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romelle · 3 years

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how you act and what you dare romellura | 3k words

the title is from this song and the fic was inspired by this princess mage and knight art made by kenzie! i got a slight bit carried away by the sunny weather while writing, though, so i’ll probably also make a short sequel that matches the vibes of the drawing a little better :-) hope u enjoy!!

As someone who has been a knight for four phoebes (and a hopeful romantic for many more), Romelle truly isn't as loud about her disappointment over not yet meeting the crown princess as she perhaps could be.

Except, of course, when she is.

"Why is she out of the kingdom, anyway?"

It is hard to understand why one would wish to leave during Altea's most delightful seasons. Spring has come and gone, but it did not take all its treasures away as it went. The fragrance of juniberries is still carried on the gentle summer breeze, and the sunlight travels joyously through the dancing leaves, settling on the bare skin of Romelle's arms. After the day's training, she has abandoned her knight armour, and her simple trousers are rolled up to her knees as she cools herself by dipping her feet into the stream.

Despite the lack of armour (or perhaps precisely because of it), her battle axe still lays in the grass beside her. As it turns out, being childhood friends with a guy who carries a dagger to sleep will leave you with some habits of your own.

"Studying alchemy, probably."

Romelle turns to look at Keith, who is leaning against a nearby tree. The boy has rid himself of his chest plate as well, but he still appears to be much more on guard than Romelle is. She tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows, only the slightest bit sceptical.

"So it is true, then? About her having magic?"

Whispers spread fast in the castle walls. They spread especially fast in the walls that contain Hunk. Romelle is still relatively new to the mysteries and intrigues of royal lives, but it took little time for rumours of the crown princess's ability to manipulate quintessence to reach her. It was a delicate matter if true, and therefore kept under the wraps by the royal family.

Romelle thought that the magic was fascinating, but she cared more for the stories Allura's friends told of the princess, and the ones she'd heard even before becoming a knight.

It was seeing her fight at one of the tournaments, after all, that made Romelle consider this path in the first place. She has always been quite self-aware, and so she can admit that fancying a princess she never met is not her most original move, but it doesn't trouble her.

Surely, there are worse vices to have.

Keith shrugs.

To an untrained eye, he might seem partial about the topic- but Romelle knows just how much he likes a mystery.

"I don't know," He admits. "But it'd make sense, right? She'd need to travel to the very outskirts of Altea to find someone who can teach her how to control it. And she'd probably want to make sure that she can use it properly before letting the world know. We all saw what happened the last time someone failed at manipulating quintessence. Unless she seems entirely sure of herself the first time she showcases her magic, the people might get restless."

"You have given this a lot of thought," Romelle teases.

"I'm just saying," Keith defends, "That's what I would do."

Romelle huffs a laugh.

Keith is one of their best knights, certainly. He's a good swordsman, agile and highly courageous. Patience and subtility, however, are not some of his many virtues.

"No, it isn't. You'd probably last two lessons before you'd have enough and try to fight Zarkon all by yourself."

"You're in no position to talk about impulsivity," His arms are crossed, but he's smiling, so she knows he didn't take it as an insult to his character. "Like you don't have detailed plans of proposing to a girl you've never met."

"We've met," Romelle says, sending him a purposefully ridiculous grin. "In my dreams."

Keith rolls his eyes.

"Here we go."

"Did you know that she once defeated four Galra knights armed with nothing but her hairpin?"

"Did you know you shouldn't believe every song you hear at the tavern?"

"Then I'll write one of my own."

"Don't."

"Of course, I'll have little to write about if I never get to meet her," She mumbles, kicking at the water and watching absently as the droplets fall back into the river. "You've been on quests with her before, though. Maybe the next time she calls on you, something might happen."

"Like what?" Keith's voice is filled with justified uncertainty.

"I don't know. Maybe and you'll slip and break your leg, and then I'll have to come in to save the day."

"You know, I think that threatening a knight might count as petty treason."

"Treasons, schmeason," She mocks, letting out as sigh when she notes that Keith does not seem very impressed. "But fine. I suppose I'll just write tragically romantic ballads about her eyes, or something of the sort. Like the ones you write about Sir Lance."

The velocity at which Keith straightens his back is really quite amusing.

"Don't call him Sir. And I never wrote any ballads about him."

"Oh, maybe not wrote. Reluctant spoken panegyrics seem to be more your style."

"You're a pain."

"See, if this were anyone else saying that, I might be offended," Romelle muses. "But knowing who else you called such names lately, I'm starting to think it might just be your way of expressing affection."

With one more burning glare, Keith swiftly pushes himself away from the tree he had been leaning against. "I'm leaving," He announces, always so resolute in his decision making. He leans down to pick up the discarded pieces of his armour, which is how Romelle knows that he's serious.

"Don't leave," Romelle insists. "I'm sorry."

There, she makes a pause- because she did make a pledge to be true upon becoming a knight, and this seems like a silly way of breaking it.

And pointless, too, since Keith most definitely sees through her.

"You're not," He says, as though he's reading her mind.

"I'm not," She agrees. "But I'll still stop if you stay."

Keith smiles, a slight quirk of his lips to let her know he isn't genuinely agitated. His hair is tied back today, and his bangs stick to his forehead from the water he splashed his face with when they first arrived. Romelle is glad to see him finally unwind a little, and she'd hate for it to end so soon.

"Relax. I'm just going to see if there's something to steal from the kitchens. I'll be back in half a varga."

Romelle does relax. This, after all, does sound like quite a reasonable ground for departure.

"In that case," She says, granting him a small, jesting courtesy by means of bowing her head. "Good luck, noble knight."

"You too," Keith says, "Don't fall into the river."

Romelle frowns.

"Why would I-"

Interrupting her train of thought with direct action, Keith gives her a push, shifting her slightly off balance and towards the water. Once she grounds herself again, she moves to slap his hand away- but he gets out of her reach easily, like the quick, slimy eel that he is.

"Now who's a pain?" Romelle shouts after him, splashing water at his fast-retreating figure.

Once all the commotion has calmed, she leans back on her arms. There is a small white mouse sitting on the grass, looking up at her outburst with curious eyes. She smiles in an attempt to convince him that she's usually really quite nice, before outstretching her palm. The mouse climbs onto it readily.

"Why hello little cutie," She coos, and then nods her head in the direction Keith ran off to. "Can you believe that guy?"

The mouse doesn't seem to be particularly interested in her troubles. Instead, he looks towards the river longingly.

"Would you like some water?" Romelle asks him, as though she truly is expecting an answer. She doesn't quite get one, but the mouse's stare doesn't waver, and so she assumes she was correct in her assumption. She sets the mouse back onto the ground, and gathers some cold water into her cupped palms. "Here you go, fair sir."

The mouse drinks gratefully, and Romelle smiles. It's a tranquil scene, with the birds chirping in the branches above them, and the soft sound of the river's flow whirring through the forest.

That is, until a voice from behind her causes Romelle's heart to leap out of her chest.

"He hardly deserves such titles after the scene he made."

Ever the one to be easily startled, Romelle loses her balance with a high pitched squeak of distress, happily mirrored by the little mouse still sitting on the shore. The river is relatively deep here, and she sinks in way over her head, freezing water enveloping her entirely.

Thankfully, it isn't so deep that she can't stand.

Regrettably, once she sees the person the voice belongs to, she nearly loses her footing all over again.

"Oh dear," princess Allura says. "My apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Frozen both literally and figuratively, Romelle finds that words might be above her current abilities. All the paintings painted and all the songs sung were splendid indeed, but none seemed to truly covey the grandeur of Allura's mere presence. In her rich purple gown and with the white curls gracefully framing her face, she looks a sight that would make any woodland fairy green with envy.

Yet Romelle is only human, and so she turns pink instead.

With some delay, she does eventually remember herself, and drops into a clumsy courtesy.

"Your highness."

It is a hard thing to do in the water. Although she's only wearing a light tunic and some trousers, the weight of the wet clothes still pulls her down considerably.

"You mustn't bow. Please get out before you catch a cold."

Romelle looks down at herself, only just registering the fact that her teeth are chattering.

She stops that immediately.

"Right, yes, smart," She rambles, rushing to climb out of the river while still preserving some dignity that she still has left. "I wasn't aware that you're coming back today, your highness."

"Allura is perfectly fine," The princess assures.

"Allura," Romelle repeats, careful with the way the name sits on her tongue.

"It was supposed to a secret until tomorrow's ceremony," She explains. "But the summer heat made Platt rather thirsty, so I took him out the carriage to get some water at the river. And I do admit I wanted to spend some time outside before they coop me up in the room for the evening."

A dreadful thought dawns on Romelle.

"How long have you been here?"

The corners of Allura's lips tug up at the question.

"A while," She answers vaguely, though her mischievous smile implies what Romelle fears. Then, she lifts her chin slightly to drive attention to the knight's wet clothes. "Are you uncomfortable that way?"

Romelle shakes her head.

"Not at all. Is there a better way to fight the heat than going for an impromptu swim?"

It is not quite the truth. The water itself might be a pleasant refreshment, but the breeze that once felt soothing to her heated skin now sends a shiver down the line of her back. The same breeze runs its' fingers through Allura's hair (softly, as though even it knows that this is a privilege) while the princess furrows her eyebrows, as though she's debating her following words.

"Would you like me to help?"

Romelle blinks at the now outstretched hand before her. She isn't confident what the offered help would be, but the proximity is too much for her to stop and wonder about it.

"Sure?"

Allura smiles encouragingly, before placing the hand on Romelle's shoulder. It takes a few ticks for Romelle to realise what's happening; to rationalise that the tingly feeling rushing through her body isn't merely a cause of being this close to the princess. She can see as the drops of water separate themselves from her clothes, floating instead around Allura's form.

Once done, Allura opens her eyes with a satisfied smile, and the drops of water fall apart like shattered crystals. Romelle feels her throat go dry at the display, but that, she supposes, isn't a cause of the magic.

She raises her hand up to her shoulder-length hair to make sure what she saw was true, twirling a strand around her finger in astonishment.

"So it's true? You do have magic?"

Allura's smile broadens. Romelle realises this might be the first time she showcased her powers to anyone outside a small circle closest to the royal family, and suddenly feeling incredibly honoured.

"You must keep it a secret until the ceremony," Allura warns, with a conscious effort to control her excitement and sober up a little. Then, she sighs wistfully. "Though I do wish I didn't have to stay in my room until then. Altea's beautiful at this time of the year."

She turns her face up to the sun as she says this, and Romelle physically feels the last of her composure crumble into a miserable heap on the ground.

"You can still go outside," She suggests, just a touch too thrilled by the idea for it to be inconspicuous. With quick and wide motions, she points at her things lying in the grass. "I could lend you my armour for disguise. They've set up the fair in the old town, there's so much to see! There's an entire display of Balmeran crystals, and the most gorgeous flowers from the Bakku gardens, and Olkari merchants brought these wonderful-"

"Armour in this heat?" Allura asks, voice lit by amusement. "I don't think it'd be quite practical."

Romelle quickly lets her arms drop down to her sides.

Of course, this would happen. She only just met the princess, and she already made a complete fool of herself.

"You're right," She says, with a curt nod. "I apologise; I'm sure you're very busy, in any case."

Allura, though, merely shakes her head. A small smile is still present on her lips.

"That wasn't a no."

"It... wasn't?"

"Well, no to the armour, sure," Allura allows. "But I always wanted to see the Balmera crystals. And I certainly have lighter disguises in the castle, if you'll accompany me." Her grin becomes boarder now. "No knights have to break any bones."

Oh no.

Romelle clears her throat, quite obviously embarrassed.

"So. You heard that."

"Maybe so," Allura admits, "It's still a bit early for a proposal, but it'd only be responsible that I take a knight with me to the fair."

The knight in question only looks at her, thoroughly confused.

"But you shouldn't be at the fair in the first place?"

"I am attempting to flirt with you," Allura clarifies, and the words barely conceal the chuckles threatening to fall out. "But perhaps all that time spent in the forest has made me a bit rusty?"

"Oh," Romelle says, head whirring at the realisation. "Oh! No, you're doing great. Wonderful job. Please, do carry on."

Allura does chuckle now, and Romelle swears that all the birds in the forest stop in their song.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Romelle says, before gesturing to her things. "I should pick these up before we go."

The princess gives a slight, regal nod of her head. As Romelle leans down to pick up her weapon and armour, she speaks up again.

"By the way, the rumour about how I took out four Galra knights with nothing but a hairpin is entirely untrue. There were at least seven of them."

For a few ticks, Romelle is very much silent.

Then, she looks up at Allura with exaggerated solemnity.

"I don't care if it's too early. Please marry me."

Allura laughs, eyes shining with mirth.

"Let us see how the evening goes," She plays along. "And then we'll decide."

As far as wake-up calls go, rising out of bed at small hours of the night to answer the furious knocking at your door ranks relatively low. Still, after the evening she has had, Romelle's good mood is near impenetrable.

She taps barefoot to the door, her white sleeping gown slipping down one of her shoulders, likely because of how hastily she had tied it. Though her eyes are bleary and the smile she answers the doors with is tired, it is also almost blindingly when bright compared to the darkness surrounding it.

"Hi, Keith!"

Keith does not answer with a smile of his own. His eyebrows are furrowed in what could be either anger or worry, face lit up only by a candlestick in his right hand. Despite such late hours, his left hand rests at the dagger that he keeps at his side.

"Are you alright?" He asks, examining her state hurridly. "You weren't there when I came back, and at first I assumed that you just got bored waiting, but then you weren't at dinner either and-"

He pauses.

Romelle yawns. She does feel slightly guilty for making him so worried, somewhere in the back of her sleep clouded mind, but she's also not nearly awake enough to process that feeling as she knows that she should.

Thankfully, Keith seems to have moved on to other revelations.

"What is that on your neck?"

Romelle looks down, as though seeing her own neck would be possible even in board daylight. It doesn't quite matter, though. She knows precisely what he's referring to, and when she answers, she is perhaps just a tiny bit too smug about it.

"So. I've met the princess."

Keith looks at her. Removes his hand from his dagger. Drags it down his face instead.

"Romelle. Tell me you didn't."

She's definitely too smug about it.

"Some of us don't waste time on pining," She says, offering him a lazy side shrug. Her sleeping gown falls further down her shoulder at the movement, revealing two more similar marks.

Through the fingers covering his face, Keith sighs defeatedly.

"Should I even ask for your first impression?"

Romelle's smug look instantly melts into something much softer. She thinks of the way Allura's eyes lit up upon seeing the Balmera crystals, and the way she gleefully sought to find the loveliest fabric among hundreds, only to gift it to Romelle. She thinks of how gently she kissed her, how cleverly she talked, and how being the reason behind her laughter might be the sweetest feeling of them all.

There is no hesitation present in her voice. When she speaks, it is only affection that colours her every syllable.

"That it's true, what they say."

"What is?"

Soft hand in her own, quiet whispers in her ear.

Romelle smiles.

"She's definitely magical."

#voltron #romellura #vld allura #vld romelle #vld keith #klance #it's very minor but i will take the attention thanks!#vld fic #voltron fic #lumi.fic #txt

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

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Beautifully Beastly

Reader X Draco

Summary: It’s over ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and you stumble upon an old classmate and his son. Soon you find yourself in a large house, tutoring a young protege, and acquiring feelings for his father...?

A/n: Okay, so this is the cutest thing in the world. I changed cannon of course, but isn’t that the point of fanfiction? Anyway, I know I tortured you guys with the last chapter of my Hufflepuff!Reader series, so here’s a cute one shot with a brooding older Draco and a lively Scorpius who just wants to learn everything. I love you guys so so much, let me know what you think!!

“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” I asked, pausing at the park bench.

The same white blond hair was not longer and tied back at the nape of his neck. I would have mistaken him as Lucius if I didn’t linger. He had grown into his features, his eyes still the same piercing blue. It had to have been maybe ten years since I had seen Draco last. They were memories I didn’t dwell on often.

“Y/n,” Recognition flirted across his face. “What... what are you doing here?”

“It’s a park?” A smile found its way to my lips. “I come here to clear my head,”

He nodded, as if in understanding.

“So, what are you doing here?” I mused.

“I’m here with my son,”

“Son?” I was surprised. “I didn’t know you had a kid,” my eyes scanned the park and narrowed in on a little boy with white blond hair. “Should have known though,” I smiled. “His mother?” I sat on the opposite side of the bench.

“Died when he was seven months,” His eyes stayed on his son’s playful form in the distance.

“Sorry,” I offered, wrapped my arms around my midriff.

“It’s fine,” His lips pressed into a tight line, letting me know that it was not fine.

“I hear you’re a Head Auror,” I tried to keep pleasant conversation. “Brought in a lot of his followers,”

He didn’t comment. His jaw clenched and he kept a cool mask on his features. He clenched his left fist and drew it to himself almost defensively. I heard a lot of other things about Draco as well over the years. It was hard to escape the politics and news of the Wizarding World, but I knew Draco better than a news article, even if I hadn’t seen him in a decade—which spoke to how much the papers knew.

“Where did you end up?” He asked finally.

“Um, well, I’m a writer. Historian.” I clarified. “It’s been a lot of work lately trying to get everything written correctly. So many biased petty people wanting to get their two cents in,” I scoffed, my thoughts drawing to Skeeter, who still wouldn’t retire.

“Historian?” He mused. “So, you’re well versed in a lot of topics then?”

“I guess, yeah. McGonagall sent me a letter not too long ago asking me to come and teach. I... I couldn’t bear to think going back...” I looked down at my hands. “That place still haunts me.”

“Are you for hire though?”

That caught my attention.

“Hire?” I pressed, my brows quirking together.

“Private tutor, for Scorpius.” Draco nodded towards his son. “I’ve been looking for someone to come and start his schooling.”

“You want me to tutor your son?” I asked, quite shocked.

“You’d have lodging at the Manor, and all the books and supplies you needed, as well as a salary,”

I gaped at him. “Okay...?” I finally got out.

It took about a week, but soon I was moved into the Manor with access to the library wing, and the rest of the house as I pleased. The house elves had orders to answer to me as if I was there mistress—even though I hated the notion and protested.

Scorpius was hesitant around me for a few days, until he caught me practicing spells. He was delighted to see even a bit of magic, and I wondered if Draco ever did magic in front of his song. Draco gave me a vague outline of what he wanted me to cover with Scorpius, leaving a lot of it up to me. Which was for better or worse, the best mistake he could have made.

Draco seemed to realize that when he came home one evening and Scorpius and I were in the front lawn, covered in bowtruckles. The little boy was laughing joyously, playing with the small plant creatures. Draco started to yell, but seeing his son laugh, he paused and gave me a cold look before heading inside. I rolled my eyes at him and brought Scorpius inside to wash up for dinner.

“If you have something to say to me,” I baited, leaning against his study door jam.

“No,” He said curtly, his back to me as he leaned against his desk. “He should be well versed in herbology,”

I made an exasperated gesture and let it drop.

A few months passed, and I spent the days teaching Scorpius anything and everything. I had the weekends off, but still didn’t mind taking the young Malfoy to the park or lake or wherever else he wanted to go. Sometimes Draco accompanied us, sometimes he’d be gone weeks on end on a case. In those long periods of time I did my best to keep Scorpius happy. I taught him how to bake cookies and other sweets. I read to him bedtime stories, both muggle and wizarding—after getting a pinky promise from Scorpius that he wouldn’t tell his father.

There were some nights that Draco and I spent together, not intentionally. But he’d be in the library, reading from a pile of large old books, and I’d flit around, finding the material I wanted. Sometimes I’d ask him for a certain book, and he’d raise the one in his hands. It was always left on my desk in the morning.

A few nights I’d find him asleep in his large chair, the book that was in his lap fallen onto the floor. I’d pick up the book and drape an afghan around his shoulders. Neither of us mentioned it.

We shared tea and coffee in the early mornings before he was off to work and I had been up all night reading, our internal clocks aligning for no more than a quarter hour.

After seeing Scorpius to bed, one night in late November, I retired to my own room, picking up my book, continuing to read. The hours slipped away, and I was forced to stop reading and turn in for the night. It was a silent night... almost.

My eyelashes flickered open at the nudging on my arm. I met a teary eyed blond little boy.

“M-miss Y/n? I-I had a nightmare and d-dad’s not h-home,” He hiccupped, trying to hold back further tears.

I was immediately alert and awake, a gentle smile on my face. The light from the hall softly lit the room. I scooched back in the bed and held up the covers.

“Well, come on,” I encouraged. “It’s alright,”

Scorpius hurried under the duvet and curled up to my side without hesitation. My arms draped around him and my hands stoked his hair softly. I had no idea what I was doing, but it seemed to calm the young Malfoy.

“Nightmares, huh?” I asked softly and he nodded into my shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret?” Starling blue eyes met mine shining with tears and hope.

“There’s a way to beat nightmares,” I smiled widely and pulled my wand from under the pillow. “It’s called a Patronus,”

With practiced movements I casted the charm and a silvery ferret emerged from my wand. My eyebrows furrowed. The last time I casted the charm, it was a housecat. The ferret, however, bounced around in the air, circling around the room before hovering in front of Scorpius.

“You have a Patronus, Scorpius,” I let the charm fall, tucking my wand back away. “And it’s always protecting you,”

“But I can’t do magic,” The little boy pouted. “I don’t even have a wand.”

“A Patronus isn’t cast by a wand,” I watched confusion fall upon his face. “It lives inside you, in your happiest memories. And it always protects you.”

The little boy nodded, and I went back to stroking his hair softly.

“I miss daddy,” He mumbled.

“I know sweetheart,” I sighed softly. “But he’s out there protecting you too. He takes down bad wizards who want to hurt you and everyone else,”

“People say that daddy is a bad wizard,” Scorpius was almost scared to say it.

I took a sharp breath in and exhaled slowly.

“I grew up with your dad,” I told him, rubbing his back. “And he made some... difficult choices. We all did. His choices didn’t work out so well, and people hold it against him. But we were just kids,” I sighed softly thinking of my last few years at Hogwarts. “I should have done something...” Shaking the thought I looked back down to Scorpius. “But your daddy loves you. So much Scorpius, and though it may not seem like it, you’re his entire world.”

He nodded into my shoulder again, and I pulled the covers around him. His eyes had a hard time staying open. I smiled, running my fingers through his hair still. Humming an old lullaby, we were both calmed to sleep.

“Scorpius!?” A harsh worried voice called.

My hand went to my wand as I cradled Scorpius protectively watching Draco burst in through the door. We both seemed to relax at the sight of the other. Scorpius stirred in my arms, blinking up at me sleepily.

“Nightmare?” Draco asked softly, kneeling beside my bed, reaching out to stroke his son’s head.

I nodded and uncurled my arms from around him, letting him cling to his father, he was now wrapped up in Draco’s arms. Draco disappeared from the room for a few minutes then returned. I sat up, turning on the lamp.

“I’m sorry about that,” Draco looked at the floor. “He’s been having a hard time lately.”

I nodded. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” There was a weight in Draco’s eyes.

“Dray,” I called. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, long day, that’s all,” He rubbed his face. “One too many hexes... we got him though,”

“That’s good,” There was a silence that hung around us.

“How did you get him to calm down?” Draco asked, changing the topic. “It takes me at least an hour,”

“Patronus Charm,” I smiled. “And an old muggle lullaby,” I tacked on.

“Are you contaminating my son with muggle things?” The words were harsh, but there was a smile at Draco’s lips.

“A bit,” I smiled back. “He loves you Draco,” I confessed to my duvet after a moment.

He nodded and leaned against the door jam, his eyes slipping closed. I called his name and his eyes snapped back open. He grumbled a goodnight and lumber down the hall. I shrugged mentally and spent the next hour staring at the ceiling trying to figure out why my Patronus had changed all of a sudden.

It was a few nights later and I was awoken again, this time by muffled screams and cries. I sprang from my bed, wand in hand, Lighting Charm casted as I tore down the hall. The sounds were coming from Draco’s room. I barged in and saw him thrashing on the bed.

Nightmares must have been a commonality in the Malfoy household.

“Draco!” I called, setting down my wand and shaking his shoulder. “Draco! Wake up!”

His eyes didn’t flash open. He didn’t seem to notice me.

“Daddy?” A small voice called from the door.

“Scorpius go get me a glass of water, please,” I threw the task at the young boy to get him out of the room. He scurried off.

“Come on, Draco,” I whispered, throwing back the sheets. “You can beat this,”

Grabbing my wand, I went through a mental list of spells that might wake him up, but I took the notion after dealing with Scorpius’ nightmares and casted my Patronus. The ferret instantly soared towards Draco, diving into his chest and disappearing. I stared, awaiting.

