#and does whatever's necessary to ensure she stays

[ladamedemartel]

The conversation turned toward more of an interrogation, which, Aurora supposed was slightly more pleasant. At least if he was interrogating her, he might be considering the prophecy more seriously. Aurora needed him to be concerned about it. As much as she loathed to admit it, Elijah was her best chance at ensuring her own survival, and Tristan's. Arguably, she could have tried to turn Niklaus to her aid, but after all these years, who's to say that he would listen? Elijah, on the other hand, had motives as reliable as her own. He would do what was necessary to protect his family, whatever the cost. Most times that could make him incredibly dangerous, but it also made him, to a degree, predictable; Aurora needed certain assurances.

"There was a witch. A seer. If you drink her blood, she can show you what she sees. Apparently the core of the prophecy remains consistent, but details continue to remain hidden, even from her." She answered the first question posed to her, offered slightly more information to keep him intrigued. "I've seen it once. Most of it made little sense to me, but perhaps you would have more context." she shrugged before turning to the next phase of his inquisition. "Lucien does not fit. He would never harm Niklaus when his fate remains tied to your brother. Nor would he harm Rebekah. While Lucien may think that removing would would be the nest means to remove Tristan, I think even you would not think he so foolish enough to believe that I would ever forgive him for any harm coming to Tristan."

That left his questions about Tristan, questions which Aurora would have preferred to avoid. "I hedge on Niklaus because I am trying to be forthright with you, Elijah, whether you accept that or not. My own survival is tied to Rebekah's. Whatever awful things you may think of me, you know that I would not harm her if doing so meant my own end. You know that similar reasons stay my hand with respect to you; surely you understand that I would not harm you when it would cost me Tristan. As for Niklaus, well, perhaps you believe all sorts of awful things about me and think that I would strike out at Niklaus even if it would cost me Lucien. I will not try to persuade you when I know that you cannot be persuaded on such a point, it is why I did not deny that I easily qualify as a foe. Though, I am flattered that you think that I of all people could spell Niklaus' end. But that still leaves open friend and family, so killing me would do little to alleviate the threat. In fact, it may exacerbate it. If I am removed from the board, neither Tristan nor Lucien are restrained. Working with me, and I with you, no matter how distasteful we may find it, is the best means of making certain that everyone behaves themselves."

@deceptivemorals

        elijah stood still, his dark eyes narrowing as aurora’s words, 'three of you shall fall: one by friend, one by foe, one by family' hung in the air, her flippant hair-toss belying a flicker of earnestness. he studied her for a long moment, gaze dissecting her posture, the faint tension in her pause, weighing her truth against her penchant for games.

       "i admit, your disclosure of this prophecy intrigues, if i can trust its veracity." he tilted his head, a faint smile masking his skepticism. "how might i view this prophecy? a seer’s vision? carvings in some ancient crypt? and from whom did you learn this and when? your candor’s a start, but hardly proof." he still wasn't too convinced because he found it strange that such a grave prophecy would appear now; after 1000 years. what had changed? what had been the trigger? prophecies usually do not pop up just because they can, provided it wasn't used as a guise for a trap.

       his tone grew precise, probing. "you claim self-interest spares rebekah and me, yet hedge on niklaus. who, in your view, fits this prophecy’s roles: friend, foe, family? and lucien ... how well do you truly know his ambitions?" he stepped closer, eyes unwavering. he knew that tristan definitely had the means to carry out such a prophecy, but it would be risky. elijah did not regard him as such a fool. "your brother’s arsenal; witches, dark relics; looms large. how does tristan ensure no reckless mischief with such power? or does he?"

       elijah’s posture was unyielding, his starting diplomacy a thin veneer over distrust. "as i said: prophecies are fickle, aurora, and your motives opaque. your warning suggests concern, yet ties to your survival as well as tristan’s schemes." his voice dipped, coolly pointed. "you speak of unfinished business, but assure me you’re no threat. why should i believe this isn’t a ploy to stir discord?" || @ladamedemartel

[daycourtofficial]

Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part ten

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x Reader | WC: 3.6k | warnings: Azriel’s sad boohoo

Summary: Azriel’s left behind in the Night Court, his two mates vanishing at the end of the gala. No one else feels the urgency he does to find both of them, to ensure they’re unharmed and safe.

Author’s note: hehe an Az pov 🫶🏻 didn’t think I’d ever write one of those

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Azriel was losing his ever loving mind.

His brothers were both sitting in Rhysand’s office, discussing the events that just unfolded, too preoccupied with Keir to talk about the parts of this disaster Azriel cared about most. The shadowsinger wanted to carve out Keir’s skin, test the limits of his healing for the male to truly experience the depths of pain Azriel was so familiar with.

But his thoughts kept moving quickly between needing revenge and needing answers, meanwhile his brothers just lounged casually, acting as if they were discussing a recent sporting event.

“He can’t just take her, Rhysand.” Without me went unsaid. It was impossible for Azriel to take a full breath since his mates had disappeared. His chest felt like it was shredding itself from within and every limb ached with uncertainty.

Where were you?

Azriel didn’t have time to talk with Rhys, needing to go to the cabin. Surely Eris dropped you off at the cabin, maybe even lingered and let you assess any wounds he had been dealt.

His stomach churned at the idea either of you had been injured in his presence. He had been able to sneak glances your way, no sign of blood or bruising from his vantage point, but the gargoyles may have caused him to miss something.

Where was Eris?

Azriel’s face hardened, slipping into his role as spymaster, digging at every detail.

Eris knew the plan inside and out. He had spent hours ensuring they both knew every step the other would take, and yet, his mate had forged his own path for the night the moment he asked you to dance.

Why would Eris take you?

The question had been plaguing him since he saw a pile of gargoyles overtake the spot the two of you had been occupying. He couldn’t consider the gargoyles had finished the two of you off. He clutched the strained bonds he felt in his chest, holding them tight in reassurance.

“We’re getting there, Azriel. Keir is more of a priority.” Rhysand fell into that High Lord voice, the tone that was bordering hypnotic that worked so well on Cassian but never quite had the same effect on Azriel. It grated his sloped ears, prickling at his skin like a bad feeling.

“Is he really more of a priority?”

“Yes. If Keir is behaving like this in public, we need to shut it down. We need his darkbringers on our side, and if Keir is moving on us, we have to prepare the Illyrians.”

Wrong. The whisper came from one of his shadows, gently caressing his ear while Rhysand spoke. Azriel looked to Cassian, hoping for some form of aid from his other brother, but Cassian kept his eyes on Rhysand, trained on their youngest brother.

“Eris took one of our own, someone in our family. If this were Feyre, you’d be on the warpath.” The shadowsinger had to get through to them, whatever means necessary. Rhysand’s eyes darkened as he leaned back in his chair, assessing Azriel. Azriel felt the familiar talon drag access his mind, his brother hoping for entry. He swatted it away, unsure he had the fortitude to keep Rhys from finding out anything he didn’t want him to know.

“If you’ll recall, Feyre spent months away from us in the Spring Court being held by Tamlin. This situation isn’t much different. She knew what she was signing up for.”

Azriel’s blood ran cold, but he used every ounce of self-restraint to stay still. He fisted and unfisted his hand at his side. Images flashed in his mind - lunging at Rhysand, toppling him out of his chair, busting his jaw for speaking like his mate like that.

He couldn’t blow this. You had kept his secret for months now and he couldn’t have it all unravel now because of his brother’s stupid tongue.

“I know you feel guilty that she’s gone, but we’ll get her back.” They were both looking at him, but it was Cassian who spoke, his voice softer than Rhys’s, much less accusatory. His brother looked concerned, his long hair curling up at the edges, the exertion from the confrontation nowhere to be seen save for the sweat dried to his brow. He had a slight bruise on his left cheek, one of the gargoyles no doubt.

Azriel stayed still, keeping his breath even. Adrenaline swam through his veins, the confrontation in Hewn City ending too swiftly, leaving much to be desired for his blood lust. He had tracked the moment his mates disappeared, a strong tug in his chest urging his eyes in that direction. He had caught the side of Eris’s head as he turned back to you, grabbing your hand, and disappearing into the night air.

Azriel had felt the pulse of magic from his siphon as blue light blinded him, a gargoyle lunging for him before some of his shadows quickly formed a net, sparing him from injury or death. He had turned quickly, using his sword to smash the gargoyle to pieces, only to watch the rest crumble around him.

Dust had floated through the air, coughing to keep it from his lungs. The dance floor had been buried beneath a thick layer of rubble.

Azriel’s first instinct would have been to check for anyone injured in the fight, but he stared longingly instead at the spot his mates had last been at. His first thought had been that the two of you hadn’t disappeared into the air, but instead became buried beneath the stone. His shadows had been quick to correct him, whispering softly not here, not here.

His relief had been short-lived, quickly replaced with panic and anger, both of which he had directed at Keir. With the gargoyles gone, he had flown across the space, one flap of his great wings enough to shoot him across the cavern into Keir. His boots had hit Keir’s chest first, knocking the male to the ground.

Azriel didn’t hear the crunch of Keir’s head, his blonde hair quickly matting with blood. He only growled at the male, holding scarred hands tight against his throat. Keir was choking, squirming beneath Azriel’s anger, unable to push the Illyrian off.

At some point the shadowsinger had begun snarling and growling, turning into a rabid animal as he tried to squeeze the life from Hewn City’s leader.

Cassian had pulled him away, pried his fingers off of Keir’s throat. He had been saying something to Azriel, but a buzzing overtook his ears, allowing him to fixate his anger all on Keir. Cassian looked down at Azriel, barely holding him place, Keir’s wheezing and sputtering going ignored by both of them.

“What are you doing?” Cassian had shouted at him, pushing Azriel down when he tried to stand back up, a few of his shadows there to soften his fall.

“He tried to kill us, Cassian.” Azriel didn’t think he’d ever have to defend violence against Keir to Cassian of all fae. Azriel’s shadows nipped and hissed at Cassian, angry he stopped their master from seeking vengeance on behalf of his mates. Cassian lifted his feet with each nip, shaking his leg trying to rid himself of the darkness, but they clung to him. They had found holes in his leathers and began nipping and pinching at the exposed flesh to show their irritation.

“Call them off,” Cassian yelped, trying to hide his pain, his feet stomping down on the tendrils, the shadows able to dart away with each slow step.

“No.”

“No?” The general asked incredulously, his foot raised midstomp.

“Why should I?” Azriel growled, chest heaving, desperate for oxygen. He had to leave, had to go, there wasn’t enough air in this mountain. There wasn’t enough air when his mates were missing and he was left behind, left in the dark, a new basement to hold him captive in.

His wings fluttered at the memory of being pinned behind his back, how painful stretching them even an inch had been. No one had taught him how crucial it was to stretch his wings, to spread them out when he slept.

They spread out now, shadows spilling out of the nooks and crannies they had been tucked into. One flap of his wings brought him back onto his feet, lunging for Keir once more, pinning him beneath his body with ease.

The male had been inches from Azriel’s sword when a smooth voice floated through his mind.

Stop.

Azriel’s nostrils flared at the command, his sword slowly moving toward Keir’s neck, the blade close enough to make a small slice with his deep breath. Blood bubbled onto the blade, a few drops joining together, sliding toward the hilt.

Azriel, I told you to stop.

Azriel kept his eyes on Keir, wanting nothing more than to tear the male limb from limb for attacking his mates. His weight was bearing down on the male, the blonde squirming beneath him to get out. Keir’s mouth was full of blood, his teeth making him look carnivorous as he smiled.

“Lose something, shadowsinger?”

Azrkel pressed down to behead the male, but some invisible force kept his blade where it was. He pushed and pushed, grunting with the force, but it would not move. The spymaster ground his teeth as he shifted his focus to his High Lord, his anger on full display.

Rhysand’s violet eyes were stern as he looked down at the shadowsinger, but something odd lingered in their depths. He crossed his arms across his chest, trying and failing to look nonchalant.

“I will deal with him.”

And now they stood in Rhysand’s office. Azriel had no idea where Rhysand had taken Keir, a fact not unnoticed by him and that continued to fuel his anger. They are wasting so much time now. Were you or Eris hurt? Did Keir have outside help? Where had Eris taken you?

Azriel choked down his urgency, keeping it in his gut to be well-equipped for any scenario. He hadn’t restocked the cabin’s medical supplies, too busy passing the time with his mates and his own duties with Rhysand.

Foolish.

His mate had used everything available to save his life, every spare shred of gauze, even scraps of linen had been used to quelch the bleeding. And he hadn’t the time nor forethought to extend the same courtesy.

One of his shadows hit him in the head, trying to stop his thoughts from spiraling into the self-doubt that had been shrouding him for months. The fear that lingered constantly, a spiral of inadequacies that led to the disappointment of both his mates.

He knew he could have handled things better. Knew he should have handled things better.

But when had he ever handled anything correctly?

Another shadow tugged lightly at his hair, pulling him back into his brother’s violet eyes, shifting the blame from himself to his High Lord.

“We better get her back.” He gritted out, his jaw hardly opening with how hard he was grinding his teeth.

The both of them, he wanted to say. We better get them both back.

-

After an eternity of Cassian’s fidgeting and Rhys’s obfuscating, Azriel left the study, cutting his brother off mid sentence. He wouldn’t stand there wasting precious time any longer, listening as Rhysand danced around the subject, never committing to a plan.

He flew to the House of Wind, the breeze not helping his mood. There was a current from the north that exerted his wings to counteract it, the air trying to sweep him in a different direction.

He landed on the balcony to his room, not taking any chances at getting stopped. He had to gather supplies, weapons, anything that could-

A knock at the door made him pause before continuing his list, running to his washroom for supplies. He didn’t have time to bother with Cassian’s ridiculous whining, listening to his brother attempt to get Azriel to see Rhysand’s reasoning.

The knock on his door persisted, louder now. Azriel was shoving gauze into a bag before he called out, “I’m not speaking with you, Cassian.”

The door opened and a curse fell from Azriel’s lips, ready to throw his brother from the balcony until a familiar scent of cinnamon and citrus hit his nose. He turned to find Mor standing in his doorway, her usual smile gone, replaced with a more serious look.

“We need to talk.” Azriel ignored her, crouching down to the floor instead of looking at her. He didn’t have the patience to listen to her complain about her father, not when he could only think about one thing.

“Not now.” He slid a bulky bag out from beneath his bed, unrolling the black fabric slowly to avoid jostling the blades inside. His eyes roamed over the dozen or so blades, all varying sizes and different hilt adornments. His eyes paused on one blade before quickly moving on, the bright amber jewel too close to his mate’s eye coloring for him to not get emotional.

Eris had given him the blade several years ago, a gift after the shadowsinger had opened up about his brothers. The abuse he endured at their hands, how he still watched them from time to time, lurking in the shadows of their houses to keep them on edge. Never doing anything more than lurking or moving things, just to make them feel haunted.

For so long Azriel had felt like a ghost, a secret existence that no one spoke of or saw. Time passed outside and with his body, but so long, he felt stuck, forced to walk the world as that little boy. Haunted by memories of fae who never think of him.

Most importantly on that night, he confided in Eris about how conflicted he felt every day that they lived. “I’m not sure what I would do face to face with them again,” were his exact words. Eris had stayed quiet, listening to his tale while they sat in a quiet grove. It was their spot, a quiet patch of land in Dawn close to the border with the Middle.

It’s where, almost a year to the day of that conversation, their cabin would be built. Eris had acquired the land from the previous owner after Azriel had combed through the male’s entire life. He was a simple farmer, no ties to anyone save an aunt who visits him on occasion.

The day the only home they could share was finished, a solid place for them to stay built by their own hands and magic, a box had been placed in the middle of the empty space.

“It’s one of mine. They even matched the hilt to my eyes.” Azriel had noticed it immediately, the familiar color a perfect match to his mate’s eyes that made him feel like he was home. “I want you to have a piece of me there if you ever get around to killing your brothers.”

Azriel shook off the memory before rolling the bag back up, securing the ties on it before lifting it over his shoulder, tucking the bag in the space between his wings.

“Azriel, it’s important. Can you stop whatever you’re doing?”

“No.”

Mor huffed, stamping her foot lightly on his floor, but Azriel didn’t turn. He was too busy checking off the list in his head, wanting to get everything he could possibly need for any situation.

You were a damn good healer, but Azriel had to be prepared for the possibility that you were injured or even worse. He started for the washroom again, remembering some pain potions beneath his sink.

“I’ve known for a long time, Azriel.”

Mor’s voice was quiet, the painful truth lacing every word. Azriel stopped walking, his body going rigid just long enough for Mor to know she had him.

What she implied wasn’t possible. He kept his face neutral, not giving anything away. He wanted to know where along the way she found out, his damned curiosity almost getting the better of him, but that would confirm the truth and he couldn’t do that, not now when neither of you were safe.

“I hated you for a long, long time.”

Azriel had noticed her distance for some time, thinking she had just become aware of how sickening his obsession had been, keeping her distance instead of confronting him, thinking him too delicate to handle the rejection.

It wasn’t her rejection he wouldn’t be able to handle.

“But now I know it’s real and I don’t know what’s going on, but Az, something’s off.”

He didn’t have time for this. He had to find both of his mates, had to claw his way to the other end of the strings in his chest. He didn’t say anything, only pushed past Mor, trying to get to the door. It shut before he reached it, her long fingers spread out, gold clattering on the wood as she held it closed.

“Azriel.” Mor’s voice was stern, all lightness he usually associated with her long gone.

At one time, Azriel’s devotion to the blonde was real. His obsession with her was maddening and embarrassing in hindsight, but all consuming in the moment. He had been so convinced they were meant to be together, that all she had to do was see it, see him, and they would be happy. He would be happy.

She would fix him.

