you really hear that right? He’d read them to you in that mesmerizing voice? Did he really just offer to spend possibly hours with you, close together, reading? Your mouth fell open slightly, eyes wide with wonder.

“Um, y-yeah! That would be really incredible, I’d love that.”

His heart skipping a beat at the word ‘love’, Namjoon turned to the bookcase, long fingers skimming over the spines of the books for a good one to read. Placing your book back on the shelf, he pulled another one out.

“This should be a good one, I’ve heard about it. Follow me.” With a wave, he moved towards a door in the back of the shop. You followed quickly, eager to start listening to his voice reading to you and to hear what story he had picked out.

You settled into a comfy couch outside the store, side-by-side, just barely not touching each other. The sun had moved in the sky to perfectly slide through the tree branches over the sitting area, making it easy to read the pages. Namjoon leaned back against the cushions and began to read. You quickly became lost in his voice as he described a country town not unlike the one you were in; with sweeping hills and warm sunlight, dancing grasses and swaying flowers. You pictured the town he described in your mind, the laughter of the children just outside the fenced seating area easily becoming one with your imaginary town. Namjoon continued flawlessly, taking a pause every now and then to think of the English word to translate the writing into. Glancing at his face, you were beyond impressed at his ability. To be able to read the Korean, translate it in his head, and then say it in English was astonishing. He fumbled over a few words and used the wrong grammar sometimes, but you couldn’t even hold a conversation in another language for long, so this was still beyond impressive.

Namjoon continued his reading, flipping through page after page until he suddenly stopped. He licked his lips, brow furrowed in concentration.

“Is something wrong?” You peered over his shoulder at the book.

“Hmm? Oh nothing, I’m just not sure what this word is.”

“Can I see?” You leaned over him, scooting over just a little to see better, your leg touching his. He moved the book so you could see it better, finger pointing at the words he wasn’t sure of. You sounded it out in your head, your little knowledge of the written language being just enough to sound it out. Namjoon smiled at your broken Korean as you said the word. You hummed- you may have known how to say it, but you had no idea what it meant. “Can you explain it? What it means, maybe?”

Namjoon nodded. “It’s, um, a marriage, but they didn’t have a choice?”

“An arranged marriage?”

“Arranged! Yes, that’s the word.”

“Jae-eun is in an arranged marriage?! Oh no, but what about Sejun? Ahh, he’ll be heartbroken.” You looked over at the book, eyes desperately trying to read it to find out what would happen to the young couple. Namjoon laughed at your reaction before he bite his lip and took a calming breath, taking a leap of faith and placing his hand on your knee. Your body immediately tensed and you looked up at him, his smiling face and that cute dimple so close to yours.

“Let’s keep reading and find out what happens, yeah?”

You nodded and he removed his hand from your leg, smoothly moving his arm behind your head so he could move in a little closer and you could see the book’s pages as well. You smiled, a light blush on your face as you leaned into his shoulder. His reading stuttered for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued. You grinned, closing your eyes and creating the beautiful scene of the two lovers in your mind as he described them, meeting in secret beneath the trees, the moonlight shining down on them as they embraced and shared a loving kiss.

[safasaf2018]