“Draco?” I asked again, sitting beside him on the bed. Hesitantly, I reached out and took his hand. “Please wake up Draco,” I pleaded softly. “It’s just a dream,”

Blue eyes flashed open and wrestled me to the ground, wand under my throat, a wild look in his eyes. I raised my hands in surrender, raising my eyebrows at him.

“It’s me,” I soothed. “It’s just me,”

Draco groaned and released me, rubbing his face. He sat on the floor, leaning against the bed frame. I sat next to him. We didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say. The patter of little feat had us both looking at Scorpius enter the room, glass of water in his shaking hands. He offered it to me, and I passed it to Draco who downed it instantly.

“Are you okay daddy?” Scorpius asked meekly.

“Yeah, I’m okay bud,” He nodded. “Just a dream,”

“Don’t you have a Patronus like Miss Y/n? She says it protects you from nightmares,”

“It’s okay sweetheart,” I smiled tiredly. “I let him use mine tonight,” Standing, I lifted the little boy into my arms. “Let’s get back to bed, huh?”

It took a while, but Scorpius did finally settle down enough for me to feel comfortable to leave him—it did require a bit of spell work. A simple spell that left his bedroom ceiling reflecting the starry night outside—what my parents used to do for me. Another soft muggle lullaby and the stars beckoned the young Malfoy to sleep.

When I turned to leave, Draco was waiting for me in the hallway. Something gripped my heart when I saw the brushed away tears on his face. Without thinking, I wrapped him in my arms, pulling him close. He didn’t push me away. Instead he clung to me, the same way that Scorpius did.

My hands laced into his long silvery hair, carding through it. He pressed his face into my shoulder—having to hunch himself down to accomplish the feat—and inhaled deeply.

Before I wanted him to, he pulled away. Again, we didn’t say anything. Deciding that I wasn’t going to leave Draco on his own either tonight, I took his hand and led him back to my room. He didn’t protest. I nodded to the bed and got in on one side and he got in on the other. There was a tension between us that dissolved when I reached out for his hand in the moonlight.

“Has your Patronus always been a ferret?” He asked softly.

“It was a cat up until recently,” I confessed.

We fell back into silence and remained like that until my eyelids became too heavy to open again.

“Thank you,” Was the last thing I heard before being pulled under.

In the morning, he was gone. I expected it though, he had to work at the Ministry. It was the entire point of my being at the Manor, to watch after Scorpius while his father worked. That and tutor him, but that was become less of a priority the more time I spent with the small family.

That night, however, I was on the verge of sleep when I heard my bedroom door open. A familiar silhouette slunk through the darkness, padding across the wooden floor. A small smile grew on my face as Draco slipped into bed next to me, lying very still. My heart raced. I rolled onto my back and we both stared at the ceiling in silence. Our soft breaths were the only thing heard. His hand reached for mine in the darkness.

He was gone again in the morning. I sighed and sat up, rubbing my face. My feelings were confusing themselves as questions swarmed in my mind. Draco was home for dinner that night. Scorpius went on and on about the day we had: I introduced him to Latin.

“They’re just like spells!” He exclaimed. “Miss Y/n showed me!”

“You know Latin?” Draco looked at me.

“Spent a few semesters at a muggle college learning it,” I shrugged. “Some records only have copies written in it.”

He didn’t comment.

I retired to my room early that night, worrying my lip the entire evening, trying to figure out what was going on. It was all so confusing. Sometimes I thought I saw something in Draco and he in me, but... what did I know?

Draco was preparing for another long-term case. It was only a week. Scorpius tried not to cry in front of his father, but later the young Malfoy ran to me in tears. I lifted him into my arms and rocked him softly. I began to sing another muggle lullaby, a new one. It caught his attention as he calmed to listen to my new melody.

“How do you know all of these songs?” He asked with watery eyes.

“I used to get scared too,” I confided in him as I laid him into bed. “Sometimes I still do. They’re another secret to keep from being afraid.”

“But where do they come from?” He asked.

I smiled and pulled his covers up. “That... is something I’ll have to talk to your father about. It’s complicated,”

“Why?”

“Because they’re all muggle songs,” I explained softly. “And your father is...”

“Against muggles?” Scorpius frowned.

“No,” I responded immediately. “But though I teach you, I don’t have liberty to tell you everything my dear,”

“Why not?”

“Because...” I sighed. I’m not your mother.

“It’s complicated?” Scorpius gave a familiar smirk that once belonged to his father.

“Quite so,” I replied and stood. “I’ll talk to him before he leaves.”

“Night Miss Y/n,”

“Goodnight Scorpius,”

I closed his door and leaned against it for a moment before finding my courage to go and find Draco. I found him packing in his study, gathering books and various magical items. I knocked on the door frame.

“Yes?” He didn’t look up.

How was I supposed to start this conversation?

“Y/n?” This time he did look up, worry in his blue eyes. “What’s wrong?” He set down his bag and came over to me. “Is Scorpius alright?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” I answered quickly. “He... Am I allowed to show him muggle movies?” The question was barely audible.

Draco’s expression sobered as he went back to his desk.

“They’re just fairytales, Draco.” I reasoned softly. “Just stories...”

“And they were just lullabies,” He snapped. “I should have stopped you the first time you sang to him... muggle songs... my son wanting to hear muggle songs... and movies...”

It was like a slap to the face. I took a small step back. Maybe I had been wrong, and Draco was still against muggles.

��If they’re so awful, why didn’t you stop me?” I snapped. “You had every chance to stop me.”

“I’m stopping you now,” His voice was ice.

“You can’t do that,” I argued back. “He wants to know!”

“I do as I please! I am his father! You work for me! You will do as I say!” He threw down a book and stormed over to me, fury written on his face.

“Then I resign,” I bit out.

He faltered and froze.

“What?”

“You heard me,” I tilted my chin back. “I will not be treated like a child. And I will not keep secrets from yours. He deserves more than that,” My voice was calm and even.

“And what do you know about what he deserves!?” Draco spat. “He isn’t your child! You aren’t his mother!”

“I know that!” I yelled back, tears in my eyes.

I turned away, covering my face, biting back the tears that wanted to fall. I took a deep breath.

“I’ll stay until you return, for Scorpius’ sake.” I gritted out. “Then I’m gone,”

I ran down the halls of the Manor and slammed my door shut, locking it childishly. Then I broke down into tears, leaning against it. I quieted when I heard footsteps coming down the hallway. They lingered outside my door but made no attempt to knock or open the door.

The next morning, he was gone.

Scorpius noticed my somber mood almost immediately. He asked me why I was sad. Then he asked me what I fought with his father about, bursting into tears when I told him that I was leaving within the week.

“But you can’t go Miss Y/n!” He sobbed, crawling into my lap. I bit back tears and cradled him close.

“I have to,” A few tears escaped. “But that doesn’t mean I love you any less,” I stroked his face softly, brushing away tears. “But I can’t keep things from you, and your father won’t let me teach them to you. I can’t do that to you my darling,”

“I don’t care! I don’t want you to go!” He clung to me.

“Scorpius, darling,” I tried to reason with a four-year-old.

“No! I won’t let you go!” He cried.

I held him close, hiding my face from him so that he didn’t have to see me cry. I started to whisper out another song. It quieted his crying once more but didn’t stop my own. He slept with me every night that week. I knew it wasn’t a smart idea, but I couldn’t seem to get out the word ‘no.’

There was a loud crack in the foyer while I was teaching Scorpius how to write his letters—he had a habit of mixing up runes and letters. I rose, knowing the sound of apperating and rushed down the hall. Draco was lain on the floor, scantly breathing and bleeding, severely.

I froze at the sight and turned, catching Scorpius in my arms and ushering him away from the sight.

“Scorpius, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” I set him down, kneeling in front of him. “In my room there’s a green carpet bag with purple flowers on it. I need that bag. Please Scorpius,”

He nodded and took off up the stairs and I rose, shedding my cardigan and rolling up my sleeves. I hurried over to Draco, kneeling beside him, drawing my wand.

“Medicari,” I chanted, running my wand over his slain skin.

The gashes on his skin vanished, but he still looked deathly.

“Draco? Draco can you hear me!?” I fought back tears, lifting his head softly, placing it in my lap.

Scorpius came in, my bag in his arms. I thanked him and ripped the bag open. He took his father’s hand, silent tears on his face as a house elf showed up behind him.

“Get out!” I shouted at the elf, drawing a vial from my bag: Elixir of Life. “Just one drop,” I whispered softly to myself.

Uncapping the bottle, I took the dropper and placed it to Draco’s lips that were parted, scarce breaths drawing through them. Just one drop.

Slowly Draco became less a sickly green and restored back to the beautiful pale complexion. His breathing became deeper, healthier. His lips were no linger blue, but the soft pink color they had always been. His eyes remained closed, however.

“Daddy?” Scorpius asked softly.

“He’ll be fine,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

My eyes trailed over his body, making sure I hadn’t missed anything else, and I noticed that his shirt sleeve had been torn and the Dark Mark was opaque black and surrounded by red and irritated skin.

“Death Eaters,” I hissed. “Scorpius, come here,” I opened my arms and the little boy ran to me. I held him protectively and drew my wand, casting Protective and Shielding Charms around the Manor.

“What are Death Eaters?” Scorpius asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” I murmured softly. “Just stay close for now.” My eyes kept darting around the room, expecting to see the dead walk again and my old nightmares come back to haunt me.

“Are you still gonna leave?” Scorpius sniffled, his tears staring to fall again.

“No, sweetheart,” I consoled. “I’m not leaving you on your own.”

I was decided in that moment. It didn’t matter what Draco said to me or ordered me to do. I would stay for Scorpius’ sake. Even if that meant laying aside my pride. I would stay.

With the dreadful feeling that Draco might not wake up soon, I called a house elf—whom I apologized to upon seeing—and had her apparate Draco up to his room, and into bed. Scorpius was glued to my side the entire evening. The house elf came in later with soup and tea for dinner as well as a bowl of water and washcloth.

After dinner, Scorpius fell asleep in my lap. I gently laid him on the chaise lounge that was next to the bed and covered him with an extra blanket. Then I took the water and washcloth and began my task.

I took my time and gently washed the sweat and grim from Draco’s face, moving to his neck and arms. He looked peaceful like this. Years of harsh and cold looks were gone. Instead I found something reminiscent of a young boy at Hogwarts evident in his features. Without knowing it, I began to sing softly.

I unbuttoned Draco’s black shirt and continued to wash away the dried blood and dirt. It was a slow process, but it gave me something to focus on; rather than the crippling anxiety that loomed over me. My fingertips traced old scars that littered his chest in an abstract pattern. I wondered how many of them he had to mend alone...

I sat on the floor, leaning against the bedframe and tried to read my book, but failed. I just stared at the fire in the hearth and sang absentmindedly. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed three o’clock.

“Y/n?” A scratchy groggy voice called.

I sprang up and met tired blue eyes.

“Merlin, Draco,” I cried, tears springing into my eyes as I crouched beside him stroking his face.

He tried to sit up and I aided him, tears streaming silently down my face.

“Don’t do that to me!” I squeaked, cupping his face between my hands, sitting on the bed. “What were you thinking!?”

“I-I’m sorry,” He stammered, shocked at my cry of emotion.

I drew him into a tight embrace and buried my face in his shoulder. Tentatively his arms wrapped around me. After a moment, they started to rub my back as I cried into his shoulder.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” I confessed through tears.

“No, never,” His vow baffled me.

I withdrew and studied him, confusion and heart break on both of our faces.

“I’m sorry,” He took my hand in his. “It was wrong for me to yell at you like that. Or to say the things I did. Please, don’t leave. Even if you can’t stand to be near me, nor say another word to me again, Scorpius needs you,” A pause. “...I need you.”

Saddened blue eyes met mine and I pressed my lips to his without a second thought. His lips melded to mine instantly as he drew me into his arms. My hands went to his hair, knotting themselves into his long locks. His lips were hot and desperate against mine—mine even more so against his.

“Daddy?”

We quickly parted, both of our attentions snapping to a sleepy Scorpius.

“Why are you kissing Miss Y/n?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. “And why is she in your lap?”

After a moment of shock, I dissolved into laughter, hiding my face in Draco’s shoulder. I felt him shake with laughter too. One of Draco’s hands left my waist, beckoning Scorpius into our embrace. It took a bit of finagling, but soon we were all laying on the bed, Scorpius tucked between Draco and me. Draco pulled a blanket around us, pressing kisses to Scorpius’ head and to my forehead. My fingers combed through Scorpius’ hair as I watched him fall asleep to the soft melody that fell from my lips.

When I was positive that he was asleep, my gaze shifted to nervous blue eyes. I searched for answers, for an explanation. Draco seemed to pick up on that.

“They... Polyjuice Potion,” He started. “It was you; they were you... I... Merlin, Y/n,” He reached out and took my hand. “It was a living nightmare... your screams... they wouldn’t advance... it was days before...”

“Stars, Draco,” My heart broke at the picture that he was piecing together for me.

I could only imagine if the roles had been switched and it was Draco that I had heard screaming from pain and torture for days... not being able to do anything... trying to prove to myself it wasn’t real... What would I have done?

“You went in alone,” I realized. “You... Draco, what were you thinking? You could have been killed!” I whispered harshly, careful not to wake Scorpius.

“I... They weren’t going to take away someone else that I cared for. I wasn’t going to sit by and watch it happen,” His voice was firm and sure.

I reached out and stroked his face softly, his eyes connecting with mine. Nothing was said but everything was meant. It was moments like these that my regrets shone the most. I should have done more in school... I should have done something...

“I was going to stay anyway,” I confessed, my gaze dropping down to the young Malfoy. “I couldn’t leave him like that.”

“You... you would have let me order you around... for the sake of my son?” Draco’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes,” I whispered softly. “And I still will, if that’s what it takes.”

My eyes met his again. There were tears in them.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Draco whispered softly.

I smiled and shook my head softly.

“It’s never about what we deserve, but what we do in spite of it,”

We fell asleep, the three of us, curled up and clinging to each other. It was peaceful, for once. When I awoke in the morning, I was alone. Frantically I looked around for Scorpius but relaxed when I heard laughter and a loud clatter downstairs.

Snagging Draco’s house coat, I made my way downstairs to find Draco and Scorpius in the kitchen, in various states of disaster. Scorpius was covered in what looked like flour—Draco not faring much better—and the kitchen counters were covered with pretty much every baking utensil and dish that the Malfoy’s owned. It was very hard not to laugh. So, I did.

“Scourgify,” I snapped my fingers and the kitchen began to return to a less chaotic state of being.

Scorpius marveled at the wandless magic as everything was placed in its proper order. I carefully made my way over to the two Malfoys, avoiding dishes and pans that floated around in a hurry to find their proper homes.

“Good morning,” I drawled, raising an eyebrow at Draco.

“He insisted we make pancakes the muggle way because someone taught him,” He raised an eyebrow back at me.

“I almost remember how to do it Miss Y/n!” Scorpius cut in between us, pulling at my hand.

Chuckling, I pulled him up into my arms and set him on the counter. Then I went around and gathered what was actually necessary to make pancakes. Draco watched quietly, offering things I needed before I could ask for them. His gaze and hands always lingered when they were upon me, and it left me a bit redder than I cared to admit.

With breakfast on the small kitchen table, coffee and tea brewed—a glass of milk for Scorpius— we ate in the company of one another. Draco started to chide Scorpius about the amount of syrup he was using, and I gave Draco an amused look and he refrained, sighing and reading the Daily Prophet. (It meant having to give Scorpius a bath afterwards because of the sticky mess, but it was worth it).

“How did you do it?” Draco asked as we walked the grounds, Scorpius chasing the wild peacocks.

“Do what?” I asked, eyeing a peacock that was getting a bit too aggressive for my taste.

“Last night,” He gave, but I still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted me to explain. “you saved my life. I know about every spell and potion out there... how did you do it so quickly?”

“Elixir of Life,” I paused and teetered my head. “Sort of. It’s the juice of the Fire-Flowers that grow in the Mountains of the Sun. Cures any illness and injury... as long as the person still has breath.”

“That what of what?”

I laughed. “Historian, remember?” I nudged his side. “You learn a few things. I think I have what’s left of it... no one has been able to find the flowers or the mountain any longer.”

“What did you go and waste it on me for then?” He exclaimed.

“Um, you were dying?” I argued back. “It wasn’t a waste.”

“I’m hardly worth keeping alive,”

“That’s not true,” I refuted stubbornly. “You mean so much to Scorpius, and to me for that matter. What would either of us do without you?” I looked to Scorpius who had a peacock feather in his hand, waving it proudly. We both waved back.

“He’d be fine. He’s strong,”

“He’s four, Draco,” I snapped. “He doesn’t need to be strong; he needs to be a kid.”

Draco pursed his lips and sighed. “Suppose you’re right,” He finally admitted. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing this right...”

“There is no right way to raise someone, Draco,” Then mended, “Okay, there’s no one certain way that you have to raise someone. And I think you’re doing just fine with him. He’s a great kid, Dray,”

“Miss Y/n! Look what I found!” Scorpius ran over, a small bowtruckle in his hand.

“Look at that!” I crouched down. “But you better go put him back, he needs to be with his family,”

The little boy nodded and ran back into the yard, crouching down beside a bush. Our conversation of the matter seemed to end there. Draco was called back into work and Scorpius and I remained outside for the rest of the evening. When he returned later that evening, Scorpius was fast asleep in bed and I was staring at the family portraits in the great room. Though the figures moved, they gave me no guidance on what to do. Draco came and stood beside me, gazing at the paintings as well.

“She was beautiful,” I whispered softly, looking at the painting of Draco, Astoria, and an infant Scorpius. “With more courage than a lion,”

Draco nodded and stared at his late wife. I gnawed at my lip and sighed softly.

“Sometimes I wonder how things would have changed if she was still here,” Draco confessed to the painting. “If they would have...”

“Well, you wouldn’t need me,” I smiled sadly.

“And why not?” He turned to me, confusion on his features. “Scorpius would still need a teacher,”

“But we never would have met in the park that day. It wouldn’t be me here...” My gaze shifted back to the portrait.

He went quiet at that, and with a deep breath, bid me goodnight and retired to his room for the rest of the evening. I gave the paintings one last glimpse and turned in myself. I was alone that night, not getting much sleep.

We fell back into an odd sort of routine as December ended. I attempted to keep my emotions for Draco under control as I continued to teach his son. I may have failed at the notion completely. I had convinced Draco to throw a small party for Scorpius for his fifth birthday and though it was only the three of us as well as Narcissa and Lucius, the youngest Malfoy was the happiest five- year-old in the world.

“Miss Y/l/n,” Narcissa gestured for me to join her in a quiet sitting room.

Setting down my plate of homemade cake—that I showed Scorpius how to make upon his request and pouting—I followed her. Anxiety grew in my chest as we sat by the warm hearth.

“It’s my understanding that you are tutoring my grandson,” She said softly.

“Yes ma’am,” I nodded, fidgeting with my sweater.

“And that you care deeply for my son,” She gave me a knowing look.

I pressed my lips together and stared at the crackling fire.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” I repeated my mantra. “I can’t...”

“And why not?” My eyes snapped up at hers, a startled look on my face as she continued. “Draco has been through a lot, and I cannot change the past. Astoria aided him through some of it, setting him back on his feet, but you my dear, have brought back life to my son’s eyes.”

“Mrs. Malfoy,” I started, but she raised her hand to stop me.

“I understand if you do not wish to take on the family name, nor commit to a very broken man.”

“That’s not the issue,” I amended quickly. “I... I don’t know if Draco is ready... Sometimes I think yes, then other times I don’t know what’s going through his head... and I don’t want to lose him or Scorpius if I’m wrong...”

“We are never truly ready for anything my dear,” Narcissa spoke softly, reminiscing. “But I know my son, and I know that he has changed so much since you’ve been around. Do not be afraid of not being ready, it’s when true character shines through,” She rose elegantly and gave me a warm smile. “You are good for him,”

“Everything alright in here?” Draco stood in the doorway, a curious look on his face. I did my best to offer an encouraging smile.

“Yes, quite,” His mother smiled and swept out of the room with the grace of a swan.

I stood and readjusted the shawl around my shoulders. Draco’s eyes didn’t leave me as I walked over to him. He was still waiting for me to explain.

“It’s nothing,” I smiled and looked down. “We just talked about Scorpius and his studies, that’s all,” It was an easy lie, and I knew that he could see through it, but he didn’t call me out on it.

“Miss Y/n! Look! Daddy got me a book! Just like yours!” Scorpius bounded over to me, a thick leather-bound book in his hands.

“Isn’t that wonderful!” I beamed, bending down, examining the book’s cover.

Walt Disney’s Classic Storybook Collection: Volume Three

Shock flitted across my emotions as I looked up at Draco, my eyebrows drawing together.

“They’re just fairytales,” He offered a lopsided smile and a small shrug.

I couldn’t stop the smile on my face or the warmth in my heart that grew. I rose, giving Scorpius his book back and went over to Draco.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered softly. “I told you, it was alright.”

“You were right, Y/n,” He spoke in a hushed tone. “He deserves to know, and he deserves to be a kid,” He pulled me beside him, nodding to his son that played with a mix of muggle and magic toys on the floor, Lucius eyeing him warily and Narcissa beaming.

I leaned against Draco and watched Scorpius play in the firelight, pondering what Narcissa had told me. Was I really the one that brought life back into this small family? Could Draco hold the same regard for me as I did for him?

With his arm wrapped around my side, keeping me close, I thought that just maybe he could.

The night after Narcissa and Lucius had gone, Scorpius begged me to read from his new book as a bedtime story. I gave in and opened the gold leaf pages and skimmed the table of contents. I chose a familiar tale: Peter Pan.

“Is one of your songs from this story?” Scorpius asked, his eyes shining.

“Not this one, no,” I smiled. “But we’ll get to those, I promise,”

He nodded and settled in as I began to read the fairytale. Scorpius was fast asleep before Peter saved Wendy from the mermaids. I closed the book and set it on his bedside table, smiling and leaving his room, the door cracked open. Draco was in his study, hunched over a book on his desk, deeply focused. Passing the room, I headed to the kitchen and made two cups of tea before returning. Setting one on his desk next to him, I stood behind him, leaning against his desk chair.

He murmured a thanks and didn’t look up from the book. Gathering my courage, I sat my mug down as well.

“Draco, can we talk?” I bit my lip and looked down.

His blue eyes looked up from the book, his eyebrows raised, waiting for me to continue. I took a deep breath. Hopefully this conversation would go better than the last time we ‘talked.’

“I... have had a wonderful time, here over the past year, with you and Scorpius,” I began. He sighed.

“I understand,” There was an air of melancholy in his voice.

“You do?” I wondered what he was referring to or if we were on the same page. It seemed like we weren’t.

“You wish to leave,” His gaze didn’t meet mine. “You tried, and it didn’t work, I understand.”

“What?” I took a small step back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Where in the world did you get an idea like that?” I paused. “Do you want me to leave?” My voice was as small as I felt in that moment.

“No,” He confessed softly.

“Then what do you want?” His eyes flashed to mine.

“The truth?” He seemed nervous and afraid. I nodded. “I... I don’t...” He pursed his lips together and stood, his back to me, like it would make it easier. “I don’t sleep well when you’re not beside me. I don’t go a day at work without thinking about you. I feel the same need to protect you as I do with Scorpius.

“You understand my son in a way I’ll never comprehend, and I see you in him more and more every day. I’ve given you everything I can, and I still fear it’s not enough to make you want to stay. Because I’ve spent months trying to deny and conceal what I feel about you from you and myself and I can’t do it anymore.”

I gaped at him.

“And maybe keeping you away will keep you safe,” He whispered.

I rounded his desk and reached out, placing my hand on his shoulder. He turned, desperation in his eyes. I reached up and stroked his cheek softly.

“I love you Y/n,” As if the notion broke him.

“I love you too, Draco,”

His hands cradled my face as he drew me into a scared, hesitant kiss. My hands splayed over his shoulders and pulled him closer. Holding another close, we melted into the other. Past fears, regrets, pains, and nightmares all laid aside for one shining moment.

“Don’t go away,” He whispered softly against my lips.

“Never,” I vowed. “You’re stuck with me now,” I smiled up at him.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It was a soft and gentle night. Draco continued to read, I brought my book and joined him in the sitting room that his mother and I spoke in not hours before. He was sitting in the center of the sofa and my legs were draped across his lap as we read into the late hours of the night.

With unspoken words and requests, we curled up together in his bed, in ridiculously expensive silk sheets and down pillows. My fingers absent mindedly traced the scars across his chest, my head nestled on his shoulder and his arm around me.

He rose early in the morning, placing a kiss to my forehead before heading to get ready for work. In his house coat again, I saw him off, kissing him softly before he departed. Contented, I went to wake Scorpius, humming softly to myself. He insisted that I read him another fairytale after lunch, and I compromised and agreed I would after his lesson.

