When you wanna post something about how trigger warnings can be both a blessing and a curse, but you know you'll be dragged through actual Hell by the tumblrferals if you post it on The Fandom Dot Com. So instead you make it a blog post and then post the link to that post on The Fandom Dot Com.

Irreverent Pt. 48 - Strings that Bind

Title: Irreverent Pt. 48 - Strings that Bind

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~9K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Every part of you ached as you walked towards your bedroom, past Jack's door, down the long hallway. Your clothes clung to you as you clumsily made your way to the room. There was a shooting pain on your left side from where you'd taken a spill earlier. Your body screamed its protest at your insistence on pushing it to keep moving despite the hell it had endured, yet you force yourself to continue on through the pain. Your brain felt numb and like it had overheated in exertion at the same time. Finally so much made sense and yet, nothing really did. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

As you entered, the room was dark save for the light streaming in from the hallway. You hadn't bothered turning it on yet. The dark felt better. You'd arrived home to a quiet house - Jack asleep already and Mrs. Avery leaving with a quick goodbye, seemingly sensing your desire to not speak much. She was good like that - perceptive, unobtrusive. In a way she reminded you of Mrs. Hernandez from when you were younger. In hindsight, you had more memories of her than you ever did of your own mother, despite her being let go after only a year. Your mother never did manage to keep a nanny around for too long. It wasn't that you were a troublesome child. She simply hated seeing you or Julian growing attached to any of them in particular, and thus kept a revolving door of nannies in and out of the house.

She'd hated that you insisted on calling her Mother. Never Mom or anything else softer - more personal, less clinical. Julian had tried to please her. He'd call her Mom to her face and revert to Mother otherwise. You wouldn't deign to give her that comfort. Participation trophies should be limited to children on soccer fields.

You shuffle into the room, trying to move quietly, peeling the jacket off and letting it fall out of your grasp and onto the floor. You glance over at the empty bed - Aaron was still away on a case. For the best, really. If he saw you right now, he would be able to tell that something was amiss. You reach up to swipe away at the tears that had formed as you'd trudged up the stairs, smearing eyeliner and dirt in your wake. You should go take a shower, clean up the dirt and soot that's coating you like a film. Instead you find yourself lowering against the side of the bed, feet planted to the floor as the tears take over, despite your attempts to keep yourself in check. Hot and wet, running down your cheeks in vain as you think back over the past twelve hours. How had everything gone to shit so fast?

You look up when you hear a shuffling outside your room, only to see Jack standing in the doorway, illuminated by the golden light outside, rubbing at his eyes. You feel a sting of guilt go through you as you realize you must've been loud enough on your way in to have woken him up. It was far too late for him to be awake.

"H–Hello." His voice comes out soft and groggy as he pushes open the door to your bedroom and makes his way inside, forcing more light to fall upon you.

He reaches you before you're able to force yourself to stand. You don't want him to see you like this but it is a little too late for that. Quickly wiping away any remnant tears with the sleeves of your shirt, you look up at his face. "Hey Bud, what're you doing up?"

Jack shrugs as if to say I don't know, just because before settling down in front of you on the floor and crossing his legs. He looks up at you from there and you feel yourself being appraised in a manner eerily similar to Aaron. Between the two of you, you'd raised a kid that was a little too perceptive and observant for his own good.

"Are you okay?" he asks, moving in closer and putting his smaller hand on yours in a way you're quite certain he's seen Aaron do before.

You can feel your heart swell at the care and concern behind his question. You sniff and nod, before forcing a watery smile on your face. "I just miss your dad," you tell him, knowing that at least it wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the entire truth.

Jack watches you for a moment, head tilted to the side as if in deep thought. How deep could a six year old's thoughts even be?

"When I miss you or Daddy, I cuddle with Theo," he says finally, as if he's a little doctor prescribing the medicine to your ailment. You could imagine Jack on the nights neither you nor Aaron is at home, padding over to the shelf where his stuffed toys sit, and reaching over to grab the brown teddy bear that you'd gotten him after Haley passed away. Over the years the bear had been through quite a bit, getting dragged to playdates and the park early on, before retiring to a spot of prominence on the stuffed toy shelf. You'd done your best to keep him clean through all that time but despite that, Theo had gone through quite a few bows – a different color each time. If you weren't mistaken, it was a blue colored bow at the moment.

You smile at him, dragging him closer to you while making sure you aren't getting him dirty in the process. "Does it help?"

He nods. "A little. Then you're both back and I don't miss you anymore. Daddy will be back soon. He promised."

In that moment, you're so grateful that he has Aaron's eyes, because Aaron's eyes are whiskey and Aaron's eyes are honey and they are the first drip of coffee in the morning, helping you warm up and feel safe and at home always. Jack's eyes hold all of his father's heart and comfort but lack the sadness that life has flecked Aaron's with. It makes them better in a way. You could almost imagine it's what Aaron's had once been like.

You have to force yourself to take a deep breath in lieu of doing what you actually want to do, which is simply hold Jack like your own personal teddy bear and rock back and forth while crying. That might freak him out more than he likely already is.

"You wanna be my little cuddle bug for the night? Sleep here?" you ask, standing and lifting him with you as you go.

Jack nods enthusiastically, already moving to climb up onto the bed on Aaron's side. You watch as he makes himself comfortable, before you go get cleaned up.

By the time you emerge, Jack has already fallen back asleep and the only sound is from his gentle breathing. For a split second, you debate running down and grabbing your gun to keep by the bed, just in case. However, you remind yourself that the alarm system is in place and having the gun nearby has a much higher chance of hurting you or Jack than helping.

With that thought squared away, you gingerly lift the covers on your side, before slipping in carefully, so as to not disrupt the sleeping little boy next to you.

You lie awake for a while as you sift through everything that you've learned recently and how that changes things going forward. Tonight had been reckless on your part, and yet absolutely necessary. You couldn't even imagine what might've happened if you'd hesitated or not gone out there. You're once again thankful that Aaron is safely working a case in South Dakota, because you are nowhere ready to talk about everything just then. Nor could you, really. You couldn't actually tell him even if you wanted to – that was the worst part of all.

You're just about to drift away, when you feel Jack shift next to you, rolling over in his sleep to be closer, seeking you out with all of his limbs until you shift to be right next to him. He sighs in his sleep, causing the soft hair that had fallen into his face to flutter up with the next breath. He could use a haircut.

"Mama"

His lips had scarcely moved, eyelids fluttering barely. A single, heavenly word. A whisper into which he breathed life. You freeze as he unconsciously shuffles closer, seeking out your body heat even under the covers. His little fingers tightening into the material of your shirt. You couldn't look away from him if you tried – eyes glued to his sleeping form, his long eyelashes, his angelic face. Your heart thumped and rattled against your ribs before settling in your throat. You didn't dare move. Didn't dare breathe. Just watched him. Watched as he clung to you even in his sleep.

*------------*

The team has been working on a case locally in Maryland, so Aaron has been able to spend the last few nights at home with Jack. He'd come back from South Dakota, in the evening to Jack and Mrs. Avery, having just missed you. The two of you had caught one another on a phone call as he drove to the airport a few states away and you drove to the airport, off to Europe once more. You'd sounded just a little subdued during the short call the two of you share, more so exchanging logistical information regarding Jack and his schedule rather than anything else.

You're supposed to arrive back tomorrow and the three of you have tickets to opening night for the ballet season which Jack has actually been looking forward to quite a bit. He'd already modeled his new outfit for the occasion for his father and when Aaron had looked in his closet, he'd seen a new suit for himself along with a tie matching Jack's bowtie. When you'd found the time to do all that along with preparing a few days' worth of meals and leaving a tray of tiramisu for him in the fridge, was entirely beyond him. As far as he knew, you were only back home with Jack for two days. Two very productive days it seemed like. He had a feeling that meant you hadn't slept much, if at all.

Aaron shifts as he continues to look over the paperwork he was catching up on. Despite an active case going on, it appears the cooling off period for this Unsub was fairly long, and so while the rest of the team ran down some leads, Garcia was digging deeper to see what she could unearth about the case. It left Aaron with a couple of free hours to start logging the ongoing paperwork for this case and catch up on the nearly thirty emails from Strauss around getting JJ recertified for fieldwork, as she had recently returned from her maternity leave (over far too quickly, as he'd been sure to tell her). The two of you had met baby Michael briefly, soon after his birth, going along with the rest of the team to JJ's home, laden with presents. Seeing you hold the baby with the utmost care, cradling him in your arms and softly cooing to him as he made himself at home in your embrace – it had stirred something within Aaron. You'd looked beautiful, your face glowing as you looked down at Michael, your eyes sparkling when you'd looked up and met his. He wanted that. He really wanted that with you.

He looks up then at the framed photo of the two of you on his desk and his heart fills with affection – it was the picture from New York, the two of you kissing on that red carpet. Dave had gone and gifted a framed copy to everyone on the team for Christmas, as a memento of that visit, and both of yours sat on your respective desks. Dave's copy had joined the slew of frames that sat on the counter running behind the desk in his office. Garcia's was the same for her own lair. JJ had taken her copy home and he's fairly confident it joined the scrapbook album she maintained as her art therapy – she said it kept her hands busy and her mind empty, best of both worlds. He's unsure where Morgan's copy ended up but he hasn't seen it around. Likely shoved to the back of the bottom drawer of his desk. Reid too had forgone the frame and Aaron had seen him use an oddly folded copy of the picture as a bookmark, whilst they'd been on the plane. Reid had gone to some effort to fold it in a manner so that your face was folded inwards – a difficult task indeed when one considered that the two of you had your lips locked together and he'd dipped you backwards. However it was Prentiss's copy which had truly caught his attention. It sat on her desk, in the same frame Dave had gifted it in. At first, Aaron had found this to be odd, because why would Prentiss want a framed photo of her coworkers kissing on her own desk. However, late one evening, when he was the last to vacate the premises, he'd walked by and upon closer inspection saw exactly why she kept it on her desk. She'd vandalized it. In true homage to her teenage rebel self, she'd gone and taken a sharpie, drawing a vastly exaggerated handlebar mustache on Aaron's face and a small tiara on your head. He would rather die than admit that it had drawn a small laugh out of him, as he'd put the frame back exactly where he picked it up from and walked his way towards the elevators.

Aaron shifts in the chair, rolling his shoulder back, still sore from the workout he'd had with Morgan earlier that morning, before turning back towards the form he was in the midst of filling out. His hands move with rote familiarity, filling in the details from the case thus far. He'd started to have an odd feeling about this case a couple days ago. Something about the victims had started to feel off and running it by Morgan, his feeling had been corroborated. As a result, Garcia was running a more thorough investigation on linking all of the victims together.

The working out with Morgan was a new thing, borne out of him asking you why you never chose to work out with him, with you opting to go spar with Morgan instead. You'd confessed that since your exit from the team, you didn't get much time with Morgan. Working out together was a way for the two of you to still have some of that one on one time. You'd been sure to add on that there were quite a few workouts you'd want to engage in with Aaron alone, and those were all clothing optional.

All joking aside, you did seem to actually get a lot out of working out with Morgan, and so Aaron had thought that maybe it would be nice for him to do the same. Morgan had been quick to agree and the two of them had started with just running and lifting weights in the gym downstairs. It was easy to see why you enjoyed this time with Morgan, just the two of you. In the field he was a colleague who always had someone's back. In the gym, he put on more of the coaching hat and would walk through drills and steps with a calm and serene tone that was entirely approachable. Over the past few weeks, Aaron had easily bridged several subjects that neither him nor Morgan had touched over a decade of working together. It was primarily Aaron letting down his guard and allowing himself to vocalize his concerns regarding you and how much you'd taken on recently. Morgan, in turn, had conveyed his appreciation for Aaron's role leading the team, and had confided in him that it was highly unlikely he'd ever want to be unit chief again himself. If anything, taking on the mantle in Aaron's absence had convinced him of quite the opposite, and with him and Savannah getting married and thinking of starting a family, there was a high chance he might want to shift his career towards one that allowed a semblance of a family life. Knowing what he did now, Aaron could do nothing but wholeheartedly support that decision.

"Hotch."

Aaron looks up at the call of his name, to see Morgan standing in his doorway, looking agitated.  

"What's going on?" Aaron's already standing, making his way towards the door.

"Garcia found something last night, but we just got interrupted," Morgan explains, already turning away and walking towards the conference room where the team was set up to work on the case together. Aaron is quick to follow, his shoulders tensing and his brow furrowing as they both make their way to the room.

The sight that greets Aaron is odd, to say the least. Reid is stood near the whiteboard in the corner marker still in hand, Rossi has his arms crossed and is glaring towards the center of the room, and both JJ and Prentiss are stood like female lions, set to pounce on any threat to their cub. The cub in question - Garcia - was stood in the center at the round table, defiantly glaring up at Anderson, who it appeared, had stopped her from proceeding with her work. He was standing with one hand on her laptop and the other on the back of her chair, effectively preventing her from working any further.

"Agent Anderson, would you please mind explaining what is going on here?" Aaron squares his shoulders and fixes Anderson with a firm look, not at all appreciating how he's cornered Garcia and invaded her space.

However, before Anderson has a chance to explain, the door to the conference room opens and Aaron turns to see you standing there. His heart quickly fills with warm affection at the sight of you. He hadn't expected you home for another couple of days, so this was a pleasant, albeit untimely surprise.

He assumes you'd come looking for him, however he needs to deal with the situation at hand first, despite how much he'd rather just usher you away to his office and keep you to himself for say, the next hour or so, at least.

Aaron smiles at you quickly to acknowledge your presence and sees the others relaxing ever so slgihtly as well. "Hi sweetheart, if you want to wait in my office, you can. I can meet you there. Just have to deal with something first."

Instead of acknowledging him and leaving, however, you enter and close the door behind you, before quickly approaching Anderson and Garcia. "Agent Anderson, would you mind stepping outside, please?" you ask, your order soft but assertive. Anderson is quick to nod and do just as you asked without question. He releases the laptop and nods at Aaron before turning towards the door.

Aaron watches, confused, as Anderson closes the door behind him. What on earth was going on and how were you involved? Since when did Anderson take orders from you? It is obvious from the looks on everyone else's faces, that their thoughts mirror his own.

"Penelope," you turn now to Garcia, who was still at the table, hovering over her computer. "I need you to explain to me how you gained access to the file on Project Titan."

There's a tense silence as the team looks between you and Garcia, piecing together that the interruption to Garcia's work was linked to your current assignment. The name of the project was unfamiliar to Aaron. It wasn't in any internal briefing packets or any departmental meetings. That could only mean it was classified to the maximum degree.

Garcia's brow furrows deeper as she looks at you in surprise, and she shakes her head, her colorful earrings bouncing as she does, before she even speaks the words. "I can't do that, Y/N You know I can't."

Your lips press together in annoyance at the answer you receive. You wanted this to be easier. You hadn't expected pushback. Aaron finally snaps out of his confusion and recognizes that he has to take control of the situation before anything spirals out further. "Y/N, what is going on?"

You look up sharply, meeting his eyes only for a second, during which Aaron can immediately tell that you are incredibly tired. Worn out almost. He detects more makeup than normal, likely covering up dark circles underneath your eyes. If he's not mistaken, it would appear that your clothes are hanging just the slightest bit looser on your frame, as though you'd lost some weight in the two weeks since he'd last seen you. There's a look in your eyes that gives him great pause – it's not fear exactly, but perhaps fear mixed with resignation. An acceptance for what needs to come next.

You scan the room as you speak, taking in the piles of files and the work on the whiteboard. "The BAU is no longer to investigate the Busch murder or any other affiliated crime." Your eyes come back to land on the computer sitting in front of Garcia. That's your sole objective right now. It's the only thing that matters.

The air in the room changes immediately, from tense to downright confrontational. Aaron knows that the rest of the team is looking to him, barely breathing. They're trusting him to handle whatever is going on, because he's the boss. None of them would risk speaking up and saying the wrong thing. They've been through this before countless times with other adversaries in the field - overzealous prosecutors, territorial detectives, politicians high on their own power. However it's you now. You're the person on the other side.

"You do not have the authority to tell the BAU which cases we can or cannot take," he says quickly, hoping to keep the conversation to a minimum and resolve whatever is going, alone with you back in his office. He tries to gesture at you to follow him out of the room, but his efforts are rebuffed once more.

"Actually I – I can," you falter just barely as you turn back to him, lips pressed together and shoulders hunched ever so slightly, your lips worn as though you'd been biting them in frustration. You don't want to be doing this – that much is quite obvious to Aaron. "This comes straight from the top. This case has been tagged as classified and this team is no longer authorized to work it." Your voice is detached, as though deliberately trying to avoid any of your obvious ties to the team you're speaking of. Your team.

"Garcia," you turn once more to face her, "it is of the utmost importance that you tell me how you got to the Titan files. It has grave security implications around the project," you repeat your earlier request to Garcia, this time with an attempt at persuasion, hoping to appeal to her innate desire to help you in particular. Aaron can acknowledge that that is exactly what you're doing in that moment. Trying to leverage your relationship to Garcia while simultaneously distancing yourself from the team. He has to acknowledge. He does not have to like it.

Garcia shakes her head again at your question, looking up and meeting Aaron's eyes. She's scared and her eyes are wide with fear, yet brimming with defiance still. She's awaiting his  instruction on how she should proceed. This was such a bizarre situation. You have to know very well that Garcia had done what she usually does – employ a slightly dubious manner of obtaining any information asked of her. Usually that is perfectly fine. Usually no one stops her. Usually she doesn't have friends on both sides – one asking her not to speak while the other implores her to give herself up.

You turn and follow Garcia's eyesight, only to see Aaron shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He's indicating to her to not speak at all. Saying nothing is far better than saying something in this case, he's decided. Saying anything at all could cause a ripple effect of consequences that they have no visibility to yet.

"Y/N, why don't we take this to my office?" He is intent on moving this discussion so that the two of you can speak more freely and get to the root of whatever is happening here.

You look at him once more, apology in your eyes as you let out a sigh. Shit. He can feel the tense coil in his stomach grow tighter. He's not used to seeing you like this. So very obviously doing someone else's bidding. He didn't even know yet what Garcia had stumbled upon, but if it had to do with your project – from what little he knows of it – it wasn't good. It simultaneously raises the stakes for the string of murders the team had been investigating, as well as effectively shuts them out. As it stands, your clearance level is actually higher than his. Higher than Strauss's even.

Ignoring Aaron's request another time, you pull your shoulders back and stand to the full extent of your height, back completely straight. Even then you barely are able to look Penelope head on. "Agent Garcia," your voice is clipped as though you're reading from a script, and Garcia immediately takes a small unconscious step back at your words. "I need you to hand over the laptop to me and if I have to ask again, it will be in an interrogation room and I will recommend that you retain a lawyer."

A loud silence rings through the room at the threat you'd issued. You'd run the gamut for your patience with the situation and you're prepared to see this through to a bitter end if need be. Aaron knows that wasn't you at all and he also knows that whoever was puppeteering you at that moment had enough pull for you to do this at all. Meaning this was the nicest possible version of whatever the original threat had been, watered down at your insistence. There was no way you would let someone just threaten Penelope without a fight.

He meets Morgan's gaze and then turns to Rossi. The three of them have a silent exchange before Aaron turns once more to Garcia, who was now clutching the laptop to her chest as though her life depended on it.

You look between him and Garcia, carefully avoiding looking at Morgan or Prentiss. Your eyes urge him to comply, because you can't promise that the situation won't escalate otherwise. He knows that. He knows that you're trying to resolve this in as easy of a manner as possible with minimal blowback to the team. Trusting that you know what you're doing, he nods at Garcia, giving her the go ahead to hand over the laptop. Whatever happens next, they'll deal with it.

You nod your thanks at Aaron for not putting up more of a challenge. "Thank you." Squaring up once more, you swallow, your tongue peeking out briefly to lick your lips and Aaron can see that the hand that isn't holding on to the laptop is clenched tightly. No doubt there will be red indented crescents in your soft palms momentarily.

Thinking that was the end of it, Aaron is about to usher you into his office if he can, however as you turn once more to Garcia, your next words shock him to the core. "Effective immediately, you are suspended, pending further notice."

There is an immediate outcry. Morgan asks you what you think you're doing. Prentiss is quick to move closer to Garcia. JJ informs you that you cannot do that. However it is Garcia who appears entirely stupefied and paralyzed. The hurt look on her face, accompanied by the sharp gasp had forced you to turn away from her, avoiding the betrayal tinged tears in her eyes.

You continue on, however, ignoring everyone but Aaron now. "The BAU needs to hand over any material on the case thus far. You are not to investigate it further. You are not to disseminate this information to anyone else. You are not to speak of it to one another. Any violation of these terms will result in an immediate suspension for all involved parties, pending internal review."

With that, you walk past your old teammates, past Aaron, and open the door to Anderson waiting outside. "Agent Anderson, will you please escort Agent Garcia to her office to grab any personal belongings and then follow her to her home. Any Bureau issued devices must be confiscated from there as well."

Anderson nods and looks expectantly at Garcia, who is standing in the midst of the rest of the others, Morgan's hand on her back, rubbing in soothing circles.

She gives a shaky nod before moving away from everyone and walking towards the door. As she approaches you, Aaron sees you reach out and grab her arm before leaning in and whispering something into her ear, imperceptibly low. He turns immediately to Reid, hoping he was able to discern whatever you had said, and Reid nods as they all watch Anderson escort Garcia away. You'd angled yourself at an angle optimal for him to be able to read your lips.

You scan the room once more, a dissatisfied grimace on your face, before your eyes land finally on Aaron once more. He has no words for you, unsure of what to say or what to do without knowing more. You nod once more at him, and he takes that to mean that the two of you will discuss whatever just happened later at home that night.

Turning, you closing the door behind you as you go, the laptop clutched in your hands and he watches you walk down the stairs, teetering in the heels you were wearing, and through the bullpen towards the exit. He can just barely make out you calling the elevator, and instead of going down, you go up. He can only imagine which floor you're headed to.

He turns back to face the team, finding them all looking at him.

Reid looks up meeting Aaron's eyes, his own giving away how shaken he was with the events that had just transpired.

"Reid, what did Y/N say to Garcia?"

Reid swallows, looking around the room at the rest of the team – Morgan who still looks furious, JJ and Prentiss who both seem to be processing the strange turn of events, and Rossi, whose normally stoic outlook was marred by a grim expression.

"Be careful. They'll be watching."

*------------*

By the time you arrive back home, it is very late and the house appears to be dark, save for the light emanating from the small lamp in the study. You stop outside the door, keys in one hand and bag in the other, and take a deep breath. Today had been absolute shit. From the rushed plane ride back ,to the conversation with McKinney, to having to actually be the one to issue Garcia's suspension notice – this day would make the top worst days on the job hall of fame. Who would've thought you'd ever go toe to toe with the Director of the FBI and live to tell the tale?

You feel dead tired on your feet and you genuinely could not remember the  last time you'd slept, having asked the flight attendant for an energy drink an hour prior to landing, and having chugged another one on the walk over from McKinney's office to the BAU conference room. It was a wonder your heart hadn't given out right then, thrumming inside as fast as a hummingbird's when you'd entered that conference room to see Anderson having followed your instructions to impede Garcia from digging any further into the files.

A deep sigh leaves you as you unlock the door and enter quietly, quickly removing your heels before turning towards the study. You knew to expect Aaron there, and there he was. He was at the desk, surrounded by paperwork, and looking up at your entrance. You'd figured he would stay up no matter what. He'd been the worst part of today. Having to go over his head. In front of the team. You could only imagine how that might have made him feel. It had definitely made you feel like the absolute worst person on the planet.

You walk to the doorway of the study, stopping at the entrance. He meets your gaze head on, and you're happy to note that he actually looks well despite everything. The past few days at home seem to have done him some good. He has a healthy glow about him, his hair flopping on his forehead, his white t-shirt stretched across his chest. If you're not mistaken, he looks just a little more filled out, in the best of ways – his typically lean body packed with slightly more definition. Something you'd learned to notice through Derek.

"Hi." His voice is softer than you'd anticipated considering your actions from earlier in the day.

You offer him a small, quick smile in response. "Hey."

It's quiet as the two of you look at one another, both unsure how exactly to proceed. You look at your watch, and noting the hour, know you need to move this along despite wanting to linger and explain everything. You don't have that luxury. "Can we talk while I pack? I'm sorry," you sigh. "I have another flight out in a few hours."

Aaron's brows knits together, reminding you that he doesn't know of the change to your schedule yet. However, he nods, knowing you'll explain further. Standing, he walks over to you, wordlessly reaching for your bag, and together you both head upstairs to the bedroom, not wanting to make too much noise while Jack was asleep.

You enter first and walk towards the bathroom and through to the closet, Aaron walking in behind you and closing the door before following. He watches quietly as you quickly change into clothes you'd be more comfortable in during the flight, and in lieu of having nothing else to do, occupies himself with emptying your bag and dumping the clothes into the laundry basket, before busying himself with replenishing your toiletry kit with practiced ease. Anything to make this easier on you. He's tempted to ask if you'd eaten today but he's worried he won't like that answer and he doesn't want to agitate you further with whatever his own reaction would be. He trusts you'll eat on the plane once you're able.

"I'm sorry for today." You've started to pick out a new set of clothes for the next trip, not entirely sure how many days you should pack for. Clyde hadn't been too clear. You decide to err on the side of overpacking, grabbing a few outfits for a professional setting and many others for casual casework, before dumping the entirety of your underwear drawer into a packing cube.

"Let me guess, you can't say anything." Aaron's finished replacing anything you'd run out of, even making more to make a few more pads and tampons for you from underneath the sink, knowing you're about due for your period soon. He'd had the entire evening to think through the events of earlier and he knows his hands are tied and so are yours. He doesn't want to shoot the messenger – he knows that was what you'd been forced into being today. None of that was your call.

You smile your thanks as he hands you a fully loaded toiletry kit, trusting him to have done it perfectly as he has countless times before. "Not much, I'm afraid. But understand that that was the best possible outcome for the time being. There were talks of a treason charge that – well let's just say that depending on what is found on the computer, there's a chance I won't have a job by tomorrow morning."

Aaron halts at that as you continue to fold and put clothing into the bag. He'd suspected as much, but to actually hear that you'd put your own job on the line for Garcia – needless to say he isn't surprised. If anything, it makes it so that he trusts that you did your absolute best to ensure that no harm would come from the backlash, to either Garcia or the rest of the team. His respect for you increases tenfold. He's not so much worried about solving some highly classified murder cases as he is about ensuring that nothing happens to the team or you.

"Are you alright?" He makes sure to catch your gaze as you move around, so that he'll know if you aren't being entirely honest as you answer that particular question.

It had been a while since anyone had actually asked you that, and really you don't have it in you to lie to Aaron. You pause to look at him directly, your shoulders dropping as you release a deep sigh. "No. I just can't do anything about it yet."

He hates this. He hates that you feel entirely vulnerable and exposed and entirely helpless to change that. He hates that he can't do anything to make it better. You shouldn't have to feel like this while he's around. You shouldn't have to look at him and feel like you can't ask anything of him. How is he supposed to be the person you turn to if you aren't even permitted to tell him what you're dealing with?

Sighing, he runs a hand over his face tiredly as you finish packing and zip up the bag, hoisting it up by the handle, only for him to reach forward and grab it from you once more before the two of you exit to the bedroom. There, he sets the bag down and grabs your arm – the first true physical contact the two of you have had in two weeks and you can feel your resolve to keep it together waver just at that alone.

Aaron pulls you in, hugging you tight, his arms encasing you fully. You can feel the warmth seeping through him, feel his heart beating in his chest as you rest your cheek against it, allowing yourself this moment of respite. You sniffle slightly, holding the tears at bay. It was so easy to let yourself open up to him, and yet you truly couldn't afford to breakdown then. Later, you tell yourself. After this is over.

