Do you think that meri legally divorcing kody strained them even further apart? What meri did was selfless and I think what she did was a beautiful thing because of the why she did it. Bug should she have?

Idk that's a tough one because as far as Robyn's kids go they didn't have much of a choice. I think psychologically though it did a number on Meri even if it was her idea, because that was the one thing she had in the family that no one else did; Christine and Janelle could have more kids, Robyn was younger and pretty and had new wife privilege (did anyone hear Kody call her a "Diesel jeans model" in that interview??), but Meri was the first legal wife.

And regardless of what the Browns tried to say in the early days, being the first legal wife means you're second in line as far as decision making goes bc you're the only one whose opinion legally matters for a lot of things. Christine and Janelle both said in the early days also, while they were having kids and Meri wasn't, Kody and Meri would often go on trips together leaving them behind so I think pre-Robyn, Meri and Christine kind of took turns being the Robyn of that makes sense.

I don't think the "divorce" was the sole cause of their relationship deteriorating at all, I think if Kody had cared about maintaining their relationship he would've. But I think it put Meri in a weird headspace that helped lead to her Catfish debacle (and not saying cheatingv is ever justified, but in this situationi think that feeling neglected really led to Meri doing that).

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME ❥ yuuta okkotsu (m) | part 1

➵ summary: Yuuta Okkotsu is head over heels (read: pathetically) in love with a girl who wouldn’t even spare him a second glance. When the opportunity to call her “his” arrives on a silver platter—that is, when she loses all her memories—without thinking, he grabs the opportunity to claim himself as her husband.

➵ pairing: obsessive stalker!yuuta okkotsu x f!reader ➵ word count: 1,163 ➵ warnings: MINORS DNI – stalking & obsession (for future drabbles? chapters? smut)

author’s note: ALL LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! <3 inspired by the 1D fanfic i read 9 years ago (“illegally yours” by _DaniMoon_)… ALSO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS……….. the yuuta brainrot was just sooo... bad i wrote all of this in one sitting SCREAMINGGGG

Yuuta Okkotsu is a well-calculated man; he’s a “mastermind” as Taylor Swift would say. He’s smart, and he’s careful. He’s everything but stupid.

However, when it comes to you, he becomes stupid. Stupidly in love. All thoughts of intellect trashed at the deepest corner of his mind, all reasons of rationality ignored. Even back in high school, he’d admire you from afar—too insecure to even place himself in your world. He never deemed his world worthy to accommodate you; you who he defines as perfection, you who shines brighter than any of the constellations combined.

When this seemingly perfect chance to have you, to love you, falls beneath his feet; he takes it—he grabs it. 

His day started like his usual routine. He greeted the kind barista named ‘Yuuji’ behind the counter and bought his usual coffee order from the small café he frequents at. He sat at the plush chair (technically, could be labeled as his own by how much his ass sat on it) near the window, catching sight of the beautiful morning scenery—

You.

You, at exactly eight in the morning, arrive with the usual twinkle in your eye. Yuuta falls in love more every day with the sight of perfection. In these typical mornings, you always carry a digital camera, taking pictures of your usual subjects; like the shop’s designs that change weekly (Last week, he recalled it was designed with cute little balloons to celebrate the owner’s birthday), the baristas which have become your friends, and the pastries layed out inside the glass display. He always wondered when he could be the subject of your pictures.

Once Yuuta hears the soft jingle of the shop’s bells, you dash over the counter and greet Yuuji. If someone would ask Yuuta what you usually order, he could easily recite it: “One sea salt latte and a banana muffin, please.” On days you feel like ‘experimenting,’ he knows that you would instead order a double shot of espresso and a puff pastry.

While he tries to not seem obvious stalking—admiring—you, he couldn’t help himself to let his eyes wander on your body. Especially when today, you wore the pink miniskirt he loved seeing on you, how it perfectly hugs your waist down to your thighs. After you pay, you walk to your designated seat: the one near the counter, just beneath the air conditioner. He shakes his head, turning back to his table; his hand grasping the ballpoint pen he brought to messily sketch the you of today on his journal. His ordered drink is neglected at the side, his focus on your sketch and his view of you by the corner of his eye.

Today seems like any other day.

Until it wasn’t.

The bells ring once again at the entry of another man with dark hair bunched in a top knot. Yuuta watches as your eyes light up at the sight of this man, and he could swear he feels his stomach lurch. Who is this man and why is she so happy to see him? The grip Yuuta had on his pen tightened, similar to the feeling of his vulnerable heart. Do you have a boyfriend he never knew of?

For the next couple of minutes, he watches the sequence of events play out. First, Yuuji delivers a tray of two different drinks and two different pastries on your shared table. Second, the sweet conversation you introduced to this ‘top knot’ (read: ‘top one asshole,’ as Yuuta conjured in his head) seemingly turned sour instantaneously. Then currently, Yuuta watches the back and forth of free flowing arguments between the two of you.

How dare this man hurt you?

Someone as perfect as you?

The chatter in the shop couldn’t mask the heated conversation you shared with the man across your seat. Yuuta desperately wanted to intervene; to say something, to wipe the leaking tears away from your face—but he stayed still. He remains unmoved. What else could he do, anyway? He watches as your emotions get the best of you; your face displaying emotions of frustration and anguish. Yuuta vowed to himself not to make you feel the way you do right now because of the asshole you were with, to not see these expressions on your pretty face.

You stand up, and Yuuta hears the loud screech your chair evokes as you trudge your way out. The ‘top one asshole’ remains seated, his back turned against Yuuta. With no other thought passing through his head but you, he follows your lead outside the shop. His coffee remains untouched, pen now bashed in his jean’s pockets and his journal pinched between his fingers.

He, himself, couldn’t calculate his next few actions.

Yuuta follows the blue sedan car you drive; he strikes closely behind you, not too near, but not too far either. His eyes zero in your form, maintaining the pace of his motorcycle. He hopes you don’t notice him following him for the past couple of minutes already; of course, he just wanted to ensure that you were safe—that you were okay. He was just worried, that’s all.

After the three alternating turns and the two highways you drove, the road the two were driving at started to get steeper. The cars and other transportation devices started to lessen and lessen. Yuuta feels the sweat start to drip down his neck, the helmet he wears starts to loosen, while he continues to push down all the weight of his body on his seat to control himself. He sees your car get faster than a lightning speed, your car evoking a loud screeching sound. 

What the actual fuck were you trying to do?

You seemed frantic, displayed through your driving. In a matter of seconds, you started to lose control of your car. Yuuta watches your car fishtail like a wild animal, spinning repeatedly until you hit a light post. 

He feels the adrenaline rush through his veins, as he pushes his motorcycle behind you. The exhilaration overcame his body’s fatigue from the extensive, one-sided pursuit. The reverberation of the screeching continued to pierce the tranquility of the road, resonating in the middle of almost nowhere. Yuuta feels his heart race, but not because he's in love with you; rather, it’s because he worries you got seriously hurt. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Yuuta mutters to himself as he sees dust erupt from your car’s tires, casting a cloud that obscured his view of you. He catches up to your swerved car, him haphazardly pushing down on his rear brake pedal. “What the fuck happened?”

He cautiously approached your car, his heart stuttering against his ribs. Yuuta peers through your car’s cracked window, only to see head laid on your headrest with your eyes closed. His gut wrenches at the sight of the blood seeping through the wound on your forehead; fortunately, the cut wasn’t too big, but it was deep.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

a/n: will post other parts to this!! planning to make this multichaptered?? I JUST LOVE YUTAAAAAA.....the brainrot is so bad imnfdndsbhjhbascdhjdajchhjajksjkjsdkdnwkejkdjw pls lmk what u think <33

A Moment Of Time

Pairing: Sans x Frisk Rating: T Word Count: 2,673

Hey @catsitta I was your secret santa for @secretsantafrans! I love your Fated AU so please excuse any cannon inconsistences if I made any @_@  I had fun mixing holiday themes for this; Kronia and Haloa specifically! 

Hope you enjoy ^^

Lord Death’s realm; usually so quiet and haunting, was unusually loud with the cries of celebration and joy. Golden light bathed the immense hall, the fires and torches giving such a grand view of the heavily decorated scaffoldings and food laden tables casting a supernatural warmth supplied by none other than Lord Fyre, for the evening's festivities.

Rarely was there cause for such lavish displays of black marbled fountains overflowing with fine wine, even rarer a reason for heavenly grown ambrosia to grace such a place as the Underworld with it’s desolate landscape and often gloomy atmosphere, but this was a day rare in itself.

Today marked the winter solstice; the time of year that many a mortal and god alike abandoned their divisions and classes that usually separated them from others of lower status as a show of civility and gratitude for one another.

And Death the youngest favored the holiday, in fact he was its greatest fan and celebrated it every year. Which was a surprise to the Goddess Spring given her dear husband’s solitary nature and not so subtle irritation at large gatherings. Let it be said that Sans denied Papyrus very little, and let him want for nothing.

An admirable trait in her spouse.

“My lady are you not enjoying the wine?” Frisk blinked free of her thoughts and spared a glance at her goblet, sitting wholly untouched and turning bitter the longer she ignored it and allowed it to spoil. 

A longstanding tradition on this day was that women alone were allowed to drink of the spirits and indulge in the fresh aged fruits of the last harvest, a tradition she always enjoyed, but now served as nothing but a reminder of lost youth and unwanted vows.

Frisk was gradually coming to accept the chains that tied her to her husband, and deeply appreciated the way in which he treated her as not only an adult, but as a partner, an equal. However it did little to ease the sadness she felt at times such as these, reminding her of the choices she’d unwittingly made that hadn’t truly been choices at all.

This year she wouldn’t be dancing among the snow of the surface, nor would she sit gossiping with her mother and her wood nymphs about plans for future growth and vegetation. Where once she used to greet the time of year with enthusiasm and eagerness, now sat nothing but a rock hard pit in her stomach that even Ambrosia couldn’t fill.

She felt out of place, and just a little bit lonely.

“Forgive me, but my stomach is not quite right tonight.” She forced a smile, small and fragile, but still genuine as she looked to her handmaiden. “Tonight I am not your lady, we are as equals, did you forget?” 

Daisy smiled as she took the opportunity and reached down to take the neglected drink, boldly taking a sip from it before offering Frisk a warm smile. “No matter the time or day you will always be my lady. As long as you’ll have me.”

Frisk chuckled before looking out to the crowd, her golden eyes skimming the dancers supplied by Mother Night as she caught the sight of Lord Fyre in hushed whispers with a fair skinned and golden haired Underworld denizen. 

Vaguely she tried to recall all the fallen heroes she’d been told would be allowed to attend but no name came to mind, maybe they were a member of the Asphodel Meadows?

“I take it Iris and Hyacinth are enjoying themselves?” She asked absently just as her eyes spotted her husband standing beside the hearth speaking with his brother. 

As if he could feel her gaze like a touch he subtly shifted his fathomless sockets to meet her.

Quickly Frisk averted her eyes with a grimace, and not so quiet skip of her heart. How he could draw such a reaction from her when she could just barely tolerate his presence she’d never know, and even as she watched Daisy blush, her flames tinting a slight shade darker, she swore she could still feel him watching her. 

Sans’s gaze always unsettled her, just as much as it drew her in like a vortex.

“Iris is currently in the kitchens, and Hyacinth, is showing Lord Cadmus around.” The way Daisy said his name was enough to make Frisk stare at her in shock. Cadmus, the hero of letters, how fitting given Hyacinth’s nature. Though it was still the last thing she’d expected of the elemental.

“I see…” Even her handmaidens dreamed of love she supposed, something she’d never really given much thought to. Was that one of the reasons behind their constant push for her to get close to Sans? “Well I hope she enjoys herself.”

Daisy offered a timid grin. “Are you sure it’s only your stomach that ails you tonight?”

Frisk dismissed her worry with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry Daisy, go have fun, you fuss over me enough every day as is.” 

Reluctantly the young fiery girl nodded and did as Frisk suggested, but not without offering a backward glance that the goddess waved off with a teasing smile. Slowly she let her hand drop and went back to looking out over the crowd. 

She felt like such a stick in the mud, truly not an attitude befitting of a queen.

Gracefully as she could, and still doing her best to ignore San’s continuously lingering stare, she skirted the side of the hall and slipped away behind a gathered group of souls. She didn’t stop holding her breath or head high until she’d safely made it back to her room, where she finally let her shoulders sag and sighed from sudden exhaustion. 

Papyrus might not be too pleased at her absence, but it was better than sitting in place all night frowning and pouting like a child. Frisk had gone to such lengths to show her mother and the other gods she was worthy of her title, she refused to spoil it all in one evening. 

More than halfway across her room she froze, her eyes going wide in disbelief, as they caught on a small object resting in the center of her bed.

Had someone been in her room?

Frisk’s heart anxiously fluttered in her chest as she debated on returning to the party or taking another step further into her room. Never before now had she noticed just how thick the curtains were that adorned her windows, or just how dark the corners of her chamber were where the miniscule candle light didn’t reach. 

Cautiously she inched forward, the ichor in her veins pounding like a drum as she shakily reached for it with all the control of a quivering branch. 

It fit perfectly in her hand, its texture like that of smooth glass with a coolness that sent a chill up to her shoulder. He guard dropped as she slowly raised it to eye level and turned it this way and that. It looked like a flat and rounded piece of polished obsidian, with golden leaf decorating it’s edges in swirling floral designs. 

A mirror, designed to be easily concealed and for discrete use.

She frowned.

Honestly Frisk wasn’t one to fret over her appearance, she never had been, always preferring wild and tangled hair with robes slightly worn at the fringes from hours spent in the dirt or walking. The only ones that showed any care to her looks were her caretakers and, on a less comfortable note, her husband.

She turned it twice over, as if the name of the person who had left this would magically appear if she simply kept looking, and nearly dropped it as the surface brightened, turning white hot and blinding.

Just as quickly as it happened it dimmed, and in its place was an image, crystal clear  and moving. 

Frisk gasped as she recognized one of the flower fields in which she used to play, now blanketed in freshly fallen snow, the picture of her mother standing silent and stoic as she looked out over the winter landscape. 

It was a looking glass! A magical item so very rare that only three gods she knew of had one, and none of them this small or intricately decorated. Whoever this was from had obviously put a lot of considerable effort into having it made.

“does my lady wife like her gift?”

She hadn’t expected his presence with the celebrations currently going on, but honestly she should have. Sans always had the habit of suddenly appearing from around corners or showing up spontaneously. 

Frisk spun on her heel, her hand quickly darting up to brush away the tears beading in her eyes as they widened at seeing her husband standing just within the dark shadows of the doorway.

At this point in their relationship she’d grown accustomed to his comings and goings. The only thing she never understood behind the actions was if it was done simply because he liked to use his name and title as the lord of death to unnerve others and to demonstrate the power he held, or if it was merely a fleeting moment of whimsy for a cheap thrill. 

One thing that always irritated her to no end though, was that he enjoyed targeting her the most.

Such as now; with an embarrassed flush on her cheeks and a jolt of shame running down her spine as she struggled to hide the very emotion she so blatantly wore. Gifts between spouses was a tradition, but she hadn’t given any thought to it. She didn’t think for a moment her lord husband would be partial to the tradition.

Frisk should have known better given how their whole relationship had even started.

“I...am afraid I did not prepare anything for you in turn.” 

His gaze, always so penetrating and watchful, dropped from her face to the looking glass she clutched to her chest, not missing the subtle way her knuckles whitened as she subconsciously tightened her hold on it.

As if he’d try to steal it away from her.

Sans’s smile widened. “what more gift could a husband want than the company of his wife?”

Her face stung as it turned red, and her voice came out uncertain, higher in pitch, as she stared at him. “I trust you mean platonically?”

“I have the desires of any man, for his bride, and while i wouldn’t turn away such an offer...” 

She tensed as his sockets did a slow, calculated roll of her form before flickering back up to her face, the gesture causing her heart to skip for the second time that night. “in this instance my intentions are entirely innocent.” He chuckled.

Frisk watched as he held a hand out in offer, his phalanges slightly curling as if beckoning her to him with a still ever present grin. It would be so easy, in another time and place, for Frisk to have believed the innocence behind his smile. But he always wore it, when amused, irritated, and when being cruel as Death often had to be.

It made it so hard to understand him.

Casually she slipped the now darkened looking glass within her robes and tried her best to keep her expression unreadable as she placed her hand in his, the icy touch of his bones draining the warmth from her, but never able to steal it all completely.

The edges of his smile seemed to soften as he glanced down.

It did something to her to see that. He acted so touch starved, so easily awed every time they had the briefest of contact.

They both stood there in silence, his thumb slowly running circles into the back of her hand the longer he held it. She sucked in a breath at the shiver it sent up her spine but dared an uncertain look up at him.

“Are we not going somewhere?”

His subtle movement stopped but he didn’t look away from where they stayed joined.

“is there somewhere you wish to go?”

She didn’t respond, and he took that as an answer. He gave one more slow, deliberate, stroke of his thumb before finally releasing her. If Frisk didn’t know better she’d have thought she’d heard a small sigh from him.

And then she finally noticed the faint blush on his cheeks.

“...Sans?”

“hmm?”

“Have you been drinking?” 

He looked her in the eye as his grin hitched higher. “whatever gave that impression?”

Frisk narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, the faint blush darkening as she stared him down and cultivated one on her own cheeks. She hadn’t noticed just how cute his magic could sometimes manifest itself, just how it left a vague ethereal glow that bathed the inside of his normally obscure hood.

“Sans…only women are supposed to drink today.”

His sockets lidded. “from what i could see earlier in the night, you weren’t in the mood, and it would’ve been rude to waste wine provided by asgore himself.” 

She knew he was using a poor excuse, but it was enough of one it lit a flicker of embarrassment in her. Frisk stubbornly focused on one of the gold medallions that held up his cloak to avoid eye contact.

“You just wanted to drink.”

“can you fault me? it was my favorite after all.” She glared at his cheeky smirk. “pomegranate.” 

“...”

“...”

“...If only divorce was an option.”

Sans’s sockets widened and then he let out such a deep, bass heavy, laugh Frisk openly gawked at him. It took a moment for him to compose himself but once he had his voice was filled with mirth.

“sadly it isn’t. i would only welcome the challenge to make you mine yet again, if i could.”

She couldn’t think of a response to that, not one that wasn’t insulting at least, and really she didn’t feel like trying to argue with the thick skulled god before her, it would be pointless, Sans never backed down when it came to a play on words.

Silence stretched before he spoke again. 

“i should be getting back to the celebration, gillby wanted to talk to me regarding a trade of some sort.”

Frisk suddenly felt a pang that made her grimace. She hadn’t realized she’d actually been enjoying the company. Maybe it was because they rarely spoke, or maybe she was just that emotionally vulnerable tonight, but her words were hesitant and honest. 

“I understand...I enjoyed this. The casual conversation.”

Her husband tilted his head.

“i should be thanking you, this was just the break i needed from the crowd.”

Despite herself she chuckled. “Of course, why would I ever assume you asked for my company purely for it alone?” 

He went silent, the brim of his hood covering his sockets as his tone came out blunt. “if this wasn’t what i desired i wouldn’t have asked for this when you offered me a gift in turn.” 

How did he keep doing that? Slipping behind her walls so easily with honeyed words after repeatedly testing their strength with his indifference and often selfish actions? He barely ever tried but it was always enough to make her question her stance on him.

“You’d better hurry back, I don’t think Grillby will be sober enough to remember his reasons if you don’t.” She whispered.

Sans gave a small bow, his hand swiftly cupping hers and bringing it to his teeth for a kiss. When he stood her hand was still lifted, frozen in place by confusion and surprise.

“i bid thee goodnight, happy solstice my queen.”

He vanished.

Frisk opened and closed her mouth dumbly, an almost plea for him to stay forever trapped on the tip of her tongue. She stared at where her husband had stood and slowly pulled out her looking glass.

Her first Solstice in the Underworld hadn’t gone well as it could’ve been, but it was still memorable.

200 Followers Appreciation Post

I'll be very honest, two months back when I joined Tumblr, I hadn't expected that my writings will be read by many, and the last thing I had expected was to be followed. Now look far we've come, from 0 followers to 200.

A personal thank you and a lot of love to each and every follower of mine.

I think this is the best part of our fandom. We love each other like family.

As a little token of my thank you, I decided to publish two of my requests combined as one today. Hope you like it. 💓

Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Request 1- Prompt "We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies."

Request 2- Reader was always in love with Tommy, thinking he can't love her back she starts writing cheap novels as a way to deal with it. Her books become popular and everything is cool until Tommy finds out about her hobby and notices similarities between her writing and real life.

Warnings - Angst

GIF Credits - @thomasshelbyltd thank you. ❤️

A Maid's Diary

 You slumped against your desk, letting your head rest against the old wooden table top, your elbows on either side of your face. Your desk was a cluttered mess, with sheets of paper flooded all over. In your hand, you held a pen, as you were just seconds back, scribbling vigorously on a parchment as an idea had just hit you, and just as swiftly, the idea had vanished from your mind.

You couldn't forget and you couldn't forgive your best friend, Linda, for having betrayed you by sharing your diary to a local printing press, who had, without your permission, published your countless feelings that you had penned down in your little diary, without even your consent, although they didn't take the credit for it. You were still the writer, even though the publishers never published your real name on it, just a pen name.

As much as you hated to admit it, the little push made by your friend had worked tremendously and your popularity had grown amongst the lower middle class especially; as that is where you hailed from. They loved your modesty, they loved how humble and down to earth you were, although you were extremely talented.

Little did they know, that the book that had been published, as an act of mistake, was actually based on your life.

"What is it that you are reading?" Tommy pushed his round glasses over his eyes, as he looked through them and fixed his broody stare on his wife.

Grace was sprawled on the couch in his study, shimmering in a beautiful pearl white satin nightgown hanging loosely over her slender frame, her natural blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She seamlessly brought up her ring studded hand to her hair, running her fingers through the locks as her eyes came to rest on her husband.

"Would you look at this Tommy?" She raised a red little book in her hand, showing it to him briefly, before she sat back more comfortably. Their son, Charlie, crawled about on the carpeted floor, playing with a toy train. "I don't know who this woman is, but if you read this book, you would feel like you are a bloody part of it."

"Is it one of those fucking love stories again, Grace?"

"It's much more than that, love. It's complex. It's like reading a person's life, living her memories."

"Right, well, I'm out, I've got a bloody meeting with Arthur at the pub." He stood up, sliding his hand into his waistcoat and pulling out the pocket watch, taking a quick glance at it. He then kissed his wife a goodbye, lifting Charlie up in his arms, "Be good, you cheeky little oaf."

Little did he know, how that would be the last week, that he was spending home with his wife. The next week, Grace Shelby was shot, and she couldn't make it.

As days inched by, Tommy started growing more and more morose. Although he didn't show it, those around him felt it everyday. The snapping and the yelling increased, and Tommy found himself sleeping less and less, and chugging down more and more of that alcohol to keep his mind at rest. There were weeks when Tommy didn't see his son. Although he felt guilty, for neglecting him, as the poor child had lost his mother, just like he had lost his wife, he couldn't bring himself to face him, as he reminded him so much of her.

Soon, weeks turned into months and finally, Tommy's agony subsided to a bit. It wasn't as if it was an overnight process, but somehow, over the course of time, Tommy didn't feel the hurt anymore, as he initially did— or maybe, he learnt to live with it.

One night, when the nightmares crippled him to such an extent that he found himself unable to sleep, he decided to go through Grace's belongings, something he had kept locked up in the attic, afraid to touch them. Holding a lantern in his hand, he walked up the flight of stairs, the old floorboards creaking underneath the weight of his foot as he stepped into the dinghy little room. In a corner, a brown crate was hoarded up, keeping all of Grace's belongings.

Pulling off the the wooden board that was nailed shut, he pried it off and ran his hand through the dust coated silk dresses, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric. He let out a weak, pained exhale, slowly sliding down against the floor, pulling his hand out as he started fumbling around his pockets for a cigarette.

With a lit cigarette in his left hand, he slid his right hand back in, feeling around the box until his palm hit something hard. Pulling it out, he saw a little red book that was now turning a shade of purple at the edges. The book was coated in a sheet of dust, causing Tommy to squint his eyes slightly and scrunch up his nose as he brushed the dust off its cover.

A faint smile, a fond remembrance of Grace reading this book with such enthusiasm brought a weak smile to his lips. He took a drag of his cigarette, pulling himself off the floor and pocketed the book, walking out of the attic.

It was his eyes, eyes that could hold an entire ocean in them, that captivated me. I often found myself looking at him, stealing glances, when no one was looking. A part of me begged for his attention, hoping, yearning that he would atleast give me a glance but he never did.

The more he read through the passages, the more he realized what Grace had meant. This was not just a book, it was someone's life, it was someone's feelings. The words were simple and not at all fancy, the backdrop set was not that of a fine mansion, it was a tiny little house, in a clamoured street, a family of five siblings, four boys and one girl, and the writer, who was just a servant. The writer knew the love she felt for one of the sons of the house was wrong, improper and it was forbidden because she was a servant and they were her employers but she couldn't help how she felt, no matter how hard she tried to forget. Tommy couldn't help but feel drawn— drawn to the writer's pain, her anguish and the feeling of being stuck at the end of a self destructive, one sided love. He knew what it meant to not get to be with the person you loved. He had experienced the pain, although in a different sense but somehow, he could relate. Although Thomas Shelby didn't show any feelings, he had eventually fallen head over heels in love with Grace Burgess and life with her had been a life of roses and poppies, while he was a crown of thorns; that Grace bravely adorned on her head.

It was a cold night, and I was freezing. I could feel my cheeks turning to stone and my hands fervously rubbing against my arms to keep myself warm. I could see them right in front of my eyes; the whole family. They looked happy. They brothers were teasing their sister, who had a look of dismay plastered over her face, and the youngest brother, who was just a toddler, ran about the parlour, sucking on his thumb. I wondered if it was selfishly wrong of me to think of him in this way, to imagine how our little household would have been, had I been bound to him by marriage. I wondered if it was a sin, wondering what I would have named our children if we had a handful of them.

Thomas found himself leaning back comfortably in bed, straining into his glasses, wanting to read more, although his body and his eyes were beyond tired. It was as though he could see a glimpse of his life before the war had been, right through someone else's eyes. He could see little Finn, perched on the carpeted floor, running his toy train all over it, making a weird engine sound with his mouth while John and Arthur teased Ada for something she had probably said. He could picture himself by the window, staring at the dimly lit sky, the illuminating stars, thinking of the moment Greta took her last breath, her frail hand falling limp in his warm one.

How unlucky had he been with women, he had watched the women he loved die, in in his arms.

As I scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen, I could hear the curses in the parlor. He was screaming at himself, bringing the dishes down, breaking them one by one. No one dared stop him, because no one wanted to be slammed against the wall or have to be the one taking a porcelain hit on his face. I wondered if I should step in, maybe give him some tea but I didn't. Maybe, he didn't need it. It was only later that I found out he had lost the love of his life.

He shoved the book aside and sat up straighter, running his palm through his face, his breathing shaky and rushed. He grabbed his cigarette box off the bedside table and lit himself a cigarette. Maybe reading this book had been a mistake, it was opening up all his raw wounds that he had buried away.

He was leaving. I wanted to ask him when he would be back but of course, that would have been such a silly question. And besides, he had a lot more on his plate, why would he want to speak to a servant? I stood behind the kitchen wall, listening to the solemn parting, the shuffling of feet, listening to them leave until finally I could hear them no more— I could hear him no more.

Years after years, I went on with life, with a smile on my face. I did what I always did in the mornings; scrubbing the floors clean, washing the dishes, preparing supper and doing the laundry. At night, though, I thought of him and his blue eyes. I wondered if there was any news, for I hadn't heard anything about him in ages. Maybe my prayers were finally answered, the war ended and they all were back home. Only they weren't themselves. The war had killed a part of them. They were the ghosts of war, left to meander the Earth until they finally died.

"Mr. Shelby?" Tommy sharply looked up, his eyebrows straightened into a visible frown.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Charlie's asleep, the supper's ready. I was wondering if I could get a night off—"

"Mary, you may. You have bloody worked hard enough to earn a night off. Go on then, hurry up, it's pretty dark outside."

He watched her leave, staring at the door before bringing his gaze back to the book, wondering if the writer was out there somewhere. And he wondered, and hoped, that she had finally gotten to be with the man she loved. She deserved it. She deserved all the happiness in the world.