Day 26 - 6/27/18

As I predicted, I didn’t sleep last night. Well, I fell asleep for 20 minutes at 6 am, but I’m not sure if that counts. At 8:00 I went to the café where Mehdi was already waiting for me as he had promised. We talked more about life until Reda and Abdallah both showed up as well and sat with us. At 8:30 I had to go meet everyone at the bus so I hugged them all goodbye and left. The bus ride was short, about 3 hours, and I just slept the whole time. When we arrived in Rabat we went to the Center of Learning where our classes will be and immediately had lunch. There were other exchange programs there, so we were surrounded by other American and other international students also eating lunch. We got a delicious lunch of different veggies and rice, and then went to an orientation with Doha, the woman who runs and started the program. She’s the most adorable woman ever, and prepared a slideshow for us to prepare us for life with a Moroccan host family. She talked to us about Turkish squat toilets and buckets for showers, and told us that Moroccan mothers will always shout “kul kul!!!” (”eat eat!!!”) no matter how much we’ve eaten or how little they’ve eaten, they will always replace whatever we’ve just finished. She taught us to eat with three fingers and only using our right hand, and to use bread as utensils. She told us basically not to be stupid when it comes to walking alone at night, but that other than that it’s like any other big city, and finally she gave us our family assignments. It was just a piece of paper with the names of our parents and siblings, what languages they spoke, and if the house had a Turkish or Western toilet. Once we all had our family assignments we went downstairs to wait for them to arrive. They all arrived at around the same time, so it was a mess of Moroccan families coming in and timidly looking for someone they didn’t know. A woman came in with a young girl, and the young girl was holding a piece of paper, and said shyly “Weelow?” I grabbed my stuff and went over and hugged the mom, asked if they spoke French (which they do!), and we went outside to finish the introductions because the inside was busy and full. Outside the mom, Nadia, and the sister, Omaima, introduced themselves to me. Nadia speaks very broken French, but we’re able to communicate relatively flawlessly, and Omaima is studying French at school (she’s 11), so speaks French very well. It was about a 15 minute walk to their house, and I was trying to take in what I was seeing in order to remember it, even though I knew I would forget it all. On the way there Omaima asked me a ton of questions, like what’s my favorite color, and did I like going to the beach. When we got to their house as soon as I walked in the cutest little boy I’ve ever seen ran up to me with a huge smile and gave me a giant hug. He’s 3 years old and his name is Soulaymane. In the living room Mouad, the 16 year-old brother, was sitting down, and said hi to me. I put my stuff in my room and went to the living room to settle in. When the prayer came on, Soulaymane ran to the kitchen and brought the smallest rug I’ve ever seen to the living room and did the prayer motions of standing up, kneeling, bowing, etc. It broke my heart and resurrected it it was so sweet. Nadia told me that he usually does that with his dad but that since his dad was at work he did it alone. Eventually the dad, Mohamed, came home and said, “Good evening, how are you?” in a very thick accent. I answered him in French and in French he said, “Oh you speak French! Thank God.” I stayed for a bit and got to know them, and then left to meet Victor and his host sister to go to the beach. She showed us an old fort with a beautiful view of the beach, as well as the two main beaches and a hidden one you have to climb to. His sister seems to know everyone in town, she said her mom is a social butterfly so everyone knows her, so she talked to every shopkeeper we passed and every local on the beach. On the way back from the beach we stopped at the park and sat down. Throughout the day one of her friends would follow us until they had to go and then another one would come, etc. So the friend that was with us at the time came to the park with us and sat down to hang out. More of her friends came and went, and we finally got bored and went back home. I went back to my house where I went up to the roof. The kitchen is attached to the roof, so you have to walk through the kitchen to get to the roof, and on the roof Omaima, Mouad, and Soulaymane were all playing while Nadia prepared dinner. Omaima was jumproping, Soulaymane was playing with his toys, and Mouad was playing video games with the small TV that was up there. I went between playing with Soulaymane’s toys (which involved throwing things back and forth), talking about video games with Mouad, and sitting at the table talking with Omaima. She had a ton of questions about what I wanted to do in life and why I loved traveling, it was a really sweet talk. She told me that her life goal is to help old people who have no families and orphans, which is something her mom used to do. She’s so so so sweet, I honestly have the cutest host family there is. I also went back and forth from watching the game with Mohamed and being up on the roof with everyone else. When dinner was ready they brought it down and we all sat around the table in the living room. It was a big bowl of pasta in the middle with a large spoon for each of us, and bread to eat with it. I told them that Doha had taught us how to eat Moroccan style, and that Moroccan moms would always say “kul! kul!” They laughed at that and said it was true, and then Nadia went to the kitchen to get something and came back and said, “Willow, kul! kul!” before catching herself and laughing. After dinner a bunch of students went to Mawazine, a huge music festival happening in Rabat, to see Bruno Mars, but a few of us just went to the beach and watched from across the river, which I think was the perfect alternative. The music wasn’t too loud, it wasn’t crowded at all, plus we were on a beach!! There are I think 3 different stages in different parts of the city for the festival, and each has a different theme - globally popular music (the main stage), European artists/DJs, and African/Moroccan artists - and we were watching the Moroccan/African one which was honestly really cool. We admitted at the same time that in the beginning of the trip we didn’t really understand Arabic music and why it was so different from music in other countries, but that now we’ve grown to enjoy it. At 10:00 the music suddenly stopped really early, and we thought that it was over but then prayer came on and we realized they had stopped the music for prayer, which was really cool. Prayer continued and it took about a half hour for the music to come on, because some people can’t pray exactly at prayer time, but then the music came back on and continued for hours longer. Some of the students were nervous to be out so late at night on a beach, but I felt perfectly fine, I really feel safe in Rabat. Or at least comfortable. At one point two men approached us and told us and one of them told us he was a police officer and just wanted to know what we were doing out so late and let us know to be careful. Later a man came up to us asking for a cigarette and then left, then came back later and sat with us. He said that the fishermen where he was sitting watching the music called the cops on him for no apparent reason, so then the cops came and talked to him and realized he was a good guy, so he came to sit with us in case the guys called the cops on us too for loitering or something, so he could talk to the cops. We talked about the music and about Morocco for a while, but then it got to midnight and we had to go home. I really do feel safe in Rabat. It’s funny because as far as Moroccan cities go, Ifrane, where we were studying, is a very small town, and it’s the king’s favorite part of Morocco so it’s very safe and very well kept, but at the beginning of this month I didn’t even feel safe there whereas now I’m in Rabat, a much bigger more “dangerous” city, but I feel comfortable. It seems cleaner than some other cities we’ve been in, but that also might just be me getting used to how cities here work. But I will say that in the medina, where we live, every night a crew of city workers comes and picks up all the trash left behind by the market.