It was never fair to either of them the expectations he placed on her, the throne he set her on. Moments of anger flashed through his thoughts on sleepless nights, the gut churning pain when she didn’t live up to the impossible standards he set for her.

Mor always shriveled at his less than savory side. Hiding into herself at any mention of his profession, how he delighted in the spilled blood, an atonement for his own personal failings.

It was his own form of penance. One nobody understood.

Except for Eris.

Eris never shied away from bloodshed or violence, always the first of the two to be ready for a fight. By the Mother how he and Eris have torn into each other over the years.

They both carried so much anger, so much rage at their situation. Who they were, who they were stuck being.

The truth he had never wanted to admit was how stuck Azriel had been. His entire life had been decision after decision made for him. Born an Illyrian, he was forced into the camps. Born a bastard, he was hidden, kept in a dark room of shame and secrets.

The bond snapping with Eris was the first time he felt unstuck, like his life was his own. Every day he woke wondering if today would be different. If he could leave his forged family behind, where he felt nothing but stifled and pitied for so long.

But now there was you.

Caught between two worlds: who he is and who he could be. When his mateship with Eris began, he had given up on all thoughts of his ability to become pure again. There was no perfect female at the end of his heart to make him whole, no one who would love him without question and without trial.

You were so unlike either himself or Eris. You were a healer, a medic. Someone nowhere near the front lines, but just as important if not moreso. You were not in charge of strategizing or planning attacks, but rather on the opposite end of the violence, tending to wounds after the damage had been done.

You had not shied away from Eris’s flames when the gargoyles attacked nor had you shied away from Azriel’s return after long, grueling nights spent with the worst fae he could find that night.

“Azriel. You and I both know Keir can’t stand up to Rhysand like that.” Mor’s voice barely pulled him from the territorial thoughts of you he was falling into.

“You think the gargoyles were someone else’s doing?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, those were all him. He’s always been able to manipulate stone. But to bring them to life…” she trailed off, not sure where she was going with it. “I just- it doesn’t add up. I don’t think he’s powerful enough for that.”

Azriel didn’t have time for this. For all he knew, you could be bleeding out in the cabin alone. Or you and Eris could both be bleeding out. Together, unable to help each other.

He had to get to you.

“Mor, I think your father’s opportunistic. I think he saw an opportunity to try to make Rhys look weak in front of another court.”

“I’m serious, Azriel.”

“What are you suggesting, Mor?”

She wrung her fingers, the rings twisting back and forth in a way that would have left Azriel hypnotized a century ago.

“I don’t know, that’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Mor, a member of our court, one of close friends, has been taken Cauldron knows where. I don’t have time to indulge your conspiracies about your father.”

Mor flinched, taking a step back at his harsh words. In another time, that action would have derailed him for over a year, the memory on loop reminding him how much of a monster he was.

Now it just fueled him on to find another male Mor thought was a monster and hope that both of his mates were safe.

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[alchemistc]

Part One

Oh, I've got plenty to be thankful for

I've got eyes to see with

Ears to hear with

Arms to hug with

Lips to kiss with

Someone to adore

-bing crosby

He keeps waiting for someone to say something. To accuse him of lingering where he doesn't belong, or remind him he'd never actually made it all the way in. To tell him to go home, maybe get a halfhearted promise to let him know how Buck is at some point.

Maddie lays an exhausted head on his shoulder and Bobby sneaks him a slice of pumpkin pie he's apparently been hiding in the tote at his feet. Hen tosses him a power bank with a lightning cord and Karen makes a joke about his holiday attire.

When the coffee comes, Howie takes the trip to the lobby with him, pulls out his wallet and does his damnedest to strong arm Tommy into letting him tip the haggard looking girl another twenty bucks on top of the fifty Tommy'd figured was appropriate for having to balance a literal stack of hot beverages from the parking lot on Thanksgiving. She eyes them both with a smile and Tommy is more compelled the grab the drink carriers from her tired arms than stop Howie.

They're halfway back when Howie purposely slows his pace, and Tommy fights the urge to pick his up and avoid whatever's coming down on him. "So. Was this the wake up call you needed, or can I expect Buck to order a freezer on a Black Friday deal for my garage to store more baked goods?"

He doesn't know what that means.

He can extrapolate, though. "He's been baking?"

"Tommy, I cannot stress enough exactly how much he's been baking."

He'd tried his hand at a few things here and there, but Tommy's used to experimental chef Evan Buckley, not baking Evan Buckley. To be fair, if he'd seen Evan working a KitchenAid, apron tied loose and flour on a cheekbone, Tommy doubts he'd have actually had the time to finish whatever he had planned. That was then, of course.

"What was he doing on that trail, Howie?" That, too, he could maybe extrapolate. He doesn't want to, but he could.

Howie eyes him. Uses his free arm to elbow Tommy in the ribs. "You were the first person he ever invited to a 118 Thanksgiving, you know. My guess? He wasn't in the mood to be reminded of it while there was no room in the oven to bake away his feelings."

Yeah.

Jax had been over the moon when Tommy offered to take his shift, no trades necessary. What would the point have been, when Christmas and New Year's would be unbooked too?

Evan had bribed like six different people to ensure they'd be able to swing dinner on the day. Hobbes had sounded so thrilled to hear Tommy asking for the time off that he'd approved it without even looking at the shift.

"I'm just warning you in advance. The grovelling process is gonna involve eating your weight in loaves, most likely."

And that's that, apparently. No heavy handed warnings, no suspicion about why Tommy hasn't fucked off yet. Like it's some foregone conclusion that Tommy's not gonna panic and bolt a second time. Nothing has changed, yet Tommy gets the feeling they're all expecting some tearful reunion and a return to TommyandBuck.

Tommy slips the tea into Maddie's hands and watches her sniff it in distaste, which is an interesting nugget he'll have to revisit later if -

If.

There's no guarantees, here. That Tommy will be able to articulate how fucking terrified he is, that Evan will understand it. That the two of them will find a way through it together. All he has to go on is a solo hike on a day Evan should have been with family, an apparent bakery full of feelings spread between the 118, and the quiet calm that had washed over him when Eddie prompted him to make a decision.

Feet to the fire, he'd stayed.

---

Maddie's pregnant. It hits him between the eyes right around hour three of sit-and-wait. He's not an idiot, or a fool, and he hasn't spoken to any of these people in weeks so he's not going to announce it to the world, but somewhere in between the sporadic naps on Tommy's shoulder and the way she is attempting (failing) to power through her now cold tea makes him think. She and Bobby had driven here, and it's clear everyone else had been indulging. Maddie's no lush, but he's seen her knock back half a bottle of wine before when she's got nowhere to be.

She excuses herself to the bathroom for a third time, looking a little green, and Tommy ends up locked in a staring contest with Howie that only ends when Tommy mimes zipping his lips.

He still hasn't gotten the story about Eddie and why he's not here.

Bobby and Athena are apparently closing in on a new house.

Howie is less than a year away from having a second kid.

Athena's kids are apparently at Howie and Maddie's, attempting to keep Mara and Jee from destroying the house in the absence of adults.

And Tommy wants.

Wanting has never really been the problem, though. Wanting is the easy part. Wanting doesn't get him over the hurdle of knowing he's not enough. For Evan, for this family he's built that just keeps growing bigger and bigger. It'd been a relief, those first few days after, not to have to wonder which member of the 118 would land in the hospital next, not to have to rearrange something else on his schedule because Evan was convinced he was cursed, or Eddie'd had another shitty call with Christopher.

The relief hadn't lasted. A week in, he'd stayed up all night demolishing the half-bath off his dining room, because he'd been putting it off for months and he'd nearly texted Evan something that was startlingly revealing and left him exposed on all sides. Two weeks in he'd finished grouting the backsplash in his kitchen. And in between, he wondered how Eddie was doing, if he'd made any progress with his son. He'd wondered if Maddie enjoyed the bottle of wine they'd brought back from a spur of the moment trip to Napa. He'd wondered how Nash was doing, if he was readjusting to having his crew and his station back. He wondered how Hen and Karen were, how many things Denny had already gotten stuck in his cast trying to ease an itch.

He'd wondered, and he'd sat in it, and then he'd rewired the shoddy work an electrician had done in his spare room that he kept telling himself he'd get around to.

The wanting never goes away. He just finds new places to put it when he starts to care too much.

"Kinard and Buckley?"

Maddie's still in the restroom. Tommy - has no fucking clue why the nurse is staring at them like they'll just materialize the right people. She sucks in her lips and gives him a dead eyed stare before her eyes dart to his chest. More specifically, the nameplate on his chest.

Tommy blinks.

---

The having is where he's always floundered. Things are temporary. People are temporary. He's always been borrowing. Borrowing time, attention, affection.

For a few months there, he'd really started to think he could handle the having. That he'd get to keep it.

---

"I'm Buckley, he's Kinard," Maddie says from somewhere over his left shoulder, and he turns in time to see her adjusting her jacket, wiping at her lip. She stabilizes, looking unfazed, and stands tall. As tall as she can, at least. "You have news about my brother?"

The nurse glances around the room. No one is bothering to pretend not to be listening. Maddie hovers a wave behind her.

"Ignore the audience, we're all waiting with bated breath to see how obnoxious my brothers going to be. It depends entirely on whether or not he gets pie tonight."

She gives them all a disapproving look. This must not be one of their normal nurses.

Christ. They have normal nurses.

"Well, no pie tonight, but he should be able to eat a sandwich in the morning."

He's fine. He's fine.

Tommy knew going in that most of his injuries were superficial. The ribs had been a concern but with the pain meds and the collar he hadn't really had a chance to exacerbate those injuries. There's no reason he should feel quite so relieved to know that Evan will have a few annoying splints to work around and he'll probably need to rehab his ankle for a couple weeks once it's healed. The concussion isn't ideal, and he'll need help for a few days, but he's fine.

Tommy can feel the tears building.

"He'll likely be out for a few more hours, but I'll let you know when he's set up in a room. Two visitors at a time," she warns. "The concussion will effect his response time. Don't be surprised if he doesn't remember much, loses his train of thought."

Hen shifts somewhere behind him. It feels a bit like she's being held back from correcting the nurse about the normal side effects.

Things move on around him. The nurse leaves, Hen passes a Stanley cup around that definitely isn't filled with water, the normal sigh of relief is released while Maddie drops into the seat next to him with a groan, the team has a strange competition around him to battle for visitor position.

Tommy breathes.

I should go, Tommy thinks to himself, as half the people in the room raise their phones.

His own phone vibrates against his thigh.

A message from Howie, time stamped two minutes - Tommy squints to make sure - two minutes ago, an update on Evan. Another from Eddie reminding them all to give Buck a patent Eddie look from him while they were giving him shit. A selfie of Eddie, with Christopher somewhat reluctantly bending into the picture over his shoulder.

In another thread, he's got three messages from Eddie.

If I have to remove you from this group I'm sending my kid after you with his crutches.

You guys hiked Griffith Park for your Not-A-One-Month-Anniversary-We-Swear date, right?

Send Buck my love. Not like that, though.

Tommy sends back: When the fuck did he add me to his emergency contacts? and then decides he doesn't want to know anyway so he turns off his phone.

---

Maddie goes alone, and Tommy spends the time alternating between tapping his foot against the tile to distraction, and clamping his hand over his knee in an attempt to stop the tapping.

Bobby and Athena go next, then Hen and Karen. Then they're pulling on jackets and promising to save a plate for Buck.

Howie slips away for a few minutes and then returns, looking amused. "You think everyone else got the same greeting?" he asks his wife, who grins tiredly at him, pats his wrist. Her gaze turns to Tommy.

"Should we stay?"

That's a trap of a question. That's an assumption Tommy doesn't have a clue how to handle. He clears his throat. Shakes a few curls loose.

"What makes you think he'd want me to?"

Maddie's perfected the unimpressed eyebrow. It must be a parent thing.

Tommy barely holds in the sigh. "Go enjoy your meal."

---

Evan's been watching the door. It's clear the moment Tommy makes it to the threshold - he presses up, winces, tips sideways just enough to peek around the corner.

"Tommy," he says, and his expression melts.

Tommy's heard some iteration of that name a million times. Tom, from his dad. Tommy, fond and quiet from his mother, who'd never really learned how to speak up before she was gone. Thomas, in school, from teachers annoyed that he wouldn't just apply himself.

He was Kinard, to teammates, then fellow soldiers, to the firefighters he'd worked alongside for a decade before he ever let any of them know him.

No one says his name with quite so much reverence as Evan Buckley. He's convinced himself, over the last few weeks, that he'd been hearing adulation in that tone. But now it just sounds...relieved. Happy.

Evan slumps back and tries to cross his arms in a pout. There are too many cords and wires attached to him for it to work. "I'm pretty sure I'm mad at you," he says, and Tommy steps over the threshold.

---

Hobbes sounds fucking thrilled to find out he's going to be down a pilot for five days.

Evan throws a fit when he finds out Tommy's plan is to sleep on his own couch for the short duration of Evan's stay. Evan wins the proceeding argument and doesn't even complain that Tommy hadn't argued too hard

Bobby brings over enough leftovers to keep them in turkey sandwiches for a week, and Tommy doesn't think to ask how he got Tommy's address.

Tommy breathes. Tommy thinks. Once Evan can hold a train of thought for more than five minutes, Tommy talks.

Evan listens.

---

"So no Christmas," Evan pouts, and Tommy wants to bite it. "And no New Year's."

Tommy shifts a hand over his shoulder, tucks his chin over top of it so he can't see the pout anymore. "We were both already working those anyway."

"Do people do anything to celebrate Presidents Day?"

"Evan."

"Tommy," Evan mocks, and pulls far enough away to catch his gaze. "In the interest of transparency that was mostly a cover so I didn't ask about Valentine's Day."

"Is this you not asking about Valentine's Day?"

His smile is deceptively sweet. "I need help with my sandwich."

Tommy's seen him balancing a glass of water, his phone, two books and a takeout bag in his one good hand. He's absolutely full of shit.

Tommy leans forward to grab the sandwich off Evan's plate for him.

---

"You should stay," Tommy says, an hour after midnight two days into the new year. He's tipsy on his second glass of cheap champagne and he can't think of a reason to keep this in, anymore. Evan crinkles a brow at him.

"I... wasn't planning to go?"

There's a gold crown perched in his curls, and Tommy still hasn't taken the cheap plastic 2025 glasses off. The house is quiet, and there'd been shockingly few fires started by fireworks this year, so he's less tired than he'd expected to be.

"I meant -." Tommy starts, and then pauses. "I meant permanently. You should live here."

Evan laughs. Takes a bite out of his cake, and rolls his eyes, and then...stops. His entire body stills. "What."

It's ridiculous. The very thing that had pushed Tommy up out of his seat just a few months ago, sent him out the loft door with wet eyes and a heaviness in his heart.

"Tommy," Evan prompts, and Tommy catches the hand frozen on the countertop. He'd planned to hold this back, wait until something significant or poignant. But Evan had baked them a red velvet cake and argued with him the entire drive back from dinner about the proper way to fold a towel, and Tommy's tired of denying this isn't everything he's refused to let himself want for decades.

"You don't have to say yes just to confirm you're not breaking up with me," he tries to joke, and it falls flat.

"Tommy," Evan murmurs, quieter but more insistent.

"I'm serious. I want you here. I want -."

"Yes," Evan says, and squeezes his hand before he ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry. Continue."

"I want a life with you." The tears tickle at the back of his throat. He's gonna fucking cry, again. He'd always fucking known opening himself up to this was just an invitation for more tears in his life.

He can't quite convince himself the rest doesn't make them worth it.

"Yes. Again. Tommy, of course." He tips his chin. Purses his lips. "If you're sure."

Tommy swallows down the lump in his throat. He's never been more sure or more terrified of anything in his life. So he tells him so.

The words are like knives, but he works his way through the soreness, fights up past the fear that he's not sure will ever completely go away, and claws past the reminder that it's been a blink of an eye since Tommy walked out on this.

"Well. You can't walk out of your own house," Evan points out when he's finished, and of all things, it's that that snaps the tension of for once in his life prioritizing something other than fucking survival. He tips a grin, curls his elbow to bring their entwined hands to his lips. "It's gonna take years to coordinate another Thanksgiving with everyone," he bemoans, looking suspiciously watery-eyed himself as he holds Tommy's own wet gaze.

Tommy can extrapolate from that.

[kastalani123]

The Riordanverse is, ultimately, a children's series so it's expected that the nitty-gritty, darker details of certain things get omitted. Still, I think it'd be interesting to see the demigods, each raised for slaughter in their own way, be the soldiers, the victims, the prey that they grew up to be for both godly and mortal reasons.

Percy always keeps Riptide in arm's reach, always keeps his fingers curled around it, ready to unsheath it every waking moment. He sits and stands with his back flush against walls, eyes and ears always open to seek the slightest hint of danger. He trusts Paul, he trusts Chiron — he still watches every minute shift of their expression, of their body for warning signs. He keeps outside Dionysus's range, ensures he always has an open exit within reach. The smell of alcohol makes him dizzy, nauseous; his thoughts leave his body sometimes, when it gets bad enough.

Annabeth keeps a packed bag at the bottom of her closet when she stays at her family's home; she has places she can stay and her parents and Chiron have been good, but her feet still itch when they frown a time too many. Nobody knows she still sees spiders sometimes, feels her skin itch with their crawling. She makes Percy swear he'll never leave the room before she wakes up unless it's truly necessary. She puts boards on her bed's edges so she'll never fall while she thrashes from nightmares; falling would only make it worse.