You reluctantly pull away, knowing there's at least one more thing you need to discuss with him tonight before you have to leave. He looks down at you in question, having noted the sudden tensing of your jaw as you look up at him. You bite your lip and he resists the urge to lean down and soothe the ache there – kiss over all the places you'd bitten raw until they're better.

"Today sucked, Aaron," you confess, your voice hushed and your throat heavy with held back emotion, still standing in the circle of his arms. "The worst part was going over your head though. I know you aren't saying it, because you're far too noble to say anything about it, but I know that sucked for you too."

Aaron takes in a deep breath, thinking over your acknowledgement, knowing you're opening the floor to have that conversation further. However right then, you superseding his authority is the least of his concerns. He's not bothered by it in the same manner you appear to be.

"Can you handle me doing this job, knowing that this could happen again?" You look up at him with worry in your eyes, watching his reaction carefully.

At your question, he tenses. His mind goes to the worst of places and his breath comes out shallow as he looks down at you, a storm brewing behind his molten eyes. "What does that mean?"

Your brow furrows, appraising his question and his reaction in tandem, before realizing exactly where his head went at that. "Hey, relax, it's alright." You reach out and softly brush your hands down his arms before reaching up to cup his jaw softly, thumb caressing lightly back and forth across his cheek. "This isn't you and Haley, Aaron," you remind him. "I'm not you and you are definitely not Haley."

He nods, though his posture remains tense despite his face eagerly tilting and allowing the comfort you offered with your touch.

"I have a job offer," you continue, "from the CIA. I haven't responded to it yet – told them I'm actively working a case and can't give them an answer yet. But, if this, us – if we are going to have issues running into each other at work, then there are other options."

This is news to Aaron. He hadn't known you were being sought out by the Agency and while he isn't surprised that they'd reach out to you – you're brilliant, of course they would – he's surprised that you're entertaining it. He's familiar with your disdain for the CIA, still holding somewhat of a grudge from your initial rejection. However, to know that you'd consider working somewhere you don't like, for the sake of preserving your relationship with him – that's not something he would ever ask of you. He was an adult and so were you. Professional disagreements did not have to bleed into your personal life, especially with him knowing exactly how much you'd risked today for Garcia's sake.

"I can handle it," he's quick to reassure you, moving his head to kiss your palm, his hand reaching up to grab yours, squeezing gently.

You pause, assessing his answer, before nodding. "Okay, offer still stands if you reconsider. I have until this wraps up to decide."

You reach for your bag but he beats you to it, grabbing it once more as the two of you make your way out of the room and down the hallway. You pause briefly outside of Jack's room, wanting to see him but decide against it. You don't want to risk waking him up and getting him all excited.

Aaron notes your pause and with you leaving once again despite there being ballet tickets booked for Saturday, he knows you're going to have to disappoint Jack on that front. He meets your eyes and smiles softly, understanding in his eyes. You don't usually make promises you can't keep with Jack. That's always been more so his thing.

The two of you reach the foyer once more and you turn around and grab the bag from Aaron's hands. The driver is still waiting for you outside.

"Kiss him for me? I'll call as soon as I can."

He nods. "Of course sweetheart."

You lean up quickly, a quick brush of your lips against his that he's quick to reciprocate. His arms wind around your back, lips greedily moving against yours. He'll make the most of any opportunity he has with you right now. He won't squander a single second. Not when every kiss like this leads to your extended absence each time. Not when every kiss is only a reminder of all the kisses the two of you have missed out on lately. Not when neither of you are ever sure which kiss could be the last.

You move away, your eyes sparkling once more in a way that is so familiar to him that it causes a pang in his chest just to have a glimpse of them like this, if only for a moment. If only even as you're leaving. He'll take it. He'll take whatever you can give. Anything. Everything.

Then you're out the door and he watches the driver exit and take your bag for you. You wave quickly, urging him to go back inside. Then you're gone. Just like that, you're gone.

*------------*

The team had moved on to another case after being banned from the Busch murder investigation. As it stood, the official party line was that they were deferring to the will of the higher ups. Rossi had even brought the matter to Strauss's attention, and while she had been surprised by what had transpired, she'd told them both that it was entirely out of her hands. The decision had come down from McKinney directly and there was no changing his mind.

It had been about a week since he'd seen you off, during which you'd called once to apologize to Jack for having to miss the ballet. Jack had taken it well enough, and you'd promised that you were going to do your best to make it up him. You'd already lined up Prentiss to fill in for you, knowing Jack would appreciate having Auntie Emily to spoil him for the evening. Aaron had spoken with you then, and you'd told him that you would do your best to figure out the Garcia situation. The team was struggling working with Kevin Lynch; he simply lacked Garcia's natural talents.

Aaron, however, finds himself far more concerned about you. He knows that ultimately Garcia would be fine. He'd already submitted a request to have her reinstated and even Strauss was supporting him in getting her back as soon as possible. However, with you, he feels entirely helpless. Obviously the assignment with Interpol had you run ragged and you'd even confessed that not everything was alright, but with your differing levels of clearance at the moment, there wasn't much he could say or do to be of any assistance. As a result, your conversations together are brief – soft exchanges where he reminds you that he's there when you need him, whispered acknowledgements from you riddled with a pain that makes his heart ache for you. He knows too well how difficult it is to keep anything secret between the two of you, and this is something that you so obviously want to share with him, that it is painful for him to watch you struggle through it without being able to do just that.

Having just landed the night before from a case in Milwaukee, Aaron is busy reading through everyone's reports, his eyes glazing over Reid's – he expects nothing but the utmost thoroughness there. Looking it over is a formality at best. Not that he'd admit that to anyone else. Morgan, however, had confided in Aaron that whilst he'd been unit chief, he'd given up reviewing Reid's reports altogether. Aaron had to think he was getting soft with age – or maybe it was due to the kinder friendship he shared with Morgan nowadays. His only reaction had been a light chuckle, much to Morgan's surprise.

There's a knock at his door, interrupting his perusal, to which he grants entrance.

Looking up, he sees you standing there, a plain black suit hanging off of you, matching the dark circles that are plainly visible on your face. Your hair is pulled away from your face and tied up professionally and, surprisingly, you're wearing flat shoes. He can't remember ever seeing you wear flat shoes around the office, almost always opting for something with at least a slight heel. It's as though all pretense has left you, leaving behind only you in the rawest form – unable to pretend to be alright any longer.

"Hi." You walk in, forcing a  slight smile. The smile doesn't manage to reach your eyes.

He's about to stand so he can walk around to greet you, but you interrupt him with a quick shake of your head, raising your hand to stop him. "It's alright. I just came to drop this off."

You place a piece of paper on his desk, which he's quick to reach for, fingers brushing against yours. You pull back quickly. He doesn't say anything, unsure what to make of that. Maybe he'd imagined it.

They're reinstatement papers for Garcia. Her suspension was over.

"Thank you," he says quietly, looking up to meet your eyes. You blink and look down. He doesn't think he's ever seen you look quite so…frail. It makes all of his worries from the past week compound, and he's once again making to stand so he can greet you properly.

"It's alri–"

He's reached you before you can stop him again and as he reaches out for you he detects a nearly imperceptible flinch as his hand reaches up towards your arm. He stops, his stomach lurching. You don't flinch away from him. Ever.

"Sweetheart, are you sure you're alright?" he asks, making sure his voice is low and soft, as unthreatening as possible.

You look up to meet his eyes and you just look so entirely defeated. As if someone had stolen what little hope you might've had that this – whatever this was – would turn out alright.

"Um – yeah. It's fine. Don – don't worry about it." You take a deep breath and he can see you donning the mask once more. The mask that would allow you to walk out of his office. The one that had likely slipped in his presence out of habit, despite any attempts to keep it in place. Keep whatever was going on, hidden from him too. He's at once heartened to realize that you can't fake it in front of him if you tried, and terrified that you'd tried at all.

"Y/N – "

You're shaking your head, so he stops. He doesn't know what to do. How to help.

"I'm going to be off the grid for a bit," you inform him matter-of-factly, your voice clear and concise once more. "Might be hard to reach me, but if you need something, you should be able to go through McKinney."

You've turned around and are already walking away.

"Hey, wait."

His voice stops you at the door and you turn around towards him, eyebrow raised in question.

There's nothing more he can say at this moment. Nothing to convince you to stay or let go of this assignment. It would be futile and he knows it. Whatever it is that you're working through, he trusts that you'd tell him if you possibly could. Without that, the only thing he can do is hope and pray that this is over soon. That you come back to him safe and sound. So he says the only thing he can say.

"I love you."

You take a shallow, shuddered breath, your jaw clenching as you meet his worried gaze. There's a moment where he thinks that maybe you're about to simply give in – throw caution to the wind and tell him everything, consequences be damned. It passes as quickly as it appeared, however. You offer him the barest of smiles that's gone before he can truly bask in its arrival.

"I know."

With that, you're gone. He watches as you walk down the stairs, steps slowing down slightly behind Prentiss and Morgan's desks. Neither of them look up towards you. You continue on towards the elevators and then you're gone.

*------------*

Dave was coming for dinner that evening, and Aaron had just filled him in on your quick appearance earlier that afternoon. He's packing up his belongings while Dave waits for him, when Strauss peaks her head in to his office.

"Heading out?" she asks, looking from him to Dave.

Aaron nods.

Dave smiles and gestures her in. "I have a dinner date with a six year old. Aaron is chaperoning."

She lets out a light laugh and Aaron can't help but think that it's an odd sound coming from her. He's never going to get used to Strauss and Dave being a thing. He's almost grateful that you aren't there, as the last couple of times the two of you have seen Dave interacting with Strauss, you've gone out of your way to whisper the most disgustingly inappropriate things to him about the two of them and their supposed debauched sex lives. He could do without those particular nightmares.

"Aaron, I just wanted to drop off this paperwork for you. Agent L/N has already signed it, so it just requires your signature. Feel free to drop it off tomorrow." She hands him an envelope before breezing out of the room and wishing them both a good evening.

Aaron looks up to find Dave's face reflecting his own curiosity. What required yours and his signatures? The paperwork for your designation change had gone through a while ago.

He opens up the envelope and looks at the header. His vision starts to blur around the edges and he might have stumbled slightly, alarming Dave in the process, who marches forward and helps steady him, before grabbing the papers from Aaron's hands.

"Dissolution of Consensual Relationship Agreement?" Dave's words echo through the room and yet to Aaron it is as though he hears them from underwater. The big block lettering. Your signature on the line. Your delicate script outlining your name.

His heartbeat has sped up quite a bit. His hands feel clammy, his breath coming in short spurts. The ringing in his ears – always present in the background and easily ignored – is a high pitched whine as blood rushes madly through his veins.

"Aaron, look at me."

He looks up at Dave, who appears stunned despite his calm and direct voice. Aaron just feels numb. He surpassed shock within the first second. He's strictly at numbness now. His mouth feels dry as though there was a cotton ball in there. He blinks repeatedly as he tries to focus on Dave's face.

"Aaron, do you truly believe Y/N would ever end things with you in this way? Really?"

Would you? He has to think you wouldn't. There would be a conversation. Nothing had happened. Well, obviously something had happened, but nothing had happened between the two of you. Your things were still at home. You hadn't uttered a single word of this to him today, despite having come by to drop off Garcia's paperwork. Sure, that interaction hadn't been wonderful. It had left him with a deep concern that had occupied much of his thoughts the rest of the afternoon. But truly, no. Nothing was wrong with the two of you. At least, nothing that he knew of.

He slowly shakes his head.

"Exactly. She wouldn't. Look, something is obviously going on, but it boils down to one question. Do you trust her?"

He nods. Yes. Of course he trusts you. There is no one he trusts more.

"Alright, then let's not overreact. Once she's back, I'm sure there's some sort of reasonable explanation for this."

Dave's right. Aaron knows that he's right.

Even if he isn't, he's going to choose to believe him for now. The alternative would crush him entirely. He can't afford that. Not yet. Not until he's seen you and you confirm it one way or the other.

He takes a deep breath, looking from Dave to the papers that are still in his hand. Leaning forward, he grabs a pen from the cup on his desk. He knows what he has to do.

Ceres: Asteroid Goddess, the “Mother”

-

Ceres is one of the few feminine planets in Astrology- and, yes, she is now a dwarf planet (like Pluto, her brother). Ceres (Demeter in Greek), Juno (Hera), Vesta (Hestia) and Pallas-Athena (Athena) are the 4 major asteroid Goddesses talked about by Demetra George & Douglas Bloch in their fantastic book, Asteroid Goddesses, and have been the main four asteroids that I use with clients.

But the question is: what can she tell us in our charts?

For the answer, we have to go back in to the Greek/Roman myth:

Ceres, or Demeter, was the mother of Persephone. Her daughter was everything to her. On her own, Demeter was a major player and powerful figure in the Olympic Pantheon- she was a daughter of Kronos, sister to Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. She ruled grain, food that grows from the earth. In essence, she ruled how we nourish ourselves.

But she had this fatal flaw- that of overly identifying with her role as mother. Regardless of how Persephone left (was it abduction, or was it just her growing up?), we see this identity crisis arise. When Persephone is taken, Demeter is plunged in to the depths of rage and grief. She stops all crops from growing, causing the first ever winter for humans. She doesn’t care about anything- only getting her daughter back. So she decides to cloak herself, disguised as an old mortal woman, and finds herself the nanny to a human babe. She nurtures this baby, and decides to turn him immortal by giving him ambrosia and passing him over flames- but, sadly, the true parents witness her putting their baby in to the fire and end the ceremony.

She does, eventually, get Persephone back, but this is a key point of Demeter/Ceres’ part of the myth: her daughter has gone, and she finds herself at odds with her identity as “Mother” (for without a child, how can she be a mother?), so she goes and finds a new baby.

The ego-identity needed to replace a child.

And, so, Ceres’ question becomes: is this nourishing, or is it an addiction?

How does this play out in our charts?

From Demetra George & Douglas Bloch’s Book Asteroid Goddesses (*reformatted for Tumblr)

“Ceres -

Feminine Function: creating, supporting, sustaining physical progeny, physical nurturing -- food

Woman’s Stereotype: “Mom” at home cooking in the kitchen, cleaning the house, nursing the family, living for and through children

Alternative Modes of Expression for Women and Men: teachers and educators of children, children’s services, issues of pro-choice/pro-life, midwifery and humane childbirth, farming, gardening, food-related services, nutrition, health awareness, single parenting as a conscious choice, world hunger & relief organizations, death, dying, hospice work

Especially for Men...: increased participation in childbirth/child rearing... developing attitudes of compassion/acceptance/empathy”

---

There is a necessary loss with Ceres, and through her we have the choice to seek something that fulfills us, or to replace what we’ve lost with more of the same.

1st House/Aries

Addicted to/Distracting self by: constant new experiences; focus on outward appearance; overly identifying as a nurturer or parent; needing to be nurtured by your partner or friends but choosing to ignore this in order to be independent.

Change this to nourishment: contemplate how experiences have affected you and formed your identity; do activities and actions for your own enjoyment, not because you ‘should’; ask for help when needed, and allow others to care for you.

2nd House/Taurus

Addicted to/Distracting self by: surface level value, focus on income, depending on others to pay for them, high level of materialism, needing nice things to be secure, focusing on the physical side (rather than emotional) of relationships

Change this to nourishment: think on your true core values, what do you really want versus what do you think you want; slow, intimate sex; basic necessities and living below means; helping with income; spending time directly in relation to your core values (ie: time outside, time volunteering, time with family, time gardening, etc.)

3rd house/Gemini

Addicted to/Distracting self by: media, information, gossip, data, social media, not digesting information

Change this to nourishment: writing ideas down, processing dreams, singing and using your voice, chanting, crafting or using your hands, figuring out what certain information means to you, and what is important to remember, forget, or research further

4th house/Cancer

Addicted to/Distracting self by: needing other’s affection, crying out for attention, lashing out at parents/children, falling ill (hypochondria) or seeking out those who need you to ‘nurse’ them, over-eating when emotional, over-idealization of and association with the role of “mother”

Change this to nourishment: consider your feelings rather than pushing them down or letting them control you; journal; surround yourself with nourishing snacks that you enjoy; supporting the “mothers” in your life; taking time for yourself to relax; making your home environment comfortable and positive; feeding your friends and family, and allowing them to feed you

5th house/Leo

Addicted to/Distracting self by: self-centered creating; making art for approval; not pursuing artistic endeavors (causing lack of confidence), too-strong association with being a ‘child at heart’- and needing others to care for you; not allowing yourself to play, or only playing

Change this to nourishment: being encouraging to other creators; making an atmosphere of positivity and encouragement; allowing yourself time alone to create art (music, textile, culinary, illustration, clay, etc.); making art just for yourself and not for approval; spending time as a teacher or playing with children, or taking time to release your inner child

6th house/Virgo

Addicted to/Distracting self by: service, work, perfectionism, putting others before yourself, trying to make everyone else happy, too much pressure on yourself, over-analyzing

Change this to nourishment: daily practice of meditation, time to relax, massage, slow meals, allow yourself mistakes, laughter as medicine

7th house/Libra

Addicted to/Distracting self by: selflessness, identity in the other, fear of conflict; putting other’s views of self above own view of self; too much focus on cooperation to the detriment of self

Change this to nourishment: conflict in healthy, calm settings; speaking your mind and standing up for self while allowing for dialogue and compromise; experiencing “unconditional love”- which means you feel safe to say when you are unhappy, or need a change; taking time to do activities alone, but also doing activities with your friends/partner

8th house/Scorpio

Addicted to/Distracting self by: deep and intense emotions of jealousy, rage, envy, and anger; drama; shock-value; self-imposed isolation; seething in resentments and injustices; random sex or forced celibacy

Change this to nourishment: physical movement, like dance; writing down feelings; opening up to those around you to allow for trust and dialogue; examining negative cycles and feelings of betrayal to turn them in to positive growth; volunteer with hospice or with the sick/elderly/dying

9th house/Sagittarius

Addicted to/Distracting self by: strict dogma; forcing your ideas on others; joining a religious or philosophical group; being an ‘authority’ in a religious or academic setting; nihilism; travel without growth (think: vacations, travel for instagram photos)

Change this to nourishment: considering all points of view; being open to and studying many ideas; having friends around of many perspectives and faiths; choosing to be open rather than rigidly following one idea; allowing yourself grace to change your mind, or admit you were wrong, or to explore a taboo topic like the occult

10th house/Capricorn

Addicted to/Distracting self by: setting aside own needs for everyone else; taking on responsibilities despite self; needing everything to be ordered; ignoring moon needs emotions; working hard for other’s respect; feeling the need to achieve constantly

Change this to nourishment: change to an inner respect and foundation; working from enjoyment, not duty (or, if not for enjoyment, working for a fair wage and reasonable hours); taking time to access feelings; meditation and journaling; allowing relaxation time with baths or massage; take time and be proud of projects, but know worth doesn’t come from achievement

11th house/Aquarius

Addicted to/Distracting self by: joining a group just to feel like you belong to something; wallowing in self-pity or other self-focused emotions; trying hard to be different for the sake of being different (perhaps because of feeling rejected?)

Change this to nourishment: change this to knowing yourself as an individual, and the groups will come; take time to explore yourself and who you are, what is important to you, and what you like; be authentic and unashamed; support others and be kind

12th house/Pisces

Addicted to/Distracting self by: sacrifice, martyrdom, escapism, TV, poetry, imagination, fantasy

Change this to nourishment: connection to self, service not servant, meditation, daily practice/skill building, dance (something you can lose yourself in and then later reflect on it).

---

The source of the preceeding information is from my observations, from the book Asteroid Goddesses, sited above, and also from a Ceres seminar by Laura Nalbandian.

This is a love story. Not the usual sort; it doesn’t end when they marry, and it doesn’t end when they divorce, and the they of it isn’t really important. What’s important is the he.

His name is Newt Scamander. He’s born small, loud, with wisps of curly hair that will darken to red-blonde when he’s older. He has an older brother who loves him, a mother who loves the idea of him, and a father who dotes on him when he remembers. It’s not a bad start.

Later, he gains a nanny. He calls her Ayah at first because that’s what his mother called her, but he learns, soon enough, that her name is Bhudi and she smiles when he uses it. He learns a lot from her, picking up new names and new words and new knowledge until his mother scolds him for the foreign accent that’s invading his speech.

They are in India. It’s 1902. His father works for the British Ministry and his mother ships exotic creatures back to England to grace the menageries of the rich and Bhudi shows him a feather and teaches him about the bird it came from. She speaks in Marathi because the Lady Scamander doesn’t like Newt learning English from her, and, privately, she thinks that if the Lady Scamander wants her son to speak like his parents then perhaps his parents should speak to him so he can learn.

At breakfast, Newt stumbles through asking Theseus to pass the dudha instead of the milk, and his father shakes his head and calls him cute. His mother purses her lips. She commands Newt to follow her that day, and the next, and for the rest of the week he trails her heels as she judges how many peacocks she can convince the Lord Malfoy to buy. They aren’t even magical, but they’re pretty, and because of this they are valuable.

Newt frowns at the little brown peahen that’s pecking at the dirt and has no pretty feathers to make her worth anything, and thinks they should be valuable anyway.

His mother finds she likes the idea of Newt trailing her more than the reality, much like she liked the idea of a pair of sons more than the time it took to raise them. He asks too many questions, he calls things by the wrong names, he has too many stories that distract her from her work. She gives him books instead, worthy and important books to improve his English, and a month later Newt sits at the breakfast table and recounts to Theseus how he’d rescued an “exhausted and dispirited monkey” from a rope snare trap.

“Exhausted and dispirited?” His father repeats, laughing. “Did you hear that, Theseus - your brother’s a scholar in the making!”

Newt doesn’t speak for the rest of the meal. He asks Bhudi what he did wrong, and she tells him that people who set traps for monkeys don’t understand why it’s important that they’re set free.

“But why?” Newt asks.

“If you love the monkey’s coat then you want it always in reach,” she says. “If you love the monkey, then you wait for it to come to you.”

“If I were a monkey,” Newt says, “I would rather be an ugly one with a coat no one liked. Then no one would trap me and ship me off to England, and I could stay here forever with you.”

Bhudi laughs and kisses his forehead, but when Newt is ten he has to leave her behind anyway.

He resents England, when he arrives. It’s cold, and the houses are too close and too dark. There are no peacocks, with grand feathered tails or otherwise. There are no monkeys. His grandmothers speak with accents he can’t understand, heavy with Gaelic undertones that his mother sniffs at and asks the children not to copy. But if he cannot talk to them, and his parents are busy, and Theseus is at boarding school, and Bhudi is in India - then who does Newt have left?

“Namaskar,” he says cautiously to the hippogriffs. “Hello. Um, Ha - halo?” The Gaelic is awkward in his mouth, copied from a greeting he wasn’t supposed to learn, and he ducks in his head in shame because he thinks he got it wrong.

The hippogriff huffs, and when he looks up, it’s ducked it’s head back in mimicry. It almost looks like it’s bowing. And when the next hippogriff comes up, curious, Newt bows again - and the hippogriff blinks in startled thought and then slowly, ponderously, bows back.

“Oh,” Newt says. It’s a new language. Not Marathi, not English, not Gaelic. Well, ok then. He can learn.

And he does. His mother calls the hippogriffs vicious beasts, best handled by experts, suited more to the war that’s brewing than to anything else. Their value, she tells him, is in their strength, their hooked beaks and their curving, deadly talons.

Newt bows and smiles with his mouth closed and straightens the feathers between their wing bones and curls up amongst their foals in the spring, and he tells them, “I’d think you were valuable even if you never fought in a war. I can’t imagine you’d want to. I don’t think you should have to.”

When he’s eleven, he goes to Hogwarts. When he comes back, the hippogriffs are gone, and new ones have taken their place. “These sorts of beasts aren’t pets,” his mother dismisses when he asks. “They’re property.”

And at school: “They’re dangerous.”

And when he’s expelled: “They’re illegal.”

And when he’s gone to war himself, too young, too scared, too short of other options because Theseus went to war and if Newt doesn’t follow him he has to go back home but home is in India with a woman who was more of a mother to him than the one he’s got - when he’s gone to war: “They’re weapons.”

He looks at the dragons and he rubs what poultices he can make into the scars that litter their sides, and he says, “I don’t love you for your fire. I’d wish you didn’t have it, except it’s yours, and if I love you for you then I should love your fire as well. I just wish people wouldn’t keep using you because of it.”

The dragons croon, low, gentle rumbles that they’d use to soothe a frightened hatchling. They bend their necks around him and quietly despair at the way his lack of scales leaves him vulnerable, and when he cries, they hold their wings out over him to shield him from the world.

“You aren’t weapons,” he tells them. “You’re dragons. War is not where dragons live.”

It’s not. War is where dragons die.

When peace is called, Theseus goes back to England, a hero, a leader, a different man than the one who first joined the fight. Newt goes to India, a runaway, expelled and disgraced and the same little boy he always was, loving the birds in the trees even if all he can see of them is the feathers they leave behind.

He doesn’t make it to India. He finds a niffler on the way, and then a bowtruckle; he finds a demiguise and an occamy nest and a nundu.

He calls the nundu Adelaide. She eats scones with clotted cream and jam. She learns his gestures and mimics them back to him, and she takes up all his sofa because she’s not a kitten any more. When Newt publishes a book about the creatures he’s found, someone edits her entry without asking him, and the rest of the wizarding world believe she’s a monster.

Later, he finds a little girl who’s so afraid of her magic it kills her. He finds a thunderbird, kept in chains and forced to bring rain to a patch of desert that should never have been settled to begin with. He takes the thunderbird home and on the way he finds an auror who was fired for doing the right thing, and her sister who’s chosen to wait tables because people are scared of the secrets she hears.

“Pickett,” he says in frustration, “I love you, and because I love you, I’m telling you that you’ll be happier in a tree. Because you’re a bowtruckle. You belong in trees.”

Pickett blows him a raspberry and continues arranging his curls until they look like a crown of flowers in the sun.

Newt calls him an impossible creature, and dutifully passes up a clip so Pickett can fix his work in place.

When he marries, he’s distracted. He’s known all his life what love is, and he knows that if you love something, it’s a careful balancing act. Addie wants to roam, but she always comes home in the end; Pickett wants to stay, and he cries if he’s left behind. Frank wanted to fly with his wings stretched out and his feet never touching the ground, and Dougal wants never to take his medicine again.

It’s difficult, persuading a demiguise to take his pills when he can see the future coming.

Some of these, he can give them. Some of these, because he loves them, he can’t. He says goodbye to Frank. He bargains a compromise with Pickett that won’t put the bowtruckle’s health at risk. He slips Dougal’s medicines into his food and forces himself not to react until at least an hour after they’ve been eaten. He cries when Addie calls for him, and he cries again after a week when she’s settled enough in her new home to stop.

“I miss her,” he admits to Bhudi, one afternoon in May when the jarul are flowering and he finally made it to India. “I checked on her, and she’s doing so well - I think she’s going to have cubs soon. But I miss her.”

“You love her,” Bhudi says, worn and wrinkled and beautiful. “It’s hard to let go of those we love, even if we have no choice. We think it should be enough to know that they’re happy, but sometimes we’re selfish, and that’s ok.” She smiles, and teases, “It’s nice when they come to visit, at least.”

“You were hard to find,” Newt defends. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Do you want to come?”

Bhudi laughs, and tells him to stop worrying about old women when he has something so important waiting in England.

“America,” Newt corrects. “And one thing being important doesn’t make anything else any less so.”

It’s still on his mind when he marries. In his vows, he promises to value this one person above everything else, to put them first, to love them before all others - and it sits wrong. He feels like he’s lying. How can he love one person more than all the dragons that died, more than the niffler that started his journey round the world, more than the monkey he once released from a rope snare trap? He knows so many languages now, even if some of them he lacks the tails to speak, but he doesn’t know how to explain the words that stick inside his throat.

“Newt,” they say, he says, she says, it doesn’t really matter who they are. “I know you. I know who I married. I love you, and you love me, and that’s enough.”