I finally mustered the courage, after what seemed like eternity, to speak my heart out. I was afraid of rejection, but he deserved to know. I deserved to be free of this heavy secret in my heart. I didn't care if he would ask me to leave, stop coming to work from tomorrow but he needed to know I loved him. So, I stepped out into the chilly night, wrapping myself with whatever warm I could find. I walked and walked, until I was at his pub. Of course, he wasn't there. With a heavy heart then, I thought of going back home, through an alley, that was a shorter route. Little did I know, I was never going to get the man I loved for he already had the woman he loved, the woman from the pub; that barmaid. I saw the man I was in love with, from a window, the way I always imagined him to be with me, kissing her and stroking her cheeks. It was as though I heard a devastating sound somewhere close by, but it was nothing but my heart—shattered into two.

Thomas Shelby was many things, but he was not ignorant, or dumb. He slammed the book shut, shoving it on the bedside table. His heart was racing rapidly and he could feel blood rush through his veins. Arching his body forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, he buried his face into his palms. Every single detail in the book, every single piece of writing was something he had experienced before. It couldn't be a mere coincidence, could it? He slid out of bed, stomping through the hallway into his study until he was perched on a stool by the telephone his fingers frivolously moving against it. He knew what he had to do now.

"Pol?" He mumbled into the phone the instant he heard her on the other side.

"Tommy? It's fucking midnight, what's the bloody matter?" Tommy didn't mind he had woken her up. He needed answers.

"Do you remember a maid that worked for us?" He sighed into the receiver.

"Tommy, we have hired a dozen fucking maids, which one are you talking about?"

"She was with us when Greta died, when we went to war—"

On the other side of the telephone, Polly's demeanour softened. She remembered you, she even knew how you loved Thomas, but she could never bring it up to her lips, because she knew that you and Thomas had no future.

"Yes."

"Do you know where she is? And for fucks sake, don't lie."

Your coffee mug lay on the table untouched, smoke bellowing out of it in waves. Outside your window, snow drizzled from the sky, like tiny droplets of fur falling to the ground, your garden sheeted in pristine virgin white.

"Love, you have to bloody see this," your friend Linda's voice echoed through the closed door, loud enough to alert you.

"What is it?" You threw open your window, watching your bestfriend stand at the gate, her eyes fixed to your window, "Just get your bloody arse down here (Y/N), I have to show you something. Come on out, now."

Annoyance.

You practically ran down the flight of stairs, not even stopped to calm your breaths.

"Jesus, Linda, it's fucking snowing, I'm going to freeze to—"

"Sorry love." Linda gave you an apologetic smile, her index finger pointing towards the silhouette of a man leaning by your front gate, slowly sliding out of the periphery of gaze. Neither were you watching her. You were watching a ghost of your past, that stood leaning by the metal gate on your front door, a cap on his head, a long overcoat drawn over his scrawny body. He had gotten weaker than you had last seen him.

"Miss (Y/N)." His voice was curt, yet warm, without a trace of malice in it. After all these years, he was right here, on your doorstep.

"Mr. Shelby? Would you like to come in?"

He shook his head, rather, his eyes and you knew that he didn't want to talk in the confines of your home, under prying eyes. He slowly pulled out a book from his pocket and your eyes widened. Your fingers flew to your lips and you felt a rush of blood in your body, an instant feeling of being in the warmth of a fireplace. You wanted to reply, but you couldn't find the words.

"You read my book, you found me out."

"It wasn't that fucking difficult to figure it out, love."

"Jesus, would you please come in? It's freezing out here, you're going to bloody catch a cold—"

He cut you off as you turned to walk in, grabbing you by your arm, not hard, but firm enough to stop you from walking. He then pulled you towards him, your front hitting his hard chest, to look into his face.

"It was you all along?"

You didn't know what to say anymore. He had found you out. After all these years.

"I don't understand—" You whispered, shaking your head. You couldn't lie, his eyes were making you nervous and all the feelings that had simmered over the course of time were finally lighting up again. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it will get published."

"Do you believe in destiny?" He cut you off.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to mentally think where he was going with this, "Perhaps, Mr. Shelby, but you need to be clearer than that."

"I didn't believe in fucking destiny, until this minute. I can't believe I'm fucking saying this—" You could see reluctance in his eyes, an inward fighting. You could see that he was thinking hard, probably having a hard time figuring out what he should say to you. "You remember Greta?"

You were hundred percent sure you weren't smiling, but had you been smiling, it would have withered.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby, the girl that died holding your hand, the girl you loved."

"Good, and what about Grace? The woman you saw at the fucking window."

Your cheeks reddened at the remark with embarassment, making you regret how he had read that part. That was a private thing between Thomas and Grace.

"I didn't mean to pry, I was just passing through the alley and I looked up and I —" You voluntarily bit on your tongue in an attempt to silence yourself because you knew you were babbling and your words were not making much sense. You needed to compose yourself, compose your thoughts.

"I married her, yeah? And do you know what happened then?"

You closed your eyes briefly, hoping he wouldn't see the pain in your eyes. When you blinked your eyes open again, you straightened slightly, almost taking a step away from him. He caught your arm, pulling you back to him.

"We have a lovely boy together, Charlie, he's three almost."

You wondered if Tommy was here to chastise you, to make you apologize, or maybe, your book had caused a rift in their marriage.

"She was shot. Fucking took a bullet that was meant for me. I fucking watched her die. Twice, (Y/N). I think it was my destiny. Will you ask me why?"

"Mr. Shelby—" You hopelessly began, trying to tell him how sorry you were about what had happened. But what could you do? It wasn't as if you had shot Grace.

"Just bloody ask me why."

You stiffened at the harshness of his voice.

"I- Why?"

"Because this fucking destiny had something else in mind for me. Perhaps it was you all along, the one I was maybe meant to be with."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, a sudden palpitating feeling in your heart, a sudden throbbing in the back of your mind. You pulled your arm away, wincing slightly at his sudden outburst, instantly moving away.

"Your words make no sense. Will you please stop?"

He parted his lips in an attempt to reply, but all that shot out of his plump lips was foggy winter air and he shut it. His hand flew to the side of your face, but he didn't touch you. He merely took a loose strand of your hair, curling it over his index finger. You could feel the sudden tension, his lips so close to you, you knew if you didn't stop him, he would kiss you. And later regret it.

"Mr. Shelby, this is a mistake. If I was your destiny, I would be the one buried in a grave and not the women you loved. I did love you," you spoke, hopelessly pulling yourself one step away but this time he didn't make an attempt to pull you close, perhaps having sensed your reluctance.

He raised his eyebrow, "Did?"

"I still do, but I don't think we were meant to be."

"I see," he almost stepped closer, reluctantly, fighting for control at the back of his mind. This was a new feeling. He knew he didn't love you yet, but at the same time, he knew he was in love with the woman from the book. The woman who had always loved him.

"Why?"

A single word can hold a vast meaning. A single word can have an answer that you could probably write a book on.

"Because Thomas .. We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies," you whispered in a low voice, tears shrouding into your eyes.

"Yet there's a bloody thing that binds us to each other. Something neither you nor I can see," he mumbled under his breath, sliding his hand into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes.

You didn't know what to say to him. Your mind was fervently throbbing through your skull. Your heart leapt with joy but your mind didn't let you be at ease. He waited a few seconds but when he realized you had made up your mind, he decided he will not push you. You had given him the answer. You didn't want him. He nodded softly, letting his eyes wander down to your feet for a bit before giving you a last look as he turned his tail and started walking off, his boots crushing the snow as he started walking away.

And just like that, you realized that history was repeating itself. But this time, it was all your fault. You were letting him walk away when you could finally be happy.

"Thomas stop.." His name flew out of your mouth even before you could clamp your mouth shut. You saw him freeze, but this time, he didn't turn your way, but with his back turned towards you, you missed the hint of a smile that crossed his lips; the way you had stopped him meant that he still had hope.

"I would like to work for you again, does Charlie need a nanny?" You bit your lip.

It was nothing, but yet, it was a start. If destiny really wanted the two of you together then you wanted to try it out from the beginning, maybe make the man fall in love with you and not the woman who wrote the book. You wanted him to love you and not pity you.

"Twenty shillings, you stay at the Arrowe House, no further will be discussed on that, yeah?"

You gave him a weak smile, although you could not see his face.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Shelby, first thing in the morning at 9."

He nodded and then, sliding his hands into his pockets, he walked away, his heavy boots crushing the snow underneath, generating a squishing, crunching sound until you could hear him no more. You couldn't wipe that smug smile from your face as you looked up at the sky, scrunching up your nose when you felt something cold; perhaps a snowflake had landed on the tip of your nose. It was a start, a start of a new day and who knew, perhaps a new life for you. Needless to say, you were excited.

Honor and Blood (IVAR THE BONELESS)

Sound of war

Synopsis: Vanya comes to a realisation and challages Lagertha (again), while the Ragnarssons make plan for revenge. 

Warnings: theorizing, poisons, badass Vanya, mentions of violence

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I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

"I love your father with all my heart, Aros," Vanya whispered to the young Ivarsson in her arms. The toddler giggled at her tired tone and drolled over his fist. "But he can be tiring at times."

Aros giggled once more as his mother marched away from the hut where Sigurd and Ivar were fighting once again. The Ragnarssons were getting stir crazy, and if they don't stop, she might just go grey. What a joke that would be? Grey before twenty.

"I could hit them over the head. Knock them out and enjoy the quiet." Hoenir's gruff voice spoke from behind her as he grumpily glared at the ground. The princes fights keep interrupting him in his much-needed naps to gain back strength.

Vanya snorted and looked at him over her shoulder. "Don't tempt me, Hoenir." The tall Seer chuckled at her halfhearted response.

The plan for today was pretty easy. Gather resources and give them to the people. "Lagertha might see as a threat."

"She sees threats everywhere. I am helping hard-working people in a way that I am more skilled in. I never held a shovel."

"What do you royals do the whole day?"

Vanya smirked and looked at him innocently. "Drink and gossip, of course. Sometimes people get poisoned at dinner."

Hoenir shook his head and looked down at the smaller female. It was cowardly to hide behind poison, especially for a man. Poisons and herbs were woman's work. Speaking of... "Do you know how to poison someone?"

The ginger shook her head and fixed her hold on the giggling toddler. "I would never. It's not a pretty sight to see. I was taught how to do it, but..."

She let the words hang in the air. Not every poison was messy; some were more subtle and untraceable. Sometimes it looked like the person died in their sleep. Like Osmond did... Vanya froze in her step at the realization.

Osmond died after suffering for a long time. Some poisons can have the same effect... But who would do that? Mother? Silas? No, he wouldn't stoop so low. Waiting was more of his thing; without Stithulf, he wouldn't have even gone against Vanya.

But Siflæd was a cunning and ambitious woman. And the years she spent neglected by Osmond made her bolder. After he died, she was allowed to be somewhat happy. In the end, she got everything she wanted from his death. Expect a good new king. Instead, she got Silas.

But would she go that far and poison her own husband? After all, Siflead was schooled in poisons just like Vanya was...

"Are you alright?" Hoenir asked once again, shaking Vanya from her spiral.

She shook her head and smiled at the Seer. "Yeah... I just got lost in my thoughts. Let's got find Brynja and the thralls. We've got work to do."

Vanya walked among the people digging trenches, distributing food from a wooden basket. Hoenir and Brynja walked behind her, the older redhead holding Aros in her arms. Her red curls made him squeal in delight as he tugged at them, to Brynja's great displeasure.

"Here, have some bread." She smiled at the villager who took the loaf with a smile and split it with the woman digging next to him. She was pregnant and looked exhausted. "Hallr!"

The male thrall walked up next to her, ready to do as she asked. "Dig in the woman's place or a while. She looks like she is in desperate need of a break.

"No, Princess!"

"Nonsense! You are pregnant. The baby will thank you." She smiled and watched the man help her sit down to regain some strength, Hallr digging in her place.

Vanya continued, that's till she saw Ubbe in front of her. He was talking to Lagertha. The redhead carried on handing out bread and water till she reached the new Queen that watched Ubbe with hard eyes. Astrid and Torvi stiffened when they saw Hoenir approach behind her.

"Vanya." Lagertha smiled, making the girl's skin crawl. The fake niceness made her wary of the shieldmaiden.

"Bread and water to help you all in your efforts to protect Kattegat." Vanya ignored the greeting and handed her the bread.

"That is very thoughtful of you, Vanya. No wonder I only heard good things about you. It was hard to believe when we got off on the wrong foot."

Vanya laughed the jab off and shook her head, the smile on her lips fake and bittersweet. "I heard great things about you once upon a time too. No matter what kind of person you are, this is a good idea. The walls, I mean."

Lagertha smiled proudly, her back straightening at the praise. "It is nice, we agree. I wish we could better our relationship. If you need help with your son." Her blue eyes trailed to the happy toddler in the back. "I would be happy to give you advice."

Vanya smiled broadly at the Queen, putting her at ease for a moment or two. "I can assure you I learned a lot from Aslaug." The smile turned sour as she glared at Lagertha. "Before you murdered her in cold blood."

Vanya turned on her heel and slammed the wooden basket against Ubbe's chest. "I suppose you are done with her too. Come." She marched off, leaving the three shieldmaidens behind. Torvi tried to stop her and frowned.

"Vanya, please."

The princess shook her head and motioned towards Hoenir, who already had his sword ready. "I hope Asa and Hali are alright and healthy." With that, she marched off.

After a nice relaxing bath, Vanya planned to visit Ivar in the forge and spend some time with him while Aros slept. Hoenir, of course, followed her around like a tall, brooding shadow.

One would think that Vanya would have gotten used to the brother's bickering and fights over the year of marriage. What wishful thinking that was.  

Ivar glared at Sigurd; his axe stopped mid hack by the blacksmith. "What in Odin's name are you two doing?!" She hissed, drawing the axe from her husband's hands.

"Talking," Ivar replied coldly, watching his wife frown at him in dissapointment. And here, she thought she would be the only one to commit fratricide. At this rate, there would be only four Ragnarssons.

"Whoever would have thought that you two were brothers?" The blacksmith's words snapped the brothers from their trance. Sigurd marched off while Ivar sat there brooding and sulking at the same time.

Vanya sighed at their antics and turned on her heel to follow the angry Sigurd. "I do not need a scolding, Vanya! Control your husband."

The redhead huffed and tugged on Sigurd's wrist. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown as she glared him down. "I shall put a leash on the both of you! Why can't you just get along for once? Especially now. I know you care for him."

The Ragnarsson rolled his eyes and huffed in his dramatic way. Hoenir stayed behind with Ivar, figuring that Vanya would return when she was finished with Sigurd.

The taller male looked down at Vanya and saw the axe still in her hand. With a tired sigh, he reached towards the weapon to take it away from her. But Vanya pulled her hand back and huffed in frustration.

"Tell me." She insisted.

"I tried to be civil. But Ivar wouldn't take no for an answer. So I lashed out." Gods, why must men be so feral? Why can't they just give each other the cold shoulder and be done with it?

"What did he say?"

"Shouldn't you be more interested in what I said? Protecting your husband's honor and all? You have been doing that a lot lately. Playing guard dog doesn't suit you, Sister."

Vanya rolled her eyes at his harsh remark. "Ivar's honor doesn't need protecting. He is capable of doing that himself, obviously. What I want to do is defuse the situation before we have to bury you too."

"It was about Mother." Aaah. Well, that explains it. "He doesn't like that don't mourn her. She ignored all of us. She raised Ubbe and Hvitserk just fine, giving them happy childhoods. All I had was a year with her and Father. And then Ivar came along. And that cripple was all she cared about. Ubbe raised me more than she did."

Vanya's eyes softened, and she released her grip on his wrist. "I get why you are angry. And why revenge doesn't interest you-"

"Why should it?! Father abandoned us all. The people and his family. All Mother had was the memory of Harbard, duties, alcohol, and Ivar. I don't see the need to avenge either of them. You and Ivar both see her as some perfect image. Even Ubbe thinks her a mediocre mother. I am the only one not blinded by lies!"

He seethed, the snake eye looking like it was pulsating. The redhead watched him with sad eyes. "Just because I loved Aslaug as a mother doesn't mean that I don't get what you are feeling."

Their eyes met, and Sigurd shook his head, a confused look on his face. "You mourn her. You want revenge for her."

"For Aslaug, yes. Because she was nice to me. But if it were my mother..." She let the words hang in the air, Sigurd understanding what she wanted to say. "But this isn't just about revenge or parents. I worry for you."

"I am fine."

Vanya scoffed and pointed the axe at him. "Because the blacksmith stopped the axe from slicing your throat! What if he wasn't there? You two fight like dogs, and how long before one of you dies, and we have to bury another family member?"

"Stop worrying, Vanya."

"NO!" The musician stared at her wide-eyed. "You, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Ivar and Aros are all I have. You are my family, and I don't know what I would do without any of you. Especially you."

He swallowed and tried to calm her down. "Vanya..."

"We may butt heads because of Ivar. But I care for you. You have a gentle soul."

"Vikings don't have souls."

"A gentle heart then! And a brilliant mind! What a waste it would be if you died so young. Only because you keep egging him on. I can try to keep him calm, but I won't be there all the time. And I worry that one day I will get the news that one of you died."

Sigurd sighed and pulled his sister-in-law into a hug. "I will try. But I make no promises." She chuckled at his humor and sent him off.

When she returned to their hut, Ivar was sitting on the bed, sulking. Vanya sighed and sat down next to him, but he refused to acknowledge her. She understood his jealousy, but it was unnecessary.

She loved Ivar, not Sigurd, and Aros was the proof of that. Never before was Ivar bothered by her relationship with his older brother. After all, since the wedding, they were her brothers as well. She saw them as nothing more, and yet, Ivar decided to act out now and ignore her.

Was it the fact that she ran after Sigurd, or that she looked disappointed before she did it? What was she supposed to do? Look proud that he nearly murdered his brother? After all the times she stood up to the snake-eyed Viking, Ivar had the nerve to get jealous! The insecurities were there before, but normally it led to talks, not to brooding.

Some reasons were the fact that Sigurd liked to mock his ability to walk or his temper. Another reason was the fact that Sigurd was originally supposed to be her husband. If it wasn't for Ivar's disability, that is. Silas saw potential in Sigurd's eye being seen as a symbol of the devil. And any child born with that eye would be a devil spawn and rejected to the crown. But Ivar's condition was a better choice, and so Silas chose him.

As if Vanya had no choice in staying with Ivar. She could have divorced him and married Sigurd instead. But Vanya didn't love Sigurd. Instead, she chose Ivar despite all his faults. They were lovable to her, but at times like these, she questioned her patience.

"You have no reason to be angry with me."

"I am not angry." Right, and the cold shoulder and pout were a sign of utter adoration and attention.

Vanya rolled her eyes and laid Aros down in his bed. "I am not angry either. A little bit disappointed but not shocked. I expected it, but I still hate that it nearly happened."

Ivar sighed and turned to watch her bent over their son's crib. "Sigurd brings out the worst in me."

"I can see that. But you could try to restrain yourself from time to time. He is your brother, and he isn't Silas. Your feud with him is different from mine with Silas. That doesn't make it less important, but you shouldn't let yourself be controlled by anger. There are consequences for murdering someone!"

"Yes, banishment. I know."

"And guilt. You two can claim that you hate each other, but I see the love there. I see that some parts of you worry for each other. Don't throw that away just because you both act like children."

She stood up and walked towards him. Sitting down in his lap, Vanya smiled at him softly. "If not for yourself, then do it for me and my gentle heart."

"There is nothing fragile or gentle about you, Min dyrebare (My precious). You have a kind heart, but you also have a strong spirit." Vanya smiled so brightly like the sun that it made Ivar freeze. Never was her smile so happy and breathtaking.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Ivar." She teased, swaying her hips over his lap. Well, so much to that. Flipping them both over, Ivar got to kissing a trail down her neck. The fire in the fireplace cracked soundly as the room filled with noises of pleasure.

Vanya laid under Ivar, panting as she watched his dark blue eyes stare down at her with the usual shine to it. His eyes were always her favorite part of him, so deep, mysterious, and powerful. The sweat on her skin felt uncomfortable, but his sweet sounds and gentle touches put her at her ease.

The gods gave her many challenges in her path, Ivar being one of them. But if he wasn't her favorite challenge. "Faster!"

Merry Christmas, art-in-the-sunlight!

For @art-in-the-sunlight. I hope you enjoy! Happy holidays :)

*****

Home For Christmas

“Help! Thief!”

Alec and Magnus turn in a synchronized movement at the outburst from a nearby vendor’s stall, finding a seelie pointing after a small figure bolting away from the booth. With barely a glance at his husband, Alec takes off after the figure, trusting Magnus to be at his side. He hadn’t thought to activate his speed rune, hadn’t seen the need for it during a leisurely trip to the Shadow Markets to stock up on Magnus’ potion supplies, but years of training and staying in peak physical shape enables him to quickly gain ground in pursuit of the thief, Magnus’ footsteps ringing out beside his own. Downworlders leap out of their way, recognizing them, and it isn’t long before they’re right on the heels of someone either very short- or very young.

They turn down an alleyway and, as the thief makes to turn the corner, Magnus throws up a shield of blue magic. The figure hits it head on, stumbling back and landing on their butt in a thump, a loaf of bread flying out of their hands, onto the dirty alley.

The person- a kid- Alec realizes with a twist in his heart, recovers quickly, but Alec and Magnus are already in front of them by the time they get back to their feet.

Alec glances over the kid, his stomach aching at what he finds. He can’t tell if the child is a boy or a girl, dressed in baggy clothes, skin smeared with dirt, dark hair in tangles. What he can see is the fear that’s apparent in the wide blue eyes staring back at him. They can’t be older than twelve.

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Alec breathes, dropping down into a crouch to appear less intimidating, while still blocking the kid’s path. He’s more worried about the clearly neglected child now than the seelie who’d had one loaf of bread stolen. It takes him back to finding Rafael in a similar state in Brazil and he shudders to think of either of his children- currently safe and warm at Aunt Izzy’s- in this kind of desperation ever again.

The kid wraps dirty hands around themself, looking quickly between Magnus and Alec, likely on the verge of running.

Magnus offers them a soft smile. “You’re not in trouble. Were you hungry?”

The kid nods, glancing at the bread like they might try to pick it up and make off with it again. Before they can, Magnus snaps his fingers and the bread vanishes. “It’s no good now,” the warlock explains. “But we’ll get you some food, whatever you want.”

“Magic,” the child whispers, fingers twitching with red sparks. A warlock- of course.

“That’s right, I’ve got magic like you.”

The kid stares at him until Alec gently clears his throat. “I’m Alec and this is Magnus. We didn’t mean to scare you and we’re going to make sure you get some food, alright?” When there’s no response, Alec continues, “What’s your name?”

“Abigail,” comes a whispered response, fingers still sparking with magic.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Magnus says lightly. “Are you here alone?”

The girl nods, magic vanishing as she tugs at the torn scarf hanging from her shoulders.

“How did you find the Shadow Market?” Alec asks, wondering if she’s escaped from somewhere like Iris’ or if she’d stumbled in from the mundane world.

“The magic,” Abigail answers. “It brought me here. Am I in trouble?”

“No, sweet pea, you’re not in trouble, we just want to help you. Why don’t we go get you some food and maybe a warm drink.”

Abigail’s eyes are still wide and frightened, but she nods. Alec rises to his feet. “What’s your favorite food?”

There’s a moment of pause as the three of them head back towards the stalls. They’re almost back when Abigail speaks again. “Pizza.”

“Delicious,” Magnus agrees. “What kind?”

“Um… cheese?” She sounds uncertain and Alec exchanges a look with his husband.

Magnus smiles sadly. “Why don’t you apologize to Shelly and then we’ll sit down and eat some pizza, okay?”

“Shelly?”

Magnus nods towards the stall where the seelie is watching them with arms crossed over her chest. Alec wants to step between her and Abigail, wants to block the child from the seelie’s harsh gaze. Abigail shrinks back. “Do I have to?”

“I already paid her back for the bread, she isn’t going to hurt you.”

Abigail nods, brushes back a tangle of hair from her face and squares her shoulders with a seriousness no child should know, before marching like a soldier going to war. Magnus and Alec follow her back to the booth where she looks up at the seelie. “I’m sorry.”

Shelly goes to open her mouth and Alec can feel the seething response before it comes so he hurries to glare, letting a hand hover protectively over the child’s shoulder. “You’ve been compensated and we’ll make sure she doesn’t take anything else.”

The seelie huffs. “Fine, go away, you’re scaring my customers.”

Alec resists the urge to roll his eyes as they turn and follow Magnus down the road to where it spills into a park-like space, complete with several wooden picnic tables. Magnus finds an empty one and slides onto the bench on one side. Alec sits beside him, letting Abigail take the bench on the other side, watching the way her magic begins to cut grooves in the surface of the wooden tabletop.

Magnus waves a hand and a cheese pizza on a paper plate appears in front of the girl. A steaming mug appears next to it a moment later. “Hot cocoa?”

She blinks at him. “What?”

“Hot chocolate,” Magnus clarifies, nodding to the drink.

Abigail eyes it with distrust, but slides it closer to sip from it. Her eyes go wide with something other than fear and Alec’s heart clenches in his chest. “I love it!” She takes a few more sips before turning to devour her pizza.

Alec presses his shoulder to Magnus’, keeping his voice low, “Catarina?”

“Already texted her,” Magnus assures him. Alec feels sufficiently calmer, knowing they’ll figure out what had led Abigail to this state and that they would, quite quickly, fix it. “She’ll come over as soon as she can.”

Alec nods, relieved, before refocusing on Abigail who’s shoveling down the pizza with a ferocity that would be adorable if it weren’t for the severity of the situation. “Abigail, do your parents know where you are?”

She stops eating, sets the pizza down, and rubs her hands together, eyes going to the table. She doesn’t answer.

“It’s okay, if they don’t. Or if you don’t have any,” Alec says gently. “We’re just trying to figure out how to help you.”

“I… I have a mom,” she says quietly. “She doesn’t care what I do as long as I don’t get in trouble or use my magic.”

It’s better than it could be, Alec supposes, but negligent parenting is far from ideal. “Well you can use your magic here, no one will be upset if you do.”

“Quite the opposite,” Magnus assures, snapping his fingers and adding a large helping of whipped cream to her hot chocolate. Alec gives him a look, but Magnus shrugs it off. “There are a lot of people here that can help you learn to control it.”

“Like you do?” Abigail asks as she finishes the pizza, wiping her greasy hands on her jacket.

“Exactly. Now that you’ve been fed, what do you say to getting cleaned up? If you’re okay with it, we can show you where we live and get you some clean clothes. You can meet our sons, one of them has magic like us,” Magnus tells her.

Abigail nods eagerly. “Okay!”

Alec feels a little sick, knowing that the girl’s mother had clearly never cared to warn her of strangers, but it helps them now so he forces the emotion down. “Do you want to see what a portal is like? Magnus helped invent them.”

“A portal?” There’s clear awe in her voice as she finishes the hot chocolate and sets the empty cup on the picnic table. “Yes please!”

“To the loft it is!” Magnus announces, moving his hands with exaggerated motions to swirl a portal into existence. “You’ll want to hold my sleeve or Alec’s, so you don’t get lost, alright?”

Abigail glances between them and Alec is about to suggest they walk instead, but then she nods and reaches to curl a small hand into the sleeve of Alec’s jacket, and they’re stepping through the portal.

When they get back to the loft, Magnus summons up some clean clothes for Abigail and while she showers, they discuss what to do. It makes sense to contact her mother, but neither of them is comfortable returning Abigail to the woman’s custody. This leaves them with two options - letting Abigail go with Catarina or letting her stay at the loft.

“I think it should be the boys’ decision,” Magnus says carefully. “To suddenly introduce a new child when they might not get along could be… incisive”

Alec is quick to agree, putting the comfort of their sons first, knowing Abigail will get good care with Catarina even if Alec would prefer to have her stay with them.

“Izzy’s bringing them home soon. We’ll see what they think.”

Alec nods, closing the space between them to rest his head against his husband’s shoulder, murmuring an “I love you” into the warlock’s hair. Magnus’ arms come up to wrap around him and they stay like that in the peaceful quiet of their kitchen until the pitter patter of small feet draws them apart.