Leo sits far from any open fires and leaves if people start roasting meat; Plan C is used sparingly once he isn't constantly fighting for his life. His tool belt can't make food, but it stores more granola bars than he could ever carry without it. He makes himself near-unnoticeable earplugs after New Year's and he avoids looking at himself; his body is too whole for being blown to pieces and half the time he's sure the chunks are rotting around Camp Half-Blood where they should've fallen. He tries to keep from unnecessary interactions; he can't have things tying him to some place, not when he's mapped out dozens of escape plans. He smiles longer and wider than ever before.

Hazel doesn't wear jewelry; the only exception is a wooden bead bracelet Nico gave her after she rejected a golden necklace. Walls close in around her, dust and liquid clog her throat, stones crush her bones– she comes back to the present. She clings to affection like a drowning man to a piece of wood, but keeps watch for signs that it'll turn against her. Silence haunts her every step; she keeps an MP3 player and headphones with her at all times to drive it away.

Frank gathers up his form and pours it into a mould of himself, does what he can to keep it from spilling through the cracks. His fingers are littered with scars and scratches, with a trail of broken mirrors left behind in their wake. There are always voices arguing in the back of his mind — not his father's, but not his own, either; just a phantom screech pulsing through his head. He drowns them by sinking into new responsibilities, new dangers, shaping himself to fit while trying to remain himself. The crackle of burning wood follows him everywhere he goes and he can do nothing to down it out — only stare at whatever he had managed to save from his suicide to remind himself he does not need to worry about it; he has already crumbled into ash.

Piper dives into Oklahoma, into mortality, like she'll suffocate without it. She remains far from everything, though not far enough to be out of the loop, because she needs to know about every prophecy, every end of the world, every step and challenge her friends face. She calls them on a bronze-infused phone, not a rainbow, even if the camera and the notifications and the everythingness of it blind her like a spotlight and the thrum of electricity runs through her veins like venom. She paints her face a bit misshapen here, a bit discolored there, a bit unsettling everywhere, and Shel understands. She understands and she loves her and she says it's beautiful not in aesthetics but in the potential protection it provides, as Piper intended.

Jason had learned every rule with the mere intention to break it, to tear through the chains of military life that had been clamped around his throat for as long as he could remember. He had chased life, rather than the survival he had clung to for so long — packed every second of his ticking down time with it. Finally with freedom, but so little time with it, he snatched every piece of it he could: a mortal highschool, a movie theatre, a mall shopping spree, a room of his own — all carefully documented in stacks of journals, ever breath of air and glimpse of the sun, with copies upon copies stashed away so that his memories could never again slip away like sand between his fingers, so that his friends had something of him left, after his life of nothingness.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eighteen

authors note: this one gets pretty heavy and violent at points. please read the cw/tw's carefully in order to make the best informed decision regarding your mental ability to handle such heavy topics.

cw/tw: angst, violence, torture (gore), (light) fluff, ptsd episode, character being triggered, and references to childhood sexual assault

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist + story playlist

words: 10k

Solana knows Roman well.

She knew to start off the letter the way she did, asking for him to be open minded, because she knew exactly what his answer would be. 

No.

It’s the same answer he still has even after her logical explanation. It’s a selfish thing. He’s a selfish bastard at heart because despite her being vulnerable about her mental state and making a solid point, he still wants and plans to say no. 

Still plans come and take her home in a week.

And while he has his reasoning, believing that she can continue her healing outside of some mental facility, it’s also for his own good. He just wants her home. He wants to not have the house be so quiet and empty. To not have to be reminded of her absence in everything from the lack of the aroma of her delicious cooking to Dulce yelping and whimpering whenever he walks in the door home from work without Solana beside him.

He just misses her, and he wants her home. 

He understands where she’s coming from and agrees she could benefit from continuing to talk to someone, to definitely stay on medication. 

But, those things can continue without her being away from home.

There’s also the matter of safety. Yes, Roman went above and beyond what was probably necessary to ensure she has a copious amount of protection, but that’s still not as safe as her being with him.

And he’s almost certain that the facility she’s talking about is the same one Stratus mentioned to him. The place that’s an hour away.

That’s too fucking far.

From their home, Roman can make it to the hospital in ten minutes, if need be. 

Solana being an hour away from him just isn’t a fucking option.

He needs her…..she needs to be close to him.

He’ll just have to help her understand that. 

But, all of that is easy. 

What’s not easy is the other major takeaway from her letter.

I love you, Ro.

In all of his thinking, perhaps overthinking, regarding his thoughts and feelings about his wife, never did it really occur to him that she could feel the same. He knew she cared about him. She’s said as such to him before. But, for whatever reason, he never allowed himself to imagine that she could love him.

And that she could love him without expecting anything in return. Because she believes him incapable of loving her because of his own trauma, and that’s not entirely wrong. 

He does love her.

Fuck, he loves the living shit out of her.

But, he can’t act on it.

Even with this unexpected twist. Her loving him, which fucks with his head too. The why of it. 

There’s not a lot to love, if he’s being honest.

He protects her. Keeps her safe. Gives her that safe space. Beyond that, there’s not really anything else. 

Her standards must be so low. 

Regardless, Roman can’t allow this new piece of information to change or impact his decision.

He can’t openly reciprocate her feelings.

Even….even if he sure as hell feels the same. It’s too risky. Too dangerous. 

He just can’t.

Roman may love her, but he can never tell her he loves her.

It just has to be this way.

________

Ryan Alexander

Tyler Hawkins

Two men whose lives have been intertwined in various ways in the almost 60 years they’ve walked this earth. It started with a meeting in college, both men playing for the same baseball team, having a few of the same classes together, even pledging to the same fraternity. 

They would end up in the same graduating class and go on to open up their own private security company that offered protective services for upscale clientele. Celebrities, athletes, even politicians.

But…..for the right amount of money, they could do more than just protect lives.

They could take them too. 

The company easily and quickly made its name  known through the right or maybe wrong places. Information falling in the lap of parties who were less interested in safety and more interested in murder.

It’s how Xavier Miller got in touch with them. How Solana’s father hired them to take out his wife and daughter after learning of her plan to run away and steal his children away from him, more his son than anything. He really didn’t give a shit about Solana.

Never did. 

It was why when the hit failed to take out both Nina and Solana, Xavier was able to negotiate so that instead of paying the remaining debt due after the deposit. He got them to agree to slash it in half, leaving him owing 250k. The problem was as it always has been though. Xavier lacks vision, lacks long-term vision. He didn’t think about how finances could change for the negative between the time he made the deal and when payment would be due.

Because when that day arrived, he lacked the sufficient funds. But while Xavier may lack good financial and investment knowledge, he makes up for it in craftiness. 

He formed a new deal. One that truly gave all three men a win-win. Xavier’s debt would be cleared, and Ryan and Alexander would be able to enjoy indulging in one of their favorite sexual pastimes. A privilege they can usually only pursue when traveling overseas where child sex slavery runs a lot more rampant and unregulated. 

By luck though, they got their fill domestically in the form of an innocent, 12 year-old little girl. 

A virgin. 

Xavier’s daughter.

Solana Miller

Now known as Solana Reigns, the wife of the infamous Roman Reigns. The same man who Ryan and Tyler have no idea has been behind the absolute hell they’ve been through in the past almost two weeks. Kidnapped in the middle of the night, subjected to an unauthorized but ultimately approved (by Roman) beating by Jimmy and Jey before they were reunited with Xavier’s ain’t shit ass who had also received a long overdue beating from both Roman and the twins.

That beating, however, was nothing compared to the beginning stages of their demise, a version and level of hell only few experience, but something these fuckers have front seats for. 

Roman is methodical with his torture, and this might be the most determined he’s ever been to maximize pain. 

He’s going to ensure they only take their last breath when he feels it’s time, when he’s exhausted any and all ways to extend their life in order to extend their suffering.

And while many would think it started with the beatings, that’s far too simple, too easy. And Roman is neither of those things. He’s calculated and borderline sadistic when the occasion calls for it, and there’s not been a more deserving occasion for him to act on his dark, evil impulses than this. 

So, it was only fitting that all three men, the rapists and the son of a bitch who organized it all, know exactly what it’s like to experience what they put Solana through. 

And that’s exactly what Roman organized. Having all three men dumped and left defenseless in a maximum security prison. Whatever happened, fucking happened. 

And judging by the battered, stunned, borderline traumatized expressions on their cut, brusied faces, exactly what Roman wanted them to experience is precisely what they fucking got. 

For almost two weeks straight.

Jimmy and Jey toss the three men down on the ground before Roman before moving to stand behind him on either side. 

“Ya’ll like fucking little girls, don’t you?” Jimmy sneers, Roman not even needing to look at his cousin to know he’s livid. “So what’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

“Don’t like it when your assess the ones on the receiving end, huh?” Jey taunts. Fitting. 

But, now…..now it’s time for the real pain to begin. Roman lifts his hand to signify his desire from silence. The twins go quiet almost immediately. 

The Tribal Chief turns up his nose as Ryan spits up blood onto the concrete floor. Granted, it won’t make much of a difference. When Roman is done with them, the room will be bathed red. 

He steps forward. 

“August 7th, 2005 and September 8th, 2007.” Roman shrugs and asks the men, “what’s significant about these dates?” When he doesn’t receive an answer, he takes his gun and aims it for Tyler, emptying the bullet into his knee. The man howls in pain and begins to cry. Roman scowls. Pathetic bitch. “I aksed a fucking question.” 

He gaps,, forcing out through closed eyes. “I–I don’t know.” 

Roman crouches down in front of them, ignoring the stench of piss and perspiration emanating off their pathetic bodies. “August 7th, 2005. A mother and daughter were attacked. Stabbed. Mother died trying to protect her daughter. Daughter survived. She was ten-years-old.” Roman looks away at the adjacent wall, jaw clenching a bit as he recalls the next part. “”September 8th, 2007. Two men break into the house and spend hours gang raping a child in her own fucking bedroom before beating her half to death and leaving her for dead.” Dead fucking silence. “She was 12-years-old.” He turns his empty, stoic gaze back onto them. “Sound fucking familiar now?” 

“You carried out the rape,” he gestures to the set of crying rapists and then a numb looking Xavier. “And you arranged it.” Roman shrugs, rolling his big shoulders. “Seemed only fucking fair you three got a taste of what you put her through.” He then chuckles. “Now, I am a fair man. A fair Tribal Chief.” In a matter of seconds though, his disposition completely shifts, changes into something cold, heartless. “But, you don’t get that. You don’t get that fairness. You don’t fucking deserve it. You tortured her. You made her life a living fucking hell.” 

“But you know where you really fucked up?” He reaches his arm out, pointing toward the sledgehammer, one of the twins placing it in his hand. Roman stands up and kicks Tyler backwards, hesitating not a second as he brings it down to his knees, one by one, effectively and immediately shattering both. “You did it to my wife.” Roman taunts over the sound of the man crying. He then moves to Ryan, aware of the knee he already shot, sticking with one to avoid too much blood. Can’t have the bitch bleeding out just yet. “That twelve year-old girl was my wife.” When he gets to Xaveir, he exerts a special amount of energy to strengthen the impact of his blow as he demolishes the older man’s knees. “That ten year old-girl was my wife!” 

Roman tosses the sledgehammer to the side as someone has the audacity to utter out a pained, “p–please.” 

That infuriates Roman more than what should be humanly possible. “Please?” He sees the word came from Tyler. Snarling, Roman jumps over the man, raining a blow so heavy that it breaks his nose, the sickening crack sounding through the air. “Is that what she said when you fucking held her down and raped her!” 

The thought alone results in Roman continuing to punch the man until his fist is painted red and Tyler is clearly on the verge of losing consciousness. 

Standing back up, he huffs, speaking to the rapists, “17 years. She’s suffered for seventeen years because of you.” He points to a barely there Xavier. “And 29 years because of you.” Roman’s  upper lip curls a bit as he swears, “if I could torture you all for that long, I fucking would, but I can’t, so days will have to suffice.”

He’s filled with another level of rage when the cries and pleads for mercy intensify. “Shut up!” He then forcefully demands of the twins, “bring him in!”

Jey, he thinks, disappears for a few minutes only to return with an also bruised, battered Wes. Roman scoffs with disgust as Xavier looks horrified at the presence and sight of his son.

He coughs out, ribs probably broken or at least fractured. And if they’re not, Roman will make sure they are before the end of the night. “Pl—please don’t do—”

Roman has heard enough. This piece of shit has the fucking audacity to beg and plead for the life of his son but couldn’t even protect his own fucking daughter?

Fuck that.

Fury fills and controls the Head of the Table as he yanks up a barely conscious Wes and throws him against the brick wall, the impact loud enough for the sound of his shoulder popping to fill the room. Roman then grabs the sledgehammer again and rains it down on not only his knees but his hands as well, effectively smashing them, resulting in grotesque hairline fracture, bones protruding from his skin.. 

Xavier cries out and begs Roman to stop, which only fuels his tirade even more. Drives him to continue his brutal assault. Roman slams his fist onto Wes’s face, breaking his jaw before Roman squeezes the fucking life out of Wes’s neck and slams him again against that same brick wall. 

And without second thought, as Wes fights to remain conscious, face almost unrecognizable at this point, Roman reaches for his eye, using his middle and index finger to gouge out his eyeballs one by one, ignoring the horrified screams of both father and son. 

Xavier is full on sobbing but practically screams when Wes body drops to the ground like a ragdoll, and Roman tosses the bloody eyeballs toward Xavier. 

“Waterboard him!” Roman directs to the twins who don’t hesitate to drag a crying Wes out of the room by his limp arm, most likely broken in the midst of Roman’s vicious beating. Breathing uneven, Roman flips his hair back that had come out of his bun and turns his attention back on the three older men. 

“I’m going to make you all suffer the same fucking way you made her suffer,” he vows, every intention on maximixing pain in a way he’s never done before. “You’ll be wishing for something as fucking nice as hell when I’m done with you.”

________

Roman has just finished skinning a patch out of Ryan’s abdomen, the chunk of skin joining that of Tyler and Xavier’s slab of skin and other dismembered body parts. 

Wes is up next on the list.

The fucker strapped to the chair has gone unconscious, but his pulse is still relatively strong, so Roman continues. He’s done this too many times to be deterred by someone tapping out.

Tossing the bloodied knife and saw to the side of the room with the rest of the blood stained tools of torture, he grabs the drill and starts to navigate which drill bit to use when the door opens.

Right away, he’s tempted to use the object in hand on whoever was stupid enough to interrupt him.

Roman turns to see none other than his aggravating ass cousin holding a phone. Of course. Attention back to the task at hand, he bites out, “I told you not to fucking bother me. Whoever it is, I’m busy.”

Jey is about as moved by Roman’s tone as he is by the bloody, gory scene before him. Indifferent but still eager to leave, he instead provides the additional information that he knows will absolutely snatch Roman’s attention.

“It’s Bautista.” Sure enough, Jey can see his cousin’s big shoulders go still. “He—”

Roman stands up, tossing the drill to the side and quickly removing the gloves that are caked in blood, skin, and other anatomical matter. He stalks toward Jey, issuing his harsh demand,“give me the phone.”

Jey does as such, sucking his teeth when some of the blood flicks on him. “Man, that’s nasty as hell.”

Roman doesn’t comment, just walks out the room for privacy and demands to the man on the other end, “what happened?”

Bautista doesn’t hesitate and is quick with an easy response. “She wants to talk to you, sir.”

There’s only a slight decrease in concern levels that Roman experiences in hearing that Solana wants to speak to him versus Bautista having to inform him that something has happened. She’s conscious. That’s good. “Put her on.”

Bautista doesn’t say anything, but Roman hears what sounds like slight movement and hushed voices. It’s followed up with a quiet sniffle and even quieter, “hey….” Another sniffle as her volume increases ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, it’s—it’s so late.”

Roman has no idea what time it is nor does he care what time it is. He just wants to know why she’s crying and who he has to kill. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She takes a shaky breath and follows it up with an even shakier answer, weighed down with the heavy emotions she’s clearly struggling with at this moment. “We—we—we talked about my…my rape in therapy today, and I’ve never—I’ve never actually spoken about it to anyone, and I thought—I thought I was fine, but now…..”

His chest suddenly tightens. “Are you thinking about—”

“No.” Her answer is the firmest he’s heard in the conversation so far. Serious and solid. “Not that. I just—I can’t sleep because now I’m thinking about….about it, and I just….I wanted to hear your voice, and I’m sorry—you were probably asleep.”

No. No, he wasn’t. Far from it. And even if he was, it wouldn’t matter.

She comes first. 

No matter what.

“I’m gonna come see you.”

“No.” The sniffling resumes as does her tendency to try to make herself as less of a ‘problem’ as she can, no matter how many times Roman tries to explain she never has and never will be anything of the sort. “I’ll–I’ll be okay.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, he’s not taking the risk because Roman cannot physically handle hearing her crying, hearing her so upset and not be able to do anything about it.

“I’m coming, Solana. Give me a half hour, okay?” He’d head there straight away right now, but the idea of coming to her after spending house torturing men, blood, bone, and other unidentifiable matter splattered all over him, is the last thing she needs. “I’ll be there.”

There’s another delay, and he’d bet any money it’s her trying to hold back the tears as best she can. “Oh–kay.”

He swallows, asking, “can you put Bautista back on the phone?”

Again, more shifting on the other end. “Hello?”

“Don’t take your fucking eyes off her.” Roman’s tone is hardened and leveled. “I’ll be there shortly.” He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t need to provide instructions on how to make sure his wife is kept safe.

Bautista already knows what the fucking deal is.

Roman can’t get cleaned and showered fast enough, ridding his body of all of the telltale signs that he’d spent the majority of the day torturing his wife’s family and rapists. She doesn’t need to know that. 

He’s impatient for the drive that feels much longer than the twenty minutes it actually is. A large part of that being that he just wants to get to Solana. 

She’d called him. She’d reached out to him.

The same thing he wishes she had done that night. Something he still feels strangely about but will learn to sort through later. Not now. 

