#// PLEASE NOTE THAT LAST COMMENT IS SARCASM I HATE IT HERE

[official-zaterran-emissary]

As much as I love hot, warm places. . . IT IS GETTING TOO HOT. stop it.

[cieloclercs]

Eternal life

Oscar piastri x russian figure skater

the ice queen — oscar piastri

pairing. oscar piastri x russian figure skater!reader

face claim. alina zagitova

warnings. swearing, google translate russian (im sorry), look guys i know the winter olympics were last year but for the sake of this they’re this year ok ?? 🙏 i used pictures from oscar’s sprint podium in spa for singaore (which obviously isn’t accurate plz overlook it hehe)

author’s note. hello anon! i hope you enjoy this, sorry it took so long ❤️

requests are still open for my 1k event! send something in if you’d like <3

liked by oscarpiastri and 76,264 others

yourusername swipe for a fail 🥴

view all comments…

yourfriend1 pleased to announce i got said fail on video ☺️

yourusername if you ever show that to anyone i’ll smother you in your sleep.

yourfriend1 wow 😃

yourfriend2 i feel like one of those aesthetic skater pinterest girls in the second picture

yourusername we definitely pulled off the pinterest girlie vibes 👍👍

yourcoach очень продуктивная сессия! 👍 / very productive session !

yourusername я знаю точно 😃 / i know right

username yourcoach i’m sensing some sarcasm 🤔

username no shit sherlock 🙄

username MY FAV TRIO IS BACKKKK

username girllll are you competing at the winter olympics ?? i won’t take no for an answer btw you better be there. 🔪

yourusername in that case yes !!! 😀

username olympic champion 🔜

yourusername 😉

username hold up what’s oscar doing here? 🤨

username who tf is oscar

username oscar piastri, he’s a formula 1 driver for mclaren

username and he’s lurking in MY WIFE’S likes?? get tf out of here he drives cars in circles for a living 😭😭

username can you blame him tho y/n’s this total badass skating GODDESS and he’s just a silly little aussie like ofc he’s infatuated with her 😒😒😒

username guys all he did was like her post no need to create an entire backstory out of it 😭 they’re both highly successful sportspeople so they probably just mix in the same circles from time to time 🤷‍♀️

username boo you’re ruining my fun 🙄

username МОЯ ЛЕДЯНАЯ КОРОЛЕВА 🩵 / MY ICE QUEEN

username word on the street is oscar’s liking this girlie’s post 🤔🤔 now i just have to figure out who she is 😃

username girl u can’t be serious 😭

username how do u not know who y/n is are you living under a rock

username no?? should i know who she is?? 😭

username erm YES

username i simultaneously love and hate how this oscar dude has liked ONE y/n post and suddenly all the f1 fangirls have appeared 😭 go find a hobby plz i beg you x

username jokes on you, stalking potentially new f1 wags IS our hobby

username that’s quite possibly the saddest thing i’ve ever read

username as both an f1 and a skating fan, OSCAR GIRLIES I BEG YOU PLEASE DONT DRAG Y/N INTO THIS IK HOW CRAZY Y’ALL CAN GET

username babe what are they gonna do 😭 she’s y/n y/l/n she has like universal immunity from haters lol

username you’re clearly not an f1 fan and it SHOWS 😭😭

username sweetie i’ve watched the f1 girlies single handedly DESTROY relationships do not underestimate them

username ^^ does anyone know if they’re being dramatic or not??

username long-time f1 fan here !! trust me, they’re not.

liked by yourusername and 23,815 others

oscarpiastri Ready to shine in Singapore 🇸🇬🤩

view all comments…

username LET’S GOOO OSCAR

username podium loading…

username i’ve got £50 riding on you getting a podium don’t let me down 💪💪

username so this is oscar piastri… 🤨

username uh oh the skater girls have arrived 😨

username *y/n girls

username no one gets into y/n’s inner circle without our approval first 🤭

username and you called US sad 😭

username how the fuck is this guy expecting to be able to pull a queen like y/n 😭😭

username seriously he looks so silly 🥴

username guys he only liked her post they probably don’t even know each other 🙄 stop making drama out of nothing jeez

username yikes someone sounds jealous…

username he looks goofy, next please 😒

yourfriend1 literally what i said smh

username PHAHAHA WHAT

username girl 😭

username i hate to break it to you oscar, the y/n girls are never going to accept you x