Alec turns to find Abigail standing in the doorway, looking sufficiently less despairing. Her skin has been scrubbed clean, still slightly pink from warmth, and she looks adequately bundled in the cozy sweater and jeans Magnus had summoned. Her hair, however, is another matter, still in dark tangles. A brush dangles from her hand. “I couldn’t clean my hair. I tried with magic too, but it just made it worse.” Abigail says quietly, picking at the brush. “So I tried to brush it, but it was too knotted.”

“That’s alright,” Alec says quickly. “I have a younger sister, I used to do her hair all the time, do you want me to wash yours?”

Abigail nods, holding out the brush. Alec herds her back towards the bathroom which Magnus quickly snaps to resemble a salon, allowing Abigail to sit in a comfy chair, hair falling into a basin behind her. Alec works efficiently, careful not to tug at her scalp as he rinses her hair. It’s a long process, but he’d gotten ichor out of Izzy’s hair enough times to be familiar with it. He’s surprised to see Abigail’s hair turning blonde as he cleans it, what he’d thought were dark strands had apparently just been blonde hair so dirty they’d looked brown.

It’s after he’s washed her hair and is putting it up in a braid that Isabelle shows up. Magnus goes to answer the door while Alec finishes the braid. “Rafael and Max are home now, they’re mine and Magnus’ kids and younger than you. They can be a little hyper sometimes, but no one here is going to hurt you, alright?”

Abigail nods as she stands up, fiddling with her braid, but looking measures less afraid than when they’d cornered her. Alec leads her out to the living room where Rafael and Max are sitting cross-legged on the floor, pulling things out of their backpacks. Magnus is watching over them with a fond smile. All of them turn to look when Alec and Abigail step into the room.

“Daddy!” Max trills, leaping to his feet before freezing, expression turning guilty as his eyes go to Magnus. “Sorry.”

“We talked about trying to be a bit calmer tonight,” Magnus informs him quickly. Alec nods, going to pick up his son because, after the day he’s had, he needs the reminder that his own children are okay.

“Max, Rafe, this is Abigail.”

Both boys peek around Alec at the small warlock as she curls in on herself. The adults wait with bated breath.

“A sister?” Max asks, clapping his little blue hands together in excitement. He’d taken to having a brother like a fish took to water and, in the last year, had begun asking for another sibling as if one was as easily as obtained as adopting a puppy. Alec supposes that, for them, that did often appear to be the case.

Alec suppresses  a smile at Max’s enthusiasm. “Not yet, Maxie. Is it okay with you and Rafe if she stays with us for a little while though?”

Rafe nods, still quiet, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. Despite his quietness, he doesn’t seem opposed to the idea. Max, on the other hand, looks ecstatic. “She can stay forever,” he says with utter seriousness before walking, extra slowly, to stand in front of Abigail. “I’m Max!”

“You’re blue,” she murmurs, eyes wide.

“I’m a warlock!”

Abigail’s eyes narrow. “What’s a warlock?”

“Magic users,” Magnus quickly steps in. “Max has magic like you and I.”

Max claps and butterflies made of magic explode from his hands, fluttering around him before fading away. Alec barely resists the urge to roll his eyes at Max’s obvious showing off, but Abigail looks intrigued. “Can you show me how to do that?”

“Yeah!” Max nods excitedly. “It’s easy!”

Before Max can launch into a full magic lesson, Magnus intercedes, ruffling the young boy’s hair. “Why don’t you show her your room first?”

“Do you like swords?” Rafe asks, finally speaking up, approaching the other two children. “We have lots of play swords.”

Abigail nods. “I used to play swords with pool noodles.”

“A pool noodle?” Max’s face scrunches in confusion as he leads his older brother and their guest down the hallway to the room he and Rafe share. While Abigail attempts to explain whatever a pool noodle is, their voices drifting off down the hall, Alec turns to his husband and finds the warlock already smiling at him.

“I think they adore her,” Magnus states, stepping closer to wrap his arms around Alec’s waist. Alec returns the hug easily, pressing his face into his husband’s hair.

“They’re never going to let her leave,” Alec agrees, silently adding that he feels the same way. He’s already protective of the young girl and he’s terrified to let her back into whatever situation had led her to this.

Magnus hums in agreement. “I guess this is a good time to ask how you feel about adding another child to our household.”

Alec grins, hearing his own longing echoed in Magnus’ tone, despite the other man’s casual words. “Of course I want her to stay.”

Magnus nuzzles into Alec’s shoulder. “Good. Me too.”

When Catarina comes by, she determines that Abigail is perfectly healthy aside from being a bit undernourished. After a rough conversation, they learn that Abigail had been living with her neglectful mother- a woman who had stopped caring for Abigail less and less as she grew.

Unfortunately, because Abigail’s mother- a woman she said was named Alice- was alive, adopting her without talking to her legal guardian would technically be kidnapping and neither Alec nor Magnus wanted to explain that to Luke.

So, while Catarina watches over the kids, they take a trip upstate to a crumbling house with an overgrown yard and a broken windowpane. Alec thinks, right away, that this is not the kind of place a child could get a good upbringing.

“Maybe you should let me do the talking,” Magnus says as they approach the door.

Alec raises an eyebrow at him. “Why?

“You’re angry and the last thing we want to do is scare her.” Alec disagrees. He thinks scaring her wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. His thoughts must show on his face because Magnus shakes his head. “I understand, Alexander, I’m upset too. But this woman went through a traumatic experience and raising a warlock as a mundane can’t be easy. Most women don’t even try.”

Alec shrugs. “She failed, Magnus.”

“I know.” Magnus’ voice is pained. “But we need to have a conversation with Alice, not an argument. We can’t go in there just throwing around not just accusations.”

Alec forces himself to pause, to breathe in and out. Of course Magnus knows the pain of being neglected by mundane parents because of his parentage. He fishes out his stele and glamours his runes. “Fine, you can do the talking.”

“Thank you.”

The woman who answers the door a moment later looks to be in almost as poor a state as Abigail had been when they’d found her. Alice has bags under her eyes, her hair tied in a messy bun, clothing stained and torn. She glances between them with fear evident in her eyes and Alec is struck by how young she looks.

“Are you Alice?” Magnus asks, making her look over at him, glancing between his makeup and shiny jacket.

“Yes, who are you?”

“I’m Magnus, this is Alec. We wanted to talk to you about Abigail.”

Alice’s eyes widen, hands curling into her shirt, picking at the fabric. “Abby? Is she okay? What happened?” At least she seems to care.

“She’s fine,” Magnus assures her. “She’s with our own children and a nurse friend of mine. However, the state that we found her in was troubling.”

Alice casts her eyes down. “She gets into trouble sometimes.”

Alec bites back a harsh response, letting Magnus answer instead. “We’re worried about her and the care she’s getting. She told us you let her do as she likes as long as she doesn’t use her magic.”

“Magic? She-she’s very imaginative-”

“Not to worry, I know all about warlocks,” Magnus interrupts, letting his magic twist between his fingers. “Considering I am one.”

Alice stumbles backwards, hands flying up as if to defend herself. “Why are you here?”

“We just want to talk so we can figure out the best way to help Abigail,” Magnus says calmly, letting his magic fade.

It takes a bit more convincing, but once they get Alice to realize she’s not in any harm, she hesitantly invites them in and, sitting on opposite couches in the living room, she tells them her story. The demon that had found her when she was sixteen. The unexpected pregnancy. Being cast out by her parents. “I tried,” Alice stresses, picking at the pillow she’s holding in her lap. “I tried to give her a good home, a good life. Even with the- the claws and the skin thing. I tried.”

Alec exchanges a glance with Magnus. Warlock marks. Warlock marks that Abigail had learned to glamor despite her clear inexperience and lack of knowledge about magic.

“I couldn’t do it anymore,” Alice continues, on the verge of tears. “Every time I look at her, I remember it and the- the magic and the claws and the skin thing. I love her, I do, she’s my daughter, but it’s too hard.”

“Alright,” Magnus says, gently as possible, hand finding Alec’s, fingers threading together. “Like I said, we want to help. Abigail is welcome to stay with us as long as she likes. We don’t want her to lose you, but this clearly isn’t an environment that’s conducive to the best future for either of you.”

Alice nods, tears streaming down her face now. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Alec finally speaks, his voice raw. Magnus gives him a warning look, but Alec’s anger has been momentarily subdued. “You clearly love her. And you can change and be good for her, but you need to put in the work.”

Alice sniffles, wiping at her face. “I want to do that.”

“Then we’ll be here to help,” Magnus assures her with a soft, sad smile.

Abigail moves in with them, officially, that day. They bring what little she owns from Alice’s house and make plans to meet with the woman weekly, with Abigail- if she agrees.

She settles into their lives so quickly it’s as if she’s always been there. The boys adore her and she seems to love them just as much and Magnus begins giving her the magic lessons he’d long since been giving Max.

Alice slowly begins to get her life together, but there’s a clear distance between her and Abigail. The younger girl walks on eggshells around her mother and Alice seems reluctant to so much as touch her daughter.

It’s several months before Alice tells them, crying, that she can’t take care of Abigail the way they have been; she can’t foster the growth that’s become apparent as she lived with them.

It’s Christmas Day when they sign the adoption papers, Alice takes the photo and spends the day with them and Alec thinks they’ve gained two new family members, in an odd way.

Teaching you, teaching me

Four times mother and son learned from and about each other, and one time Tim used his knowledge for evil good.

(Warning: Tim is older in some and younger in others, without order)

(For my babes @the-quiet-carrotcake and @animemangasoul who cheered me up when I was feeling bad, hope this makes you happy as well! 

Also, hon tagged me on a ‘five word prompt generator’ thing and I lost the post, so this is my contribution, five words that inspired each part)

Animal

When Jack died, it was sad but they were prepared. He’d been in a coma for two months by then, and Janet had practically been readying both herself and her son for the outcome. Tim had been sad, but it was more because of a possible future lost (he’d never given up the hope of his father changing one day, of Jack wanting to stay and being more present in his life), than genuine sorrow. Or so had the therapist told her.

Janet hadn’t felt bad, not really. Her relationship with her late husband had been cold long before his death, ruined by years of neglecting their son and being absent of their lives, but she suffered for her son, with his too big heart, who didn’t hesitate on wasting his tears on a father that never deserved them, the second she told him the news. 

Still, she held his hand through the entire funeral, surprised by the way he held his head on high. When he threw an arm over her shoulders to guide her away, after the service was over, she realized he was trying to be strong for her. The thirteen year old, heart breaking inside his small chest, was puffing it out to make himself seem bigger, more reliable, to comfort a mother that didn’t really need it.

Her beautiful, kind son.

Max’s death, a short two months after, was nothing like that.

The dog had been part of their household for nine, almost ten years now. Bought shortly after the circus tragedy, in a desperate attempt at soothing her son’s nightmares with the company of something fluffy and loveable, Max had grown up next to Tim, been there for any sad or happy moment, comforting him or sharing his joy by turns. The golden retriever had seem made specifically of love, giving all of it to the kid he’d been gifted to, and for that alone Janet had gone all out on his medical treatments, desperate to make him live as long as possible for a dog. 

Still, he was gone too soon, taking with him Tim’s smile and leaving ample space for tears. Tim had stayed by his side from the moment the veterinarian informed them of his chronic condition, to the tragic end of it, petting him softly and speaking in low, comforting tones.

Max’s last act before dying had been to lick Tim’s hand, the only thing he could reach from where he was lying on the dog bed, and wag his tail once. Even at death’s door, he’d showed Tim more love than his father ever had. Just for that, Janet would Max more than she did Jack.

It also baffled her, when Tim rejected her offer to bring home another dog a week after the small funeral they held in the backyard, softly closing the book on his lap to give her his full attention.

-You love getting new pets -she felt compelled to point out, because it felt like the obvious course of action.

-I do, but I also know why you are suggesting it now, and it won’t work. You can’t make me forget my sadness over losing Max by getting me a puppy, mom. 

-It’ll fill the void -she insists. Almost desperately. 

(She can’t stand to hear her child cry by himself at night, his despair breaking her heart worse than anything else ever could)

-It won’t -he says, shifting in the window seat he always choose when deep in thought or in a contemplative mood-. I loved Max, not because he was a dog, but because he was Max. Even if you buy me a hundred puppies, I’ll love them because they’d be them. It won’t make me forget my pain over Max’s death. 

She wanted to fight him on it, offer more, whatever it took to wipe the dim and far away look from his eyes, but he glanced up at her, so softly and fond, and she felt her tongue glueing itself to the top of her mouth. 

She thought, weirdly enough, of Wayne. Of how, when his first son went away, how he took another boy in. Despite loving Jason, he never stopped missing Dick. She thinks she understands, a little, where Tim was coming from.

(Tim would throw his book at her, if he knew she was comparing the Waynes to dogs, but, if the shoe fits…)

Demonstration

They say watching was the best form of learning, and Tim took it to heart. He analyzed people, going to work, hanging out with friends, buying groceries, fighting, laughing, crying… he saw, and he learned.

The one he watched the most was his mother, though.

How she smiled oh-so-politely at parties, how she ruthlessly destroyed the person speaking to her with short, well informed facts and dirty laundry. How she did both at the same time.

He went with her to DI, and took notice of the way her hips swayed with each step whenever she needed the room’s attention on her, or made her heels click extra hard against the porcelain floor when she wanted averted eyes.

She waved sweetly to her secretary, and frostily glared at the board member sitting three seats away from her.

She clenched her teeth during a phone call with someone she hated, but kept her voice perfectly smooth, warm even, as if speaking to an old friend.

He knew he would inherit the company one day. And, small as DI had been in the past, it had flourished under Janet Drake’s tender and constant care, blooming into the powerhouse it was today, on par with Wayne Enterprises. It was intimidating, to imagine all that power, all that responsibility, on his shoulders. 

Mother, Aunt Nicole, Uncle Lex, Uncle Bruce, Dick, Jay… they all said it, that Tim was too kind, too soft. He would give his hand to someone down without a thought, rather than see if they had a weapon first. Sweet, they called him, and made him blush, because he liked it. Liked that, to all that ruthless, sharp, for moments cruel people, he was a warm presence. A safe, comfortable place to lay worries to rest and smile. He liked being their sweet Timmy.

But he also despised it, because he was a gothamite, and this city ate sweet people whole for dessert, just after finishing with the foolish and naive ones that made for it’s lunch. There was no place for tender people, because that was the best kind to sink teeth into, and Gotham feeds on them. And he can’t die, because who is going to make sure mom and Nicole don’t go off the deep end? Who’s going to help Lex understand and bond with his son, with Conner? Who’s going to make sure the Waynes are getting along, when Alfred himself decides to leave them to their terrible life choices?

So he watches his mom, because she’s a prime example of someone not to be fucked with. Someone who is going to survive this wreck of a city until her drawn out, bitter end, and when that comes, she’ll go kicking and screaming and suing people to the ends of the earth. She doesn’t fear Gotham, and while sure as fuck Gotham doesn’t fear her either, it at least respects her. 

So he watches, and memorizes, and adapts behaviours and gestures into his own, tries to mimic the look in her eyes that send people flinching back and laughing nervously.

And, since he’s watching, he notices that she knows. How she’d look over her shoulder, straight into his eyes, as if saying ‘pay attention, I’m only showing you this once’ before she does something particularly tricky. Demonstrates her way of surviving, and lets him learn from it to make his own.

Tim, eleven years old, so tender and soft he’s like a warm, eatable bunny in everyone’s opinion, closes his eyes and breathes in, deeply. When he opens them, the icy blue of his gaze is enough to send the closest board member stumbling back and mumbling an apology (for what, who knows) before scurrying out of the room. 

Mom looks back to the rest of the board, but Tim knows (because he watches her all the time, he’s learned her to the smallest detail) that she’s smiling. 

She’s proud.

Galaxy

It’s late, and she feels sick and wants nothing more than to go to sleep. She’d basically lived at the office this last week, because of some stupid mistake Jack had made with the one piece of paperwork she needed him to sign (how he manages to screw up from all the way across the world, she can’t quite understand; it surely requires talent), and feels about ready to collapse on her bed.

But, because it’s been a while since she saw him, something in her gut tells her to go look for her son. Tim’s probably asleep right now, it’s almost four a.m, but if she’s silent enough, she could sneak a quick peek through the door, make sure he’s fine, and then go to bed completely unburdened.

Except, when she gets there, she’s treated to the sight of her son, her eight year old son, getting back into his room from God knows where by climbing through his window. Which, by the way, was located on the third floor.

Janet pressed a hand to her chest, as if to make sure her heart was still beating. It was, but the speed couldn't be normal.

Was this a heart attack? 

Hidden by the shadows on the hallway, she noticed how he removed his tiny sneakers, that she had completely forgot he even owned, and thrusted them under the bed. They were worn out, full of grim, obviously used often for activities like sneaking out at night and climbing the house. 

Yes, she was having a heart attack. And an aneurysm. Simultaneously.

The camera around his neck, she did remember. The one gift he had asked for his last birthday, the only thing he ever begged her for. She hadn’t understand his passion for owning one, but since he never had looked so earnest (and wanting to make up for Jack missing the day) she conceded.

Was it a mistake? Watching the little boy making himself comfortable in his bed, going through the photos in the camera with the most delighted expression ever, she felt like ‘fuck yes’ wasn’t a strong enough answer.

Her first impulse, to jump inside the room and demand answers, was squashed down almost as soon as it hitted her. If she did, Tim would clam up and deny everything. Instead, she breathed in deeply and tapped her knuckles against the doorframe.

Tim almost jumped straight out of his skin, looking at her like a thief caught red handed. It’d be almost funny, if her heartbeat wasn’t still off the charts.

-Timothy, it’s quite late. Why are you awake at this hour? And with your camera? -she made a show of scanning his clothing, as if she wasn’t aware of the jeans and hoodie- Why aren’t you on your pajamas?

She could almost hear him thinking, brilliant mind kicking into overdrive as her prodigious son searched for an answer that would satisfy his mother and keep him out of trouble. Shame no such answer existed.

-I… was outside, mama -he mumbled; calling her like that, amping up the cuteness, was almost overdoing it, but she supposed the situation called for big guns- Taking pictures of the sky. I-I know it’s dark, and polluted, but I heard today was going to be extra-starry, and I thought maybe I could photograph the stars for you?

He was good, she ought to give him that. But years too young to even try to lie to her.

-I see -she answers, calmly walking closer to him. Her face betrayed nothing, and she could see how that was getting into him by the way he was fondling with the camera, almost carelessly compared to his earlier reverent touch.

He flinched when she sat by his side.

-M-mom?

-Well? -an arched eyebrow- Aren’t you going to show me? You did something incredibly dangerous, climbing down your window- no, don’t even try to lie, I saw you climbing back in. Don’t think we won’t be talking about that in the morning. But you did something truly reckless, for those pictures for me. The least I can do is see them.

Quick, trembling hands fumbled a bit with the buttons. Janet was honestly surprised when he turned the camera around, showing actual sky pictures to her. She believed it a bluff. Maybe preventive measures, in case he got caught? She was sure he was lying, because even if they were sky pictures, it wasn’t a particularly nice view, all foggy and polluted Gotham landscape.

She also noticed (though pretended not to) how those angles weren't ones he could achieve from their backyard, which upped her panic levels a few notches. Her baby had been alone, at night, away from home, in this shithole of a city.

-What a pity -she says, instead, giving back the camera, despite her burning desire to search for older pictures to get an idea of her son’s true activities-, those look like the usual sky. I would have loved to see the stars. Well, not your fault, this place is just ugly. Maybe we should move to Metropolis, I’m sure there are stars there.

-Mom…!

-Hush, now, go to sleep. We are talking about sneaking out and bedtimes tomorrow, I’m too tired right now.

She could see his anxiety (at moving away? Why did he love this place so much?), but he must have realized he’d push his luck too far if he insisted, so he kissed her cheek and let her tuck him in. 

Despite her bone-deep tiredness, Janet couldn't get a single second of shut eye at all. By six a.m and truly out of ideas, she picked up the phone. Too respectful of Nicole’s boundaries to bother her at that hour (or at least, not desperate enough; had the situation been a little more urgent, she wouldn’t have hesitated to drag her to the manor kicking and screaming), she called Lex.

At the fifth ring, her old friend's voice answered- I have a conference with the president in a few hours and need rest, this better be important.

-Please, your sleep schedule is even worse than mine. I need an opinion.

-And is Al Ghul unavailable? Why are you bothering me, when you two usually ignore my advice and go to each other?

-Don’t be jealous, green isn’t your color. Lavender isn’t either, but well, I guess you can’t win all your battles…

-Bold words for someone asking for help.

-Who said anything about help? I just need a new perspective. And I’m already regretting going to you for it.

-Well, I’m awake now, so might as well. Mercy -Luthor’s voice sounded a little muffled, probably covering the receiver while he addressed his bodyguard slash buttler- I’ll be in the study, bring me coffee.

She gave him a few minutes, twirling one of her dark locks in her pointer finger. Laying in bed, unmade by all the tossing and turning she did for the last hours, she looked the picture of unrest. Luthor would laugh himself sick if he saw her now.

-Alright, I have coffee now. What happened?

-I caught Tim coming back home  after sneaking out last night. It looked like he did it before, multiple times; he had specific shoes for it that he hid, and even got some backup-plan photographs to make it look like he was just in the backyard photograpying the sky.

She heard the squeaking sound his chair made as he sat straighter, floored by her confession. 

-You should oil that chair. Is unbecoming for your image if it makes that kind of sounds everytime you move on it.

-Sorry, I can’t answer properly to the last part because I’m still reeling for the opening bit.

-Weak.

He ignored her (rude), muttering under his breath- Tim what? No, he wouldn’t… well, he does have Janet’s genes, so maybe…

-So -she cut him off, because if he kept that line of thinking, she would hang up and he still hadn’t given her any advice-, your thoughts?

-Get a bodyguard on him 24-7 who’ll keep him from going out at night -he answered quick as a wip, not even needing to think it through. She huffed.

-If it were that easy, I wouldn't need your opinion, you fool. This is my son we are talking about. Guilt and duty might keep him from going out, if I appeal to those, but brute force and shackles? He’s smart, smarter than you, maybe even than me. If he really wants to go, and finds no moral obstacles, he’ll find a way. 

-So, do what you said, attack his conscience. 

-I want to keep him safe, not emotionally destroy him.

-Forbid him from going? Like you said, he’s a dutiful son, and very well behaved.

-Which means he’ll make sure I think he’s obeying, but no guarantees he’ll actually do it. Think harder.

A few minutes went by, before the man sighed.

-You said it yourself, if he really wants to go, there’s little you can do, short of locking him up like a prince in a tower. Maybe speak to him, tell him your reasons to worry… and get him some martial arts teacher, to give him a fighting chance if he ends up disobeying anyway.

----.----

After speaking to Luthor and a quick call to Nicole for a favor (namely, get Lady Shiva to accept a work as a sensei for Tim), Janet slept for a solid nine hours. Eating, overseeing some papers and phoning her secretary to clean her schedule for the rest of the week, and she was ready to face her son after having dinner together. 

They sat on Tim’s bed, and she held his hand as she spoke to him. About how cold it was, how easy it was, before he was born. How life was do this, think about that, conquer here, throw something away there. Act, consequence, simple as that. Clinical as that.

It was different, she said, when he came to her life, to her arms. Because it was warm, and difficult, and so, so scary. She’d never been so afraid of the butterfly effect before. Now, consequences of a misstep could come to bite her in twenty years, a simple act  now could make Tim despise her in the future.

“I’ve never been so afraid in my life”, she told him, baring her soul for the first time in her life. “But I’ve also never been happier, and it’s all because of you.”

“I love you”, she told him, giving her heart away for the first time in her life. “And I can’t lose you.”

Those words were the hardest for her to say. She did it, anyway. Because he needed to hear them, and because they might be enough to keep him from pulling last night’s stunt again.

By the time she was done, Tim’s face was a mess of tears and snot. He hadn’t uttered a single word, holding onto her hand like a lifeline, but his smile was the brightest, prettiest thing she’s ever seen.

-I’ll be careful, Mom -he promised, between wrecked sobs. It had truly affected him, to hear her heart thoughts so bluntly. She ought to do this more often, if he treasured it so much- I.. I won’t go out at night alone, not until I’m someone not even the Rogues can mess with. I promise -he looks at his bedside table, where the camera sits, and looks regretful but determined at the same time. She knows he means it. Whatever feeling he got from sneaking out to take pictures, it evidently wasn’t as strong as what he felt now, holding his mom’s hand and shaking from such strong emotions.

-Thank you -she breathed in deeply, relaxing for the first time since the night before, letting go of his hand to hug his shoulders, pressing him into her side.

After a few seconds of silence, he weaseled out of her hold, raising a hand to halt her when she tried to follow his example and get up- Stay there a minute, Mom, I have something to show you.

With that, he sprinted to the light switch, and turned them off. But a slight, greenish glow remained in the room, and then she noticed the glow in the dark stars sticking to the ceiling.

There were… a lot of them.

Tim came back and sat once again next to her, hand quickly snatching hers.

-You said… you said you wanted to see the stars, so I made you a little galaxy. Whenever you want to see them, you can come here… You’ll also know, that way, that I’m here and not sneaking out.

Thanking people wasn’t something Janet did often. But she had said ‘I love you’ today, and that one was a first, so this wasn’t too far fetched for her.

-Thank you, Tim.

Feedback

A week after showing his mother his multiple closets full of disguises and aliases’ clothing, he was called into her office. 

He had expected some questions, maybe even feedback or advice in how to perfect his portrayal of other people.

He hadn’t expected this.

-..and I know I’m not as… adapted to the ever changing times as younger people like you. Me, Lex, sometimes Nicole, we are too set on our ways, but. 

She cleared her throat. Tim still wasn’t sure he wasn’t having some kind of fever dream.

-But. It’s important for you to know that I… I won’t ever judge you for something you are. I might judge your actions, like when you accept Todd’s offers for a ride downtown, or Grayson’s requests for a dance, or when you are too dumb/ kind, too kind, towards other people… But I’ll never judge you for something you didn’t choose. Like this.

In the midst of this confusing speech, Tim still couldn't quiet comprehend why mom was gesturing towards the shoes on the desk. They were simple, red heels, not even that high, belongings of Caroline Hill, one of his more successful aliases. It was a wonder how people on the Alley’s clinic hadn’t catched on that their favorite voluntary nurse slash doctor in training was a fifteen year old kid instead of the nineteen year old shy girl they thought, but it was an ego boost when they called him Miss Hill, and a boost to his medical skills when they taught him something new.

-I understand this is an… -a quick glance to the papers in her desk. Had mom… wrote this down beforehand? What…?- age of changes, yes, an age of changes for you. And you are… discovering- no, learning yourself. And I’m honored that you trusted me enough to show me that, and came to me in this… confusing times.

Tim opened his mouth to speak. Mom seemed to panic, as much as mom ever did anyways, quickly sorting through her sheets of… Information? Pointers?

-Not that I think you are confused! I trust that you know yourself the best, and I trust whatever you say to me are your honest feelings on the matter. 

-I… I am confused -he managed to blurt out. 

Mom winced, and searched among her papers some more. When she seemed to find whatever it was, she pulled it above the others, gave them a quick glance, and kept going- It’s okay if you don’t know it yet, too. There’s more than just… male or female. According to my research, there’s a ‘neither’, ‘both’ and ‘sometimes one, sometimes the other’ option.

Janet seemed lost at her own words. Tim could relate. He wasn’t even sure they were talking about his aliases anymore.

-What I mean to say is -she breathed in deeply, letting the papers fall to the desk and meeting his eyes head on-, I love you. You are my son, daughter, neither, both, whatever you feel, but still mine. My child, and nothing you do about your… identity or sexuality can change that. I’ll always accept you, as you are. And if anyone ever gives you trouble about it, you can always come to me and I’ll set their minds straight, or remove them from the picture.

Tim felt fondness surging in his chest, even as his mind came to an abrupt halt when he finally understood what this was all about.

-You might have to be patient with me, or explain some concepts, as I learn about this, because its all new information to me. But I promise you I’ll always love you no matter what, and I’m willing and ready to do my best to/

-Mom -he finally choked up, torn between embarrassment and profound love- I’m not… I’m a boy. I really, really appreciate all this, but you don’t need to… I mean, the shoes and clothes? It’s because I’m making aliases, so I can learn different things and meet people without it being traced back to me. Like, tools. Caroline Hill, the shoes owner, for example, is a tool to learn about medicine, and practice the way of women in case I ever need to disguise myself as one. Not… not actual representations of Tim Drake.