Is it? Because there’s a world, such a big world, with so many creatures and so many people and all of them are so deserving of love but Newt is just one person and how can he save them all how can he make people see how can he ever be enough -

He has a son. Galton Scamander. In time he has a grandson, Rolf Scamander, and in time after that two great grandsons, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

Addie has a son as well, and two daughters. They don’t have names - not that Newt can pronounce. They hang back warily but Addie prowls forwards and butts her head against his chest, and she still knows the gestures he taught her and the gesture she uses for him is the same as she taught her cubs to use for her.

The niffler has more children than he can keep up with. She dies, in the end, because she is small and nifflers don’t live that long, but she passed her thieving ways on to her children and Newt’s sugar spoons are never safe.

Pickett doesn’t die. His life is tied to his tree. Newt tried so hard to make him bond to an oak, a great sweeping elm that would live for centuries, even a yew that would grow and keep on growing - but Pickett is bound to the tree he chose because Newt would be sad without him and Pickett would rather he not be.

There are no hard words when Newt divorces. Only an apology and an acceptance and a thank you for twenty seven years, and if both of them cry they do it in separate rooms on separate siblings’ shoulders. It is enough, sometimes, to have twenty seven years of happiness and leave it there.

Newt doesn’t cry at Bhudi’s funeral. He wasn’t there, he didn’t know; but when he next goes to visit he is taken to the place her ashes were released, and her daughter hovers awkwardly and decides to leave him to it, and Newt walks until he finds a feather on the ground and tells it in his first language that he doesn’t know what he’s doing and he misses her and he’s trying so hard but he can’t -

He hears a monkey calling out in the darkness, and he stops. He breathes. Pickett crawls up to his shoulder and starts fussing with his hair. When he starts talking again, he tells her about the next book he’s writing, the dragon sanctuaries that are going to open soon, the changes he’s made to the way creatures are taught about at Hogwarts. He tells her about a friend of his who’s just retired from running a bakery, and his son who’s learnt to fly and gives Newt a heart attack every time he goes up on a broom. He tells her about the sunset he saw and the trees he found and the tracks in the forest that belong to something new. He tells her about the world, and everything he loves about it, until he runs out of voice and he tells her everything by saying nothing at all.

In 1997 when he is a hundred years old a boy called Harry Potter breaks out of Gringotts riding the back of a dragon. It’s a Ukranian Ironbelly, scarred from the war, and when it finds Newt it croons, low, gentle rumbles like it’d use to soothe a frightened hatchling.

He is old, now, and he doesn’t run around the world fighting battles for the creatures he loves. But the dragon - his dragon - he digs in his heels and he digs in his cane and he fights until she’s free, because he loves her, because he thought she was dead, because she is old like he is and she failed to guard a vault so she is of little value to the goblins but she’s worth so much more to him.

“She has to live in a sanctuary,” they caution him. “Dragons are too dangerous to be allowed to run wild.”

“And yet people can go where they please,” he retorts, run down and tired and still not ready to stop. But he is no longer naive enough to believe that a dragon without fire is safe from those who would use it; the sanctuary is as much for the dragon’s protection as for anyone else’s.

He takes a month to sort things out. He lives in the old house in Scotland, where his grandmothers used to teach him Gaelic on the sly and make him promise not to let his mother know. There are hippogriffs, and kelpies, and an ever growing hoard of nifflers - he makes arrangements for them all, as best he can.

In the autumn, he packs his life into a beaten up old suitcase, tells Pickett to hold on tight, and apparates to the sanctuary. The dragon lifts her wing and drapes it over him, and Newt rubs poultices into her old scars, and in the evenings the dragon keepers gather round the fires with mugs of whiskey-spiked tea and Newt teaches them how to identify birds from the feathers they leave.

He meets Lorcan and Lysander there, in the sanctuary. They are small, like he was once small, and they will grow to be curious, like he still is. Their mother believes in creatures she cannot see and loves them from the clues she finds, and Newt smiles and asks her name four times and doesn’t remember it and when she goes he looks at the cork necklace in bemusement and wonders why it seems important.

He dies in the spring. There are no jarul flowers, because he is not in India, but there are primrose, and crocus, and blue forget-me-nots - and between them tiny speedwells, close to the ground and small and easy to miss but no less valuable for it.

He leaves behind a dragon on the side of a mountain who can stretch her wings and fly, and a nundu on the open plains who can roam with her pride in tow. He leaves occamies and kelpies and demiguises and nifflers, he leaves the knowledge that hippogriffs bow to say hello and thunderbirds should never be forced to stay on the ground. He leaves children and grandchildren and great grandchildren, he leaves generations of students who are taught what it means to love something, he leaves a world that is still struggling and still in need of so much more - but that is, in a thousand tiny ways, so much brighter than it would have been without him.

He doesn’t leave Pickett. He is Pickett’s tree. Pickett will follow him wherever he goes, because without Pickett he will be sad, and Pickett loves him too much to allow it.

They bury him at the sanctuary, his ashes safe beneath the rock he used to lean his cane against, and the dragon keepers take up the job of rubbing poultices into the Ironbelly’s old scars. At his funeral they call him a hero and a fighter and a good man, and his brother wheels his way to the front and calls him an idiot boy who got expelled for caring too much and never learnt to stop.

A year after he died, a special edition of his first book is released. It lists the creatures he’d found up until that point in his life, and his notes about what he’d learnt - though the book is prefaced with a caution from his grandson that some of the information was now out of date, and that Newt’s later books refined and corrected a lot of his thoughts. Still, though, there’s something beautiful about the book, raw and unpolished, with no ministry classifications, and illustrations that are at times more enthusiastic than precise. The side notes give a glimpse into the life of the man who wrote it, cautions about nifflers and their attraction to cufflinks, and a winding diatribe on the frustrations of moulting season when the entire nest of occamies have taken residence in your bed.

Between the nifflers and the occamies there’s an entry for nundus. It remarks that they have no concept of how large they grow, that they believe themselves to be lapcats despite being significantly heavier than the owner of the lap in question, and worries that their fondness for scones and jam will do bad things to their teeth. The entry comes with a postscript saying that in the original printed version the ministry had decided nundus were too lethal to be so carelessly written of, and had replaced Newt’s text with one they felt more accurately represented the threat of so large and dangerous a beast.

“Dangerous?” the newest generation of magizoologists said, setting up habitats, warding off breeding grounds, relocating people to places they won’t disturb the latest litter of cubs. “Well, yes. It doesn’t make them any less worthy of being loved.”

⟨ LORENZO ZURZOLO. DEMIBOY. HE/THEY. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, KENNEDY MORETTI-KING is actually a descendent of A T H E N A. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-THREE year old MEDICAL STUDENT from MILAN, ITALY has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite BRILLIANT & SELFISH.

FULL NAME: kennedy moretty-king. NICKNAME(S): he prefers his full name, but gets ‘ken’, ‘kenny’ and ‘king’ often. AGE: twenty-three. BIRTHDAY: november 1st. GENDER: demiboy. PRONOUNS: he/they. ( mostly goes by he, but doesn’t care ) ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual. MAJOR: he’s currently in med school, but completed a bachelor’s of science in neuroscience. HEIGHT: 6′1". MORAL ALIGNMENT: neutral evil. MBTI: ENTP HOGWARTS HOUSE: slytherin. TRAITS: ambitious, intelligent, disingenuous, judgmental, quick-witted, selfish, petty, passionate, outgoing, charming.

short bio blurb.

for your first few years of life, your cries are met with warm consoling arms, kisses over scraped knees and meals around the dinner table. as you grow older, the concept washes out of sight like a salty tide: slowly, then all at once. your parents draw the lines and your nannies color them in, and with time you realize you might in fact be the only kid in history who doesn’t resent them for it. not one bit.

a son of two brilliant surgeons ( your godly parent delivered you as a gift, but your real mother is not athena ), your life has been filled with ten-minute holidays and interrupted birthdays. as you grew to understand it, you discovered you hardly minded much. after all, you inherited your parents’ desire for medicine and excellence, and you aspire to be so busy one day, crave it, actually, so you fill your need for attention elsewhere and allot the rest of your time to achieving perfection. you’re in the stars and you know it; there’s no time to hold success against the people that drove you there.

though your family’s social circle shifted its orbit to the rich and powerful, they remain grounded as ever. for this, your ego is your best kept secret at home. mother and father would grill you for your narcissistic reputation, so you hide it when you’re back for the holidays behind big smiles and perfectly plated meals. they want you to be proud, not arrogant, but it’s not your fault: you just can’t help that you’re always right.  

if you fall, though, you fall far –- the morettis and the kings don’t throw money at problems.

they solve them.

your desire for greatness burns bright in your belly and your affinity for it has a habit of taking over the more tender parts of your heart. you’re not cruel, just destined, and nothing puts you on your toes faster than a threat, so you remove them. poll ten people and seven might think you brutal in your ambition, but all is fair in love, war and the pursuit of knowledge.

you’re focused but more romantic than what meets the eye.  while chocolates and flowers aren’t your forte, but loyalty and dedication are. there’s no better lover than one who has a habit of sinking its teeth into anything they love, and you’re a dog whose never given up a bone in his life.

your softer inner workings are there underneath and you’re not ashamed, not at all, they’ll bring you the other piece of the puzzle one day. someone to help you hold that trophy high above your head and someone to smile while they do. vulnerability doesn’t set you back; it propels you, but you’re still skating around how to equip it just right. you’re prone to using words like fire to mask your ego, and communication fizzles out by a stinging touch.

now, you turn your head toward the future. the snap of latex gloves and the slice of a scalpel. the desire to invent, to perform, to heal – anything along the way is a blip, a moment, but nothing that can’t be solved when you refuse to stop. your fate is in your hands.

background breakdown.

kennedy moretti-king is the son of two famous surgeons: dr. giada moretti-king ( mostly known as dr. moretti ) and dr. jason king. both have made several advancements in their fields, dr. moretti herself working on innovative tools to advance laparoscopic surgery as a general surgeon, and dr. king as a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon.

dr. jason moved to america to italy where he met giada and that’s also where they were gifted little kennedy here, so he was raised in milan for the most part, where both his parents work at grande ospedale metropolitano niguarda. 

while many others have struggled to find where a godly parent or a demigod child fits into their lives, their family was completely different. kennedy was an experiment of sorts, a gift from athena to one of the most intelligent human couples that couldn’t bear their own children. for that, athena has remained relatively removed from kennedy’s life, though he’s almost always been aware of her existence. athena remains quite happy with kennedy and his parents raising him as their own, and kenny knows giada as his mother, not athena. 

although his parents were absent more often than not due to their demanding work lives, kennedy knew from a young age that he wanted to follow in their footsteps. raised mostly by various nannies over the years, kennedy was bothered when he was younger when his parents didn’t make it to every recital; however, this was mostly erased as he grew old enough to understand their occupations.

it was love at first sight when kennedy visited the hospital. maybe not the bloody surgery part, but medicine in general, the intense need to know about the body. why it worked the way it did. he was absolutely fascinated. the time he did spend with his parents was used to soak up all the knowledge he could, and they never minded much. it gave them common ground to love the same thing.

the kings were glad to have one son that wanted to follow in their footsteps, and so even if there’s a large distance between them at times, kennedy has always had a fairly good relationship with his parents, even if that comes with immense pressure. his parents would’ve been equally as happy should he had wanted to pursue something else ( all they wanted was a happy and healthy child ) but kenny’s desire to pursue the same line of work was a welcome coincidence. they teach him everything they know, but they’re well aware it won’t be very long until he knows far more than they do.

due to his constant pursuit of knowledge, athena’s never quite bothered to interfere in his life but the threats that lurk outside the protected walls were the reason kennedy chose to pursue education within eonia’s campus.

it should also be said that his parents are extremely dope people, they both did a lot of pro bono work, charity work and partook in doctors without borders. they are Rich Rich and so is kennedy, but they very much wanted him to have a down-to-earth experience. it failed, in some ways, but while kennedy could be years ahead in his studies, it’s limited so he’s only about a year or so ahead of his peers. they wanted him to have a social life! and not be an emotionally stunted child genius! but alas, it did not entirely work out <3

personality breakdown.

to say he’s a perfectionist is an understatement. he simply refuses to go into a field and be the flop of the family, so his pursuit of knowledge is pretty unparalleled. he takes his studies seriously, and doesn’t really relate to the college life of skipping 8ams to nurse hangovers.

not that he doesn’t have them -– but we love a man that perseveres.

wish i had his confidence of just assuming everything’s going to go his way. his label means force or necessity, and that’s because kennedy has a way of making things working in his favor with pure force. ‘kennedy, aren’t you worried you’ll fail?’ ‘no.’ ‘how?i’ ‘because i won’t let myself. duh’

although he doesn’t have the softest personality due to the lack of being hugged as a child, kennedy, at his core, isn’t entirely evil. he’s capable of caring about people and does. he’s a passionate person, and that can translate to love and loyalty for the right people. he doesn’t half-ass anything, so when he commits it’s on.

still, the boy has quite an ego. for him to think something is good enough to commit to takes a bit. he’s got particular taste, never backs down from a fight, and almost annoyingly always thinks he’s right. his ambition can sometimes blind him to the point of selfishness at times, even if his heart is in the right place.

he’s got his good qualities, though! for someone he loves, he’s there. he’s quite dependent when he wants to be, and he’s smart as anything. if you need help getting out of a jam, his brain is basically hardwired to know how to land on his feet.

kennedy is very organized and put together. never catch a wrinkle, even on his plain t-shirts. he shows his love through helping: he’s more likely to help you clean your dorm or organize your study notes for your test than deliver a monologue on his love for you, but it counts! you just need to know what to look for.

a brat but sometimes a lovable brat.

wanted connections.

a best friend. kennedy grew up without serious parental figures ( not by choice, but they were busy rip ), so i’d love a childhood best friend with him that accepts him for his personality flaws. he would be hella ride or die for this person, which he isn’t for much of anyone else, so that means quite a bit! someone to keep him grounded, call him out on his bullshit, but not completely destroy his ego.

exes. honestly, kennedy can be quite the petty betch. i can envision a lot of ugly breakups in his past OR we can plot some exes on good terms! he’s not totally emotionally stunted, can be quite a good boyf when he wants to be, but also a complete nightmare too. any gender feel free !

hookups. self-explanatory. college life. the nature of their relationship will be entirely dependent on the muses and their dynamic, but kennedy isn’t always the nicest to his casual flings depending on their dynamic. some friends with benefits could work, though, for positive casual connections.

enemies. okay, look at this bratty bitch. there is no way he doesn’t have some, if not many, enemies. he has a temper and doesn’t like to be told no, so if you ever wanna verbally spat it out, feel free. he won’t swing, tho. those are surgeon’s hands, baby.  

hate-to-love friendship. someone dopey or complete unambitious that somehow kennedy still loves despite them being total opposites. he doesn’t get why they don’t do their assignments, or why they fall asleep drunk in the bathtub twice a week, but he really can’t deny that they amuse him and he cares about them.

anything else!

Run

Requested: I had an idea I didn’t know if you would like to write with an A/B/O werewolf universe. Reader is abandoned by her parents/pack and stumbles into southside with nowhere to go. Reader pretends to be a confident beta, but is actually a terrified omega. Jughead realizes this (you know he be snooping) and tries to set the reader up with alpha Sweet Pea because SP hasn’t found a mate yet. I’m sure you can go crazy with your imagination and make it awesome if you want to write it :)

A/N: I hope you guys like this. I just wanted to tell you I will not be doing a part two to this, at least I don’t think. I just feel a part two would not be as strong as this first part. But that is only because I feel like concepts may make this go on longer Basically, a concept is kinda like a blurb you give me a situation like Wolf Y/N and pea after everything and this happens, and I expand on it. So please send them in if you want too, I love this little universe I created.

Warnings: Family abandonment, some injuries

Word Count: about 2450

Greendale was your home, your family was there, friends too, but then it was gone in an instant. Everyone left Greendale after it was attacked by an outside pack. They left you too. You were an omega the lowest of the low, your parents a beta and alpha saw you as weak. They didn’t want you around, because you were a determinant to their hierarchy, they cared for your brother much more, he was an alpha, going to take over the pack one day, and your parents thought you were an Alpha too, till they realized you were a female and an omega. Not even a beta you disappointed them from the start. You always had the smaller room, fewer toys and clothes than your counterparts and, you were forced to clean up around the house. You were never wanted, never.

It wasn’t a surprise when you woke up from the fight, far away from home woods being the only thing you could see for miles. They left you while you were all running from the danger, you were the weak link they always thought...

Maybe put in. Your breathing shallowed as you walked frantically searching for your way home. Every slow step you put in made you feel farther away, your hope almost gone, until you came across a sign for Riverdale, You needed a place to make a home, a place to be somebody that wasn’t an omega. You did not want to be forgotten again. You were walking trying to find someone you were so hurt you could barely take more steps. You fell down transitioning out of your wolf form, and into your human form naked laying on a street.

Jughead’s POV

“Fangs stop goofing around, we have to go to the pack meeting!”

“No Jug look there's a naked girl!”

“Holy shit” Jug ran up to the girl trying to shake you awake but it wasn’t working, she was losing blood from a leg wound, and had a few cuts around her body. “Call Toni and tell her to bring clothes to the Wyrm”. Jug picked you up carrying your body as he ran to the Wyrm.

Once at the Wyrm they began cleaning your wounds after Toni had put undergarments on you. They wrapped each of your wounds and called the pack doctor to come and check on you.

“She is going to be fine Jug, but I do not want her waking up in the Wyrm. She has lost a lot of blood and her wounds need to be rewrapped with wet wraps every hour and dry following that for her skin to heal correctly. It should be a few hours before she wakes up but can one of you take her home? Toni?

“Yeah I can take her, of course, Fangs you wanna help me, can I borrow your truck? Yeah, I'll carry her and drive her and I’ll come back for the meeting. I’ll tell Pea you had a family emergency.

Y/N’s POV

You woke up a few hours later a place you didn’t know, you figured the other pack had caught up to you, the one that overtook your family. But you looked down to see your leg wrapped and medicine sitting next to the bed you were in, in a room that looked so alive and welcoming.

“Oh uhm Hi” You cowered away a bit. “Oh sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m Toni”

“Y/N” You reached out your hand to shake hers. “How… how did I get here?”

“Jughead and Fangs…” You look puzzled and she continued  “Sorry, they are my friends. They found you on the street”

“Oh no…”

“No, no your safe they found you before anything could happen, your leg is a little fucked up is all, but the doc says it'll be fine in a few days.

“The clothes…”

“Mine”

“Oh I'm so sorry I can, you can have them back. Uh, I should go but… wait I don’t have any money but I’ll pay you back…”

“Don’t worry about it really, can I ask you a question though?”

“Uhm sure”

“Where did you come from”

“I came from the Greendale pack, we got ran off, I split up from them but everything is fine” You needed to portray confidence needed to be strong even when you weren’t. The pack here could not think that you were weak. They needed to think you were a beta, think that you had the strength, not weakness or cowardice. “I'm uh, I’m a Beta”.

“Okay… I’m an Alpha, would you uh like to meet the rest of the pack”

“Of course, but you’re an Alpha?”

“Yeah, my mother and father both were, and I’m an only child, got lucky I guess”

You went to the Wyrm that night, meeting everyone but one. Sweet Pea, they called him, he was one of the pack Alphas, his friend Fangs was another, and Jughead too, the boy that had found you. It took a week for you to feel somewhat back to normal. You felt lost like everyone you ever knew was gone, I mean it was true, you were left, kicked to the side like dirt, but the serpents made you feel welcome and wanted. But in your head, you knew it was just because you were pretending to be a beta. You had been masking your scent with Toni’s clothes that she let you borrow, so pretending wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. The hardest was not going on runs. For a week now your leg had been healed, you would usually go on a run every day, but you couldn’t, if they did they would see your size, see that you were an omega and not a beta. You just couldn’t risk it. So you fought off the urge to turn and run.

The more you stayed in Riverdale the more you were told the stories of the serpents. How they hid from the northside. They never got along. The serpent pack was top of the Southside. The Ghoulies always fought them. Going to Southside high meant you could be a target but you needed to go. You were protected by them, but you needed to begin acting normal, needed to blend in. Being normal meant you had to go to school with everyone else.

School was different, in your old pack you were homeschooled from a young age, honestly lucky you got an education at all. It was your aunt who had taught you, well she was more so a nanny but she was so close you always called her your aunt. See your parents hated you, hated everything to do with you, so they pushed you to the side and hired a nanny, you were lucky for that though, lucky you weren't thrown away completely.

You got to school with children running around, smoking, banging against lockers, and making it against the walls. It was different from what you were used too because in your life you were sheltered, you didn’t kiss often, you never smoked, and the banging was so loud for your ears.

“How do you deal with that?”

“What?”

“The banging…”

“Headphones, pretend to listen to music, but just plug your ears instead, C’mon let’s get to class” She handed you an extra set of headphones in her bag and pulled you towards the classrooms. You followed her to your first class of the day Entering the room she said hi to a guy but he quickly bolted out the door, not even looking at you.

School was not as bad as you thought it would be. Classes were pretty simple, you knew everything you need too, it was being around other people you hated. You were never used to being around them, every time you heard a noise you cowered, I guess it really showed your true form. You needed to get out of the room. The anxiousness kept building and building you needed to be free needed to run. You luckily stashed clothes by a log in the woods a few days ago in case you had a chance.

You took off running into the woods morphing into your wolf form. You ran and ran, the wind through your hair, the air relieving the tension in your body. It felt good, so much more incredible than words can describe, it was something you missed so deeply.

You transformed back into your human form slipping the clothes over your body.

“Y/N!”

“Uhm… Jughead… I”

“I knew it, the smell it wasn’t right, and, and the howl it was so much quieter, you were so quiet, cowering at the noises… why?” he started packing around you, you grew nervous.

“Please..”

“I knew you weren’t a beta Y/N” You cowered down whimpering, the anxiety coursing through you. “Hey, hey shhh”

“Jug please, I'm sorry I lied, I was so scared so…”

“Why…”

“My uh, my family they uh… hated me, kept me locked up in my house, they were disappointed I was an omega, wanted nothing to do with me and…”

“Y/N the Serpents aren't like that… you know that”

“I know that now, but, but when I met you I was lost and scared, my leg was close to broken. I was left alone by my family… You know it doesn’t matter, I need to go...” You got up running, you needed to get away from him, needed to be on your own. You morphed into your wolf form once again before taking off. You were running for what felt like miles, before realizing you were lost. You didn’t know Riverdale, didn’t know their woods. It was all okay until you got launched into a tree, a whimper leaving your body. You looked up to see 4 wolves around you on all sides, no way you could run. You were 2x smaller than them, if not more, they were bigger and most likely faster. You howled hoping someone would hear, but nothing happened, no one came.

Jug knew exactly where you were, he could trace your scent, always good at tracking people. But he wanted you to meet Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea was the main pack Alpha along with Toni, he hadn’t met his soulmate yet, Jughead always tried setting him up. So this was his perfect opportunity.

*Sweet Pea’s POV*

Pea was chilling in the Wyrm when Jughead came bursting in the door.

“Y/N is missing!” 

“Who’s that?”

“The new girl, you saw her at lunch and bolted remember” The warm feeling invaded once again, a feeling not quite explainable. 

“We will find her I promise”

“Thank you ”

Pea didn’t know that Jughead and Toni were planning this the entire time. Pea had no idea that they were trying to set you and Pea up.

Toni gave Pea the jacket you had been wearing.

“Wait, Toni, this smells like you… and something else”

“Yeah, she has been wearing my clothes, can you find her?”

“Yeah, she's under our protection, I need to find her it’s my duty”

Pea began running, he heard a whimper through the trees, so he ran faster coming up on the Ghoulie wolves. He heard your cries, when he laid eyes on you, almost felt your pain in a way, but he didn’t get a good look before the Ghoulies were standing in front of you. You tried running but you couldn’t stand, they had hurt your leg that was still so sensitive from the first time you hurt it.

“You can not take her!”

“We do what we want Sweet Pea, you have no authority”

“This is my land, meaning my authority, now leave before I call for backup packs to take care of you”

“You wouldn’t dare! For this mutt, this sad excuse of a…” Pea growled in their direction, feeling so protective over you even when he hadn’t laid eyes on you, and just could smell your scent. The howling of surrounding packs ensued, quickly the Ghoulies had fled, you staying against the tree eyes closed, your body transitioning out of wolf form, as you shook with fear. You felt a nudge against your back, warmth radiating through your body, his scent filling your nose. This was something that never happened, wolves never really felt warmth like that, seeming as they were warm as it was, it was an odd sensation.

“You’re gonna be okay, can you climb on my back” You shook your head without looking and the woof nuzzled into you again. You looked into the wolves' eyes, before stopping in your tracks. The heat that went through your body felt 10 times hotter than when the wolf nuzzled you the first time, his scent filling your nose. The wolf transitioned out of his wolf form, starting back at you was a tall guy, a serpent mark bared upon his neck.

“Hi…” You just stared at him, a partial awkwardness due to the nakedness you both dawned. “One second” He ran away for a moment slipping shorts on and handing you a shirt that was behind a nearby rock. “I keep some placed around the woods, in case I go on a run”

“Uhm thanks, I uh, I should go…” You tried getting up but your leg gave out, you tried again but whimpered falling as the wolf grabbed you. “Please stop you’re hurt” Pea felt it, felt your pain in him, but he didn’t understand why, he could feel his pack sometimes, yes, but it was never anything like this. “I’m Sweet Pea”.

“Wait… you’re the alpha, I really need to go, I’m sorry” Before you could stand you felt his hand on you. “I know you’re not a beta”

“I…”

“It’s okay”

“It’s not I lied, and I never should have said anything or lied or even came here but my family I just… please don’t kick me out I don’t have anywhere to go… I...”

“Stop, it’s okay, just tell me your name”

“I’m uh, I’m Y/N” You couldn’t get the warm feeling out of your head. “Pea, uh do you… do you feel warm” You felt warm, it felt sweet, you smelled sweetness, smelled him so much stronger than you had before. You felt love… felt close to him with barely knowing him and you didn’t know why didn't understand it.

“Well Y/N I would never kick you out, plus I can’t… that warmness, it’s called imprinting at least I think that’s what is going on, it’s a wolf thing my grandma taught me about it. It means we are soulmates Omega.”

Soup

“Köbi…” The angel was just stepping into Sydryn’s house after a long shift when the dragon started summoning him insistently. “Köbiiiii.” “I’m here. I’m coming.” Köbi pulled off his boots and neatly laid them on the shoe rack before pulling off his coat. To the angel, coming home to the pink palace that appeared to be Sydryn’s house was regularly a wonderment to his eyes. Everything shade, tint, or hue of pink and nothing was understated. It was like walking into Barbie’s dream house if she was an eccentric billionaire with terrible taste in décor—as long as it was pink, it didn’t matter how gaudy it was. The scrubs at APID were a zanah green, so Köbi had to change into a bubble-gum robe as soon as his coat was off. Sydryn was still calling to him from their bedroom so he quickened his pace and headed upstairs. Three floors up, he knocked before opening Sydryn’s bedroom door.