Draco returned that evening, in a pleasant mood, placing a kiss on my cheek, before lifting Scorpius into his arms, asking about his son’s day. The young Malfoy babbled about the tale of Peter Pan and Captain Hook, saying he wanted to fly like Peter.

“Do you still have your broom?” I mused, curious. “I remember someone being quite the quidditch player,”

Scorpius’ eyes lit up. “You know how to play Quidditch!?” He exclaimed.

I laughed as Draco set down his son, the three of us heading out to the backyard where Draco produced two broomsticks. The wood hummed in my hand the same way that my wand did and responded to my thoughts. Draco and I hovered just above the ground. He pulled Scorpius onto the broom with him and kicked off, soaring high over the Manor. I laughed and chased after them. We flew until the setting sun provided no more light.

Scorpius was asleep in my arms as we headed back inside. Draco followed me up the stairs, helping me tuck his sleeping son into bed. With his arms wrapped around me, Draco and I watched the peaceful slumber that Scorpius had claimed.

“You’re a good mother to him,” Draco whispered lowly, not to disturb his son’s slumber.

My heart fluttered at his words, my lips curling into a smile. A new sort of anxiety set into my chest.

“And you’re a great father,” I gazed up at him through my eyelashes.

Again, Draco and I curled up together in the quiet of the night, talking about anything and everything. What we had been doing the past ten years, what jobs we had taken, how our families were. Some nights Scorpius would join us in bed, either from loneliness or nightmares.

We hold him, as I found another melody to put him to sleep again. In fact, my lullabies had a habit of putting both Malfoys to sleep.

In the park one spring afternoon, Scorpius went off and played with other kids his age. It made me smile, knowing that he probably craved the company of those his age. Draco and I sat together on the same bench where it all started.

“Does that boy look familiar to you?” Draco mused, nodding to the child that Scorpius was laughing with, chasing around the swing sets. There was another little girl with them, with bright red hair and an older boy who held more of a likeness than the younger one.

My eyes started to scan park for the Potters.

“There,” I pointed inconspicuously towards another couple a few benches down from us. “Should we go say hi?” I mused.

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re still harboring a grudge.” I laughed. “We were kids, Draco. Besides,” I nudged his side. “It looks like Ginny beat me to it.”

The two Potters came walking over, one sulking, one smiling brightly. Draco and I stood, mirroring the other couple.

“I thought I knew a Malfoy when I saw one,” Ginny grinned at me and Draco.

“Ginny,” I beamed, and we hugged.

“It’s been too long Y/n,” She smiled.

The two boys seemed to be having a stare down, neither giving in. I slipped my hand into Draco’s and Harry’s eyes darted to the gesture, then to my eyes. I offered a smile and Harry seemed to backtrack a bit.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Both Draco and Harry turned.

Scorpius came bounding over smiling hugely. Draco crouched down, a smile on his face as well.

“Daddy! I made a new friend! We’re lost boys together!” Scorpius beamed. “And his brother is Peter Pan and his sister is a lost boy like us!”

The other three children came over, all flocking to Harry and Ginny, telling about the same story that Scorpius did, who was now in Draco’s arms, still going on about their adventure.

“You son knows about Peter Pan?” Harry asked skeptically. “Isn’t that a bit muggle for your lot?” There was a snide tone in his words.

“They’re fairytales Harry. Let them be kids,” Draco responded coolly, like I hadn’t spent months trying to get that through his head.

“Miss Y/n knows all about fairytales! She’s really good at singing them too! She’s been teaching me about so many things!” Scorpius could barely hide his excitement.

Harry looked at the three of us, baffled.

“Seems we have a lot to catch up on,” He finally spoke.

“You’ll have to come by the Manor sometime with the kids,” Draco offered to everyone’s shock, including mine.

“Er, yes.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have Ginny send an owl,”

Draco gave a small nod and set Scorpius down.

“Men,” I heard Ginny muttered and grinned.

The young Malfoy clung to my side, holding my hand. This seemed to surprise Harry and Ginny both.

“Are you ready to go, darling?” I asked Scorpius, crouching down. Scorpius gave a small pout. “No crocodile tears,” I tickled him, lifting him into my arms. “Or I’ll just have to make dinner myself tonight...”

The young Malfoy perked up at that. Every once in a while, I’d cook dinner myself, the muggle way and Scorpius was always keen on learning how. Draco joined us on those nights, showing his son how magic also worked in the kitchen.

“I’ll send an owl,” I smiled to Ginny and Harry. “Say goodbye Scorpius,”

A chorus of goodbyes rang about the four children and Draco and I apparated home. Scorpius bounded off to the bathroom to wash his hands at my request before we started dinner and Draco cornered me against the counter in the kitchen.

“Was that so bad?” I smiled up at him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Terrible, absolutely dreadful,” He smirked, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Potter,” He snarled in a familiar tone that had me laughing.

“Oh, some things never change, do they?” I laughed into his shoulder.

“Afraid not,” Draco chuckled. “Thank you, for staying by my side.” His words were soft and low.

“Of course, always,” I murmured, tugging the hair tie from his hair and running my fingers through it. His eyes closed as he relaxed under my touch.

“I love you,” His tone was soft.

“I love you too,”

Something lingered in his eyes. Something that he hid and something that made the butterflies in my chest flutter anxiously. A question that we both waited for.

It was a few days later that the Potters came over to the Manor, along with the youngest Weasleys and their parents, and another teen who was just as much family as the five kids that accompanied them.

It was tense and awkward for some time between Harry, Ron, and Draco, but with some easy planning and quick thinking between Ginny, Hermione, and me, it faded. We all sat comfortably

out on the back porch, watching the kids play in the yard. I couldn’t help but smile watching Scorpius finally having someone his own age to play and imagine with. Draco seemed to have the same thought because his hand found mine.

“So how did you two end up together?” Ron asked, not so stealthily to Hermione’s dismay.

I laughed and Draco smiled.

“Draco hired me to tutor Scorpius,” I shrugged. “And well...” I looked to Draco and smiled.

“That explains why Scorpius knows so many muggle things,” Harry laughed. “I never thought I’d see the day,”

Soon we all began swapping stories, catching up with each other’s lives. It was nice to be beside Draco and other friends from school. The memories that always haunted me about Hogwarts seemed to fade as the afternoon went on. Dusk came and the two other families bid us goodnight. Scorpius was sad to see his friends go, but with a promise that they would be back, he seemed alright. It wasn’t hard to get him to bed that night, he was fast asleep after the first verse of my lullaby.

An early June day, Scorpius insisted that we make another cake for Draco’s birthday. I laughed and let the young Malfoy pull me to the kitchen as we started our adventure. When Draco came home from work, he found us both covered in frosting, laughing. At least some of the frosting made it onto the cake.

“Happy birthday, Daddy!” Scorpius yelled. “We made a cake!”

“I see that,” He grinned, setting down his case and shrugging off his robe. “And a mess,”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek then lifted Scorpius into his arms. The little boy giggled, and like every day that Draco came home, began to talk about his day.

“Happy birthday love,” I smiled, leaving them to catch up.

I snapped my fingers and the kitchen began to clean itself again as I set the cake onto a cake stand, I had found in the pantry. With dinner eaten and cake devoured—and no longer all over Scorpius and I—the night was quiet once more.

“Now,” Draco sat Scorpius on the counter. “A little birdie told me that someone wants to see a certain movie?”

Scorpius’ face lit up and nodded enthusiastically. I raised an eyebrow at Draco, who grinned. He lifted his son into his arms and led us both to a small sitting room where a screen and projector had been set up. I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand, tears pricking my eyes.

“Dray,” I breathed out. “You didn’t have to...”

“It’s about time he gets to see them, no?” Draco set his son down on the mountain of pillows and blankets that resided on the floor. “He deserves to be a kid.”

I pulled Draco into a hug. “I love you,”

“I love you too,”

Drawing away, I looked at Scorpius who was waiting more or less patiently.

“And every kid deserves a pillow fort.” I drew my wand and crafted a structurally sound fort, big enough for the three of us.

Nestled down into the fort, Peter Pan began to play. Scorpius was glue to the screen, taking in every moment. In fact, both Malfoys were. Laying my head on Draco’s shoulder, I combed my fingers through Scorpius’ hair.

“If you father knew about this,” I murmured into Draco’s ear, causing him to chuckle.

“He doesn’t have to,” He grinned like a rebellious teenager.

About twenty minutes into Beauty and the Beast, Scorpius was fast asleep in my lap. I chuckled and Draco helped me up as we put him to bed. I headed back down to the makeshift movie room where the movie was still playing to clean up, but Draco caught my hand. I looked at him expectantly. With a snap of his fingers the room cleaned itself and he pulled me to the cleared floor.

“Dance with me,” He gestured to the dancing pair on the screen.

I laughed and nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead me in a familiar waltz. Though I hadn’t done it in some time, my feet remembered what to do. It was intoxicating, dancing with him. It took me to a world of far off places, magic spells, and a prince in disguise. I sang softly with the music playing, the words setting in both of our hearts.

Ending the dance with the fading melody, our eyes locked both panting softly. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine in a sweet loving kiss, something hidden in his warm eyes when he withdrew. My gaze dropped, a blush on my cheeks.

“Y/n?” He called softly.

I looked up, expectant. Waiting for those four words, dreading their moment but wishing their arrival.

“When we were younger, we lived in a different world,” He began softly. “Things were a lot less complicated. And if, as we are now, met back then... I would have courted you. I may have stolen a kiss or two but only after asking your father’s permission... but we are both very different people now, and I know it’s not the same, but if it were...” He took my hands and slid down onto one knee. My heart hammered in my chest, tears welling into my eyes as a smile grew on my face.

“I would have got down on one knee and I would have presented you with a ring.” He pulled out a small velvet ring box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a ring. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, I promise to love you every moment forever, would you do me the extraordinary of honor of marrying me?”

With tears streaming down my face I nodded.

“Yes,” I cried. “Yes, yes, yes!”

A smile broke out across Draco’s face as he scooped me into his arms, spinning me around. We were both crying and holding each other. Little ‘I love you’s left our teary-eyed kisses. He slipped the ring onto my finger: a silver band woven with diamonds and emeralds that enchanted itself to fit my ring-finger.

We didn’t let go of another that night. A night that was filled with soft words, gentle kisses, and loving touches. In the morning, Scorpius burst into our room and bound onto the bed, pulled my left hand into his sights as soon as he was close enough, squealing when he saw the ring.

“I told you daddy!” Scorpius beamed. “I told you she would say yes!”

“That you did,” Draco ruffled his son’s hair.

I smiled at my boys and pulled them both close. The morning was lazy and filled with laughter and moments that I wanted to hold close forever.

List of Muggle Lullabies:

Stay Awake, Mary Poppins

Feed the Birds, Mary Poppins

My Favorite Things, The Sound of Music

Edelweiss, The Sound of Music

Once Upon a December, Anastasia

Lavender’s Blue, Cinderella

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes, Cinderella

You’ll Be In My Heart, Tarzan

Beauty and the Beast, “”

Remember Me, Coco

You Are My Sunshine, Jasmine Thompson

Part 2

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda@bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey@theres-a-dog-outside-omg @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise@dietkiwi@katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things@tmnt-queen @mccloudchloe @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie@xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper@ninacotte@mccloudchloe @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel@go-whovian-universe @darcypottah @atomicpunkrock@thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde @iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread @atomicwonderlandmentality @okaydraco @the–queen-of-hell @langdonzvoid @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @tulippings @thestressedprincess @sunflowerxsadnessw @caps-wilsonn @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @okaydraco @strawberriesonsummer @ughjjloveme @honeymarvel

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sylvies-chen · 3 years

Note

Prompt 70 for Brettsey 😍

If you can I would love a story involving Brett and Casey with one of their kids !!

Can't wait to read this

You're in luck because I'm in a big Brettsey + kids mood today (although let's be real, when am I not?) Also sidenote: I'm lowkey terrible at naming character's kids but let me know if it fits!

70. “I can’t do this on my own.”

"Daddy!"

Matt hears his daughter's frustrated call for her dad from the first floor and immediately stops what he's doing. Sure enough, when he gets to the stairwell, he sees Eleanor Casey, huddled over and fussing with her shoelaces.

Oh boy. He already knows where this is going.

Ellie's eight now and still doesn't know how to tie her shoelaces. Matt doesn't think it's that big of a deal-- getting the hang of it takes a little time, something she has plenty of since she's so young. But Ellie, for the past few weeks, has been letting it get to her more than usual. He and Sylvie have both been trying to guide her through it, to somehow make the steps simpler for her, but their daughter is as stubborn as she is kind. She gets that from both him and Sylvie, Matt thinks.

"What's wrong, do you need a hand?"

Ellie pouts, sticking out her trembling bottom lip as she crosses her arms. "My shoelaces won't do the thing," she explains defeatedly, her shoulders slumped. "This sucks."

Matt has to fight back a little chuckle at that. It's funny to him but he sometimes forgets that for Ellie, that's big language.

"Woah, now don't get so down on yourself quite yet, sweetie," Matt soothes her. "It'll be okay."

"No, it wont," she whines frustratedly. "Harper can tie her own shoelaces, and all the other kids in my class can too."

"Well Harper's a year older than you," he points out. "Auntie Stella and Uncle Sev taught her extra good."

"Well why can't you and Mommy teach me extra good? I can't do this on my own," she pouts again.

"We are teaching you," he promises her. "It just takes a little time to get the hang of it, El."

"Mommy lost her keys and can't help me right now, will you tie them for me instead?"

The young girl looks up at him with big, pleading eyes. She's mastered the same puppy dog eyes that Sylvie gets when she wants something. When it's matched with his daughter's tiny blonde braids and rosy cheeks, it makes for a pretty irresistible sight.

Well, almost irresistible.

"Why don't I help you figure it out? That way, you can do it yourself next time without help from Mommy or Daddy," he tells her gently, moving to the bottom of the stairs and getting on one knee. Ellie sits on the second step and even then, she just barely meets Matt's eye as she extends her left foot and shows him her bright pink, sparkly Sketcher shoe.

"Ok," she nods vigorously. "What do we do first?"

"We're going to take both laces," he starts, his hands guiding hers towards both end of the lace as she picks them up, "and now we're going to make a little X shape."

His hands stay hovering over hers, always guiding her gently as she follows his steps. Her shoulders relax slightly and stop slumping with each second he helps her with it.

"Now, we're going to put that guy under and pull. Think we can do that?"

"Well duh," she giggles amusedly, her teeth clenching her tongue gently as she flashes him a cheeky look. Their hands keep moving through the motions, pulling the lace through. "We did it!"

"We did, you're right," he beams. "Now we're going to make two little bunny ears and do the same thing with those. Okay?"

"Okay," she nods, her brows furrowing in concentration as their four hands keep moving. He makes one as she makes the other but after he hands her the second bunny ear, he gradually moves his hands away. She doesn't seem to notice, just keeps going by herself.

One of the loops is pulled down and under the other, then she yanks it tight and stares at her shoe in victory. Ellie's eyes go wide with excitement as she looks up at Matt with the biggest smile on her face. "We did it, Daddy! We really did it!"

"You did it, kiddo," he tells her. "I let go after the bunny ears were made."

"You wh--" Ellie looks down at her shoe, then back up at her Dad. For a minute, he thinks she's going to be upset, but a smile spreads over her face again. "Oh my gosh! Daddy, I did it on my own!"

Matt laughs at that, a true and joyful laugh that's pretty much only able to be caused by Eleanor, Sylvie, and on occasion, Severide. He might be extremely biased, but Ellie really is the sweetest thing out there. His and Sylvie's lives have become a million times better the day their daughter was born.

"Did what on your own?" Matt hears his wife's voice coming from the side of the stairs as she peeks at Matt and Ellie over the bars of the railing.

Ellie lights up and smiles at her mom. "I tied my shoelaces on my own, Mommy! Well, Daddy helped me with the first part, but then I did the little bunny ears all by myself," she explains happily.

"Wow! That's amazing, I'm so proud of you, little lamb," she coos, moving around the railing to sit next to her daughter. She grabs one of her braids playfully, then moves to tickle at her sides. Ellie giggles at the gesture, retreating back amusedly. She notices Ellie's other untied shoe though and points at it. "You've got a second foot though, silly. Think you can do that one all by yourself? Show Daddy just how strong you are?"

"Uh-huh," Ellie nods excitedly, moving to switch legs and extend her right foot. This time, Matt stands back and lets her do her thing.

He should have known before that she'd learn like this. Ellie's tough and smart beyond compare for a kid her age, but sometimes she gets too flustered and down on herself to see straight. That, Matt knows for a fact she gets from her mother. But Matt and Sylvie took vows to lift each other up, to support each other no matter what and help each other be the best versions of themselves. That applies to their daughter now too, so he's not surprised that all it took was a little confidence boost for Ellie to learn something new.

She goes at the second shoe, quietly mumbling the steps to herself as she goes through them and then sitting back in victory when she looks at the finished product. "There you go, Daddy. I did the second shoe," she announces, standing up on the step and showing him her ties shoes.

"I can see that. They look nice, you did a good job, Ellie," he beams. "If you're lucky, we might even take you to get some ice cream after school to celebrate."

"Really?" Her face lights up as she raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"You'll have to wait and see! Now come on, we need to get you to school. And Mommy can drive now that she's found her keys," Sylvie chuckles.

Ellie nods and Matt moves to pick her up. He lets out a soft grunt as her arms fly up and accept the embrace, slinging over his shoulder. He just forgets that she's growing up so fast sometimes, and that she doesn't weigh ten pounds like she did when she was just a baby.

Ellie giggles in his arms as he bops her nose once with his finger. He moves over to Sylvie though, who's already smiling joyously. It's sort of a momentous occasion for them; Ellie's been trying to tie her shoes for weeks now and the slight weight of the moment isn't lost on them.

Matt takes the opportunity of Ellie being slung over his shoulder to lean over and kiss Sylvie. Her lips drag against his slightly, and she exhales sweetly after they pull away from the kiss.

"Gross!" Ellie squeals from over his shoulder, wiggling in his arms. Sylvie chuckles, running a hand over his cheek to caress it once more before moving behind Matt to face Ellie.

"Who are you calling gross, little lamb?" Sylvie moves to tickle their daughter, who squirms in Matt's arms even more and laughs hysterically.

Matt lets them goof around for a little more before moving to the car. He knows they're going to make Eleanor late for school if they keep it up for too long but he doesn't care.

He's gotten a happy ending with the woman he loves, with their daughter. And that merits a million late slips in his mind. It's a small price to pay for a happy family.

#I can't stop writing brettsey with kids now asjnewfueifh--#abby writes #fanfic prompts #sylvie brett #matt casey

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katzkinder · 4 years

Text

Tsurugi and Personhood

You ever think about how Tsurugi probably isn’t enough of a “person” to be an Eve

Like I don’t mean that in an insulting way, but just...

How much of Tsurugi is “Tsurugi Kamiya, the individual,” and how much is the bits and pieces of others he’s used to stitch himself together into something you would consider a “person”

Tsurugi and Mikuni, like Mahiru and most of the fandom have noted, are very similar

and that got me thinking

Which came first? Are they just naturally similar? Did one person feed off the other's personality? what kind of ouroboros bullshit are we dealing with here

looking back on what mikuni was like as a child and comparing it to Tsurugi, i think it's far more likely that Tsurugi modeled some of his behaviors off Mikuni. Finding the bits and bobs of his roommate that appealed to him personally and adding it to himself. Essentially copying Mikuni's "homework" the same way he tried to copy Jun's And like. Tsurugi is someone who struggles with the ideas of right and wrong. Not because he doesn't care. But because he doesn't know. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t understand what others consider to be right and wrong. He’s very much aware of how how people perceive him will change based on the outcome of the vampire war. If humans are victorious, he’ll be a hero. If vampires are on the side of justice, he’d be the worst mass murderer known to man. But isn’t it concerning how that... Doesn’t bother him? At all?

He just... Genuinely doesn't understand how to process his own feelings on things. He's like a kid mimicking their parent to try and find their way in the world, but to Tsurugi, just about anyone can become the "parent" in the moment he needs them to be.

If he makes himself pathetic and weak looking, people will forgive him, or will dote on him

If he needs to be strong and intimidating to kill vampires, people will praise him

If he shows another kid in his class how to make a paper airplane... He will be liked

He's seeking out these feelings and positive associations without understanding the why or the how or the what of them When Mahiru confronts Touma on how he treats Tsurugi, he says that Touma didn't teach Tsurugi to fight. He taught him the "joy of sharing a meal"

And Tsurugi's reaction is so telling. He says "Joy... So that's what it was," with this beautiful, relieved smile on his face, so glad to finally have a name to put to that sensation.

He didn't even understand the emotions he was feeling

Tsurugi is hollow. You can fill him up with just about anything you want, because his box doesn't have a bottom to it. If he picks it up, he'll lose whatever it was he's already accumulated

Joy, anger, sorrow, longing, love, hate

The complex breadth of human emotions is what makes people people

Can you even be held emotionally accountable for actions you take if you don't know what "sin" is?

Because Tsurugi doesn't. He is, very much like a small child who knows nothing of the world, like the very first humans, someone who doesn't have a concept of shame or wrongdoing. How can you mediate between what is "sin" and what is "virtue" if you can't even name what those are?

Tsurugi is someone who has no sin

He has no greed

no lust

no sloth or pride or gluttony or wrath or envy

He's just... Empty

And THAT'S what makes him a perfect candidate for a ninth Servamp What’s kind of amazing to me is that All Of This was told to us in one line by Touma

“An animal... What are you even living for?”

Animals don’t understand those things either—

But Tsurugi is starting to. He’s learning. What it means to be a “person.” What it means to have wants, goals, things that make you feel. In all the beauty and ugliness feeling entails.

If I had to pinpoint his catalyst for that... Rather than Mahiru, I’d say it was Takuto

He loves that little boy with all his heart. That tiny baby he was so scared he would kill simply by touching him, but then who smiled and reached to him for safety. To be held and loved. Even after he had done something as awful as kill his mother. Takuto gave Tsurugi the fuel he needed to understand. Mahiru just happened to have a candle to light it. And in return... Tsurugi used his own candle to guide Mahiru to safety. And now I’m going to go cry— Sidenote: Something adorable but heartbreaking I noticed is that, in an earlier volume, Jun and Yumi remark that when they first met Tsurugi, he never smiled nor laughed. Yet, in a later volume, when Touma is joyously celebrating being free of his parents... Tsurugi sees the face he's making and copies him. And that's... Such a cute, but heartbreaking, touch He didn't know how to smile or laugh because he hadn't been exposed to situations where he would do those things yet. And now you look at him and... He's smiling and laughing, all the time. Jun and Yumi are so damn good for him.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #tsurugi kamiya #servamp meta #kat's meow #my first post about this asshole and it's something sad #i love him so much #protect him

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

For the Love of, and Full of Hope

Wakko isn’t book smart, or social smart, not by any means, but even he isn’t dumb enough not to know that his family is worn thin. Threadbare and dying. They need more.

So he goes to get it.

Or: A 12 year old spends a year getting a single hay penny. Wonder what happened there.

Warnings: Death, Violence

Edit: this is part of a series, here is the Ao3 link

@asilcorner here

The decision to leave isn’t an easy one, and he can tell Yakko wants to argue. Of anyone in their family, Yakko is the one least likely to mention a want, but Wakko can tell that there’s one on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t want you to go.

If Yakko said that, Wakko would stay, because Yakko works so hard, Yakko deserves his wants. But Wakko knows, and Yakko knows, that they both want Dot to be alive far more than Yakko doesn’t want him to leave. So he thanks the world that train fare is practically free and buys himself a ticket.

“Why do you have to go?” Dot asks, the night before he leaves. He’s resting right next to her, and her voice sounds hoarse. Tight. Weak. The reason he’s going, to make her better, cements in further.

“We need money,” He tells her, honest. “Besides, the ticket’s already paid for. It’d be a shame to waste it now,” he shrugs, smiling despite the ever present ache, from starvation and exhaustion and the chill.

“I wish I could go with you,” She whispers, and he sighs.

“I wish you could too,” Because if she could, he wouldn’t need to leave in the first place.

The next day is joyously morose affair. He leaves with the hopes of everyone on his shoulders. Yakko hugs him tight, and Wakko can feel Yakko’s hands tremble against Wakko’s back, balled up in fistfuls of his sweater.

“Stay safe,” It’s phrased more like a plead than a simple farewell, and Wakko would like to be able to make promises, but...

“I’ll try,” he says, and he means it.

“See you in a year, sis,” He ruffles Dot’s hair, and she smacks at his hands, but she’s smiling.

“Not a day late or early,” She orders, and he grins.