There was a minute of silence.

-Well, this is… unexpected.

-But -he continued, cheeks warm but hurting from smiling so hard- you are the best mom ever, and this learning you are doing? It’s great, even if not applicable to me, because it… it’s good, for people to understand and accept other people like that. It makes you a better person, and I’m really proud of you.

He got up from his seat and walked around the desk, sitting in the floor by his mom’s chair like he did when he was a toddler, and rested his head in her lap, hugging her legs, eyes going to hers with wonder and happiness. She seemed utterly relieved, both at not having fucked up their chat, and at him not being mad at the misunderstanding.

-Aliases, huh. I can help with that. We can talk about it over dinner, and I’ll give you some suggestions.

-Thanks, mom. And, hum, since you brought up the whole gender and sexuality stuff… this might be a good moment to let you know I’m bi.

Long, sharp nails scratched his scalp softly, his eyes closing almost on instinct. Her laugh ringed in his ears.

-It doesn’t matter to me, Timothy. Boy, girl… whoever you bring home, I’ll…

He smiled, expectant.

-... never accept them. No one, no matter their genders, is good enough for my son.

Ah, there she was, the mother he knew and loved.

Movie

Tim, sitting in his study, didn’t even raise his eyes from the paperwork mom had assigned him (to help make him accustomed to dealing with it for when he’ll have a more central role in DI)  when the door opened and closed with a bang. He continued signing contracts with one hand, while the other patted his desk for his phone, shooting a quick text to the butler without looking.

-Can you believe it? -his intruder clamored, walking back and forth in front of Tim’s desk, hands messing through long locks of black hair.

-No -he replied, eyes still not leaving his work- It's amazing, how the stock market dropped on Wayne Enterprises. What is Bruce thinking, with the neon knights? He can’t do that and then go gallivanting around the world alone again, the stockholders won’t stand for such a big inversion without the logical follow up. I need to phone Damian about this, maybe he can ask his brothers to pose as Bruce and/

-I’m not talking about your precious Waynes!

-I know -he replied, hand finishing the last stroke of his signature, raising his eyes to his godmother just as the door opened and the butler brought a tea (and coffee) set, placing it by the little table in the corner of the study-, but I needed a few minutes to finish this before paying attention to you, Aunt. Now, a cup of tea? I’ll be having coffee, but it might not be the best for your frayed nerves.

-My nerves aren’t frayed, you little brat. Show some respect. Where is my cute little angel of a godson? -she complained, sitting as elegantly as ever in the plus couch by the little table. Tim sat opposite her.

-He hasn't slept in three days -and is being asked to meddle into adult’s problems, but he didn’t voice that part, merely mixing ingredients in the steaming cup-, It’s natural to be bitter. Now, tea?

She didn’t answer, but accepted the offered drink, already prepared to her tastes perfectly. Despite her anger, she smiled. Two sugars, no milk, a little lemon, the smallest hint of vodka. Her godson knew her so well.

A few seconds went by as Tim readied his own coffee and downed half. The butler topped the cup for him, and then left just as quietly as he had came.

-Now, want to tell me what has you so mad?

He already knew, but playing innocent was one of his strengths. Bruce still blamed Dick for the incident on the music room of the manor, despite the fact that Tim had been there at the moment and his eldest far away on a secret mission civilian Tim wasn't supposed to know about. That was the true power of a goodie two shoes.

-Your mother, she… You know we were planning on going to the movies today, and she…!

-Ah -he nodded, as if only catching up then- She went with Dana, right?

Nicole gritted her teeth, downing her cup in one long glup to calm herself. Tim merely took the teapot and filled it again.

-Janet doesn’t even like the movies! She hates being around other people. The only reason she goes is to humor me, and now… That woman…

-Dana is a good person -he intervened, because he genuinely liked her. Dana Winters had been in charge of taking care of his comatose dad until his death, and they had spent some time together during his visits to Jack. A lot of his alias Caroline Hill had been based on her. And right now, she...

-Too good -Nicole muttered, which Tim suspects, was the root of the problem.

-Shouldn't you be glad? -he asked, head tilted in his best show of naivety- That mom is trying to get someone kind to be by her side? Dad wasn’t… dad wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t as nice to mom as he could have been. I, for one, want her to be happy.

-Janet doesn’t do nice.

It took everything in him to not answer ‘well, she might tonight’, because that would ruin his innocent image, and he was afraid Nicole might actually stab Dana. Really, refraining himself like that was almost painful. Mom better appreciate his sacrifice.

-The nicest thing she could ever stand was you -she continued, ignorant to her godson’s internal struggle-, and you are her baby.

-I’m fifteen -he felt compelled to inform her, but was promptly shushed.

-To us, you never grew past your chubby stage.

-I didn’t have a chubby stage, and you can’t prove otherwise -he’d know. He was the one who got rid of the evidence.

-Back to the point… Dana is no good fit for your mom. She’d end up tearing off her own hair in frustration in less than a month after countless discussions of morality and ‘doing the right thing’. She can barely resist when it’s you doing the nagging and, again, you are the exception to all of Janet’s rules.

Tim hummed, thinking distractedly how someone as smart as Nicole couldn’t see that Dana’s good heart wasn’t the problem here. Oh well, he needed to be a little more direct.

-And who do you think would be a good match for mom? Someone distant, like dad? Or easily manipulated?

A growling almost came out of Nicole’s mouth. Tim refilled his coffee cup again.

-Neither… those make for good tools, but not partners. Janet needs someone who understands her, who couldn’t judge, who likes her as rotten and twisted as she is.

Should he protest? This was his mother they were talking about. Not that she was wrong, but… still.

Deciding against it, because he needed to get back to work and this conversation was already exhausting, he nodded- Mm, but plenty of people in high society adore her... 

-Those fools either don’t know of her true nature, or are too scared of it. None would make for a good life companion.

-So, someone who isn’t scared of her, knows her inside out, isn’t morally upright…

-They should also have similar objectives in life -Nicole interjected, empty cup clattering against the plater when she placed it there-, otherwise Janet might feel the need to remove them to keep them off her way.

-Objectives, like…?

-Staying on top of the food chain of the corporate world, for example. And keeping loved ones safe. Like you, for her.

“And Damian, for you”, he didn’t say. Finally, they seemed to be reaching the end of the discussion. Just a few more lines...

-And they should be strong -she kept on, digging her own grave for Tim’s convenience-, because Janet is, too, which means her enemies are as well, and she needs someone to have her back if she ever needs it.

-I don’t think -he wondered, finger tapping his chin in childlike confusion- that such a person exists. Someone as morally compromised as mom, strong enough to help her achieve her objectives, who knows her and loves her. I never met someone like that… I mean, besides you.

Time seemed to stop for Nicole, who dropped the scon she had halfway through her mouth. Tim knew what having a romantic realization felt like, so he let her deal with it while he finished his coffee. After a few minutes letting her stew, he force a look of curiosity and concern on his face- Aunt Nicole? Are you alright? You went really quiet…

Nicole wasn’t sitting in front of him any longer. Okay, he’ll forgive the rudeness, in the spirit of love and all that. Picking up his phone, he sent Dana a quick text, warning her to make herself scarce.

“Everything going according to plan on my end”

“Ah, okay. I’ll thank Janet for accompanying me, and ask her to just be friends. Then I’ll catch a taxi :) “

“Yeah, let me know once you are back on your house, it’s getting pretty late”

“Aw, you’re such a gentleman. Me and your mom spent all afternoon talking about you, you know. And Nicole”

“You buttered her up to the idea?”

“She seemed to be considering ending this ‘date’ early as well to go looking for her, so I’m guessing I did ;) “

“Thank you again, Dana “

“Make sure they invite me to the wedding, and we’re even!”

“If they don’t elope, that’s it”

“They won’t. That would mean missing the chance to make Uncle Lex miserable by asking him to plan the whole ceremony”

Smiling despite himself, he put his coffee cup down and went back to his desk. Better to get work out of the way before Mom and Nicole came back and informed him of the good news. 

Shocked face number three might do.

Okay, so as a forewarning @crispyoperawolfdean​ , it’s not exactly like you requested. In order to stay true to their character, I had to make some sacrifices to the request and fill it in with what would be more likely to happen. I hope you’ll still like it!

It was Max's fifth birthday and Magnus was busy holding the chair for Alec as he put up the streamers along the wall. It was totally feasible for Magnus to do it with a simple wave of his hand and a little magic to set the streamers in place, but this way came with a nice view. "Magnus!" The warlocks mind snapped to as he hummed in question, his eyes focusing on Alec's face instead, the one looking down at him in both amusement and disbelief. They trailed down as the Shadowhunter wiggled his hand a bit, the empty tape roll rattling in the container. "We need more tape. Were you staring at my ass?" "No, not at all, Alexander. Why would I? It's not like it looks like it was sculpted by the skillful hands of Michaelangelo, a grace of the Gods to me, a lowly plebian. You haven't been doing weighted squats at the gym, no, absolutely not. You know, the pants you wear don't only accentuate your front, but the ba-" "Tape, Magnus." Alec interjected, rolling his eyes as he offered the empty container again. A grin broke the neutral line of his mouth, 'bitch face' as Izzy called it, as Magnus grumbled over his poetic 'Ode to Alec's ass', stopped in its tracks. It was his turn next though, as Magnus walked away. Alec's eyes swept over the tall, lithe figure of his husband as a wistful sigh passed parted lips, shifting right as a movement caught his attention, Max giggling in delight as Rafe chased him through the hallway. Alec had made it Rafe's job to distract the small blue one, to keep him out of the living room until the party started, and he knew it was a job the boy would take seriously and do well. "Tape, good sir." Magnus announced, giving a bow as his hand offered up the now full container with a flourish. His smile was bright when he straightened, Alec's laugh amused at his playful antics. A knock at the front caught their attention and Magnus gave a soft pat to Alec's rear with a playful wink to accompany it as he stepped away to answer the door. The bright smile remained on Magnus's face as he opened the door, only faltering the slightest bit when he saw a nervous woman on the other side. Her dark hair was frizzed and curled at the end, her eyes equally as dark and shifting from the door to the hallway where she'd come off the elevator and soon to Magnus. Seeing her go pale when she looked at him had Magnus's smile become forced. The hand hidden behind the door curled immediately as he did the quietest snap he could, a wall and ward forming and blocking off the hallway to the kids' rooms where they were currently playing. "Can I help you, miss?" Magnus asked as pleasantly as he could, though the tiny hairs on his body were standing on end, getting the worst energy off of the nervous woman in front of him. "I... I'm...Um... Are you Magnus Bane?" She finally managed, her fingers curling and tugging at the hem of her rumpled shirt, which looked like it had seen better days. She didn't look dirty or unkempt per se, like the poor homeless that Magnus tried to help every now and then, but like she'd been traveling a long while. Magnus inhaled quietly, his fingers curling around the edge of the door as he kept his ground in the doorway. She smelled of jasmine and something else that he couldn't put his finger on. "...Yes, and you are?" "N-Natalie. I... I was told to come here because you, um... You have my baby."

Magnus couldn't help the blatant look of shock that came across his face before his brows furrowed and he looked back into the apartment, searching for Alec, who must have heard the words because he was headed over to the doorway as well. "I'm sorry, but we don't have any babies here. You must be mistaken," Alec said as he came to stop beside Magnus. Magnus inhaled again and he swore he knew that smell, something on her was so familiar and he knew it so well, but his brain wouldn't process what it was. His magic tugged from within, trying to pull what it was and suddenly he felt like a vampire, trying to sniff out what made someone smell the way they did. It would have been humorous to him were his heart not pounding in his chest. "He isn't a baby, he'd be... Four, almost five. I left him on the church stairs because I didn't know what else to do, and I was told that was a safe place. I've been looking for it for the past month, but I haven't been able to find it again..." She started, looking between the two men as she seemed to curl in on herself, almost as if she was hesitant to finish. "He's... Blue." Alec felt his heart drop into his stomach as his head whipped to the side to look at Magnus, who looked equally as paled as the woman was. He watched Magnus's Adams apple bob as he swallowed hard, watched his fingers tighten around the door frame. "How... Did you find this place, may I ask? And hear about me?" Magnus soon asked, his voice quiet and almost steely. "I...know people. Like you. They told me that his father was a..." "Demon." Alec finished when her voice tapered off, his arms coming to cross over his chest. "What do you want with him?" Magnus noticed that Alex purposefully neglected to say Max's name, relief flooding him that they were on the same page- neither wanted to give her that power over knowing their son more than she should have. "I...I want him back. I know what I did was wrong, but you have to understand that I wasn't expecting a blue baby and I didn't know what to do because I was just 19 and--" "No." Magnus said firmly, his voice cold. "I'm... I'm sorry?" "I said no. You can't have him. Legally he's our son, we have the papers signed and declaring so. You don't get the right to just come back after four or five years and say you want him back." Alec was shocked at the deeper, colder tone Magnus's voice had taken on, shocked at how his mindset had changed in just a few years when he'd been so uncertain on finding Max, in being a father. "But I'm his mother." Natalie said as her eyes narrowed, her tone losing that nervousness and gaining a tinge of anger. "You were his mother. You lost that right when you abandoned him with a note saying, 'Who could ever love it?'. It. You called that beautiful baby an 'It'. What, because he was blue?" "Because I PANICK--" "I don't care. You didn't come to ask for help, you came to abandon him like trash. Most people look for help with they panic and you didn't even bother trying. You left him, called him an 'It', and you aren't his mother anymore." "I--" Natalie started, looking to the silent Alec as if he would help her case, make Magnus reconsider or think about it. Unfortunately for her, Alec was stone faced and looked as thrilled as Magnus was, which, frankly, was not at all. "It's not possible. We've adopted him, legally, and that's not going to change." Alec words were quiet but firm, though Magnus knew there was a fire raging as equally within him. "I can go to the police and-" "And what? You do realize that once a child has been adopted, the biological parent has the hardest time getting them back, right? And you'll plead your case by telling the judge your story about how you left your naturally blue baby on the stairs of an invisible Church to be taken care of people that crowd control demons and people that have magic that come out of their fingertips." Another woman's voice floated from the shadows down the hall. Magnus shifted enough to look out, seeing Lily emerge from the corner beside the elevator, a small birthday bag in her hand. She would never admit that she liked the kids, but Magnus and Alec both knew that after the Rafe ordeal, all her visits 'just because' was to check up on Rafe and in turn, she loved Max as much. "You'll sound absolutely insane and the judge will probably just lock you away in a looney-bin." Lily finished as she approached the doorway, offering a smile to Alec and Magnus. The words had been harsh, but both parents knew it was true and judging by the look on Natalie's face, she knew it as well. With a quick inhale and a forced huff, she turned on her heels and rushed down the hallway to the elevator, leaving the trio to watch her go until they disappeared back into the apartment, the door closing with a firm click of the lock. -- ".....duérmase pedazo, de mi corazón." Magnus finished the quiet lullaby as his fingers stroked through Rafe's hair, the boys body beside his own as they rested in his bed. Where normally Rafe's eyes would be heavy and the boy soon fast asleep, Magnus noticed that tonight he was still awake and with a worried look on his face. "Rafe, what's wrong?" Magnus asked as his hand stopped in the boys hair, instead moving to stroke his cheek with his thumb, giving a gentle and soft squeeze to the soft pink mound that was still plump with baby fat, though diminishing. Rafe was silent as he looked at Magnus before he turned his face away, little white teeth catching his bottom lip in a nervous habit Magnus knew Rafe picked up from him. Magnus frowned at the silence and while he never pushed the kids to tell them things, rather teaching them that they could come to their parents when ready to talk, he'd never seen Rafe look as nervous as this. "Baby..." Magnus's tone carried the worry despite his attempts to mask it. Rafe's words were soft and in Spanish, something Magnus knew he only did when he was upset or scared. "If ... If someone was trying to take Max away from the family, you wouldn't let him, right? He's my brother. He's our family. No one can take him away, right?" Red flags went off in Magnus's mind at those questions and he swallowed as he forced his body to not tense. Why was this suddenly a question? He'd blocked off the hallway a week back on Max's party, there would have been no way the kids would have heard the conversation. "Of course not, mi corazón. No one will ever take Max. Not from you, not from me, not from your dad. You know we'd fight for him and protect him, the same way we would fight for and protect you, no matter what." It was hard to muster up the words when his thoughts were going a thousand miles a minute and every single inch of him wanted to be up and in Max's room, as if Rafe's words meant there was someone in there about to snatch up his little blueberry. Rafe still had a hint of worry on his face, but Magnus could see the relief in the dark eyes that watched him, trusted him. "Get some sleep and if you need to, we'll talk more about it tomorrow morning over pancakes, alright?" Painted nails were brushing through Rafe's hair once more, a soft and lingering kiss pressed to the boys forehead as Magnus tried to collect himself, using the contact to ground himself. "Magnus, what's wrong?" Alec asked from the couch as Magnus walked briskly to Max's door after shutting Rafe's. When Magnus didn't answer, too set in his way, Alec placed the book on the couch and stood to follow him into Max's room. "Babe?" "Max, baby, wake up, bapa needs to talk to you." Magnus whispered as his fingers curled around Max, gently squeezing the boys arms and sending a small pulse of magic into the blue skin as if trying to assure himself that Max was there and alright. The gentle spark of energy pulsed back to his fingertips, a comfort system they'd established between them to remind each other that everything was okay. "Nnngh?" The boy groaned as his fists rose to rub at his eyes, his body limp and lazy as he was hefted up into Magnus's arms and cradled to him. Alec sat in the now empty space, watching the two as a feeling of dread spread through him, Magnus's vibes and energy off-putting and unlike the ones he'd had when they split to put the boys to sleep. "Max, are you afraid someone is going to take you away from our family?" Magnus asked, looking down into the blue eyes that were on Alec first, then up to Magnus, clearly startled at the question. "What?" Alec tensed, his gaze shifting from Max to Magnus as the smile he'd had for the boy dropped from his face. "What are you talking about?" "Rafe asked me if we would ever let someone take Max away from us, and I..." Magnus paused as his magic tugged and a familiar scent hit his nose. "Magnus--" Alec started, but stopped when Magnus nuzzled into the boys neck like a dog looking for a buried treat. Despite his alarm, Max couldn't stop the giggle from being tickled by both the nuzzling and Magnus's hair. "Max, I need you to be honest with me, baby. Have you been talking to a stranger?" "How is he going to talk to a stranger if he's always with us?" Alec asked, though his gaze soon followed Magnus's to the mirror in the room. Max was quickly handed over as Magnus moved off the bed and to the mirror, noticing the smell only got stronger as he did. The same smell that had been on Natalie, and the same smell he could suddenly find on Max. Magic leaked from his fingertips as they swiped along the edge, his teeth gritting together as he felt a wave of dark magic pulsing off of the center. "Max, I need to know right now. Has there been someone here?" Magnus's finger pointed to the middle of the glass, which shattered, confined in a blue cocoon as his magic spread across the surface once Max nodded in confirmation, tears trailing down his face. Magnus muttered something under his breath and soon the frame of the mirror creaked and groaned, curling in and folding on itself until it finally made a pop noise and disappeared into thin air. The magic dispersed through the room, scattering across the walls and along the floor and ceiling as a ward weaved itself in the air, bringing a new level of protection to their apartment. Alec soothed Max, rocking him and holding him close as the little boy cried, burying his face into Alec's shirt as his fists clenched his father's shirt. "Bapa's not mad at you, we're just worried," Alec assured, his hand cradling Max's head as he pressed a kiss to the top of the boys head. Magnus took in a deep breath, feeling every bit on edge as he finally moved to sit on the bed with them. "Can you tell us who you were talking to?" "A-a... blue... man..." Max said between sniffles, rubbing his nose against the soaked area of Alec's shirt, of whom didn't seem to mind at this point. "H-he camed on my buh-buh-birthday an' h-he said that he-heeee's m-my real d-daddy." Magnus could feel his heart breaking with each struggled word as the boy sobbed them out and he could see Alec's eyes prickling with tears as he tried swallowing and forcing them back. "What did you tell this man?" Magnus asked slowly, his fingers reaching out to wrap around Max's own little ones, which gripped the longer digits tightly. "I-I told-ed him that he was l-lying." Max said softly, a hiccup interrupting his words. "I said t-that my daddies w-were you. And he s-said that I had to come with him or he'll... H-he'll hurt daddies and Rafe." "Max, what is Elyaas?" Magnus was quiet, his fingers clutching the edge of the bed, only continuing once Max responded with 'a demon'. "And do we listen to them when they tell us lies and try to tempt us?" "N-n-no." "We both have demon blood in us, Max, you and Bapa. But the demon in the mirror is bad, very very bad. He... He might be your real daddy--" "Magnus-" Alec sounded alarmed as he looked up at Magnus, thinking they both should discuss explaining Max's parentage to him first, rather than at a time when Max was so upset. Magnus only shot him a look saying 'Trust me' in return and while Alec did trust him, his body language remained on edge. "He might be your real daddy, since your daddy is a demon. We will never know because we won't let him come scare you anymore. But he's dangerous, Max, all of our daddies are. Your real daddy, my daddy. Especially if we're powerful, like you and I. All they want is our power to make them stronger. That's why I have you talk to Elyaas. This man is the reason why I need to help you grow strong and smart. You're already so, so very smart, but I need to help you learn to be smart against them. Do you understand?" Max had finally stopped crying, his breathing simply just small hicks of breath as he listened to Magnus, watching him from where he had tried burying himself into Alec's chest. "Uh huh," he said with a small nod and a pout of his lips. Magnus offered out his arms and Alec helped Max scramble over, the boy burying his face in Magnus's neck as his arms wound tight around him. Magnus looked to Alec, they both knew they would have to ward the room better than it already was and now both knew they would be more wary around mirrors. "Max, don't forget, we'll never be mad at you for talking to us," Alec said quietly, rubbing Max's back as his free hand met Magnus's seeking one, their fingers lacing. "We'll always protect you, and if a stranger or anyone ever makes you feel uncomfortable or makes you scared, that's what we're here to protect you from. Ideally we don't want you talking to them in the first place, but..." A shift at the door had Alec ready to spring up and protect the two, but seeing Rafe peeking in brought him down. His hand reached out in offering to the curly-haired boy, who soon entered the room to take the hand and clamber up onto Alec's lap. "And Rafe, if you ever are scared for you, or for your brother, please don't be afraid to tell us. We're your daddies and it's our job to make sure you always feel safe." Alec's arms wound around Rafe, holding him close and, for once, the boy didn't seem to protest. "So...Max isn't going anywhere?" Rafe said hopefully, looking at his little brother, who soon turned his head to look over at Rafe. "No, Max is staying with us, always, no matter what anyone says, no matter who comes around trying to tear us apart. We're family. Lightwood-Bane's, all of us. Right, Magnus?" Magnus nodded in agreement, his rings flashing in the light from the small tableside light beside them. "Always, and nothing will change that. Are you... are you happy we're your daddies?" He wasn't sure why he was so hesitant to ask, he would have hoped so after five and three years respectively that they were happy in the home and not hiding anything. Rafe was immediate to nod, looking quite eager as he said 'Yes'. Max was silent, but his little slim fingers reached up and out, one hand touching Magnus's jaw and the other touching Alec's hand. Both could feel the soft warm pulse that came from his palms and the bright smile to follow eased every worry that Magnus may have had on the issue. "Happy. I won't talk to strangers. Our daddies, no demons." He said, watching the smile spread across Alec's face, seeing the pride there at his words. "What do you say we all have a sleepover?" Magnus offered, seeing Max and Rafe perk up. That night they would all share Alec and Magnus's bed, safe and protected, just as promised.

At Twelve

John Wick x Reader (A/n- Felt like I’ve been neglecting our favorite assassin, so here’s this! And happy New Year! Here’s to hoping the 2020 brings everyone health, prosperity and great opportunities)

New York and the holiday season always seemed to have an unspoken connection. Between the parades, several tree-lighting events, the snow and the all round atmosphere, it was the perfect place to spend Christmas. Similarly, it was also a great place to spend New Year’s Eve; some would dare to take boats out for parties, clubs and restaurants came to life with savvy events and of course, there was the most anticipated one of all; the dropping of the ball in Times Square. Needless to say, if one wanted to spend the last month of the year having a wintery good time, New York was the place to be.

Coincidently, New York also happened to be home to two people who often wanted nothing to do with all the holiday cheer. None other than John Wick and Y/n. While it may have been John’s hardened demeanor that had long ago made it him disinterested in the holidays, for Y/n it was something a little closer to home; she had spent much of her short adult life alone, bitter with a family that had turned her into something that she wasn���t sure she wanted to be and thus, seeing everyone else excited about spending the season with their own families always struck a nerve.

“Where’s your bourbon?” John asked, from the kitchen, breaking Y/n out of her thoughts.

“Liquor cabinet, top shelf, bring the tequila while you’re at it,” she yelled back from her spot of the large white sofa, her hands gently stroking the head of John’s dog. It was so rare for them to both to have time off, far less to have it simultaneously, which was why spending the night together seemed fitting. That in addition to the fact that they were both otherwise alone, Y/n had not spoken to her parents; two of the most lethal criminals in the world since she was sixteen, nor did she ever have time date around and John hadn’t found someone since his wife had passed years before. So, when John asked Y/n if she’d be willing to ditch the Continental’s New Years Eve party for the third year in a row to hang out, just two close friends getting drunk and probably watching old movies together, pretending that it was just a regular night, Y/n readily obliged. 

Y/n’s desolate abode sat near a lake in a quite, posh community just outside the city. The view from her backyard was spectacular, and normally, when it was her turn to host their dinners for two, they’d keep each other company out there, but considering the chill of the season, that night they were confined to her elegantly dressed living room. “We should do something,” John declared, resigning to the spot next to Y/n, slouching down into the cushions as he handed over a glass along with the tequila. Y/n would never admit it out loud, preferring that most of her feelings were kept under warps, but she liked seeing John like that. Relaxed, and at ease, when he wasn’t dressed in an intimidating suit but worn jeans and a casual sweater, when he’d offer her a rare, subtle smile and let his guard down. They were two things he only did around her and the same could easily be said about Y/n.

“How much of that did you drink in the kitchen?” Y/n cocked an eyebrow, pouring herself a drink, barely wincing when she did a shot without chaser or lime. 

“None,” John reared back, scoffing and when Y/n gave him a knowing stare, he corrected, “One, finding the tequila took a while,” he explained and Y/n rolled her eyes. “Come on, I’m serious.”

“About?” She feigned confusion. 

“Doing something, tonight. For the past three years, all we do is sit inside, watch T.V and get drunk,” John sipped his drink coolly, observing Y/n’s disinterest in the whole idea of leaving the comfort of her home. “We should change things up this year,” John continued.

“Why would we do that?” Y/n shook her head, “We can do the same things they do out there,” she gestured to the window in making her point, “In here; drink, listen to music and whatever else.” 

“It might be nice,” John defended. Growing up an orphan at the Ruska Roma had never really offered much on holidays conventionally spent with family, no cozy dinners shared around a family table or vacations taken with loved ones, nothing. John had heard snippets of Y/n’s childhood though, growing up in a family of criminals might not have been ideal, but he had heard one or two stories about how she used to be close to her father and the things her mother had taught her before they had sent her to the Ruska Roma at the tender age of fifteen. “Didn’t you celebrate with your family?”

Y/n sighed loudly, leaning her head on the back of the couch. John was right, before everything changed, when she was a kid, they did celebrate. It was the one month of the year where they’d be a normal family; her mother taught her things in the kitchen and on New Years Eve, they’d travel to their vacation home in Aspen, spending the week together before getting back to business. Even if it was long gone, and the memories usually only served to be more bitter than sweet, looking at John, knowing that he had been deprived of so much was paining. His one shot at the life he craved had been buried six feet under and now he, as he’d often remind her, Y/n and Dog was all he had left. Finishing of her third or fourth drink, Y/n stood abruptly, stalking off without a word, “ Where are you going?” 

“To get ready. There’s gonna be traffic everywhere, and people are usually disgusting, but there’s a nice restaurant near the edge of Manhattan. Its hard to get a reservation,” Y/n sighed heavily, pretending that the act of doing something nice for John wasn’t something she wanted, “But I know the owner so I’ll give him a call and see what I can do.”