Now his focus is on just making sure she’s alright.

That she’s safe.

Roman walks in with purpose, uninterested in Bautista’s short briefing, which is essentially more or less him just confirming that Solana hasn’t been left alone, another guard watching her as Bautista escorted Roman into the premises that’s otherwise locked down given it’s almost midnight.

Not that he gives a fuck.

Roman finds Solana sitting on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest. But, the minute her teary eyes land on him, she’s moving up from said bed, rushing over to him. Naturally, Roman catches her, holding her as she silently cries into his chest.

He’s gonna rip that fucking therapist a new one. 

“I’m sorry—” Roman hates hearing her apologize. He hates seeing her upset, but the fact that she’s apologizing for feeling the way she does is a different layer of irritation. It reminds him of how she used to be. Makes him realize just how much and deep this regression has been. “I just—I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

He’s just about to once again remind her that she has nothing to be sorry about when her last statement snatches his attention. Alarms him a bit. “Solana….I need you to be honest with me—”

And she must know where he’s headed, because she pulls back, holding his gaze as she shakes her head. “I don’t want to hurt myself. I promise. I just….I just don’t want to be by myself.” 

It makes sense, and he believes her. Somewhat. There’s still that part of him that’s skeptical. He’s not sure if that part will ever go away either.

Solana swallows and licks her lips, asking in that tentative voice, “will—will you stay with me tonight?”

It’s an easy answer. Something he already decided the minute he heard her crying on the other end of the phone.

“Yes.” She looks so massively relieved by that one word. “But not here.” And before the confusion fully sets in, he clarifies, “I’m taking you home.”

As expected, she looks surprised and torn, “Roman, I—”

“You get released in three days, Sol. I’ll bring you back tomorrow afternoon, but tonight, you need to be home. You don’t need to be here.” Roman isn’t a fucking professional, but he knows his wife. Knows that what she’s looking for is the feeling of security. There’s no more secure place than with him in their home. And even with Dulce.

Solana seems to be on the same page, nodding and offering no further protest. “Oh–okay.”

As she’s barely allowed any personal items, it takes less than twenty minutes for her to be ready to go, Roman directing Bautista to handle any issues that arise regarding her departure.

Roman is sure Stratus or even Gail will have issues with his decision. He’s also 100% sure that he doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

Solana needs to get away. 

She needs to be home.

She needs to be with him. 

And, he’s proven correct, because the minute she walks into the house, she’s looking over at Roman, asking, “where is she?”

“Our room.”

Solana can’t seem to move up the stairs fast enough, Roman behind her, partially eager to see this long awaited reunion. He’s not sure who will be happier: Solana or her puppy. 

It’s about a tie though, because the minute Solana moves over to the side of the bed where Dulce is sleeping and gets on her knees, carefully petting the puppy, Dulce’s head snaps up.

And instantly, she jumps at Solana. 

They’re both crying, Solana holding onto Dulce who is a mixture of whimpers, licks, and that tail of hers excitedly wagging. 

Solana says something in her to Spanish, something Roman can’t make out, but he doesn’t need to make it out. It’s obviously something moving. 

Something healing almost. 

Solana looks up at him, laughing and crying as Dulce tries to lick her face. Her voice cracks a bit as she says to him, “thank you.” 

Roman nods, that same, warm, unfamiliar emotion building up. Fucking feelings.

Nodding, he says nothing, watching as she continues to hold onto and cuddle with Dulce. 

Yeah…..

Definitely the right decision.

________

Roman lifts his eyes from the phone that he just put on Do Not Disturb to set his gaze on Solana. Out of the shower, she’s wearing only one of his shirts. Nothing else. He can tell by the way the cotton almost outlines her nipples. 

Placing the phone to the side, he’s slightly taken back when she moves onto his lap. “I—” Her eyes drop downward, her hands grasping at his shirt. “I need a distraction.” He’s confused, but it’s only temporary as she trails off with the specific distraction she’s looking for. “Can we….”

He doesn’t need to hear more. Roman understands just what she’s asking for.

And his answer is simple.

“Solana, I don’t think…..” He has to phrase it correctly, word it so that it doesn’t sound like he is rejecting her. He is, but it can’t come across as just that. “You’re not—”

“I feel dirty,” she interrupts, eyes closing, mouth moving around as she does her best to balance emotion with verbalization. “I—I don’t want to feel that. I want—I want to feel you. I only ever want to feel you.” Solana opens her eyes, pleading almost. “Please.”

Something is telling him to tell her no, to find a way to decline without hurting her feelings or making her feel rejected, because that’s the last thing he wants. 

But, it feels almost impossible. She’s upset. He doesn’t want her to feel the way she’s feeling, and if she believes being intimate tonight will help her, then he’ll give her that. 

Roman nods and gently taps her hip, partially surprised when she moves off his lap, taking his hand as she lays back on the bed, pulling him on top of her. 

Roman’s lips hover over hers as she breathes, “I just want to feel you.”

It’s taking a painful amount of self-control on Roman’s part to refrain from taking here right here and now. Because while he’s mentally conflicted, there’s no denying the hardness that’s growing in his pants by the minute as she lifts her thigh and grazes it against his hip. There’s no properly explaining how much he’s missed this.

He kisses her, tentatively almost, letting her take the lead as she moves her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. Roman’s hand goes to palm her breast through her shirt which makes her breathe against his mouth.

He shuts his eyes for a minute. He’d almost forgotten the sweet sounds she makes, fodder for his growing desire. He moves his mouth to her neck, sucking on the spot he’s learned makes her writhe under him, her nails scraping down his taut back. 

And then, the shift.

Roman feels it only seconds before she acts on it, the way she starts to tense underneath him, the growing unsteady pattern of her breathing, the fear. But before he can pull away, she’s pushing him away, letting out a ‘no’ that comes from a different place, a different time. It comes from her trauma.

Her push is strong, but it’s not enough to get him completely off of her. Roman does that much all on his own, watching as she sits up in the bed and covers her face.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes into her hands. “I—I’m sorry.” Her shoulders tremble as the apologies melt into the bleeding of emotions she tried to mask away with intimacy. “I’m sorry—” Solana falling into a full out crying session, the third or fourth time she’s done as much tonight, is more than enough for Roman to motion her over to him.

“Come here.” 

He’s at least grateful she lets him pull her onto his chest, letting her cry on him as he lays them back in the bed, his protective arms around her. For a second, he berates himself for taking her from the hospital. If they were still there, he’d wake up whoever the fuck he needed to wake up to give her that medicine she was prescribed for moments like this.

Moments where she just needs more.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, crying subdued a bit. But Roman is unsure what he dislikes more: the fact that she’s so upset or the fact that she thinks she needs to apologize for being so upset.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” is all he says. His hand is on the small of her back, moving in comforting circles. “Nothing at all, okay?”

She doesn’t say anything, just continues to cry into him, Roman wishing he could do more to settle her. It kills him to see her so upset. 

A few minutes later, her tears having almost entirely subsided, she murmurs, “I’m sorry we couldn’t….”

He takes a deep breath, willing his voice to remain calm. “Solana, I told you before I don’t need that from you—”

“But, I wanted to. I just…..”

“It’s okay.” He cuts her off, kissing the top of her head. “I never expected that from you tonight anyway.”

He already knew she wasn’t in the mental space for it, but he didn’t want her to feel rejected either, so he went along with it. There’s a bit of regret, maybe more than a bit, but Roman also knows he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Still is. 

“Rest.” He instructs, grateful when she simply nods against him, tucking herself closer into his body. And he watches her closely and intently, an infinite amount of pleasure rising within him when he feels the steady rise and fall of her body, confirmation that she’s finally drifted off into sleep.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep with her. He would actually prefer to stay up and watch her, but the weight of the day, mentally and physically, takes its unavoidable toll. And not too long after she succumbs to sleep, he does the same.

________

“Daddy.”

Roman’s eyes shoot open at the both familiar and unfamiliar voice. Looking down, he sees Solana sleeping peacefully on top of him, her hand atop his chest. But to his right, he finds sad eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a deep frown. 

Naturally, he frowns a bit as well. He hates seeing any of this family upset. “Bad dream?” 

She nods, holding onto the teddy bear in her arms. He’d gotten it for her a couple years back while he was away on business, and it’s become her comfort animal ever since. 

Roman is careful in prying Solana’s arm off him, grateful when the extent of her stirring is simply her turning over on the other side. Over the years, she’s gotten better with not being as easily disturbed or woken up.

And he’s especially thankful for that in this moment.

Moving the blankets down and off, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rolls his shoulders. She shifts the bear in her arm to one side and reaches up for him to pick her up. “Come here.” Roman does as such, pulling her up as he stands from the bed. 

She lays her head on his shoulder while  he quietly walks them out the room, cracking the door behind him. Roman takes her downstairs into the living room and hits the lamp on the side table before grabbing the remote off the coffee table. 

Sitting down, she adjusts herself in his lap, holding onto her stuffy while he loads up the animated show with the creepy blue looking thing that kids apparently love, his included. 

Especially the twin on his lap. It’s like her comfort show.

“You wanna pick the episode?” It’s a preference. 

She nods and accepts the remote from him, selecting the same episode she’s watched the last 10+ times this has occurred. She almost always starts with this same episode, like she has to or else she can’t watch it.

A repeat and increasing thing, he’s noticing. 

As the opening credits roll around, Roman gently rubs her back, asking, “you wanna talk about it?”

She keeps her focus on the TV while shaking her head no. An expected answer given the fact that she never really likes to talk in general, but as Roman thinks about the increase in how often this is happening, he’s starting to wonder if it’s past the point where she gets a choice in the matter.

For the past few months, every so often, or more often now, he’ll be awoken in the middle of the night by his youngest daughter. Upset and clearly crying, she’ll ask him to sit with her, to stay with her until she falls asleep again. Though at some point, the addition of letting her watch an episode or two of her show seemed to aid in not only calming her down but eventually lulling her back to sleep.

And every time Roman tries to get out of her just what these bad dreams are, she remains quiet, forcing him to wreck his brain over what could be bothering her so much.

The unknown of it all is starting to mess with him.

He can’t help her if he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Sissy?”

Both Roman and the daughter on his lap look over to see her twin rubbing her sleeping eyes as she walks over and climbs onto the sofa, the two adjusting so they’re both seated on top of him. “Did you have the bad dreams again?”

At that, Roman’s brow furrows. Did she talk about them with her sister?

He asks as such. 

“Do you know what they’re about?” Roman and Solana suspected that she’d confided in her sister, her true confidant, but they also didn’t want to risk putting a rift between the sisters by making one feel like she has to ‘snitch’ on the other.

However, an unspoken communication of some sort is exchanged between the twins. The quieter of the two reluctantly nodding as the outspoken one shares, “sissy has bad thoughts…..”

Roman takes the remote and turns down the volume versus pausing as he notices she’s still trying to watch. To some extent. And it’s clearly helping to calm her, so he won’t deprive her of that. But, he does have to ask, “what kind of bad thoughts?”

That could be and mean so many things. And if the situation was different, he wouldn’t be too concerned. The level and standard for ‘bad’ that he has compared to his kids is vastly different. But given how upset his daughter has been getting, there’s gotta be something more severe to the ‘bad’ this time. 

His twin, in more than just looks and demeanor, seems to hesitate for a second, Roman ready to encourage her that it’s okay to be honest with him. He needs that honesty at this point. “She—she has scary thoughts about something happening to you and mama. And—and bad dreams that something’s gonna happen to you when you go on your trips.”

Roman does his best to hide his surprise. And his concern. He wasn’t expecting that. Turning to the youngest of the two, he asks, “is that true?”

She looks down, tightening her hold on her bear as she nods slowly.

Roman closes his eyes and takes a second to gather himself. Comfort now. Process later. It’s become a bit of a routine for him.

Needing both of their attention, he takes the remote again to hit pause. 

“Girls….” Roman has to remind himself to keep it simple and at a level they can understand. “I’m never going to let anything happen to your mom. Or to you. Or to your brother. And nothing is especially going to happen to me.” Seeing the emotion especially present in his youngest, he kisses her temple. “I’m always going to come back home to you guys, okay?”

And that’s a promise.

Come hell or high water, nothing could separate him from his family. 

Especially his kids. 

“Told you, sissy.” She then smiles a little, adding on with a toothy grin. “Daddy’s like a superhero.”

Roman chuckles. Far from it. But whatever helps them. 

Taking over the duty of being the parent, showing that while she has many of her father’s interests and some of his temperament, she also has her mother’s caring nature, she asks, reaching for her little sister’s hand. “Wanna try to go back to sleep? You can sleep in my bed.”

The offer to not have to sleep alone as well as having some one on one time with him seems to be enough to be enough to coax her back  to bed. He watches as the girls climb off his lap, the oldest taking the youngest hand, as she also handles the parting words, “goodnight, daddy.”

He offers a small smile. Their bond is something special. “Night, girls.” Hands still locked, they walk away, heading back up the stairs. “Love you.” He calls out after them. 

An almost synchronized response is what he’s met with. “Love you too, daddy.” 

It brings that warmth back to him, Roman blowing out a deep breath when it’s just him and the paused screen on the TV. He takes a couple minutes to sit on the weight of the conversation. 

He doesn’t like knowing that his daughter is struggling with thoughts. Hates that they haunt her in the form of dreams. He knows better than anyone how difficult that can be. How exhausting.

So does Solana.

Thoughts of his wife and wanting to get back to her before she notices his absence and wakes up, Roman shuts off the TV and starts heading upstairs.

Walking back into their bedroom, he’s only partially surprised to find Solana awake, sitting up against the headboard, their son on her chest for one of his nightly feedings. 

She gives him a sad, knowing smile. “Another bad dream?” 

Roman nods and goes to sit back in the bed next to her. “Found out what they’re about.”

Solana’s eyes widen a bit. “She told you?”

He shakes his head. “The other one did.” He frowns a bit, sharing, “she’s having thoughts and dreams of something happening to us. Me especially.” 

Solana’s frown is deep and concerned. Valid. “What? Where—Where did that come from?”

“Don’t know.” Roman answers. He’d have loved to been able to ask more questions, but it’s also the middle of the night and just getting some kind of answer is a huge win in and of itself. “But, I wanna schedule an appointment with her pediatrician. If something else is going on with her, we need to know.”

Roman has an idea of what it could be, now starting to put different pieces together. Her particular way of doing things, rituals of sorts, thoughts she can’t control. But, he wants to be sure.

“Of course,” Solana agrees. “I’ll call in the morning.”

Good. 

Roman chuckles after looking over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:59am. He glances at Solana, “and you really wanna do this all over again?”

He’s still partially stuck on the fact that even with three kids, Solana is still wanting more. 

The thought alone brings out a heavy sigh just from tonight’s events.

All three of their kids up and in need of something in the middle of the night like he and his wife don’t have work in the morning.

He can’t even really picture an additional child—or two–added into the mix. 

Solana, however, only smiles, rocking gently to help soothe their son. “Only with you, papi.” A beat. “Only with you.”

________

“No!”

Roman is awakened by movement and volume. Both of which effectively deter and distract him from yet another strange dream, a fantasy of some sort.

Or…..something more. 

Regardless, he has neither the time nor energy—nor desire—to think about that. Not with the woman violently stirring beside him. A nightmare. It’s obvious Solana is in the middle of a nightmare.

“No….” Twisting against the mattress, Roman sees the light sheen of sweat on her forehead. He frowns. How long has she been in the middle of this nightmare? “Get off me….”

At that, he stills a bit. With Solana’s extensive trauma, it’s pretty impossible to know just what specific traumatizing incident haunts her dreams and interrupts her sleep. But this….this one is pretty obvious. 

And it guts him.

He moves his hands to her shoulders. “Baby, wake up.”

She starts crying, and Roman isn’t quite sure how much worse and useless he can feel. “No. Please—please. You’re hurting me.”

There’s a heaviness in his chest as Roman deepens his voice and shakes her a little harder. “Solana, wake up.”

It seems the more he says it, the more she writhes and cries, trapped in the throes of trauma. Roman doesn’t want to be physical with her, doesn’t want to exacerbate an already difficult situation, but he can’t just sit here and watch her suffer. 

He moves his hands to her arms, restricting her just enough, raising his volume yet again. “Solana, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up.” He’s not entirely certain if it’s his escalation or just the natural progression, but she shoots up, eyes opening for the briefest second before slamming shut. 

And then, the climax.

Roman is taken back when she starts pushing and shoving him, but that surprise is easily weighed down with sympathy when she starts talking again. 

“Get off of me!” She cries, never once letting up on him.

He takes it all, her fists really of no consequence to him as he continues to try to break her from this torment. “Solana, please—”

“No!” She’s the one with the increased volume, Roman biting back a hiss as a sharp almost burning pain throbs in his shoulder, the area where he was shot. But, it’s irrelevant. His focus is on Solana and nothing else. 

“Baby, it’s me.” He’s no longer restraining her, letting her let it out on him as much as she needs to. Whatever she needs in this moment, he’ll give it to her. He’s not sure what else to do besides that, to be honest.

But, it’s when Roman manages to cup her face, again, repeating the hopefully calming, settling words, “it’s me” that seems to help break through to her. Blinking, wet eyes open, filled with fear. He studies her, watching her focus on him, as the fear starts to diminish. Replaced with recognition. “R–Roman?”

He nods, his own concern settling seeing her anxiety lessen. “Yes. It’s just me.”

She releases a shaky, emotional breath, clearly coming to grips with what just occurred. But, her gaze settling on his shoulder seems to bring back that previous level of horror. “Oh my god, I—I hurt you.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He looks down, realizing she must have ripped his stitches when she was hitting him, blood trickling down his skin. Roman is entirely unbothered. “Solana, I’m fine.”