“You got it.”

And the train departs, and Wakko sits all by himself as the place he knew as his home for all his life gets smaller and smaller as he gets farther and farther away.

He lets himself cry when it disappears, because he’s young, and alone, and afraid. But he has to do this. He has to try. Dot and Yakko need him.

It’s not hard to fall asleep. Compared to the abandoned orphanage they live in, the train seats are far more comfortable.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up a town over, and the train offers hot food, but he declines. He doesn’t have the money for it, even though his stomach screams for food. He nibbles on the jerky Yakko bought for him before he left. Wakko knows just how long he can not eat for before his body rebels against him-earlier than most people. Yakko says he has what one would call a ‘Chronic illness.’ All Wakko knows is that it makes him more of a deadweight for Yakko to carry, because despite Yakko trying to be slick, he could see at home that his older brother was giving him bigger servings while Yakko got less.

Hopefully, now that Wakko is gone, Yakko can actually eat like a normal person. With how Yakko is, though, Wakko expects he’ll take that extra food and give it all to Dot.

People come off and on the train at every random stop, but Wakko’s ticket is for a long ways away. Five towns over. He’s heard stories there, about how there are always jobs open. He’s going to do them all. He’ll work himself down to the bone, and come back with a fortune, and Dot will get better and everyone will be happy.

Days pass. He gets up, on occasion, to stretch his legs, because the last thing he needs are his muscles atrophying because he couldn’t be bothered to move. He loses his seat once or twice, but he is very adept at annoying people into moving, so he never loses it for long. He makes the piece of jerky last, so that even on the last night before he gets off of the train he still has a quarter of a piece left. It’s easy to not be hungry when you don’t move much. That must be why Dot hardly has an appetite.

He’s asleep when he reaches his destination, practically thrown from the train by a conductor who holds no pity for a half starved child. This town is prosperous, due to it’s industrious mining community. He can see the ‘Help Wanted’ signs plastered on certain storefronts, and tries to figure out what to do.

Yakko had told him that under no circumstances was he to even think about going into the mines. The mines are where people go to die, and Yakko told him it was better if Wakko came home empty handed than not at all.

They’d had the conversation far away from the house, where Dot couldn’t hear. She was already near bedridden most days, looking half dead. She didn’t need to hear about how dire things were, when part of the reason things were that is because she was so sick. It isn’t her fault, but she wouldn’t see it that way.

He tries first, at the bakery. He’s young, spry, and wiling to do whatever they need him to. He’s made to be the janitor, because he doesn’t know how to bake and they don’t need anyone to learn. When things go in the oven, he clears the work space, sweeps the floor of the spilt flour, wipes down trays, cleans dishes. It’s not easy work, but Wakko would like to say he works well.

He does not, in fact, work well.

It was probably a bad choice to pick a place filled with food for his first job when he’s been half starved for most of his life, but it seemed a good option at the time. He can’t help but try and sample some of the goods, so hungry it hurts, and the owner of the bakery doesn’t have time for charity cases.

He gets caught on his third day, and after getting yelled at so loud that his hands shake and his ears ring, he’s unceremoniously thrown out, sliding across cobblestone so hard his skin scrapes and he’s glad that black fur doesn’t show off blood well. Three day’s pay is a pittance, but it’s enough to get him some food for the night. He sleeps outside, in an alley, by the dumpsters.

The next day he goes to the general store. It doesn’t sell food more so than it sells equipment. A lot of its sales comes from supplying the mining sector with its equipment, and the rest is from the random items the townspeople need.

Wakko is a stocker. It suits him fine. He’s always been almost abnormally strong for his age, and he works hard not to mess this up. It’s a nice routine, though his brain gets ever so slightly bored. He’s someone who craves unpredictability, who loves chaos. The doldrum does very little for him, mentally, but he shoves it down and keeps working. He takes a breath every moment even though the cold air makes his lungs wince and puts his personality on the shelf and works and works and works.

He manages well for about four months.

And then, one night, he gets cornered in an alley.

“Hey, kid,” There are three men surrounding him, tall and lean. Men is a strong word-they’re teenagers, older than Yakko but nowhere near and adult. “Heard you’re the new stocker at the general store,” Wakko has no idea why this guy cares, but he just nods, because it seems polite.

The response he receives is having his sweater be grabbed before he is slammed into the wall, head knocking against stone.

“You think you can step in on my job while I’m out of town? Huh?” He shakes Wakko, as if Wakko can reply when he’s still dazed from having his head knocked around. “I own that job. I can come and go as I please, and make money when I want. That’s how it works here.”

And Wakko hates that. Hates the cavalier that this teen holds, to be able to come and go as he pleases, to always have a job waiting for him. Has this guy ever had to wonder if his sibling was going to survive the night? Has he ever even gone hungry?

It’s the same entitlement Plotz has, and it brings out a fire Wakko didn’t know he had.

“It said help wanted,” he responds, shrugging nonchalantly. “Not my fault that you were gone.”

That is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Wakko has never been good with his words, and that’s why Yakko always did the talking. He gets a fist to his jaw, dropping to the ground.

“What a smartmouth,” The leader sneers. “Why don’t we teach this kid a lesson?”

“Well, I’ve never been to school before,” Wakko wheezes, grinning like nothing’s wrong, and he gets a kick to his ribs for that.

He should really stop trying to be Yakko.

“Shut up,” One of the teens say, and he does.

It doesn’t stop them.

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When he goes to work the next day, he has a black eye he can’t see out of and a limp. Black fur doesn’t show off bruises, but he’s pretty sure one of his fingers is broken with how purple it is. He shows up to work anyway.

When he does, the owner looks over him appraisingly.

“I see you met the town boys,” He says. “The leader is the mayor’s son,” Wakko frowns-of course he is.

Wakko gets to work, but the owner follows him.

“I thought he was staying out of town for another week, figured I’d fire you then,” Wakko freezes, holding three boxes of pickaxes. “But I can’t have the mayor down my neck. Find somewhere else to work.”

And Wakko isn’t vindictive, not by any means, but he feels a little too good when he says “Okay,” and lets the pickaxes all drop to the floor, hearing the crash and running out before the owner can catch him.

From there, he goes through jobs like they’re candy. He trips at the candlemaker’s and nearly burns the whole place down. Tries the printing press, but he can’t really read well, so he can’t tell if there’s any errors, and makes too many mistakes. Works at a family farm, but one of the animals kicks him into the fence and the family says that it’s a sign that this isn’t his place to work.

No wonder this town has so many help wanted signs , if these are the guys hiring.

His favorite job of the bunch is the inn, because they let him sleep in a spare room so long as he cleans it before he goes to work, and it doesn’t count towards his paycheck. However, the mayor’s kid comes in one day, sees him, says something to the owner, and Wakko is back on the streets again.

He wants to break down and cry and go home. He’s trying so hard, he’s doing what he’s supposed to. It’s been eight months and he never has more than enough to buy dinner because he can’t save when he’s losing jobs a couple months in.

He needs something stable. Something no one would fire him from.

He looks toward the mines.

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He remembers the promise he made to Yakko, to not work there. Knows he shouldn’t. But he’s out of jobs, and he’s out of options.

He promised, but Yakko’s broken promises too. When Dot first got sick, Wakko was nearly in tears with worry. That’s his little sister, why can’t she play? Why does she keep coughing? What’s wrong with her?

“It’s just a cold,” Yakko had said. “She’ll get better soon. Promise.”

But she hadn’t, and that’s why he’s here, so if Yakko can lie to make Wakko feel better than Wakko can break a promise too, to make sure that when he comes home he’ll have something to give. Because, as much as it would break Yakko’s heart if Wakko never came back, Wakko would rather that happen then come back with nothing and watch Dot wither away.

He goes to the mines, and puts on a hard hat, and gets to work.

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The mines are a grueling place, and Wakko understands very quickly why Yakko never wanted him to work in such an environment. Half of the time he has to stop and cough, because every breath is coal ash in his lungs, every time he moves he feels like he’s going to drop dead. Lunch time is fifteen minutes and he doesn’t have anywhere to prepare a lunch so typically he buys some salted meats or preserved vegetables the night before and sticks it in his sweater pocket so he doesn’t starve to death. He supposes the upside to having been poor all your life is that you’re good at eating quickly.

You never know when the food you have could be taken away.

They get coal, and then they lug it to the minecarts to be taken out of the mine. Rinse and repeat. He doesn’t even have time to be zany when he’s so exhausted, so he’s just as dead eyed as the rest of the toons and men around him.

Every once in a while, there will be a rumble from above, and the whole cave will shake, and they will all freeze and hold their breath, because one wrong move could mean collapse.

One of the older men asks him, one day, “Why are you here, son?” in the soft, kind way that brings back a far faded memory, more a feeling, of a warm crackling fire, and someone large and familiar holding him, of feeling safe and full.

“I need the money,” he responds, and the older man’s eyes go soft and sympathetic.

“Don’t we all, son,” He tells him, patting him on the shoulder, and Wakko half smiles, because kindness is rare like gold and he’s dreaming of diamonds. “Don’t we all.”

Three months in, and he’s gotten the hang of it. Nearly made three hay pennies, because the older man, who asks him to just call him Sir, tells him about the safer tunnels, directs him to the areas least likely to collapse. He takes Wakko under his wing, and if he finds something exemplary, he lets Wakko take the credit for it.

Sir is here because he sends the money back home to his grandkids. His daughter’s husband ran out on them, and she’s getting ill from the stress and work.

“Don’t have much left in this world,” He says, heaving the pickaxe down against stone. He teaches Wakko how to hit it just right, and Wakko copies his movements and wonders if this is what it’s like to have a father who is more than a few years older than you. “But I ain’t losing them.”

“Yeah,” Wakko agrees, thinking of the small shack that is his home, five towns away, with the two people there that are his entire world, that he’s spending his days suffering and working for.

It’s nice, though, to have company. Sir listens to Wakko’s crazy antics, claps when Wakko has the energy to sing him a song during lunch, and says “you remind me of my grandkids” one day, and Wakko doesn’t want to admit how happy that makes him.

Four months in, and Wakko is venturing into an older tunnel, with a bunch of experienced miners. That’s the only reason Sir says that Wakko could come with, because he knows this is Wakko’s last month and a big pay off from a new mine would be really helpful.

They get to work, and an hour or so in the ever familiar, paralyzing rumble from above starts. Only this time, the floor starts to shake, and the ceiling cracks, and rocks start to fall from above as the whole mineshaft collapses. Wakko is jumping out of the way of debris, letting his pickaxe drop as he moves towards somewhere safe, so focused on the different falling pieces and the people running around him he misses the rock falling above him.

“Kid!” He hears Sir shout, and he’s slammed into by denim overalls and flesh and bone and hits the floor. There’s the sound of a crack, and then he feels, hears, sees nothing at all.

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Wakko wakes up to the feeling of something on top of him, covered in dust and soot and something wet and sticky. He blinks out the dizziness and realizes the thing on top of him is someone, someone he recognizes.

“Sir?” he says, asks, hopes. Carefully, he crawls out from under the man, and looks around.

The cave is dark, and he hears groans from the other men, but he looks back at Sir, and shakes him. A slab of stone falls to the floor with a loud thud, from Sir’s back, and neck.

Something is dripping from Sir’s mouth. It looks suspiciously like blood, but Wakko won’t think it is, no.

“Sir?” he tries again, and he shakes him harder. The older man drops, limp, laying face first on the ground.

Wakko. Stares.

“Is that the kid?” One of the other men says.

“Sounds like it. The old man must have got on top of him to save him from the rocks.”

“Poor guy,” The first one says. “Hey, kid, c’mere,” Wakko stands, on trembling legs, and walks toward the sound of the voices.

A hand rests on his shoulder, and he flinches, and the hand disappears.

“Hey, it’s just me, kid,” He hears. “The old man told us about you. There’s been a cave in,” As if that wasn’t obvious. “We’re seasoned, so they’ll look for us. They don’t always for the newer guys.”

“Okay,” Wakko says, instead of anything else, because he can feel the wet and sticky on his cheek and it isn’t his blood, and he can’t turn around because if he does he’ll be facing it.

He can’t. He just can’t

A hand leads him to a spot to sit, and Wakko does.

Time slips through his fingertips, and all Wakko can do is wait and breathe.

They consider making a fire, but it would waste their oxygen. The find a miraculously non broken flashlight, and Wakko can finally see. The cave is about half the size it was before it collapsed. There’s a pile of rocks at the entrance, and some of the men take their pickaxes and try to hit it, but it makes the walls shake so they stop. Wakko walks around the room, and stays away from one area.

He misses Sir.

A day passes. He nibbles on the old, near moldy piece of jerky he has, offering it to the other men. They rebuff him.

“You look like skin and bones, kid,” One of the guys says. “This isn’t our first cave in,” Wakko wonders when he became their kid, but he supposes it could be worse.

It’s two days and they’re running out of air. Wakko wheezes in thin, shallow breaths through chapped lips, and tries not to cry because he’s dehydrated enough. He doesn’t want to die. He has Dot and Yakko to go home to, he can’t leave them now.

Eventually, he just starts humming, because the silence hurts and he doesn’t want to think anymore. Isn’t this whole movie supposed to be a musical? Maybe it hasn’t started yet.

“There's always tomorrow,” It comes out wispy and small, like a a breath, but it sounds unbearably loud, in the small space, “For dreams to come true. Believe in your dreams, come what may,” His voice cracks on the final word, and he coughs, but the men are all staring at him, a tiny shrimp of a kid way in over his head, singing because there’s nothing else he can think to do.

“There's always tomorrow,” He mumbles out the words, barely keeping up the tune, because he’s so tired. “With so much to do,”

“And so little time in a day,” One of the men finishes the line with him, and Wakko blinks.

It seems that one joining in spurs on the others, because one by one they’re all singing too.

“We all pretend the rainbow has an end,” Wakko sees some of the miners leaning on each other. A couple of them have broken a bone of some sort, but that’s all forgotten in the ever thinning air, singing because what else is there to do, in times of despair.

“And you’ll be there, my friend, some day,” Wakko’s eyes flick to Sir, the still body looking pale and the blood dried on the ground, and he forces himself not to cry again.

“There’s always tomorrow, for dreams to come true,” Wakko leans his head back against the stone, coughing a little. There’s thudding in his ears, he thinks his heartbeat, growing ever louder.

“Tomorrow is not far away...,” They trail off, and then there’s a crack, from the wall behind him. He jumps, stumbling back from the wall, and he can see light peeking through the rock wall.

Standing was a bad idea. His legs shake, weak, and while he can see the light as he hears men from the other side calling for him there’s darkness at the edges of his vision, and before the the wall breaks he starts to fall and everything goes black to the sound of the men shouting for someone to catch him.

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He wakes up at the local hospital. The mine is paying for the stay, so he gets to eat. He’s given 10 hay pennies for his trouble-the three he’d already made were lost in the collapse, but he doesn’t care too much because he lost far more important things there, too-, with the incentive not to take legal action against the mining company. As if he could. He asks around, asks if Sir’s family will be getting anything.

“Likely not,” One of the men from the cave says. “He didn’t have enough tenure for that, and his family lives far enough away and are poor enough that the mine won’t bother.”

“Do you know where he lives?” He asks, and he finds out.

He places 9 hay pennies into the envelope. He is not good at writing, but he knows how to write ‘I’m sorry,’ and ‘he was a good man’, and ‘he protected me’, and the sentences hardly make sense with how his hands shake but that doesn’t matter. He has one of the older men write out the address and sends it off.

It’s not enough, he thinks. But it’s something.

He tries to go back to work for a little more money, but every time he looks into the yawning pit of the entrance to the mines he can’t breathe and he thinks of the sticky and wet and red that stained his fur until he washed it off two days later.

He knows how to get it out of his clothes, too. Now. He knows now.

He didn’t think he would ever need to know, but the past year has been full of learning experiences, he’s sure.

A week and a half later, he walks out of town to that same train, and like the end of a circle heads back to where he started, sitting on that same seat. The taste of jerky as he chews makes him want to vomit, too familiar, too entrenched in memory to be anything other than unpleasant.

He comes home, and when he arrives he sees the smiling faces of his family and town, and they don’t need the depressing tale of cruelty and hardship, so he smiles and dances on aching feet and sings about silly jobs that seem more fun than difficult and shows off his earnings and lets himself feel hope because even if it hurt it was enough, because Dot is going to be happy and healthy.

Later, when he is playing a mournful tune on a makeshift harp, he wonders if there was even a point to trying. If he should have stayed, should have just taken his time with his sister before she was gone, because regardless of everything that happened he’s right where he started. Except, someone is dead and he’s the reason, and his lungs ache and will spend months to get close to normal and he has to pretend because he can’t let Yakko know he lied, and he was beaten and his youth has been stolen and Dot is still dying anyway.

He’s tired of the cyclical, he needs change, and he looks up the stars and searches for something, anything, to make the hurt worth something.

The Wishing Star gives him a reply to his song, like beams of light through the rocks, like hope in the center of a blackhole of despair that refuses to be swallowed whole, and when Wakko makes the homestretch he asks for the people to get what they deserve, what is fair, what is right, and hopes the mother miles away with two kids and no father or grandfather gets something, too.

#animaniacs #wakko's wish #yakko wakko and dot #wakko warner #yakko warner #dot warner #kitkat1003 #Listen its medieval times do you think people were nice to kids #i will pepper in the fact that wakko nearly vaguely remembers their parents #i will create a side character and kill him off because I think it'd funny to be mean #haha

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morningham · 3 years

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really never post anything i write on here but. figured i’d see if anyone wanted to check this little piece out.

Gaia

In the beginning it was lonesome. Time stood still, alone in the expanse of nothing. The eons ticked by, black and silent. Time created Pluto first. Cold and bleak, his eldest child escaped to the furthest expanse of the universe. Typical teenage rebellion. From him burst forth several children, all to become his moons, constant in their seeking of approval and attention. Time created Sol next. Bright and boisterous, she cast heavenly light upon the great expanse. She begged Time for companionship, scorching every child he made her to play with. She erupted with fury and pain, casting out tiny sparks of fire from her fingertips. The stars twinkled at her, winking and scattering across the great nothing. She flared with joy when they crowded her lap, unscathed. Time made the twins shortly after, Uranus and Saturn. They squabbled and shoved and pushed themselves far from Sol, who showered them with gifts of life. Venus and Mercury came next, sensual and silent, speaking only to Sol, moving closer to her with each passing eon to drown out the noise of the boys fighting about who had more flashy rings. Mars came next, hot and furious, waging war on any passing speck of dust. His skin grew molten from Sol’s constant doting, and her children imploded themselves upon him, giggling as he tried to swat them away.

Father Time was content. His family was like any other, not perfection, but wonderful. He marched on, ever expanding the great darkness inveloping his children. Sol’s daughters and sons painted the sky with constellations, beautiful galaxies, begging their grandpa to look upon it’s wonder. Sol beamed proudly, illuminating their art with her fire.

Time grew weaker. His children rushed to his aid, begging to help. He waved them off wearily, never stopping. He knew it was time to rest, but something was missing. Gaia was last. Time worked his hardest on her, perfecting every detail until she drew her first breath. Sol shone gently upon her, careful not to mar her lovely watery expanses, her lush greens and hues of royal and purple dancing on her surface. Mars sang her songs, and Venus showered her with affection unmatched. Time rested. He slowed, nearly dormant, and Gaia flourished. She seduced Lune with her beauty and charm, drawing her into her powerful orbit with just a spin. Gaia was happy.

But soon she grew lonely. Her elder siblings chattered wildly among themselves as the eons trickled on. She wanted children of her own. It took many tries to get it right. At first the creatures she melded out of clay bit and snarled and choked each other to death. She tried again, softening their teeth to graze upon her skirts of greenery. The animals lived in harmony. They created more of themselves, singing songs to Gaia as they traipsed her surface, and she created some to swim in her oceans, away from their familiar counterparts on land. All was good. Gaia and Lune loved their children and their children’s children, gazing upon them and letting them do as they pleased. Mars grew jealous, of course, a barren father, and in a fit of particularly strong rage at Gaia’s cooing, hurtled a chunk of his molten being at her. It smashed upon her children, their cries echoing across the now desolate wasteland. Gaia wept unconditionally, covering herself in pools upon pools of her own misery. Lune shielded her from Mars and his rage, pelting her skin with rocks. Sol turned away from her, melting Mars with her heat. Gaia became cold and barren. No children could survive now. She blanketed herself in Lune’s cool embrace, once again lonely and now desolate. Time saw his favorite child’s pain.

He arose from dormancy to comfort her, soothing her with promises of a better future. She pouted and iced over at his empty premonitions. Desperate, Time fashioned soft animals out of the cosmos, fluffy and big pawed, setting them upon Gaia’s lap. The bears enjoyed the cold, the cubs tumbling across ice sheets away from their mothers fishing in small pockets of Gaia’s icy pain. The tigers curled at the base of her trees, purring when she ticked through their soft fur. Sol grew curious of the new children, her own stars dancing across Gaia’s night sky to dazzle them. Slowly, Gaia bloomed. She preened over her new children, promising them no harm, only eden.

Time, slowing once again, created a child of Gaia’s own flesh. Lean and two legged, these creatures looked like none the cosmos had ever seen. They could speak, could appreciate the gifts Sol and Lune blessed them with, chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they created more and more of themselves. Gaia taught them to harvest herself, how to travel the wonderful seas with vessels made from her fingers, how to create brilliant structures with stone and wet clay. The humans praised her endlessly. They wrote songs to their mother and her siblings, praying for everything they needed, toiling away at her. She wept joyously and her children babbled their thanks of the blessings, hushed by the beauty that sprouted upon her at the location of her tears. She watched them for years, providing their every need, as they learned and grew and made temples to the cosmos to honor her and her siblings.

Time grew irate with the human’s selfishness. They didn’t bother to honor him, their father, their creator. So he created them an end. The humans mourned bitterly as they took their last breaths and Gaia mourned with them. She took them into herself, protecting them in her heart, Sol’s children teaching them how to paint the cosmos with their beauty. Time marched on and the humans squabbled amongst themselves. The new humans squandered what Gaia gave them, tearing at her and walling themselves away from each other. They fought incessantly, killing each other and tossing their fallen comrades back at Gaia’s feet. She grew tired of their insolence and warned them, shaking with anger. Their structures fell and the humans ignored her, no longer grateful for what they’d been given. Gaia raged. She splashed angrily against the land, upturning their precious structures, destroying them in one fell swoop. She spared her four legged children, sequestering them on a high peak in the middle of a now watery grave. The animals feasted on what humans survived, thanking Gaia with every bite. She cried uncontrollably, flooding herself. Two humans managed to survive her fury. They threw themselves prostrate at the animals and kissed Gaia’s feet, begging for another chance. She ignored their cries until she could no longer, soothing them with soft whispers and gentle rays of Sol’s light. The humans began anew, teaching their children what their Mother had taught them. They spread vastly across her surface, wisely returning to the land they were so graciously given. Gaia showed favor with them. She watched in wonder as the humans continued to flourish, settling and creating their own little world. She punished their sins with floods and earthquakes, upending their homes and setting fire to their factories. They always rebuilt. Soon acrid smoke filled the air. She coughed and hacked and sent dust spiraling across their towns, begging them to stop. They pushed on. The humans no longer listened to her. They threw their waste in her waters, choking her first children and smothering them with oil. She screamed in agony and sent peals of white hot lighting across the land as they shredded her forests to pieces. Each day she grew weaker and Lune fretted, turning her back to the humans. They killed millions at a time, greedy and evil.

“Kill them all, sister.” Mars pleaded. They shot great firey things into the cosmos, closer and closer to Lune until they arrived on her. She welcomed them, her sweet children, and they collected her in their arms before returning to Gaia. They clogged her view of them and she sent rocks hurtling at herself, warning them to cease. They did not. Her first children begged her to help, laying amongst the bloody forests the men had destroyed. Gaia cried for them, petting them as they searched for new homes. The humans continued on. She raged at them, growing fiercer and fiercer, upending the seas upon their towns and shaking them in her fists.

She could barely breathe now. She felt crowded and hot, weakly asking them to stop. Sol moved closer, begging to help. Lune hid behind her, unable to look upon Gaia’s broken form.

Father they’re killing me.

Time heard his youngest’s desperate cries. She begged him to aid her in discipling her unruly children. The twins heard her screams of agony across the expanse as the humans laid waste to their mother. She lay broken when the humans finally ceased. Their buildings lay in ruins, dust covering her once vibrant surface. Lune tended her, and Sol left her in darkness, unable to illuminate her blacked form any longer. She could no longer speak, her children had taken that from her. She wept dryly for them, so foolish. They laid across their mother, charred and broken as she was. Time looked away from his sweetest daughter.