In return, just before she left the room, Y/n was privy to one of his rare smiles as a silent thanks, and walking up the stairs, she had to pretend that it didn’t do much to warm her icy heart.

About two hours later, John and Y/n had finally broken from the thick traffic, parking on the curb. Arm in arm, looking more like a couple than close friends, they walked to rest of the way to the restaurant. Over her simple back mini dress, which had been paired with a velvety pair of heeled boots, Y/n used a stylish leather jacket with a woolen inside to break the chill while John had only been given the opportunity to throw his own thick leather jacket over his sweater, though Y/n still thought he looked better than most of the men she had ever met.

“The place is just up here,” Y/n pointed to the end of the block as they weaved through the mass of pedestrians.

“What did you friend say?” John inquired for the sake of making more conversation. The times he spent with Y/n was usually the only time he actually wanted to trade brooding for talking.

Y/n shook her head as they neared a set of glass double doors, “He’s not my friend. I said that I know him. He owes me a favor, or a few, unless he wants to go to jail.” John pushed the door open, letting her in first and then they joined the line to the hostess.

“Blackmail?” He probed, intrigued, it was dirty play for something as frivolous as a reservation, but John didn’t think that Y/n was above it.

“I prefer bartering,” she emphasized with a proud smirk, “His freedom for whatever the hell I want.”

John chuckled quietly, shaking his head, she really was something. As they moved up in the line, neither of them noticed that their hands had remained joined at the elbows, but the closeness was comforting, they always felt safest together. When they finally reached the hostess, a young girl dressed in black, Y/n gave her name and the woman scanned her tablet, her eyes lighting up when she found their last minute reservation, “Miss Y/l/n, right this way,” quickly, another young girl stepped into her place as the hostess started leading them through the restaurant, “I think you and your husband will love what they managed to string together.”

Y/n chortled in disbelief, ignoring the disappointment that settled in her chest as she debunked her assumption, “Oh he’s not my husband. We’re just friends.”

“Yupp,” John sighed awkwardly, combating his own despondence with their plutonic status, “Just friends.”

Anyone form a mile away could see what buzzed between the two, the stares that were a little to long to not mean something and the touches that sometimes crossed the line of intimacy. They way John looked at her when her face was turned away or the way Y/n would cling to his arm when they were in a crowd as her way of making sure they stayed together. 

“Oh,” the hostess faltered, “Sorry I just assumed that.....” she shook her head trailing off, leading them up a set of stairs hidden in a room tucked away at the corner of the establishment, just behind a plain wooden door. The staircase ran up a wide corridor and led to another door, that one cool grey metal, which subsequently led to the rooftop. Half of it had been enclosed to facilitate an indoor longue while the other half was left open, presumably a fun spot during warmer months. “Here is it,” she led them through a set of French doors that had fogged up a result of the internal heat and coldness outside.

The lights of the small lounge had been turned down to the lowest setting with twinkling fairy lights hanging over curtained windows adding to the mood. Save for the one central to the red carpeted room, all the other tables were free of settings and patrons. The small bar at the furthest corner of the room looked open but there was no one manning it and the same went for the mini buffet, equipped with options for a main course along with several others for appetizers and deserts, “We’re packed tonight,” the woman explained shortly, “I mean, you’re lucky you managed to swing this place. But we don’t have enough to staff up here, so it’s gonna have to be self-service.”

“That’s fine,” John and Y/n agreed. Arguably, it was better that having waiters buzzing in and out; just John and Y/n alone in each others company. When she left, Y/n turned to John, “I know you said you wanted to do something, and I know this isn’t exactly a concert in Times Square, but-”

“It’s perfect,” John smiled, a little wider than he usually did and Y/n felt her insides warm up a bit. 

“Are you sure, cause I’m not sure it counts as ‘going out’ if its just the two of us,” slowly the strolled to the bar, collecting a chilled bottle of wine. With a resounding pop, John had the bottle open and poured them a couple glasses.

“You know,” he began as they surveyed the food, Y/n trying one of the bite-sized appetizers, “Since we’re getting technical, I said that we should ‘do something’ not ‘go out’. This is doing something,” he shook his head absently, “And I know you didn’t have to, or want to, so thank you.”

“It’s whatever,” Y/n waved John off as they prepared their plates, going over to a candle lit table. 

It wasn’t ‘whatever’, but John chose not to argue with her, opting to join Y/n at their table, sitting across from her. Over quiet conversation, they ate their dinner, not counting the minutes as it grew closer to midnight.

After dinner, John and Y/n had lingered inside, drinking and talking, enjoying the fact that they had the place to themselves, though, when he checked his watch and noticed that there was just twenty minutes left in the year, he suggested that they go outside. Bundling up once again, they made their way to the outdoor area, going to stand at fenced edge off of the roof. For a while, they stood there, looking down at the busy streets below, sometimes glancing at the festivities going on no too far off, in comfortable silence. But eventually Y/n spoke up, not turning to John, “You were right, you know. Before I left home, we’d do all kinds of things during the holidays. On New Year’s Eve, we’d go to Aspen; I’d help my mom cook dinner and afterwards we’d watch the fireworks show put on by the resort nearby. It was fun,” she smiled softly.

John swallowed tightly; it was so rare for Y/n to open up about her family, so much so that when she did, he’d always feel like he’d been privy to a part of her that no one else was. Though even when she spoke of them, it was usually hard to tell how the whole thing made her feel, except for that night, John thought, she looked wistful, as if the memory were too far gone, “That sounds like a nice tradition. Do you miss it?”

It took a minute before she could offer any sort of reply, but when she did, Y/n shook her head, staring out into the excitable distance, the near darkness shrouding her confusion, “I’m not sure, I haven’t thought about it in a long time,” she sighed, and found that, by some miracle, she actually wanted to open up about it. Figures it’d be to John, he was the only person who she trusted with her memories, with her life, “But I do know that I’ve spent a long time running away from making new ones, from anything like this really,” she took his hand, her leather glove resting coolly over John’s ungloved hand.

John looked at their hands together, thinking that it would be easy to hold onto her forever. When he glanced up at her, John found that Y/n eyes were trained on him, “And what about now?” He probed tentatively.

“Now?” She smiled, so faintly that it was hard to notice, “Now, I don’t have lot, but I’m glad I have you. Maybe we can make new traditions.”

“I’m glad I have you too,” John locked eyes with Y/n, squeezing the tips of her fingers. Not too far off in the distances, and even the floor below, a loud countdown began.

Five.

“You know, I never thought I’d meet someone like you.”

Four.

“Someone like me?”

Three.

“Yeah,” Y/n’s smile was shy and John’s lips were just a breath away. She was ready to do something she’d only thought of for so long.

Two

“I don’t understand,” John smiled softly.

Y/n smiled too, leaning in a little, “Then let me show you.”

One.

As the clock struck twelve, people cheered loudly and fireworks went off, lighting up the sky, making the city seem even more alive than it did before. And right as it all happened, Y/n pressed her lips to John’s, her free hand cupping his neck as his moved to the small of her back, deepening their kiss. Neither of them register how long it went on for, but when they broke for air, their foreheads were pressed together and Y/n explained, “I never thought I’d meet someone I wanted to kiss at twelve.”

At her confession, John smiled, going in for another kiss, holding her close and what flowed between them told them both at twelve, everything had changed. 

Fire Inside

Character: ??? 😮 ???

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu) referenced

Book: The Royal Romance (The Royal Heir, various chapters)

Word Count: ~2100

Rating:  PG-13 (adult language)

Summary: Doing what needs to be done isn’t for the faint of heart. Sometimes channeling that fire inside will bring out enemies, but only the timid worry about that.

Author’s Note: So, this is something pretty different from what I usually write, but the idea popped into my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. I don’t know if anyone else will like this, but I had a lot of fun exploring motivations of this character. I just wanted to dislike this character for interesting reasons, not hate them for dumb reasons that lack all nuance. So, yeah, not trying to defend this character, just trying to make them a dislikable human instead of a silly, annoying trope.

Inspired by Day 4 of the Choices November Challenge - Rage. Tagging all my TRR peeps, so apologies if this isn’t your thing. Like I said, I know this isn’t my usual style.

How did that old saying go? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar? Something like that. She’d heard it plenty of times throughout her life. She just never really understood it.

It’s not that she didn’t get the intent; she wasn’t stupid. But she just didn’t quite get why anyone would want to catch flies in the first place. Swat those annoying buggers away. Let them live their life while she lived hers. Why would you want to attract nuisances when you could scare them off instead? And no point drawing them in to kill them. There would always be plenty more pests coming after them.

But growing up, everyone seemed to tell her she should be more nurturing, more caring. Buying her dolls for her birthday and for Christmas. Trying to get her to care for the chicks after the coyote got into the pen and ate the hen. Scolding her when she hadn’t held Bee’s hand and wiped away her tears with gentle thumbs and soothing words when she’d fallen from the tree and broken her arm, but instead had carried her back to the house, arm wrapped in her own shirt as a temporary sling. But her practical solution hadn’t been enough. She was supposed to tend to her sister’s emotional pain, not just the physical.

They all wanted her to be sugar, spice, and everything nice. Well, if that’s what little girls were supposed to be made of, it never made sense to Leona that everyone seemed to ignore the middle ingredient. You wouldn’t call two pieces of bread on either side of some sliced ham a bread sandwich. That’s a goddamn ham sandwich. So why did everyone think that girls should be sweet little angels, not spitfires full of heat and intensity? 

Leona was never cut out to play the damsel, dependent on someone else. She would fight for herself, fight for what she thought was her due. And she was never going to apologize for being that way. Her fire served her well. It’s how she got out of taking home ec in high school, instead getting herself a spot in shop class. She could live with rips in her clothes that she couldn’t mend well and food that filled her belly without winning a prize at the state fair for its flavors. But if the equipment on the ranch broke down, well being able to fix that herself would save her whole family time and money. And that just seemed a hell of a lot more useful than learning how to be a perfect little homemaker. 

Of course, in shop class, none of the boys or Mr. Linvel had viewed her as anything other than a novelty. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the boys who laughed at her anytime she made a mistake, or the ones who assumed she couldn’t do it herself, always coming over to “help” her. What they didn’t understand is that she never needed their help. They weren’t better than her just because their fathers had taught them those skills already. She would do it herself, no matter how many tries it took. 

Because the world was a harsh place. It never made sense to Leona that she was expected to stay soft. She didn’t understand how anyone could. But all the girls around her seemed to manage it just fine. Cathy and Linda and Susie braided each other’s hair and shared lipstick. They giggled and gossiped and swooned over Chip and Bobby and Kenny. They hugged each other and passed around hankies when those same idiot boys all fell head over heels for the new girl, Patty, with her bleached hair and bell-bottom jeans. They all cried over their Dolly Parton records, moaning about how “Jolene” was their song. Leona didn’t get it. Why waste any time on some boy who was inevitably gonna let you down?

But one by one, she watched them go off, get married, start their families. Cathy caught the eye of some traveling salesman, Linda finally got Bobby to put a ring on it, and Susie moved to Houston to go to secretarial school, but quit and got married 4 months after her first posting. And one by one, she watched them get broken, by bills and mortgages, by baby after baby, by unfaithful and cruel husbands. And as they cried on the front porch, wondering how they got to that point, a not-so-small portion of Leona kept thinking, “I told you so.” She didn’t feel bad for thinking it either. Because she knew what they thought of her. Bitter. Cold-hearted. Bitch.

But she took it all, because she knew that life wasn’t a fairy tale. It’s a series of hardships you just had to face head on. She told her sister that everyday, not wanting her to make the same mistakes that so many of the other girls made. And for a long time, it worked. It was just the two of them and Dad, taking care of things on the ranch. But eventually Bee wanted more. She wasn’t content, always dreaming of something different. She saved her money. Traveled. When she came back, she was full of stories. But she was different every time. Still could pull her share around the ranch, but she was teasing her hair. Had new blazers with shoulder pads in addition to her practical work clothes. Talked about some fancy-ass coffee drink she had at some restaurant. And then she saved enough to go overseas, coming back a few months later, holding hands with some fancy European asshole. Told Leona she was moving to some country called Cordonia to marry that man. Left the ranch without a backward glance, leaving Leona and Dad to manage it all. She made promises of coming back in a couple of years after Jackson’s service requirements were complete, but first a son came along, and then a daughter. And each year that went by, Leona knew that Bianca was never coming back. Sure enough, phone calls promising a move back next year soon became phone calls promising a vacation. The life they had known together was now a novelty, an escape, not a reality. She only did make it back to the ranch once with the kids.

Those two were lost causes, as far as Leona was concerned. Brought up in a world of gold and diamonds, parties and designer clothes. Hell, the boy was best friends with one of the princes. And when she was the one who had to bury Dad in the orchard all by herself, six feet down, right next to Momma, she knew she was the only one left in the family with any common sense or perspective. She just hoped that Bianca remembered a little bit of the toughness she’d tried to teach her when those ass-kissing, stuck-up nobles she’d surrounded herself with inevitably screwed her over.

Leona was surprised that Bianca lasted over there as long as she did, nearly two decades before it all came crashing down with Jackson’s death. But she did crash, hard. Her life fell apart. And who did she call up, but the sister she’d abandoned, left to carry on the family business all alone. And once again, she wanted Leona to be softer. To offer sympathy and comfort. Well, she offered a roof over her head and food in her belly when her so-called “friends” somehow couldn’t be bothered to spare a dollar. That would have to be comfort enough. 

She’d heard Bianca crying many nights. At first, she knew it was over her husband, a man who gave his life for some over-important royals, leaving behind his own goddamn family. And after years of watching her sister struggle to finally heal from that, the crying started again when Drake called, frantic, saying Savannah was gone, asking if by any chance she’d come to Texas. She recovered faster that time, though. Leona hoped that she was finally learning, that she was tougher. Stronger.

But that all came crashing down one fall morning, when Bianca bounded into the barn, telling Leona that not only was Savannah back in their lives, but that she had a baby. Baby Bee was a grandma. Not only that, but she was going back to the hellhole of Cordonia to see this baby and to watch Drake marry some fancy duchess of some sort. She was optimistic and energetic. It was as if she’d learned nothing from her first time there. 

They’d fought, Leona asking her sister how many times she was gonna get her hopes up about that place. Bianca saying that things would be better this time. Yeah, right. Leona had seen enough to know how this would end. Bianca brought her kids up in the world of posh nobles and fancy rich people. It was only a matter of time until they decided they were too good for her again.

But Bee ignored her warnings, not only flying out there for some pompous hoighty-toighty wedding, but offering to host Savannah’s wedding to some frickin’ Duke of snobbery, the same man who knocked her up and then neglected her and the baby not two years earlier. Amazing what you could get away with when you had money.

To make matters worse, Bee invited some motley crew of royals and nobles to come stay on the ranch for this wedding. They weren’t outwardly disdainful, so maybe they did learn some manners from their fancy pants educations, but still. Leona had a ranch to keep afloat. The last thing she needed was to babysit a group of rich kids playacting at being cowboys. 

She felt a little guilty selling info on Drake and his wife to the press. He was the most helpful of the group, and he was family, after all. He seemed to remember a few things from his visit as a child, seemed to have kept a handful of practical skills. But his wife was overeager, annoying, and seemed to think that she had something in common with Bianca and Leona just because she used to wait tables. That growing up in a fancy city like New York was somehow equal to hard, physical labor because she hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. If he had chosen to marry someone like her, then he probably wasn’t much different than the rest of them. The fact that they were orchestrating some bizarre political move to get their kid onto the throne just sealed the deal for Leona. So she did what she had to do. Granted, they all ended up being much kinder than she’d guessed them to be. But their kindness wasn’t going to keep the ranch going long term, keep the hands hired and the electricity on. So, Leona kept on selling any info she had. Morality was all fine and dandy when you were privileged, but it had no place in the real world.

It wasn’t until Riley was screaming at her, yelling about how she would never forgive Leona, hand protectively placed across her very pregnant belly, that she saw something more than kind but spoiled little princess. She saw pure anger, fire-forged and intense. She saw rage and hunger. She saw someone that maybe had been hardened by life, but kept that intensity hidden away, covering her true strength with silliness and laughter.

Leona couldn’t be sure, of course. She barely knew the woman, and she had no illusion that she and this woman would be bonding as in-laws going forward, so she probably wouldn’t get the chance to find out. She had never been naive, after all. She knew that bridge was burned. But she wasn’t one for regrets. She’d made her choices, and while she’d hoped maybe her nephew would understand her reasons, calm his wife down, she wasn’t surprised when that didn’t happen. So she went back to Texas, to her parents’ ranch. To her ranch, really. What was done was done.

She hadn’t anticipated her sister’s anger. Bee had never been the overly-protective, Momma-bear type, after all. But she’d yelled, alright. Told her off about betraying the family. Selling out her own nephew. Making it so that Drake and Riley were never going to be willing to bring the grandbaby to visit. Bianca expected grovelling, contrition, regret. But she wasn’t going to get that. Leona had the fire raging inside of her to keep moving forward; she would never apologize for that. And if anyone took issue with that, well that was just their own damn problem. No one else was going to solve it for them. Certainly not Leona. Anyone who expected such a weakness could just go fuck themselves.

Tags: @choicesnovemberchallenge @dcbbw @mfackenthal @yaushie @jovialyouthmusic @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @riley–walker @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @butindeed @octobereighth @ao719​

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Rishi Interlude.

Tri'ama lies in wait, after questioning Lana where they were staying (the answer being that somewhere was the deciding answer, they had work to do before the debrief but thank you for the concern, wrath), she and Pierce had returned to the Fury. After questioning the man on the selection of cantinas and clubs in the area (unsurprisingly, pirates loved booze so she was fine in that department), she'd found one that was quiet enough to carry on conversation and got to work. She figured she had some time before the two headed out to their respective sleep arrangements, so she managed to fish out a tighter, backless suit and heeled combat boots. The only slightly bedazzled utility belt and singular saber finished off the look. A slather of red against her pale lips and brushing her hair forward instead of back made her at least look alive for the time being (the sun just couldn't kiss her delicately like it had everyone else, could it?). Hopefully the lights in the cantina would offset it.

She hesitates, just for a moment. Fear captures her as she gazes into the mirror, her lithe body staring back. Maybe she shouldn't do this. It's too tight, too accentuating. Scars run along her back in a mess of cris-crossed half healed jagged lines. So red against her skin, and she tries not to accidentally fuel a panic attack just from thinking about the situations she'd been in to warrant the gaining of the scars. Every single cut, every single stab wound, every single blaster bolt...

Maybe he wouldn't even care, wouldn't even look up from his datapad. Maybe it's too much, too much to be out again. To so readily accept love again. She hasn't shown this much skin to anyone in literal years. She's pale, too pale. She's strong, but what if Theron doesn't like it? Her hair hasn't been washed in weeks, and she doesn't have time to now. The red of her lips is too bright, her eyes too blue. Her arms too long, her legs too long, her chest too flat.

Maybe this is just a bad idea.

"You aren't going to let him win, are you? Let him push you around even after he's gone, right?" She jumps when she hears Vette's voice, the door opened with her and Pierce in lounge clothes in front of it as she has her mini pity party in the mirror. Her cheeks flare with heat once she realizes they've been present for a while, "You're going out with that cute agent!"

"I-Vette! I told you to stop coming in here unannounced!" She growls, frustrated with her friend turned adoptive sister, if not also herself for being so tied up and neglecting her.

"You also said I had explicit permission because you're horrible at taking care of yourself." Vette says, crossing her arms before her expression grows serious as she steps inside, Pierce behind her, "Quinn's been gone for four years almost. Four whole years. I know it's hard to lose someone, really hard. Especially someone like him. He hurt you, and he hurt you bad. And for that, I'll hurt him worse if I ever see his ugly mug again."

"She's right m'lord. Man has guts if he shows his face around here." Pierce speaks up, but Vette hugs her profusely, "He'll proceed to lose 'em too."

"So y'know what? You're gonna go out tonight as show that man why they call you the Wrath. You're gonna be the best version of yourself that you'll ever be, and so what if he's not him? He's probably better." Vette says surely.

"Anyone, is better than that bootlicker." Pierce cringes, before gently picking up her chin with a single finger from where she'd been staring at the shiny footwear that makes her at least a few inches shorter than Theron, "You'll be fine. Suggest you get going before he disappears though."

"I..." She's so taken aback by the kinder words of her crew that she can barely hold back her own tears, "Thank you. Both of you."

"Just doing what we do best, my lord." Vette says, nearly cackling at her use of the title, "Now go get him!"

-

It's still humid as she clutches her holocom, making for a speedy walk back to the safehouse. She'd decided because of the neighborhood, she'd leave any shiny clutches on the ship and make sure her saber was well within view of any passerby. A confident look here or there, or if any even got close to put a hand over her saber was enough to get most to back off. It was odd enough to be caught with only one of her weapons, and being anxious for more than one reason made her extremely jumpy.

She'd specifically come out to call Theron, but hadn't gotten a response. Slipping into the alleyway again, she can't sense that Lana's still in the safehouse (though she hides her presence rather well most of the time), so she saunters inside with the intent of finding him alone. It takes a moment for her to even see anything inside, being so dark though illuminated by holos. There he is, leaned back in a chair, poring over a datapad, turned away from her. She's quick to let the force cover her, if only for a few seconds before her concentration wanes any thinner.

"Theron?" She questions before he nearly jumps, holding it back rather well if she says so herself, "You didn't answer."

"You called?" He asks, picking up his holo and evidently seeing it blinking with an unanswered call, "Seems you did. Need something?"

"I don't know..." She says, coming closer to lean against the desk he has his feet up on. His eyes wander for a moment, a quick once over, but enough to make her raise an eyebrow, "See something you like?"

"Do you actually need something or are you just here to tease?" He asks, dropping his eyes back to the datapad, but his cheeks just a tad more flushed than usual, "Some of us have work to do."

Tri'ama rolls her eyes, crossing her arms before plucking the pad out of his hands. He grunts, displeased with the turn of events, "Fine, you have my attention."

"Good." She says firmly, placing it down on the table next to her as she crosses one leg over the other, and trying to find a place to put her hand, wrapping a strand of hair around her left index finger, "It's been a long day, Shan. I suggest a drink."

"You didn't want to drink alone?" He asks. She has half a mind to just give up here and now, get out of this getup and watch a holo with Vette on the Fury. It'd be better than embarassing herself in front of a potential ally. She shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to say next. She'd at least expected a direct no instead of a half question. She's getting ready to give up, but he takes his feet down from the table and sits up a bit straighter, "Y'know what, I don't have anything better to do. Might as well."

She freezes, for a moment just staring back into his surprisingly very, very deep green eyes. Stars, who let him exist?

"Uh...lead the way." He responds, before her brain begins functioning again. She nods, considering grabbing his hand and having some obscure reasoning if he asked, but instead she sets a steady pace out the door. Before realizing he can see her back clearly and she flushes again. What is he thinking? He's so closed off, she can't even begin to prod at his mind. Is it gross? Is it weird? Strange? Scary? Gah, why did she go out like this again?

It isn't far to the cantina, but at a brisk walking pace it's as if they didn't even leave the safehouse before she can hear the pounding music from the floor beneath them. Not throwing a look over her shoulder (what if he thinks she's fishing for approval? she's approving him, not the other way around!), she descends into the bright but also dim basement, and sliding into a seat at the bar. He sits down next to her, his attention clearly not on her at first before he orders something she can't hear. Without waiting for him to ask, she orders something fruity herself. The nautolon pads away, and as inconspicously as she can, she moves the stool closer to Theron's. He doesn't flinch, unsuprisingly, but she leans an elbow against the bar and puts her head in her hand, "It's such a nice night out, but of course you'd be working."

"Didn't have any other plans for tonight. We are hunting a dangerous cult that's trying to end both factions as we know it." She can just barely make out what he's saying over the music, reading his lips moreso, "Yet you wanted to go out drinking?"

"It can't be all work no play, Shan. Surely an agent like yourself understands that much." She says, countering, "There's a lot ahead, we might as well enjoy ourselves while we can, right?"

"Hmph," is all she hears in response. Conversation effectively closed, she pouts for a moment. Theron would be harder to break than expected, which was disappointing enough, "Don't you have anyone else to drink with? The lieutenant? A husband maybe?"

Her mouth hangs open for a moment before she turns away, trying to find an answer for him, "Asking if I'm single, Shan?" In all seriousness, the idea she'd drink with Pierce in any manner other than in a drinking contest (she'd passed out first only once, but they were evenly matched, even with her small stature, at 5"7 no less) was hilarious in itself. And impossible, they were both competitive. Quinn...her chest heaves at that thought, had she ever drank with him during their marriage? Or before?

Now she's delving into memories she doesn't want to deal with right at this moment.

"Wasn't my intention." He responds, before the nautolon returns with both drinks in hand. Sipping away at her own, relief spreading over her tense muscles as the alcohol begins to work. Still, it would be long until she got to the point of slurring her words, so she wasn't afraid to finish off the glass and hail for another. Mostly ice.

"The answer is no, to both of those." She answers, tilting her head to get a better look at him. He has stubble growing, it's not ugly, rather fitting for the SIS agent in fact. His eyes distract her, and they fascinate her in a way she didn't think was possibly. There are miscellaneous scars on his face though, and she wonders where they're from.  For some reason, she wants to know everything about him, about who he is, his story. Tri'ama doubts he would ever tell her the true extent of it, but she's curious who Theron Shan really is.

He catches her staring, she stays. Though her eyes wander away from the smaller details of his face, "Just enjoying the scenery."

"I-sure." He opens his mouth as if to say more, but remains quiet as he drinks from his own glass.

Frustrating.

She goes to say something else before she feels someone come up behind her, a draft of air against her exposed back. Turning, at least to keep her back from their view, she finds it to be a rather burly man along with two  croonies. Without even asking, he takes her right hand, and kisses it. Rough, he has a lot of wild stubble along his lip, and it makes her shiver. He offers a glance to Theron, who doesn't look back. She breaks out in a cold sweat, yanking her hand back from him.

"Feisty." He responds, placing himself directly in between her and Theron, effectively blocking her view of the SIS agent (mistake number one), "I like women that way."

"Good for you." She says, her voice hard as she crosses a leg over the other, holding up her head with a hand, "I'm sure there are plenty other women that would be interested."

"But none are the catch that you are." He says, caressing her face with a callused hand (mistake number two). His brown eyes bore into her as his blonde hair covers an eye, "A Sith, especially exotic." He had taken notice of her lightsaber, which she protectively covered with a hand, "Your kind really are something else."

"That we are." She answers, grimacing. She narrowly hides a jump out of her seat when someone else's cool hand runs over her spine, trailing down from her neck, further and further until it reached her belt and stopped (mistake number three). She growls as she turns from the one man to the other, much skinnier one. He raises an eyebrow, as if to challenge her, "And I suggest you get your hands off me before I show you why I am Sith."

"I don't know, not many women are as beautiful as you, or human." The man behind her says, pressing a finger hard onto one of her more recent scars. She grits her teeth, why were they even touching her? Given, it proved her own point of not wearing this jumpsuit ever again, but who even were they? Mysoginistic and xenophobic dumbasses? Probably, "I think you are absolutely gorgeous."

Both of hands wrap around to her front, and she freezes in her seat once the man's hands find her chest. For a moment, it's too much, she can't act. Her breathing grows faster, her heart pounding in her chest as she tries her best not to yelp, his hands fondling her, "Whoa, Zander. I'd say careful with that one." The third one says, leaning against a nearby table.

She's about to be brought to tears. No one is supposed to touch her that way, but for some reason her body won't respond. She has a flashback to one of the last times she ever let Quinn near her, and she's shivering. The lights blur, her surroundings grow fuzzy. All she can focus on is Quinn, and this man's invasive touch.

She's stuck.

"I'd say you get leave this 'gorgeous' woman alone." Someone says, and the man who stands in front of her holds his hands up with a sarcastic smile on his face, and she can only barely make out Theron's red jacket come around from where he'd been sitting to where the second man stands behind her. He has his blaster trained on the second one, though from the first one's reaction, he had it on the first one.

"You heard the man, Zander." And just like that, the touch is gone. Air returns to her lungs, and she regains her senses, "Hands off the merchandise."