“Yes?” Sydryn was sitting up in bed, playing video games. “There you are. Can you put the kettle on for tea?” Köbi nodded. “Rose tea?” “No, Kashmiri chai, please.” “Oh. Uh, okay.” The angel turned around and went all the way back downstairs, pulling out his phone to search how to make whatever Kashmiri tea was. He wasn’t surprised to find that it was a very pink tea, though it was quite a bit more complicated than the rose tea Sydryn usually drank. Köbi had really hoped that when he got home, he could sit down with Sydryn to talk about a charity project he was interested in starting for the families with children who used APID, but now it seemed he’d be using up a good three quarters to an hour working on a cup of tea. This wasn’t the job Köbi had expected when he agreed to assist Sydryn. He thought he’d be side by side with the dragon, learning medicine, seeing how it saved lives, but once the dragon’s morning sickness caught up to them, it had quickly turned into a nannying job. But caregiving was in Köbi’s nature and he was happy so long as he was helping someone, so taking care of the bed ridden dragon was fulfilling. “There we are,” Köbi said handing the dragon their tea. "The recipe called for crushed nuts but I didn’t find any in the house so I hope it’s alright without them…” Sydryn wrinkled their nose. “We don’t have any red pistachios left?” “Um, I didn’t see any in the kitchen… I’m pretty sure those stopped being made a long time ago?” Sydryn sighed and sipped their tea. “Well, it’s not like they were naturally coloured anyway…” “How are you feeling today?” Köbi asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Bloated, tired, nauseous…” “Any better than yesterday?” “No.” “Aw, I’m sorry you feel that way.” Köbi raised a hand. “Would you like me to try and alleviate some of those feelings?” “No, don’t touch me.” “Right, okay…” Köbi rubbed his neck. “So, um, what have you been playing?” “Kirby...” “Oh, haha. I should've known...” Köbi smiled and rubbed his knees. “Have you eaten yet today?” “...Hm. You made me toast this morning.” “That's all you've had?” “I couldn't keep anything else down.” “That's not good... You need to be eating.” “If I can't keep it down, I can't keep it down.” “There isn't something you can take to help with the nausea?” “I'm having tea.” “Right...” Köbi counted on his fingers. “So... You're, what, five months pregnant now?” “Pretty much.” “That's like...two and a half for a human right?” “Approximately.” “With seven eggs?” “Correct.” “You must be showing more now.” Sydryn rolled their eyes and lifted the blankets off themselves, displaying their growing abdomen. They’d definitely grown since coming back from Europe but not nearly as much as Köbi expected. “I don’t know much about pregnancy or egg laying or anything like that, but I feel like you should be bigger,” Köbi said. “If my pregnancy progressed the same way as a human’s, then I probably would be bigger,” Sydryn said. “However, this is not the case. Dragon eggs do swell and eventually harden before laying, but only truly gain considerable size after they are laid. Otherwise, I’d become disgustingly large to the point of hating every inch of my body and wanting to kill myself.” Köbi frowned. “I don’t really like it when you speak so morbidly. I understand that you don’t want to be pregnant, but do you always have to be so negative about it?” “Please. Enlighten me with the positives of this condition.” “Well. Um…” Köbi scratched his head. “…I mean, you’re a dragon who has outlived many other dragons. You’re probably the smartest one too.” “I am. What of it?” “You’ve succeeded in surviving for as long as you have and now only you and a few others are capable of repopulating your species. All the other ones didn’t get the chance to be here today to do that. These eggs you’re growing are your legacy. They can only exist because you exist.” Sydryn sighed. “And they’ll be born ungrateful and ignorant. Absolute monsters who don’t deserve to be born of my body.” Köbi crossed his arms. “If you’re just going to be indignant, then fine… I won’t ask any more.” “Thank you.” “But seriously, you need to eat something.” Köbi got up and put his hands on his hips. “I’m going to make you soup.” “I don’t want soup.” Köbi started to leave. “I’m going to make you soup and it’s not going to be pink.” “It better be pink!” “Alright, alright! I’ll put…beets in it or something…” “Thank you.” It took another half hour for Köbi to put together the soup and turn it pink. They brought it back up to the dragon’s bedroom along with a tea refill. Sydryn had sat themself up to drink down the tea and had set down their game. “I forgot, I wanted to tell you…” Köbi started, handing over the soup. “I helped deliver twins today.” “Dari’s I imagine,” Syd stated, inspecting the soup. “Births are really the worst… Was it educational for you?” “Yes. The first one I saw was that C-section which was very interesting, but this one was natural, so it was very different.” “That wasn’t natural,” Sydryn said. “Vaginas are natural.” “What do you mean? That wasn’t that?” Sydryn squinted. “Wait, they usually have water births… Was it a water birth?” “Yes.” “So, did you actually see it happen?” “Well, no…” “Congratulations. You were beside a birth.” Köbi nodded. “I guess you’re right… It was still an amazing experience.” Sydryn went to take a sip of their soup but ended up downing half of it in one go. They sighed and leaned back resting their eyes. “Köbi,” they said calmly. “This soup is very good. Thank you for making it for me.” Köbi perked up a little, unused to the compliments. Perhaps having real food in their stomach helped their mood. “Thank you. That means a lot.” “You’re doing well and I’m sorry I’m not fit right now to guide you in the workplace.” Köbi shook their head. “It’s fine. I’m learning a lot. And it’s more important that you rest up.” “I shouldn’t be complaining. The last time I was pregnant, I was living in hiding on the side of a mountain  without plumbing, forced into the unofficial leadership of a small army who ended up killing the one dragon I actually didn’t entirely mind seeing sometimes and who also happened to be the sire of my eggs then.” Köbi felt like there was a lot to unpack there but he didn’t want to pry too much. “Sounds like you really cared for that dragon.” “In general, no. Relatively to the rest of the dragons, yes. I despise all dragons to some extent, but I can also care. Seranan, for example, is my sibling, so I loathe their existence, but I also care just enough to rather they not die. Dranley was around that same level. I might’ve even thought of them as a friend.” “Aw, well I’m sorry your friend died…” Köbi sympathised. “It’s never easy losing the ones you care for.” Sydryn shook their head. “I’ve been over it for the last four hundred years.” They finished their soup and set it aside and attempted to change the subject. “…I think if you considered going to nursing school, you’d be very good at it.” Köbi shook his head. “I can’t make commitments like that as an angel. It’d take me off my path.” “Not the path again… You don’t even know your path. Nursing could be your path.” “It could be, but I won’t know until I know,” Köbi stayed. “But I don’t think it’s that, though I am enjoying it in this moment of my life.” “You realised you aren’t a licensed nurse, so how we’ve employed you at APID is illegal,” Sydryn said. “Is that not a sin or whatever?” “Laws are made by governments,” Köbi stated. “To disobey them is not inherently immoral. The laws of man are not the laws of the divine.” “Very true. Glad we can agree.” Sydryn rubbed their face. “Could you do me just one more favour?” Köbi smiled. “Yes, of course.” “Could you get me more tea?” “Sure.” Köbi got up to pour more tea but Sydryn put up a hand. “No, I’d rather rose tea, if that’s alright.” “Oh, but there’s a lot of the Kashmiri—” “I realised I don’t actually like that one, I just like looking at it. Rose tea is much better. It’s been the best for the morning sickness.” Köbi nodded getting up and starting to head out. “Okay, I can make a new pot….” “Thank you. Oh, and could you cut me some strawberries too, please? Thank you.” “Yeah, no problem.”

Losing Fjotli

A short story I wrote. It’s from the perspective of Idesa Sadri, who is the governess (nanny) for the Cruel Sea clan in Windhelm. The parents never really mention their kids except for one time, and otherwise don’t act like they have children, much less that one was murdered, so I headcannon that Idesa was more of a mother to the kids than their actual parents ever were. This story is about her losing Fjotli to the Butcher. I apologize in advance for any typos. 

             Nobody ever thinks it will be their child. When we hear about the horrors in the world, kidnappings, murder, torture, slavery, all those nasty acts, we always assure ourselves that we’re safe. We tell ourselves that our children are safe and that our diligence will be rewarded with continued safety. But these are lies we say to get through the day. It’s not my child, not my parent, not my sibling, not my lover, and not my friend, so it will always be that way, yes? But what happens when it is your child?

           The day hadn’t been special. I can’t for the life of me remember much of what I had been doing up until the evening. If I had to guess, I did chores, laundry day, I think. Lots of laundry, lots of discarded slips and muddy trousers with holes in the knees to mend. There always was. I’m sure I scolded Fjotli for changing outfits so many times a day and making me more unnecessary work. She probably mouthed off and claimed I was ruining her life. She could be such a brat sometimes, I think she got it from her mother. Still, I loved her as my own. I’m sure I prepared dinner for Grimvar, Fjotli, and myself before we retired to our own activities.

When I did my rounds through the house to make sure the children were alright, she was gone. She had snuck out again; it had become routine by that point. She was fifteen years old and was getting more rebellious. It was normal, though honestly frustrating. She had gotten older, and her parents decided they wanted to try to have a relationship with her after fifteen years of ignoring her. They still ignored Grimvar. I could strangle those useless s’wits. Fjotli started pushing me away as she got older. It embarrassed her to see me as anything but the maid, but I didn’t work constantly to raise her and her brother for ten years to be written off as a servant.

I left the home after telling Grimvar to stay in his room and to not open the door for anyone. I locked the door behind me and went looking for Fjotli. Her friends’ houses were my first guess, but nobody had seen her. I wasn’t sure where else she could have gone, so I ended up wandering her usual path, when the worst scream I had ever heard echoed off of the stone walls around me. I hadn’t heard such terror in almost eleven years ago, when thugs broke into my brother and I’s home, but this scream was one of pain rather than terror. I pulled out my dagger and ran towards the screaming, nearly tripping over the crumbling stone stairs of the street. That screaming… Oh it kept echoing no matter how fast I ran. And then, it stopped. I saw a woman running away from an injured young lady on the ground. I looked around in panic before kneeling at the woman’s side, only for my heart to stop. It was my little girl. Fjotli was staring up at me, flailing her arms up to grab at me, blood gushing out of her neck. I scooped her up into my arms and held my scarf to her neck in an attempt to stop the blood from rushing out too much.

“Help us! Help us!” I screamed as loud as I could muster as I held my daughter close to me. Fjotli made a panicked, pained noise as a guard ran over to us. “Please, help me, she needs a doctor, I can’t carry her myself, please help her!”

“What happened, Elf?!”

“I don’t know, please help her, please, she’s dying, don’t let her die!”

Two guards pulled Fjotli out of my arms, causing her to let out a gurgled scream as they picked her up.

“It’s ok, they’re helping you, it’s ok,” I tried to soothe her, but I doubt it helped. We rushed through the city to Nurelion’s shop. He had been working as a healer in Windhelm for as long as I could remember. He had been the one to save my life when I was young. I knew I could trust him to save my little girl.

The old Altmer and his assistant were startled at the sudden patient, but they took Fjotli from the guards and immediately got to work. I tried to get close to hold her hand. I wanted her to know I was there, that I was there to make sure she was protected, but Nurelion insisted that I stay out of the way. What else could I have done but stay out of the way and allow them to work? Still, it felt wrong, sitting there in that chair while Fjotli struggled for her life. My whole body shook uncontrollably, no matter how close to the fire I got. I couldn’t seem to calm down enough to sit still or breathe easily. So many thoughts rushed my head all at once, jumbling into incomprehensible noise as the guards asked me what had happened. I couldn’t focus, I could barely hear them over my own heart racing off over yonder. I managed to tell them who I was and who Fjotli was. One left to get her ‘parents’. Would they even come? Could I let Grimvar see his sister this way? I said nothing. I just trembled and tried desperately to keep myself from getting to sick as the world spun like a top on the table.

Images of Fjotli’s life rushed through my mind like racing chariots. I remembered her at five years old, when I had first started taking care of her and Grimvar. All the days we spent together, playing and doing chores around the Cruel Sea Manor. I remembered all the funny little things she told me over the years, about how sweet her laugh was and how quick witted she was as a little girl. That love for life and laughter faded as she grew older and got replaced with a cynical edge she had picked up from her peers. Over time, I became little more than the maid to her. Still, I loved her like she was my own child. The rejection hurt, but I there wasn’t anything I could do to turn back time. She was growing up, and for better or worse, that meant beginning to let go of me. I treasured all the little moments. The aimless morning conversations before she went to school, the times she’d ask me to finish up an embroidery piece she had started, the times to she would come down from her room to peer into the kitchen while waiting for dinner to be served. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, so many things I still wanted to do with her and her brother. Places to go, things to see, a life with the kids outside of Windhelm. That was the dream. And it was exactly that. A foolish dream. Why didn’t I hold her more when I had the chance? Why did I keep waiting for her to grow out of the phase before trying to repair our relationship? I thought giving her space was the answer, but as she lied there, fighting for her life, I regretted not making my love for my daughter better known. The guilt was overwhelming. I wanted nothing more than to hold my daughter and tell her how much she meant to me, but I didn’t know if I would have the chance.

  There wasn’t much that could be done for Fjotli. Her injuries were too severe, all we could do was keep her comfortable until she died. That morning, we brought her home and I kept watch over her, administering the potions when needed to keep her calm and ease the pain. Fjotli spent the next few days drifting in and out of consciousness. Usually, she was only awake enough for me to help her eat a little bit of soup and give her the medicine, but she didn’t really react to much. Usually, she just wanted me to hold her hand and talk to her. I had been running out of things to say. Her friends brought her flowers, and Grimvar spent his time curled up beside her when he wasn’t fetching things for me. What could I say to soothe her? What could I say to comfort either child? We all knew what was coming. I couldn’t lie to Grimvar about it. He deserved to know that his sister was dying, how could I give him false hope when I knew it would all be for not?

Fjotli was awake late two nights after the attack. She had been holding out well given her injuries, but she grew weaker with every passing hour it seemed. I think we both knew that was going to be the last night. I caressed her hair and brushed it out of her face gently, trying to force a pleasant expression for her.

“I remember when you were little, you used to have so much trouble brushing your hair. It was always messy. So I started braiding your hair every day so it wouldn’t get too tangled when you would play,” I said quietly. Fjotli smiled slightly at me and turned her head towards me. “You were such an adventurous little girl. Girly, but every time I would pick you up from school, you’d be wearing more mud on your face than the boys. I swear, it looked like war paint,” I chuckled. “I’m thankful that I got the chance to take care of you. I might not be your mother, but I love you like my own child. I always have and I always will. Please don’t forget that.”

She was quiet. It was difficult to swallow, much less speak. I hadn’t expected a reply. I had to stop her from speaking on several occasions over the days. Being unable to speak was bothering her, but I did all I could to ensure her needs were met immediately so she wouldn’t have to try to strain her throat to get my attention. I hadn’t gotten much sleep since that horrible night. Even when Fjotli was sleeping, I couldn’t bring myself rest. I kept watching over her, trying to be there if she needed me, if she passed. I didn’t want my daughter feel alone when she left Nirn. She deserved to be comforted by the people who loved her on her way to the other side. Fjotli wasn’t a bad person, she had so much potential, she certain didn’t deserve the pain she was given, even on her worst days.

I gently pat Grimvar on the head while he slept next to his sister then kissed Fjotli’s forehead. “I love you so much, little one.”

“Mah-ma,” Fjotli managed to wheeze out as she grabbed my arm.

“Don’t speak, little one, I know it hurts,” I urged, but she repeated herself and put her arm around me. I leaned down and hugged her gently, doing my best not to touch her injuries or cause her any further pain. “I’m right here, sweetie. It’s going to be ok.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. Don’t apologize, this isn’t your fault, baby.” I assured and lied down next to her with my arms around her and Grimvar. “I’m here, little one.”

“Mama...” she wheezed and coughed before continuing, “I.. love you… Don’t crr cry.”

“You haven’t said that to me in so long…” I shook my head and tried to stop myself from crying, but it was a futile attempt. “I love you too, Fjotli. I always have and always will. No matter what, you will always be my little girl. Always.”

My little Fjotli looked up at me with a tired smile before closing her eyes and drifting back to sleep.

She died in her sleep shortly after, still sandwiched between her brother and I. When she passed, I picked up Grimvar and carried him to his own bed. He seemed annoyed with being disturbed while he slept, but he remained unconscious thankfully. I was able to tuck him in and get him to go back into his previous deep sleep before returning to Fjotli’s room. Despite the injuries, the mutilations, she looked peaceful lying there under the blankets. It almost looked like she was just sleeping, I almost wanted to tell myself she was, but I couldn’t. Her passing needed to be acknowledged. She deserved that respect. I walked over to my little girl and kissed her forehead for the last time before kneeling at her bedside to cry and pray for her soul’s safety.

was thinking about some of my older post-mpreg stories on my first DA account and was just gonna repost them to my current one, BUT instead i spent a bit fixing them up so here’s the first one i edited that was from 2015, about my android oc Miss Nanny, and her two alien owners, Rowland and Theodore Darring

Android If she were alive, she supposed she would be in what people call 'a panic' or 'freaking out'. But instead, she was just on high alert with multiple alarms going off in her system, all sorts of ratings and numbers flashing inside her eyes. One of the floating rings around her was out of water and the child inside of one of the orbs on the rings was dehydrated and starting to feel the effects. She wished she could get water herself, but if she reached out, the orbs would bash into her arm and fall off and die. She couldn't let that happen. So now she was trying her best to find someone who could help her, but all the maids and servants in the house spoke a language she hadn't been programmed to compute. She was getting rather desperate. If she didn't refill the ring, the creature in the orb would die, and the other orbs on that ring would soon dehydrate as well. Having one of the beings in the orbs perish went entirely against her programming. It was her sole purpose and job to keep them alive and well sustained.

The android girl was at a loss. Nothing in her programming prepared her for this, for such ridiculous design flaws. She was supposed to find aid if she could not do a task herself, but the people who were supposed to aid her weren't doing it. She couldn't communicate with them, and they were giving her a wide berth, as instructed. She was walking quickly through the mansion halls, looking for anyone that could help her. More and more warnings kept popping up. Another one of the orbs was beginning to suffer, soon followed by another on that same ring. Another ring flashed a warning that its water level was getting too low, and two others soon followed. She really needed to find help. If any of the orbs died she knew she would be disposed of for failing, and her owners would be extremely upset. She looked at each orb, scanning their vital signs. The original one wasn't doing so well, it would perish within an hour if she did not refill the water in the ring. The tiny baby in the orb looked deathly already. It was limp and its breathing was irregular, it’s coloring pale, eyes were half closed. The others were beginning to go limp as well, growing fatigued with dehydration. Her sensory system was beginning to go into overload. She turned on the alarm lights on the suffering orbs and made them flash brightly and quickly. Hopefully, someone would come to help her. If no one did, then the orbs would perish. Her flashing lights finally attracted the attention of someone. A concerned voice asked, "Excuse me, is something wrong? What's with all the lights?" Oh no! she thought, freezing. Why did she have to attract the attention of one of her owners? She wasn’t supposed to bother them. After all, that was the reason she was purchased. To take care of the children within the orbs so her owners wouldn’t have to. To make matters worse, it was her owner's spouse who had spotted her, the one person she was absolutely not supposed to get in the way of. But… bothering them to save the children would be much better than not disturbing them and having the babies die. She spun around to face her owner. They looked a bit confused, staring at her through all her spinning rings. Information popped up in her vision. Person detected - Identity: Theodore Darring - Age: 29 standard years - Gender: Intersex [Male] A list of personal information was there. She ignored that, greeting him cheerfully, as her voice was programmed, "Hello, Master!" "What's with all the lights?” he repeated. “Is something wrong?" "Yes! Something is very wrong! One ring is depleted of water, and four others are also on low water supply." Her eyes glowed and holographic images shown in front of her, different screens displaying the statuses of each orb quickly. The screens multiplied to show the statuses of the suffering orbs, and one status changed to show a countdown until an approximate time of death for the original one. "A-ah! Why are they all dying? An hour until approximate time of demise!" Fear filled his eyes, and his fists clenched at his side. Furious and frightened, his voice raised. "That's not supposed to happen! You're supposed to take care of the children I have until they pupate!" "I apologize, Master.” At times like this, she wished she was capable of changing her delighted tone of voice. “But my arms cannot reach through due to the number of rings I possess, due to the fact that the orbs will bash into my arm and fall off, therefore displaying a serious health risk on them. I am also not programmed to speak the language of the servants, so they are not able to understand me when I ask them for their aid and as such cannot give me any aid," she explained. "Oh, how horrible… My poor babies… Come on, I'll fill up the rings for you!" Theodore started walking off towards the kitchen, where there would undoubtedly be bottled water or tap water they could filter. The android girl followed quickly, the statuses still flashing in front of her. Once they reached the kitchen, he opened up the fridge. There were a bunch of water bottles, so he grabbed them and put them onto the counter. He opened one of them and turned towards the android. She slowed down the rings until they came to a stop. A bunch of tabs on them opened. "Please pour the water into the small tabs," she instructed. Theodore nodded and filled up the top ring first, where the dying creature was. The tabs closed up and small tubes poked into the orbs. The infants latched onto them to drink the water. The dying baby didn't respond to the tube. Theodore filled up the rest of the rings, refilling the top one again. He used up all the water bottles. The android made all the rings but one spin again. All the red alert statuses vanished except for the one orb on top. "Why isn't that one drinking?" She was quiet for a moment, one of the many screens displaying a loading symbol, and then a full sheet of vitals. "According to my scans, it is too weak to drink and requires vitamins and medicine as well, which I do not carry. It requires medical attention and forced feeding immediately." "Then I'll call a doctor right away!" He scrambled for his phone but stopped as the android spoke again, "To be force fed and examined, it must be removed from the orb. I will open it now, so please remove it. The other creatures' blood flows are beginning to slow from not being spun around." "Y-yes, of course!" Theodore took out the small frog-like baby. He cradled it in one arm and stroked its back. The orb snapped shut and the ring began to spin again. The android girl scanned the creature once more. "It would be wise to rock it and feed it." "But it can't eat anything in here yet, it's too young!" "The water I give the children is infused with the vitamins that you, the parents, carry. At the moment, since it is not a part of my model’s standard inventory, I do not carry the vitamin that aids them in healing. You do." He shook his head, frowning. "No, I don't. I don't have any vitamins or anything. The correct ones, at least… I'm not the same species as them." Understanding, she nodded. "Then it would be the most logical course of action to take it to Lord Darring, their father, as he possesses the necessary vitamins. We must also call a doctor." The idea was kind of crazy to Theodore, but since it was coming from the robot who was programmed to care for the children, he had no choice but to listen to what she said. He finally pulled out his phone and dialed for the family doctor. "Master Darring! What is the matter? Why have you called? Has Lord Darring's fever returned?" "N-no, his fever went away last week… But you need to come right away! One of our children is dying!" Saying it out loud hit him hard. Panic built up in him. "Please hurry!” The doctor assured him he would be there quickly. Theodore stuck his phone back into his pocket. He looked at the baby in his arms. It was even paler, the android silently noted, and its eyes were fully closed. Its breathing was very shallow. She started walking off in the direction of her owner's office. Theodore followed, rocking the baby as he speed walked. Despite walking fast, it took them a few minutes to get to the office. Theodore pushed open the door with his shoulder. He held it open so the android could enter easily. She stepped in, the countdown status still displayed. Her owner looked up at them from where he was working at his desk, a hint of annoyance on his face. "What in the world are you doing, Theo? You know I hate being interrupted while I work. Wait, why is that droid in here? W-wait, what are doing?” Theodore went right up to him, going around the desk. “Why are you holding one of the children? Th-Theo! Get off of me!" Theodore had one knee on the chair, leering over his husband. "Take off your shirt, Rowland,” Theodore said firmly. "W-what?” Rowland looked as though he was trying to sink back into his chair. “No! Absolutely not! Get off this instant, Theo! Off!" "It's dying! You need to feed it!" Theodore insisted, unbuttoning his husband’s shirt. "N-no! I refuse!” He turned his face, hands held up like a shield, but not wanting to have them too close to his child. “Get it away! Get that little monster away!" The baby finally opened its eyes. It noticed Rowland's skin as Theodore tried to force his shirt off. It wiggled a bit and then using the minimal energy it had, launched itself from Theodore’s arm at Rowland's exposed skin. Rowland yelped as the child bit down hard on his neck. "It's on me! Get it off! Get it off!" Theodore grabbed his hands to keep him from touching the baby. It closed its eyes contentedly and began to feed. Rowland curled up, covering his face with his hands as Theodore released him to stare in confusion. "Aaah… it got me…” "Is it… is it sucking your blood? What the fuck?" "Get it off…” Rowland moaned. "I hate this… This is why we bought that damned robot… Why would you bring it near me…?" Theodore crossed his arms, scowling. "Because it was dying, you jerk! It needed your vitamins or whatever! A doctor's coming to give it medicine too, so stop being a wuss!" That only further upset Rowland. "No, please… You know how much I hate needles…” "What are you talking about?" "In order for it to get medicine, it has to drink it, so it has to drink it out of me..." The door opened again. They all looked, Rowland peering through his fingers. It was the doctor. They looked a bit winded from hurrying over, holding two small boxes, including one clear one that held a syringe full of green medicine the android recognized as the necessary medication. The doctor went next to Rowland, who groaned and tried to turn his chair away. Theodore held it in place while the doctor brought out and flicked the syringe. "Alright, I have the medicine!" After readying it, they inserted the needle without any warning to Rowland and administered the medicine through a vein where the baby would get it from. Rowland gave a small whimpering sound. The baby twitched, not enjoying the taste of the medicine mixed with Rowland's blood. Despite that, it continued to feed. Once it had drunk its fill, it released itself from its father's neck. Theodore caught it before it could fall and held it, stroking its back again. It looked visibly better already and soon dozed off. The android smiled, eager to get close and check on it herself once more. She waited, not wanting to get in the way. The doctor put a bandage on Rowland's neck so the black-haired man would stop bleeding. "It appears to be better already, but just looking isn't enough. Girl! Scan it and give me a status report on its vitals." The android quickly complied, and the death count status changed to multiple graphs and percentages. Theodore looked at it as well, but the confused look on his face told her that he didn’t really understand what he was looking at. The doctor did, eyeing the data thoughtfully. "Hmm, it seems the vitamin levels are a bit low, so it will need to feed from Lord Rowland for the next few days, and will require a bit more medicine until it returns to full health." Rowland groaned. The doctor ignored him and continued, "I'll get more syringes shipped in. Do you have a rocker? The android's orbs will not be suitable for caring for it until it heals completely, but it still needs motion for blood flow." "A rocker?" Rowland pushed aside Theodore's echo with a strained answer, "Yes, we do. It just needs to be set up. It was put into storage when the droid arrived. It should be in the closet of the nursery room." He still seemed rattled by the feeding. Theodore knew where the nursery room was, so he guided the android there, chatting with her. - Rowland sighed after the two of them and all the children were gone. The doctor was carefully packing the empty syringe away. Rowland reached into his desk to grab a small bottle of pills. His hand was suddenly smacked away from the bottle. He looked up at the doctor, who had hit him. "You're forbidden from taking any other medicines, or drinking any sort of alcohol or drugs while the young master needs to feed off of you," they ordered. Rowland gave him a look, "I have bad anemia. If I don't take these pills I won't be able to work or do anything properly." The doctor smiled and chirped, "You'll be fine for a few days! I'll give the kitchen a list of foods that are high in iron for you." "I'd rather just take the pills." He didn't like any of the diets his doctors made for his anemia. They never worked. Iron deficiency wasn't his main problem, despite it being a concern at the moment. Sickle cell was. But there was no stopping any of his doctors from thinking that, the condition so rare on his planet. They snatched up the pill bottle, finished packing up, and went off to help Theodore and the android to set up the rocker. - The doctor found Theodore and the droid standing over a pile of the rocker pieces. Theodore was holding a piece and an assembly manual, staring at it with a puzzled look. The baby was on top of his head, sleeping soundly. The doctor quickly realized Theodore had no clue how to assemble the machine. "Hey there!" "I can't read this," Theodore sighed. He handed them the manual when they approached. "I can only read basic and my home language. And there are no pictures." The planet spoke basic, but the language they used for writing was completely different. "That's alright,” they assured. “I'll build it. You can sit on the bed and rock the child or bounce it on your knee. If it isn't in motion, its blood flow will eventually stop and it might die." The blue alien's eyes widened. It was clear he absolutely did not want the creature to die after such a big scare. He did as the doctor said and put the creature on his knee to bounce it, cupping his hands around it so it wouldn't fall. It continued sleeping through the movement. Theodore's leg was getting really tired by the time the doctor finished the rocker. They took the baby from him and put it into an orb on the rocker, smiling a bit when he stretched his leg out with relief. They pressed a button on it and the orb rocked back and forth, like a small swing. - It took a week for the baby to heal enough to return to the android’s orb, and she was very pleased to have it back under her care. Walking around with an empty orb had made her anxious, not knowing the exact status of one of the children at all times. Theodore had found a language pack for her and installed it. Now, she could speak to and understand the estate staff, and would not need to bother her owners whenever she needed something. Theodore had taken to following her around, wanting to be more attentive to the children even if they couldn't acknowledge that he was there. He had always wanted to be a loving parent, he told her, so he decided to start now. She was glad for the company, even if she didn’t understand most of his stories, not having the context for them. She provided him with some translated texts on childcare, and the excitement on his face and in his voice was clear even to the children. She hummed as she walked through the estate garden, noting to herself how getting sun and fresh air made the children especially happy and relaxed. - "If you have a stroke and die I'm gonna hate you forever," Theodore told Rowland as he got ready for bed, pulling off his shirt. "You're not leaving me with twenty kids to raise on my own." When not following around the android, Theodore spent time with his husband, providing him company as he was on strict bed rest. Lethargic and weak from being fed from and banned from medicine, Rowland mostly just slept or listened to him talk, occasionally making a sound or brief word in response. “Yeah…” "The baby didn't even drink that much blood from you! Why do you have such bad anemia? Is that genetic? Are the kids all going to have whatever blood deformation you have?" Theodore asked, grabbing his pajama shirt and pulling it over his head. "Probably…” Rowland muttered, "…'m tired…” "You're not allowed to die during the middle of the night,” Theodore told him seriously. “I'll be traumatized for life if I wake up next to my husband's dead body. Especially since I hold onto you. I'm not having a corpse pressed against me." "I won't die..." "Ugh. Now I'm all anxious and worried! I'm not gonna be able to sleep like this!" He flopped on the bed, burying his face into the blankets. "No dying." "I said I won't…” Theodore flipped over, pulling his legs onto the bed and carding his fingers through his indigo hair. "I'm still worried…” he sighed. "Let's just go to sleep, Theo…” The younger huffed before agreeing. "Alright." He moved to his usual spot up against Rowland, nuzzling him. "'Night." "Goodnight, Theo."