Eons passed and Gaia mourned. She lay drifting among the cosmos, quiet and dark. Her siblings spoke lowly of her. Her children killed her. Time watched his daughter, frozen and barren, until he could look upon her no longer. He descended upon her broken form, and with a shaky breath, a single green sprout emerged from her cracked form.

#creationstory #gaia #we’re killing our home y’all #orginal post #mythology

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charliejrogers · 3 years

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Klaus (2019) Review & Analysis

I remember recently discussing with my fiancée how, though there have undoubtedly been a number of Christmas movies released in the last twenty years, none have really risen to the level of a “classic” – something you would want to watch every year as part of a tradition. It’s true I have not seen it, but still something tells me that 2008’s Reese Witherspoon vehicle Four Christmases is not on anyone’s annual watchlist… nor 2017’s Mel Gibson-infested Daddy’s Home 2. We concluded that the last “classic” was 2003’s Elf. And, while Christmas movies don’t have to mention Jesus or religion obviously, please don’t try to tell me that Frozen is a Christmas movie… it’s not! In some ways, given how secular things are, I began to wonder if there even was a market for holiday family fun movies, but of course, I’m an idiot because you can just make a whole movie about Santa Claus. Move over, Jesus, we gotta talk about the reason for the season!

Klaus released last holiday season on Netflix and at least in Chicago I saw billboards for it everywhere. Netflix went all in on promoting this as the next big Christmas movie and had some moderate success; they even grabbed an Oscar nom for best animated picture. Unlike most animated films these days, Klaus was made by neither DreamWorks nor Disney, and it shows. It lacks the refined polish of a Disney/Pixar feature, but also has a heart unlike a DreamWorks picture. The animation style can be best described as a hybrid of 2D and 3D (yet not quite 2.5D). At times the character models look like classic hand-drawn 2D models set within a mostly computer-generated 3D environment. But at other times, they look more 3D. It’s confusing to describe, and inconsistent to watch. It often felt like I was watching a compromise between a studio that wanted a distinct animation style but didn’t have the budget to fully realize it. Still, more often the not it’s a pretty movie.

More than the raw visuals, the movie has a fantastic sense of atmosphere… perhaps even too much at the beginning. Klaus is, in one sense, the story about how a lonely woodsman becomes the legendary Santa Claus, but for such a jolly premise, much of the film is shrouded in shadows and dominated by an oppressive, cold, snowy bleakness. In retrospect, this makes sense as the true triumph of Santa and “Christmas spirit” can only be best appreciated when it brings light to the darkest of places and times. Still, upon first viewing, I was quite surprised and shocked by the dark atmosphere and downright violent imagery on display at the beginning of the film, so much so that I was wondering if this really was a Christmas movie!

The darkness stems from the fact that our woodsman Klaus lives deep within the forest on a far north island, far far from the closest village which is a town called Smeerensberg and is famous for its never ending feuding and wickedness. It’s a genuine Nineveh of the North so it seems. The town’s feud centers around two rivalling clans (the film’s equivalent of the Hatfields & McCoys) and every villager belongs to one clan or the other. The two families’ feuds go back longer than anyone can remember (cave paintings exist that depict their feud), implying an original sin of sorts with the town being more born from hatred than spawning it. Hatred is so foundational that it infects every part of society. Unwilling to allow children to interact with the rival clans in classrooms, children just don’t go to school. Instead, they roam the streets playing pranks on old people and stabbing snowmen with carrots.

For the most part, Klaus lives his life separate from and unbothered by these unruly residents of Smeerensberg. What breaks his solitude is the arrival of a new post officer to Smeerensberg. More than a trivial side character, this post officer, Jesper Johansson, is surprisingly the main character of this movie all about the origins of Santa Claus.

Much like the residents of Smeerensberg, we the audience come to the film with a primary misunderstanding, much of what makes Santa famous today (the home invasion via chimney, the responding to letters, the reindeer-pulled sleigh) were the creative inventions of a spoiler-brat-turned-postman. So despite this movie being about the origins of Santa Claus, being a Christmas movie, you should have guessed that this will be some variant on Dickens’ classic tale. Jesper isn’t a classic Scrooge in that he doesn’t abhor Christmas, but he is self-absorbed, materialistic, and all-around not a great guy. He’s the spoiled son of a successful postal worker who controls a postal empire that looks more like an army. (The true fantasy of this movie has nothing do with sleigh bells and stocking stuffers… it’s the idea that the post office is a well-organized, well-respected, successful enterprise.) Anyways, recognizing his own son’s worthlessness, Jesper’s father decides to whip him into shape, ship him off to the God-forsaken land of Smeerensberg with an ultimatum: Jesper must process 6,000 letters from the town of Smeerensberg in a year or else be cut off from his father’s wealth. The problem? With how ugly the feud is in Smeerensberg, no one needs to write a letter to express their feelings when a cold snowball to the face (or worse) will get the point across quite clearly.

So now with the spoiled postal heir longing for silk sheets as he tries to survive out in the cold boonies, the movie gets a hint of the Emperor’s New Groove flavor… sans llama. It is only by sheer “chance” (we’ll get to that) that when Jesper visits the woodsman in a last ditch effort to find one person on the island who wants to send a letter, a piece of paper falls out of Jesper’s bag as he flees in horror of the woodsman (we’ll get to that). This piece of paper contains a drawing that a little boy made of himself locked in a high tower looking sad. In a very humorous scene, we had seen Jesper accidentally stumble across this drawing and then unsuccessfully try to scam the boy into giving him money so that Jesper could “mail” it back to him, rather than just give it back. Regardless, recognizing the little boy’s suffering, the woodsman decides to do something about it and enlists Jesper’s help. Luckily for the children of Smeerensberg, the woodsman has a barn full of toys. Yes, “a barn full of toys” is as creepy as that sounds and the films uses that creepiness to full effect when Jesper first meets the woodsman. The large, imposing, hooded, axe-bearing woodsman is far from the jolly fellow we know he is destined to become. He’s downright scary and given how violent the town of Smeerensberg is (Jesper almost dies when he first arrives because he’s tricked into ringing the war bell which sends the whole town into violent frenzy), we and Jesper are not wrong to assume the woodsman holds only ill-intentions. Essentially, the first meeting with the woodsman is supposed to be something akin to the reveal of the Beast in 1991’s Beauty & the Beast, a film so scary it sent my then two-year-old sister running out of theater in tears. Ultimately, I can’t speak for the mind of a child, but the tension for me here is certainly lessened by the fact that… well… we know the woodsman is Santa Claus. So even though Jesper is scared shitless and flees after meeting the woodsman, we know that there will be more to their story.

Still, even if not necessarily scary, the film does successfully shroud the woodsman in mystery, and his backstory is slowly and beautifully revealed throughout the film. I won’t spoil it here, but the script does a fantastic job of contextualizing the woodman’s stoic and aloof nature and explaining why that barn is so full of toys. The explanations come naturally and speak to a real human pain that I was not expecting from this film. In terms of emotion, the woodsman’s backstory almost reaches the opening montage to Up. ALMOST, I said, so put down the pitchforks!

So Jesper and the woodsman team up to deliver a present to that first child from the drawing. Or more accurately, the woodsman throws Jesper down a chimney to deliver a present while the woodsman looks on. The ensuing scene when the boy opens his present brought tears to my eyes. The woodsman (and we with him) watching the pure joy of a child receiving a present is truly nostalgic in its most literal sense. It hurts to see such joy, remembering that at one time you too could feel such joy from a hunk of plastic, and knowing you will never feel that way again. It’s a joy that few films outside of A Christmas Story with its the red rider BB gun really nail. Anyways, the little boy sees the woodsman through the window and finds his original drawing of himself locked in the tower which the woodsman leaves behind by accident. He surmises that the postman had devliered his drawing to the woodsman, and the woodsman responded with a present.

After that… well the rumor spreads wildly of the mysterious woodsman who comes down chimneys at night to give presents to children in response to letters. Now, the once dormant post office becomes a bustling hub of activity as children from all over flock to send letters to this Mr. Klaus. Kids even beg to go to school so that they can learn to write in order to get presents (much to the dismay of the disilliusioned teacher who long ago gave up on her dreams of teaching in a town where no child goes to school and had turned to being a fishmonger in order to pay the bills and one day afford to leave the town for good).

Gradually the children, who seemingly had no toys prior to Klaus and Jesper’s escapades, now joyously play together, regardless of which clan they belong to. Initially this upsets their parents greatly, but in the end it’s hard to really hate the parents of your children’s friends. The film promotes an age-appropriate and inspiring, if fanciful and naïve, notion that all the world’s problems would be solved if we all thought like children. As by spreading joy throughout the town, Jesper and Klaus inadvertently make the town a better place to live. It’s the theme of the film (not that they’re subtle about it): one act of good-will always begets another (or something like that). Still, all this doesn’t please the village elders, who abhor the change from the town’s hateful origins. They will ultimately serve as villains trying to put an end to all this gift-giving business.

Of course, there’s another villain of sorts, as well. Despite all the good he’s doing, Jesper is ultimately still motivated mostly by the notion of getting back to his old cushioned life. He is essentially using Klaus and preying on his kindness in order to launch himself back to a life of selfishness. It’s here the story feels most Dickensian, particularly in a scene where the school teacher (now love interest) acts functionally the same to the ghost of Christmas present and takes Jesper to the city center to see for himself the love and joy that he has helped bring to the world. But, still his desires to go home are strong, and, of course, he keeps them a secret. So between Jesper’s inner conflict about where he belongs in life and the external conflict of the community trying to fight back against a change in its culture, the film naturally comes to climax when the two conflicts meet and Jesper must confront both challenges at once.

What I’ve realized in writing this review … is that I am very impressed by the plot’s complexity and depth. The film weaves together at least three solid story arcs (Jesper’s coming-of-age/Scrooge-like-change-of-heart, Smeerenberg’s bubbling kindness revolution, and the woodsman’s aged hero who finds redemption and purpose after so many years alone). That all three feel fully supported and without any bloat is a testament to its absolutely solid writing, and for a kid’s film no less! Furthermore, the “origin” story genre can sometimes fall flat as it can just feel like the writers are writing more Wikipedia entries, explaining how every little aspect came to be more than just telling a good story. I call it the Han Solo trap. As for Klaus, the little tidbits about why Klaus uses reindeer and not horses, who the “elves” who work his workshop are, always clever and grow organically from the plot.

Plus, despite my opening doubts regarding whether the dark tone really fit a “Christmas” movie, the film very capably captures the joys of the Christmas season. Like Christians think about Jesus, Klaus/Jesper bring a world of light into a world of darkness. The film teaches about the importance of creating a loving community, of being selfless, and most importantly of respecting the spiritual aspect of the season. Even if this is a decidedly capitalistic/entrepreneurial movie, the film is not without a spiritual side. The previously mentioned “chance” of the woodsman seeing that initial drawing of the boy locked in the tower is no chance at all. Instead, throughout the film we see that the woodsman is “haunted” in a sense by a ghostly wind that points him in the path of righteousness. The film has its own explanation for what the force behind the wind is, but it is not too far of a stretch to point out the similarities between the wind and the Christian idea of the guiding Holy Spirit. Now, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that the woodsman represents God the Father and Jesper God the Son, (or is Klaus more the Christ figure?) because I think this movie is decidedly not Christian, but more I just want to highlight that I enjoyed that the film allowed for the presence of spirituality, which moves this film from the realm of secular kindness to one that recognizes the power and presence of some spiritual goodness, aligning with how many think of the “Christmas spirit.”

Now, let’s be clear, this is a fun, family classic, but it’s not a perfect film. In fact, I downright disliked the first twenty to thirty minutes, for the aforementioned tonal reasons, but also because I really disliked Jason Schwartzmann’s voice acting in the lead role of Jesper. My dislike lessened with the introduction of the woodsman, but it never went away fully. I can’t help but think this movie would be better with a different actor voicing Jesper. Everyone else does an adequate job with the voice work. J.K. Simmons as Klaus takes on an almost Batman-like stoic gruffness, and Rashida Jones as the teacher and love interest is just fine. And, again, I never really fell in love with the art style and it sometimes distracted me, and I found the soundtrack, particularly the main song to be rather lame and too much “of its time” than the typically timeless, more Broadway productions that Disney/Pixar put out. Still, director Sergio Pablos has done something I did not think possible. He and his team created a *new* Christmas classic, one that I’m sure will be played on an annual basis in many households across the world.

***1/4 (Three and a fourth stars out of four)

#klaus #klaus 2019 #jason schwartzman #rashida jones #j.k. simmons #sergio pablos

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joyfulsongbird · 4 years

Text

“Eurydice finds out she's pregnant after going to hadestown and Persephone makes hades let her go back to Orpheus.”

🦥 anon, it wouldn’t let me post it as a reply to an ask so here we go: I meant this to be short but 5000+ words burst from my fingertips so here you go.

I had to change it slightly so that Eurydice has the baby BEFORE Seph gets back (assuming she’s about one to two months pregnant, which wouldn’t be showing yet, when she goes to hadestown) cause Seph leaves and doesn’t come back for six months.

***

work, work, work

constant, pulling, weight on her shoulders, never ending

gods, she’s tired

so tired

she’s never been this tired before

will it ever end?

la la la la la la la

two voices, so many souls. her mouth is closed and she’s screaming, echoing, crying.

and then the bell, the signal that this is not never ending. that work doesn’t last to the end of time, that Hadestown has some mercy for it’s workers. for the people who cry at the foot of the wall every day, except now they are tearing it down. and they cry, they cry, they cry for all of the blood and sweat that went into building and now their tears sink into the mortar, slowly tearing down what they dedicated their life to. what they believed would save them from poverty. and now mister Hades, every morning, reminds them that the wall must come down. that someday, they will see the sunshine again. he doesn’t speak in that hopeful tone, of course not, but Eurydice hears it.

she hears it and hopes. she hears that he is reaching for them with this withered outstretched hand that hasn’t known mercy for so long, and she’s taking it. and saying “this is what it’s like to be merciful”.

look me in the eyes and see what it is to forgive.

for she knows forgiveness like the back of her hand. she knows forgiveness like the deepness of his eyes. knows forgiveness like that the pit of hunger in her stomach. she knows forgiveness. he does not. she can teach him, she can teach him. teach them. It’s only been about two or three months since Persephone went back for spring, it could be longer than that, could be shorter. what is time in Hadestown? there is only the toll and the wall and the crumbling of what they lived for.

she drops her hands to her sides, still coated in grime, her body aching to stretch her hands towards the sky (well, what they call the sky, it isn’t that, it is red and dark and unforgiving). it’s under her fingernails, it’s in her hair, it’s on her cheeks. she is a full fledged creature, with mud on her body like camouflage. she is a machine, work, move, clean, again. what is cleanliness if you are just going to get dirty again tomorrow?

and what is germs in Hadestown? there is no sickness here. that’s what they were promised. a warm place of wealth and no pain. they don’t get sick, they don’t get cold, they don’t go hungry. that’s what was promised to them. but she can’t feel anymore. yes, now she can remember his face, remember his voice, but now... now she feels nothing when she sees his face.

it’s definitely worse.

it’s like she’s looking at the face of a boy she saw in passing on the street. she knows that she loved him, that she still loves him. but there is nothing in her memories that twinges her feelings back into what they were. she sees everything through her own gaze, she knows that at some point she felt these emotions that were so extreme that she cried real tears, that she laughed with this joyousness that filled the entire room. she remembers how he looked at her. with reverence. with love. how he smiled every time she entered a room, and she smiled too. she knows that she smiled too, she remembers that.

she goes through her routines, goes to her shared apartment flat with two other women. they never really speak, they don’t even make eye contact most of time. Eurydice just taps her foot against the floor, waiting for her turn in the shower. directly across the wall, one of her roommates, Afra, stands there. doing the same thing; waiting, listening, all impatiently. Eurydice doesn’t know her well, doesn’t know how she got here but she assumes they all came for the same reasons. security. safety. or maybe, just to get away. Eurydice is sure that if she’d known about Hadestown when she was a younger girl, living in a home with people she loathed, with people who loathed her, she would’ve flown off to hadestown long ago.

Eurydice gets the shower next, stepping into the already steamy small room with the tub and rusty shower head against the wall. the mirror is fogged up and Eurydice leaves it that way, there’s no need to see herself this way. there’s no need to see herself at all. what’s the point down here? who needs mirrors in hell?

shedding her outer layers, she steps right into the shower, watching as the water below fills with dirt and grime, turning it a muted gray color, she stands there until the water turns clear again. she scrubs aimlessly at her skin with the soap bar for a minute or two, trying to feel clean but the dirt stays no matter what she does. it’s under her nails. it’s in her hair. it’s under her skin. she’ll never be rid of it. she’ll never get rid of-

she doubles over in the shower, the dizziness catching her off guard.

“woah, okay.” she murmurs to herself, reaching to clutch the slippery edge of the tub, steadying herself. it passes after a brief ten seconds but she steps out of the shower after that, turning off the water for fear of falling and hitting her head. she knows, objectively, that she can’t really be hurt here in Hadestown but old habits die hard.

dressing slowly and carefully, she addresses the main problem here is that both her head and her stomach are killing her.

well actually the largest looming problem here is: you don’t get sick in Hadestown.

Oh gods, does she have to be the anomaly here?

she’d like to just be normal, just blend into the crowd, but no, she has to be different. she has to stick out like a sore thumb in every place.

before she even knows what’s going on, she’s thrown up what little she’d eaten that day. it makes her feel a little better but sweat makes her forehead sticky, her whole body feels shaky and not quite right.

“Eurydice?” Afra’s voice is unsure of itself, they don’t often use their voices down here. “everything okay in there?”

“yes.” Eurydice calls back. “I’m fine.”

Is she?

she feels something for the first time in awhile: fear.

***

it was all very simple, she should’ve added it up the first time she threw up, so long ago. but it isn’t until she looks in a long mirror for the first time, wearing only her underclothes that she notices something.

no.

gods, no.

she doesn’t make an appointment with Hades, like he says you’re supposed to when you need to speak with him. this is too important, this is too much of his own fault that she has to speak him right then. she wants to cry, she needs to cry but she can’t. so she runs, so she runs as fast as she can until she’s at the doorsteps of the dark building where she knows he resides almost all of the hours of the day.

the door is unlocked, surprisingly, and she just walks in. down dark halls, ignoring the shadows that paint fear across her body. that’s the one thing she can feel nowadays, fear for herself, fear for Orpheus, fear for everything, for their unborn child. no child has been born in Hadestown to her knowledge, a desolate place like this cannot sustain a new life like that. it sucks life away, it tears families apart.

it’s relatively easy to find his office, it’s the only room that’s doorknob isn’t coated with dust and the door is slightly ajar, letting stark light stream into the dark hall.

she bursts inside before she even has time for a second thought.

he’s at his desk, pen in hand, paper in the other. his eyes raise to hers the moment he notices her presence.

“miss Eurydice-”

“cut the bullshit, Hades, why am I still here?”

“I-” she holds up her hand, cutting him off somehow. such an impressive, looming presence usually, but when a women on a mission is in front of him, he never knows what to do. she starts pacing back and forth, in front of his desk. clenching and unclenching her fists. should she punch him? no, no, nothing like that. she didn’t come here for violence... why did she come here? what was her mission when she set out to come here? she doesn’t know, she just knew that she had to get here.

“I thought I’d just be able to live my life in peace. In complete solidarity. That’s what you promised me. you told me I’d get- you said I’d be good here.”

“and didn’t I deliver?” he said, his rumbling voice carrying through the office. across the desk that was separating them. “aren’t you at peace?

she felt something lodged in her throat, she tries to swallow it but the effort makes her voice come out choked. “not anymore.”

suddenly, she feels everywhere. suddenly, she’s so full of feeling her knees nearly crumple to the ground. leaning against the desk. she still doesn’t cry. no, there’s almost too much feeling for that. her whole body is overwhelmed, for so long she felt nothing that this sudden feeling is almost causing her to double over in the pain. it’s fiercely coursing through her veins, her shaking knees could be from the fear or the feeling, she can’t tell.

Hades is up and holding onto one of her arms, his touch surprisingly gentle and uninvasive. he keeps her steady, while guiding her to come sit on a couch on the side of the wall.

“sit here.” he says, his voice shockingly calm and... kind. “I’ll get a glass of water.”

he busies himself with a pitcher of water that sits on his desk, and an empty glass beside it. Eurydice fiddles with the rings on her fingers, trying to sort her mind out, trying to figure out how to say it.

he’s pouring a glass of water. for her.

“I’m pregnant.”

he stops pouring.

he doesn’t turn around either. “your boy...”

“It’s Orpheus’, I’m positive.”

“how long?”

“I only just realized today. I didn’t know who to tell, Lady Persephone is gone and I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

he’s being surprisingly calm, for a man with no children and no real relationship with Eurydice besides one layered with negative emotions.

“you don’t work for the time being.” he says after a moment of consideration. he turns around, holding a glass of water in one of his hands to face Eurydice’s gaping face. “I need to speak with my wife, but that can’t happen for another few months. So you don’t work and keep busy within what’s left of the walls.”

“what am I supposed to do? for those four months?” she has no idea when she’ll be due, the uncertainty of it is making her feel shaky. the fear strikes her again and she turns her to the side, not making eye contact with Hades again for fear of crumpling in on herself again. she purses her lips.

“I can tell you’re scared,” he begins.

“I’m not-” she starts.

“you younglings always try to convince everyone else that you aren’t terrified,” he thrusts the glass of water into her hand, giving her a pointed look.

“like you’re one to talk.”

he sighs. “only you could sass me when I’m trying to help you.” embarrassment faintly paints Eurydice’s cheeks a blush color, but it fades quickly. “let me continue.

“I can tell you’re scared,” he repeats. “but I’ll promise to protect you and your child, I may be a lot of terrible things but one thing I will never do is force a mother and her child apart. you’ll go back to your apartment and get some rest, tell your roommates that you don’t need to get up for work tomorrow, by special permission of Hades, and I’ll try to get in contact with my wife. But I have a feeling we won’t be able to have a full discussion until she gets back from summertime.”

Eurydice nods and takes a couple sips from that glass of water, her hand shakes so much, she knows that if there was ice in the glass they’d be able to hear the clinking of the two solids. but for now, she tries to act like she isn’t slowly crashing and burning.

Orpheus

Orpheus, you have a child

and he doesn’t know it. he may never know it.

“my child will be doomed to this life, won’t they?” she whispers, eyes downcast. “if-if I give them to Persephone before spring, will they be able to go Up Top? would it be possible?”

he sighs, the sound is burdened. “I don’t know. A child has never been born here before, so I don’t know.”

she stares at the surface of the water, rippling with little currents and waves from her trembling hand. “they will never know grass, or happiness, or love-”

“no.” Hades says firmly, he steps closer, he brushes her knuckles with his fingertips, unsure of what to do as a comfort. but his words are comfort enough. “your child will know love, you will love them and that is love enough.”

she purses her lips tight together, she still does not cry, she still has yet to cross that threshold of pure feeling.

“go home, get some sleep.” it’s a command, almost, like everything Hades says is. she could always refuse but instead of standing up to him like she usually prefers to, she nods, because she could use some sleep in times like now.

***

Eurydice had forgotten love until Calista.

she knew love well before Hadestown but in that span of few months, she forgot what it was like to love. to love something with this fierceness you can’t control, and to have that ability feels powerful. she felt like a monster before, but holding a child close to her chest is what makes her feel human again.

yes, they are still in Hadestown, but when life finds ways to spring up, it flourishes.

she’s moved apartments since finding out about the baby, to a smaller one, a studio with a bathroom and a tiny kitchen but it’s just for her and her daughter. people know that the only current mother in Hadestown lives there, her neighbors seem to brighten at the sight of her child. their darkness when they come back from work slides away for just a little bit of light when Callie smiles at them from afar.

her daughter brings hope, and Eurydice couldn’t be more proud. she doesn’t even know it yet, but Callie is really the carnation in the winter, she’s the light in the dark, the song in the silence.

And Persephone comes back and is immediately pointed in the direction of Eurydice’s apartment by Hades, with barely even a kiss on the cheek, she’s worried something bad has happened. It’s a combination of good and bad in her opinion.

she knocks on the door and a voice calls, “come in!”

Persephone, not knowing what she’ll find, steps inside tentatively. “Hades said to- oh my lords.”

Eurydice sits cross legged on her small bed, a baby sitting in her lap with the widest smile she’s ever seen on a child. she has her mothers eyes, even from here Persephone can see the dark color, the deepness of them.

“hi.” Eurydice begins. Persephone closes the door loudly, accidentally making Eurydice and the baby jump. she surges forward, first taking the young woman’s face in her hands, cupping her cheeks and brushing her cheeks with her thumbs.

“please tell me it’s Orpheus’.” Eurydice nods.