She can feel not only her cheeks, but also her anger flare. All she can see is red, before she can see them both retreating out of her vision. Theron reholsters his blasters as they leave, and she nearly has half a mind to stab them both through. They're both speechless as she picks up the tab (or tries to, before he throws a down a credit chit and tells the nautolon to keep the change), and leave the cantina. The cooler air of Rishi calms her, but the previous actions of some absolute strangers still leaves her heart pounding.

She wishes she brought a jacket to at least cover her back. Maybe because she's holding herself strangely, her arms wrapped around her middle with her head down, Theron shuffles off his jacket and hands it to her without a second thought. It's quite a few sizes too big, but it fits the purpose. She pulls it tight around her shoulders, and continues on after him. Once they reach the mouth of the alleyway, he finally turns to her, a well-hidden bewildered look on his face.

"I-uh...sorry for not realizing what was going on earlier." He apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck, "Probably should've been keeping a better eye out."

"It's not your fault." For some reason, she doesn't want to meet his eyes at that very moment, afraid if she does she really will cry. But instead, she does stand up straight, afraid to appear weak. Something she definitely was not, "I shouldn't have worn this to begin with."

"That's-"

"It is what it is. People don't change, Theron." Even though she likes the jacket (it smells of earthy tones, and possibly even the smallest amount of cologne), she's determined to appear strong and slips it off from around her shoulders, "I think I'm just going to go back to the Fury. Fighting a cult, right?"

He holds it in his hands for a moment, before looking up at her. "Maybe that's for the best." He pauses, "Guess this good night, huh?"

"I'd like to say it was good, but then I'd be lying." She musters a smile, and he frowns in response, "Sleep well, Shan."

-

Vette and Pierce are surprised when she comes back, dejected and barely able to walk much further into the Fury past the common area. She's shaking from her head to her toes, and both of her companions are quick to embrace her as she finally breaks down, tears streaming down her face as she rocks back and forth on her feet.

-

His jacket smells like the iron of blood, but also something flowery and fruity beneath it. He is genuinely upset he didn’t come to her rescue before hand, he’d been so focused on ignoring her advances that he hadn’t known she was in trouble until he’d caught a glimpse of her through the man’s arms.

He rubs his temples, frustrated with himself. This could mean she wouldn’t ever trust him again, for abandoning her at such a time. He kicks himself, before trying to click on his datapad, which is dead (he didn’t plug it in after she’d taken it). His own tired face looks back at him through the reflection, and he leans back in his chair. Maybe sleep wouldn’t be such a horrible idea tonight.

-

This was actually supposed to be a bonus to Chapter 4, but it turned in a way I didn’t think it would. Theron comes to the rescue of Tri’ama, but she isn’t exactly going to be okay after this.

Then again, when ever is she?

Memory of a Lifetime Ago

Summary: You know her, you always have. You love her, you always have. A memory from before the curse. 

Request: “...Reader being a comfort to Regina as a maid when she was married to King Leopold. Regina falls in love with reader and after Regina kills Leopold, reader isn't in danger from him so Regina wants something more with the reader, even though she's a bit Evil Queenish?...”

Word Count: 1,433

Pairing: Regina Mills x Reader

A/N: This is something I couldn’t get out of my head, and when this request came through, I was taken aback. Someone else wanted to read something that I had only imagined for years. I did change the request a little bit, the reader is not a maid but rather someone Regina knew before her marriage whom sneaks into the castle for years. Let me know if you would like another part, I’m more than happy to write it. 

The apples were ready for their harvest, the sweet, crisp aroma surrounded the balcony from the trees just below it. Autumn changed the colors of the leaves of the trees, browns and yellows painting the walkways along the gardens, plants falling into their slumber for the next seasons. Crisp, chilly, the air tickled what little skin was exposed by the cut of your dress, and you watched the king wandering the gardens with his the knight he trusted more than the others.

“He is leaving for the feast soon,” you heard the voice appear from the bedroom doors behind you, but you did not remove your focus from the regal man, knowing whom stood only few feet from you. “It’s felt like a lifetime since the last time he left the kingdom.”

Though you could hear her sultry voice and relieved tone, you could not break your stare, watching him walk as though the world around you belonged to him and only him. You were aware of who he truly was, who he pretended he was not at those feasts he attended. You had never felt it, but you knew the power his palm held, you had seen the dark, swollen bruises he could create upon a soft, innocent face. You had seen the bruises of demanding fingers on trembling, nervous thighs. Though it was a lifetime ago, you remembered.

The sound of heels against brick neared you, the echo subtle in the open, and you anticipated the gentle brush of her fingers along your spine. She appeared beside you, leaning along the same railing as you, looking over her dying gardens. “It will be just you and me, dear,” she whispered, her voice filled with desperation for her statement to be final. “Did he see you up here?”

With a subtle shake of your head, you scoffed. “Does he ever look up to the queen’s room?” Your sarcasm was apparent and warranted no answer for the answer laid in his own neglect for his wife, for the woman standing beside you, her fingers resting on your arm.

There was a transition in place, you were certain, though you could not pinpoint the ending result. The woman beside you was changing for the better, becoming darker and more demanding. You were not sure where she would end up, but as long as you were there, she promised she would be alright. “He still doesn’t know of me,” you muttered.

Her gentle ministrations began once more on your pebbled skin, the air growing colder each passing minute. “And he won’t.” She didn’t have to say it; you knew that within those three words was the fear she hid so carefully behind the dams of pain and loss. She wouldn’t let him find out of her one escape from the hell that was her life, the anguish he created and controlled. She needed you, but the words would never fall from her lips. She was never so lucky with her eyes.

“One day,” she promised, her fingers sliding between yours as the king became a mere spec on the landscape, “you will be queen alongside me, and this kingdom will tremble.”

“Regina, they will never allow two queens to rule their kingdom,” you snickered, tugging her toward the privacy of the bedroom. The image of glistening pitchforks and destructive, roaring fires painted within your mind as you stared into the dark eyes watching your every move. “Can you picture the uproar it will cause?”

She released your hand, continuing her stride passed you toward an awaiting, steaming bath across the room. “They will resist,” she nodded. “But we will win, my dear. They will become afraid to resist, afraid to disagree with their queens. It is only a matter of time before they fear me.” As she spoke her confident words, she removed her own gown, allowing it to lay in a heap at her feet before stepping out of it.

You watched her silently, her skin battered with healing bruises, yellows and greens on soft, olive skin. She was beautiful like this, the mask falling at the floor with her dress and the ribbon she removed from her cascading waves. Her brunette strands draped over her shoulders, brushing against her back, and she stepped carefully into the heated waters. With a content sigh, you headed toward the bath, kneeling beside it. “And how will we make them fear us?”

The warmth of the water engulfed your hand as you brushed against the older woman’s thigh, the aroma of lavender unveiling with each movement of the waters. She stared deeply into your eyes, reading your question while compiling an answer in her far busy mind. She leaned toward you, your hand rubbing the water along the chilled skin of her arm. “That’s easy, dear,” her smirk growing into a wide, sadistic smile. “We will destroy their happiness.”

Her response did not deter you or come as a mere surprise for this was her transition, this was whom she was becoming. She nuzzled into your touch, into your hand cupping her soft, fragile cheek, the cheek of which had taken brutal hits time and time again. Though her eyes grew darker with each passing day, the innocence of her remained, the innocence of the young princess who collected flowers for you while her mother charmed another man; the innocence of the blossoming child who cried with you when your beloved horse was killed by a local wolf.

She was still soft, her skin and her gaze, but the king was making her rigid within and creating a statue of a woman whom should move like the flowers long forgotten. “Is that what you feel?” you asked her, feeling her body tensing against your touch. “Do you feel that your happiness was destroyed?”

Her head shook, her stare refusing to leave your focus. “You are my happiness. And as long as I have you, my happiness remains whole.” She placed a gentle kiss to your wrist, and you sighed, your hand gliding down her arm to her bruised torso. “Do you remember when we first kissed? That night at the stables?”

“A lifetime ago,” you whispered back, leaning forward to kiss her rosy lips as you had that far away night. “You told me that I was your favorite escape from your mother, from your home. And I told you that you tasted like apples and candies.”

Her chuckle was light and real, it was the first in many nights.

Though the blackened sky of night slowly painted itself with colors of the rising sun, she remained sipping wine upon the balcony, the black lace of her dress falling around her curves, trailing behind her bare feet. Leaning against the frame of the opened doors, you watched her in mere silence unaware of the thoughts occupying her mind. The brightest star had fallen into a slumber and began rising again since the funeral, the man laid out murdered at the hands of the woman you love. However, she had not said a word the entirety of the day.

Until this moment, as she reached for a crimson apple, plucking it from its branch. “And now, you will be my queen.” Attempting to rid the image of her stealing the heart from her now deceased husband, you cleared your throat. Many hours you had spent crying over the memory of the murder and the awareness that Regina would no longer be his victim, his property; she escaped. But now, there was you.

For the first time, there was no longer her mother, her father, or the king for you to fear, no longer a wall standing between your heart and the love of the chuckling brunette. “Regina,” you started, running your fingers through your slightly knotted hair. “The King just…the kingdom won’t…it is too soon, dear. They will suspect…I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t-“

The sudden dagger of her eyes glared at you, through you, as though your words attempted to poison her where she stood. She nearly pounced, rushing toward you with rage within her teeth, startling you, but her arms slid around your waist with ease, her brows softening in your embrace. “This kingdom will have no choice but accepting their new queen. I won’t allow anything less. Remember, sweetheart, I will destroy their happiness. None of them deserve to be content while ruining…forget it. You will be my queen,” she chewed the inside of her cheek, an action far juvenile and innocent for the regal before you. “Only if you want.”

Hate on Astrid

Hey everyone Mun here and I would like to rant a bit about people hating on my girl Astrid.

Now this isn't the first time I have heard about people hating on Astrid and probably won't be the last. This is however the first time I am speaking out about it. I have seen people say things like: Astrid is an abusive character because she's hit Hiccup. A lot of people reference the first movie when it comes to this.

But first I would like to point out what a lot of people are neglecting to look at. They are Vikings! Looking back on History Viking women were very dominant. A strong Viking woman was praised and sought after. They held more freedom and power then most women in their day and age. They were allowed to own property, divorce their husbands, and even take back their bride prices after divorce. There was a viking woman by the name of Lagertha who fought with Ragnar Lothbrok in a battle against the Swedes who was so impressed with her that he pursued her and won her hand in marriage. Viking women were allowed to defend themselves and those they care about. Yes men ruled the house for the majority of the marriage but should he die the woman got full control of property, trade, and what ever else they owned. Now that I have said that here is my thoughts on Astrid Hofferson.

Example 1:

Dragon training when she lands on Hiccup while trying to run from Stormfly. Astrid is more concerned with getting her axe out of Hiccup's shield then whether or not she is hurting him. First off, they are in the middle of fucking DRAGON TRAINING! They are being attacked by a dragon. Who in their right mind is going to think about whether they are hurting someone when said person is trying to save their lives. She was in a panic as a Deadly Nadder was bearing down on them and her only weapon was embedded in Hiccup's shield which was stuck. Of course she wasn't thinking about whether she was hurting him or not cause she was trying to stop the Nadder from killing them. She didn't apologize because she was angry, angry at the fact that he wasn't taken their training seriously which meant that with his lack of attention it was going to get someone or even himself hurt and/or killed. She doesn't hate Hiccup. If you watch carefully in the beginning of the movie when Snotlout makes fun of Hiccup she actually looks upset at him for being mean.

Example 2:

When she confronts Hiccup in the cove where she bends his arm and hits him with her axe. First off she was trying to get answers and two she was angry. Again she is a VIKING WOMAN. She has been trained her whole life to be strong, to not show weakness. Not everyone can control their actions when their emotions get the better of them. You can't tell me you haven't hit your friend or loved one when you are upset with them or think they are doing something stupid. And it wasn't like Astrid stood there and continued to beat him up. Also let's not forget the fact when she saw Toothless for the first time she GRABBED HICCUP WANTING TO PROTECT HIM!! HOW IS THAT ABUSIVE? She saw a dragon, her first instinct was to protect Hiccup.

Example 3:

She hit Hiccup after their romantic flight. That punch she gave him had no heat to it at all. It's like me when I hit my boyfriend in the stomach because he scared me or is being an annoying adorable dork. I don't hit him hard, it's a love tap. I would like to also point out the fact that Astrid followed the hit with a kiss. These are the ways that Astrid shows her emotions. Her world completely changes when Hiccup becomes a huge part of her life. Until then they may not have been exactly friends but she also didn't hate him or tease him like some of the other kids. Which if anyone has watched the deleted scene with Hiccup and Astrid in the forge they would see that. She even takes a bit of interest in his inventions.

Example 4:

She hits him at the end of the movie saying "That's for scaring me." Again... punch had no heat to it at all. Like I said in my previous example if my boyfriend scares me, mainly out of reflex, I hit him but instead of going around screaming about abuse he just laughs and makes it up to me by giving me a kiss. Oh hey look! That's EXACTLY what Astrid did... TWICE. Astrid is a viking/shield maiden, raised in a viking world and culture. I don't see anyone screaming about abuse when she hits Snotlout or when the twins beat each other up. It's their world, their culture. People need to get their fucking facts and truly look at their world and how they were raised. Yes Hiccup has never hit Astrid but he is the only viking who is a fucking Pacifist to an extent. Although I would like to remind everyone of the time he punch Snotlout in the face. *cackles* Pricless. *coughs* Anyway... He fights when he has to but he would rather talk things out then fight. Astrid was raised to be strong, a fighter. That's all she knows is how to fight. We don't know much about Astrid's homelife or who her parents are, we have only ever heard her talk about her Uncle Finn. For all we know her parents could have enforced in her brain to talk with her fists first. It's not her fault.

And may I point out that DESPITE ALL OF THAT Hiccup is still head over heels in love with her. We need to look beyond those incidents to what happens after and in between. Things that she says to Hiccup like for example: 'You've lost everything, your father, your tribe, you best friend.' She isn't saying this to hurt Hiccup. She is saying this to get him to think, think outside the box, find another solution. It's the same thing when she says "You gave him his freedom, what did you expect?" In the third movie. She isn't saying it to hurt him but again to get him to think clearly. Make him see, open his eyes wider to see the bigger picture. She loves Hiccup more then anything in the world. Because of him she looked at the world in a brand new light, saw things, did things she never would of dreamed about if Hiccup hadn't showed her how. She is the person she is by the end of the third movie because of Hiccup. He is her world and she is his. Together they are a force to be reckoned with. I also have a Hiccup blog and I have been roleplaying and cosplaying as Hiccup for years and one of my best friends, my Astrid, feels the same way I do. I am tired of people dragging Astrid through the mud and painting her as the bad guy. This goes for Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons. I like the idea of Hiccup, Jack, Merida, and Rapunzel being friends and I am a fan of the Hijack ship but I'm not going to make Astrid a raging bitch or a cheater or make her out to be someone she isn't to get a fucking ship! I have a hijack rp that I am doing with a friend and Hiccup and Astrid are childhood friends. They may not be a couple but they have a good relationship, she is even good friends with Jack. Now I'm all for creative liberties and people writing how they wish but I will not be involved in any thing that involves hating on Astrid. I love her character dearly and I will not sit quietly and let someone bash her in front of me.

Just had a thought, her punching Hiccup in HTTYD2, you know the punch that made his dorsal fin pop open. That was not a malicious punch, she was fucking teasing him. Again look at the culture.

*huffs* Okay I've said my piece. Rant over.

Mun out

I Could Never Hate You (Part 2)

Heeeeeeey, did you miss me? Probably not. I have no excuses, but here’s the rest of the chapter. Bleep!

“Im… Imelda?”

“Héctor!” Imelda reached over and cupped his face with her hand, looking deep into his blurry eyes. “Are you here with me? Do you understand me?”

“S-si… I can’t… I can’t move my arms. Agh, Dios, my head!”

“Hold on.” Imelda made quick work to unlatch the thick straps wrapped around his wrists, and once one was free his hand immediately went up to his forehead to try to soothe the pounding ache. When she had finished with the other one she was back close to his face. “Héctor, I need you to relax and tell me what you remember last.”

It took a few seconds, as Héctor gazed dully at his wife, before the memories started to flood back. “Ernesto…” he choked out, lowering his hand over his eyes as he bitterly wept. “I saw him… He’s-”

“Okay.” Imelda shushed him and ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Okay, you don’t need to say anything else.”

Héctor blinked up at the harsh lighting and his gaze went around the room, recognition settling in and disgust coming in quickly. He recognized this place. This was where his little girl had wasted away into nothing while he foolishly believed that she was getting the help she needed. And anger was a much better feeling to have than despair. It helped him, gave him strength. It would do. “Why am I in this hospital?” he growled. “Why am I here?”

Imelda’s face hardened and she looked at him with exasperation and anger, making him shrink back. “Why are you here? Héctor, you… You brought yourself here! You’ve been drinking so much that your body nearly shut down when you stopped. You haven’t been eating, you are ten pounds underweight! Your lungs are so congested that I-… I watched you nearly choke to death Héctor! How could you have neglected your health so much?! Were you trying to kill yourself?!”

Did you try to kill yourself Ernesto?

With a shake of his head he turned away from his wife with a snarl as he focused on anything else but her and that horrible thought of his brother. “Of course not! I would never do anything so… so cowardly! What do you care anyway?”

She didn’t answer, but Héctor heard the sharp inhale before there was a quiet still. It lasted far too long, until finally the metallic screech of the chair she was sitting on startled him into looking at her again. Imelda had stood up and patted her dress down, refusing to look at him, and cleared her throat. “I must tell the doctor that you are awake and aware.”

As she quickly walked towards the door, each click of her heels sent a sharp stab of pain directly into Héctor’s heart. She was leaving him. Again. And this time he knew why. He shouldn’t have snapped at her. But his head was throbbing just as terribly as the ache in his chest, and he had lashed out in his pain and suffering. But it wasn’t just this. The past few years of distance, that had eventually grown into separation, had been on him.

It was all his fault. It had to be.

“I’m sorry Imelda.”

His desperate, whimpering voice reached her just as she had opened the door, making her pause. She turned her head towards him so he could see her beautiful profile, but still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Still, he had gotten her attention, and he could work with that.

Make her listen.

“This is all my fault… Not yours.” Héctor said softly, his vision slowly becoming even more blurry with tears. His head only felt worse, and it hurt to breathe, but he continued anyway. “I’ve been a t-terrible husband… and father, and a… a terrible friend. I couldn’t see how bad Ernesto was because I was only caring about myself, and now he’s… He’s gone. And it’s all my fault.”

It was at this point Héctor had dissolved into sobs and what he was saying could easily be described as blubbering. But he couldn’t stop. “I should have been stronger, I should have made him go to a doctor, or just have kept him in the room, just not on the stage. But I was too weak. I’m too weak. It’s all my fault. He’s dead… I couldn’t keep him off the stage, and I couldn’t make Matty stay at home, I couldn’t make you-… I’m so sorry, Imelda!”

He broke off into a fit of weeping, trying and failing to keep it at a low volume. Trying not to look as truly pathetic as he felt. With his eyes still squeezed shut in misery he heard the door solidly close, and his heart shattered. It didn’t work. He had poured his heart out to Imelda, and she still left him. He had finally talked to her, tried for one last time, and he had still failed. Curling as much as his IVs would allow, he buried his face into his pillow and continued to cry. So lost in his misery he didn’t even realize that he wasn’t alone, until a soft voice startled him.

“Who said that you were a terrible husband and father?”

With a gasp he looked up and saw Imelda staring down at him, with an unreadable yet soft expression. His breath stuttered to halt at seeing her look at him like that, and for the life of him he couldn’t answer her. His voice was stuck in his throat as he gaped at her with tears still spilling silently down his cheeks. Luckily for him Imelda continued on her own.

“You have been nothing but a loving and devoted father.” Imelda said as she sat down on the side of the bed, and now that she was closer Héctor could read the expression past his blurry gaze. She looked so… sad. “Our children couldn’t adore you more if they tried. Never think differently.”

With a sniffle, Héctor smothered a cough as he swiped at his eyes. “But… But Matty. I let him go. If he dies…”

“Then it will be the fault of whoever kills him. Not his, not yours.” With a bowed head she looked down at he clasped hands in her lap. “And you didn’t let him do anything. Mateo does what he wants.” Then, suddenly, Imelda did something that Héctor had not seen from her in quite some time and made his heart flutter. She smiled. “Remember when he wanted to join the fútbol team, and I was afraid that he would fail, or hurt himself? I refused to sign the permission slip, and what did he do?”

Héctor was surprised when, despite all his sorrow, the corner of his mouth twitched upward at the memory. “He forged your signature.”

“And despite my concerns, he surpassed my expectations an succeeded in it. Even kicked the winning goal in his first game. Probably just to prove to me that I worried over nothing.”

“This isn’t a fútbol game.” Héctor whispered, the fleeting lightness of mirth vanished. “I sent him off to war.”

“No.” Imelda shook her head firmly. “No he was already going, you sent him off with a lighter heart. With the knowledge that you didn’t hate him for his decision.  I… didn’t realize that until afterwards. It’s what I should have done.”

“That’s why you sent him boots?”

“Si.” Imelda nodded and smiled again. “He is still an idiota, but I wanted him to know that I still love him with all of my heart… Like you did. I am sorry Héctor. I never should have said those things to you when it happened.”

Héctor sniffled again, the tight vice around his heart lessening just a little at her words. Knowing that she didn’t blame him for Matty’s actions made him feel a little better, but he still had to know the full truth. “But… you said it. Because you… wanted me to leave… Didn’t you?”

“…Si.”

Héctor sank deeper into the pillow and turned his gaze away from her. He knew it. She didn’t love him anymore. She truly didn’t want him with her. That was it. It was over.

“It’s for the best. You deserve so much better.”

Héctor’s head snapped back to stare at Imelda in confusion. A little too fast as his aching head protested against the harsh movement, but he struggled through the pain just as he struggled through his confusion. “Better?” he whispered. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Imelda looked away and crossed her arms across her chest tightly, almost as if she was hugging herself. Or maybe to prevent herself from touching him. “You’re a successful man, Héctor. And you’re still young. Young enough to find another woman who would be more than happy to start a new life with you.”

“Y-young?!” Héctor choked out in disbelief. “Imelda, I’m a grandfather.”

Imelda waved a hand at him dismissively. “That means nothing to a man. You’ll be as virile now until the day you die. You can expand your legacy even more with someone else. I’m finished Héctor. I have nothing more I can give you.”

Héctor’s brow furrowed in utter confusion, his weakened mind slowly trying to piece together what Imelda was saying.  “What are you talking about? Imelda, you’ve given me so much. How can you say you have nothing-”

“I am old, Héctor.” Imelda cut him off, and for the first time Héctor saw her cold façade crack into something vulnerable. “I am sagging and wrinkled. And not only that I am broken. Everything that made me worthy of being your wife is gone. Cut from me never to be replaced. I am a shadow of what I once was, and I am no use to you anymore.”

With a slow blink, Héctor suddenly understood.  “Imelda… Are you talking about the surgery?” She didn’t answer, but her silence was answer enough. “Imelda! You nearly died! The surgery saved your life!”

“And it ruined my body!” Imelda choked out, and she finally started to cry. “I see that scar everyday Héctor. It’s hideous and it’s disgusting. I’ve never felt so disgusted, and so… So embarrassed! And ashamed! I am not a woman anymore, at least not one that can bear you children!”

“I don’t want more children!” Héctor shouted, and the strain of the outburst proved too much as his chest was seized with a fit of deep hacking coughs.

Imelda was at his side in a second pressing a soft rag against his mouth as the violent coughs shook him. After what seemed like too long, to the point she was afraid that he would pass out again, Héctor finally drew in enough air to gasp and collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. As she wiped at his lips gently and shushed him, Héctor locked eyes with her and held her gaze.

“Imelda, I love you.” He whispered, his voice rough from his fit. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old… The angelic girl in the creek who sang La Llorona so… hauntingly beautiful… You’re all I ever wanted. But I wanted you for you, not as a… a baby factory.”

Imelda laughed softly, bitterly, as she stood up to walk towards the trash bin. “Some factory!” she sneered as she tossed the soiled rag into the bin. “I couldn’t even carry our child to term. I was just too old, and Miguel nearly died before he had a chance to live.”

“But he is alive! You’re alive! Everything is fine!”

“And I gave you the most beautiful little girl.” She whimpered and lowered her head into a dry sob. “Leticia… with flowers in her hair… and in the end she rotted away.”

Héctor choked on tears as he struggled to sit up. “No. Imelda, that’s not true.”

“And I made you give up on her!”

“That’s not true!”

“How could you love a woman who killed her own daughter?!”

“Enough! Imelda, I –UGH!”

It wasn’t until he had crashed to the ground did Héctor realize that he had forced himself out of the bed, desperate to reach his hysterical wife. His weakened limbs couldn’t bear even his own meager weight and landed heavily on his knees and arms in an awkward, painful kneel. He hissed as sharp pain shot through him and collapsed to his side, his ringing ears preventing him from hearing Imelda’s terrified gasp.

“Héctor!”

And then suddenly he felt her hands on him, pulling him up into sitting position and muttering frantically that he had to get back into bed. As the pain slowly subsided he managed to grab her hand with his, squeezing hard and trying to draw strength from her. When she stilled and looked at him, he brought her hand up to his face and nuzzled it. Dios, he missed her. And being so close to her he could actually smell her again. And her kiss her palm, and-

Ay, mierda. I kissed her palm!

With a start he looked up at Imelda, expecting to hear a barrage of curses or maybe even being on the receiving end of a few indignant slaps. But what he saw stole his breath away. She just looked at him with profound sadness in her eyes, tears still running down her cheeks, and there was something else. Something that pulled at his heart and gave him the courage to keep pressing forward.

It was longing.

“Imelda.” Héctor whispered as he again pressed her hand against his face. “You didn’t kill her. She was too sick, and you did not make her sick. And you didn’t make me give up on her.  You were right. All I was doing was hurting Leti. And you… You did it first.”

Imelda blinked. “Did what first?”

Héctor smiled. “You said I let Matty go with a lighter heart. Well… You did it first, to our little girl. She didn’t have to fight anymore. She died peacefully with her family at home. That was because of you, and I am forever grateful for that.”

“And I don’t want more children, or a young mistress, or anything like that. All I ever wanted was a real family. Ever since I was a little boy, after realizing that my Mamá and Papá were never going to come back for me. And when I saw the bossy, snooty girl who always made fun of me for being too short, sing my favorite song in the most beautiful way… I knew I wanted to start one with you. I don’t care if you can’t have any more children. I just want you to be healthy, Imelda. And no matter how many scars or wrinkles or gray hairs you’ll get, you will always be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I don’t want you to hate yourself Imelda, and if you do I’ll just have to love you twice as much to make up for it. Because, when I married you… I was ready to be with you… for life.”

Imelda closed her eyes and nodded, fresh tears falling and a trembling smile suppressing her weeping. With a shaking hand Héctor wiped the tears off of her face, and soon she too was nuzzling his hand. Slowly they came closer together until their foreheads were resting against each other, noses barely touching, and they just stared at each other and cried.

“Imelda… Mi amor… Mi diosa… Please tell me you still love me… Por favor…”

…

…

“You are the love of my life.”

When the nurse came in several minutes later for a routine check on her patient, she was startled into a near heart attack and horrified at what she saw: Héctor Rivera, the man who all of Mexico had been waiting on with bated breath to wake up from Death’s door, and Imelda Rivera, the fashion mogul and shrewd businesswoman who had been coldly separated from her husband for months, were on the cold hard ground in a twist of IV tubes and blankets. Laughing, crying hysterically, and kissing each other with intense fervor.

The nurse frantically called for orderlies and doctors to come lift Héctor of the floor and back into the bed, difficult to do when he and his wife couldn’t stop clinging to each other. Once he was settled back into bed, and the doctors tried to treat him and question his wellbeing between all the kissing a crying, did they finally leave them alone again.

Ernesto was dead. He would have to be buried. Héctor would have to watch his friend be placed into his eternal resting place. It was the lowest he had ever felt in his life. But as his wife peppered his face with kisses and whispered words of love and apologies, that she did love him, that she wanted him to come home as soon as he was well, that she missed him and that Miguel missed him too, Héctor finally started to feel himself slowly rise from the pit of rock bottom.

It was a tragedy, but things couldn’t get worse than they were now.

Now it was time for things to start looking up.

“I can’t believe you’re kissing me!” Héctor said as he giggled.