She doesn’t seem to be hearing him, too focused on the unintentional thing she caused. “I hurt you…..” 

He lowers her hands from her face, kissing her inner palms. “Baby, it’s fine.” 

“I–I’m sorry. I–She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths, asking him in an unexpected calmer voice. “I—I need to stitch it back up for you.”

Roman shakes his head. “I can do th—”

But, she cuts him off, sounding a little bit more stable and a lot more desperate. “Roman, please?” 

Not wanting to risk upsetting her again, he shakes his head, allowing her to take the lead as she grabs his hand and guides him into their bathroom. Roman sits on the toilet and watches her silently move around, gathering the medical kit and other needed supplies. 

His eyes don’t leave her as she works carefully and tediously to stitch him back up, Roman partially thankful her focus is on something else versus the horrific memories that seemed to have been tormenting her the past couple hours. 

He wants to say something, do something to help her feel better, to especially rip away the guilt evident in her eyes at ‘hurting’ him.

Solana may be the only person on this earth capable of doing as such, but it could never be physically. 

Ever.

“I’m not crazy. I—I promise.” Her voice is shaky, unsteady by understandable emotion as she finishes up, starting to put the supplies back. “I just—I don’t know—”

Roman takes her hands in his. “Sol, I know you’re not crazy.” Feeling an unfamiliar sense of openness and vulnerability, he asks her, “do you know why I was able to help you with your panic attack that night?” Her eyes are lit with confusion as she shakes her head no. Roman’s jaw clenches. He’s never once told a soul what he’s about to share with her. “It’s because I used to have them.” 

Her reaction is exactly what he would expect from anyone to hear such words coming from him. 

“Wh—what?” 

Roman’s eyes divert to the wall beside her as he powers through the discomfort. “It was….it was after my family was killed. I’d have nightmares about it and wake up freaking the fuck out.” Just like her. “That’s when they’d happen.”

“But, I couldn’t tell anyone, because they were already questioning if I would be fit to lead.” He scoffs, “I had to be perfect. I couldn’t let anyone know how fucked up I really was from what happened.” 

He can only imagine that the softness in her voice matches the expression on her face. “Roman….” 

“But, I couldn’t keep dealing with the shit either, so I found this book at my school’s library about mental health and whatnot, and it had a section on panic attacks and how to cope with them. So, I studied and learned them. It’s been fine since then. Haven’t had one in years.” Though that similar budding feeling of panic that used to be present before they’d occur is something Roman’s noticed having versions of for almost the past two weeks.

Since he found out Solana tried to kill herself. 

She lifts her hand to his face, and he closes his eyes. He can feel it. Can sense it. Her sympathy or maybe something different. Maybe empathy. Regardless, he doesn’t want or need it. The point was to not bring attention to his fucked up past but rather help her reduce some of her self-judgment. 

He stands up, forcing her hand to fall down as he instead cups her face, looking and speaking directly at her. “You’re not crazy.” Far from it. And he needs her to know that. “You just….you need help.” His voice shifts into something softer. “And I’m going to make sure you get it.”

Her gaze also shifts. Something both hopeful and sad. “I–I can go?”

Roman only hesitates for a second. “Yes.” 

The answer he gives her is in no way indicative of how he feels about it. He still hates it. Hates the idea of her not coming home for good in three days and instead going to yet another treatment facility. This one longer and farther away.

But, if there’s anything the past few hours have taught him, have shown him, it’s that Dr. Stratus and Gail were right. 

And so was Solana. 

She’s not ready to come home. 

She needs more help.

And he can’t, won’t, be selfish. Won’t be too consumed by his own want and desire to have her back with him. Not when it directly contrasts what she needs. 

And what she needs is continued professional help. 

So, that’s exactly what she’s going to get. 

“I’ll talk to Stratus about what we need to do.” And that’s more so in regards to location solely, so Roman can get a head start on working on safety precautions for her. He’ll keep Bautista with her. That seems to be a good fit. 

Solana, however, is bubbling with emotion again. From a different source. For a different reason. 

She pushes herself into his chest, Roman easily dropping his hands to her waist, kissing the top of her head. “Thank you.” It’s as he holds her, her face buried into his chest that she murmurs those three, sacred, terrifying words. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes. 

It’s one thing to read it but something entirely different to actually hear her say it. 

He doesn’t know how to respond, how to react, what to say. 

Even if does feel the same way. 

So, he says nothing. 

________

“You took her out of the hospital.”

“Sure fucking did.”

Roman has never been so unbothered while sitting in Dr. Stratus office as she paces across, visibly and audibly stressed the fuck out by what occurred. 

After agreeing to let her continue treatment at the other facility, Solana was finally able to get some sleep. Roman as well. Not a ton, of course, because he woke up to her spot in bed next to him vacant. Dulce missing as well.

And if not for the note left for him that read ‘fixing us breakfast <3’, he might have even panicked a bit. Just a smidgen. Of course she would spend time doing something for them rather than herself. It’s such a Solana thing.

Regardless, he enjoyed breakfast with her but hated to see the saddened expression on her face as she said goodbye to her puppy, Dulce’s ears dropping and the whimpering returning as she also picked up on the pending separation.

She’s also felt and been impacted by Solana’s absence. 

But, it’s a necessary absence. 

Solana needs help. 

And it’s that, that oh-so important reminder, Roman keeps repeating to himself as this blonde bitch continues to berate him like he’s a fucking child. 

“Who the hell are you to make that decision?” She continues, pointing at him. “You do not get to remove my patient from my care without speaking to me!”

“I did what I had to do for my wife. She needed to get the fuck out of here.” Roman is a man who doesn’t believe in explaining himself, but given the situation, he makes a small exception. For Solana. Only for her. “But, if you don’t lower your fucking voice, you won’t have to worry about her, or anyone else, being your patient because the dead can’t be fucking psychiatrists.”

Dr. Stratus closes her eyes and shakes her head. “At the very least, you could have just texted me what was going on.”

“Keeping you briefed wasn’t my priority.” At all. “Keeping my wife alive was.”

She opens her eyes, asking, “was she suicidal?”

“She said no.” Roman still isn’t entirely sure he believed her. She could have been telling the truth, but she also could have been lying for a lot of different reasons. Still, that’s not something he feels the need to share. “She said she talked about her rape earlier that day in therapy and was having….flashbacks.”

“Flooding,” Dr. Stratus informs. “It’s when a survivor experiences intrusive thoughts, images, and flashbacks of their trauma.” She then looks at him, almost surprised, “she called you?”

Roman nods. “Said the coping shit wasn’t working.”

The doctor plops back down into her seat, saying more to herself than anything. “Well, I suppose that’s a good sign. That she reached out to you versus….other things.” That’s exactly how Roman feels. “Regardless, in the future, at least let me know what’s going on. I would have told you to give her the Hydroxyzine. We could have seen if it’s helpful.”

Roman doesn’t disagree with her there. The thought of one of her medications potentially being helpful definitely crossed his mind. But, he’s not about to tell this woman that.

He’s got other things he needs to discuss.

“The facility you were telling me about….” Roman looks away, not eager to have this conversation but knowing he needs to. For Solana. “Tell me more.”

________

A loud, guttural, almost animalistic growl leaves Samantha’s mouth at the same time the glass plate is tossed against the wall, shattering and spilling into tiny little pieces all across her kitchen floor.

Not that it makes a difference.

Punching the fridge, she ignores the throbbing in her fist and ineffectively tries to manage her nerves, dissuading the burning urge within to scream. It’s been less than 24hrs since she regained the ability to speak, her jaw finally healed enough and no longer wired shut.

But, now she’s left with nothing but pent up emotion all directed toward one person.

Solana

That fat bitch ruined everything. She stole Roman from her. The man who she’s been with since she was a fucking teenager. The man she always imagined would be her husband and father of her children, who would make her his Queen of the Bloodline, but none of that will happen now.

It won’t happen because of that slashed face whore.

Because Roman chose her over him.

Which brings up unfamiliar feelings towards her former lover.

Roman is an asshole. Always has been. As long as she’s known him, he’s been a dick, so his cruel behavior at times toward her never really bothered her. That’s just his personality. She never took it personally. 

Not until now, at least.

Because now, it’s not just his wife she’s mad at, it’s Roman too.

Granted, her fury toward the troll is significantly worse.

She’d kill the bitch if she could.

“Rough day?”

Samantha nearly jumps across the room at the sound of another person’s voice. She instead is braced against the refrigerator as she lands eyes on the last person she expected to find in her place.

“Seth?”

It takes another second for her to register that it truly is the once friend of her former lover. He sits on her sofa wearing at least three different types of animal print that are all outlined in some kind of bling, hair looking as unkempt as his mental health. 

She’s sly in trying to move closer to the knife set on the counter.

Seth, however, is as perceptive as he is insane. She stills when he casually pulls out a gun. “Ah ah. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.” He makes a face, playing with the gun.“Word on the street is that you got dumped.”

Samantha’s eyes narrow a bit. How does Seth freakin Rollins of all people know about her ‘breakup’ with Roman? Only those close to Roman would know that, and there’s no way anyone close to Roman would be speaking to Seth……

Right?

“Who—”

“You’ll find out about the members of this little crusade once you agree,” he explains, placing the gun on the sofa beside him, casually viewing his nails that are painted a hideous green. Like the color of slime from Nickelodeon back in the day. “Can’t risk snitches, of course.”

More interested than anything, Samantha asks, “what are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s right.” He giggles, standing up and pulling a flask out of what seems like nowhere. “We’re gonna kill Roman Reigns.” Seth takes a swig as Samantha’s eyes widen, before he adds on, as if he forgot. “And his wife, Sadie.”

“Solana?”

Seth shrugs “Yeah, she can get killed too. Why not?”

Samantha finally laughs, crossing her arms. “You’re even crazier than I realized. You can’t just kill, Roman.” It’s damn near impossible. Does he not know the mountain of bodies that have tried and failed at the very same thing he’s suggesting? “And there’s no way in hell he’ll let you get even close enough to kill that bitch wife of his.”

“Oh, that’s a lot easier than you think.” Seth takes the flask to his mouth again, voice teasing yet malicious. “The Bloodline is full of traitors.”

Samantha goes quiet, wondering how much of this is madness and just how much is true. It seems too asinine to be true. 

But, there’s also the fact that the only way Seth could have known about Roman leaving her was if someone within the Bloodline told him, which would most definitely make them a traitor. And even that feels almost impossible. Roman’s family is notoriously loyal. Who would want to betray him?

The plural form of the word ‘traitor’ is also something that catches her attention. 

Could there be more than one traitor?

Seth meanwhile seems to be in a sense of imaginative blood lust, practically squealing, “the infamous Roman Empire is going to be coming to a gloriously bloody, gory end, and we’re trying to see who all want to be a part of our little murderous, traitorous gang.” 

Again, she’s caught off guard, realizing just now he’s clearly referring to more than himself. “Gang?”

Seth tilts his head, pouting as he says almost mysteriously, “we both know your former lover has no shortage of enemies.”

That is dangerously true, but what’s even more dangerous is this suicide mission Seth is proposing.

“How is this supposed to be any different from any other time people have tried to kill Roman?” As much as she would love to see Solana’s life drain from her ugly ass face, Samantha would rather not lose her life in the process. 

Seth is way too excited to answer. “Because this time, the call is coming from inside the house.” Her eyes widen. “With a little….Nightmare help as well.”

There’s so much to process in that one bombshell of a sentence. “Someone in the Bloodline is orchestrating this?” Not to mention whatever role the Nightmare Factory is playing. That’s just salt on an open, gushing wound. 

This type of betrayal is bound to crush Roman.

Samanth smiles. 

Oh, revenge is so so sweet. 

“I’ll join, but on one condition.” Seth’s brow lifts, a sign he’s ready to hear out her caveat. “That I get to stab and kill that bitch Solana myself. I get to be the one to take her from Roman.”

At the vision alone, Seth’s mad smile grows followed by that crazy ass laugh. “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better.” He claps his hands together, nodding. “You got yourself a deal, curly.”

Samantha nods, pleased with the arrangement. 

Whoever previously took the knife to Roman’s little wife, causing all those ugly ass scars, failed to get the job done. 

Samantha won’t. 

She does have another question, shrugging. “So who all is a part of this shit anyway?”

She’s especially curious about who the traitor is.

Or traitors. 

Of course, it’s just more mental edging with the self-proclaimed visionary. “You’ll get to meet the gang soon enough, but we’ve got one more person to recruit.” Samantha’s curiosity is evident, prompted by Seth casually tossing the flask up and down with a wicked gleam in his empty eyes. “Can’t take down Roman Reigns without inviting his good ole’ pal Brock Lesnar to join in on the fun, now can we?”

[hmshermitcraft]

False is a talented fighter. She's difficult to surprise, quick to react, and ruthless when she's wielding a weapon! Needless to say, she did everything she could to protect her girlfriend, Lizzie. More often then not, Lizzie didn't even see the danger til it was slain. The only times she ever got hurt was due to her own clumsiness.

False however, was hurt much more often. Less because she was defeated by creatures, but because she would give her life to protect Lizzie. Countless times, she'd thrown herself in harm's way to ensure she was hurt instead of her pink-haired princess.

It made Lizzie feel horrible to see her beloved False hurt, especially when it was her own fault. And she never was able to protect her in exchange... so she does the next best thing: she treats her wounds. After every battle False is in, Lizzie sits her down, and performs as much first aid as necessary (sometimes more). False claims it's not necessary, but Lizzie can see her flinch at her touch... and then relax when she's finished. Just as False is her protector, Lizzie is her healer. False claims she'll never let Lizzie be hurt, Lizzie says she'll never let her STAY hurt. (It is a bit more exciting though when False has to undress so she can wrap more serious injuries.)

False would prefer Lizzie looks slightly less excited when she needs to take her top off. The giant gash across her stomach isn't particularly attractive! There are better times to be excited about this.

Oh, whatever. Lizzie is cute and her bedside manner is exceptional.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I've Had A Thought. I was thinking about the scene where Eragon is reminiscing over Brom's message to him as his father, and how Eragon is confounded and troubled that he in no way mentioned Murtagh. I found it a little sad that, for whatever reason, Brom decided Murtagh didn't bear mentioning. Then it crossed my mind to consider the possibility that Brom didn't know about Murtagh at all.

As it turns out, Eragon actually does think about it in that scene- he says, "He must have known about Murtagh. He couldn't not have." And admittedly I don't think this is the most likely scenario or that it's now my personal interpretation of canon, but the idea really has captivated me. Because it actually does fit within the facts! (the new book notwithstanding)

Brom was a gardener at Morzan's estate for three years, and while it's probably more likely that he learned about Murtagh in that time, I think it's certainly feasible for him to never know. Morzan was very determined to keep him hidden and took a lot of precautions to ensure just that. Oromis said Morzan forced all his servants to swear fealty and Brom found a flaw in his wards to infiltrate, and possibly he was able to do so because a job as a gardener didn't require such strict oaths because it wasn't in proximity to Murtagh.

Again, it may not be the most likely, but I can absolutely believe Selena might not have told him either. She also would have been aware of the serious danger Murtagh was in and would've wanted him to stay hidden. Even after Brom told her who he was and she started working with the Varden, she might have kept it secret. For one, Brom's hatred of Morzan is described as extreme and all consuming, and that it never waned with time. Even if she came to believe that Brom wouldn't harm Murtagh, she might not have trusted he could look at him kindly. And of course, telling him about her child with Morzan also risked damaging their relationship considering that they were lovers. Then there's the possibility that Selena did build all this necessary trust to tell Brom about Murtagh if he wasn't aware of him already, but it was too late for her to discuss it with him before she died. So I think it is conceivable that Brom actually never knew about Murtagh's existence.

Where this concept really shines is in an AU where Brom survives after Murtagh saves them from the Ra'zac. I've always liked these, and I sometimes toy with my own, but there's so many ways Brom could react and I've never been able to settle on one well enough to get invested in it. But I find this SUCH a fascinating take on it (especially if you wave off the detail that Murtagh's voice sounds ~exactly like~ Morzan's, which I tend to do). Brom recovers and meets their rescuer, and he has no idea he's looking at Morzan and Selena's son. Murtagh seems terribly familiar, but Brom has been relentlessly haunted by his past for so long now that he doesn't put much stock in the perceived similarities. Meanwhile, Murtagh realizes that Brom truly does not know that he's the son of the man he murdered, a precarious but welcome relief. Because he doesn't know- up until Murtagh's confession in the valley.

Brom is stunned by disbelief. It can't be true, Morzan had no children, because surely he would know, surely-! But another thought dawns on him, drowning out the memories of Morzan, because who could have been the mother of his child other than his wife: Selena? And Murtagh is looking at him with fear, fear that he'll turn on him because he shares the blood of the man Brom hated most. It's heart wrenching, because even as part of his mind tells him that maybe he should scorn him, Brom is looking at this man who single handedly saved him from the brink of death and saved Eragon and Saphira from far worse at the hands of Galbatorix, and who has given them extraordinary devotion ever since.

In his core, he accepts the truth of Murtagh's claim as he explains his past and recounts the story of his parents exactly how Brom knows it to be. The paradigm shift sends him reeling. Murtagh believes Brom is affected only because of his past with Morzan; he has no way of knowing what he felt for Selena. He still glances at him nervously, especially as he admits that he briefly intended to serve Galbatorix, yet then there's also a spark of trust and gratitude- maybe even hope- in his eyes when Brom doesn't rescind the way he vouched for him when they were stopped inside the gates. How could he? Murtagh has accomplished one thing neither Morzan nor Selena ever did: escape.

Despite everything, his aching heart feels something fiercely like pride. He would not dare ruin that for him.