username yeah sorry babe, you’re just not worthy of our ice queen 😘

username the way y/n’s literally a thousand leagues above him 😔😔 the pain of being a badass bitch 🥲

username BACK OFF FROM MY WIFE Y/N YOU DONT DESERVE HER

username y’all are crazy what 😭

username imagine thinking THIS GUY stands a chance with the hottest woman alive and future olympic champion 😭😭 i’d be so embarrassed 😭

username he looks like a capybara tf

username STOP PHAHAHHA WHY DO I SEE IT

username lmao if y/n and oscar ever do end up dating he’s not going to live this down 😭

landonorris oscarpiastri since when did you become enemy number 1 to the ice skating community

oscarpiastri 🤷‍♀️

username LANDO OH MY GOD 😭

username PHAHAHHAA HE KNOWS THEY BOTH KNOW

username poor oscar getting dragged by the most intense fandom on earth 😭

yourusername 🧡

oscarpiastri 😊👑

username WOAH WOAH WOAH

username THEYRE INTERACTING OMG EVERYONE STAY CALM

username EXCUSE ME THE CROWN EMOJI?? HES ACKNOWLEDGING THE QUEEN AS HE SHOULD

username no.

username this can’t be happening

username oscarpiastri LEAVE MY WIFE ALONE BITCH 🤺🤺

username y/n you’ve just made everything so much worse 😭

yourusername

replies:

oscarpiastri cute cap, where’d you get it?

↳ yourusername this weird australian guy gave it to me. idk i would have preferred a number 4 🤷‍♀️

↳ oscarpiastri you sure? i heard number 81’s the favourite for a podium this week 😏

↳ yourusername we’ll see 🙃

liked by yourusername and 50,367 others

oscarpiastri First ever F1 podium 🧡 Let’s keep them coming 😉

view all comments…

username YES OSCARRRRR

username my driver 🧡🫶

username LEGEND 🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺

landonorris congrats mate! the extra motivation did you some good 😉

oscarpiastri it sure did :)

username excuse me? 🤨

username lando. what do u know.

username i bet this has something to do with y/n

username girl bffr 🙄

username LANDO I JUST WANNA TALK (tell me what u know rn.) 🔫🔫

mclaren Doing us proud 🥹🧡

*oscarpiastri liked this comment

username best rookie since hamilton button >>>

*liked by yourusername and 5,217 others

carlitosalcarazz Congratulations, amigo! 😁

oscarpiastri Thanks mate! 😊😊

username AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE

username the y/n girlies have been real quiet so far 🤨

username they’re finally realising oscar isn’t just some nobody 😭

username he might not be a nobody but one podium still doesn’t make him good enough 🥰

username y’all are psycho i swear 😭

yourfriend1 ok maybeee he’s not that bad 🙄🙄

*yourusername liked this comment

username omg the y/f/n seal of approval ??? ITS HAPPENING

username calm down nothing’s happened yet 😭 as far as we know they’re not even friends lmao let alone dating

username girl did you even see y/n’s story she was literally in the mclaren garage repping oscar’s merch 😭😭

yourusername incredible 🧡

oscarpiastri Thank you for your support today 🧡 Hope you liked the cap 😊

username wait hold on a second OSCAR GAVE HER THAT CAP???

username HES GIVING HER HIS MERCH NOW??

username oh they DEFINITELY into each other 😏

username oscar’s such a simp oh my god she turns up to one race and he’s giving her his merch 😭😭 what a dork

username i mean it’s y/n y/l/n can you blame him 🤷‍♀️

username i fear we’ve lost her y/n nation 😔

username as much as it pains me to say it i think you might be right 🥲

username i just can’t believe we’ve lost her to a guy who drives in circles for a living 🙄

username doesn’t y/n skate in circles? the shade works both ways honey 😚

liked by oscarpiastri and 90,712 others

yourusername thank you for having me mclaren 🥰 and congratulations to oscarpiastri on your first f1 podium !! i had a blast 🧡🧡

view all comments…

mclaren Glad to have you on board, champ 🧡 See you again soon 😉

*yourusername liked this comment

landonorris you do know oscar’s not the only mclaren driver right 😃

yourusername the only mclaren driver with a podium this week though 🙃

oscarpiastri Thank you Y/N 😊🧡

yourusername 🫶

comments on this post have been limited.

months later…

oscarpiastri

replies:

landonorris ice queen? 🤨

↳ oscarpiastri of course

↳ landonorris simp.