Arc of the Blind Warrior

The rain stopped at last, but Ian could only feel cold spreading over him. He had lost a lot of blood, yet he dared not stop. Taras’ pony had joined him as he rode Pepper’s horse, slogging along through the mud. He gave the horses their heads and Taras’ horse led the way through the night and into the day. Will had stopped crying, but Ian didn’t have the strength to check on him to make sure he was alright.

Taras’ horse stopped and so did Pepper’s and Ian raised his head.

“Why’d ye stop?” Ian asked.

“Rest,” Taras’ horse answered. “Safe here.”

Ian couldn’t argue and supposed the horse knew where was safe. Carefully he slid from the saddle and leaned heavily against the horse. When he had his feet and head he walked away. His sense around him told him they were in some kind of glen off the road, grass covering the ground. Ian wearily unsaddled first Pepper’s horse and then Taras’ and rubbed them down halfheartedly.

Then he set about making a fire and at last checked on Will. The child was asleep but woke when Ian unwrapped him from his chest. Will cried weakly and Ian changed his soiled pants, and wet wraps. Having only water Ian tried feeding Will from the water skin. The babe drank greedily and the water seemed to fill him for now because he fell asleep. Relieved Ian tucked Will in to sleep in a dry spot by the fire.

Ian shed his tunic and mail, wincing as dried blood was pulled free from his wound. His tunic and mail had a great gash in them from the blow. The men had surprised him, cutting him across his shoulders as he had protected Will in his arms. He had just barely managed to mount Pepper’s horse and escape, the chaos of the panicked horses covering his escape. If they had pursued him Ian had felt no sign of them.

He reached over his shoulder and prodded the wound, wincing as his fingers met tender flesh. It wasn’t deep but long, only a flesh wound really; his mail had absorbed most of the blow. Ian hunted through the packs and found a healing kit. Wetting a rag he cleaned the wound before applying a poultice to the cut using a salve and bandages from the kit. Carefully he pulled on a clean tunic, wincing in pain.

He checked on Will, but he was fast asleep. He sat by the fire his heart heavy in his chest. Bailey could be dead, or worse in the hands of the Crippled One. Before despair could crush him, Ian remembered Melanthios. Pepper was a warrior and had the black dragon to aid her. Who knew what powers the dragon had helped Pepper use? Ian remembered Bailey telling him about shape shifting; they could have fled that way. Or they could have stolen horses or fled into the lines. While Ian would worry about Bailey, he also had faith in Pepper to protect her twin until her last breath.

Ian slumped by the fire feeling too tired to think anymore and lay out near the fire. He passed out more than fell asleep, darkness claiming his mind. He woke what felt like moments later to Will crying. Quickly he sat up and checked on him. He was warm to the touch and Ian feared he was catching a fever. Ian set about heating some water.

He picked at the herbs in Pepper’s pack but knew nothing of the herbs to know what to choose. He could smell them better than see them with his strange perception. Even though the herbs were dried and dead they had a faded color about them that told him they held power. Whether this power was from Bailey working with them or the herbs’ own natural power Ian didn’t know. He saw several gnomes looking at the herbs too like curious children.

“Can ye tell me what ta use?” Ian asked them. One nodded and motioned to him. “Ah he has a fever, n he be hungry I bet. He needs somewhat nourishing.” The gnomes picked through the herbs and handed him certain stems and he added them to the water to steep. He held Will close as the water and herbs seeped until one of the gnomes poked him to take the water out.

He waited for it to cool enough to pick out the stems from the mixture and then carefully poured it into an empty water skin. He then fed Will the mixture, the babe drinking the liquid a few sips and then turned away. Ian had to almost force the medicine into him but eventually got Will to drink a good portion of it. He tasted some himself and found it bitter, no wonder Will had refused to drink it.

Ian looked to the trees around him, he found he could tell if it were night or day by the brightness of a tree’s aura. It was morning, He Who Burns rising higher. Ian put Will down and went to saddle the horses. Neither had wandered, both chewing contently on the dry autumn grass of the clearing. Ian heard the crunch of wild oats and guessed Taras’ horse had found some good fodder.

He saw Taras’ horse turn to him and pick up its ears, but it stood warily.

“Easy, I be a friend member?” Ian said.

“Talks,” Taras’ horse snorted as if impressed. “Be Puzzle. Who?”

“Puzzle be yer name?” Ian asked and the horse nodded. “I be Ian. What be yer name?”

He asked this to Pepper’s horse, but it seemed content to just eat.

“Slow that one,” Puzzle answered. “Balls gone. Called Enbarr by men.”

“Aye,” Ian said guessing that to mean that Enbarr was a gelding. “Ye be a stallion?”

“Yes, not ride,” Puzzle said this as if in warning. “Only Taras rides me.”

“Fine I baint ride ye, but can ye lead me?” Ian asked, the horse was fairly smart if it knew his master’s name.

“Not go, only go with Taras,” Puzzle answered. “Wait for Taras.”

“Ye came afore,” Ian said, deciding not to mention this area was dangerous. He doubted the horse could understand abstract concepts.

“Scared,” Puzzle answered. “Followed. Now wait. You not take me.”

“I be Taras’ friend,” Ian said.

“Not friend if no word,” Puzzle answered. “Not said word to follow.”

Taras must have trained the horse only to go with certain people, those who knew a key word the horse would answer to. Of course, the ranger had not told him the word.

“Ye said ye baint go with me aye?” Ian said. “Well ye baint be goin with me, I be goin with ye. Ye lead the way, that baint be stealing.”

The horse stood chewing on grass seeming to digest this suggestion. Ian worried he had gone too fast for him but at last the little horse spoke.

“Go where?” Puzzle asked.

“Did Taras ever tell ye where ta meet him?” Ian asked. “Did ye have a home? Er a place ye could find Taras gain?”

Puzzle chewed this over again, Ian giving him time to think.

“The stone city,” Puzzle said at last. “The place with the broken wall. Find Taras there.”

“Warren,” Ian said relieved, Bailey would have headed east. “Do ye ken the way?”

“No,” Puzzle answered, and Ian groaned.

“Do ye ken how ta get anywhere?” Ian tried a different tact; they had to at least get out of the borderlands. “A place with people not like those back there.”

The pause this time was so long Ian took the time to saddle Enbarr.

“I remember a place by a river,” Puzzle answered at last. “Last time we visited the mossy stone building we went there.”

“Can ye lead the way?” Ian asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Puzzle said with conviction and Ian pet his neck.

“Good boy,” Ian said and saddled Puzzle. He put the packs on Puzzle’s back and broke camp, tying Will to his chest in his swaddle. Will was quiet and Ian felt his skin was still a little warm, but at least he wasn’t getting worse. He mounted and Puzzle led the way out of the glen. Ian’s sense of the world was limited; all he could tell was that there were plenty of gnomes and trees around. He wasn’t even sure if they were on a road or not.

He rode for the whole day and made camp for the night. The next day he reached the river and people. Ian could see the river as a streak of a blue aura; black shapes he guessed were ships riding the current. Puzzle led him down to the river bank and the ferry. The man at the ferry was thin but Ian couldn’t tell much else about him with his limited vision.

“Two coppers ta cross,” the man said as Ian dismounted. He had a lot of money; Taras’ packs had a few hidden silver coins as well as the coin in Pepper’s saddle bags. Ian handed over the money and waited. “Well ya gettin on ja?”

“Sorry, I be blind,” Ian said waving his hand over his face. “I baint see the boat.”

The man grumbled in Hyrian and helped led the horses onto the boat. Ian stepped on board and the man guided him to a place to hold on. Ian nervously held onto the boat as it set off, never having been on a boat before. At last the boat reached the far bank and the ferryman helped Ian and the horses off his ship.

He didn’t need directions to get to the little town by the ferry crossing; it was right by the water. People milled about on their own business, Ian sensing low buildings around a central street. Ian, hesitant to brave the fray, stopped one figure as they went by with an outstretched hand.

“Can ye tell mine where I could find a nanny goat ta buy?” Ian asked. The person looked him up and down, Ian unable to tell their gender until they spoke.

“Fer that babit there?” the man asked. “Try Rork, he might have un.”

“Where?” Ian asked.

“Barn is that way,” the man pointed off through the buildings before walking away. Ian sighed and followed the man’s direction; glad he had seen the gesture.

He somehow made it through the traffic of people and followed his nose to an outlaying building that smelled of many animals. He walked into the barn to the smell of fresh hay, and the sounds of horses greeting his own.

“Greetings,” Ian turned to see someone leaning on the divider of a stall. From his voice Ian guessed he was a man; his frame was tall and thin. He came out from the stall and Ian realized the man was almost a head taller than him. Ian couldn’t see things like features or hair color, but he guessed this man was like most other Hyrians. Blue eyes, black hair, copper skin, and long features were common traits of the Hyrians.

“Ye Rork?” Ian asked.

“Aye,” the man answered.

“Do ye have a nanny goat fer sale?” Ian asked.

“Aye that I do ja,” Rork answered. “Come with me I’ll show ya.”

He reached out and slapped Ian on the back good naturedly but hit Ian’s wound. He couldn’t stop the cry of pain that came out and Rork reached out to him startled.

“Ya alright?” Rork said. “Did I hurt ya?”

Ian had to catch his breath from the pain. He hadn’t changed the bandage since he first applied it, thinking it would be alright. But now he realized it was unusually tender and felt wrong.

“Just a scratch,” Ian said at last, wanting to get back to the goat. Will needed to be fed; the concoction of herbs he had made wasn’t enough to feed him.

“Let me take a look a look ja,” Rork said.

“Nowt, my son needs milk,” Ian said. “I’ll get a healer ta look at it later.”

“Taint a healer here abouts,” Rork answered. “I’ll be the closest ya’ll get. N yer lad can wait the time it’ll take far me ta look.”

Reluctantly Ian nodded and Rork took the horses from him. Putting them in a stall he returned to lead Ian out of the barn. Ian followed him to a cottage on the other side of the barn. Rork sat him in on a stool and Ian heard him open cabinets and gather jars. It smelled of herbs and animals in the cabin, Ian guessing Rork treated animals. Ian unwrapped Will from him and set him in his lap. Rork came over and took the babe away, Ian seeing him set him in a basket.

“Take yar tunic off,” Rork said and Ian struggled to take the tunic and ceramic mail off. Rork helped him and then Ian felt him peel the bandage and poultice away. He tried not to cry out this time, but a whimper escaped him. Rork washed the wound, not with water but with alcohol which stung badly. Rork stood a moment seeming to inspect the wound, pinching the tender skin.

“Ya gonna need this,” Rork said pressing the bottle of alcohol into Ian’s hand. Ian took a drink and coughed at the fiery liquid.

“What be this?” Ian asked.

“Hyrians make the strongest drink,” Rork said. “Just drink that til ya can’t feel yar hands.” Ian took a few more mouthfuls, but it was like drinking fire. Rork cleaned his wound more and Ian was glad of the numbing alcohol. He hardly felt it when Rork began stitching up the gash, his head feeling as if it were floating. He finished and then added a salve over the wound.

“Ye baint gonna bandage it?” Ian asked as Rork began cleaning up.

“Air be best now ja,” Rork answered. Ian turned to Will about to stand at pick him up when Rork reached out and pushed him back to the stool. “Stay, I’ll take care o the babit.”

Ian sighed and nodded and Rork took Will out of the cabin. Ian sat waiting feeling a bit better after the drink. It didn’t seem like long before Rork returned with Will and handed him over. Ian sighed in relief feeling Will asleep in his arms.

“Food did him best,” Rork said. “He feels a bit warm.”

“I have herbs,” Ian said. “In the packs.”

“I’ll go tend ta yar horses,” Rork said about to leave.

“Wait,” Ian said and Rork stopped. “Why’d ye help mine?”

“A man taint need a reason ta help another,” Rork answered.

“Thank ye then,” Ian said. Rork nodded and left, Ian holding Will close. He stood, a little unsteady on his feet, and found a chair by the table to sit in to be more comfortable. He had to be careful with the stiches on his back but he was able to get comfortable enough to dose off a bit. He woke to Rork shaking him gently.

“Yar horses are comfortable, I got yar things,” Rork said.

“Aye thank ye,” Ian said. “Let mine get ya the silver.”

“Later,” Rork said. “Ya must be hungry.”

Ian nodded and felt Will wake in his arms. He comforted Will as Rork went about setting out a meal, Ian smelling frying fish. Rork set the food before Ian on the table about to take Will away but Ian stopped him.

“He be fine,” Ian said and moved Will so he sat in his lap leaning against his chest. Ian dipped his finger into each dish to find a piece of fried fish, a soup of some kind, cornbread, and rice and beans. Ian ate to find the food very spicy, but not wanting to insult his host he ate. Daunish food tended to be bland, or flavored with herbs rather than spices. Ian was unused to the food, but he was so hungry for hot food he didn’t care. Once he got used to it, he found it was alright.

Will kept trying to take the food from his hands, grunting a little as if he wanted the food. Ian drank deeply from his water and at last sat back satisfied.

“Most outlanders taint like our food ja,” Rork said and Ian blushed a little.

“Were spicy but it be rude ta refuse food after all ye did,” Ian answered.

“Might be enough ta hear how ya got that cut,” Rork said and Ian tensed. “How could a blind man with a child get in such diresome?”

“It be a long story,” Ian answered unsure if he should tell Rork everything.

“If ya taint wanna tell that’s fine with me,” Rork answered. “Just coggin bout it ja?”

“Aye,” Ian said wearily. “Do ye ken the best way ta Alda?”

“What’d ya mean by best?” Rork asked.

“Fast n safe,” Ian answered.

“Won’t get those in one,” Rork answered. “Fastest would be through the border lands n inta the Mark. Those lands taint safe right now. Safest way would be head down river n head through Regis ja.”

Ian couldn’t say there was danger for him that way as well. He was wanted by the Sect which was thick in Regis.

“Thank ye,” Ian said about to stand but Rork stopped him.

“Ya should get some rest,” Rork said. “Ye n yer child.”

“Thank ye,” Ian said. “Mine name be Ian by n by, this be Will.”

“Rork o Loamy Downs,” Rork answered.

He showed Ian to his bed which was a bunk in the wall and set a chair with the basket nearby for Will to sleep in. Ian kicked off his boots and lay on his side, exhaustion and the drink helping his fall into a dreamless slumber. He woke to a soft touch on his temple, the hand gentle.  

“Bailey,” Ian sighed thinking of his wife, before memory made him wake. He opened his eyes and pulled back, Rork standing over him startled as well. Ian couldn’t see his expression, but the shades of his aura seemed to shift in anger.

“Ya outlanders be all the same,” Rork said as Ian sat up. “Fraid o another man’s touch.”

“What do ye mean?” Ian asked still a bit muddled from sleep. Rork’s anger seemed to burn more and he reached out to Ian. He took him by the ears and kissed him, Ian too startled to even respond. Rork let him go, Ian feeling his intense gaze. “I be sorry,” Ian said embarrassed and Rork only grew angrier.

“Aye, ya all be the same ja,” Rork said as he began to pace the room. “I used ta live in Joinings, plenty o outlanders passin through that port. None were shysome bout sharin a little sheets with mine but when the mornings came they turned tail n ran. Shamed they said, shamed o what? Baint be wrongsome ta love another. But course ta them it be wrong en unmanly. Came here after the last un called mine disgustin, though he taint coggin that the night afore.

“Ya be no different from em,” Rork said the last bitterly and sat next to Ian on the bed with his head in his hands. Ian’s mind finally caught up with events and understood now why Rork had helped him. Not that Rork wanted to take advantage of him, just that he had found Ian attractive and so wanted to help him.

“Un o mine brothers prefers men ta women,” Ian said and he felt Rork look at him startled. “Mine Da baint cared sos long as he baint marry, I were the youngest o seven boys n mine Da said he had plenty o sons. It baint be all that common in Daun but it baint be unheard o or seen as wrong ta love the same gender. It be marriage that families care bout. Ifn ye be a man n love men that be just fine, just means ye’ll marry a man.

“Be more pressure on girls ta marry though, be better fer the family ta have their daughters safe. There be some women what marry women n take in orphans when need be. We want women safe in marriage sos babes be born ta a stable family. Sos a lot o marriage be arranged betwixt the families.

“Mine were but I grew ta love mine wife greatly. Sos I baint turned ye down cause ye disgust mine Rork. I turned ye down cause I love Bailey n baint betray her even with another man.”

Rork was silent as if in shock. Ian heard Will wake and went to gather him and settle the child. Will had grown in the past few months since his birth, nearly able to sit up. He still had a tendency to reach for things and now grasped Ian’s beard with a tiny hand.

“Sos ya didn’t hate it when I kissed ya?” Rork asked at last.

“Nowt, but I baint say I enjoyed it either,” Ian said. “I never kissed a man afore, but I say now I baint ken I like men like ye.”

Rork sighed heavily seeming disappointed.

“I should have stayed in Loamy Downs,” Rork said. “Most outlanders seem ta coggin we Hyrians hidin something by taint letting em past L’acrimaros ja. We just wanna protect our ways o life, it taint be wrong in Hyria ta love the same gender or ta seek changin yar own gender. Purelings are rare but protected most of all.”

“Purelings?” Ian asked.

“Those o the neuter gender,” Rork answered. “Neither male nor female. In Hyria rape ofa Pureling is a hangin offense just as is the rape o a child. And there is no slavery, every man is free. No hatred or persecution, we live lives of love ja.”

“Ifn ye love Hyria so much why did ye leave?” Ian asked.

“Cause that be all there is ja,” Rork answered. “Hyrians. I lived in Loamy Downs all mine life. I could have wandered the rivers or sea but all I’d meet were Hyrians. I wanted somewhat new. Sos I moved ta Joinings n met outlanders. I coggin then why Hyrians taint let outlanders in. Marriage taint be somewhat we Hyrians practice much or agree with. We like our freedom ja.”

“I be sorry,” Ian said. “But I baint able ta return the feelin, it baint be fair ta ye ta try. I ken I love Bailey n it baint be fair ta her neither ta betray her. Even if I baint be married ta her I love her n it takes up mine whole heart.”

“She must be some woman ja,” Rork said and Ian looked away suddenly overcome by a wave of worry. “What?” Rork asked sensing his mood.

“I baint be sure she’s still alive,” Ian answered. Shakily he told Rork the latest bit of his story, the rest would take a long time to tell so he kept to recent events. Rork listened intently only asking a few questions.

“I’m sorry ja,” Rork said when Ian finished. “Ya just faced that n I…”

“Ye baint ken,” Ian said with a shrug. “N I’ve faced a lot worse afore now. Bailey nearly died givin birth ta Will n Matt.”

Rork nodded and reached out to Will who turned to him to grab his hand.

“Let’s get some grub ja,” Rork said looking away again. “Then we’ll talk bout gettin ya ta Alda.”

“Ye’ll help mine?” Ian asked surprised.

“Do ya one better I’ll go with ya,” Rork said lightly. “Now let’s go get some grub ja.”

Ian put Will down so he could dress, wincing a bit at the stiff feeling of the wound on his back. Dressed he picked Will up and followed Rork out of the cottage. They walked through the settlement, Rork having to guide Ian around a few obstacles. They reached a tavern where the morning rush for breakfast brought many people in for food. Rork sat them at a table and a woman served them kaffa.

Ian had to sweeten the dark kaffa heavily with sugar before he found it to his liking but Rork left his as it was. The maid gave them a cup of milk as well and Ian fed Will, careful not to spill the milk. The maid returned with their food, this time Ian could smell something good. Biscuits and sausage gravy with fried potatoes, flavored with pepper which Ian found much tastier than the spicy soup before. He ate his fill and they sat alone in their corner.

“Sos ya gonna tell me more bout yar troubles?” Rork asked after they ate.

“Fine but I baint sure ye’ll believe it all,” Ian answered. He kept his voice down, but the chatter of the room made sure no one overheard them. Rork again listened with only a few questions and when Ian got to the dragon and the Phay he became completely silent. Ian couldn’t see his expression, but he thought it would be one of doubt. When he finished Rork sighed and stood, leaving a few coppers on the table. Ian followed him out back to the barn.

“Ya be in a lot o trouble,” Rork said standing outside the barn.

“Ye baint have ta help mine,” Ian said. “I baint hold ye ta it.”

“I want ta help ya,” Rork argued, and Ian once again heard a bit of caring in his voice.

“I baint take advantage o ye Rork,” Ian said. “N I be serious when I say this be dangerous.”

“N I taint be some weakling ja,” Rork answered. “I can handle myself in a fight true true. Taint I have the right ta help ya ifn I want?”

“Aye,” Ian said wearily. “Sos how will we get ta Alda?”

“We get a ride on a ship downstream,” Rork answered. “We can take the trade road from Joinings east. We’ll pass through southern Mark, avoidin the borderlands n Regis.”

“Nowt all the danger though,” Ian said. “But I trust ye ta lead the blind.”

“Aye,” Rork said with bit of a chuckle. “Let’s get ready.”

It didn’t take as long as Ian thought it would for them to get ready. The barn Rork worked at was owned by another man who rented it to travelers for their animals since the inn had no stables. Rork was an animal healer, and looked after the animals stabled in the barn. So Rork just had to inform the owner and buy the milk goat from him.

“Baint he be mad ye just up n leavin?” Ian asked.

“We Hyrians be coggin ta go where we please,” Rork said. Ian was surprised by how quickly Rork packed his things, by the afternoon the horses were saddled again, supplies bought, and they stood by a boat waiting to board. They boarded the vessel with the horses along with several other passengers heading south. Ian stood gripping the rail, still uneasy on ships.

“I can hold yar hand if ya like,” Rork said jokingly and Ian rolled his eyes. Rork laughed as the ship set off down river.

The journey to Joinings was uneventful, Ian wishing he could watch the river bank at least but his sight was limited. He spent the journey talking to Rork, telling him more details and occasionally talking about Bailey. He felt worry for Bailey nearly take his breath away, but all he could do was suppress it. Rork told him in turn about his living in Loamy Downs, tending animals, and his own family.

“Most Hyrians have big families,” Rork said. “I have eleven siblings, eight sisters n three brothers.”

“Baint inheritance be a problem?” Ian asked.

“Inherit what?” Rork asked. “Mine Pa just a fisherman. Most just make their own way. Children have ta find their own paths.”

Ian just nodded and heard one of the other shipmen call out to them.

“Oi Rork ya n yar friend wanna play bones?”

“Ya be real cheatsome askin a blind man ta play bones,” Rork said. “I’ll play, ya leave Ian be.”

“Aye we’ll leave him be.” Ian heard the men snickering and left them be. He didn’t really care about what they thought, and they weren’t being cruel about it just joking.

They reached Joinings two days later to find the town crowded and buzzing. They disembarked the ship to huge crowds of people swarming over the docks and town.

“What be goin on?” Ian asked.

“It be Isra’s Night,” Rork answered. Ian nodded understanding then. In Daun Isra’s Night was known as Talamh, but the celebration hadn’t changed much in centuries. The celebration to honor the dead was popular in all kingdoms, and all celebrated it with masks.

As they walked through the town to an inn Ian guessed people were already wearing their masks. He couldn’t see them but he could see some of the shadows of people wore something over their faces. Lonan had scared him once in their youth with a Hyrian mask on Talamh. He was glad he couldn’t see them now; he was still a bit scared of the masks.

Hyrian masks were large wooden carvings of a face, usually in a twisted or emphasized expression. They had big teeth and mouths, tiny eyes and big noses, always in different expressions. They would be painted garish colors and sometimes bigger than a person’s face. Ian had never seen the costumes that went with these, and hadn’t seen them before. He guessed though after seeing one of the masks years ago that the costumes would be colorful.

They reached an inn and Rork took care of the horses before they went into the tavern. The tavern was packed and many people talking excited over the coming festivities. It was afternoon so everyone was already starting to gather and get ready. Will wasn’t enjoying the noise and was whimpering, hiding his face in Ian’s tunic.

They ate another spicy meal and Rork went off. He came back and set something on the table before Ian. Ian took it to find it was a mask carven of wood, blank of expression or even eye holes.

“I got that cheap since it was unfinished,” Rork said as he put his own mask on. Ian guessed his was a finished version though he couldn’t see it. “Thought it suited ya.”

“Hilarious,” Ian said dryly though he was glad the mask was featureless. He put it on, his extra sense unhindered by the wood over his face. Will made a noise of protest and Ian felt him reach up and tug at the mask. Ian smiled and pushed the mask up to make a face at him. Will laughed and they continued to play for a while.

“Ya be stupidly sweet,” Rork said. “Ya should put him ta bed, the inn keeper’s daughter said she’d look after him.”

“I were gonna stay with him,” Ian said reluctant to partake in a Hyrian party.

“Ya taint wanna miss this ja,” Rork said brightly. Ian nodded, deciding to humor Rork since he was doing so much to help him out. He stood and went over to the inn keeper’s daughter, handing her Will.

“Be sure he sleeps alright,” Ian said.

“Aye he be a cute little babit,” the girl answered. “Have one o mine own ja.”

Ian nodded and went off back to Rork. Rork led the way out of the inn, people starting to file out. They left the crowd of buildings out into a field where Ian could smell food cooking and a great fire already burning. The air was getting cooler and Ian could tell He Who Burns was starting to set.

“Here,” Rork said handing Ian a handful of candies wrapped in corn husks. Ian took one about to eat it but Rork stopped him. “Keep em in yar pockets.”

“What fer?” Ian asked pocketing the candies.

“Ye’ll see,” Rork said laughing.

Rork led him over to a table where a game of bones was being played. Ian sat a listened to the dice rattle in a cup and Rork pushed a drink over to him. Ian drank only a little, more interested in the roasted cobs of corn and sweet bread women were serving to everyone. Ian saw quite a few men reaching out at the passing women, pinching a piece of flesh as they went by. The women either laughed or smacked the men, it was a fifty-fifty chance and men were willing to risk it.

They left the bones table and moved on where more lively games were being played. Tents had been set up with games of chance set up in them. Suddenly two children leaped out from behind one of the tents, roaring like animals. Ian jumped a little even though he couldn’t see their masks.