Then to further prove the truth, like the world is laughing at his years of ignorance, Ajihad recognizes him, because after Murtagh was brought to Uru'baen, the Varden's spies informed him of Morzan's son. But of course, that was after Brom cut himself off and started living in Carvahall, so he never learned of that discovery. "Morzan's son" is said over and over, but in Brom's mind, that idea is far eclipsed by Selena's son. He's hurt and ashamed to realize he never knew something so significant about the woman he loved. And he feels guilty that Murtagh struggled for so long in Uru'baen because no one was there to save him when he was left helplessly alone. Brom must have been so close to him when he arrived right after Selena's death, but he just didn't know.

Brom is utterly at a loss. How can he process Murtagh- the child of Selena and Morzan, Eragon's half brother, and in a certain sense, his own stepson? What can he do now? He was already so terrified of telling Eragon the truth of being his father, and now he has another staggering revelation to inflict on Eragon and Murtagh both. The prospect feels terrifyingly impossible, but keeping his secrets has grown even more painful. Watching how easily and how well Eragon and Murtagh get along is now bitterly ironic. Even without knowing it, Murtagh is a great older brother, waiting vigilantly near his side after the battle. The injury Durza inflicted scared Brom in a way he can't put into words; he simply could not bear to lose Eragon. How could he risk that happening without telling Eragon how much he loves him and values him as his son? But telling him truth could be the quickest way to lose him. And now, with Murtagh, he has more to lose than he ever realized.

-And because Murtagh deserves it, I like all these changes resulting in the Twins never getting the chance to kidnap him, and so Brom has to figure out how to make the three of them into a family <3

[evidence-based-activism]

women are not held accountable. I don’t remember paternity fraud being a crime. In most places, a man still owes women alimony even if she cheats. He still has to pay child support even if the kid does not turn out to be his. Innocent men are punished and you are talking about them not being held accountable lol.

Gender neutral laws are a joke in most civilised countries. It always favors women without fail.

It’s just excuses for women to avoid accountability as usual.

to protect men paternity tests should be legal and mandatory.

Why are women surprised when men want paternity tests? The laws are already unfair to men. It’s like making divorce illegal.

"women are not held accountable."

Held accountable for what?? Did you send this to the wrong blog?

"I don’t remember paternity fraud being a crime."

That's because it's a civil offense. Also, if you agree to take responsibility for a child only to back out when you find out the child isn't yours then you never should have agreed to take responsibility in the first place.

"In most places, a man still owes women alimony even if she cheats."

First of all, the purpose of alimony is not punitive, it's to ensure both spouses can maintain the same quality of life. That being said, in a fair number of states, if he can prove infidelity he can often avoid or greatly reduce alimony [1]. In addition, it's simple to avoid this even in states without this consideration; just get a prenuptial agreement with a clause concerning infidelity.

Beyond all that: alimony is paid by the higher-earning spouse. Given the extent to which men have prevented women from earning equal money (e.g., insisting on stay-at-home-mothers, excluding them from higher paying jobs, insisting on prioritizing their own career advancement over their wive's), it's reasonable that they bear some of the consequences of this decision (i.e., paying alimony to a wife they've prevented from earning equal amounts of money by their own actions) [2].

In addition, alimony has never been particularly common [2]. It was a part of less than quarter of divorces prior to divorce reform, and has only fallen since then (and the proportion of permanent alimony has fallen even faster).

"He still has to pay child support even if the kid does not turn out to be his."

If you have reason to believe that the child isn't yours, then seek out a paternity test (the court can and does order them when necessary). Often times there is a time limit (usually a couple years following the child's birth) in which you can seek out a paternity test. If you miss this deadline, then you've already agreed to take responsibility for a child, therefore you are responsible for that child. The courts will subsequently prioritize whatever is in the child's best interest.

"Innocent men are punished and you are talking about them not being held accountable lol."

Child support and alimony are not punitive, they are part of what you agree to when you get married and/or have a child. If you don't want to be held liable for alimony, don't get married. If you don't want to be held liable for child support, don't have unprotected sex.

"Gender neutral laws are a joke in most civilised countries. It always favors women without fail."

Do you have any evidence for this? At all? This is so vague I can't even try and find sources for you. What laws? About what? What "civilized" countries? (And how exactly are you defining "civilized" anon?) How do they favor women?

"It’s just excuses for women to avoid accountability as usual."

Women are consistently held "accountable" for not just their behavior, but for the behavior of the men around them. Here's two articles [3-4], one from back in the 1990's and one from 2022, both describing the exact same phenomenon: a culture of women being blamed for men's actions.

Also, here's an interesting laboratory experiment [5] that found that only men were less likely to blame low performance outcomes of female leaders on luck (as opposed to selfish decisions). But again, this study was interesting, but also doesn't invalidate the extensive cultural history of blaming women for men's violence against them and other around them.

"to protect men paternity tests should be legal and mandatory."

They are legal.

No, they should not be mandatory. No medical procedure should be mandatory; that would be a gross violation of personal autonomy. It's one thing for a court to order a test based on the specific circumstances of that case (this is reasonable), it's another to mandate that every women or child undergo a paternity test (that is not reasonable).

Also ... this doesn't have anything to do with "protecting" men. To protect is "to make sure that someone or something is not harmed, injured, damaged, etc." [6]. Raising a child that is not biologically yours does not harm, injure, or damage; therefore preventing this does not protect men.

"Why are women surprised when men want paternity tests?"

Well if she believes the two of you have been in a monogamous relationship, then she may be surprised at the implication that you have not been faithful. If she believes you're "one of the good ones" she may be surprised at your attempt to dodge parental responsibilities. Or maybe this is just the first time you've showcased your misogynistic beliefs, and she's surprised at your display of disrespect.

"The laws are already unfair to men."

I covered this earlier. No, they are not, and there is no evidence suggesting they are.

"It’s like making divorce illegal."

No, no it is not. A divorce is "the legal ending of a marriage" [7]. Such an ending does not absolve you of your responsibilities to your children nor does it absolve you of the legal contracts you agreed to. (One of which is the payment of alimony, in the event of a divorce, provided you are the higher-earning partner.)

References under the cut:

Alimony laws and forms: 50-state survey. (2021, January 18). Justia. https://www.justia.com/family/divorce/alimony-forms-50-state-resources/

McMullen, J. G. (2014). Spousal Support in the 21st Century. Wis. JL Gender, & Soc'y, 29, 1.

Blame-the-woman syndrome—The washington post. (2021, September 21). https://web.archive.org/web/20210921162019/https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/wellness/1994/12/06/blame-the-woman-syndrome/50095e32-280a-441f-94d4-60c7c73eb11a/

“Blame her”: The cultural and legal phenomenon of accusing women | psychology today. (2022). https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/intersecting-law-and-mental-health/202204/blame-her-the-cultural-and-legal-phenomenon-of

Erkal, N., Gangadharan, L., & Koh, B. H. (2023). Do women receive less blame than men? Attribution of outcomes in a prosocial setting. Journal of Economic Behavior & Organization, 210, 441-452.

Protect verb—Definition, pictures, pronunciation and usage notes | Oxford Advanced American Dictionary at oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com. (n.d.). Retrieved 2024, from https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/definition/american_english/protect

Divorce noun—Definition, pictures, pronunciation and usage notes | Oxford Advanced American Dictionary at oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com. (n.d.). Retrieved 2024, from https://www.oxfordlearnersdictionaries.com/definition/american_english/divorce

[blakeswritingimagines]

Yandere Aemond, Who Accidentally Gets Your Sister Instead

"Y/n should have been mine. She was destined to be mine. I had envisioned a perfect future together, one where we flew atop our dragons and ruled the world. But that was all taken away from me. All of it, gone. Now all I have are her sister. A replacement. Second pick. A consolation prize. How dare she do this to me. She dares to bring a weaker version of herself into my life and expect me to be happy. What was she thinking? I must get rid of her."

If/when he were to be with you he would make sure that you know exactly what your place is. He would make sure that you know that he is the man of the house and that you are only what he deems you to be. You'll serve him regardless of whatever he asks or how highborn you are, and that is the way it must be. He is the master of the household, and you must obey and follow. If he has something that he wants, you must provide it to him.

If all else fails, he would consider kidnapping you in order to force you to spend your time with him. After all, the obsession would be so strong, that he could not see any other option than that. This is only one scenario however.

If he were to have you replaced by your sister he would be very upset. In fact, he would likely act aggressively. This could range from merely ignoring the sister, to trying to hurt her physically. He might even try to eliminate the competition.

He does believe he loves you and he can be quite possessive of you, especially when he sees you talking to other boys. He's always afraid that you might give them more attention than you give to him. He has to remind himself that he is your one and only love, but when the jealousy gets to him, he can get to be a little bit unhinged and obsessed. It’s not something he's proud of, but it’s part of what makes him, him.

Because he has a very short temper and a habit of lashing out when he's angry. He can be very intimidating, and he doesn't like to be crossed. So if you ever do something to piss him off, well, let's just say you better be prepared to face the consequences.

I suppose he would be rather possessive and obsessive. He doesn’t take no for an answer and his love won’t allow him to accept an alternative like your sister. He would be quite persistent and would not give up until he got his way. His pride and his honor wouldn’t allow him to settle for seconds. If he couldn’t have the object of his affection then he would take no one else, and he would go to great length and lengths to ensure that. Perhaps he would even resort to drastic measures in the heat of the moment and in his passion.

If the sister continues to interfere, he might try and drive a wedge between his beloved and your sister. He might even resort to more violent methods to ensure you stay away from each other. It would have to be kept in secret, of course. He would not want you to be suspicious. He would also be sure to make you believe that you are his one and only.

Well, since your sister has arrived it would mean that you are no longer a special focus of his attention. He would likely begin to see this as an attack on him, on your "relationship", and on the way things were meant to be. His behavior might become more and more erratic. He would likely try to get you back by whatever means necessary.

If he wished to capture your attention "again", he would likely resort to more direct, but also more subtle, methods. By this, I mean he would do his best to impress you with his talents, and also try to engage you in some of your favorite activities. He would also do his best to look his best for you, since a good appearance can go a long way in catching someone’s attention. However, he would also be sure to be mysterious and elusive when needed.

It would be most vexing. If the sister continued to attempt to get his attention he would make it clear to her in no uncertain terms that he has no interest in her. He would likely ignore her as much as possible and make sure to give you more attention than ever. He would also try to keep them as far apart from each other as he possibly could. That way, your sister would hopefully learn her place.

If your sister kept trying to be with him, he would likely try to reject her at first. Hopefully, this would give you the opportunity to see what he is to you. But if this fails, he would have no choice but to eliminate the competition. It would be for you, of course.

He is not attracted to your sister, his primary goal is to obtain his beloved. He would never be content with someone else, you are the only person he wants. No one else can measure up. He would continue to focus all his efforts on winning you over. And if your sister continues to interfere, his actions may become more drastic.

It would make the situation a bit tricky if you felt you were nothing amazing compared to your sisters. If you think that you are nothing special then his own jealousy and possessiveness might not be enough to change your mind. He might try to build your confidence up, while also emphasizing the importance of your relationship and how much he values having you with him. He could compliment you and boost your self-esteem, while also making you feel that you are more special to him than anyone else.

His family would likely be concerned about his obsession. They would be concerned about him acting out and hurting you and your sister. They would likely try and intervene and get him to let you go or stop hurting you. However, he would be hard pressed to listen to them. He cares about no one but his love.

If/when he finally got you he would do all he can to possess you. You would be his, and his alone. You would not have the option of going anywhere or doing anything without his permission. He would want you to be with him 24/7. He would make you entirely dependent on him.

He would want you to be married to him, and no one else. And he would want you to have his children and no one else’s. It would be a way of keeping you by his side and tied to him by the closest bond. Children would also serve to make you more dependent on him.

It is not something that he would wish to do. He feels it goes against his code of honor and his "chivalrous" nature. He would never want to stoop to such a level. However, if the alternative is never marrying you and having children, he may not have a choice but to force himself on you and make sure you will in fact be his. It is a decision that he would have to make.

If he were to force you into marriage with him he would make sure it is no small or quiet affair. It would be a grand ceremony. Invitations would be sent to all the great lords of Westeros. He would want to show the realm that you and he were married and that he would keep a firm grip on you. He would want to impress the realm with his love and authority. He would make sure you knew who’s royal and in power because of him, that you belonged to him.

If you are in his possession, who is to say that he cannot do what he wants? Of course he would still treat you with respect and honor you to the best of his abilities. However, you would be a prize to be proud of. You would not be free to go where you please, when you please, without his say so. He would never give you to another. He would never let you get away. He would fight tooth and nail to protect what is his.

[smok3r7]

One Door Closes & Another One Opens

Joel x OFC!Divorce Lawyer

Explicit, 18+

Wolf vs Bear

Main MasterList & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: She’s a divorce attorney and he’s a husband looking for help to save his daughter, and himself, from his gambling addict wife. Renae Russo is a woman who fights for her clients and wins. She’s satisfied with her life and what she does - but she wishes she could have a little more. What happens when Joel Miller becomes her client and an old flame of Renae’s reignites in the same breath?

Chapter Summary: Things get nasty in court and Renae realizes she has to let go of what could’ve been.

Word count: 5.3k

—

Annie has always been known for her determination and resilience, qualities that she lost due to her inability to stay sober or away from casinos. But now she’s trying to gain them back, or at least look like she is, with the help of divorce lawyer Garcia Cole.

She’s driven by a single motive - vengeance. She’s ready to fight tooth and nail for what she believes is rightfully hers, and she’s not going to let Joel take Sarah away. But it’s not even about her wanting to be a mother because, well, she really doesn’t… At the end of the day, it is all about having control over Joel.

Her persona as a doting mother was just a facade she believed everyone bought into, but the truth was far from that. The only thing that consumes her is when she can escape to the casino again and have a drink. The flashing lights and the sound of slot machines call out to her, offering a temporary escape from her mundane reality of having a child and being a wife. When she sits at the poker table, her mind drifts away into nothingness.

Her whole life keeping up appearances to others outside of her family was burned into her by her mother and she did not break that habit, transforming into a desperation for society to perceive her as the innocent victim in a crumbling marriage, all of it out of her control.

When she decided to fight Joel back in the divorce, she reveled in the thought of outsmarting him, her manipulative tactics hidden beneath a blanket of maternal devotion. However, she was not good at keeping her ideas to herself, because she wouldn’t stop calling him, leaving voicemails, and texts going into detail about how she thought she was going to crush him.

She simply couldn’t help herself.

Joel, on the other hand, understands the true gravity of the situation. He knows that Annie is not going to back down easily; it’s always a fight with her. Just like in the beginning when he would ask repeatedly if she was drunk, and she would deny, but Joel could tell. So he would try to simply talk to her and then she would play the guilt trip and whole victim act; I just want to have fun, we don’t have fun anymore, Joel. I’m not the same person anymore and I miss who I used to be…I just need to find myself again. What…I can’t go out anymore? Is that what you’re saying?

This divorce is going to be no different. Annie's stubbornness and denial of it all only fuels his determination more. Despite the emotional turmoil, Joel remains firm in his decision, ready to face the challenges that come with ending a once loving partnership. He knows that this separation is necessary, even if it means navigating through rough waters ahead.

He braces himself for the battle on the other side of the wooden doors, determined to do whatever it takes to ensure that his daughter remains with him. But also knowing that Renae has his and Sarah’s best interests in mind, eases his panic just enough.

“We got this, ‘kay?” Renae nudges Joel’s shoulder with hers, causing him to turn to her and he’s met with a small genuine smile. Her arms are folded across her chest, supported by stacks of papers and Manila envelopes filled with evidence to bolster Joel's claims.

The weight of the overwhelming evidence hits him like a ton of bricks, shaking him to his core. He’s struggling to come to terms with the reality that he finds himself in, unable to fathom the amount of proof backing him. This isn’t how marriages are supposed to be or even end.

His marriage to Annie had once been full of laughter and love, but now it seemed like a distant memory. The once vibrant woman he had fallen in love with was now a shadow of her former self, lost in a sea of her own demons.

Joel feels like a failure, as a husband and a father. He should’ve been able to see the signs of Annie falling off the deep end but he didn’t. He had ignored the late nights, the empty bottles, and the distant gaze in her eyes, hoping it was just a phase she would outgrow.

He can’t help but wonder where it had all gone wrong. Was there anything he could have done differently to save their marriage? Or was this the inevitable outcome of a love that had faded away?

He knows he’s in incredible hands but that doesn’t mean he isn’t terrified of what’s to come. Gazing into Renae’s beautiful forest green eyes, he sees true determination and care in her, and he smiles back at her. I know, he whispers, truly meaning each word. Despite the chaos swirling around his mind, he finds comfort in Renae's presence, something about her calms his whirling thoughts. With her by his side, he feels a flicker of hope amidst the uncertainty.

As they prepare to face the challenges ahead, he draws strength from Renae's unwavering support and her belief in a better tomorrow. In her eyes, he sees not only a formidable advocate but also a compassionate ally in this insane journey towards a new beginning.

Possibly even one with Renae.

—

Glancing over to Annie, Joel takes in her appearance; her blonde hair neatly pulled back into a tight bun, her makeup soft and light, but underneath he can see the faint bruise around her right eye. He assumes it’s from Maria two weeks ago when she served Annie, and he can’t help but chuckle internally.

Coming into this, he had expected to feel angry or frustrated, but to his surprise, he feels nothing. He can’t pinpoint his emotions, which is something he didn’t think was going to happen. Annie catches his gaze and gives him a cocky smile, unaware of the turmoil in Joel's mind. As they sit on separate sides of the courtroom, a sense of uneasiness lingers between them, making Joel question everything he thought he knew about their relationship.