“I can’t help it.” Imelda said as she kissed him for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last hour.  “I love you. And I miss you. Anyone would kiss their husband in this situation.”

“No, I meant that I’ve been the hospital for days! I must stink and taste too terrible to kiss!”

“I don’t care.” Imelda kissed him again, this time on the brow, and nuzzled his forehead. “I want you to come home Héctor.”

“Si, of course.” Héctor whispered. “I’ve wanted to come home for so long.”

“As long as you don’t mind sharing the bed with someone else… Someone younger. Like I have for the past few months.”

There was a beat of silence, before Héctor leaned back to look Imelda in the eyes again, a cold feeling of dread starting to creep back into his heart. “What?”

Imelda held his gaze for a second, before a sly smile curled her lips. “I got a new cat… Her name is Pepita.”

“….. You are so lucky I’m in a hospital right now. I think I just had a stroke.”

Imelda laughed again, with Héctor joining her, and they resumed kissing, and crying, and kissing some more. When the nurse came back in again later, she was once again shocked and exasperated at the sight of the both of them, cramped together on the small hospital bed, sound asleep in each other’s arms.

————————————————————

Ay! AY! This is terrible! Mierda! Basura! I can’t eat any more of this!

It had been a week since Héctor had woken up in the hospital and it had been a week since he had regained the love of his wife. With the promise that they would be together again, that he would finally get to go home, that he would get be with his adorable Miguelito and that that Coco would also be coming back with him, Héctor was ready to leave the hospital as soon as he had showered and shaved. The doctor, however, had abruptly dashed those hopes away.

‘Well Señor Rivera, I must say that you have some amazing lungs.’

‘Ha, you see Imelda? I’m fine! When can I-’

‘Amazing due to the fact that they’re both so full of fluid it’s a miracle that they’ve been able to absorb as much oxygen as they have been.’

‘… Ah…’

‘I’m sorry señor, but it’s going to be a while until you are properly discharged. But if you want to get out of here faster I suggest you rest as much as you can and eat everything that is put in front of you. You need to put on some weight.’

And so he had. It wasn’t hard to sleep; he was so weak nowadays that he could fall asleep at the drop of a hat despite the glaring lights and sunny rays pouring through his window. The eating, on the other hand, that was the challenge. Granted, since he had finally finished enduring a painful withdrawal from the alcohol and he was finally back with his family, Héctor had gotten back his appetite tenfold. He was still gaining weight painfully slow, which had always been a problem for him, but he had become a bottomless pit.

There was just one problem.

Hospital food was made in Hell by el Diablo himself.

With a hard swallow Héctor gulped down the mouthful of food he had been chewing on for two full minutes, and with a pleading whine and smile he held out the bowl to his two judges sitting on either side of him on the bed. Said judges being his youngest son and his granddaughter.

Miguel looked into the bowl and then shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“There’s still some left.” Victoria piped up. “Finish it, or no dessert.”

Héctor groaned and looked up for any potential allies in the three adults sitting in the room with him. But Imelda, Coco and Vicente just stared at him with crossed arms and hard expressions, silently demanding that he finish his meal. Except for Coco. No, fire flashed in her eyes and Héctor shrunk away from her intense gaze, combining the last two bites into one huge glob and shoveling it into his mouth. He gagged a little at the taste and struggled to chew the large mass, but he did it. Anything to placate his sweet, terrifying little Coco.

Coco had always taken after him in temperament. Kind, motherly, always willing to help out others, and very gentle. But when she got really riled up, that was when the Imelda in her rose to prominence and blasted her ire at anyone in the wrong. So when Coco had visited him after he had woken up, had seen both him and her mother together and happy again, and was reassured that he would be all right, she had sighed in relief and smiled with happy tears.

‘Ay, gracias a Dios. I had prayed for so long… that you two… IDIOTS!… WOULD STOP THIS FOOLISHNESS!’

And so Héctor and Imelda had sat there in shocked silence while their little girl screamed and bellowed at them, and called them names, and shamed them to the point where in the end they could do nothing more than slump in pure dejection and just accept everything their daughter yelled at them like she was their own mother and they were the naughty children.

‘For months! NO! For years! YEEEAAARS! I have watched you sulk and whine and piddle and cry and not even try stand up for yourself while Mamá treated you like dirt! No, instead you drank yourself into a hospital bed and made all of us worry for your health when you didn’t care at all! What an wonderful example you’ve set for your son and granddaughter! No, you’re not a grandfather! You’re just a kicked puppy trailing after Mamá! And you Mamá, are the puppy kicker! Imelda Rivera, kicker of puppies! You should be ashamed of yourself! And why?! Because you were depressed about the surgery! All- of-this-could-have-been-prevented-if-you-had-just-TOLD-US!’

After she had finished, and making her parents vow that they would never do this to her or the family again, she had dragged an amazed Julio off by the wrist and had gone back to the mansion for the night. When they had returned the next morning to visit, no one mentioned the fact they both had suspicious marks and scratches on their necks and arms or that they were wearing the same clothes from the previous day.

With a heaving gulp and a disgusted groan, Héctor collapsed back onto the propped up pillows and let the bowl clatter to his side. Miguel picked the bowl up to inspect, and then held it up triumphantly. “It’s empty!”

Everyone cheered and clapped in such a patronizing way that Héctor growled and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “That was the worst one yet.” He groaned and held onto his gurgling stomach. “How can you screw up corn and beans so much?” He watched a Miguel curiously ran a finger through the lingering blob of gravy left in the bowl to taste it, smiling as the little boy’s face screwed up in disgust.

Vicente chuckled , stood up and walked over to the huge pile of flowers, balloons, gift baskets and presents that took up the whole side of the room. It had taken him and Julio several trips to bring up all of the gifts from the fans and Mexico’s elite, and the room was so overpowering with the scent of flowers. “I don’t think hospitals put seasoning in their food. It’s to nourish you, not upset a weak stomach. However, I think a little treat won’t hurt you.” He picked out an ivory box and brought it over to the bed. “Esther Fernández sent you a box of chocolates from Switzerland, along with a sweet note to get well soon.”

“Chocolate!” Miguel shouted and reached for the box, Victoria preventing him from flinging the lid away and placing it gently next to her. “Can we have some too, Papá?”

“Of course, but save some for me!” Héctor said as he plucked one out of the box. “Anything to get the taste out of my mouth.”

Vicente went back over to the pile of gifts and pulled out another, wooden box and handled it nervously. “Also, Emilio Fernández sent you this box of cigars. Very poor taste for someone getting over pneumonia, and… I thought since you don’t smoke I could give them to a friend of mine who would appreciate them more?”

Héctor waved him off and stuffed two chocolates in his mouth. “Take them, they’re yours. I can’t stand the smell of them.”

“Gracias, Señor.” Vicente said and sat back down with a drawn out sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and closing his eyes.

His exhaustion wasn’t unnoticed by the rest of the adults in the room, and when the three of them exchanged knowing looks Coco reached out to touch his arm gently. “Chente, you look so tired.”

Vicente blinked his eyes open. “Me? No no, I’m fine. It’s just… been very hectic for everyone this past week. We’ve finally settled on a burial site for Señor de la Cruz in Santa Cecilia and construction of a tomb for him is underway, but… there’s still so much to do. Like canceling the production on the movie, sending back the funding to the investors, a massive retooling for the new year’s schedual, and worst of all… I can’t find Señor de la Cruz’s Chihuahuas anywhere!”

Victoria gasped. “Oh, poor puppies!”

Héctor listened to Vicente’s woes in silence, nodding and smiling solemnly. “I’m sorry Chente. You’ve been under a lot of pressure for a long time.”

Vicente shook his head. “It’s all right. You’ve been sick.”

“Not just now.” Héctor said. “The whole time you’ve been my assistant you’ve been doing my workload as well as your own, while I’ve been wallowing in my own self-pity. I didn’t realize it but I took you for granted, and for that I’m truly sorry. You’ve been absolutely wonderful and I am very grateful for it.”

Vicente’s face flushed red at the praise, and he bowed his head humbly. “W-well… Gracias Señor Rivera. I would do anything to help you and your company. When you’re well again everything will be waiting for you back in tip top shape, I promise.”

Héctor smiled. “Oh, I’m not coming back.”

“… Que?”

Héctor looked at Imelda, who took his hand lovingly and nodded encouragingly, and continued. “I’m not an executive, Chente. I have no talent for business, and numbers. You do. Now I’ll still be the sole head of the company, but I’ll be leaving all those boring aspects to you. I’m retiring and going home to live with my family, and you’ll be the new CEO of Rivera de la Cruz Productions and Records.”

“… Que?”

“But don’t panic, Chente. It’s not going to be overnight. You’re going to get all of the training you need, set you up with an excellent team and board, get you all nice and settled in. You won’t be alone in all of this.” Héctor smiled warmly and held out his hand to the poor man. “You’ve helped me and the company so much this last year, it’s high time you get the right pay and a title to go with it. I hope you say yes, because there’s no one else I trust more than you.”

Vicente sputtered for a few seconds, his face turning from a burning red into a pallid white, before with a jerking nod he robotically grasped Héctor’s hand and shook it once. “Yeah… Yes! S-si! Gracias, Señor Rivera! Héctor! I won’t let you down- AY! What am I saying?! Yes I will! How can I run a company when I can’t even find four dogs and make sure that you eat?!”

“Don’t you worry about him, Vicente.” Imelda said as she squeezed Héctor’s hand. “I’ll make sure that he eats. You take care of the less important stuff.”

“O-kay. Okay, okay, okay, okay…” Vicente mumbled, standing up on shaking feet and walking over to Héctor’s unused oxygen cylinder. “Please excuse me. I think I’m going to pass out.” With trembling hands he strapped the mask over his face and cracked the valve open to full blast, taking in deep gulping breaths and sliding down onto the floor.

Miguel jumped off the bed and walked over to where Vicente laid slumped against the wall, gently patting his head. “You’ll be okay.” Miguel reached down, pried open Vicente’s shaking hands, and placed a half melted piece of chocolate into it, smiling sweetly.

A few minutes later, once it was determined that Vicente definitely would take the promotion and definitely wouldn’t throw up, Julio walked in with a large wooden box under his arm. “Hola Papá Héctor. How are you feeling? Did you eat?”

Héctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I ate! Dios mio, I’ll eat mud if it means these quacks will just let me out of here.”

“Well, I know how bored you are, so I brought you this!” Turning the box over, Julio showed everyone that it was in fact a small radio. “I thought that maybe if you could listen to the news or some programs it’ll make your stay seem shorter.”

“What a wonderful idea, mi amor.” Coco said.

“Gracias. It’s a wireless one and portable too!” Julio said as he tried to find a place to set it down amongst all of the gifts. “Ay… Chente, can I just move some of these on the ground?”

Vicente, staring off into space, barely acknowledged him with an affirmative grunt.

Once a spot had been cleared and the box switched on, Julio fiddled with the knobs until the radio static finally began to tune into a station. “Alright then, just a few more adjustments and here… we… go!”

“-you cry!”

“For even if I’m far away I hold you in my heart”

“I sing a secret song to you-“

Julio sighed. “Ay, they’re still playing his songs nonstop. It’s understandable, but still.”

Coco nodded. “Si, Tio Nesto endeared himself to a whole nation. It warms my heart to know how much he’s touched everyone so-”

“Héctor?!”

At Imelda’s cry, both Julio and Coco turned to see Imelda hovering over the bed as Héctor was… rocking back and forth, trembling violently and cramming the heels of his hands into his ears as hard as he could. His breathing became labored and a low, keening sound was coming out of his throat. His eyes were so wide and pinpricked, and even though the others couldn’t see it, all Héctor could see was red.

Blood! So much blood!

It’s all torn up! What happened?! Where are you?!

Ernesto!

The song won’t stop playing!

The bell won’t stop ringing!

It’s all over me!

STOP THE SONG! STOP THE SONG! STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONG

“JULIO, TURN IT OFF!”

STOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOPTHESONGSTOP THESONGSTOPTHE-

“HÉCTOR STOP! Héctor, stop! It’s off! It’s off! Cálmese, mi amor. Cálmese… Shhhhh….”

With a sharp gasp, Héctor found himself lying back down of the bed. Imelda was hovering over him with a terrified expression, and the doctor was next to him drawing back an empty syringe and checking his pulse. As his eyes roamed around the room he saw Coco holding onto Victoria as the little girl cried into her mother’s shoulder, and Vicente was holding onto a wide-eyed Miguel.

As a wave of drowsiness started to engulf him, Héctor turned back to Imelda and stared up at her in anguish.

“It’s alright, Héctor.” Imelda said gently.

Héctor shook his head slowly as the sedative took effect, tears falling down his face. “No… it’s not… No more… ’Melda… no more… mu-…”

As he drifted off into a drugged state of unconsciousness, he didn’t notice the worried looks that the adults exchanged with one another, and he didn’t hear the innocent question his son asked them all. A question they couldn’t really answer.

“No more what, Mamá?”

———————————————————————

“~MEEEEEEEEEE!~”

“AAAAAARGH!”

Instead of the rapturous applause he was expecting after belting out the last note of his song, Ernesto was startled by the sound of a hoarse, raspy scream of an old man. His eyes shot opened and he flinched back in confusion at his surroundings. The stage, the lights, the orchestra, the audience, the theater! Vanished! In the blink of an eye they were all gone! Instead he was in a rather sterile looking room not unlike what you would find in a hospital, and he wasn’t standing anymore either, but sitting up on a simple fold-out gurney.

Where am I?

“Puta Madre! What the hell?! Who the hell wakes up singing like that?!”

Ernesto turned towards the gravelly voice of the only other occupant in the room with him: a short, stubby old man currently trying to totter over towards his head on the ground, wearing clothes common of either a bank teller or some other kind of office worker-

His head?

…

On the ground?

…

This man’s head was on the ground.

…

How much did I take?!

Finally, when the old man finally reached his head and plopped it back on his neck, Ernesto realized it wasn’t a head at all. It was a skull. A skull currently glaring daggers at him with eyeballs suspended in the inky blackness of his eye sockets. This was no drug trip. This wasn’t even a dream. Ernesto knew himself enough to know that there was no way he could dream up something so ugly or terrifying in his life.

“AAAAH!” Ernesto screamed and scooted himself back as far as he could on the bed, plastering himself to the wall. He continued to scream as the skeleton slowly walked towards his desk with a sigh.

“That’s more like it. This I can work with.” The skeleton said as he held up a clipboard.

“S-stay away! Stay away from me!”

“Please remain calm.” It said in a bored tone as it read from the clipboard. “You are safe now. Rejoice, for all of your worldly pains and ailments are a thing of the past.”

“Wh-what?!” Ernesto croaked out and continued to press against the wall, trying his all to get away from this skeleton. From this monster.

“We welcome you to your final resting place- heh, final, yeah right- where as long as you remain well remembered in the hearts of your loved ones you will live on far longer than you did in lif… Lif? Ay joder, they still haven’t fixed this typo?!”

Ernesto continued to gasp in terror as he stared transfixed at the skeleton before him. “Don’t come any closer!”

It rolled his eyes. “I’m not even moving.”

“Yes, you are! You’re creeping up to me right now!”

“No, you’re pushing against the wall and moving the gurney towards me, cabron!”

Ernesto paused at that and looked down, seeing that the bed was now two feet away from the wall and his hands were still pressed against it. “Oh.”

And then he looked up towards his hands.

…

…

“Oooohhh…..”

“There ya go.” The old skeleton chuckled hoarsely as he watched Ernesto stare at his new boney appendages in quiet, awed horror and went back to his clipboard. “Bienvenidos, Señor de la Cruz. Welcome to the Land of the Dead. Now, since the requirement to be here is to be dead, I must inform you that that’s what happened. You are now dead. My name is Chicharrón and I will be death counselor for this eve- and there you go, pat yourself down. Down the ribs, to the stomach- ay, no stomach!- and then the face. Every time, just like clockwork.”

Ernesto tore his hands away from pawing at his own cheekbones and glared at Chicharrón. “This is not funny!”

Chich smiled at him. “You know I always thought your bulbous chin was just fat, but nope,” and he smirked and tapped his own protruding chin with a pen. “You’re just as chiseled as I am.”

“How?!”

“How?… Ay, I don’t know. Genetics, I guess? I took after my Papá.”

“HOW DID I DIE?!”

As he cried out that choked, desperate plea Ernesto already knew deep down what had caused his far too early demise. The drugs. What else could it have been? What else could have affected him so suddenly during such an enthusiastic, triumphant performance. As he had belted out that last note, it was obvious his heart couldn’t take the strain. After gambling with his body for so long with copious amounts of drugs and sex, it had finally caught up with him. With one last song to his familia, he had perished right in front of his eyes. It was sudden, but strangely poetic. As tragic and as horrifying as he found his current predicament, he could not ask for a better way to go-

“Oh, that! According to reports, a giant two-ton bell fell from a stage fixture and flattened you into a tortilla.”

“………. What?”

“To save you some embarrassment I took the liberty of putting it down as ‘Acto de Dios’ as the cause of death.” Chich said, pointing it out on the file before placing it in Ernesto’s numb hands. “In hindsight maybe you should have sprung for papier-mâché props, eh?”

When Ernesto continued to just stare at the file in shocked silence, Chich made his way over to the telephone on his desk. “You’ve been dead for about three weeks now, but your body was just now buried. Guess they had to either build a fancy tomb for you or they had to finish scraping you all up. But it’s givin’ me plenty of time to finish the bulk of your paperwork. No deceased blood relatives on this side I’m afraid, they’ve all been forgotten, but I promised your goddaughter I’d call her the second you’d arrive.”

The mention of that word shocked Ernesto out of his stupor, and he glanced at Chich with wide eyes. “M-… M-my… goddaughter?” he whispered breathlessly.

“Uh-huh.”

“… Leticia… She’s dead.”

Chich quirked an eye ridge at him. “Like I said, it’s a requirement for being here.”

“Sh-she’s dead… I’m dead… Oh! Oh no, no!”

With a frustrated sigh Chich placed the phone back on the receiver and rose up to deal with de la Cruz’s breakdown. “Easy, amigo.”

“I can’t die. Not now.”

Chich snorted. “If you’re worried about missin’ out on your fans and fame, don’t worry. There’s plenty of people here just foamin’ at the mouth to see the great Ernesto de la Cruz. A lot of the office ladies here are actually jealous I was assigned to you. You’ll be fine-”

“Héctor…”

Chich blinked at the deep sorrow and pain that he heard in de la Cruz’s voice and frowned. “Your writing partner? Leticia’s Papá?”

Ernesto brought a hand over his mouth and, seemingly to overcome to hold himself any longer, collapsed back onto the dead to stare morosely up at the ceiling. “Héctor… I can’t die. I can’t be dead, not now.”

He had promised. He had promised years ago, as he had looked two little babies in the eyes, that he would never hurt Héctor again for as long as he lived. He had stood by his side throughout all of their successes, fame, riches, pain, loss, suffering. Anything to even try to make up for what he had tried to do.

He had promised.

“… I was going to tell you everything…”

hello hello friends. I’m mina and I am so ready for plotting so hit me up on discord or DM here to plot, or like this post and imma come to you. SORRY FOR THE PARAGRAPHS. I’m just so shitty at listing things. [ BAE SUZY & FEMALE & SHE/HER. ] that, right there, is [ ALEXIS ‘LEXI’ BLYTHE ]. the [ TWENTY-TWO ] year old has been in savannah for [ A YEAR AND A HALF ] and is known for being quite [CHARMING ] - but on bad days, while being very SELF-DESTRUCTIVE ], they seem to walk with their head low while [ I’M A MESS by BEBE REXHA ] plays through their earbuds. ( mina. 23. she/her.est )

Alexis ‘Lexi’ Blythe Age: 22 Birthday: February 27 (Pisces) Orientation: Hetero TW. Abandonment, Adoption, Parental Neglect, Alcoholism, Drug Use O1 ━◞ FAMILY - Adopted by a big-shot politican and his trust-fund socialite wife when she was a baby, Lexi never knew why they had chosen to adopt from Korea. Maybe they had just wanted the picture perfect family even though they couldn’t, or rather her father couldn’t. Maybe they wanted to show how progressive, diverse, and altruistic they were for an old money family. Nevertheless, Lexi remembers being raised by the nanny, watching Disney movies, and only seeing her parents when they needed her to act her part in the long-standing Blythe political legacy of senators and congressmen. Last she had heard of her father, Alexander Duke Blythe was looking to be the next presidential candidate. Her mother runs various charities, painting the perfect First Lady potential. The next big Kennedy and Jackie. Her parents had not been the biggest fan of her acting career, but now that she has actually made it on the big screen, her own fame has indirectly lent to his image positively. Consequently, he has slowly been keeping track of her goings more and more - to her disgust. When she was 18, Lexi found a private investigator to try to find her biological parents. She still has no idea who her father was, but she learned that her mother had been an escort who abandoned Lexi on the steps of a massage parlour in the Gangnam district. O2 ━◞ CAREER - Attention-deprived, and raised in Los Angeles, it only made sense for Lexi to pursue a career to famehood through acting. Broadway, singing, dance and acting classes were part of her busy schedule growing up because an heiress like her needed to be raised in culture and the arts. She had never held a knack for subjects like math or literature, but the dramatic arts came to her naturally.  Instead of going to university, she worked as an extra at 17 before finally catching a break at 19 as a minor character in an intrigue drama. Appealing to the audiences as the ‘sweet and innocent’ trope, she began to take on more movie roles. The nickname going around Hollywood translated into “America’s Angel”. The problem with being forced into a trope was she rarely got roles past the secondary or tertiary characters. Having been a solid B-lister for the past 5 years, Lexi has recently been trying to take on more sensual and provocative roles. Because everyone knows the key to stardom is for everyone to watch you sleep around in theatres. Yet, any time Lexi is shown as anything but a “sweet angel”, her reputation suffers. Her last movie, He Said She Said was a rom-com that crashed and burned, but the newest blockbuster coming out may just be a movie for the charts. O3 ━◞ PERSONALITY - Don’t get her wrong. She cares deeply for her friends. They’re the family she doesn’t feel that she has. Her crew is always surprised she’s not a total diva and is usually just an outgoing and (for the most part) amiable girl. Whether in the way she walks or smiles, she has that graceful superstar formula that draws people in. It’s just her little self-destructive tendencies and obsession for finding love (and also trouble) that gets her into trouble with the people around her. Having an empty family life pushed Lexi to dream of her future family and Prince Charming. When she isn’t thinking of movie scripts and planning how to maintain her relevancy, she is wondering when her life will turn into a rom-com. Sometimes she loses track of reality in her naivete and desperation. Also ridiculously mischievous. Because she grew up constantly conniving as to how she could mess with her parents and get their attention, she often liked to do the opposite of what her dad would instruct her to do, which extrapolated to everyone. Extremely bad at taking instructions and also criticism (so you can expect some diva meltdowns every once in awhile). Breaking the law is lowkey a grey area. Doesn’t blink an eye at things like trespassing. O4 ━◞ SCANDAL - She met one of her father’s colleagues at one of the galas her parents forced her to visit. One of the youngest Senators ever from California. Hitting it off that night, the rest of the year felt like a dream. Young and naive, she was head over heels in love. He swore that he would break up with his wife and that he didn’t love her anymore. As things go, the senator’s wife discovered their affair through a private investigator. Holding the photos over head, she threatened Lexi that she would ruin the Senator’s reputation unless Lexi stayed away from her husband. To tend to her broken heart and avoid blowing up both Lexi’s and the senator’s careers, her agent sent her to Savannah to lay low until things could boil over. O5 ━◞ ALCOHOL USE AND DRUG USE - Since beginning the affair, Lexi turned to alcohol and drugs to deal with the guilt. When she wasn’t working, she was drinking and partying. And when she was partying in upscale LA, she was popping m like no tomorrow with Los Angeles’ partying elite. O6 ━◞ LIKES - Enjoys champagne, cream earl grey tea and anything fruity. Fav coffee is a cappucino with a shot of vanilla. Zombie apocalypse and horror shows/movies/anythings are her guilty passion even though she gets unbelievably scared to the point where she can’t get a good night’s rest. Her secret dream is to star in a zombie film where she gets a really dramatic death. Proud mommy of a little Maltese puppy named Peanut. O7 ━◞ QUIRKS - Messy, not dirty, is what Lexi claims she is. Scatter-brained and disorganized. Constantly late for events. She gives her manager, Anya, a hernia, for not having any order in her life. Lexi also can’t cook for her life but really likes to eat - everything and anything. In fact, for a striving starlet, she really likes fast food like hamburgers and pizza far too much. In response, she is up early doing some sort of physical activity every morning as a semi-guilty ritual. She basically can’t go through the day without exercising because she’s so anxious about her appearance and her extreme love for food. O8 ━◞ WANTED CONNECTIONS - ♕ her ride or die aka in greys anatomy speak, “her person”. The person she’s closest to, etc, like she’d kill somebody for this person ♕ childhood friend ♕ cousins (technically adopted cousins from her adoptive mother’s side) ♕ best female friend aka like a sister/ best male friend aka like a bro ♕ childhood friend ♕ flirtationship ♕ all that love ships/maybe kind of a rebound/maybe more ♕ party crew? ♕ someone who knew her ex or even of the scandal in some way///or or or or someone lexi got really drunk with and accidentally ugly cried to about her being a mistress/ someone who has dirt on her? ♕ an ex that ended badly/ an ex that ended on good terms ♕ someone she has slept around with/is sleeping around with/rebound ♕ one night stand ♕ a fan of her movies/tv shows!? ♕ roommate (she just moved from a big ass mansion to like a house, and it feels empty as fuck, so she prob put out a posting) ♕ early morning workout buddies ♕ someone she has worked with in the industry before like fellow celebs/crew/photographers/filmographers/etc/etc? ♕ anything else hit me up

Broken Spirit

I’ve revised how it all ends for Caroline. I’ve largely rewritten what I initially had. While one segment was copy and pasted over it’s mostly new material. I think this is much more what Caroline would do.

For the most part Caroline was in decent health physically. Her biggest problem was her mobility. After becoming completely human again her legs were no longer able to handle the strain she’d put them under as a rabbit. She’d undergone physical therapy, and done exercises, but all she’d done was delay the inevitable. 