“Good un mates!” Rork said as he laughed, handing over a piece of candy. He elbowed Ian and he handed over a candy as well.

“Thanks!” One of the boys shouted as they ran off.

“The children like ta dress up as evil spirit n scare folk,” Rork said. “Don’t let em catch ya without candy; they’ll come back with some nastysome tricks true as true.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ian said laughing a bit. They kept moving through the festival and Ian saw why Hyrians were known for throwing wild parties. There was a lot of dancing which Ian avoided having two left feet. Watching the dancing though with his strange sight was like watching water ripple in the wind. The dancers, mostly women but some men were fluid and graceful in their movements.

It was getting late and Ian was becoming tired. Rork, who was fairly drunk by now, went off on his own. Ian sat by the great fire watching the shadows of the dancers flash by. He dosed off and dreamed. The mist surrounded him in curtains of shifting colors and shades, Ian unsurprised that he could see in the dream. He also didn’t move he felt instead that he was to meet someone here.

Sure enough a figure came out of the mist, approaching Ian slowly. The figure resolved into a man, in his middling years lines of care around his mouth and eyes. He was Markian, handsome Ian guessed, his dark hair dusted with a bit of gray and hazel eyes sharp.

“So, you’re dead too?” Taras said and Ian felt his heart fall. Talamh was the night the dead were said to wander.

“Nowt, but ye be,” Ian said and Taras nodded.

“Already knew that, last thing I remember was one of those bandaged bastards ripping my guts out,” Taras said mildly.

“N Bailey?” Ian asked a lump in his throat.

“Flew the coop, literally,” Taras said and told him about the argument and escape. Ian felt a flood of relief to know that Bailey was safe. “So, you came to see me?” Taras asked.

“Mine spirit wandered,” Ian answered. “I baint be surprised ta see ye Taras, taday be Isra’s Night.”

“But I died just an hour ago,” Taras said puzzled.

“Time moves odd in the betwixt places,” Ian answered. “It’ll be a long time afore ya be born gain.”

“Looking forward to that,” Taras said sarcastically. “There was something else I had to tell you. A message.”

“From Bailey?” Ian asked.

“No, from the Color Weaver,” Taras answered and Ian’s jaw dropped. “I know, Glen’s lover is quite the looker too. Arke summoned me after I died, said she was sorry for getting me killed.”

“Do ye forgive her?” Ian asked but Taras just shrugged.

“She wanted me to try and find one of you again,” Taras said. “She asked me to urge you to keep looking for the song; she says that it is the most important thing now.”

“She ken where it be?” Ian asked.

“If she does she didn’t have the time to tell me,” Taras answered. “The Crippled One showed up.” His eyes grew dark and face pale, Ian realized Taras was afraid. “Be careful Ian, that thing isn’t something you should mess with.”

“I ken,” Ian said. “Arke baint tell ye anything else?”

“All she said was she was sorry for my death, she felt responsible,” Taras said shaking his head. “I got myself killed, and nearly got your wife killed too.”

Ian would have been mad at Taras, had he not already paid the ultimate price.

“Ye redeemed yerself by savin her,” Ian said. “I be sorry ye be dead Taras.”

“Me too,” Taras said with a heavy sigh. “Arke just told me she was sorry and that the song needed to be found, or more than just the fate of the Phay would fall. Seeing what the Legion and their so called god want I have to agree.”

“I have ta find Bailey,” Ian said shaking his head.

“What would Bailey do?” Taras asked. Ian knew Bailey would continue to search as well, that was why she had wanted to go to Alda even after giving birth. “My message is passed on,” Taras said turning away.

“Wait,” Ian said and Taras paused. “Baint there somewhat I could do fer ye?”

“Like what? I’m dead.”

“Yer family…” Ian started to say before he remembered Taras said he didn’t have any.

“I gave Bailey my last message,” Taras answered. “She’ll see it delivered.”

“I have yer horse,” Ian said.

“Puzzle?” Taras said sounding a bit surprised. “I’m surprised he followed you. He needs a password to obey another person other than me. Say ‘spearmint’ and he’ll obey you.”

“Thanks,” Ian said.

“Take care of him,” Taras said about to walk away.

“Taras,” Ian said and Taras turned to look at him. Ian struggled with what to say, but what do you say to the shade of a dead friend? “See ya gain.”

Taras grinned sadly and walked back into the mist, onto Fors’ Wheel. Ian woke with his chest heavy with sorrow. He realized then the weight wasn’t just from sorrow. A big pumpkin, hollowed out and carved with a candle inside, sat in his lap leaning against his chest. He pushed it off him and realized a bunch of corn stalks surrounded him and a wreath of wheat on his head.

“Sol’s balls,” someone swore and Ian turned to a man crouched by the remnants of the fire. “Thought ya were just a scare crow.”

“Sorry,” Ian said guessing that after he fell asleep people had piled decorations on him thinking he was a dummy. He joined the man by the fire, smelling brewing kaffa.

“Wanna cup?” the man asked, his voice wheezy. His breath smelled of tobacco and Ian heard him spit. “Cost ya four coppers.”

“No thanks,” Ian said. At that price the man would make a good turn, probably his intention. Given how much drinking there was last night many wouldn’t argue over the price. “Say friend, do ye ken anything bout pirates?” Ian asked, deciding to start his search right away. Bailey had said that the flute had been stolen by Hyrian pirates in the Cursed Age.

“Pirates?” the man said with a wheezy laugh. “More than some. Most tales jabbered bout be bout Kai. I like some history. Ya ken bout Tony Bones?”

“Nowt,” Ian answered.

“Bones was the greatest pirate in our history, ya coggin why? Cause he didn’t scavy from regular folk or the rich, he scavv from other pirates. Black hearted crazy bastard. He lived back round three hundred years ago. His bounty got ta a whole gold crown believe it er not.”

“Ifn he stole from pirates why did his bounty get so high?” Ian asked.

“Cause he kept it all!” the man said as he spit another glob of tobacco juice into the fire. “Rumor had it he had a whole cave full of treasure, some still hunt fer it. But that’s not the best bit of the story.”

“What is?” Ian asked.

“A woman lad,” the man said moving his hands in a wavy motion to show a woman’s curves. “Bones fell fer a girl, a Rhodin woman that was said ta be a great beauty. Sapphira were her name. He gave her great treasures, a diamond the size o a pigeon egg, a gold crown said ta be the Queen of Regis’, a singing stone, and even a mage enchanted mirror.”

Ian felt his heart quicken at the mention of a singing stone, the flute was made of stone and could be said to sing. He didn’t interrupt, listening closely now.

“Well that girl was his downfall. A bounty hunter captured her and lured Bones inta a most diresome trap. Bones said he’d surrender as long as Sapphira would be set free. Poor bastard, the hunter let her go. Only I heard she had arranged the whole thing with the hunter, he was her brother. The hunter got the reward; Sapphira got her treasures, and Bones hanged by the neck.”

“What o Bones treasure?” Ian asked.

“That be a great un, just afore he were bout ta hang he called Sapphira o’er ta him. He leaned down ta whisper in her ear, everyone coggin he were gonna tell her the secret ta where he hid all the loot. Bastard bit the bitch’s ear off!”

The old man laughed, and Ian doubted there was a great hoard; it was probably just a legend.

“N what happened ta Sapphira?” Ian asked.

“That ya’ll have ta ask the Rhodin,” the man said. “Ya sure ya taint wanna cup?”

“Nowt but thanks,” Ian said as he stood. “Thanks fer the tale friend.”

Ian left the man to brew his kaffa and make some money. He went to the inn first rather than spend the time trying to find Rork. He found the inn keeper’s daughter nursing her own child in a rocking chair. He nodded to her and took Will who was already awake.

“Thanks,” Ian said to her. “Ye seen Rork?”

“Naw, ya should try round the drinking tents,” she answered. “Mine Ma be makin fried bread, ya should grab some.”

Ian nodded as he went down through the kitchens and grabbed a piece of fried bread. He ate as he walked, searching for Rork as he went. People were just starting to stir; many were asleep where they had fallen. Ian let Will lick the sugar from his fingers, the babe seeming to enjoy the treat. He heard raised voices and went out of the festival field where some mulberry bushes stood.

“…ya just wanted a fuck,” Rork was saying, his voice rising.

“I don’t need to listen to this,” another man answered. Ian came on the scene, only able to perceive another man standing by Rork. The other man pushed past Rork, but Rork grabbed his arm. The man punched Rork in the jaw and broke free, nearly shoving Ian aside. Ian went over to Rork, who was still on his feet but holding his tender jaw.

“What were that?” Ian asked.

“Lover’s quarrel,” Rork muttered. “Nother outlander that had morning regrets.”

Ian hadn’t been able to tell the people apart so he hadn’t realized there were other races mixed in with the Hyrians. Probably many had worn masks to blend in anyways.

“What were he?” Ian asked.

“Markian o course,” Rork muttered. “They’re the worst. Men out on cattle ranglin like ta lay tagether but never speak o it. They come by Joinings during festival times ta get some ass. Course some actually prefer men, but it be shamesome in the Mark ta like men. Always just so shamesome…”

He trailed off muttering under his breath and Ian felt guilt to bring him back to such a hard time in his life. He reached out and took Rork’s shoulder, shaking him a bit. Ian realized Rork was probably naked, nothing but bare skin under his hand.

“He be a jerk Rork, ya have terrible taste in men,” Ian said and Rork laughed. “Get dressed, I’d like ta hit the road.”

“Aye sorry,” Rork said as he bent to retrieve his clothes. As he dressed Ian told him about what he had learned from the man by the fire. “Sos what are ya gonna do now, look for Bones’ treasure?”

“He said Sapphira had the singin stone,” Ian answered. “I ken it be best ta look fer her and her line, that means talkin ta the Rhodin.”

“Who travel the trade road most,” Rork said. “I made a good choice then.”

“Aye but who kens where the trail leads,” Ian said. “The Rhodin travel the kingdoms more than any. The flute could be anywhere now.”

“Well best place ta start lookin would be the trade road,” Rork said. “Kinda funny though, a blind man searchin fer a singin stone.”

“I just need mine ears don’t I?” Ian asked and Rork laughed.

“Aye that ya do,” Rork said. “Come lets go find a singin stone.”

They left, Rork buying an overpriced cup of kaffa, before they went back to the inn to gather their horses. Rork was about to mount Puzzle when Ian stopped him.

“I need ta talk ta him,” Ian said.

“Eh? Talk ta a horse?” Rork said but Ian ignored him and turned to Puzzle.

“Puzzle, I spoke ta Taras n he said ‘spearmint,’” Ian said and the little’ horses ears pricked up. “Ye listen ta mine now?”

“Yes,” Puzzle said. “Where is Taras?”

“Far away,” Ian answered, unable to tell the little horse the truth. “He said I’m ta look after ye. Be it alright ifn mine friend Rork rides ye?”

“Only him or you,” Puzzle said. “I’ll kick anyone else who tries.”

“Good boy,” Ian said and turned to Rork. “He be good now.”

“Ya were actually jaberin ta him,” Rork said amazed.

“Aye well I can talk ta animals,” Ian said. “Though few have much ta say.”

“People be the same,” Rork said as he mounted the little horse. “Taint sure why ya needed ta speak ta the little guy though, taint like he could do anyth…”

Rork was cut off as Puzzle suddenly leapt and bucked, throwing him clear off his back. Luckily Rork landed in a pile of hey nearby, sprawled awkwardly. Ian turned to Puzzle glaring and the horse shook his mane.

“I’m not little,” Puzzle said peevishly.

“Ya can understand him?” Ian said surprised.

“Some,” Puzzle answered loftily. Rork pulled himself out of the hey laughing and approached Puzzle with his hands out.

“Sorry friend,” Rork said. “Ya have more spirit than I coggin. Here.”

He reached into his pocket and took out a sugar cube, Puzzle’s ears going up and he took the treat gently from Rork’s palm. Rork scratched him between the eyes and Puzzle nuzzled his hand.

“He’s good,” Puzzle said.

“Looks like ye won him o’er,” Ian said smiling. “Now let’s get goin.”

“Aye,” Rork said and they both mounted. They rode out of Joinings, and onto the trade road heading east.

FIC REC’S OF 2017 part 9 ( november)

We’re starting to get to the Christmas/Holiday season and I, for one, am sooo excited! I wanted to write “I loved this” at the end of each of these fics, so I’m just going to say it here now. I loved all of these. :D Happy reading!

You Love Me, If You Love Me Don’t Let Go by @shadowofyoursong / ao3 (98k) CHAPTERED 

His name is up there. He’s the only Harry in this group. His eyes land on Louis, who swallows thickly. He gives Harry a small smile, brows raised a little. Harry is not dancing a solo. He’s dancing with the boy, who he never remembers. How the hell can he ever get anyone’s attention, when he doesn’t have any connection with this guy.

Or the one where Harry and Louis are students at The Juilliard School of Performing Arts and are dancing in the same group. Harry never notices Louis, the boy who is a year younger than him, mostly sticks to himself and practices hard (or that's what Harry thinks). Louis on the other hand always sees the confident and focused Harry. Now they’re paired for a duo performance and they have to make it work, even though Louis’ eyes are towards London and Harry’s are towards a career after graduation, which he thinks he can only get with a solo performance. DANCER AU, HATE TO LOVE

(Take Me Home) Country Roads by @a-writerwrites / ao3 (86k) CHAPTERED

“Sir, I can help you. Just let me — “ He tried moving closer but the eldest child blocked his way. He backed off, putting his hands out in a passive gesture. “I’m a physician. I can help,” he tried again.

The man shook his head vehemently, passing the cup back to his grandchild. “Tol’ ya. Don’t need ya.” All of the fire had gone out of his voice, leaving behind a frail, sick old man with barely any breath to talk.

“I have medicines...I could make you comfortable…” Louis’ voice was still small, but pleading.

“Mountain Mama cares for wha’s ailin’ me. Don’t need no fancy city doctors.”

Louis blinked at the man, still shaking from the coughing spell. Mountain — well, fuck. That backwoods, uneducated scam artist…

“Of course he is,” Louis said curtly.

OR a Northern Exposure AU featuring Louis as the big city doctor, Harry as a natural healer, Niall as a secretive barkeep, Liam and Zayn head over heels for each other but they don't know it and a lot of hurt, comfort and moonshine in between. HATE TO LOVE

You Might Want To Marry My Husband by @all-these-larrythings / ao3 (25k) CHAPTERED

When Harry’s husband dies, he asks one thing of him; to find love and happiness again without him. It’s a request that Harry is happy to disregard, until he meets the one person who is impossible to ignore. MOVING ON

It’ll Be by @styleandsin / ao3 (13k) ONE SHOT

Louis has always wanted children and he decides he's done waiting for love to come first. However, after adopting a baby girl just days after she's born, he quickly realizes how hard parenting is. Louis hires Harry to be his Nanny, and it all works out great. Until Louis falls in love with him. KID FIC

Oops, Baby, I Love You ( In That Order) by @suddenclarityharry / ao3 (25k) ONE SHOT 

Later that night, when he’s lying in bed thinking of all the things he’s longed for in his life, he can’t stop hearing Fizzy’s words in his head.

Who says you have to get married?

It’s true, Louis wants to get married one day, to have a spouse to encourage his crazy promotional ideas for his book shop, to have someone to cuddle into at night, someone who will love him even on his moody days. But she’s absolutely right, isn’t she? Who says he has to have that before he can have a baby?

When he finally falls asleep, he sleeps restfully, having made a very important decision about his future.

Husband or no, Louis Tomlinson is going to have a baby.

OR The minute Louis Tomlinson decides he don’t need no man to start a family, Harry Styles literally falls into his arms. MPREG

Couldn’t See Past Me, Till I Saw Your Face by @lululawrence / ao3 (12k) ONE SHOT 

“Look at us, living the dream,” Louis said softly. “But Harry, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to finish my last semester with the baby. I don’t know how far along I am or anything. And what about my internship and all of that?”

Harry shook his head emphatically and pulled back once more from Louis, this time placing his large, strong hands on Louis’ shoulders and squeezing them tight.

“We’ll make this work, Louis. I’ll help take care of you and your little one and I know you’ll help me make it through whatever happens with this. We’re always there for each other, right? Just like we promised when we were in middle school.”

Louis laughed a bit and smiled through his tears that finally seem to have left. Again. Hopefully they stayed away a little longer this time.

“We’ll figure it out, yeah?” Harry asked again.

“Yeah. We always do.”

Or the one where Harry and Louis have been best friends since they could remember and their friendship has withstood it all...but an unexpected pregnancy might change everything. MPREG

Home For Christmas by @haloeverlasting / ao3 (22k) ONE SHOT 

The Shameless Hallmark Movie AU you probably didn't ask for.

Or, the one where Harry didn't think he wanted a family, but with a little Christmas magic (and maybe one Louis Tomlinson) he realizes that he is very, very wrong. CHRISTMAS, KID FIC

Waiting For Wonderful by @becomeawendybird / ao3 (13k) ONE SHOT

The university class where he met Louis was the beginning of the end for Harry. It took all of an hour for him to figure out that he was in love with Louis, and there was no way around it. It was a part of his DNA; he was tall, he had green eyes, and he was in love with Louis Tomlinson. Louis was his soulmate, and they were going to be together. Eventually.

Harry is willing to wait as long as he needs to for his best friend to realise that they're supposed to be together, but it kills him to watch Louis struggle in his relationship with Mackenzie. All Harry wants to do is be supportive, and sometimes that's all it takes. BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS

We’ll Rise Up by @suddenclarityharry / ao3 (18k) ONE SHOT

“So,” Liam begins with a smile, “you were the associate pastor at your last church?”

“Yes,” Louis can already feel himself scrunching down in his seat, shrinking against even the reminder of the church he was forced from.

“Was that a good experience for you?” Liam steeples his hands in front of him as he leans his elbows on the desk in interest.

“It was for a while but, to be honest, things ended rather badly,” Louis leans forward too, he needs to get this out and he wants to tell Liam everything, have everything on the table.

Leaning forward even more, Liam seems to be looking for the same thing, “What happened?”

Louis can feel the trembles in his hands again, so he sits on them, biting his lip before admitting, “They found out I’m gay.”

In the hallway, there’s a terribly loud thump and then a grunt of pain and Louis twists around to see Harry, sprawled out on the ground just outside the doorway.

Or Louis is a Pastor with no church and a heart filled with uncertainty. Pastor Payne is more than willing to give Louis a new place to work, but it's Music Director Harry that helps him rebuild his faith. RELIGIOUS

(We Will Be) As If Chosen by @alivingfire / ao3 (35k) ONE SHOT

There's not a royal in the world who doesn't carry some sort of secret, and Prince Louis has more than his fair share. To protect himself and his family, Louis withdrew from the public eye and tried to live a quiet life, biding his time until his sister Lottie could take the throne in his stead. Unfortunately for him, the national media and the worst person Louis has ever met team up to bring him kicking and screaming back into the spotlight.

Under the watchful eyes of millions, Louis has to figure out how to keep his carefully constructed house of cards from falling, and the first step to accomplishing that is to keep from falling in love with the irritatingly charming Prince Harry, who just won't stop showing up and trying to whisk Louis out of the constraints of his boring life.

Or: the course of true love never did run smooth, because sometimes people are stubborn and sometimes people are scared and sometimes, just sometimes, love can cause just as many problems as it solves. MODERN ROYALTY, HATE TO LOVE

73 Questions by @literlarryreal / ao3 (6k) ONE SHOT

Louis is more nervous than usual about filming the upcoming episode of Vogue’s 73 questions. Musician and soon to be actor Harry Styles may have something to do with that. BANTER

I’m on paid Paternity Leave & I think every single parent should be forced to take it.

As soon as I found out I was going to be a father, I immediately went to my father (who also happens to be my boss) and requested an extended paternity leave. “How long he asked?  “two to three months” I told him, with 100% confidence this was a great idea. He said “okay” but his face said he wasn’t exactly sold or thrilled about the idea of paying someone three months NOT to work at our small family business. Thankfully he’s a very open-minded father & boss and he allowed me to make my case, even though he agreed from the outset.  I told him about study after study that showed how incredibly important it is not just so my daughter I could bond, But that that bonding drastically reduces her likelihood of developing diabetes, obesity, substance abuse problems, and even mental health disorders. There are even studies linking paternity leave with higher test & IQ scores, specifically in men with daughters. All of those are enough reasons to request & take a paternity leave.  But there’s an even bigger one. Equality.  Its because of this that not only do I think men should be offered paid paternity leave but I I believe every man should be forced to take it as a way of leveling the playing field. Women, especially women in their 20’s & 30’s just starting their careers, face an unconscious bias when being hired, because the employer, man or woman,  considers an impending maternity leave the female may take, regardless if this woman wants children or not. A forced leave for both men & women eliminates this altogether.  By forcing every parent, man or woman, to take the same time off, we can in a small but significant way, chip away at this unconscious bias. Women are unfairly made to feel like they have to choose between a family and career success. Rushing back to work & not wanting to take the full maternity leave as a way of showing your employer you really are dedicated and ambitious. This standard is of course bullshit.  No one should be rushing back to work after having a child. They should be spending that incredibly important time adjusting to their new life as a family. Some parents have the means to hire a nanny, or housekeeper, or have family to help, which allows them to return to work quicker. But the goal shouldn’t be to return to work as quickly as possible.  It should be savor this moment in your life. To bond as a new family. The United States is sadly in the back of the pack when it comes Parental leave (dead last among 41 industrialized western nations according to a recent pew study https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/09/26/u-s-lacks-mandated-paid-parental-leave/).  Unfortunately our society views paid time off as a loss of productivity for the employer. Basically profits over parenting. Forced Leave isn’t an insane idea. Dozens of countries around the world already offer paid parental leave, this just takes it a step further.  The nordic countries offer 8 months paid leave split between the two spouses. which is the correct way, in my opinion of doing it, because in 2019 40% of women in industrialized countries are now the sole breadwinners in their households.  So splitting the time off makes sense. In norway it was approved by their citizens not just because it’s what’s best for the parents & their children, but because it’s what’s best for the society they want to live & their children to grow up in. They also made the economic case to their citizens. Less substance abuse, less physical illness, less mental illness, less stress on new parents worried about money, worried they are falling behind the corporate success ladder, saves the government a lot of money in long term health care costs.  Which they care strongly about because they are all in it together since they subsidize their fellow citizens health. Happier healthier neighbors, means less money being spent on illness, and more money being spent on new infrastructure, new schools, better parks, museums etc.  even though we don’t have socialized medicine here in the United States, we still do share a society with these fellow citizens. And just like in Norway, every dollar spent on paid leave are dollars we can avoid spending down the road on poor physical and mental health. And think of the message it sends to the next generation of kids? That our society values family and health over corporate profits.  Shouldn’t we want our neighbors to be more financially stable? their kids healthier & happier? People less likely to get sick or develop mental illness?  Not all health care is reactive. This is pro active preventive medicine, for an entire generation.  The generations that will define our future. When mandatory parental leave is presented this way, not only was my father enthusiastically supportive because it’s better for his granddaughter in every imaginable way, but an opportunity for our company to put our money where our beliefs are. In equality. In the future. Every other American isn’t as fortunate as I am to have such a generous father & boss. But they shouldn’t have to be. The time has come that every parent in the United States be given paid parental leave because it’s better for them as parents, it’s better for their children & it’s better for our society at large. 

Photography by Natalie Campbell

✩ nutkins

nutkins married life ? they’d kill themselves, just making that loud and clear. jot it down, memorize it, – show up at their murder-suicide funeral.

DISAGREEMENTS

who is more likely to raise their voice? not a question. luka raises it for absolutely no reason. they’re out of sauce for their nuggets at mcdonalds ? somebody’s getting ratatata’d … who threatens to leave but never actually does? i feel like it goes like this. they’ll say they’re going to leave but when they turn around to go the other person’s like “ also you stink ” so now they have to turn back around. they cannot not have the final word. they’re pathetic. who actually keeps their word and leaves? i think the first person to break the cycle would be scout. like, if she didn’t fight back obviously he’d bounce. but if they were doing that back and forth shit, she’d be the first to ditch ‘cos she’d get her feelings hurt or some shit, y’know. who trashes the house? um, considering it already happened … do either of them get physical? luka would slam her against a wall for the teensiest shit. he’s a bitch like that.how often do they argue/disagree? so much. it’s unhealthy but that’s business, baby.who is the first to apologise? my ass was gonna write neither but did she not just show up at his door with money and an uwu sorry x ? normal circumstances though, definitely neither. she just needs him right now, let’s not talk about it.

SEX

who is on top? insert that one gif of veronica lodge straddling reggie mantle. but let it also be known that all imagined scenarios of them fucking have been vertical, so. yes, i consider these things. who is on the bottom? get pegged luka. who has the strangest desires? i feel like they’re both pretty odd. luka could be like “ do you, per chance, wanna fuck on the bar in silhouette’s, m’lady ” and scout would be like “ i thought you’d never ask, mister ” any kinks? luka definitely has a thing for her cheerleading uniform, calling it right now. boy didn’t get to boink any of them in high school and now he’s projecting onto her. who’s dominant in bed? him. she’s a brat, though, as we all know, so she’ll make him work for it. is head ever in the equation? scout will blow him in his car. does he have one ? isn’t it a motorcycle ? she’s getting him a car solely for this purpose. if so, who is better at performing it? luka, unfortunately. she’ll still choke on it, though.ever had sex in public? did we not hc their first time to be in silhouette’s bathroom … who moans the most? scout is loud and annoying always.who leaves the most marks? luka. and she has to work real hard on hiding them. sometimes she gives him a taste of his own medicine and when she does, he’s not a happy camper. who screams the loudest? i refuse to engage in this question anymore. who is the more experienced of the two? clearly, luka. he’s slept with half the town and everyone she’s slept with are either a. gross, b. her step-brother, c. a girl whose name i never headcanoned. do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? they don’t do romance. they fuck. hard. rough or soft? did i stutter.how long do they usually last? i feel like they can go on forever. like everyone else is getting one of them o’s but scout is out here channeling her inner owl all night, every night. is protection used? literally, no. she’s on the pill and he doesn’t like how it feels with a condom. that’s ought to end well.does it ever get boring? if it does, they’ll switch it up. i have so much faith in them in that department. where is the strangest place they’d have sex? ed’s desk. sorry pal.

FAMILY

do your muses plan on having children/or have children? hell to the no. scout is pro-abortion and luka is pro-beating-scout-up-if-she-wasn’t.if so, how many children do your muses want/have? none, zero, nada. who is the favorite parent? neither of them. i don’t see them becoming remotely successful parents if they opportunity presents itself. scout would want a nanny. she had one and she turned out just fine ! and luka would … not want to be there. who is the authoritative parent? the nanny. who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? luka. scout is all about that flawless academic record, y’know.who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? still luka. when he comes around during mandatory visitation, he gives them chips and then he lets them play video games in another room ‘till he leaves.who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? scout. for the image. now i’m gonna say something controversial. i feel, maybe, if they did luka would be into soccer games and such. he would be the weirdo to watch the games from afar and then leave. who goes to parent teacher interviews? scout, no doubt.who changes the diapers? the nanny, love that bitch.who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? see the answer above.who spends the most time with the children? reluctantly, scout.who packs their lunch boxes? say it with me … THE – NAN–NY.who gives their children ‘the talk’? animal planet.who cleans up after the kids? you thought i’d say the nanny, didn’t you ? jokes on you … it’s the maid !who worries the most? scout. eighteen years of this shit ? she’s exhausted. who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? luka is out here cussing in front of his children that he sees twice a year ? oof. 