“It is” she assures, “look, she has his nose and you can just see, his hair, too.”

“she’s lovely.” Persephone sighs, sinking to sit beside Eurydice. Persephone brushes Eurydice’s bangs away from her eyes, she notices that they are freshly cut and a little jagged and uneven. she’ll ask about that later. “how old is she?”

“A month.” Eurydice answers immediately, her smile is genuine and Persephone can tell, there is love. a deep, motherly love that Persephone has only ever experienced when she looks at the young girl who turned into a young woman while she was away Up Top. “she came a little early, and I was worried, but she’s doing well now.”

“what’s her name?”

“Calista.” Eurydice says, gently tracing her daughter’s ears and tiny nose. “I started calling her Callie, though, and never stopped.”

“Callie.” Persephone repeats. “I love that.”

“me too.” Eurydice bites her bottom lip, before the real dawning of Persephone being here hits her. her expression barely changes and her tone of voice doesn’t at all but Persephone can feel the shift in the air.

“how is Orpheus doing?”

Persephone continues stroking through her black hair, untangling the knots like she imagines a mother would. “he just started singing again. only the past month or so. his voice sounds different after so long with so little use but it’s just as beautiful as it was when you knew him.”

Eurydice lifts Callie a little higher, adjusts her in her arms so that the child lies with her head in the crook of her elbow. “I’m sad that she’ll never get to meet him.”

she says it simply, she’s already accepted the fact, but underneath that is the lingering of sadness that lies there. an undercurrent of disappointment that Persephone came alone. she’d probably had the tiniest grain of hope and Persephone came empty handed.

“well!” she stands up, straightening out the creases in her dress. “I’d better get to the house, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my husband up close.”

Eurydice smiles. “alright. see you again really soon?”

“of course.” Persephone plants a kiss on both girl’s heads and heads out the door, blinking away the sharp burn of tears.

***

she walks into Hades’ office and before she can even get the words out, he waves his hand at her without looking up from his ever important paperwork.

“I’m sending her up, don’t worry.”

she opens and closes her mouth. “I thought it might take some convincing.”

he scowls down at his desk. “I’m not heartless. I saw her when she first found out, the selflessness in that girl...” he shakes his head. “she was concerned about not being able to love her kid enough. not being able to provide that for her. she wanted to send Cal up there with you in the spring without her? you know that? the insanity in her, that I’d separate a mother and her child.”

Persephone steps around her and plants a firm, smiling kiss on his lips. Surprising him and pulling him away from his paperwork. “I love you.”

a smile twitches at his lips. “I love you too?”

“so,” Persephone says, promptly taking a small step back. “Eurydice and Callie will come up on the train with me in the spring?”

“as soon as I get all the paperwork in order. this is a... unique situation to say the least.” he turns back to his work, Persephone stands and watches for a moment, before planting one more soft kiss to the top of his head and heading out to get a drink. she can’t tell Eurydice yet, because if it doesn’t come true she’ll be heartbroken but knowing that she’ll be able to take the two of them up with her in the spring will be a joyous moment.

only six months until the couple that became a family gets reunited.

***

Children grow fast, this is something that Eurydice was never told. by the time Callie is seven months old, Eurydice has watched her learn to crawl, learn to reach and to touch and to smile. it still scares her sometimes, that maybe she isn’t meant for this? maybe she’s not cut out for this kind of thing. she’s already had to reason with herself over several things that just dig into her scalp, telling her Callie deserves a better mother. she had to bottle feed her, for god's sakes, her body seems to be malnourished enough and overworked enough that she can’t give that to her daughter. she has to take care of herself too, is what Persephone keeps telling her. she has to give herself a little attention too, give herself some love as well.

she faces Hades one last time in front of the train, he says he’s there to see Persephone off but Eurydice is glad that he’s there.

“thank you,” she says, lifting her chin to look him right in the eyes. “for all that you did for me and Callie, and for you are doing for Orpheus. he doesn’t know it yet, but he will be very thankful to you.”

“don’t say things like that,” he says, voice extra gravelly with the sadness of his wife leaving, but he tries to hide it. “I would never have hired you if I’d known...”

“neither of us knew, I would never have agreed to go if I’d known.”

a small silence stretches between them, she doesn’t know what to do with herself, a year ago she despised this man. everything about him made her heart shudder in her chest, but now... she’s seen his mercy and can’t help but feel that it was there all along.

she holds out her hand to shake his. “thank you, I will make sure to let Calista know as she grows older all that you have done for us.”

he lets out a chuckle as he takes her hand. “I’m sure she will also know all I have done against you.”

“in my opinion, it evens out. thank you.” she drops his hand and climbs onto the train, her stomach starting to swirl in her stomach.

She tries to remind herself of all that she’s been told by Persephone, love herself and that has to be enough, as she climbs the train, she’d handed Calista over to Persephone while Eurydice puts her things on the train. her heart beats so fast, this rhythm of readiness, of anticipation.

thump, thump, thump

Get Callie, she’s getting fussy in another woman’s arms.

thump, thump, thump

Sit down in a seat before the train starts moving.

thump, thump, thump

“if it isn’t my favorite songbird.” a withered voice comes from the front of the train car.

“Hermes.” Eurydice breaths, she speeds her steps up to meet him halfway and throws her arms around his neck. she buries her face in the man’s shoulder, letting him gently hold her like a father would hold a daughter, gently, calmly. he pulls back after barely five seconds.

“you takin’ the train?” she nods with something like tears stinging in the back of her eyes but they aren’t close to falling, yet. Hermes’ smile stretches almost all the way to his eyes, wrinkles creasing on his forehead. “he’ll be waiting for Seph, right by the station.’

Eurydice smiles but her heartbeat is still flurrying over her entire chest, heat spreading across her whole body like a licking fire. she needs a distraction from her shaking hands and churning stomach. Hermes pats her cheek affectionately, finally looking over her shoulder and squinting at Persephone holding the infant in her arms. he narrows his eyes, like he’s seeing a mirage and isn’t sure exactly what he’s seeing.

Eurydice breaks away from him, going to Persephone to take her daughter from the other woman’s arms. “this is your kind of granddaughter, Calista.”

“a lovely name for a lovely girl.” Hermes smiles in that way he always does when he knows something, when he looks at someone and can see their future. Eurydice always feels exposed whenever Hermes looks at her, like he knows what goes on in her head every day. like he knows all of her fears and hopes and emotions. the train starts moving in that moment and Eurydice has to sit down, holding Callie in her lap, pulling her tightly against her chest.

they move through tunnels, the dim lights of the mines flash through the windows every once in awhile, flushing the four of them in a golden glow, turning Persephone’s green dress into a brownish color, splashing across Hermes face briefly and throwing shadows like the darkness of the wall falling over her. she hasn’t worked on the wall in months, hasn’t gone into the mines in about as long, but it still haunts her. to forget how to feel, though since Orpheus came and left, the place improved it still left her feeling like there a life she was missing out on, the other half of her. or maybe it just was that her other half was Up Top. Callie taught her to remember feeling, taught to feel again altogether. and when she begins to whimper in the dark of the train, her heart stutters and all she wants is to make her smile again.

“shhh,” Eurydice murmurs, bounding the little girl on her knee briefly. “it’s alright, love, shh.”

even just her voice soothes the child and she quiets, she is normally not the most emotional infant, though they all cry, Eurydice knows that from her younger siblings. she takes after her mother in that, she only gets emotional really when Eurydice gets emotional. so now, when Eurydice is nervous and fidgety and on edge, the girl picks up on it and begins to cry. she calms herself, taking deep breath and pressing a kiss to her daughters soft bed of dark brown hair.

it’s a longer train ride than Eurydice would think, so they sit in silence, contemplative over what is to come, over what is going to happen when those doors open and sunshine floods the train car. when Orpheus is right before her what will she say? what will she do? he doesn’t even know she’s coming, he’ll be happy to see her, won’t he? yes, yes, he will. she knows this, she knows he loved her, and hopes for that present tense to re-enter the assuredness of her vocabulary. she loves him, simple as that, and he will love what she brings with her.

as light starts to flood the car, she closes her eyes, feeling the warmth flood through her body. the familiar scent of the dirt and the trees, the sound of chattering voices and birds beginning to chirp, everything so familiar yet so foreign. the last time she was this anxious to step outside was during The Walk and she never stepped foot outdoors during that. she’s both ready and most definitely not.

“here,” Persephone says. “I’ll take Cal, and you can step out by yourself. take a look about, greet old friends without this little one in your arms.”

reluctantly, Eurydice relinquishes Callie into Persephone’s arms. she stands, ready to face her fate, ready to smell the earth, bask in the sunlight. she is here, she is full of light, she is ready.

she’s ready.

the train car opens by itself and she steps out, shading her eyes with her hand to gaze over the crowd, which a hush falls over. she is known here, though she looks different. though having been pregnant and gave birth, she’s lost weight. the doctors she saw worried for Callie’s health, when Eurydice has spent her whole life only getting just enough to eat and too often in Hadestown she neglected to eat, after the pregnancy especially, it seemed. she just simply... forgot to take care of herself sometimes. those were the days where she got talks from Persephone, lectures from Hades, both about taking care of herself not just for herself, for Calista. she tried her best, but old habits die hard. she looks more tired now, her hair now just brushing the very tops of her shoulders but the bangs freshly cut. every few months, or when she was feeling especially restless, she would go to the bathroom with a pair of scissors and retrim her bangs. what a great influence she’ll be on her kid.

and in the crowd, in the very back of the crowd, is a boy just a little bit older and more tired looking. and his eyes are raised to hers. his mouth is forming the first syllable of her name, with a question in his eyes. is this real? are you real?

and she wants to run to him and say yes yes yes yes im real this is real this is true

but she can’t move until Hermes walks up beside her, loops his arm through hers and begins to walk her down the steps of the station. the crowd parts for them and Eurydice can’t help but see the imagery of it all. like a bride walking down the aisle, she is being given away for the second time in her life. the first, she gave away herself, in secret. not an elopement but a ritual in which they were “married”. this time, she is given away to this life that she once gave up. here, she is being given permission to step back into this life, she is being given permission to look him in the eyes, to speak to him. he gives her away and leaves her there at the altar- or rather, right in front of Orpheus- and leaves her there, blending back into the crowd.

“how- how... what are you- how are you-?” he runs a hand through his hair, just looking at her, just... looking. “Eurydice-”

when he says her name, her entire body feels like it will combust and she can’t just stay standing there. it feels like their first kiss: happening before she knows what’s happening and over before she wants it to. whistles break out through the crowd, a laughter spreading through the silence. the tension breaks and she’s left just feeling his hands at her waist, and his face close to hers, his breath against her cheeks, fluttering her eyelashes against the breeze.

“how-?” he asks again.

she licks her lips, unsure of how to say it. “I’ll show you.”

Persephone is already walking towards them, holding Callie to her chest. Orpheus, the ever confused, just stares. the two dots not yet connected yet, so he must say the first thing that comes to mind.

“congratulat-”

Persephone shakes her head and laughs. “no, poet.” and hands Callie to Eurydice.

he watches with wide eyes as Eurydice holds the child in one arm and with the other, adjusts Orpheus’ arms so that she can gently place the girl in his arms. she holds both his arms and the baby for a moment before removing her hands and stepping back. his eyes flick from Eurydice, down to the infant, and then back to Eurydice in a panicked state.

“her name is Calista, she’s seven months old... and she’s your daughter.”

Orpheus lets out a huge, deep, shuddering sigh that feels somehow close to tears. he finally looks down and admires the face of the girl in his arms, and as he does, Eurydice tells him about her.

“she has your nose, and your hair, but my eyes. she’s not very talkative but she likes to be read to before going to sleep, and she always, always prefers to sleep close to me, or close to a person. she’s like you, she loves to listen. and she loves people-”

she stops herself at the sight of his face, smiling but filled with this sorrowful inside. “I can’t believe- I missed a whole life starting... Eurydice, she’s so beautiful.”

“not your fault, Orpheus, neither of us knew.” she murmurs. “and now, we’re here.”

“you’re home.”

#hadestown #hadestown fic #orphydice fic #orphydice #orphydice kid #eurydice #pregnant eurydice #i dont really think orphydice will have their own kids but this sprung from my fingerse #hermes #persephone/hades #hades #persephone #canon compliant #and then not #this is so fucking long im so sorry

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diamond-seventeen · 5 years

Text

Mini Me [S.Coups]

a/n: i haven’t wrote anything in an entire year and i found this request difficult for some reason but i enjoyed getting back into it and hope to create more n better scenarios in the future... i hope u like it anyways

words: 1.1k genre: fluff, dad!au

summary: seungcheol looks after his two young children by himself for the day while his s/o is away

When you had married Seungcheol, he had always been eager to start growing your family. He believed that the children that you raised together would be the most perfect little lives he had laid eyes on – not only would he make sure to teach them to be kind and patient, but also well-behaved.

However, he eventually came to realise that his daydreams as a newly-wed husband were mere fantasies and being actual parents was a lot harder than raising the imaginary child in his head. That is why, when you had to go on a trip to see a family member for the day, Seungcheol felt slightly apprehensive about his first full day looking after your two-year-old son, and ten-month-old daughter by himself. While they were generally polite and sweet children, seeming like angels to the naked eye, when set loose within their own territory of your family home, it seemed they shifted into more that of devils.

After you’d left in the morning, instructing him that you’d left all the food they’d need for the day in the fridge, Seungcheol had urged you to not worry about anything and enjoy your day with your family. Despite his efforts to take the pressure off of you for once, he was still a bit worried – when the children became rowdy, it was undeniable that it was you who could calm them down in a heartbeat. Your husband had always admired this side of you; while he believed he was good at controlling situations before it got out of hand, being a leader of a large relatively group of boys when at work, your calm and gentle approach with your children always warmed his heart and seeing your relationships with them almost made him fall in love with you all over again.

Pushing your daughter in a swing at the park, he watched as your son ran around the small enclosed area, testing out each piece of playground equipment that came into his eyeline. He slid down the slide, squealing with joy as he did so which caused a chuckle to erupt from Seungcheol’s throat. His thoughts were filled with thoughts of how this adorable little boy was half his – surely most of the genes had come from you, to be growing up and forming into such a beautiful person. “Daddy!” he called, pulling your husband from his thoughts and back to the real world. “Let’s go buy chocolate! We’re usually not allowed to have it except on weekends when you are doing your job!” His demeanour was so excited, obviously looking to get up to some mischief while you weren’t around for a day.

Seungcheol shook his head at the young boy, a sorry smile on his face. “Sorry, buddy,” he begun. “I’ve been told to only feed you the yummy, healthy food that’s in the fridge. That way you’ll grow healthy and strong!” His son’s face faltered at the response, followed by pleading to which your daughter also passionately joined in with after sensing the excitement in the atmosphere.

Of course, the puppy-eyes of his two children won over Seungcheol and it wasn’t until he returned home with the two that he realised the true extent of what other parents called a ‘sugar rush’. While he knew youngsters became hyper on the stuff, he truly believed his own could win a world record for the lowest tolerance in the country. While he had tried to settle his son with a colouring book, and his daughter with her favourite toys, it proved rather difficult to prevent them from bouncing off the walls. While under normal circumstances, it would be one of the purest sights to see your eldest son teaching his younger sister how to colour, there was nothing more scary than a ten-month-old with a sugar high wielding a colourful marker – Seungcheol didn’t escape the battle unscathed, a vibrant squiggle on his left cheek being his wound. “Okay, okay!” he exclaimed, replacing the caps on the lethal weapons. “How about we play another game… Let’s put all the toys in the box, and books on the shelf to make mummy really happy when she comes home!”

It never failed to amaze him how enlivened children became about the smallest task – the pair did their best to neatly pack away their belongings, laughing joyously as they did so. While your daughter didn’t seem to be able to input as much, considering she could only crawl, Seungcheol praised them both profusely.

After giving them their dinner, bathing the children of their ink-covered bodies, and brushing their teeth, he brought them to the bedroom. By this point, they were becoming drowsy as the effects of an exciting day with their dad were wearing off, and physical exhaustion was finally sensed.

When you walked back into the house at 8pm, you were surprised to find that Seungcheol was not waiting for you in the living room or kitchen. Searching each room of the house, you finally walked into your son’s room to find Seungcheol, your son and your daughter fast asleep together in a little bunch. Seungcheol was seated on the floor, head resting on the bed as he slept soundly with a colourful picture book grasped between his fingers. The little boy and girl were laid on the bed comfortably, both of them hugging their dad, whether it be his leg or his shoulder. The sight before you made you feel as though your heart would burst; you were sure that Seungcheol was the most amazing dad in this world.

After admiring the sweet scene for a few minutes, you walked over to your family and shook Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Babe, I’m home,” you announced, to which you were eventually greeted by the sleepy eyes of your husband.

“I fell asleep,” he said, stating the obvious which made you laugh. You stood up and reached out your hand to him, signalling him to get up. After prying the small hands of the children from his body carefully as not to wake them up, he took your hand gladly. “Sorry, they should already be tucked into bed properly by now,” he frowned.

You shook your head, telling him that it was okay before carefully picking up your daughter, trying not to wake her up. “It looks like you had fun together. They’re completely worn out, and so are you.” You giggled as you took in the tired look on his face, plus the felt tip marker which was scrawled on his cheek. “You have a little something there,” you pointed out, pinching his cheek.

He lifted his hand to his face in embarrassment, covering the colourful doodle. “Giving them chocolate probably made the job a lot harder than it had to be,” he admitted, but smiled radiantly nonetheless, “But I loved being able to spend a whole day with them. We made such beautiful kids, huh?”

You beamed back at him, nodding. They were bound to beautiful inside and out, considering they were raised by a man like you, you thought to yourself.

#seventeen #s.coups #seungcheol #seventeen scenario #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagine #seventeen imagines #scoups #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #drabble #kpop #kpop imagine #kpop scenarios #kpop drabble #fluff #au

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exhausted-joy · 5 years

Text

SCARY HOURS [YANDERE!JUNGKOOK] [05]

CHAPTER FIVE.

SYNOPSIS: Jeon Jungkook is a high school delinquent who also happens to be your awful new next door neighbor. Every night at three am, you jolt awake to the bangs and screams that leak through the thin walls of your apartment. Eventually, you can’t stand it anymore and decide to confront your problematic neighbor. But as it turns out, Jeon Jungkook is no ordinary high school student, and the screams are not that of his own.

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NOTE: Let me know what you thought! ((: (I loved writing this chapter omg) Please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Jungkook awakes with an awful pain in his stomach.

It’s the kind of stomachache you get when you move around too quickly after you have just eaten yourself full, and it’s incredibly unpleasant in every sense of the word. But, honestly, he’s used it. A handful of painkillers and he’s good to go - he will be able to remain competent throughout the day, for the most part. It’s usually around lunchtime when he crashes and it’s also usually the time where his urges are most content in laying themselves to rest, at least for a little bit.

Jungkook finds himself most at peace when he’s with you. He knows, it’s weird. He can’t seem to figure it out, either. Ever since the incident on the third floor stairwell last week, every couple days you meet him there for whatever reason. He thinks he recalls you saying something about that stupid class president being occupied on certain days or something. He believes it’s a load of crap.

Jungkook supposes that he does congest the way up to the rooftop when he takes his midday snoozes, and you have just given up trying to get past him. He lets you sit with him, fair and square. Now, don’t get him wrong, he actually doesn’t particularly want you around, nor did he ask - he finds you annoying, too happy and, despite it being mostly silent when you are in his presence, you just talk too much. But you insist on sitting on the stairs with him, babbling away endlessly about something he couldn’t care less about.

It’s a simple theory. He doesn’t want to be your friend. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t even remotely like you. But it’s the thing inside of him that does. At night, the urges and contortions get so extremely unbearable that he can hardly stand it. He goes crying and wailing in his pillow like a helpless baby whose turned over too far on his back, unable to bear the pressure of it all. And, in a snap, it all goes away when he’s with you.

Jungkook remembers a sensation similar to this, but almost backwards. He felt the pull with his old friends and he now feels it with you. How careless could he get? It’s your fault for confronting him that one dreadful night; if not for that, he could have been living in this new life free of worry, without losing control, without getting too close to people.

He’s fighting down his murderous thoughts because as much as he doesn’t like you, he doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s this conflicted feeling, one he’s never felt before, that is the only thing he simply doesn’t understand.

━━━━━━━━━

TODAY IS the day Jungkook is being released from his isolated prison in Director Shiwoo’s office to another prison, which is filled with other more obnoxious and irritating prisoners. Basically speaking, he’s getting nudged back into the general population as his in-school suspension duration has run its course. And he is not excited in the least.

It’s because Jungkook knows he will have to see you. And the dumb face of that class prez, but mostly you. He doesn’t want to feel confused. He doesn’t like having the thing inside him repressed just to feel it crashing into him tenfold come midnight. He doesn’t get you or why you try so hard to be nice to him, or go out of your way to try and befriend him. It’s stupid. You’re stupid.

Jungkook shuffles down the hallway with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his uniform slacks, slowly making his way towards his class with half-lidded eyes. He would give anything to skip right now - anything to not be stuck in a room with people who probably think he’s some kind of monster. Like he’s off his rockers or belongs in remedial classes or something.

Scoffing at the thought, Jungkook shakes his fringe out of his eyes and exhales deeply, rounding a corner and watching as the classroom comes into view. He’s not nervous, no, he’s just simply not used to being around so many people at once. All his other schools were pretty small, so he didn’t feel overwhelmed with an influx of too much socializing. Since this was an international school, it was bigger - much bigger than what Jungkook was comfortable with.

Reaching the door, the dark haired boy stops in front of it, hand hovering over the knob. He thinks about knocking first, but decides against it. It wouldn’t matter, would it? All mannerisms were thrown out the window when he decided to throw hands with that kid. The door swings open with a creak, drawing the attention of practically every single person in the room, save for the ones who had already dozed off during the lecture.

A woman with cat-eye glasses, the teacher, he assumes, pauses mid-sentence to look over at the newcomer, raising a paper thin eyebrow at the sudden intrusion. Jungkook stares back in disinterest, eyes flickering towards the class who all quickly avoid eye contact at the shift in attention. It takes a second for the woman’s eyes to light up in recognition and a warm smile spreads across her face when they do.

“Ah, you must be Jungkook! Come in, come in,” she ushers him in towards the front of the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening thud. “Class, this is Jeon Jungkook. He will be joining us as of today, and I expect he is treated with the utmost respect and kindness.” Her voice is stern with warning undertones, as if he were a ticking time bomb that could be set off at the slightest prod. Perhaps it was true.

“Your assigned seat is there,” she points to an empty seat beside a painstakingly familiar girl and Jungkook thinks he can hear his stomach dropping to the floor. “[Name]-ah, please raise your hand.”

Upon hearing your name, you force yourself out of your daydream stupor, biting back a yawn as you timidly hold up a hand to make your presence known. You watch with jaded eyes as Jungkook makes his way over his new desk, his features hardened in a way that makes him look, for lack of a better word, scary.

He doesn’t look at you as he sinks down in his chair, carelessly dropping his black backpack on the floor and facing forwards with a steely gaze. You sleepily peer at him, taking note of the way he disregards your whole existence. You aren’t surprised.

“[Name]-ah, I trust that you will take very good care of Jungkook-ah, hm?” The older woman sends you a sharp look and you gulp, quickly nodding with a shaky smile. She then turns around to resume whatever she had been teaching, the occasional squeak of her dry erase markers and click of her too-high heels making you feel sick.

You glance at Jungkook who already looks bored with his cheek resting in the palm of his hand. With clammy hands, you reach into your bag to grab the extra Tupperware of food you had prepared. Your heart is racing at a million miles a second - you think it might explode if you don’t calm yourself down. You just can’t believe you are actually doing this. Seriously, what is up with you and being a good person? Did you get struck over the head with a ‘good spirits’ stick or something?

“Jungkook-ah.” You whisper his name quietly. He doesn’t move.

Making a face, you whisper his name again, this time finally capturing his attention. Jungkook slowly turns his head to look at you and you can’t deny that you are a little bit intimidated at the cold glare he regards you with. Usually he just glared at you without any heat behind it, but this one was different; it was detached and unfamiliar, almost burning with some kind of fire.

“I-I, uh, made you this,” you slide the container of fresh bulgogi and seasoned rice towards him, watching as his expression softens slightly. “I hope you like it.”

It’s not abnormal, but it suddenly kind of feels like Jungkook can’t breathe. There’s a constricting feeling in his throat that cripples his airflow like there’s a vice around his neck, cruelly squeezing tighter and tighter. His hands drop into his lap and they lay there, shaking beneath the desk - he hopes you can’t see it.