Despite her trying her best to have this put-together appearance, only Joel can sense that she isn’t quite sober either. There’s a certain aura about her, a subtle hint of her struggles with casinos and drinking. After being with her for twenty years, Joel just knows.

Her clothes hang loosely on her small, skinny frame, but tight enough to think they’re just old clothes, if you don’t know her. Joel has always been attuned to Annie's moods, able to see through her facade and into the depths of her struggles. As he watches her from across the room, he knows that despite her best efforts to hide it, she’s still caught in the spiral of addiction, unable to break free from its grasp.

But he doesn’t feel bad, not in the slightest.

As the courtroom falls silent, Renae stands confidently before Judge Mark, ready to defend Joel. "Good morning, your honor," she speaks with a warm smile, earning a nod of acknowledgment from the judge. "We're here today because Mr. Miller filed for divorce and is trying to get full custody of his ten-year-old daughter."

Renae's heart races as she gives a brief introduction of the reasons why Sarah’s best interest is remaining with her father full time. “Mrs.Miller is an addict in more ways than one,” Renae says, and grabs photos and screenshots showcasing Annie's reckless behavior - drinking to the point of blackout, sneaking out in the dead of night, and gambling away her and Joel’s savings at the casinos.

“Here are some photos and screenshots of how frequent these kinds of things happen, your honor.” The judge studies the evidence with a grave expression, realizing the extent of the situation. “It’s clear that Mrs. Miller's addiction is spiraling out of control, affecting not just herself but everyone around her.”

However, Garcia Cole doesn’t waste any time before he’s arguing his side, or Annie’s side, of things. “That may be true before Mr. Miller filed,” Cole announces, “But Mrs. Miller has turned a new leaf. She’s been attending AA meetings for the past two months and plans on continuing going.”

He stands up as he stares between Renae and the Judge, “Casinos have been off limits to her also, same as alcohol. Here are the signed slips from each one, your honor.” Walking up the bench, he hands over the stack of papers as he says, “She’s ready to take care of her daughter.”

Renae's eyes widen in disbelief as Cole presents the evidence of Mrs. Miller's newfound commitment to sobriety and her daughter's well-being, though Renae knows, is all a facade and nothing but bullshit.

The Judge observes the sincerity in Cole's voice and the determination in Mrs. Miller's eyes.

After a moment of silence, the Judge nods, acknowledging the transformation that has taken place. Renae feels a small punch in the gut, but she knows this is only the start of things.

But then Cole drops the hammer and goes for it.

“Mrs. Miller requests physical and sole custody of Sarah Miller because she feels Mr.Miller is not safe for their daughter to be around.” He states as he addresses Judge Mark, Renae, and Joel in one swoop.

Renae senses Joel's protective aura and her own rising anger. She couldn't fathom Sarah being safer with anyone else but Joel. Annie's motives were suddenly suspect to Renae, and she impulsively, but smartly, demanded evidence to back Mrs. Miller's and Cole’s claims.

As Cole confidently approached the Judge's bench, Renae leaped up to join him, her heart racing with anticipation. "I was not aware of this, your honor. If anything, it's prejudice," she declared, trying to make sense of the unexplained picture of minor bruises on Annie’s biceps, looking like finger impressions.

Renae is enraged about Joel not telling her about this incident, whatever it is. She had explicitly asked him if Annie would have any evidence of things like this, to specifically make him look bad. In which he told her that Annie wouldn’t.

With a dismissive snort, Cole turns to Renae then to Judge Mark, his expression intense. "C’mon Russo… You really think this doesn’t hold weight? It's more probative than prejudice, your honor. My client fears for her daughter's safety if this is how he treats her. What will he do to their daughter?"

The tension in the courtroom was palpable as the judge pondered the weight of Cole's words, and Renae anxiously awaits his answer.

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Mark sighs, “Mr. Miller, can you explain these?” He shows the pictures to Joel, whose ears are flaming red. But his eyes adjust to the lights and the small ten by ten picture and Renae she’s something in his eyes click just then, like he instantly remembers the incident.

“I do your honor,” he clears his throat, “That was the night she was blackout drunk and came at me with a knife, while Sarah was home, might I add.“

“He’s lying!”

“Mrs. Miller,” Judge Mark scolds her and then tells Joel to continue, folding his hands underneath his chin.

“Well, I managed to get the knife outta her hand and had to hold her down, which is where those marks are.” Joel gestures towards the pictures that Judge Mark has, “She managed to get out of my grip and so I had to put her arm behind her back and hold her there until she calmed down.”

“Do you have proof of this incident?”

“I’m sure I have texts to my brother about it, if you can give me some time to look.”

Judge Mark glances at the clock on the wall to his left and sits in silence for just a few seconds, fifteen minute recess, he announces as he slams his gavel loudly, you’re adjourned.

—

Renae storms into the small office she has at the courthouse, her eyes blazing with fury. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" she demands, slamming the picture on the maple wood table, "I explicitly asked you if Annie would have any evidence to make you look bad!"

Joel looks sheepish, avoiding her gaze. "I didn't think it was relevant," he mumbles, “Or at least… I burned it from my memory. The one and only time I had to put my hands on her.” He flips the picture over so he doesn’t have to look at it again, clearly ashamed of it.

Renae clenches her fists, trying to control her anger. She knows Joel isn’t a violent person, but the judge doesn’t know that for sure. This incident could ruin everything they had been working for.

“Joel. Everything is relevant right now, you know this.” She scolds, taking a deep breath after. “Like your texts to Tommy, can you find them, please.” She can’t sit down, she’s too on edge to even think about sitting. Renae hasn’t been beaten like this in court since she started her career and it was against Garcia Cole.

It’s like some sort of crazy deja vu and she’s not liking it at all.

"Yeah, gimme about five minutes to find it,” Joel tries to calm Renae down as he scrolls on his phone through his and Tommy’s texts. Renae scoffs to herself, she almost feels played by Joel, she can’t believe that he forgot to tell her this. This kind of thing is so important for an attorney to know and that fact that she didn’t, makes her work look lazy.

As she paces back and forth in the dimly lit room, her heels click on the hardwood floor and her mind races with all the possible implications of Joel's forgetfulness. How could he have missed such a crucial detail? Is he trying to hide something? What’s the benefit from doing that? There really is none. Renae's frustration simmers beneath the surface, stopping from threatening to boil over at any moment.

She knows she needs to confront Joel about this, but for now, she'll bide her time and wait for him to find the information she needs. There’s no point in blowing up on him for this now, now when this is all over, that’s another story.

"Aha, I found it!” Joel exclaims, with his phone in both hands he stands up from his seat causing the wood to scrape against the floor.

“Let me see,” Renae turns around from the window, she snatches it out of his hands and reads his short message to his brother.

Can Sarah and I come over for the night? Annie and I just got into it…she tried to stab me man. Nobody’s hurt but I gotta get out of here before somethin happens.

Renae stands there, her heart heavy with the weight of regret. The fury that once consumed her has now dissipated, leaving behind a deep sense of sympathy for Joel. His warm eyes hold a mixture of pain, but also a glimmer of forgiveness and hope that surprises her. As he slowly reaches out to touch her, he half expects her to recoil after learning this information, but instead, she stands still, letting his hands rest on her biceps.

“I’m- Joel… I’m sorry-“ she tries to convey her remorse before Joel's soft voice interrupts her, calming her inner turmoil.

"Don't, Rae... It's okay," he says gently, his gaze unwavering. And in that moment, Renae realizes that despite the small indiscretions, there is still a bond between them – a connection that goes past the brief anger and frustration.

—

Renae sits quietly in the courtroom as Judge Mark meticulously reads through the print out of the text exchange between Joel and his brother. Her stomach twists and her mouth is dry, she’s not sure how the Judge is going to react to this. Even though it’s all in Joel’s favor, the ultimate decision is up to the Judge and only him.

She carefully observes the expressions on the Judge's face, noticing the subtle shifts from surprise to empathy. As the message is scrutinized, Renae feels a small sense of assurance growing within her.

She knows that Judge Mark is starting to comprehend the complex web of circumstances that had led Joel to take drastic actions. She sees the wheels turning in his head that this is all a lie from Annie and a ploy to try to sway his decision.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the Judge looks up, locking eyes with Renae. In that moment, she senses a shared understanding between them. Despite the gravity of the situation, Renae feels a glimmer of hope that justice would prevail.

"Mrs. Miller, is there anything else you would like to provide?" Judge Mark asks into the courtroom, but mainly to his left.

“She has a two-bedroom condo that includes a room just for Sarah, and she started her job at her salon shop again.” Cole rolls off his tongue, but Renae senses the tone of defeat in his voice. “But other than that, we rest, your honor.”

Annie shakes her head in defeat, then turns towards Joel with a sad expression. Her eyes plead with him, silently begging for forgiveness or even a bit of leniency in this whole situation.

But Joel looks away, unable to meet her gaze, his heart heavy from the fact this even had to happen, even though he feels relaxed that it’s over. The air in the courtroom feels thick and sticky, suffocating him with its heaviness, and Joel longs to escape and never look back.

The thought of ever returning to this place makes his stomach churn with unease, a deep sense of discomfort settles in. Joel closes his eyes, trying to push away the feeling of sickness that threatens to engulf him, longing for the moment when he can walk out of that courtroom and leave this all behind him.

The Judge clears his throat, breaking the momentary stillness. "Very well. In light of the evidence presented, I have reached a decision."

Renae's trembling hand motions for Joel to silently stand by her side as Judge Mark prepares to deliver his decision. Garcia Cole does the same with Annie, common court courtesy. Renae's heart races in anticipation. Her mind spins with desperate pleas for Joel to be granted custody of his daughter, the one bright light in Sarah’s tumultuous lives.

Joel's eyes meet hers, filled with a mix of hope and fear, mirroring the emotions swirling within Renae. Then swiftly focus back on the deep voice that determines Joel's life in front of him.

As Judge Mark begins to speak, every word feels like an eternity, hanging in the air, heavy with implications. And then, finally, the words that they had been praying for.

“I grant Joel Miller sole legal and physical custody of Sarah Miller.”

Tears of relief and gratitude fill Renae's eyes as she squeezes Joel's hand, knowing that Joel got what he wished for, and rightfully deserved.

Joel can’t believe his ears as the Judge pronounces the decision in his favor, granting him sole legal and physical custody of Sarah. It’s the outcome he has hoped for, and the result of countless nights of worry and stress over the last four months has finally paid off. But the Judge's next words catch Joel off guard.

"However, I also grant Annie visitation every other weekend."

Joel's heart sinks at the mention of his ex-wife's name. The memories flood back - the good times, the bad times, and everything in between. Despite the mixed emotions swirling inside him, he knows that it’s the right thing for Sarah to have a relationship with her mother. Sarah deserves to know her roots, her history, her mother.

So, with a heavy heart and a mind full of conflicting thoughts, Joel makes the decision to just accept this and move on. The arrangement is set - pickups early Saturday mornings and drop-offs by Sunday evening, no later than eight pm.

As Joel looks into Renae’s eyes, he knows that despite the challenges ahead, he’ll navigate this new chapter to the best of his ability.

—

Standing in the parking lot, Renae leaning on her car and Joel doing the same, but on his truck. Side by side with one another, Renae doesn’t want to leave. The cool evening breeze sweeps through the small empty space between them, carrying the faint scent of pine trees. Renae's heart feels heavy as she looks up at the dusky pink sky, knowing that this moment might be the last time she sees Joel.

Joel senses Renae's hesitation and reaches out to gently touch her hand. Her forest eyes and his whiskey ones meet, sparking a silent conversation that speaks volumes. Time seems to stand still as they stand there, unwilling to look away. She knows she has to go, but something holds her back.

Maybe it’s the way Joel looks at her with his soft brown orbs, or it’s the memories of their minuscule time together flooding back. Renae doesn’t want to leave, and doesn't want to say goodbye to what could have been or could be.

As the sun rests above the courthouse, Joel pulls Renae close, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon him. They stand in the quiet embrace, both reluctant to let go of the memories they shared these past four months.

Joel can feel the tears welling up in his eyes, but he blinks them away, not wanting to show his vulnerability. Letting go of Renae was proving to be harder than he thought. He never expected to become so attached. This woman has rescued him and his daughter from his toxic ex-wife, and for the first time in years, he feels truly understood by a woman. Renae looks up at him, still in his arms, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and gratitude.

"Thank you for everything, Rae," Joel murmurs to Renae, his voice barely above a whisper. “But ya’ know this means we can now, maybe… Get serious.”

Butterflies flutter in her stomach but instantly die. She reluctantly slides out of his warm embrace and takes a small step away from him.

There’s no way that can happen right now, Joel needs time with his daughter and needs to figure out his life as a single dad.

She doesn’t feel it’s fair for him to jump right into the next relationship, especially that he has a daughter at a highly impressionable age.

She smiles softly, her right hand reaching up to cup his cheek, her acrylics softly scratch his deep brown beard, and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "Don't thank me, Joel," she whispers, her voice barely audible, purposefully avoiding the last part of his sentence, "I did what I had to do.”

Joel takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. His left hand raises to where Renae rests on him, the touch gentle yet filled with longing. "You saved me," he says, his voice breaking with emotion. "I woulda’ been lost without you. You saved me ‘n my daughter, that’s all I coulda’ asked for."

“As much as I want to be with you… Joel,” she sighs into his gentle touch, “It just can’t happen right now, you just divorced and have a ten year old girl who loves you and needs you. I can’t get in between that. It’s not fair to her, you, or me.”

Renae's heart aches as she looks into Joel's eyes, feeling the pull of their connection. Despite the yearning for him swirling within her, she knows that the timing is all wrong. She can’t bring herself to disrupt the fragile balance of his newly divorced life and his daughter's need for stability. The love between them was undeniable, but yet their circumstances make it impossible for them to be together.

Joel's touch holds a mixture of longing and understanding as he whispers softly, "I know it's complicated ‘n all, but my feelings for you are real, Rae and I won’t deny that. When the time is right, we’ll find a way to make it work."

Renae forces a bittersweet smile, touched by his sincerity. With a heavy heart, she pulls away from his cheek, knowing that for now, they have to part ways to do what is best for everyone involved.

Renae's eyes meet him again, a mixture of sorrow and love shining battling for the throne. "But… We saved each other," she replies softly.

"We'll always have these moments, Joel. No matter where life takes us," Renae whispers back, her voice filled with love and understanding. Joel softly chuckles and a warm smile grows on his lips, and then it’s like time stands still.

Finally, Renae breaks the silence, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't wanna say goodbye." Joel's gaze softens, and he pulls her into one more tight embrace.

The world seems to fade away once again as they hold each other, savoring the moment before they have to part ways. The memories of their time together flood back to both of them, filling their hearts with a bittersweet ache that they can both feel through one another.

For Renae, leaving was inevitable, yet she can’t bear the thought of being separated from Joel. Their love, even though they haven’t told each other, has blossomed unexpectedly, catching them both by surprise. As they stand there, wrapped in each other's arms, they know that this goodbye was not the end, but possibly a new beginning.

Just not together, at least right now.

As Renae reluctantly lets go of Joel, she softly sighs, I gotta get home. He nods his head and takes a small step back to give her space, drive safely, text me when you’re home please. She smiles and tells him she will.

Hesitantly, Renae hops into her car and starts it, she looks to her left one more time and sees Joel, still out of his truck, already looking at her. She gives a hopeful smile and a small wave, which he returns. She tells herself to pull away, just drive off, and somehow she does.

Renae can’t shake off the bittersweet feeling as she drives away. Her heart feels heavy, but she knows it’s the right decision and the only decision. As the distance between her and Joel grows, she can’t help but replay the moment in her mind.

The hopeful smile on his face lingers in her thoughts, filling her with conflicting emotions. A part of her wants to turn back, to stay and see where things could lead, but another part knows it’s time to move on. She keeps driving, the road stretching out ahead of her like a blank canvas. With each passing mile, she feels a sense of freedom and a twinge of sadness.

Why does the world need to be so cruel?

—

With every passing day, it seems Joel has an incredibly difficult time letting go of Renae. The last thing he ever expected was becoming attached to his divorce attorney. It’s only been three weeks since the last time they've seen each other, and a couple days that they stopped calling one another, but he’s found himself unable to stop thinking about her.

Her laughter echoes in his mind, her smile still lighting up his world. They had shared intimate conversations and created unforgettable memories together in the short four months, so how could he ever just let her go?

Before court started, Joel knew he would have to leave her but he didn’t think he would’ve struggled with the idea of saying goodbye. When he watched her drive away, leaving him in the parking lot to go home, Joel realized that sometimes, the hardest part of love is knowing when to set it free.

Now, on a warm sunny Saturday, Joel sits at the park watching Sarah play with Ellie on the monkey bars, feeling the weight of his responsibilities as a single dad. Renae's words echo in his mind, that he needs time to adjust to his new life as a single dad. Her words sting since he’s pretty much been one for the last four-five years anyways.

As he sits on one of the many park benches and stares off into space and he wonders why she really didn’t want to be with him, Sarah tugs at his sleeve, a wide grin on her face. In her innocent eyes, he finds the strength to push aside his doubts and focus on what truly matters - his daughter's happiness. Joel knows he needs to navigate this new chapter with care and consideration, not just for himself but for her.

Although, Renae's words linger, a reminder of the delicate balance between his own desires and his daughter's well-being. As he holds Sarah’s hand, Joel makes a silent promise to tread carefully, embracing the uncertainty of this new journey as a true single father. Not a husband who does everything.

As they walk towards Joel's truck, Sarah can’t shake off the feeling that something’s wrong with her dad. She glances at him, his face etched with lines that she hasn’t noticed in a long time.

"You alright, dad?" she asks, tightening her grip on his hand. Ellie senses the tension, and gives Sarah a reassuring smile.