AFFECTION

who likes to cuddle? neither of them are big into cuddling, but … it happens, y’know. she sits in his lap a lot despite meredith’s protests. probably luka’s, too. he likes it, though. she can tell from his raging boner.who is the little spoon? hear me out … he won’t spoon her ‘cos he’s an asshole. but battered and bruised luka ? exhausted from whatever shit he just went through ? he’ll be getting a small latina backpack whether he cares for it or not. s*ft kisses against his back and arms tight around his torso … it’s kind of good shit, if you ask me. who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? depends where they are. if it’s some fancy schmancy place, then luka. if it’s silhouette’s, then scout. who struggles to keep their hands to themself? luka has a tendency to like, always touch her to move her out the way or just make sure she stays doing nothing stupid. scout has no excuse and just straight up grabs his arm. “ stop taking my hand ” – rey to finn, the force awakens. how long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? sober, not even 2 minutes. high, 2 hours. thanks for coming to my ted talk.who gives the most kisses? scout, obvi. what is their favourite non-sexual activity? bickering. they do kinda like it. anything illegal is also exhilarating. but their favorite thing … smoking ! you know it is, bud. you can scrap everything i’ve said above if they’re high. high!nutkins are big time touchy-feely and they will snuggle. where is their favourite place to cuddle? he’s a big boy, so the bed. who is more likely to playfully grope the other? scout. she will smack his ass and he cannot stop her. that said and playfully erased, luka is the type to grab her ass when nobody’s paying attention. and frankly, i cannot blame him. it’s a good ass. how often do they get time to themselves? like all day, every day. they make their own schedules, bitches. 

SLEEPING

who snores? luka seems the snoring type. she’ll get him those nose strips to save herself some headaches. i say as if he stays long enough for her to take notice.if both do, who snores the loudest? GHHHHHGHHHH – luka snoring. do they share a bed or sleep separately? separately. but, but – when HIGH … uwu.if they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? they start out far apart and then, you know . . . who talks in their sleep? i bet, I BET – if she has to stay with him ( in the many scenarios which we discuss in the privacy of imessage ), she will mutter shit in her sleep. like his name. tragic. he can pretend he didn’t hear that.what do they wear to bed? scout wears those fancy silk nightgowns and he prolly sleeps shirtless. if she’s at his place, though … t-shirt and panties. say it with me, PANTIES. are either of your muses insomniacs? maybe luka, maybe.can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? scout, she needs her snoozes.do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? side by side : her arms snaked around his and just her wittle chin on his shoulder. who wakes up with bed hair? he … got no hair. who wakes up first? in terms of bouncing after accidentally falling asleep, luka. he’s just out the motherfuckin’ door. otherwise, she’s an early riser.who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? she’d try, and then he’d have to swoop in to save the day.what is their favourite sleeping position? as far apart as humanly possible. who hogs the sheets? luka, that rat. do they set an alarm each night? scout does but, y’know.can a television be found in their bedroom? in luka’s, maybe. in scout’s, doubtful. depends on if she moves into the dang hotel or not.who has nightmares? i feel like he should have nightmares due to all the murders he commits but … scout sure as hell got none.who has ridiculous dreams? neither, they’re boring.who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? luka and his long, annoying legs.who makes the bed? scout. and 2 minutes after she’s done he flops back down on it and messes it up. what time is bed time? 3 am. witching hour. ‘cos they’re from hell.any routines/rituals before bed? murder.who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? LUKA. that sun of a gun.

WORK

who is the busiest? scout. she has school, that’s a lot. he has murder, that’s easy and breezy. who rakes in the highest income? luka, but she still has more money than him.are any of your muses unemployed? i mean, technically scout. but not for long. who takes the most sick days? luka. without a shadow of a doubt.who is more likely to turn up late to work? luka. he’s never on time. fix that shit.who sucks up to their boss? luka sucks ed’s dick every thursday afternoon, but go off i guess.what are their jobs? he’s a cupcake maker and she’s a child of god.who stresses the most? scout.do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? i wanna say they do but they don’t, really, let’s be honest. time to move to paris and reinvent themselves.are your muses financially stable? scout is, he wishes.

HOME

who does the washing? nobody. i mean, i’m assuming he does his own but when he inevitable crashes at her place, the maid staff.who takes out the trash? he is the trash, so. get out of her hotel room, lukey boy.who does the ironing? hotel service, kay.who does the cooking? luka. and he’ll teach her. we’ve been over this. one day she’ll be able to make instant noodles without instantly burning the house down.who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? see above.who is messier? he is. but without, like, somebody to clean her shit up – she’s pretty messy, too. which is why she cannot live with him in his stupid trailer without maid service. who leaves the toilet roll empty? luka. and she hates him for it. who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? luka and scout. they’re kin that way.who forgets to flush the toilet? they don’t have a toilet, actually.who is the prankster around the house? neither of them. despite acting like children, they’re more mature than that. who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? neither. luka has to be organized and scout got her license revoked. lots to think about.who mows the lawn? what lawn.who answers the telephone? scout ‘cos he doesn’t have one. sucks.who does the vacuuming? me, personally.who does the groceries? nobody. she can’t cook and luka forgets.who takes the longest to shower? obvi, scout.who spends the most time in the bathroom? scout spends like an hour and a half in there. perfection takes time.

MISCELLANEOUS 

is money a problem? for him, lol.how many cars do they own? she’ll inherit her dad’s car, xoxo.do they own their home or do they rent? own, bitch. at least they will.do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? don’t ask me this shit ever again.do they live in the city or in the country? eye – do they enjoy their surroundings? fuck, no. i said what i said, time to elope to paris, bitches. go get a passport, luka. it’s time !what’s their song? bang bang by miss nancy sinatra.what do they do when they’re away from each other? celebrate.where did they first meet? silhouette’s. super romantic. how did they first meet? she asked him to merk her father. it was real cute. love at first sight.who spends the most money when out shopping? uh, is this even a question. he doesn’t have the money to spend, she does.who’s more likely to flash their assets? SCOUT, obvi.who finds it amusing when the other trips over? luka, he’s an asshole that way. and he’ll make her walk in her high ass heels through the most difficult terrain just for the sake of seeing it happen, too.any mental issues? they wouldn’t be getting together if there weren’t any.who’s terrified of bugs? scout screams when she sees ants. she hates ants. don’t ask.who kills the spiders around the house? she’ll kill the spiders. swat them with her pumps.their favourite place? the hotel, xoxo.who pays the bills? scout.do they have any fears for their future? nope. i mean, she fears getting caught for merking her father but other than that, nope.who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? scout. we’ve been through this, kay, she’d buy him a nice outfit and she’d take him out for dindin. except, driver roll up the partition please. who uses up all of the hot water? scout, and she’s not sorry about it. if they showered together they’d save water :~)who’s the tallest? her, obviously.who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? both. she’d do it for cutesy purposes, he’d do it ‘cos he’s invasive and annoying and she’s taking too damn long. it’s not gonna go any faster with your dick up her ass, luka. who wanders around in their underwear? luka. and she absolutely loves it.who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? scout and then he turns the radio off.what do they tease each other about? she’s rich and spoiled, he’s dirty and emotionally stunted. who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? scout would claim to but that shit’s hot, okay. he’d probably ask her to slow down with the polo’s. ain’t got nothing against those knee socks, though, now do you.do they have mutual friends? jesus. who crushed first? scout. oof.any alcohol or substance related problems? loads to go around.who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? luka … that sloppy piece of shit.who swears the most? his middle name is i-cuss-to-assert-myself-as-masculine, if you didn’t know. 

 HC   +   MAGIC !      /       while  it  isn’t  much  thought  about  from  most ,  the  poppins-stewart  family  is  probably  one  of  the  most  powerful  families ,  magic  wise ,  in  aura.don .    it’s  never  much  elaborated  on  where  their  magic  comes  from  ;   some  state  that  their  mother  is  a  witch  or  even  some  sort  of  fairy  but  there’s  no  exact  confirmation  on  it .    the  closest  thing  there  is  to  an  answer  is ,  according  to  mary ,   (  from  referencing  the  m.ary  pop.pins  book  )   all  children  are  magical  when  they’re  born  however ,  as  they  grow  older ,  they  lose  their  magic .     so  we  can  assume  that  the  po.ppins  have  simply  never  lost  their  magic  in  the  slightest  if  that’s  the  case !    what  that  categorizes  them  as ,  however ,  no  one  rightfully  knows   &   it’s  better  that  one  doesn’t  try  to  ask .    no  part  of  the  po.ppins  family  delivers  a  straight  answer  on  the  matter  or ,  if  they  do ,  none  of  their  answers  match .

 so  it’s  not  completely  known  what  they  are ,  technically ,  which  makes  what  they’re  capable  of  even  more  a  mystery .    they  are  powerful ,  though ,  that  is  for  sure .    when  mary  arrives  over  london  b.ert  mentions  there  are  winds   &   mists  coming  in  with  her .   that  sort  of   impact  from  arrival  isn’t  for  some  unimpressive  magic .    they ,  or  m.ary  at  least ,  also  seem  to  have  some  kind  of  connection  with  the  wind  as  it’s  said  that  mar.y  leaves  when  the  wind  changes .   either  mar.y  herself  controls  the  wind ,  the  wind  simply  responds  to  when  she  comes  or  goes ,  or  wind  seems  to  dictate  when  &   where  mary  goes .   whatever  it  is !    from  what  we’ve  seen  mary  do  it  can  be  assumed  that  their  powers ,  assuming  the  pop.pins  kids  all  have  their  mother’s  abilities ,  have  near  if  not  full  on  reality  warping  capabilities .   to  understand  that  more  here’s  a  list  of  just  some  of  the  things  we’ve  seen  ma.ry  be  capable  of  with  her  magic .

  * this  list  including  things  from  book ,  film ,  &  novel ! 

 flight    /    a  famously  known  ability  of  mary’s  as  due  to  the  iconic  image  of  her  floating  down  to  j.ane   &   mi.chael’s  house  with  her  umbrella  then  leaving  similarly .   this  is  may  be  only  capable  with  the  umbrella  but  also  could  possibly  be  accomplished  without  it  as  she  seems  to  float  up  to  uncle  albert’s  tea  party  on  the  celling  when  he  laughed  himself  up  there  just  fine  on  her  own .

 granting  objects  sentience    /    something  we’ve  seen  done  with  j.ane   &   mi.chael’s  toys  in  both  film   &   stage  (  though  a  bit  more  dramatic  in  stage   &   she  also  made  them  life  sized .  )   &   she’s  also  seen  bringing  statues  to  life  in  the  stage  version .    she  also  talks  to  her  umbrella .

 moving  objects   &   people  without  touching  them    /    usually  done  by  snapping  her  fingers   though  she  also  controlled  a  fully  grown  woman  with  a  few  waves  of  her  arm  in  the  stage  version   &   that’s  something  i’ll  elaborate  more  on  later .

 communication  with  all  animals    /    she  speaks  to  a  dog  in  all  the  film ,  book ,  &  stage  versions .   she  also  has  been  seen  to  give  animals  the  ability  to  talk  back  in  perfect  english .

 creating  solid  structures  from  clouds  or  smoke    /    she’s  first  seen  sitting  atop  a  cloud  checking  her  make  up  in  the  film   &   later  on  also  creates  a  staircase  out  of  a  smoke  stack  to  take  ja.ne ,  mich.ael ,  ber.t ,  &  herself  above  the  clouds  to  see  the  stars .

 bringing  drawings  to  life   /   done  in  book  when  on  a  day  out  with  bert   &   (  more  notably  )  in  the  film  during  joll.y  holi.day .   she  is  also  able  to  ender  the  drawings   &   explore  them  as  entire  worlds  &   “ draw  on ”  entirely  new  clothes .   if  the  drawing  is  destroyed ,  however ,  so  will  the  world  be  it  seems .

 transporting  to   &   from  fantastical  worlds    /     she’s  traveled  with  the  children  to  other  places   &   not  only  ones  in  drawings .   this  is  something  seen  more  in  the  books  than  in  the  film  or  stage  version .

 repairing  objects  instantly  without  touching  them   /    she  fixes  several  broken  pieces  of  furniture  in  the  kitchen  during  the  musical  scene  of  spoo.nful  of  su.gar .

 expanding  the  inner  space  of  something  without  altering  the  outside    /     her  carpet  bag .   she  also  seems  capable  of  hiding  said  expanded  space  from  other  as  the  children  complain  to  her  that ,  when  they  look  in  the  bag ,  it  appears  empty .

 creating  realistic  temporary  objects   &   people    /    so  like  in  the  stage  version  of  jo.lly  ho.liday  they  don’t  go  into  a  drawing  they  stay  in  the  park  yet  tons  of  people  come  around  dressed  in  colors  like  them   &   i  could  excuse  that  for  just  a  needed chorus  but  also  the  queen  shows  up  at  one  point ?    then  all  of  this  disappears  by  the  end  of  the  song   &   has  apparently  only  been  seen  by  b.ert ,  m.ary ,   &  the  kids .

 quite  literally  talk  to  her  mirror  self   /    mary’s  reflection  sings  back   to  her  in  the  film  then  on  it’s  own  later  as  if  it’s  own  person .

 there’s  also  one  more  thing  she’s  been  shown  to  do  with  her  magic  that  i’m  going  to  bring  up  separately  here  because  it’s  something  she’s  able  to  do  that’s  actually  incredibly  terrifying .     

 in  the  stage  version  in  the  end  of  act  i ,  mar.y  leaves  the  children ,  lamenting  to  b.ert  that  they  “must  do  the  next  bit  on  their  own.”    in  act  ii ,  as  the  children  are  now  again  nannyless ,  mrs  ban.ks  hires  a  new  nanny  named  ms.  andrews  who  was  mr.  ban.ks’  old  nanny .    she’s  a  horrid  nasty  woman  who  disaplins  the  children  with  disgusting  medicine  she  calls  ‘brimsto.ne   &  tre.acle’ .    mary  returns  later  on   &   eventually  the  two  nannies  have  an  encounter  that  takes  place  during  the  song  ‘brimsto.ne  &   trea.cle  pt  2′ .    ms.  andrews  is  infuriated  with  the  children  for  running  away  from  her  &  is  readying  to  give  them  another  dose  of  medicine   until  mary  interrupts  her .    the  two  have  an  argument  until  ms.  andrews  realizes  someone  let  her  lark  out  of  it’s  cage  ( something  we  saw  mary  do  when  coming  into  the  home  prior  to  all  of  this ) .   ms.  andrews  blames  the  children   &   claims  they’ll  feel  her  full  rage  now .    now  that  i’ve  set  the  scene  here’s  where  it  gets  insane .    as  ms.  andrews  readies  a  spoon  of  her  disgusting  medicine  &  begins  moving  it  towards  the  children  mary ,  stretching  out  her  arm ,  controls  ms.  andrews’  actions   &   forces  her  to  turn  the  spoon  back  on  herself   &  down  the  medicine .   she  then ,  with  both  arms  now ,  controls  ms.  andrews  to  scuttle  about  the  room  before  mary  has  her  turn  the  entire  bottle  of  medicine  on  herself   &   then  chug  it .    after  all  of  this  a  large  bird  cage ,  similar  to  the  one  ms.  andrews  kept  her  lark  in ,  rises  from  the  floor   (  or  wall  depending  on  how  the  set  is  built ,  on  broadway  it  came  from  the  floor  )   &  mary  deems  her  a  bully  then ,  still  controlling  her  from  a  distance ,  sends  ms.  andrews  into  the  cage .   as  the  cage  sinks  back  into  the  floor  with  ms.  andrews  all  the  lights  turn  red  &  as  the  floor closes ,  cutting  off  the  last  shriek  from  ms.  andrews ,  there  is  a  flash  of  light  then  echoes  of  smoke  in  the  room .

 if  you  want  to  watch  it  here’s  a  link  to  a  bootleg  of  the  scene !

 i’m  not  sure  how  everyone  else  would  interpret  that  scene  but  it  seems  to  me  that  mar.y  pop.pins  just  deemed  a  woman  terrible   &   sent  her  to  hell  or  somewhere  similar  at  least .    the  popp.ins’  magic  is  most  often  used  for  fun  adventures ,  cleaning ,  teaching  lessons ,  &  enjoyment  but  it’s  used  that  way  by  choice .    it’s  powerful  magic   &   can  be  used  for  terrible  things !    &  even  po.ppins  have  their  limits  .    point  is ?   don’t  piss  off  a  pop.pins  kid  they’re  far  more  a  danger  than  you’d  think .

Challenge 59

@disnarutard @clarafarleybarrow

*Maxerica pregnancy scare

(I’ve had these prompts forEVER and I’ve been wanting to write the story of how we got Lief, because it’s different from the other Laws of Inheritance Schreave babies, but it’s... sort of... long? And comes with its own world building history lesson? So I haven’t had time. But then I hit writer’s block with The Thing with Feathers (don’t worry! I have everything outlined, it’s just a matter of telling the story in a nice, readable way), so I decided to give myself a break and write something different and fun AKA this) (PS, it worked, my writer’s block is BUSTED in a way it hasn’t been in months. I’m only kicking myself for not trying this sooner!) 

The day before Maxon and America were scheduled to leave for a diplomatic tour of the Australian Islands, Jamesy came down with a vicious cold. Though her motherly instincts were screaming that she should cancel her participation in the tour, America’s duties to her country as their queen won out over those to her children as their mother. That night, America rocked Jamesy in Amberly’s rocking chair until he fell into a fitful, cough-filled slumber. The next morning, she was exhausted as she bid her family goodbye and boarded the royal plane with Maxon, but it was just as well. They had a long, long flight ahead of them and there would be plenty of time to sleep on the way.

Her first day of tour, though tiring, went fairly smoothly. Silvia had made the trip with them, along with Gavril and a small pool of reporters. Silvia and her counterpart in the Australian queen’s entourage, a man named Nigel, kept the entire group on schedule, and consequently, America and Maxon were able to enjoy a private meal in their suite at the palace before falling asleep, fast and hard.

Maxon awoke the next morning feeling nauseated, the lingering jet lag toying with his body. America woke up with a light case of the sniffles, but convinced herself that it was just allergies, her body overreacting to her unfamiliar surroundings. She made it through the day thanks to Silvia keeping a supply of soft tissues close at hand, and survived the state dinner that night by sipping chilled wine to soothe her achy throat.

On her second morning on the Australian islands, sadly, it was no longer deniable. She had Jamesy’s cold. There was a rush of activity throughout the palace as the Australian royal family’s personal doctor contacted Dr. Ashlar all the way back in Illéa (despite a brutal time difference), and proposed a course of decongestants, cough suppressants, antibiotics to prevent infection, and vitamins to supplement her immune system. The Australian Doctor received Dr. Ashlar’s full approval for the proposed treatment, and America was dosed with a cocktail of medications to keep herself well enough to tour. As someone who was naturally suspicious of fancy medicines, it was a little bit of a nightmare for America, but she was forced to concede that they helped.

It truly wasn’t fair how quickly Maxon adjusted to the new timezone and was back to his normal self. More than that, he was glowing and gorgeous from his time out of the office and into the Australian sun, touring nature reserves and watching soccer matches, while America sat beside him, hot, dizzy, and splotchy.

She woke up on their fourth morning abroad with a terrible migraine. There was yet another international consultation before she was dosed with even more medication, then sent on her way with the Queen to tour some nearby public schools.

She began to feel drastically better by day five as her immune system finally began to put up a decent fight, and by their final day of tour, she had all of her stamina back and was down to only taking the decongestant and antibiotic to keep herself on the path to recovery.

Maxon and America flew back to Illéa, desperate to see Addy, Jamesy, and Maisy. This time the time change meant that they were awake for much of the flight, and they enjoyed stargazing from the bed in the back of the plane. With the window shades open and the lights off, if they were laying flat on their backs, they could peer out the windows and up at the sky. At this altitude, out over the black ocean, the view was breathtaking (and breathtakingly romantic).

The jet lag was hell again, when they got home, but they were arriving in the early, early hours of Sunday and would have most of the day to sleep and readjust.

By noon, Maxon had dragged himself to the office for a quick briefing to catch up on anything the advisers felt needed his immediate attention. America didn’t even eat breakfast and take the final dose of her decongestant cocktail, along with the rest of her usual medicines, including the one that kept her heart healthy, until the middle of the afternoon.

But after that rough adjustment, Maxon and America settled back into their usual routine with relative ease. Over the next month, 8 year old Addy wrote a play about pirate unicorns, which was performed by the Palace kid gang for all of their parents, 6 year old Jamesy lost a tooth, and 4 year old Maisy began early education lessons with Ms. Alvaraz.

The latter was perhaps the most traumatic for Maxon and America. For the first time since Addy was born, there were no kids to toddle back and forth between Maxon’s and America’s offices all day. Kenna and Paige still nannied in the evenings, alternate weekends, or if America and Maxon were going to be traveling, but their regular hours were much shorter now that all of the Schreave kids, plus Kile and Astra, were in tutoring lessons for so much of the day. Paige was even beginning to help out as one of America’s lady’s maids again, just to fill out her work schedule.

The actual nursery adjacent to the family room, where each of the Schreave babies had slept until they outgrew the crib, was now a play room filled with a cluttered mess of toys, and the crib had long ago been taken apart and placed into storage. Maxon and America couldn’t wrap their heads around the thought that it might not emerge again until little Addy grew up and had a baby of her own. It was such a desolate thought that, most of the time, they just tried not to think about it.  

Later that month, America cancelled her usual quarterly checkup with Dr. Ashlar. Having blood drawn for the panel to check her vitamin and hormone levels always left her exhausted for the ensuing several days. It was a terrible excuse, she knew, but she was already feeling sluggish and she had important legislative negotiations to take care of (They were still a few months away from the early December formal session, where Maxon would make official amendments and enact new laws, but that just meant that they were in the thick of figuring out what those repeals, amendments, and new legislation needed to be. America couldn’t just nap her way through these important meetings).  

So, she figured she’d just get her blood drawn in a couple of weeks, once the legislative details were more settled and she could afford to spend an afternoon or two sleeping off some blood loss.

Dr. Ashlar, however, was having none of that. He (politely) pestered her and pestered her until, finally, it was easier for America to give in and give up some blood than to continue to make polite excuses to blow him off. By the time Dr. Ashlar wore her down and she submitted to her checkup, America was already eleven weeks pregnant.

Dr. Ashlar was so grim-faced and sullen when he insisted on the emergency meeting in her office that same afternoon that, at first, America thought she might be dying. She’d had very low energy for a while now and she’d vomited a few times in the last few weeks, perhaps her body was shutting down, rejecting nourishment, slowly deteriorating until it wouldn’t be strong enough to go on? By the time Dr. Ashlar started explaining what her blood test had revealed, she was already convinced that she’d be dead by the end of the week.      

But what Dr. Ashlar said, instead, was that she was pregnant, and that he needed to perform an ultrasound to figure out how far along she was before he’d be able to answer her questions about how this was even possible.

She was stunned, and she was convinced there had been a mistake. The machines had glitched or something. She didn’t know what ‘glitch’ was, but she knew it could happen, and she was sure that it had. Still, just to be sure, she canceled her next meeting and joined Dr. Ashlar in the same room where she’d gotten all of her ultrasounds done with her various pregnancies. She hadn’t set foot inside since before Maisy was born. As soon as she laid eyes on the bed where she’d been laying the very first time she and Maxon ever set eyes on their very first baby, during their very first ultrasound appointment, America was overwhelmed with nostalgia so strong, it made her chest hurt.

This had to be a mistake, she firmly reminded herself. She’d been taking birth control tablets nonstop, without fail, for years. There could be no baby. And anyway, she and Maxon had three perfect children. It was enough.

… Or at least, that was their mantra. They repeated it and repeated it every time they started to doubt it. Three was enough. Three was more than enough! Three was plenty, given how hectic their jobs were. More than three would be too many, after all. Three was the perfect amount. Any more than three would be excessive, in fact. They had their three, what more could they ask for? Certainly not four, which would be too much. Three was enough.

But Dr. Ashlar turned on the machine and jellied her stomach, and sure enough, there was a baby in there. A baby that had been forming just fine without prenatal vitamins, and with its mother taking birth control tablets every day (which, as Dr. Ashlar explained, were useless at stopping a pregnancy once it started). If America had gone if for her blood panel earlier, her lowered iron levels (which had led to her sluggish anemia) would have been a dead giveaway. She’d been anemic with all of her other pregnancies, too.

When the machine was off, and America’s stomach was dry, Dr. Ashlar rubbed his forehead, slumped on his stool across from the exam bed, and sighed a heavy, forlorn sigh. As far as he was concerned, this was an unqualified disaster. The King and Queen did not want a fourth child, and he’d made a mistake somewhere along the way, and now the Queen was pregnant and in a very difficult situation. He wasn’t just afraid for his job, he actually wanted to be fired for this. He craved punishment and absolution for his horrendous mistake, and otherwise would never forgive himself for it.

“How could this have happened?” America asked. She wasn’t angry or frightened or anything. She was in shock, completely numb, not fully wrapping her head around what she’d just seen on the ultrasound monitor. Maybe she was afraid that she’d wake up in a minute, realize this was all a dream, and be devastated. It had happened before.

“It’s hard to say precisely, your Majesty.” Dr. Ashlar looked vaguely nauseous. “The tablets you take alter your hormone levels, and are very exact. If anything interferes with their absorption, and you end up with too little hormone, this… type of thing… could happen.”

“That’s why I take them at the same time every day.” America reminded him, as if she needed to. “I’ve never missed a day, though.”

“No, but timing isn’t the only factor.” Dr. Ashlar pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking back. “It’s been eleven weeks since your last menstrual cycle, so we date the fetus there, but it’s been... what... ten weeks since your royal tour of the Australian islands?”

“More or less.” America shrugged, unable to remember exactly. More than two months was all she knew for sure.

“Well...” Dr. Ashlar shook his head, gulped, and frowned, “The time change could have thrown things off. In other words, you took your tablets at the same time of morning as usual, it’s just that morning arrived 17 hours early.”

“The time change? That was it?” America couldn’t believe it. How could they have missed that crucial detail?

“Maybe,” Dr. Ashlar shrugged miserably, “But maybe it was the antibiotic you were taking whilst you were gone.”

“What? Antibiotics can do that?”

“Not most of them.” Dr. Ashlar said, forlorn, “And I haven’t seen any studies to suggest that the kind that you took had any effect on birth control absorption whatsoever. That being said…” he winced, “The antibiotic you took was a variation on what I’d have given you here, but it wasn’t the exact same thing. The specifics of the medication are proprietary, and it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that the Australian antibiotic interfered with your Illéan birth control tablets.”

“Each country manufactures its own versions of medicines?” America shook her head. It sounded absurd to her, untenable.

Dr. Ashlar seemed to disconnect peacefully from the present as he offered her a history lesson: “Hundreds of years ago, there were a small handful of large corporations which owned the patents to the vast, vast majority of individual drugs. Back then, these corporations could sell the same formula all over the world, so long as they were following local laws. They made unimaginable fortunes in this way, more wealth for one company than has been left in all the world, after the wars. However, when resources grew scarce, these giants chose to make outrageous profits by charging high sums of money for basic, life saving medicines. After the dust had settled on the fourth world war, several of the highest level executives of these corporations were charged with crimes against humanity in an international court of law. After all, several million people were dead, having been unable to afford the necessary medication that they’d needed. From the corporations’ perspective, there really had been no financial incentive to lower the drug prices, in other words cut profits, just to save a few poor people in countries that were destined to collapse anyway. And it was their intellectual property, anyway. They could do whatever they wanted. It was a shameful moment in human history, to say the least.”

America had known that those dark, brutal years immediately before Illéa’s founding had been bad for a whole variety of reasons, but she’d never heard about this gruesome aspect of that history before.

“When the trials were done and the former executives charged with acts of genocide, both the surviving and the newly formed governments of nations around the world released the medical patents into the public domain, and from then on, each government insisted on the ability to control the supply and price of medications directly for its own people. It was the only way that they could each be certain that, if resources grew scarce again, their people wouldn’t be cut out of an international chain of supply for medicines. It made perfect sense at the time.”

America wasn’t sure what she’d have done if she’d been Queen, and faced with such a decision. Probably exactly the same as Gregory Illéa had done. It was one of the few times she’d ever tentatively agreed with the man, and the thought made her shudder involuntarily.