These days the most she could manage was walking around the house by herself at her own, slow pace. Getting up and down was a struggle. Regardless she’d insist on doing it herself, getting angry if either Min or Max offered to help her. Outside Caroline had no choice. She swallowed her pride and let either of the twins push her around in a wheelchair. She felt like a child in a stroller. Before the twins started going gray they’d get recognized all the time and stopped by fans for an autograph or a chat. They’d talk around Caroline like she wasn’t even there. In the old days it was the White Rabbit everyone wanted to talk to while the twins stood next to her silently unless they had to protect her.  It scarcely happened these days but still Caroline hated going out. Mentally, Caroline was very much not OK. Everyone, including herself, had believed becoming a human again would be the best thing for her. She’d go back to pursuing a long dead dream while Min and Max would live out theirs as performers. The twins had become smash sensations from the moment they made their grand debut at a newly opening nightclub. In the meantime Caroline endured her painful treatments with as much quiet dignity as possible and dealt with the sometimes disgusting after effects by herself as much as she could. She still had nightmares from the bloody mess after her tail had fallen off and her rabbit ears breaking off small pieces at a time had been nearly unbearable agony. Min and Max had been wonderful and supportive through all of it, never leaving her side. Caroline had so much hope that once the treatments were finally over she‘d be content and able to live as a normal Gotham citizen. That wasn’t how it went. Caroline’s heart felt like it was going to explode with happiness when animals could finally tolerate her again. She pet and accepted slobbery wet kisses from a large dog she risked approaching when they told her she was completely free of rabbit DNA. In fact, the twins had even adopted him for her to celebrate. She went back to school again, had begun to work with animals, but it all came to a sudden halt the day she lost her temper at a neglectful owner. Taking care of a vast array of pets was just as fulfilling as Caroline expected. It was her tolerance to deal with people that she’d completely lost. As the White Rabbit she’d killed anyone who’d annoyed her. That was no longer an option anymore. The stupid mistakes people made that came at their pets expense just kept weighing on Caroline until she finally snapped. She screamed at a woman so loudly other pet owners waiting to be seen had heard her. It cost Caroline her job and she didn’t want to try again to find a different one. From there she’d gotten restless. What was there for her to do? Min and Max were more than happy to have her as a housewife. They felt proud, like they were proper husbands, to be supporting her for a change. She’d done so much for them as a boss Min and Max thought it would be a splendid change of pace for her to be pampered and stay at home to do as she pleased. She kept the house clean, made them three delicious meals everyday, and could go and watch them every time they performed. The were certain life couldn’t get any better. Caroline hated it. She was bored. She found herself already yearning for when she was a rabbit. That excitement and thrill of committing a crime, being chased, and put in certain death scenarios… She never imaged that she’d miss it but she did. She even missed Arkham when they got caught. It was about the only time she’d ever see certain other Gotham rouges and get to chat with them. There seemed like nothing for her now; she felt completely out of place. Caroline had the undying love of Min and Max but it wasn’t enough. She’d never admit it but the misery of the unfulfilling life she led now left her so depressed she had to force herself to reciprocate the romantic gestures she constantly received. She didn’t feel remotely sexy or desirable. Min and Max would over-do complimenting her new features as a human but she didn’t believe them. She had missed her green eyes and found them an improvement. She’d give them that. However, while her black hair was pretty, it couldn’t compared to the softness of the white fur she used to have at the top of her heard. It was different to see her skin with some color to it but so many of her cosmetics didn’t go with her skin tone anymore. It hurt much more than she ever anticipated to see that her favorite red shade of lipstick no longer had the same impact now that her skin wasn’t so pale. Then there was her cup size… It had gone up drastically when she’d become a rabbit, her breasts basically becoming the equivalent of a dewlap, so it made sense she’d go back down. She hadn’t expected to go completely back to the As that she used to have. The twins insisted she was still a knock out, that they liked how she looked, but Caroline started crying when she had to throw out all of her bras for new ones. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Caroline thought she’d hated being a bunny. She’d been made that way to serve someone’s sick sexual fetish but as a human again she didn’t like how she looked either and all the things she couldn’t do now. A typical person’s hearing was so much softer she thought she was going deaf, her keen sense of smell was gone, and her speed was taken away. She was… Normal. It’s what she thought she’d always wanted but she regretted it. She regretted it and there was no going back. Just days earlier Caroline had been pondering to herself, not sure if she was only or already sixty with how her life had gone by. It seemed like she had so much more misery left ahead of her now… But it didn’t have to be. Before she’d become completely housebound Caroline had secretly visited Pamela Isely. While she wasn’t active in crime anymore she still had her plants and her love for them. Caroline came to her with a request that shocked and saddened Pamela but she obliged when she heard the reason. Caroline still recalled the warmth in her embrace when she asked Caroline to think it over before using it. That was over ten years ago. Caroline had tried to hang in there to see her life with the twins through to the end. How bad that morning was had been enough to change her mind. Being a stubborn old gal Caroline wouldn’t stop pushing herself and insisting that she could still do things on her own. All she’d wanted to do was bake the boys a cake. Caroline used to make the twins treats all the time; it was a routine that had been long lost to her depression. She was gathering ingredients, nearly had them all ready, when she felt her legs started to weaken. Caroline refused to give in and sit down. It was nothing strenuous! She could do this! She couldn’t. Caroline wound up on the floor covered in spilled milk and broken eggs. Her legs had completely given out from under her, she’d made a desperate attempt to grab something as she fell, and made it even worse for herself. Now she was a wet and gooey mess, stuck sitting on her backside. She tried to get up but there was nothing her feeble legs could do. She couldn’t just sit there so Caroline did the only thing she could: Call for help. In an instant she heard two sets of feet running through the house from different locations. Max arrived slightly before Min but his brother was hot on heels. They went into a panic immediately, terrified that Caroline might be hurt or have broken something. She quickly established that she was fine, Min and Max helping her to her feet. She was so small, frail, and thin now that it barely took them any effort. They were still rather buff for their ages, the times they’d spent working out still lingering on their bodies. Caroline clung to their arms to stay upright. “Darling,” Min said with a smile, thinking he knew how to cheer her up. “You’ve already got sugar. If you add yourself to the cake it will be much too sweet!” He looked at his twin. “Right, Max?” “That’s r…” Max trailed off when he saw slow, silent tears running down Caroline’s cheeks, eyes twitching and lip bitten to try and hold back her sorrow. “Caroline?” he asked worriedly. She couldn’t hold it in. Caroline used to be so good at bottling up her emotions but she let out a sob before she completely broke down. “It’s not funny!” she wailed. “I can’t even stand anymore!” “I didn’t think it was fun-” Min tried to pull Caroline into a hug. “Stop! You’ll get dirty too!” They had white shirts on. The last thing she wanted now was to stain their clothing. “Min, I’ll help Caroline and you can clean up the kitchen,” Max said, Min nodding in agreement. Min couldn’t help frowning. After all these years Max was still better at comforting Caroline than he was. He’d really thought making light of the situation would help her feel better. “Max!” Caroline said desperately as he scooped her up, completely helpless. “I said-” “I know,” Max interrupted softly. “We’ll both change. It’s alright.” He gave her a kind smile. There was nothing she could do about it now so Caroline pressed her face into Max’s shirt as she continued to cry. Max kissed the top of her head before carrying her to the bathroom. Min lingered for bit, watching them before he grabbed a roll of paper towels to mop up the mess. Poor Caroline… She was so sad these days and he had no idea how to fix it. “If you bring me a change of clothes I can take care of myself,” Caroline, feeling humiliated, said as Max gently set her down on the toilet lid. she wiped at the tears that lingered in her eyes. “I’ll help you,” Max replied. He knew that what Caroline had spilled on her had likely soaked through her dress to her skin. “What good am I if I can’t even wash up and change clothes by myself?!” Caroline demanded to know. “I can at least do this.” “Caroline,” Max took her hands. “Let Min and I help you from now on; We’re happy to. Next time you might get hurt.” “Then you might as well just put me in a nursing home! What sort of life can you and Min have if you have to take care of me twenty-four hours a day?” “A damn good one,” Max answered firmly, looking her directly in the eyes. “You saved my life when Two Face shot me,” he’d never, ever forget that. “You gave Min and I a new home and job. You trusted us enough to let us become like family even before you started loving us. Min and I are only what we are today because of you, Caroline.” Caroline’s deep scowl surprised Max. “You don’t owe me anything! I made the choice back then because of how fond I was of you two; I could have easily turned you over to Two Face if that hadn’t been the case! You should just leave me to rot and enjoy living peacefully.” “We could never enjoy it without you! I know you’re upset but we can look into more options! We’ll go to other doctors! We’ll find something!” Max knew Min loved Caroline as much as he did. It would never feel like a burden or a chore no matter how much she’d wind up needing them. “What if we don’t? What if I get worse?” There was only so much modern medicine could do… “You have your mind, Caroline! Your hands work just fine too! Min and I can easily carry you. As long as we have each other isn’t that enough?” It wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Caroline declined to answer. Resentfully Caroline had allowed Max to help her strip and bathe her with a washcloth. Try as she might she couldn’t help but find it degrading. What if it got so bad that she wouldn’t even be able to make it to use the restroom by herself anymore? No way in hell would she let Min and Max have any part in that. They really were intent on keeping her home and close for as long as they could. When they thought she was napping Caroline had overheard them discussing hiring a live in nurse. To them having Caroline in any form of nursing home would be a failure on their parts. They could figure this out. …Or so they thought. Laying awake in bed that night with that day’s events playing in her mind, Caroline had made her choice. It had happened so suddenly… She had prepared for it already but expected to pick a date in advance. Maybe even now it was still too early but she had to act while she was still able to walk what little she could on her own. She couldn’t go on like this. She looked over her husband that was in front of her. Max, the sweeter and more sensitive of the two twins. The one who doted over her endlessly and did every little thing he could think of to make her happy and comfortable. That had never changed after all these years.

Caroline leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss on his forehead. “I love you,” she whispered.

Max didn’t stir at all. She smiled; sleeping like the angel he really was.

A bit further away, Caroline turned over to face Min, who she was also lucky enough to be considered married to. He was the one who recognized that Caroline was stronger than she looked. Being with him made her feel like she could do anything. Even now he praised her for the small achievements she made for herself. He knew that even basic tasks were becoming more difficult for her. If she could do them herself, he’d let her. If she needed help, he was there. If she needed him to do it all himself, he didn’t hesitate. No matter how grumpy she was about it… Caroline felt a stab of guilt over that. He didn’t deserve to get snapped at.

Min received the same kiss, the same declaration of her love. His more impish expression remained. Two different personalities with the same face that Caroline always loved equally. That was why they’d made it this far. But all good things must come to an end.

Normally the twins would be pressed up close against her, most likely with their arms around her, but in the warmth of summer the three tended to drift away from one another’s body heat as they slept. Not even air conditioning could stop the occasional stuffiness and discomfort.

Using the space she’d been granted Caroline struggled to sneak out of bed. How her body had betrayed still lingered. It felt like it was inwardly groaning as she crawled past the twins and slid off the end of the bed.

Cringing for a moment Caroline placed her feet in her bunny slippers and shuffled out the door. Once again Caroline’s legs threatened to give out on her as the elderly woman made her way down the hallway, leaning against the wall for support. She refused to fall this time; she’d get to the room she was aiming for through sheer willpower if nothing else.

Finally making it Caroline opened the door, turning on the light and then shutting it behind her as she entered a room that had become a place of memories. She took a look around her at the walls.

On one side began framed pictures of the newspaper articles of when she was getting noticed as the White Rabbit, most of which were saved by Min and Max. She smiled; they were head over heels for her as fans even before they really got to know her. Soon enough those morphed into stories highlighting the criminal careers that she, Min, and Max held together. The “Rabbit Gang” they’d been referred to. After a big heist, or when they noticed someone snapping a photo during one of their capers, Min was always went out to buy a paper to save.

There was so much… They’d hit nearly every notable spot in Gotham to rob, their brilliant escapes from Arkham always made the front page, and the White Rabbit became one of the most infamous female criminals that city had ever seen.  

And then she suddenly disappeared.

As her gaze shifted to the other half of the room her husbands’ singing careers overshadowed their lives as villains. Oh how Gotham had loved them! They’d performed to packed houses and sold out shows, their popularity never waning. People couldn’t get enough of those cheerful freckled identical faces and how they’d ham it up on stage with one another.

Sure, she was still there. Somewhere. Show business never became more important than her. Still… It was difficult to see the White Rabbit fade into obscurity while Min and Max become household names.

Of course she’d been proud of them. Caroline had praised the twins constantly for what they’d manage to achieve. There was never any jealousy or resentment towards them. She only wished that all three of them could have had that sort of success. As she thought this, her eyes landed on a front page article where Min and Max announced they’d no longer before performing.

Min and Max to Retire! Looking Forward to Spending Free Time with Wife! the headline read. It was the only time she’d be mentioned after reforming and it wasn’t even by name. From there the room was sprinkled with displays of items from heists, mementos, and some gifts they’d bought for each other. Sitting in a corner on a shelf was what Caroline had come here for. A large white rabbit doll with a bowtie. Caroline picked it up and hugged it. A gift from Min and Max before they were dating, when they learned that she was prone to horrific nightmares. Once they began sharing a bed with her there was no need for this rabbit anymore. Being a sentimental sort Caroline still wanted it to have a place of honor of sorts. What Min and Max likely didn’t know when they bought it was that there was a hidden pocket on the back. Slipping her hand deep into the fake fur Caroline located it, pulling out a letter that contained a lie she’d written as an explanation and a small bottle from Pamela. It had been the perfect hiding spot no one else would ever find. Much like becoming a human again this would be a decision Caroline couldn’t take back. She felt the smooth glass of the bottle on her fingertips, eying the small amount of liquid inside. It was poison. A type Pamela had invented herself that was supposedly tasteless, painless, and unable to be detected in an autopsy. The victims had never known what hit them. For Min and Max’s sakes she didn’t want them to ever know it was a suicide. It would completely break them. Was now the time? Tomorrow was another day and Caroline would likely feel a little better. It would also be another day where the most she might do is talk with the twins, watch TV, and work on a puzzle before going to sleep. Rinse and repeat. When she took the time to think about it… Technically she was dead already. She’d been for a long time now. “I’m sorry, boys…” Caroline whispered softly. It was time for her to go. Caroline pulled off the lid to the bottle and swiftly downed the poison, giving the bottle a small shake to make sure she got every last drop. She swallowed without hesitation. Calmly as could be she slipped the bottle back inside the rabbit and put it back exactly as she had found it. No one would suspect a thing. There was nothing immediate that happened. Pamela had said that it worked slowly through a person’s system but once they’d ingested it death was imminent. Using the time she had Caroline took out one the records that contained some of her favorite songs Min and Max had sang. She lowered the player’s volume, set the needle on the edge, and started it. Having her husbands present in some form as she passed would be perfect. Caroline sat down in the rocking chair next to the table the record player rested on and placed her letter on her lap. She would have liked to have had a proper goodbye but seeing them sleeping so innocently was an ideal last memory of them. Likewise, they’d remember kissing her goodnight and telling her that they loved her. She wouldn’t have to see them cry and they wouldn’t witness her dying. Caroline was content with that. As the songs played one after another Caroline wondered just when the poison was supposed to take effect. She felt fine… She’d never dealt with lethal poisons personally so all she had to go on was what she’d seen in TV and movies. With those it was always pretty dramatic when the poison kicked in. Although it was supposed to be painless Caroline thought she’d at least notice SOMETHING. Her feet were cold. That dawned on her. Caroline shivered. Why didn’t she put on a robe? It suddenly felt like she’d been thrown out into the arctic. She was so old, weak, and frail now… It didn’t take much for her to catch a chill. A quick glance at the wall clock told her it was a little after three AM. Caroline’s eyelids drooped. At her age she needed plenty of sleep, too. She shook her head. No, she’d likely die in her sleep, then. She wanted to face death head on. To take it by the hand and go willingly. This was entirely her choice, after all. No one was controlling her life but her. She was so tired, though… Caroline slumped in the chair. What a pathetic poison! How many minutes had it been? Once she was dead sleep would never be a concern ever again! There was suddenly the sensation of someone holding her close and stroking her hair. One of the twins?! No… This was obviously a woman’s chest her head was resting against. “Go ahead and sleep, dear,” a kindly woman’s voice nearly whispered. Who was this?! An intruder? Now of all times? Caroline’s limbs felt stiff from the cold but she managed to pull away, sitting back in the chair to look at who’d managed to sneak into the room. It was a woman she’d only seen in a single, small, black and white photo. Here she suddenly was, smiling at Caroline fondly. Freckles peppered her face and her hair was the same shade of red that had long ago been traded for gray on Min and Max’s heads. She had to be hallucinating. That must finally be an affect of the poison. Still, it felt so real and the woman in front of her seemed like a living human being. “Thank you for taking such good care of my sons.” The woman spoke again before leaning forward and kissing Caroline’s forehead. “You deserve to rest.” Her words gave Caroline a sense of peace. As darkness started to overtake her vision the final song on the record began playing. “Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go, Goodnight, sweetheart, well it's time to go, I hate to leave you, but I really must say, Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight…” Slowly Caroline shut her eyes…

These days the trio didn’t bother setting an alarm; they got up when they got up. It really didn’t matter anymore what time. Caroline in particular had become a late riser so it came to quite a surprise when the twins woke up to find that she wasn’t there.

“Do you think she feels better today?” Max asked hopefully.

“Maybe!” Min answered. That would be wonderful. Caroline seemed almost broken after what had happened yesterday. Once Max had gotten her cleaned up Caroline hadn’t said much, simply sitting between the two of them on the couch. She’d stared out blankly, they needing to try and get her attention several times before she’d respond.

Optimistic, the twins got out of bed and checked the kitchen. Maybe this would be one of the kinder mornings where Caroline had enough energy and cooperation from her body to make them breakfast? They soon saw this wasn’t the case. They moved on.

She wasn’t in the living room.

Not the bathroom either.

The twins gave each other identical confused looks. “Caroline?!” they both called.

Silence.

They looked at each other again and nodded. There weren’t many other places she could be. They split up and looked into the remaining rooms… Until Max found her.

It came as a surprise; she was so still that Max didn’t even notice Caroline sitting in the corner at first. Why didn’t she say anything? Why had she gotten up so early just to be in here? Caroline would do strange things that only made sense to her sometimes but this was a new one.

“There you are, Honey Bunny!” the most important thing was that Max was relieved to see her. She didn’t respond, however. As he got closer he saw that her eyes were closed. This room could get a little drafty; it wasn’t the ideal place to take a nap.   Intending to carefully scoop her up and not wake her, Max slowly approached. Caroline almost seemed like a statue… He couldn’t even see her chest moving with her breaths. Wait… WAS she breathing…? And what was she holding in her lap? Max reached out and placed his hand on top of Caroline’s. He yelped and jumped back in surprise when it was ice cold, going into a panic at once. “Caroline?!” Max gripped her shoulders. “Caroline, open your eyes!” Confused as to where on earth Caroline could have gone Min jumped when Max screamed his name. He went running towards Max’s voice, tearing through the house when he heard Max’s frantic shouting. He was winded by the time he reached the room; he wasn’t used to moving so fast these days. “What’s wrong?!” Min asked breathily as he entered. Caroline had to be hurt; that was the only explanation for why she wasn’t answering and Max was in such a panic. “She won’t open her eyes, Min!” In shock, Max couldn’t process exactly what why Caroline would never open them again. He looked at his brother in desperation. “Why won’t she? You have to do something!” Min felt his heart drop. He walked around the front of the chair to stand next to Max who was still pleading with Caroline to wake up. Min reached out with two fingers to feel for a pulse, a shiver running down his spine when he touched her ice cold skin. “N-no…” Min’s voice trembled. “What?” Max looked at Min as he withdrew his hand, seeing the grief on his  twin’s face. “You already know, Max…” Min answered, his voice barely audible. “NO!” Max turned back to Caroline. “Honey Bunny, it’s time to wake up! You can’t stay in he-” “Stop it!” Min snapped, tears rolling down his cheeks, as he roughly grabbed Max by his suit. He turned his brother to face him. “She’s dead, Max!” “No!” Max repeated. “Nonononono! Call an ambulance! Maybe they can still-” “MAX,” Min said firmly. “She’s gone. It’s too late.” The duo looked at each other’s identical faces for a moment before Min embraced Max, his distraught brother gripping the cloth of his pajamas as he cried. They silently mourned the loss of the woman they’d been with for nearly forty years, the one person who they viewed as essential to their lives as one another. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were nearly six years older! Caroline should have never died first! “I don’t… I don’t…” Max felt like this was all a bad dream, that this couldn’t possibly be his reality. “I don’t understand! Her fall wasn’t bad yesterday! She wasn’t hurt! What happened?!” He took a step back to face Min. “Tell me what happened!” he demanded desperately. Min was trying hard to handle his own grief and not lose his patience with Max. How the hell should he know?! This was a horrible shock to him as well. Nothing was unusual when they’d all gone to bed together. To wake up to this… This seemed like a cruel prank. “What’s that…?” Min noticed a pale pink envelope resting on Caroline’s lap under her hands. He reached forward and carefully slid it out. His and Max’s names were on it. He flipped it over to see it was sealed with a red heart sticker. Max stood close to Min as he opened the envelope, his eyes already red and puffy. He peered around his brother to silently read it together. To my wonderful husbands:

I can’t believe I slept past noon today! The two of you were quiet as church mice; I never heard either of you get up or move about the house. Thank you so much for letting me sleep and taking me to the park once I finally awoke. I know it took a lot of convincing but I’m very happy you were persistent.

The sun was so warm, and weather pleasant, but I still felt so cold. As usual you two noticed my discomfort immediately and brought me a blanket from the car. No matter how old we’ve gotten you’re still the gentlemen who make such a fuss over me.

However… I’ve been keeping a secret all this time. The same procedure that allowed me to become completely human again so the three of us could live normal, peaceful lives is also what is stunting mine. I was told that it would be so hard on me; that no less than ten years would be gone in an instant should I go through with it.

I knew you both would forbid me from going through with it if I told you.

It wasn’t just so the three of us could have a future where we could give up crime and you two could have singing careers that I did it. It’s because I’m a very selfish woman. I am nearly six years younger so it makes sense to believe that I would outlive you two. It’s a thought I couldn’t stand so I was grateful to hear that I would close the gap and likely pass on before either of you.

I was merely existing before I met the two of you and experienced real, genuine love that I could never live without. Being alone again after decades with the two of you would be impossible.

I only hope that you can forgive me.

I don’t know when it’s going to happen, but I can feel that it’s soon. I’m so tired all the time, my body barely wants to move, I’m never hungry, and that terrible coldness that keeps plaguing me… That’s why I’m writing this now. I’m sure it will come to a great shock to the two of you when my time does come. Please know that I’m not suffering, I’m not in pain. I’m just… Fading away.

I understand it won’t make up for keeping this from you but I’m going to increase the amount of times I say “I love you” and how many times I kiss each of you. Every night now I make sure to think of the two of you. My mind often goes all the way back to when I saw you both sing for the first time. I never told either of you this, nor did I realize it right away myself, but that was when I started falling in love. My two little devils that had the voices of angels.

We weren’t good people for a long chapter in our lives but we were always good to each other. I pray that will count for something; that we’ll find each other again and be happy wherever we wind up next.

I will never stop loving the two of you, even when I breathe my last. Thank you for always being so good to me. When I see how happy the two of you are these days I know in the end I made the right choice.

Forever your “Honey Bunny” Caroline Min stood frozen, the letter falling from his loose grip and fluttering to the floor. Max started a new round of tears, wailing as he fell to his knees in front of Caroline. He rested his head in her lap, saying “I’m sorry!” over and over and over again. All this time Caroline had been dying and they’d never even known it. They didn’t have a single clue that was really going on. They believed every single word in her letter. They blamed themselves entirely. “We pushed her!” Max sobbed. “She didn’t want to do it at first but we told her she should!” “Well Batman told us everything was going to be OK!” Min snapped, mono-brow furrowing and buck teethed bared as anger set in. “Caroline was supposed to be fine after the treatments were over! We were lied to!” He sniffed as he wiped tears away. “If I ever see him again I’ll kill him!” It would be hours before Min and Max would call the coroner. They had to say their goodbyes, apologies, tell Caroline how much they loved her, and remember their favorite times together. Neither of the twins ever suspected something was fishy. The real reason why their wife was gone rested mere feet away inside its silent, fluffy protector.

It was dark. So very dark. There wasn’t a shred of light anyway, just total darkness. Caroline stayed put in her chair, feeling the armrests. Had she gone blind? Was that another effect? Panic struck her. Perhaps something was wrong! Maybe the poison had afflicted her body but Pamela hadn’t created it correctly so it was only going to leave her more handicapped instead of deceased. Just as she was about to start crying Caroline saw it; a white rabbit. Amidst all this darkness there was somehow, clear as day, an elegant looking white rabbit with pink eyes hopping around in front of her. Upon spotting Caroline the rabbit stood on its hind legs, nose twitching as it stared at her. Caroline remained still as it hopped up to her, placing its paws on her legs. It looked up at her expectantly, as if it wanted something from her. This was so strange… Now she was seeing rabbits? Caroline bent down to touch it. “Wait!” Caroline cried when the rabbit took off just as her fingertips were about to touch its head. Not wanting to be left in the darkness all alone Caroline sprang to her feet and took off running to chase the rabbit. It didn’t dawn on her that her limbs were moving with ease and that she was rapidly gaining speed. Closer… Closer… Closer… She was right on the rabbit’s heels. It had been decades since she’d been able to run like this! The sudden flash of bright light was so startling Caroline halted immediately, shielding her eyes. She peered in-between her fingers to see that she was in a world of nothing but white now. She lowered her hands. The rabbit was nowhere to be found as she scanned the area. In stark contrast to the total darkness it was as if she were in a white void now. She couldn’t see anything discernible but at least it was somewhat of an improvement. Wait… She squinted. There was something up ahead! A figure! It had to be a person! Hoping the other person who seemed to exist in this strange place was friendly, Caroline rushed towards them. As she neared the individual, able to make out more details, the surprise slowed her pace. It couldn’t possibly be… Dressed in a fancy, olive green suit and top hat was a friendly, familiar face that Caroline hadn’t seen in years. The last time had been when he was on his deathbed, Caroline holding his hand as he breathed his last. Ironically, or rather cruelly, the very same mind controlling technology that enabled him to become a villain had resulted in giving him an inoperable brain tumor. He’d been able to recognize Caroline before he passed, taking comfort that he hadn’t died alone. That was the only mercy he’d been given. Jervis started to bow as Caroline approached but then paused, his eyes going wide. “Curiouser and curiouser!” he uttered. “Oh my!” he gasped, straightening up when he saw Caroline running towards him at full speed. Caroline leaped into Jervis’s arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He held her close and spun her around, the two overjoyed to be reunited again. Jervis set Caroline down, grabbing both her hands to kiss to the top of them. He looked at her lovingly, sharing the large smile she had on her face. “I… I don’t believe it…” Caroline’s eyes were shining with happy tears. “Mr. Tetch, you look so good!” Downright handsome, even! “And you are truly a sight for sore eyes, my dear,” Jervis replied. “Only… I am truly perplex…” He let go of her hands and took a step back to see all of her, taking her appearance in.

“Hm?” Caroline looked down and saw that she was wearing the red outfit with a checkerboard vest that she’d initially used as her costume during her beginning days as the White Rabbit. “Oh! I’ve missed this outfit!” she was delighted. While she could never throw it out it would have been to sad to ever put it again. It seemed to still fit her nicely, however! Caroline’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why was that?

“Y-yes, but…” Jervis pointed at the side of his head, still so stunned he found it difficult to speak.

Caroline first touched her hair, discovering a long forgotten softness. She ran her fingers through it, drawing a strand in front of her face to see it was pure white. Next she inspected her ears to find they were again a rabbit’s. A look of pure contentment washed over her features. “This is… I’m back to how I wanted! But how?!”

“Carol…” Jervis said her name sympathetically as he closed the distance between them again, embracing her. “My poor Carol… Do you remember anything that transpired? Were you ill? Was there an accident? I must admit that I’m surprised to see you already as well.” Caroline was over ten years younger than him. She shouldn’t be here yet.

The poison! So it had really worked? “This isn’t a dream?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jervis answered sympathetically, unable to see the blissful smile on Caroline’s face as she rested her head against his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“…Why aren’t I burning in Hell?” Now that was truly the most puzzling thing. While it wasn’t much for scenery this place was quiet and peaceful. She felt nothing but at ease to be in the arms of a man who was likely family to her. “I… I really thought I’d never see you again…”

Jervis stroked her hair. “Interesting that there can be forgiveness and mercy for the likes of us ne’er-do-wells, eh?” This hadn’t been what he expected either after he passed. “I remember clearly what happened… No matter what we did our lives we so cruel up until the very end but you never left me. You stayed by me and now I’m here to keep you company until you can be reunited with your beloveds. I won’t let you be lonely.”

“Wait…” Had he just said…? “Then Min and Max will be here too someday? Can you promise?”

“I swear it,” Jervis answered firmly. “We shouldn’t dally here much longer. It’s meant to be a passing a point, from what I understand. There aren’t many of us here but we have each other. I anticipate that soon we‘ll have more companions.”

Before accompanying Jervis Caroline had to take one last look behind her, her old friend waiting patiently. He thought it must be harder for someone like her to accept her passing because of all that she was leaving behind. For him it had been easy; it felt wonderful to be back to when he’d been in the prime of life and free from both mental and physical illness.

He’d never understand the mixed feelings Caroline had at the moment. She thought about telling him how she died, and making him swear to never tell, but realized it was better off if it was a secret kept to and after death.

All of her pain was gone. While she wasn’t regretful Caroline wished she knew how much time had passed. Were the twins still asleep or had they discovered what happened? She knew Max would take it the hardest with Min needing to hold him together. She could almost see it.

But… They had each other. For nearly twenty six years of their life it had only been Min and Max, the identical twin brothers who never left one another’s side. Who loved one another more than anything else in the world. They would be alright. They had each other.

When the time came she’d be here waiting for them. Beautiful, young, full of energy, and with that fire inside of her that was finally re-ignited again. She’d kiss and tell them how much she missed them; they could be a family again.

Finally Caroline accepted Jervis’s arm and allowed him to escort her to their new home. She listened to him go on and on about how it was like finding Wonderland. Once Min and Max were here it sounded like Caroline would finally have that happily ever after that had seemed so out of reach for her.