His dark eyes glower intensely at the container of food. Jungkook can feel it stirring within, practically purring at your selfless gesture. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? Shut up, he hisses at it, shut the hell up. It only grows louder and before he can say ‘don’t want it’ like he usually does, he’s already reaching out to accept it, spurring on the purrs that rumble through his chest.

You study the boy in the seat next to you as he seems to be going through an existential crisis. Pushing aside his strange, constipated expressions, you can’t control the grin that splits from ear-to-ear, watching joyously as he shoves the receptacle in his bag. The feeling you get is indescribable; maybe he was finally warming up to you.

As juvenile as it may seem, you really did want to be Jungkook’s friend. Or at least give it a shot. You didn’t know what it was that brought you to up to the third floor stairwell time and time again. There’s a sort of pull, a connection of some sort. Maybe it was how he was always alone that reminded you of yourself in a way. He looked like he needed a friend. Or maybe you were just being delusional. Either way, you were too committed now, so there was no use in backing out.

The rest of the class period consists of you glancing at Jungkook with shy smiles when you think he isn’t looking, and him knocking his knee into yours when you begin to doze off.

At the end of the class period, though, it’s you who has to tap him awake, for he was the one who had fallen asleep.

━━━━━━━━━

“NO WAY, you got assigned cleaning duty with that psycho?!”

You huff in annoyance as Jimin dramatically throws his head back to let out an obnoxiously loud laugh at your misfortune. If he weren’t so handsome, you’d give him another bruise next to the one still slightly visible on his left cheek.

“He’s not a psycho, Jimin-ah. And it’s only temporary. Haneul-ssaemnim said she would even give me extra credit if I let him help out.” You defend yourself, trying to make it seem not as bad as he is making it out to be. Jimin shoots you a look, almost surprised at your willingness to expend Jungkook for the sake of not failing a class.

“You know you can always come to me if you need help,” He leans forward, drawing in close to your face and watching in amusement as you flush red. “I’m pretty good at chemistry.”

You playfully shove him away, shaking your head. “I can tell. Your fanclub won’t stop looking over here.” You jerk your head in the direction of the group of girls that sit across the outside courtyard, creepily staring over at their class prez in timed intervals. Jimin frowns at your comment as he looks back at them, quick to replace it with a charming smile and a small wave.

You watch as the girls erupt into a fit of flustered giggles and googly eyes due to Jimin’s small gestures. A sullen look crosses your face. It’s moments like these that remind you that your new friend could be with literally anyone else right now, but instead chooses to sit with you. He could literally get anything and anyone he desired, yet being your friend was something he apparently wanted, too. In another dimension this could have made a lick of sense but, right now, you weren’t quite understanding.

“Hey, Jimin.”

The brown haired boy turns back around to face you once again, his face settled in question. Letting out a deep breath, you hope you don’t regret asking what you are about to ask.

“Why do you hang around me? I-I mean, not that I’m being ungrateful, I enjoy talking to you and all, but I’m kind of a loser an-“ Jimin cuts you off before you can ramble the both of you into the next century.

Having averted your gaze down to your lap, you see the older boy reach for your hand and you feel the warmth of his much larger one enveloping yours. You reluctantly look up through your lashes, ears hot from the skinship. He was really touchy when he wanted to be, you notice.

“[Name]-ah,” Jimin starts softly. “Let’s go to the arcade after school. I’ll wait for you.”

There’s a mushy, gooey feeling coursing through your chest all of a sudden. Your heartbeat speeds up slightly, the heat in your ears spreading to your cheeks as you look into his innocently slanted eyes. With a large grin, you eagerly accept his offer, watching him return your smile with just as much vigor as he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

You don’t need much more of an answer than that.

━━━━━━━━━

THE REST of the day goes by slowly, but eventually.

Before Jungkook knows it, the last dismissal bell rings, officially marking the end of yet another painstakingly boring, exhausting school day. He almost thought it would never end; the day seemed to go by more leisurely when he wasn’t allowed to kick his feet up on Director Shiwoo’s desk and mess around on his phone.

His train of thought is cut short by an angry growl of his stomach, the pangs of hunger gnawing uncomfortably at his gut. Ah, that’s right. He was actually able to nap today due to your absence and as much of a relief as that was, he was unable to emotionally feed off the tranquility you offered when you were around.

When you didn’t hang around him, Jungkook experienced a different kind of peaceful. It was the kind that was too quiet and rather lonesome, if he had to describe it realistically. The silence was annoying but so were you, and he didn’t know why he would ever prefer to be around you than have some actual peace and quiet for once. Shaking his head, he clears his mind of those intrusive thoughts. If only he could rid himself of the monstrous cravings, none of this would even be a problem.

Maybe in another life you two could have actually got along. Become friends, even. Jungkook snorts mockingly at the thought, unable to imagine such a thing. He could be friends with no one - it was his curse to bear until the day he died.

His stomach growls again. Rolling his eyes, he suddenly remembers the container of food you had graciously gave him. Having caught a brief look at it before throwing it into the black hole that is his bag, it was one of Jungkook’s favorites; a simple dish of bulgogi and rice. He hadn’t had a home cooked meal in such a long time that he couldn’t resist allowing himself to indulge just a bit. Besides, who was he to turn a blind eye to free food?

Jungkook halts in the middle of the semi-deserted second floor hallway to reach into his bag and retrieve the desired treat. As he’s digging, he’s stopped short when he hears his name being called from down the hallway.

“Jungkook-ah!”

A knot of dread sinks heavily in his stomach as he slowly looks up, his big brown eyes clashing with your own. You approach with a dustpan in one hand and a large broom in the other, and Jungkook can feel the knot growing larger and larger with each of your steps that close the distance.

“I’m sorry I forgot to tell you earlier, but you’re on cleaning duty with me.” You say as you stop in front of him, a polite smile plastered on your face. Jungkook raises an eyebrow and clicks his tongue in annoyance. Cleaning duty? What is this, child slave labor?

“No.”

He makes a move to leave but a desperate tug on his backpack pulls him back.

“Please!” Comes your plea, your grip on his bag tightening. A moment passes and you clear your throat, appearing slightly embarrassed at the sudden raise in your own voice.

“I, uh, wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Haneul-ssaemnim..” you trail off, averting your eyes. “It won’t take long, I promise.”

Jungkook sighs, ultimately giving in. He really didn’t want to get into any more trouble than he’s already gotten himself into; not that getting in trouble really mattered to him, but he didn’t want to once again relocate and put more stress on his already sickly mother. He couldn’t be reckless anymore - it would catch up to him sooner or later.

“Fine. Let’s go.” The taller boy snatches the broom from your hand and makes his way down the hallway and back to the classroom. Sliding open the door, he breathes in relief to see its already empty despite the fact that class was dismissed just a few minutes ago. The state of the room, however, summoned another sigh, though for a different reason.

To be frank, the room was a complete mess. Jungkook hadn’t noticed before - having been asleep the whole time he was in class - but the place looked like an absolute pigsty. Crumpled up sheets of loose leaf paper pile beneath the desks, snack wrappers decorate the linoleum tiles in colorful streaks, and discarded pencils and spent pens are strewn idly amongst it all.

You enter the room moments later, your shorter form having a bit of trouble catching up in comparison to his longer strides. Huffing, you set your sights upon the garbage dump that is both of your guys’ classroom. A disgusted look warps your features and Jungkook can’t help but agree with it; it was truly shameful to see.

Wordlessly, the dark haired boy gets to work with you hovering over him closely. He sweeps articles of garbage into one big pile before scooping it into your dustpan, where you then take it to the trashcan nearby to empty it out. It’s rinse and repeat from then on until about only half of the room is fully clean. You both decide to take a break - it’s hard work.

Jungkook props the broom up against one of the desks and leans against it, uncharacteristically out of breath. You peer at him in concern, watching as he runs a hand through his hair to expose a sweaty forehead. His breathing grows heavier and he turns to face the desk completely, planting both of his palms on the surface of it to keep himself steady. You had never taken the tall, lean boy as one to be out of shape, so this was certainly a sight to behold.

Not now, Jungkook pleads, please don’t be like this right now! He can feel those pangs of hunger ruthlessly tearing away in his gut and he knows it’s not because he’s hungry. No, this is the feeling he gets when he wants more than food. He can feel his head begin to swim with lightheadedness, his body tipping to one side but quickly correcting himself in attempt to keep upright.

“Jungkook-ah…? Are you okay?” Your voice sounds so far away. But his dark eyes glance up to see you standing right before him in such crowded proximity, a hand slowly reaching out to touch him.

“Maybe you should sit down.. y-you don’t look so good. Should I get the nurse?” Your hand lands on his shoulder and all the muscles in his body instantaneously tense obscenely. A chord in his brain snaps.

As if possessed, Jungkook violently swipes at your unfamiliar touch, his inhumanely sharp nails raking across the easily broken skin of your wrist.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” He roars, stumbling back from you as if he had just been burned.

You let out a startled squeal at the attack, shock filtering out any other emotion despite the blood that spurts from your newly attained wound. Burning tears well up in your eyes at the sight of the scarlet that runs down your arm and drips from your fingers, the wound pulsing across the length of your wrist. A wave of stinging hits you all at once and you look up at Jungkook with fear. In all the few times he’s snapped at you, this is the first time he’s ever seriously laid a finger on you. And it’s absolutely terrifying.

“Stay the hell away from me. We are not friends and we never will be. Get that through your thick skull, you useless nobody,” The words he spits at you hurt, much more than the cut, as the arrows of heartbreak pierce through your chest. Lip quivering, you take a couple tentative steps towards the door, and the next thing that comes out of his mouth sends you in a full sprint towards it.

“I hate you.”

It only takes a choked sob and the gust of wind from you sprinting past and blowing him back a bit to make him realize what he’s done.

“[Name], wai-“ The slam of the door cuts him off, leaving him in a lonely, jarring silence that slices through him like a knife.

What did he just do? Slamming a fist down on a nearby desk, the plastic cracks beneath the pressure but he’s too angry to care. Jungkook looks down at his shaking hands just in time to see his sharp nails retracting back to their original state. You had looked at him with those eyes.

Scared and helpless and hurt. Usually the gnawing feeling went away when he smelt the sweet waves of fear and emotional pain, but it only seems to have grown tenfold. Jungkook doubles over on top of the desk, gripping the edge in an iron hold as he lets out a guttural groan at the way the pain slams into his abdomen like a brick. Something wasn’t right. It was supposed to help him feel better. Your terrorized expression briefly flashes in his mind and another blow of pain flexes in his gut. Panting, he rests his sweaty forehead against the desk top, mind swarming with muddled confusion as the strings of his heart are twinged taut.

Why, then, was he so unsatisfied?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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#yandere reader #yandere jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bts x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin #bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook #yandere bts x reader #yandere

199 notes · View notes

deimagines · 5 years

Text

Magnus’s Only Love (A Alec x Magnus’s Daughter/Reader Imagine) Part 2

Magnus is a father to you ever since he rescued you when you were just a baby and finds out later that you were a warlock.

You are a prodigy and possibly becoming one of the most powerful warlocks in history. A genius in potions, a literature in spells, and a badass with a samurai sword. (I mean c’mon, Magnus bounds to have one cause he’s Asian… like me)

This is a continuation of my Alec Imagine. Click here for the first part of the Imagine.

______________________________________

(Eighteen years ago)

Sitting by the fire in a cozy armchair. Brooklyn’s High Warlock, Magnus Bane, was reading one of his many spellbooks with a glass of wine in hand. His steady yet boring eyes read the ancient inscription, word per word until a soft sound caught his attention.

On the carpet in the center of his living room. There sat a healthy baby girl with her favorite stuffed monkey that her adopted father had set down for her to play with earlier. He smiled softly and sets down his wine on the table beside him to watch his new found entertainment of the night.

He sighed so heavily. It had been almost 9 months since he found Y/N in that alley. She was just a little thing too. Her head was barely the size of his ocean blue colored nail hands and he was even convinced that he would hurt her by just holding her. But he guessed that’s what all fathers feel when there’s a newborn around them.

Father. There’s that word again. In his many years of partying, spells and martinis, Magnus hadn’t even thought of fatherhood since he’s already teaching warlock children when they come of age. But with Y/N, it’s different. She’s different.

The strange magic that Magnus had felt from her was something that he never sensed before in his life. It felt . . . pure. It was neither dark or light. It just existed.

He couldn’t explain it. He went and checked every book he had that contains every warlock history known to man. But he couldn’t find the reason or purpose of Y/N’s magic. He even went the Seelie Queen for answers, but not even she knows the reasons for Y/N's pure magic. The only thing that he does know is that if Y/N doesn’t train soon, there’s no telling of what she is capable of if her magic ever goes out of control. But it would be a couple more years before he could teach her the basics.

Magnus sighed again as he continued to watch his little warlock play. She was too innocent for this corrupted world. Though he couldn’t identify the magic that she possessed, he could tell that was she meant for greatness. For not just the Downworlders. But for all the lives of the Shadow world.

“Pa.” A small sound broke his thoughts and he looks down to identify where the noise was. And by the sounds of it. It seems to be a little-

“What?” He muttered suddenly as his postured straightens up. He looks down to where Y/N was playing and saw that she was looking at him with her beautiful (color) eyes. And a thought occurred to him. “Did you just. . .”

“Papa.” The little babe squeaked out and Magnus gasped in wonderment. He sets down his book and got out of his chair to kneel down and praises instantly to his little girl. Laughing joyously, he grabs by her armpits and stood to spin her around the room.

“That’s right my little Bulan. I’m Papa. I’m your papa!” He kisses her little chubby cheek which gave him a fit of giggles in the process.

Overjoyed by his child’s first word. He couldn’t help himself but smile softly with his eyes glazed at his love and pulls her close until there was little space between them.

“Know this Bulan. No matter what you are. No matter how you’ll become to be. You will have my protection and my heart. . . Forever.”

His little bulan only gurggles as Magnus placed another kiss on her forehead.

(Now)

When Y/N arrived at her home, she changed out of her ball gown and into her regular attire. After she was done, a warlock barged into her room and warned her that the Circle members had found them.

Zipping up the last of the zipper of her vintage jacket, she quickly went into the living room where she found most of her friends.

She waved her arms and created at least two portals. "Alright, everyone get in and wait for Magnus's or my call. Is that understood?"

They answered with a few quick yeses and nods before going into the portals. But one of them stayed behind with a panicked look on his face.

"Y/N, I can't find Zoe!" He said, Y/N's looks at him with wide eyes.

"What?" She says in worry."Okay, don't worry, maybe she's hiding in one of the guest rooms. I'll get her."

The older warlock shakes his head. "No. She's my daughter. I'll go with you."

Y/N nods and closed the portals. But before either of them could leave the living room. Two circle members barged in with equal looks of menace.

Y/N looks at them with a brave face. "Go, find Zoe. I'll hold them off."

"Be careful." He mutters and left the room from the other exit.

Y/N looks at the Circle members and flickers her eyes to the katana above the fireplace.

"Well," She started out slowly to the Circle men. "Shall we play an easy game? Or a hard one?"

One of the Circle shot his arrows at her, which she caught easily. "Hard one it is." She commented sarcastically and throws her arm at their way. Making them fall and groan into the floor.

She hurries to grab the katana, unsheathes it and turned to the members who got up from the floor and both raised their weapons.

Y/N slowly raises her weapon and waited for one of them to make the first move.

One of them yells a battles cry and lunges at her. Their weapons clashed with each other and again, and again. The Circle man's sword glowed in bright as he kicks Y/N behind her legs and she fell.

Before he could strike her, she moved her legs swiftly and knocks him over by the ankles. And before he could get up, Y/N banged his forehead with the end of the katana, making the Circle member fall completely to the floor, unmoving.

She turns to the other member in the room and her eyes glowed to a bright blueish cat-eyes,

The man sneered and they both circled around each other. Y/N made a decision to drop her katana without feeling any regrets.

"You shouldn't have done that." The Circle member smirks. "Wouldn't want to scratch that pretty face of yours."

Y/N's look didn't change and she raised her hands. Both glowing brightly and purple as she waited for the enemy's next move.

When he stepped forward, she moved a bookshelf nearby the member and made it fall, hoping it would hit him. But unfortunately, she missed and the bookshelf falls in front of him instead.

He smiled evilly at her and steps on it. "Your magic’s strong warlock." He mocks as he waves his sword in the air. "But stronger than that horned weakling that I killed this morning."

Y/N's eyes faltered a bit. "Elias?" She whispers but continues to stay strong to fight against the man who killed one of her dearest friends. She waved her hand forward and sends a blast of energy at him. But he ducks before it hits him and quickly straightens his stance to face her clearly.

"That was him." He smiled. "Well lucky for us, he sold you and your father out. Before I took his warlock mark." He taunted before he swings his weapon at her. Luckily, Y/N was fast enough to block it with an invisible force.

They stared at each other for a moment. "Cats eyes." The man commented with a sickening smile. "That be a nice addition to my collection."

Suddenly, before any of them could make a move, an arrow appeared on the Circle man's thigh.

Although she was confused, Y/N didn't waste any time as she moves her hands and strikes the wounded Circle member. He falls on top of the fallen bookshelf and his body lay motionlessly on it.

"Well done." A deep voice said from behind Y/N as she studies the unconscious Circle man.

"More like medium rare." She commented, slightly unsatisfied that the Circle member wasn't killed. Even though it wasn't in her nature to kill. She was starting to believe that she did what she had to do for the sake of her people and her family.

She turned to face her savior and her eyes widened slightly when she saw that it was the Lightwood that she dance with not long ago. Alec walked closer to her and couldn’t help but noticed the color of her eyes and immediately knew who it was.

“You.” He says softly in realization. Although it was a bit confusing to see her without her gown and mask. Her whole exterior was very different from what she had worn at the ball. He admits that it was different, but it was surprisingly suitable much to his liking.

Y/N walks forward to him slowly in a bit of awe when she sees the familiar dark hair.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. “ She outstretched her hand. “I’m Y/N.”

“Alec.” The shadowhunter shakes her hand and could help but noticed how warm her hands were. He looks up from their hands and was suddenly pulled into a staring contest.

He couldn’t help it. Her eyes were basically the only thing that was able to distract him from the situation that was going on in the home of the High Warlock. They were just so . . . beautiful.

Y/N, on the other hand, felt a little intimidated by his stare. Mostly because she wasn’t use to the stares of attractive boys. Especially the Lightwood’s. It was then that she noticed that they still haven’t let go of each other's hands that she coughs to get Alec’s attention.

Alec got the message and he quickly took his hand back and places it at his side. Not understanding why he misses the warmth.

“We should uh. . . probably get out of here.” Alec suggested.

“Sounds good.” Y/N agrees. And they both left the living room.

Part 3 will be out soon!!

TAGS!!!

@casedoina @minim236 @unsaid-thougths @lena-davina @xmultixshadow @baby-baker @ornate-ribcage @niki110298

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lunacatzuniverse · 6 years

Text

Chess?

This was inspired by @novaedream ‘s drawing of Virgil and Logan playing a game of Chess. Now, this is a scripted story, if you would like to reenact this for YouTube or a Cosplay event etc. Please remember to give credit to both @novaedream and myself for this. Also, if you PM me your interest in this I would be more then happy to email you a pdf version of the script.

Living Room Window

Filming outside window with rain pan out from Window with Virgil sitting with a headset on watching the rainfall.

A hand taps him on the shoulder. He looks up to the owner of the hand.

Pan out further to show Logan standing next to Virgil.

Virgil removes his headset

Virgil

What's up?

Logan

Not much, I figured that since Paton and Roman are hanging with Thomas today. You and I could play a game?

Virgil looks at Logan with a questioning eye.

VIRGIL

Uhm. I'll bite, what game did you have in mind?

LOGAN

Chess?

VIRGIL

Never played it and it sounds complicated.

LOGAN

On the contrary, it's really easy to learn the basics. The game itself can be played in at least 10 minutes with the most expert players to up to an hour. It all depends on how fast you pick it up.

Virgil looks out the window as if contemplating what to do with the rain. After a few minutes, he lets out a sigh and looks back up to Logan.

VIRGIL

Sure, why not. It beats sitting here I guess.

Logan and Virgil Sink out together

Game Room

Logan and Virgil rise up next to their seats at a table that has a chess game set up for play.

Both Logan and Virgil take a seat across from each other. Virgil tentatively picks up and looks at the game pieces one at a time. As he does this Logan, explains each one's function.

Montage of them playing begins, with a few games being played where we see Logan winning each one. A clock on the wall may be used to help show the passage of time. The montage lasts for 3 minutes and ends with Virgil winning.

VIRGIL

Checkmate?

Logan looks at the board in disbelief and verifies Virgil's claim.

LOGAN

I say you got me that round. Way to go Virge. Good game.

VIRGIL

Want to play again? I think I'm getting the hang of this.

LOGAN

Sure.

A mini-montage of Virgil consistently saying Checkmate in different ways with different camera angles. (10 shots should be sufficient)

VIRGIL

Checkmate

LOGAN

(trying to hide that he's getting annoyed) Yes, I see that. Good game.

Patton and Roman rise up.

Patton

Here you are. We were wondering where you two had gone off to.

VIRGIL

Logan taught me how to play Chess.

LOGAN

(agitated) Yes, he seems to be a regular Bobby Fischer.

VIRGIL

Who?

Roman

A 13-year-old boy, who was the youngest grandmaster by age 15 and an eleventh world champion at chess by age 20. The fastest game he played was in 40 moves if I remember right.

Everyone looks at Roman surprised.

ROMAN

What? I don't just read fantasy books; I do love myself a good autobiography or two.

Fade black

Next day Game Room

The camera is angled on Logan who is sitting on a couch in the game room reading a book titled "Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess."

Pan out to reveal Virgil rising up across from Logan.

Sees Logan sitting on the couch with the book. He smiles and shakes his head. He runs his hand through his hair and slowly approaches, so as to not startle Logan.

VIRGIL

Logan?

LOGAN

(Jumps at hearing his name)

Whaa?! Oh, Virgil. Sorry, it seems I was overly focused on this book.

VIRGIL

(giggles) So I see. Uhm, I was wondering if you would like to have another go at chess?

Logan looks at his book and then to Virgil.

LOGAN

Uhm, if it's ok, I'd like to finish this if I may. Maybe tomorrow?

VIRGIL

(disappointed) Oh, uh sure tomorrow then.

Virgil sinks out Fade Black

A few Moments later game room

Logan sitting at the game table with a chessboard in play and the book open to his left.

Patton rises up with snacks and drinks on a tray.

PATTON

Hey Kiddo's, I thought you might like...

Notices Virgil is missing and looks around the room.

PATTON

Where's Virgil?

LOGAN

Oh, he may be in his room. He asked if I wanted to play and I told him, that I wanted to finish this book first.

Patton places the tray of goodies on a side table and joins Logan at the chess game. He quickly snags the book from Logan.

LOGAN

(frustrated) Hey, do you mind.

Logan tries to grab the book back from Patton, who manages to skillfully dodge his attempts.

PATTON

(Delivers lines while dodging) Bobby Fisher teaches chess? Really Logan? Did Virgil shake your confidence that much?

LOGAN

Psh. No.. I just haven't played in awhile and wanted to brush up. That's all. Since when is that a crime?

Finally succeeds in getting the book from Patton.

PATTON

Oh, it's no crime kiddo. I just expected more out of you that's all.

LOGAN

(confused) What?

PATTON

It's not like you to turn to your studies so quickly after a minor defeat as you were dealt yesterday. I mean it was Virgil's first time playing. Maybe it was just beginners luck?

Logan lets out a small chuckle and fixes his glasses.

LOGAN

Wow, I didn't even think of that. Thanks, Patton.

PATTON

Sooo. Are you going to ask him for a rematch then? Or should we just grab him with these snacks I made and watch some Disney movies with Roman? Thomas didn't get the role he auditioned for yesterday, so he's a bit bummed.

LOGAN

Disney today and a rematch tomorrow.

fade black

NEXT DAY Common Room

Full screenshot- Virgil is sitting on the couch with his eyes closed listening to music, while Patton is measuring Roman.

Logan rises up, and Patton and Logan make eye contact. Patton nods and motions for Roman to follow him. They sink out.

The camera moves to a close up of Logan

Logan adjusts his tie and takes a deep breath; he then walks over to Virgil.

The camera follows Logan to a small panned out position framing both Logan and Virgil.

Logan places his hand on Virgil's shoulder. When he doesn't respond, Logan gently nudges him. Virgil's eyes slowly open and looks up to Logan. He smiles and removes his headset.

VIRGIL

Sorry, must have dozed off. What's up?

LOGAN

Rematch

VIRGIL

Rematch?

LOGAN

Yes, please join me in the game room for a rematch.

VIRGIL

uh, ok.

Logan and Virgil Sink out Fade Black

GAME ROOM

Full Screenshot - Roman and Patton are already seated next to the game table in an observatory position.