“So you see, your Majesty, though these older medications come from the same basic recipe that was used by the international corporations that once patented them; in the intervening centuries, each country has experimented and altered the medicine as they’ve seen fit. And those alterations are, with a few notable exceptions, proprietary. Even after everything our species has survived, we’re still so suspicious of one another that we won’t share our intellectual discoveries freely.” he lamented.

“So you don’t know exactly what was in those antibiotics?” America scrunched her brow, trying to understand how he could possibly have allowed her to take them, if that had been the case.

“I have a good idea,” he said in his own defense, “It isn’t as though they could have laced in some poison or something. We’re talking about a basic antibiotic, so there wouldn’t even be different ingredients. There couldn’t be. There just wouldn’t be the need.” he explained. “What we’re most likely dealing with is a different level of potency. Sustained over the days that you took the medication, it’s not beyond all possibility that it interfered with your tablets.” he concluded, shoulders slumping again. He was back from his history lesson, into the present reality of their situation.

“So, it was either that my medication schedule was messed up because of the time change, or the antibiotic I took was too strong?”

“Not to mention, they medicated you for migraines. I thought nothing of it at the time, but there’s a chance that could have altered your absorption, too.” he looked like he needed a stiff drink. He was back to mourning as if someone had died. He counted off on his fingers, “The tablets are only 99% effective in the first place,” he ticked a finger, “And between all the time changes you underwent, you may have missed as much as an entire dose, not to mention your sleep schedule and breakfast schedule were off for the week you were in Australia, and the week after you returned. That’s two weeks of abnormal doses.” he ticked another finger, “On top of that, it’s possible that the particular antibiotic and migraine medication you were given, though safe, may have altered the amount of hormone you were able to absorb when you took your tablets. Any one of those individual mistakes might explain it, but added all together…” he paused, shook his head, then dropped his chin to his chest in shame, “We should have put you on a longer term birth control method, one that was less fragile. I knew you were done having children, but there’s a high risk of discomfort with intrauterine devices, and you were doing so well on the tablets, not to mention it’s illegal to surgically sterilize the King or Queen—“

“Wait.” America stopped him, the shock slowly beginning to wear away. Her mind was less fuzzy, she became aware of her whole body, and all of her senses were functioning properly again. This wasn’t a dream. It had gone on too long to be a dream, not to mention the vivid details of reality were returning to her. “I’m having a baby?”

“Yes, your Majesty, didn’t you--“ Dr. Ashlar gestured to the screen of the ultrasound machine, confused. She’d just seen the occupant of her womb, firsthand. Then he stopped himself, shook away his confusion and said, “What I mean to say is, this is entirely your choice, your Majesty--“

America held up a hand to stop him, knowing exactly what he meant.

“Is my heart healthy enough to go through with this pregnancy?” she asked, slowly and seriously. “Will I survive the labor and delivery?”  

Immediately after Maisy was born, America’s blood pressure had plummeted to unsafe levels. She’d gone unconscious, and to this day she mourned the loss of those first precious few minutes with their baby girl. Afterwards, she and Maxon had reluctantly determined that the safest thing to do would be to stop having children. They couldn’t risk America’s health, she needed to be alive for Addy, Jamesy, and Maisy. There could be no negotiation about that.

“Well… my best medical opinion is that, yes, your Majesty, you are healthy enough to support this pregnancy.” Dr. Ashlar said. “We would monitor you closely, of course, and examine our best options for labor. It’s possible we could opt for a cesarean delivery, if a prolonged labor were to become too stressful. But major surgery like that is also very stressful on the heart, not to mention the extended recovery it would require.”

“But would a cesarean be too stressful?” America demanded. She needed him to be absolutely positive. “Kenna had one with the twins, and it went perfectly. Kenna and I have the same heart condition. If she could do it, so could I, right?”  

“I don’t... you don’t... I don’t see any indication, based on your recent cardiac tests, that such an operation would be medically unsafe.” he advised.

She nodded, finally allowing herself to believe what was happening. “Then, Dr. Ashlar, I’m having a baby…”

“Your Majesty?”

America laughed at an inappropriate volume, pressed a hand to her mouth, and nodded. “This… this is… this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time, Dr. Ashlar. Thank you.”

He was thoroughly taken aback. “You’re thanking me for the greatest professional mistake I’ve ever made?”

America felt tears swim in her eyes as she bit her smile to keep it in check and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, “It’s not a mistake. This isn’t a mistake. This is the best surprise of my entire life, this is not a mistake.”

***

She dragged Maxon out to the gardens after dinner that night. The kids were at the indoor swimming pool with May and Ryland, splashing around and having a great time. Therefore, Maxon and America had a couple of hours alone with one another.

America sat down on their bench and Maxon followed along, assuming that they were just having an impromptu mini-date. With three children and a country to run, most of their dates were impromptu and miniature.

“I’m so happy that you’re feeling better, Love. You’ve been a little rundown lately, and I’ve been so worried about you.” Maxon gently tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Maxon, this is the best I’ve felt in years.” America smiled.

“Is it?” he was baffled. “You… you haven’t been unwell for so long, have you?” The very idea that she might have been secretly ill seemed to panic him.

“No!” She hurried to reassure him. “No, it’s not that. I’m just... I’m happy. I’m so happy, Maxon.”

Maxon smiled indulgently, “I see. Well it’s not hard to believe, my darling, you’ve been humming all day, and you’re certainly aglow.”

“Am I?”

“What’s got you so overjoyed? Is it something with your family? Marlee?” he seemed to sense a positive life change on the horizon, he just didn’t know it was a baby, and he didn’t know it was theirs.

“No, it’s me. It’s us. It’s our whole family.” America’s breath hitched with excitement.

“We’ve done something to please you?”

America laughed, “Of course you have! I love you silly Schreaves around the moon and back again.”

Maxon laughed too, “You know you’re one of us ‘silly Schreaves', don’t you?”

“Maxon, I’m pregnant.” America blurted, still giggling.

Maxon’s face froze as he slowly replayed what she’d just said, “...You’re... did you just say--“

“Pregnant. Yes, that’s what I said. Maxon, we’re having a baby!”

Maxon narrowed his eyes, a look on his face as if he was doing advanced calculus. “You’re pregnant... with a baby?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Um--“ she lifted her eyebrows, fairly sure he knew how.

“No, I mean... No, I do mean ‘how’! How?” he exclaimed.

“Something to do with our tour through the Australian Islands, though it’s hard to say exactly what.” America wasn’t concerned. “Probably the time change, maybe some other stuff. Something about the fourth world war, but it doesn’t matter. The point is, we made a baby over there.”

“Well… No, because you’ve been taking birth control tablets ever since. Surely mistiming a dose or two--“

“It turns out, I was probably not quite on schedule for two weeks,” America was chipper as she explained, practically giddy.  

“Two weeks?!” Maxon was aghast.

“Maxon--“ America took his hand, knowing his head was swimming at this news. She guided it to her stomach and placed it there as firmly as she could. “I’m pregnant. This is a baby we’re talking about.” If there was one thing she knew about her husband, it was that he adored babies. Once the idea sunk in, he’d be smiling and laughing just like she was. Maybe he’d pick her up and twirl her around and—

He stared down at the hand touching her stomach, furrowing his brow hard, “Love... your heart--“

“Dr. Ashlar says I’m healthy enough for the pregnancy--“

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Maxon exclaimed loudly, meeting her gaze urgently. His brown eyes swam with terror, “I hardly had time to cut Maisy’s cord and kiss her forehead before your blood pressure was plummeting. You have no idea... the sounds those machines were making to indicate that you were dying! You were dying, America!”

“Maxon--“

“I will not lose you. I am King and I refuse.” he commanded, as if this settled the matter because even death was subject to his decrees.

“Listen to me: Dr. Ashlar will explore different delivery options with me when the time comes. They’ll know this is a risk, and they can monitor it, and--“

“America, I don’t want any risks. I’m not willing to risk you at all! Our children need their mother, I need my wife, and Illéa needs its queen.” he seemed to believe the matter was settled again.

America’s shoulders fell as she dropped her gaze to her lap. Maxon hadn’t removed his hand yet, and she took that to be one small sign that he wasn’t as against this as he sounded. “Maxon, the blood pressure thing was a fluke, and they fixed me right up. If it happens again, I’ll be fine just like last time.”

“You can’t promise me that.” he muttered mutinously.

“I… I can’t promise you... that the roof won’t cave in on my office tomorrow. I can’t promise that I won’t fall down the stairs and break my neck. That I won’t choke on a strawberry tart and suffocate. I can’t promise you anything, Maxon.” she glared at her knee.

“We don’t ride motorcycles because it’s a risk.” Maxon said randomly.

“What?” America peeked up at him. As far as she knew, they’d never even thought of riding a motorcycle.

“We don’t go skydiving and we don’t go bungee jumping. There are so many things we avoid because they’re dangerous and we want to be alive for our children.”

“If I let you go skydiving, can you be happy that we’re having this baby?” America sassed.

“Stop it.”

“I’m serious.”

Maxon looked like he was going to come back with a withering reply, but just as the words reached the tip of his tongue and he opened his mouth to speak them, a gut-wrenching sob escaped instead.

And with that, Maxon was crying as fully and as without restraint as the children did when they fell and scraped their knees. And just like with the children, America wrapped her arms around Maxon and held him close as he buried his face in his hands.

The time it took Maxon to breathe through the sobs and regain control of his crying gave America a precious minute to regroup and make a new plan. Maxon was pale as a ghost and shaking, and maybe he had reason to be. She’d been unconscious after Maisy’s birth, she’d missed the whole thing, but he’d been awake and living the nightmare as Dr. Ashlar had sent the nurse for help and begun the work of saving America’s life. For her, it had been a blank of nothing, but Maxon relived it in nightmares all the time.

“Come on.” America stood, as soon as Maxon’s breathing was steady and his sniffles subsided. “Come with me.”

“Where--“

“You’ll see.” she laced fingers with him and swiftly led him to Dr. Ashlar’s private suite. She knocked loudly on the door, interrupting the doctor and his wife at dinner, and apologized but begged for a few minutes in the hospital wing. Dr. Ashlar didn’t even hesitate, leading the way.

She sat herself on the bed in the ultrasound room and lifted her dress, waiting as Dr. Ashlar jellied her stomach and prepared the machine. All the while, Maxon had a look on his face like he might vomit.

Dr. Ashlar placed the wand on her abdomen and the screen attached to the machine lit up with the outline of their baby.

“Listen,” America said, squeezing Maxon’s hand, “I know it’s frightening, and I know it’s risky. Pregnancy is always risky. The best advice from Dr. Ashlar, our medical professional, the greatest doctor in the whole country, Maxon, is that my heart can handle this.”

“...But Ames...”

“Sweetheart, I am pregnant.” she said firmly.

“But--“

“Maxon, there’s no ‘but’. If I were perfectly healthy and nothing frightening had happened last time, wouldn’t you want this baby?”

Maxon gulped, knowing she was about to corner him into this. Still, he had to be honest with her, “Of course. God, Ames, nothing would make me happier than to have a baby in our nursery again. Nothing. But it’s not worth losing you, potentially losing you both. Addy, Jamesy, and Maisy…”

“I know. Believe me, I know. If I thought this would kill me, I’d never put myself at that kind of risk.”

“Ames, you have no idea what happened last time, what it was like--“

“Dr. Ashlar, do you think my blood pressure will fall off again?” America asked their doctor, point blank.

“...Well, no, your Majesty. Frankly, that type of blood pressure drop is not uncommon after labor, and not necessarily tied to your heart condition. During your recovery, the anesthesiologist and I consulted and we believe the most likely culprit was actually your epidural.”

“My epidural?” America said, eyebrows raised. She supposed it made sense; it must be risky to inject anything into a person’s spine. “So, if I didn’t take an epidural for this labor, there wouldn’t be as high a risk of my blood pressure dropping off?”

“Substantially less, your Majesty.”

“Even with my heart defect?”

“As far as your heart is concerned, you’ve been managing your condition responsibly, eating well, exercising, and taking your medication. Frankly, your Majesty, you’re the picture of health.”

“Okay.” America turned back to Maxon, “Did you hear him?”

Maxon looked as if he wished he hadn’t. “Yes.”

“So if we decided to... to end this pregnancy now, it wouldn’t be because of actual medical necessity. It would be because of fear.”

Maxon leaned his head back as he took this in, then lowered his gaze to Dr. Ashlar, a menacing look in his eyes, “Are you sure?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

“This poses no threat to America’s life?” his eyes flashed dangerously.

Dr. Ashlar recognized the look on Maxon’s face and squirmed; it was undiluted Clarkson. The doctor straightened his shoulders and said, “Every pregnancy comes with risk of complication. Princess Adrienne, Prince Jameson, and Princess Carolynn were all risks. But the risk is less with a healthy mother, and frankly, the Queen is certainly that. If a complication did arise from her pregnancy or labor, it wouldn’t be because of her heart.”

Dr. Ashlar knew, in that moment, that he’d just staked his life on his medical advice. If he was wrong and the Queen died in childbirth, Maxon would have his head for regicide.

“Maxon, our doctor says that I’m healthy and I can do this.” America said, smiling. “And we both want a baby in that nursery.”

Maxon looked down at America’s face, then he looked down at her exposed stomach. He lifted his gaze to the screen of the ultrasound machine and rubbed his chin, “I want three more medical opinions.”

Dr. Ashlar nodded, “Of course, sir.”

“Immediately. Now. Tonight.” Maxon ordered.

“Maxon.” America narrowed her eyes at him. She had a very low tolerance for the times when he resembled his father, given her own history with the man.

Maxon rolled his eyes and relented, “Please.”

America smiled and gratefully patted his hand.

“Yes, sir.” Dr. Ashlar said again.

“And if the medical consensus, the best scientific information we can get, says that this is safe enough...” Maxon paused. His gaze flickered back to the screen and he softened for just a moment, “Another baby...”  

Dr. Ashlar turned off the machine, handed America a cloth to clean her stomach, and then bowed his way out the door. Even though it was evening, it only took half an hour for the chief of obstetrics at Angeles hospital, as well as two highly respected cardiologists, to arrive in the hospital wing.

America and Maxon waited right there, holding hands, comforting one another with brushes of thumbs across knuckles, until they were joined by the impromptu medical panel.

After a thorough examination, including an ultrasound of America’s heart and uterus, the doctors were in perfect agreement. America was as fine as could be. Maxon was just scared.

Thinking back to her other pregnancies, this was always the hardest part for him, America remembered. This was the part he couldn’t control or command. He just had to hold her hand when she needed it, and hope for the best.

Maxon thanked the doctors for their help on such short notice, then he even apologized to Dr. Ashlar for being so short with him earlier. He told the doctors that word of this pregnancy was not to be spread to anyone, not even their own families, until America and Maxon had announced it to the nation.

It wasn’t until he said those words that America realized that he was done resisting. That he was with her.

As soon as the doctors, having been dismissed, closed the door behind them on their way out, Maxon turned to America.

“You’re pregnant.” he said, testing out the words in his mouth.

“I noticed.” America laughed. “It’s sort of monopolized my day.”  

He inhaled deeply through his nose, but this time when he exhaled, a smile bloomed across his cheeks. “There’s a baby in there.” he brushed his pointer finger across her stomach.

“Yep.”

“Ames!” he laughed out loud, “A baby!”

“I know.” America grinned. This was the reaction she’d been expecting out in the gardens. This was the man she’d seen every other time she’d told him that she was pregnant.

“Do you think it’s a boy? A girl?” he wondered eagerly.

“I have no idea.”

“I think I still have our baby name list in my desk drawer...” he pretended, poorly, to be uncertain.

“You think so?” America grinned at how transparent he was. He was the spitting image of Jamesy trying to lie to them about how much dessert he’d eaten.  

“Well... yes. I couldn’t throw it away.” Maxon confessed.

“I know what you mean.” America said, swinging her legs off of the exam bed. “I kept my copy, too.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Maxon... we’re going to have a baby again.” America’s eyes flooded with tears, “I didn’t think we’d have four... I thought we were done with three... but Maxon, we get four!”

“We get four.” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her head. “But Ames, we have a long way to go before we get our fourth. We’ve got to keep you healthy, because...” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, hard, “Because you need to meet this baby, once it’s born. You need to feed it and carry it out to meet our country on the front steps of the Palace. You can’t miss this because you’re… you’re…

“I know. I’ll be there.” America promised. Then a wicked smile spread across her face, “And if this goes well, who knows? Maybe we’ll have another.”

Maxon scowled and looked to the ceiling, as if asking the heavens for patience, “You’re going to be the death of me, woman.” he offered her a hand up from the bed.

She took it and pulled him straight in for a kiss, “Only if I’m doing my job right.”

***

In the end, Lief’s birth was the smoothest of all of America’s labors, possibly because America stubbornly willed it to be so. Without the use of an epidural, her closely monitored blood pressure remained stable and strong.

In fact, it all went so well that, a couple of years later, Maxon was easily agreeable to having one more baby, so that Lief would have a brother or sister companion closer to his own age than Addy, Jamesy, or Maisy. It was actually Rosie’s birth (too early, which added enormously to the stress America experienced all throughout her contractions) that convinced Maxon and America that they were truly done having children. Besides, with the addition of baby Rosie to their family, they now had five children. And whenever Maxon or America said the words ‘five is enough’, they actually rang true.

Questionable Responsibility

Original (middle section) by @cassandra-rp / @coloredinsanity

Sequel

“Your parents are great,” Elissa says from where she is sprawled across his bed.

Cethin hums his agreement from where he is scanning college brochures. Melina and Isaac are, objectively speaking, pretty fantastic foster-turned-adoptive parents, and Elissa thinks that more than most other people their age. She’s been raised next door by servants and nannies and tutors after her own parents, who died mysterious deaths either before Cethin lived here, or before he can remember. “What about your new bodyguard, ‘Lissa?” he asks, his voice taking on a teasing lilt.

“Kachim? He’s – he’s not my bodyguard,” Elissa protests immediately, predictably. Cethin laughs, knowing she is probably blushing again. “He’s just – I found him on the ground while I was out riding and he’s been staying ever since, you know that.”

“That’s what you claim,” Cethin taunts, because he can be a jerk at times, and because he likes the way it makes Elissa more flustered than usual.

She is still stammering defences over Cethin’s laughter when Melina comes upstairs to get her to come downstairs to go with Kachim, back from wherever he goes when he’s not being a shadow with a smile. Cethin trails after her downstairs to swipe some food before his mom closes the kitchen in the lead up to dinner, waving at the bodyguard but not approaching. It’s not that he doesn’t like Kachim, it’s that there’s something vaguely unnerving about the way he looms. He’s a perfectly nice person, but he smiles like he’s got a secret, and in Cethin’s hyperactive imagination he swears he caught a glimpse of fangs in amongst that heavy Russian accent more than once.

Anyway.

“Don’t spoil your dinner,” Melina instructs, amused. “Have you picked a college yet?”

“I haven’t even decided on a course yet, mom,” he laughs half-heartedly, rifling through the cupboard until he finds an apple that isn’t green and sour. “Engineering? Teaching? Social work? There are so many options, I don’t know how anyone chooses, let alone how I’m going to.”

“You don’t want to be a social worker,” his foster mother assures him. She’s pulling the ingredients she’ll need to prepare dinner out of various kitchen cupboards. “No thanks go to those poor people.”

“’Specially the ones who try to convince you to take more than you signed up for, right?” Cethin says it without any bitterness, but it’s not a happy comment. He’s a foster child, yes, and technically it’s thanks to an overinvested social worker that he’s now with the family he is. But then, according to everything his parents have told him – and his own hazy memories and the crying that haunts his too-vivid dreams at night – he has a biological sister. The social worker following his case tried to get them both in the same home, but the McKinley’s weren’t interested in a second child, or a daughter, and as he’s said – his parents are single-minded people. They took him. They didn’t take the girl, with a name his parents claim to have forgotten.

“Cethin...”

“Where’s dad?” he asks, cutting through the comment. Melina immediately turns away from him, the way she tends to when she’s hiding something. It’s common around his birthday, and around Christmas.

“He’s picking up a surprise for you, hopefully,” she says, her voice soft and warm. It’s full of love. He’s lucky to be in a house like this, not that he was deprived of affection before – he ended up in the system because a social worker had been concerned that his biological parents couldn’t afford to feed their two children. The couple – or the mother, at least – was coerced into giving them up, and Cethin has never forgiven the womans’ nosiness, even if she is owed some thanks. Cethin can learn to be single-minded, too.

“It’s not my birthday though?”

She snorts and pushes him off the counter, shooing him out of the kitchen. “Let me cook. We’re probably having company for dinner – go narrow down your course list, hm?”

“Fiiiine.”

Port Lyndon is cold enough during the summer, with constant rain and a sea breeze keeping everything crisp. In winter, any water that is not loaded with salt becomes ice. The cold is brutal, intense enough that even the most weather worn person is hesitant to brave a walk to the store.

Nobody wants to think about the light haired girl on the park bench, and how she isn’t going to be inside. They don’t want to look at a guilty face in the mirror when they go to bed tonight, tucking themselves into a soft bed in a heated home.

Her clothes are a mix of things, threadbare and stolen. She doesn’t remember the feeling of a warm bath, and she cannot recall the security a locked door might bring her.

Life is hard.

There are some who show kindness, as much as they can. There is a man who steps of of a closed cafe, leaving a box and a capped white bucket in a silent transaction. It’s a rare treat, the latter at least. Giselle picks it up with stiff fingers, forcing herself to her feet and starting on her journey. She considers being selfish, keeping the bounty for herself – but she isn’t that cruel.

Port Lyndon doesn’t only have its’ name because of the rich family who live on the hill. The Port part refers to the fact that the successful port remains, taking up large parts of the harbour. But time results in change, and the original shipyard is no longer used for business. It’s safe for people like her, the lost and the poor. They gather in metal forts built from abandoned shipping containers, and keep each other as safe as possible.

(She’s been abused so often in the past that she doesn’t feel safe, even among her own people. It doesn’t matter how deep the reassurance runs, it fails to reach her in a manner that will have an impact.)

The shipping containers make good homes and dependable roofs, but they’re cramped. The metal traps the heat from fires lit in barrels better than anything else they have found. One of them is near a table with nothing but a bell on it; it is here that she sets down her day-old pastries and leftover coffee, tapping the bell until it rings. She opens the box eagerly, picking out her favourite of the selection – a vanilla cupcake with raspberry icing, covered in cookie crumbs – as is the rule: deliverer gets first pick.

The adults begin to ration out what she has provided and what they already have, one of the younger adult men preparing a metal can that will serve to warm the coffee arm. Giselle lingers to watch, soaking in the warmth as she examines the scene through the cracked lenses of her glasses, before turning to walk through the shipyard. She can visit, but she cannot stay the night, not when she has already given her spot to a mother and her baby.

She finds the rotted old row boat she tends to store things in in as good condition as she expects, crawling into it and pulling the tarp back over. She flexes her fingers to work some mobility into them, and removes some pills from her bag. She forces them down dry, unwilling to brave the world outside for the frozen rainwater that might make it easier, and curls into a tight ball.

The drugs numb her enough that the cold won’t have her body shaking itself apart in the night, and her body relaxes slowly. Her sleep is deep, deep enough to last even with the snow that starts to fall again, pushing down on her tarp. It will eat into her bones in the morning, might make her sick again, and she remains out cold in every sense of the world, shivering and coughing even in her sleep.

She doesn’t feel the snow lighten, or the rush of cold as the tarp is removed. She certainly doesn’t feel the press of warm, gentle fingers to her wrist. Her body is numb all over, cold and the medication causing it, not that she could tell you what the medicine held.

What wakes her, just the slightest amount, is warmth enveloping her trembling frame. She is too tired and too close to sleep to bother with the anxiety she should feel, and she can see the edge of a car door as it closes. She is resigned to it: she expects to be used and abused, at this point. It won’t change anything. Nothing ever does, not for her.

“Mel?”

Cethin closes the brochure for PLU with a huff, more interested in his dad pulling into the driveway than he is in choosing his future. The black towncar is a cliché for the upper class, but Isaac loves it, and Cethin didn’t hate learning to drive in it, although he prefers the small coupe he has now. He gets to his feet to go look out the window at the drive, but his contacts aren’t designed for seeing things at a distance. He swears he can see his dad removing a bundle from the backseat of the car, something bundled in the picnic blanket that lives in the boot in case of the minor miracle of a sunny day in Port Lyndon, but that – that doesn’t make sense.

He’s tempted to go downstairs to investigate, and he does, lingering halfway down the steps to peer into the living room, where everything seems to be happening. His parents are leaning over someone on the couch, apparently, someone bundled in a picnic blanket, the throw rug, and worn fabrics in earth tones and blues. “Dad?”

Isaac ignores Cethin, which is unusual in itself. Melina turns, catches Cethin’s eye. “Bring down the space heater please, would you, Cethin? I need it in the bathroom.”

“Isn’t that a fire hazard?” Cethin asks empty air, Melina disappearing into the kitchen. He sighs and troops upstairs to remove the heater from the guest room, carrying it to the downstairs bathroom. It’s this one that has a bathtub, the only one in the house. His mom loves it, with Melina spending hours with the jets pummelling her aging body. She calls it soothing, but Cethin’s never liked baths.

Melina and the bundle disappear into the bathroom to the tune of running water after Cethin turns on the heater, and Cethin really, really doesn’t like not having answers. He comes into the living room to put his hands on his hips and stare at his dad – Isaac – until he gets attention. “What is it?”

“Who’s here?”

“Her name is Giselle, I believe. Or it was once.” Isaac frowns. So does Cethin, except his is less a frown and more a suspicious squint. His voice becomes wary.

“Dad?”

“Mm.”

“If you kidnapped someone, you wouldn’t drag mom into it, would you?”

“It’s not kidnapping!” Isaac protests a little too loudly for his liking, startled by the accusation. Cethin snorts. “Well, it won’t be. She should be sixteen, seventeen, something like that. Hardly a kid.”

“Those blankets were the tiniest not-kid I’ve ever seen,” Cethin points out. It’s Isaac’s turn to scoff. “Dad, why’d you bring them - her here? You should’ve taken ‘em home.”

“They don’t have a home.” That sounds incredibly ominous. Cethin stares at his father some more, until Isaac seems to realize what he said. “She’s homeless, Cethin. Let me – let me start again. Remember what we said when we asked if you’d like to be adopted?”

Sure he does. He calls his parents out on it all the time, when he wants a little guilt to help him have his way. “I have a sister that you didn’t want.”

“Right,” Isaac agrees, though it clearly pains him to do so. He never does like being seen as a bad person. “You want her, though.”

“Of course I do. She’s family. She deserves nice things, too.” She deserves to be as much of a spoilt child as he can be, actually, but he doesn’t say that. He thinks, instead, that what she – his almost-imaginary sister – deserves is to know she is loved unconditionally, and he knows enough horror stories to know not everyone in foster care gets the happily ever after he’s ended up with.

“Well – that’s her.”

Cethin snorts, because that seems unlikely, and his immediate thought it not likely. Then it pauses. Stops. He stares at his father yet again, because this is – what? “You kidnapped someone you think is my little sister?”

“She’s hardly in a state to provide a coherent response to any offers,” he protests. It’s defensive as anything Cethin has ever heard.

It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Cethin rubs under his eyes, the closest he can come to the exhausted rubbing at his eyes he can do with contacts in place. “You abducted someone because you think they’re related to me?”

“I know she is. Just – I do.”

Whatever protest Cethin has been planning on is interrupted by a sudden splash and an alarmed, wordless outburst. Both Cethin and Isaac look to the bathroom door in alarm, expecting yelling. None comes, just the soothing hum of Melina’s gentle voice, too quiet to be made out as she reassures this – Giselle. Supposed Giselle. Supposed sibling of Cethin.

“My parents are child abducters,” Cethin says hopelessly.

It’s probably a good thing Kachim took Elissa home when he did.