yourusername

replies:

oscarpiastri ouch ☹️

↳ yourusername just telling you what you need to hear, babe ☺️

liked by oscarpiastri and 112,678 others

yourusername олимпийский чемпион! после стольких лет упорной работы я не могу поверить, что эта мечта наконец-то осуществилась 🥹 я хочу поблагодарить многих людей, которые помогли мне достичь этого: моего тренера, моих товарищей по команде, мою семью. я бы не справилась без каждого из вас! 🤍

olympic champion! after all the years of hard work, i can’t believe this dream has finally come true 🥹 there are so many people i want to thank for helping me get to this point: my coach, my teammates, my family. i couldn’t have done this without any of you! 🤍

i also want to thank my boyfriend and number one supporter oscarpiastri for putting up with me these last few months of prep 😭 i don’t know what i would have done without you 🥹 love you baby ❤️

…

oscarpiastri congratulations, my love 🩷 i’m so proud of you 😘

yourusername 💗💗

comments on this post have been limited.

[xurname]

Death's In Love With Us

Hwang Yang-jung x reader

🔞 MDNI Warnings: physical abuse, domestic violence, mentions of alcohol, mentions of bdsm

word count: 3166 🖋️ Authors note: I'm not a professional writer, nor a rookie one tbh, I have no idea what I'm doing. English is not my first language. Ignore the banner, it's a result of playing on my phone while daydreaming about our sweet ahjussi. 🖋️

POV: You broke up with your abusive boyfriend a year ago. Despite all attempts to get your life back together, you can't get rid of your ex, who still harasses you any chance he gets. One day, walking home from work, you spot him waiting in front of your apartment so you decide to walk into a sushi restaurant nearby (run by your friend Hwang Yang-jung) before he sees you.

"Good afternoon" - you greet politely, bowing your head slightly in front of the two men working behind the bar, and walk straight to the table. Surprisingly, there were no guests at all. Looking around the empty place you take a seat.

Yang-jung looks up from his cutting board as a smile spreads across his face.

"I didn't expect you here this early." - he’s just finished filleting, washing his hands.

"I know, I stopped by to see you and say hi." - you tried to hide your exhaustion and irritation behind a kind tone and a soft smile. After all, you promised yourself a better life, a normal life.

"Tea?" - he asked lovingly. Both Yang-jung and his sous chef Min-dong knew you well, you've been a regular ever since you've moved to the neighbourhood last year. 

"A beer would be better, but okay … " - you answer playfully.

"Slow down sailor, we still have evening to cover" - Yang-jung was somehow particularly in a good mood.

“Fine! After you guys finish-”, you made drinking gestures with your hands. Yang-jung smirked at your words.

“Actually, I’m skipping tonight” - Min-dong added, preparing the tea for you.

“Wow, ditching us already, it must be a girl, hmm?” - you started teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm going on a blind date, no big deal.”  - he answered and his cheeks blushed, somewhat unusual for such a tall muscular young man.

“So it's just us? That's practically a date too!” - you turned to Yang-jung, winking at him.

He smirked again, shaking his head slightly, already used to your teasing comments. Yang-jung tried his best not to cross any lines when it came to you. You were young enough to be his daughter, and he reminded himself of that fact as many times as necessary since your flirtatious nature made the lines blur quite often.

"Dates don't usually end with one side carrying another home unconscious." - Min-dong spoke fluent sarcasm, where is this bravery coming from all of a sudden?

“A girl gets drunk once! Once!” - you insisted.

“Yeah, except you get drunk every time.” - Min-dong was speaking facts. But you never could drink a lot anyways. Two drinks were enough to lose your balance completely.

You scoffed. “Seriously, oppa, that's just mean...”

The guys laughed, amused by your annoyance.

“Light up, will you? I'd carry you to the end of the world if necessary.” - Yung-jung added casually, serving you a cup of hot tea. You didn't take his words too seriously, he didn't mean it like that after all, but your heart still fluttered to the thought of this charming man handling you in more than just a friendly way.

“Well, that's my cue. Cucumber rolls?” - Min-dong stood up and went behind the bar, feeling awfully uncomfortable by the sudden change of atmosphere.

“Please!” - you asked with a huge grin on your face.

“At least eat some fish. You'll turn into a cucumber roll one of these days if you keep this up.” - Yang-jung wasn't particularly fond of your food choices and he couldn't hide it.

“God, I hope so, maybe you'd take me more seriously then.” - you grinned.