Logan and Virgil rise up opposing seats.

Announcer Voice

Logan VS Virgil. BEGIN!

VIRGIL

Ladies, Lords, and Non-Binary Royalty Watch me as I beat this geek and do it joyously!

LOGAN

(Stands up) Hold it. Whoa. We're playing chess here, not having a repeat rap battle.

VIRGIL

(blushes) sorry, got carried away.

LOGAN

(adjusts glasses and sits) Indeed. Who was that voice anyways?

VIRGIL

I don't know, but you're first.

LOGAN

oh, right.

The game proceeds into a mini montage with Virgil staying winning. At some point, Virgil takes a look at Logan with a sympathetic eye without his knowledge and makes an error in his play. Which allows Logan to win.

LOGAN

Checkmate!

VIRGIL

(pretending to be surprised)Oh wow, I didn't even see that. I must be getting tired. Mind if we quit for the night?

Virgil points with his thumb to Patton and Roman who are leaning against each other asleep. Logan looks at the clock.

LOGAN

Yea, it's a bit past bedtime already. Another game tomorrow?

VIRGIL

Sure.

End Scene

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authoressskr · 6 years

Text

Give A Little

Characters: Gabriel, Samandriel, Cain, Chuck, Balthazar, Michael, Lucifer, Gadreel, Mentions of Reader (Mommy), Cas, and Eileen Leahy (mommy) :: Word Count: 1476 :: Warnings: Christmas Fluff

@sdavid09′s Daily Writing Challenge - Prompt #9: Fluff

A short bit that goes after Give and Take and a long, long time after A Pet Pee

Note: Do NOT repost, copy and paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION. -+- REBLOGGING is fine! -+-

A/N: With all the snow that blew in last night, this just popped up :D

“Why isn’t his house decorated, Uncle Gabe?” Madeline inquires, little hand firmly wrapped in Gabriel’s.

“Cain doesn’t decorate for any holidays, little jelly bean.” Her forehead wrinkles at his statement, glancing over her shoulder at the undecorated house before they turn the corner, headed to Chuck’s house.

“Why not?”

“He hasn’t decorate since I was little, eight - maybe nine. His wife passed away and he hasn’t decorated since.”

“Cas and you guys hung up our decorations. Then we helped out at Chuck’s.” Gabriel ushers Madeline up the front steps with a playful roll of his eyes at his father when the front door opened. He helped her from her thick periwinkle jacket as she continued. “We should help him decorate.”

“Help who decorate, Mads?” Chuck queries, shooting his son a questioning look.

“The man the next street over.”

“Cain.” Chuck confirms as he removes the lid from the cookie jar, tilting the glass jar in offering.

“Yeah, him.” Madeline agrees, her little hand shooting into the jar before pausing. “How many can I have?” Chuck holds up two fingers, smirking at the resemblances between her and Gabriel when it came to anything sweet. She removes two double chocolate chip cookies, setting them down on the paper plate Gabe had laid before her.

“Milk or juice?”

“Milk please.” Gabriel slides into the stool next to her’s, playfully reaching towards her cookies. “Nooooo.” She cries, throwing her little hands over her cookies protectively. He withdraws his hand with a laugh. “That’s not very funny, Uncle Gabe.” Her little face is the epitome of seriousness.

“Sure it wasn’t, little bean.” He gets out before the back door opens, Samandriel, Balthazar and Gadreel streaming in.

“Ooh, cookies!” Samandriel makes a move to grab her cookies, as Madeline whines out Chuck’s name.

“There’s more in the jar, Sam. Stop messin’ with Mads.” Samandriel faux pouts at his father’s words before leaning against the counter and unzipping his jacket.

“What’re you doing here today?” Balthazar asks, ruffling her hair as he tosses his jacket and scarf over the wingback chair at the edge of the living room.

“Cas had me help him with his surprise.”

“Surprise?” Gadreel asks, picking Madeline up and taking her seat, propping her on his thigh.

“Uh huh! Cas is going to ask Mommy to marry him. I helped him pick out the ring and we made her favorite dinner!” Her big brown eyes were brimming with excitement that slowly turned to suspicion when no one seemed surprised at her news. “I thought it was a secret!”

“It was - from Mommy.” Balthazar replies with a smirk before biting into a pear. Her little nose wrinkles, a habit she and Mommy share when they’re thinking.

“Are you guys here to watch me?” She asks after wiping the cookie crumbs from her mouth.

“Yep.” Gabriel confirms, eyeing her carefully. “What’s got those wheels turning?”

“Wellllll,” Gadreel chuckles before she even starts explaining. “Me and Uncle Gabe passed by Mr. Cain’s house. And I think we should decorate his house for him for Christmas.”

Well, that’s certainly not where they thought the conversation was going.

“I have the spare key...” Chuck offers conspiratorially.

“Why’d you have a key?” Madeline probes before polishing off the last of her second cookie.

“Cain is my cousin.” Chuck explains to her over his shoulder as he’s walking out of the kitchen. He returns with his own heavy coat and Madeline’s. “He works the late shift on Thursdays and Fridays, so we have plenty of time.”

“Time for what?” Michael asks, entering the kitchen with Lucifer just behind him.

“We’re gonna go decorate Cain’s house for Christmas to cheer him up!” Madeline announces as she wiggles free from Gadreel’s hold, slipping her arms into her jacket that Chuck held up. Her deft little hands tug her long hair from it’s trapped position between her shirt and jacket before she pulls her light pink beanie from her right pocket, tugging it on over the brown waves.

“Well, boys?” Chuck asks, handing Madeline the spare set of mittens he kept for her.

“You’re listening to a 1st grader?” Lucifer asks incredulously as Gabriel zipped his jacket up.

“Hells yeah!” Gabriel affirms as Balthazar and Gadreel pull their jackets back on.

“She’s got some good ideas, Luce.” Lucifer pins his youngest brother with his icy blue gaze before shrugging.

“Alright. Let’s follow the small child. But if I get punched by your mother for this, you’re in some serious trouble, bean.” Lucifer called loudly as he closed the back door behind him, following his father and future niece to Cain’s house.

- :: - :: -

Cain pulls up to his small house in town - left to him by his grandmother and used by him mostly in the fall and winter, when it was too cold or the roads too icy to go all the way to his farm - the truck idling as he stared bewildered out his windshield at his very decorated home. Climbing out of his old truck, blue eyes staring up at his home from the curb. What the hell?

Lights were strung from the eves, twined up the tree trunks and draped from the branches. There was an old plastic light up Santa sitting by his front door while his sleigh and eight wooden reindeer sat on the left side of his yard. Through his big bay window he could see a Christmas tree with twinkle lights strung around it, piquing more of his interest. There were also a few new decorations; a blow up polar bear with a cup of cocoa just under one of the trees and lighted candy canes up his walk.

“Do you like it?” A little voice queries, her little cheeks almost as pink as her beanie with the cold and excitement, his cousin’s sons crowd around behind her - like a guard squadron for a tiny queen.

“It hasn’t been decorated for a long time.” He points out gruffly as she tilts her head, long brown hair sliding to the right.

“That’s why we did it, Mr. Cain.” She moves closer, standing beside him to look at the house. “Uncle Gabe said you didn’t decorate since you were sad.” She pauses, notices him stand a little straighter. “My mommy died just after I was born. Mommy and me cried over it when I was bigger and knews what that meant...Mommy still does cry sometimes. But me and Cas cheer her up. My mommy will always be with me - and your wife will always be with you. Understand?” Cain nods and chuckles, extending his gloved hand to her.

“I’m Cain Addams.”

“Madeline Leahy-Y/L/N.” His hand swallowed hers as she shook his hand, Madeline leaning in, as if to disclose a secret. “But Cas is asking Mommy to marry him tonight and he said after they get married I get Mommy’s new last name too.” Cain nods seriously at her news.

“Then we will be cousins.”

“What will I call you?”

“The boys call me Uncle. You can too.”

“Uncle Cain,” She tests the name out then gives a nod. “I like it. Grandpa said we couldn’t decorate the tree unless you said so. So can we?”

“I don’t know.” He rubs a hand thoughtfully over his beard. “Did you bring cookies?”

“And beer!” She confirms joyously as Chuck and his sons laugh. Cain holds a hand out to her again, letting her grasp his firmly before leading her up the walk and out of the cold.

“Watch out Miss, I am the police chief.”

“Do you have a gun?” She pushes a strand of hair away from her face as she asks, the porch making a few groaning noises as everyone piled onto it.

“Yeees.” He answers cautiously, opening the door and guiding her in before shooting a look at Chuck, who just smiles and shrugs.

“When I get bigger, can you teach me?” Gabriel is waving his hand in front of his throat and mouthing ‘No’, just out of her line of sight.

“We’ll see what Mommy says.” She sighs heavily, Michael helping her out of her coat.

“That means no.”

“Let’s focus on decorating the tree.” Chuck draws her attention to the two small boxes of ornaments and tinsel as Gabriel and Lucifer bring out the cookies, scones, beer and a glass of chocolate milk for Madeline.

“Do you really like it, Uncle Cain?”

“Yes. Maybe next year I can help.”

“We could get more blow ups! Or a dinosaur in a Santa hat!” Chuckles are heard around the room as they remove the ornaments and settle into his living room.

“I think I’d like a dinosaur.” Cain whispers to her as he hands her one end of tinsel, watching her brown eyes light up before she slips around behind the tree with the golden tinsel firmly in her little hand.

Tagging: @sdavid09 @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @unleashthemidnight @clockworkmorningglory @sumara62 @lucis-unicorn @chelsea072498 @sakurablossom4 @galaxiesinmymind @keepingcalmisoverratedgoddamnit @ourloveisforthelovely

#gabriel #give and take #chuck shurley #michael #lucifer #cain #cas #supernatural reader insert #tale teller's daily writing challenge #authoressskr writes #balthazar #samandriel #OC Madeline Leahy-Y/L/N #late Christmas fluff #supernatural fanfiction

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ryik-the-writer · 7 years

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Rumbelle Fic: Lipstick (Chapter 5: The Monster on the Stairs)

Rating: M (rating may change)

Something’s wrong with Gideon ~ Mr. Gold recalls the day he discovered his son was different.

A03

Special thanks to @robertmarch82 who’s been a huge inspiration *blows kiss*

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Gideon!”

Mr. Gold chased his son up the stairs as fast as he could, but Gideon had a good six inches more of leg on him and reached the top of the stairs before Mr. Gold barely made the middle step.

“Gideon for god’s sake stop son!”

To his surprise Gideon did stop, but he kept his back to his father.

Gold reached the top of the stairs, panting and staring up at his son.

“Gideon.” Gold wheezed. “Son, please…”

Gideon turned to face his father and for the first time that day, Gideon’s eyes met his, and they were so full of discouragement that Gold could have vomited. His nails dug into the wooden banister, anger and hatred brewing in his gut towards the people who made his son—his beautiful unique boy—feel so uncomfortable in his skin.

There had been a time when such a concept hadn’t been a twinkle in Gideon’s eye, when he was young and innocent and unashamed of anything.

Reid Gold was sure he could pinpoint the day everything in their lives changed, not knowing then that the amusing moment between both father and son was the beginning and the end of Gideon Matthey Gold.

It had been a hot day, he recalled, summer in fact. A time when Storybrooke’s youth could run ramped, experiment and adventure until their parents called them in for the night. Those whose required more structure or who needed extra money for vacations worked part time at the diner or the daycare. Those otherwise took part in the reading program Belle had set up in the library.

Gideon had loved spending those days with his mother, setting up the events, choosing the books, and he recalled solemnly, helping Belle pick out the dresses she would wear that day. He enjoyed the latter the most.

It was on that blistering day that the heat had been too much for the young five-year old and he had had no choice but to stay home with his father (who had refused to go out into the blasted heat and open shop). All had been uneventful until late afternoon when Belle had phoned to inquire about dinner plans.

“We could go to the diner.” Belle suggested.

“It’s Friday.” Mr. Gold reminded her. “It’ll be packed and it’s hot enough without being shoulder-to-shoulder with Storybrooke’s sweaty tourists.”

Belle snorted in amusement. “Okay smart guy, what is our son in the mood for?”

“Do you even need to ask? Pizza!” he recited the last word in a pitched tone to (poorly) intimidate his son’s voice.

Belle laughed joyously over the phone. “Sounds great. But make a salad so we can tell the other parents we actually try to feed our son right.”

The couple chatted pleasantly for a moment more before Gold said his goodbyes and went upstairs to locate his son. He was a bit surprised to not find the boy in his room where he had been the majority of the day. He began to make his way towards the bathroom when he heard a hushed giggle coming from his and Belle’s room.

While Gideon wasn’t necessarily banned from his parents’ room, the Golds had tried to teach him the importance of permission and privacy, thus the young boy usually stayed where he knew he was welcomed. Yet, when Mr. Gold peaked curiously inside, he found the boy standing in front of their full-length mirror with a pair of Belle’s heels on his feet and her favorite blue dress sagging over his play clothes.

The first thought to go through the father’s mind was that Belle was going to be very irritated that her son had wrinkled her favorite silk dress.

The second thought was why was his son donned out in his wife’s clothes?

He watched his son twirl awkwardly in Belle’s size six shoe, giggling as he fruitlessly soothed the fabric of her dress. He looked so happy that Gold didn’t have the heart to intervene on his playtime, even if he was concerned.

He knew it was normal for children to imitate their parents, talk like them and dress like them, however it had never crossed his mind that children would do this with the parent of the opposite sex. Sure, Gideon idolized his mother, adored her in every way a son adored their mother, but he had always hoped that he would walk in on Gideon playing with his father’s ties and vests and not…this.

Gold leaned against the door, causing it to squeak as it opened. Gideon shot around, eyes wide from being caught.

Full of discouragement?

No, just the boyish fear of being snuck up on.

“Papa you scared me!” Gideon giggled, holding up the ends of Belle’s dress so that he could bound awkwardly towards his father.

Gold kneeled to place a hand on Gideon’s head to steady him from tripping. “Pardon me…” he apologized, seeing the full extent of Gideon’s getup now that he was close. He had Belle’s limited-edition lipstick smeared on his lips and chin, blush and orange eyeshadow he recalled Belle using with a Halloween costume last year.

“That’s…a very interesting look you have.” Gold commented with a small smile.

Gideon’s smudged eyes widened and he smiled with glee. “Am I pwetty like Mommy?”

Mr. Gold released a wet laugh, not in mockery or humor of the situation but at little Gideon’s innocent outlook on his game of dress-up. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, Mr. Gold chastised himself. A little unordinary perhaps, but nothing close to damnable.

“You look very…unique.” The father insisted with an indulgent smile. “But…” he reached out to swipe a glob of lipstick from the corner of Gideon’s mouth. “I think we need to work on your coordination before you try lipstick again.” He looked down at the dress. “And color scheme. I think your more of an autumn than a summer, m’boy.”

Gideon stared at his father curiously.

“I’ll explain later.” Gold stated, standing uneasily. “In the meantime, let’s get you in the tub.”

Gideon’s smile faded slightly, his bright eyes looking down at the dress he was in longingly.

“Can I…wear the dress just a little longer papa?”

“…why would you want to do that son?”

Gideon twirled lightly in the material. “Because I look pretty.”

Mr. Gold froze, his mind going blank for a response. He wanted to allow his son this flicker of happiness but something—something Gold knew had no business in the mind of a parent—wanted to crush it.

He quickly banished the thought from his mind, reminding his self that this was child’s play—nothing more and nothing worth getting upset about.

“How about,” Gold compromised, “you take off the dress and I add bubbles to the bath. We can even pull out the bath toys for a little while, yeah?”

Gideon’s hopeful look faded, but he smiled mildly and nodded his consent, pulling the silky material slowly over his head. He hugged the dress to his chest for a moment before handing it to his papa.

Discouragement.

Gold felt a shameful sense of relief when Belle’s dress was in his hands, but also a dark churn of guilt at seeing the defeated look on his little boy’s face.

“Hey.” Gold smiled, talking hold of the boy by his sides and hoisting him up in the air (and out of Belle’s shoes). Thankfully, Gideon squealed in delight and the dark cloud over him momentarily cleared.

He sat him down and Gideon went trudging off to turn on the water for his bath (which, despite his mother’s protest, he was old enough to do). As soon as he heard the water running he shot into action, stuffing the dress into the bottom of the hamper and placing the heels back in their proper place in the walk-in closet.

He then set to work on Belle’s vanity which was littered with makeup dust, opened lipstick tubes, and nearly deflated lotion tubes. He cleared it all away quickly, making a mental checklist of what he would have to replace, all the while wondering why he was even covering this up. Belle would be annoyed by the destruction of her makeup table, but not angry at Gideon for being a child. She might even laugh about it.

Yet he continued to clean the table like his life depended on it. Like Gideon’s life depended on it. Something in his mind didn’t want this near his family, near his little boy.

With shaky, discolored hands he entered the bathroom where Gideon had added a bit too many bubbles to the bath.

Mr. Gold heeded the suds no mind and pulled the stool he kept in the bathroom to the side of the tub, turning off the water. The little boy was forming the bubbles into a sort of hat for the plastic frog he was playing with.

“Hey son,” Mr. Gold greeted as cheerfully as he could. “How about we keep today a secret, just between you and me?”

Gideon glanced away from his toy, staring at his father with large brown eyes.

“Why?”

Mr. Gold grimaced, considering for a moment about dropping what he was about to say and leaving the boy alone.

“Well son, you know how you can only dress up in a costume on Halloween?”

Gideon nodded.

“Well, if you wore a costume everyday, Halloween wouldn’t be a special when it came around now would it?”

Gideon shrugged.

“Now to mention,” Mr. Gold added to get to the main point of his speech. “some people might not understand.”

“But you and mama told me not to worry what people think.” Gideon recited.

Damn, they did. Curse his and Belle’s life-sustaining messages.

“That is true m’boy. But sometimes…you have to care just a wee bit. Because some people will do whatever they can to make you feel different, and they won’t stop.”

Mr. Gold saw the flash of uncertainty flash in his eyes and stopped. He wished he could explain this in a way that wouldn’t scare the boy; that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

“But hey,” Mr. Gold smiled, patting the little boy’s wet hair. “you will always be safe here. You can…always be yourself.”

Gideon perked up. “I can wear the dress again?”

Mr. Gold swallowed hard but nodded. “Sure son, let’s…let’s just not tell your mum yet. Let’s keep this our secret…for now, okay?”

Gideon frowned. He had been looking forward to his mama seeing how pretty he could be. But she might not like him playing with her dress and makeup, and he didn’t want to get in trouble.

“Okay papa.”

To the present day, Belle had no knowledge of the events that day. Her son had been scrubbed clean, and if he and her husband looked a bit crestfallen she blamed the heat.

Now she couldn’t blame the summer heat that stopped her child from having a fun day. It was autumn and her son was decked out in a light cardigan and full-fledged makeup and the laughing stock of his school.

“It didn’t work.”

Mr. Gold looked up, his son’s bitter voice breaking him from his daze.

“What didn’t work son?”

Gideon shook his head, gasping as he sought for the words.

Mr. Gold moved closer, hands reaching out to balance his son.

“What happened this morning Gideon?” he asked gently. “Why did you go out like that? We agreed…”

A sob cut Mr. Gold off and he took hold of Gideon’s arms just in time to prevent him from dropping to the ground. He balanced him against the banister, holding him up as he curled into himself.

“I thought it would be okay…” Gideon sobbed into his lap. “I thought…I thought it wouldn’t matter…”

Mr. Gold held his son up, wishing Belle was by his side to give Gideon the motherly comfort he needed.

However, it was time for a talk between father and son. One of many they’d had since Gideon first revealed himself to him all those years ago.

“Son,” Mr. Gold whispered just in case Belle made an appearance. “Gideon you remember what I told you…the day you told your mother about…this?”

Gideon’s dead-set eyes met his father. “The day I expected you stand by my side when I told mother about who I was? Oh yes, papa, I remember it well.”

Mr. Gold was a bit taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor, and also ashamed by the reminder in the lapse of bravery that day.

Belle had retreated upstairs after suggesting Gideon change his shoes. Mr. Gold wasn’t quite sure what she was going to retrieve (or if she needed a moment to compose herself) but he did know that he could finally breathe.

He waited until she was up the stairs before he turned to his son. Gideon looked…relieved, and Gold felt a wave of guilt churn in his stomach.

“Gideon.” Mr. Gold spoke.

Gideon turned to his father, his smile fading at the site of his bitter frown.

“What?” he growled, knowing a fight was underway.

Mr. Gold spared a glance up the stairs before moving closer. “What are you doing?”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “I’m getting fashion advice from my mother. Is that a problem?”

Mr. Gold’s jaw clenched. “We agreed you wouldn’t—”

“No you—” Gideon glanced upstairs and lowered his voice. “You’re the one who told me not to tell her! To hide who I am from her! But I’m sick of it dad. I’m sick of hiding who I am. I want out!”

“And you will be.” Mr. Gold tried to assure him. “When you’re 18—”

“Don’t bring that up again. I can’t wait another year. I need out now.”

“Son, you can’t—”

“Why?” Gideon yelled. “You told me I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You don’t.”

“Then why the hell do you keep me from being myself?”

“Because they won’t understand you!” Mr. Gold finally shouted, his hand swinging out to point to the outside world, knocking the pitcher of orange juice off the counter.

Gideon jumped from the violence but the fear in his eyes did little to settle the seething father.

“There are people out there who will destroy you for being different! They’ll go after you, and they’ll go after your mother! You’ve put both you and her in danger!”

Gideon froze, his glassy eyes searching around the room. He was panicking obviously and Mr. Gold regretted every word that had just left his mouth.

“No Gideon I’m sorry I didn’t mean—”

“Stay away from me.” Gideon gasped, picking up his discarded heels and turning to the stairs.

Mr. Gold reached out for him. “Please son I-”

“Get the fuck away from me dad!” Gideon shouted, racing up the stairs before his father could grab him.

Mr. Gold let him go but wished he could start anew. What had he done? What kind of a parent said things like that to their child?

Him apparently.

Could he justify what he had said to Gideon? It was out of fear that he had said those things, fear of his wife’s and son’s safety. This town hated him and not above attacking his property to spite him. Who could guess what they would do to his family.

When he heard Belle call after Gideon, he made himself busy cleaning up the mess he and Gideon made. He turned his back to the stairs when he heard Belle’s quiet footsteps. He couldn’t face her, couldn’t tell her what he had done and how he had all but broken their son.

So he left them. He left his loving wife and son to brew in their fear and sadness and he spent the day in his dusty, cold shop doing the same.

“You abandoned me.”

Gideon’s growl brought Mr. Gold from his remembrance, and when he met the boys eyes, he did not like what he saw.

“You stood there and berated me, acted like you had no idea what I was in front of her.”

“I know I did Gideon. I—”

“Why do you keep doing this?” Gideon seethed, eyes pooling. “Why do you keep telling me I’m okay and then turn around and ostracize me?”

“Gideon, try to understand that everything I do is to protect you—”

“From what?!” Gideon boomed, his lithe body shaking so hard Mr. Gold was afraid he’d trip down the stairs.

“From mom?” Gideon laughed, and really it was hilarious. “She doesn’t care dad, and if you had told her all those years ago she wouldn’t have cared then!”

“She might not Gideon but the people she’d told would have!”

Gideon paused, taking in the scorn his father was displaying towards his mother.

“Mom wouldn’t have done that to me. She wouldn’t have just…told the whole world about me like that.”

“Not on purpose son. Your mother has one unfortunate flaw: she trusts people too easily. She would have told someone about you in confidence and they would have stabbed her in the back.”

“No…”

“Yes…”

“She wouldn’t!”

“She would have and it would have gotten worse from then on out! I’ve told you this before! Storybrooke is the kind of town that doesn’t let anyone be different! They will sniff it out and crush it! I never want that to happen to your mom and you!”

Gideon’s breath became labored and his nails dug into the carpet.

“Son.” Mr. Gold took the boy by his shoulders, fearing he was about to fall into a panic attack. “Son it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

A sound between a sob and a laugh left Gideon’s throat. He lifted his head and the look in his eyes chilled his father to the bone.

“No, Papa, everything is not going to be okay. I’m out. I showed all those people at school who I really am…and I can’t take that back. And you know what, I don’t care. If they kill me tomorrow, I don’t care because I’ll be me. And dad, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Mr. Gold released him, staring at his son in disbelief. What had he done to him?

Wait…

Mr. Gold gently moved Gideon’s shaking hands from his face and realized why he had been so shaken when he had looked into his eyes.

Those were not his son’s eyes.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Gideon Gold #Gideon #Lipstick #crossdressing #transgender #Robyn Hood-Mills #Neal Nolan #ryik's fics

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