Joel pauses and looks at her, his eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions. "I'm fine, sweetie," he finally replies, forcing a smile. But Sarah can tell he’s hiding something. As Joel opens the truck door and lets the girls climb in, buckling themselves up before he shuts the door and walks over to the driver side. His mind is racing, how can Sarah tell? How can his ten-year-old daughter know that something is wrong? He thought he was better at hiding his emotions.

As he drives down the road, Joel steals glances at Sarah and Ellie through the rearview mirror. They're both laughing about something on the playground they saw, and Joel smiles. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow on their faces, and Joel feels a surge of love for his daughter and her best friend. He remembers the struggles they've been through, the joys they've shared, and the bond that holds them together.

Sarah looks up and catches Joel's eye in the mirror. She gives him a wide grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Ellie chimes in, asking if they can stop for McDonald’s, even though Joel hates when they eat junk food, he figures today will be okay and that it won’t hurt them. They deserve a small treat, he reasons.

As Ellie's persistent cravings for McDonald's reach its peak, Joel finally surrenders with a defeated chuckle. "Alright, we can stop," he concedes, knowing there’s no way around it. Ellie and Sarah’s eyes light up with excitement as they pull into the drive-thru, both their mouths already watering at the thought of their favorite fast food place.

Joel can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm, realizing that sometimes giving in to simple pleasures is what makes life all the more enjoyable. As they sit in the car waiting for their order, Joel can’t help but be grateful for these ordinary moments that bring him and his daughter, and Ellie, closer together since the divorce.

[808airsoftbros]

(G) I-DLE As a Vampire Clan

Jeon Soyeon - Alpha Vampire

Jeon Soyeon is one of the most feared and formidable Alpha Vampires in the sisterhood. Nobody has ever dared challenge her nor came victorious over her. As the Alpha of Clan Neverland, she is the one in charge being the eldest and wisest of the members being over 800 years old. If you think you can sneak past her without her knowing... You are dead wrong. Soyeon has sharp Vampire senses and knows everything that goes on in her clan and her environment. It's her job as the Alpha to be the one who makes the decisions and ensures all their human kiddies are well treated and happy in her domain. She will not hesitate to draw blood if necessary.

Cho Miyeon - The Enforcer

She's the closest and most trustworthy of Lady Soyeon thus entrusting her to be the Enforcer after years of working with her. Cho Miyeon is seen as the most formidable parenting figure in the clan and will teach their children some manners if they misbehave but she knows raising human children isn't easy and takes patience. Her job is to make sure the children and her sisters are in check and whenever they must go out, she stays behind to watch over their kiddies it's an awe of sight to see how she can manage six kids at once without her sister's help.

Minnie - Blood Sister

The Thai Sister Vampire is known for them to be the most protective and loyal out of all kingdoms. Nicha Yontararak but most call her Minnie, she is business-minded and knows how to make a good bargain and protect the interests of both parties. She is in charge of teaching and schooling the Neverlands clan's children good manners and basic knowledge. She always ensures that each of them understands the subject and will jump to help if needed. Nevertheless, she enjoys her duties as seeing the children's innocent smiles warms her cold heart and soul.

Seo Soojin - Blood Sister

Another blood sister of the Neverland clan, Seo Soojin is in charge of helping Yuqi scout for dangerous and endangered orphans in the streets and territory of Clan Neverland and helps wherever she can. She'll even take Miyeon's shifts of babysitting so she can take a break as Vampires have their mental and physical limits as well. But looks can be often deceiving... She may be elegant and beautiful but that would instantly turn the impression of a cold-blooded killer and knows how to make people disappear if they dare mess with the clan.

Song Yuqi - The Scout Vampire

Song Yuqi is the quickest of them all and thinks on her feet in tight situations. In the field, she often encounters dangers from Vampire Hunters and other rogue Vampires that may be lurking in her clan's territory and reports the danger to Lady Soyeon before taking action. Stealthy and quiet, there is an unlikely chance you'll even see her as she knows how to blend in with her environment and you won't see it coming if you are ambushed.

Yeh Shuhua - The Youngest Blood

Yeh Shuhua, is the youngest blood sister of the clan but she plays her part as much as her older sisters. However, there is more grunt work as she cleans and tends to the house chores, making sure their children do not cause trouble or any ruckuses in their home but she does it all with grace. What Lady Soyeon is most impressed with is her ability to quickly resolve conflict if their children fight for whatever reason it may be and be a formidable mother figure so their children may grow for a brighter future. But the youngest sisters are often the deadliest as they do not hold back against their enemies and will even finish them off whether or not they are unarmed.

[biggestsimp12]

Hey. Idk if you're still active, but can I request a yandere Kuroko Kamenaga x gender neutral reader headcanons? How do u think she would act?

Yeah, I am still active don't worry, just on low energy constantly lately.

Yandere Kuroko Kamenaga x gender-neutral reader.

---–—

Kuroko first notices you because of her position as a student council member. Whether it’s your calm demeanor, quiet confidence, or the way you treat others, something about you stands out and captures her attention.

At first, she justifies her growing interest in you as part of her duties. She keeps an eye on you under the guise of maintaining order but soon realizes her surveillance goes beyond professionalism.

Kuroko convinces herself that her obsessive thoughts and protective tendencies are for your benefit. She rationalizes her behavior, believing you need someone strong like her to keep you safe.

She doesn’t like when others get too close to you. While she outwardly maintains her composed demeanor, she’ll intervene if she deems someone’s interactions with you inappropriate or “threatening.”

If someone starts showing romantic interest in you, Kuroko quietly ensures they’re kept at a distance. This could involve using her authority to enforce rules or intimidating them with her stern presence.

Kuroko goes out of her way to ensure you see her as someone you can rely on. Whether it’s helping you navigate school rules, standing up for you, or providing a listening ear, she positions herself as indispensable in your life.

Unlike more overt yanderes, Kuroko’s obsession is veiled behind her composed and professional exterior. Her affection is expressed through control rather than outbursts, making her actions harder to detect.

If you ever question her behavior or try to pull away, Kuroko uses calm logic to guilt you into staying close. She reminds you of how much she’s done for you and subtly implies that no one else would care for you as much as she does.

Kuroko becomes hyper-vigilant about your safety. If she notices you’re upset, she won’t rest until she identifies and eliminates the source of your distress—whether it’s a person, a situation, or even your own insecurities.

Despite her calm exterior, Kuroko’s obsession leads her to invade your privacy. She memorizes your schedule, monitors your interactions, and may even go through your belongings if she feels it’s necessary.

Kuroko’s jealousy is subtle but intense. If she sees you laughing or smiling with someone else, her expression remains neutral, but inside, she’s already planning how to remove them from your life.

In your interactions, Kuroko subtly establishes control. She insists on walking you to and from class, ensures you rely on her for help, and gently steers you away from decisions she doesn’t approve of.

If you try to distance yourself or enter a relationship with someone else, Kuroko’s calm façade begins to crack. She’ll do whatever it takes to keep you by her side, even if it means taking drastic measures.

Kuroko works behind the scenes to isolate you from others, ensuring she’s the only person you trust. This might involve spreading rumors, enforcing strict school rules, or creating situations where you have no choice but to depend on her.

At her core, Kuroko genuinely believes her obsession stems from love. In her mind, everything she does—no matter how extreme—is justified if it means keeping you safe and ensuring your happiness (as she defines it).

---

[sadsongsandstories]

Along with all the other brilliant differences between their characters, with even more comparisons being clear after reading and watching the wonder that is BOSBAS, it is amazing to see the difference in how Katniss and snow treat their childhood trauma in the war. Because snow was traumatised. It's the entire basis of his character and a brilliant and relevant context bosbas provided. He knows first hand how horrific war can be, and so everything he does, at least on a moral level, is done to ensure that war will never happen again.

Control, chaos, contract

A foot on the throat of the weak to ensure they might never rise up.

And the hunger games, in all their spectacular cruelty, are just another piece in that foot. Part of their purpose, along with whatever metaphorical nonsense snow creates to justify them, is to ensure that the memory of the war, and the blame thereof, stays fresh in the mind of every citizen and even child. Even if none of them were alive when the war truly happened (two generations have passed) Snow deems it necessary for the districts and capitol to never forget, justifying his tyranny indefinitely.

Katniss, however, wants nothing more than to forget. The end of the book is coloured by a desire to rebuild and to grow. Peeta and district 12 are her dandelion, a reminder that there is always hope for a better future. The winter ends, snow falls.

And unlike our dear friend coryo, she wants nothing more than to forget the past, and the trauma it carries. She is more than justified to be vengeful and hateful and tell her children of their enemies in the capitol, but she does not. She is better than that. The subjects of her hate are long dead. And, unlike snow, she wants nothing more than to be free, from power, from fame, and from the games or blame and hate and politics. She's happy with her quiet life with Peeta, her dandelion, in a home that they can build together.

Gale never forgets, and doesn't want to, he is like snow, she is better.

And all of this is symbolised beautifully by the book. The book that they create together, like the life-saving directory of plants. A book full of memories and photos and love, glowing bright with stories and songs. There are no reminders of war, only glimmers of the people who were lost, and all that they gave to the world. It's small, it's beautiful, and it is, in my humble opinion, a far better way to honour those who died. Instead of starting another war.

And one day, when they are old enough, Katniss' children will read the book, and hear the stories. And they won't understand the full weight of the past, but they will know enough. They will be better. Safe and warm, with their two loving parents in their new home. Full of song and freshly baked bread.

[the-timeless-founder]

Our Darling Boy

Chapter 3 of 5

the rest of this series is going to make me quite emotional so I don't think I can proofread them, please forgive any grammatical mistakes and the sort, I did my best portraying Devyn but @secretarykang has all rights to her, as always and again, I hope you enjoy <3

Saeclus' return with Dante's bandaged and half beaten body is less than a merry occasion. As always, Devyn had the good sense to have the capital's finest doctor at the ready for their arrival, with a room prepared just for them to take care of whatever injury he may have suffered.

Saeclus' magic had taken the worst of his injuries to a moderately better place by the time he made his way to the room with their son in his arms, but it was still a heart breaking scene for the family. And for the King - the capital's finest - who'd come at Devyn's behest to see to Dante's injuries.

None had ever seen Dante in such bad shape. Not after his squabbles with his brother, not after his sparrings with their grandfather, and not after his many fights with the third and sixth princes of the kingdom.

Silas and Aurora's shock and grief paled in comparison to the sheer agony in Devyn's eyes as she watched her husband lay their youngest onto the bed, Karl Heinz getting to work as soon as Saeclus gave him room to access Dante.

Tears streamed down Devyn's face, as they did Aurora and Silas', and they would down Saeclus' too, if he hadn't cried his heart out upon Nocto's back while shielding Dante from the cold.

He had spoken to his son too, though he didn't know if he could hear him. He had pleaded with him to not leave them. He had apologized for not going with him. He had regretted not trying harder to persuade him to stay. He had begged for him to fight for his life as fiercely as he fought for pride and honor.

Saeclus had exhausted his tears and his voice, and now he could only keep on channeling his magic to his son's wounds through one hand, to heal and revitalize him. And wait. And how agonizing it is to wait. Karl Heinz is focused on redoing the clumsy bandages, and adding any necessary medicine to the young man's wounds.

"Devyn..." Saeclus kneels by her side of the bed, and places his free hand upon her back, rubbing a soothing pattern. "Dearest, please..."

"This is our boy, my love. Our little boy..." Devyn's tears have not stopped, her voice hoarse from the cries and the grief. "How can I not cry? Why should I not weep?"

She turns to him, and buries her face into his neck as he holds her in his embrace. "I told him - I tried so hard to keep him from going. And look what's happened. Now all we can do is pray to whatever God that may be out there to spare us an impending tragedy..."

No other words would come from his mouth. How could they? She is right. This is their boy, their little spark and thunder, painted red with blood and burning with a fever that refuses to let up.

"There is no need for prayers, dear Devyn," Karl Heinz's voice causes Saeclus to force his eyes open to observe the King, "I will ensure that Dante sees the light of the next full moon."

Devyn's head turns in Saeclus' embrace to look at Karl Heinz. What expression does she make at him, Saeclus wonders... Is it an adoring gaze, one filled with hope, or is she furious at him for even presenting this opportunity in the first place? He dares not look down and see for himself.

His eyes have fallen to Dante's face, twisted in pain - from his wounds, the medicine, the magic, the burning fever. Saeclus curses himself once more for not leaving to observe his troops in secret, for letting the battle run its course and arriving at the last second to his son in such a state.

Aurora's voice rings clear across the otherwise silent room. "I wish to help, uncle Karl. I know how. You taught me yourself." And in an instant, she is by her parents' side, taking a new roll of bandages and carefully wrapping them around his calves - the bones have healed thanks to Saeclus' magic and Dante's own healing, but the nasty bruises have not.

Silas goes to Aurora's side quickly, and whispers something in her ear. The girl nods, and then speaks. "Alright, brother. Fill it with water and cool it. Bring a fresh towel with you."

Silas leaves her side at that, immediately going for the large basin with water from the bathroom. In minutes, he is back with a filled basin, chanting under his breath. Saeclus recognizes the spell as one that summons chill. Cold steam rises from the basin as Silas puts it on Dante's nightstand.

Before he can dip the towel into the water though, a woman's hand reaches for his wrist, garbbing it softly. Silas' gaze meets his mother's, as Devyn softly takes the towel from his hand. "I'll do that, my son."

She dips the cloth into the cold water, wretches it so it is only damp and not wet, and then folds it neatly, placing it on Dante's forehead. A satisfied groan leaves his throat at that - and at the feeling of his mother's touch, soothing and gentle as ever.

Karl Heinz finishes his work on the torso and one leg just as Aurora finishes her task, and he smiles at Aurora in acknowledgement. "I see you have learned very well."

"I had a great teacher." Aurora mumbles. She tries to, but can not force a smile today. Her face seems to ache if she so much as attempts to do so. Her eyes trail to her twin's face, watching as he seems to have calmed.

"His fever will cease within the hour. The medicine I have given him is potent."

"I thank you, my liege," Devyn caresses her son's face softly, hoping her touch would keep him grounded, and show his spirit that he is safe and among his kin, "it must not have been easy for you to make it on such short notice."

"Nonsense, Lady Kang," Karl Heinz rises to his feet, an amicable smile on his face - as it ever is with Devyn, oh dearest Devyn, who remains close to him despite all that has transpired between them, "I am ever happy to assist you and your family's affairs."

Devyn does not reply to him. Saeclus wonders quietly if she is simply too preoccupied with Dante to bother, or if the two of them have no need for more words between them. He wonders why he cares so much, after all these years and all the tribulations that he and Devyn have overcome side by side.

It is foolish to be anything but grateful to Karl Heinz right now.

Or is it?

A colder, crueler thought passes through his mind as the Vampire King exits the room for a change of clothing - would any of this have happened to begin with, if he had not stoked the fires of jealousy between their two sons? Would any of his help be needed if he had not presented Dante an offer only a fool would refuse?

No, he concludes, none of this would have happened if it weren't for his existence.

Outside, gone to fetch some clothes for his brother to replace his bloodied and torn ones, Silas' thoughts are no less cruel to the Vampire King. And meeting him in the grand mansion hall on his way to his brother's chambers only serve to further foul his mood and mind.

"Silas."

Silas' lips almost twist themselves into a frown, and bile raises to his throat as he forces his tone to remain neutral. Be your parents' good boy, be the pride of Houses Sanguine and Kang, do not let your emotions cloud your better judgement...

"Your Majesty."

[hupla222]

Devious

I've been thinking (as is typical) but it's not about the usual suspects this time, at least not directly. I was thinking about Spinel and his plans. He has already shown himself to be more than willing to take whatever means necessary to remove people he feels are in his way. so I just wonder what he might do to ensure that the other three admins stay out of his way when they're no longer useful.

I think it would be interesting if he had a different plan for each one, tailored to them to make sure Gibeon doesn't take them. Perhaps even plans to get them expelled as well. Would be really cool and would show just how smart and devious this man could truly be.

Amethio obviously went first because the boy was never useful to him and has a connection to Gibeon. One of the two menaces would probably be next. Which first, I'm unsure but in my gut I'd like to say Sidian since he seems more likely to actively go against Spinel's underhanded tactics once he catches on. And if Sidian were to fall Coral would follow since she wouldn't have anyone to curb her destructive habits anymore (besides that's her boyfriend best friend and she'd be upset if he was gone). Chalce is last and he may not even do anything to her since she'd actively on his side. If she does get dismissed I'd like to think it'd be the most gentle. Not sure if he'd have the balls to do anything to Hamber.

[elizabethswitch]

Unsupported headcanon follows.

On the night before her wedding day, Abraham Van Helsing stayed up with Lucy Westenra until dawn. We have no record of what passed that evening. We know that she was sealed in her crypt, and that he watched through the dark to ensure that noone released her, be it Dracula or some thrall. What I believe is that they spoke through the closed portal.

She must of course have begged for release, poor starveling Lucy, and this is why he sent Jack away. Jack would have caved, no question. But Van Helsing needed to ascertain some other particulars about her sojourn: he discovered somehow that she had not done murder. The papers made no mention of any dead children, but she was very clever and could have concealed a body easily. In the end he was assured of her innocence. What else he may have told her, what promises offered, I can't say.

But in the end he decided to set her up, and to let Arthur see her at her absolute lowest, with no fear of causing the demise of a child. For I do not believe he would have risked that-- but he does know how to cage a vampire, and he did deliberately set her free.

So now to Mina Harker, and Van Helsing's assurance to her of potential salvation: why must the Count be destroyed first, when Lucy was freed by decapitation? It's nonsense. He doesn't want to risk her committing suicide, and has nothing to give that would stay her hand, so he lies, he confabulates, he does whatever is necessary to prevent her damning herself.