Yung-jung just chuckled quietly at your silly remarks, not taking his eyes off you. It made you shy, the way he looked at you, and you hated the feeling of endless comfort when you were around this man. Or so you kept telling yourself. The truth was, you knew you were too young and didn't even stand a chance with him, no matter how much it tickled your thought.

“So, what's on your heart?” - Yang-jung asked as if seeing right thru you. He never seemed to beat around the bush anyways.

Hesitating, you answered, “I just escaped the king of assholes waiting in front of my apartment.”

Yang-jung raised his eyebrows. “Your ex again? What is it, third time this week?”

“God, sometimes I wish I could fuck up all of his limbs for good.” - you murmured. Memories of the night of your breakup triggered some insane bloodthirst in you, feelings you'd never known of before you got involved with your ex. You didn't feel like drinking the tea anymore, nor eating your rolls, your whole body trembled from the inside as your blood started to boil. Yang-jung knew the expression on your face very well, he silently inspected your reactions as you put all your strength into not letting your rage reach the surface.

“I feel you haven't told me the entire story at all.” - he stood up and walked to the window in the back. He saw a man in his 40s standing in front of the entrance of your building. He didn't look particularly dangerous, nor very muscular, but he wasn't a small guy either. Shaved head, 85 kg, 1.8 m, fairly strong arms and legs, broad shoulders, casual clothes. Something about the look in his eyes didn't feel right to Yang-jung. Finally he asked, "Is he into martial arts?"

"Taekwondo, black belt, first Dan."

Yang-jung smirked, still looking at him. "Knees and hips are his weak spot."

His cold remark went somewhat unnoticed by you.

He turned away from the window and smiled gently, "Care to tell me how you got yourself in this situation?"

Both chefs were now looking directly at you. Min-dong finished your cucumber rolls, served them and walked to the room in the back of the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone.

You sighed deeply. Awful tingles spread across your body almost momentarily, like hundreds of tiny bats swarming all over you, biting even into your palms. Your whole body was screaming on the inside.

Fuck! Here we go... Pity party time! So young and so ruined. All he's gonna see in me from now on are my past mistakes.

No, no, he doesn't need to know the full story, just tell him what you're dealing with.

Lump in your throat grew with each breath you took.

"Okay, take a seat, let's talk."

Reader x ex boyfriend flashback

Your mind wandered, thinking about the countless times your ex prepared you the most horrible surprises. All those times he'd come home drunk and aggressive, slamming you into the wall as soon as he passed thru the door, squeezing your neck until you almost passed out, cursing at you, threatening, calling you names, using his strength to pin you down for god knows what reason. Every time he laid his hands on your body it hurt, taking caution not to leave bruises on any visible parts of your body. It got unbearable by the end. The more you feared him the more he enjoyed it, the more you cried, the more manic he was. Blaming yourself for ever telling him about your sexual fantasies along with feeling disgusted by yourself was a part of your everyday life until the very end of your relationship. He used it against you first chance he got. What started as a healthy exploration of consensual rough foreplay with a hint of rookie bondage, ended up as an abuser-victim hell of a situation you didn't know how to escape from. Your fight or flight response messed up your brain chemistry as each day passed and you no longer knew if that's even love or if you despised him with your entire being. He always found a way to make you stay, he even begged you on his knees not to leave him, swearing on his mom he never meant you no harm. It was a never ending circle of shit show. Even after you finally left his place for good, he kept finding ways to get in contact with you. Finding out where you live was an easy task for a twisted person like him. "I see everything, I know everything", those were the words he repeated so often while you were dating, as if giving verbal spankings, using any chance he got to feed you a dose of fear and insanity. Everything you did for him was always out of love and kindness, thinking if only you could be the best version of yourself, he'll be good to you. But he never was good to you, his actions never made sense and you never understood the reasons behind those words. He knew about every step you took, nevertheless, few of his paranoias followed him and echoed louder and louder in his mind, as his cycles of insanity were on the periodical rise and fall. He rambled about possibilities of you dumping him quite often, crying over himself, trying to make you feel sorry for him. He talked about his boss's employees constantly checking up on his location. He even tried convincing you how they spy on him during his lunch breaks. His delusions drove him to believe he's some sort of a public officer, or an intelligence agency employee with a task to be alert at all times, when in fact he was nothing more than a secretary working at a private real-estate agency. Soon, after the honey moon phase ended, you realized his whole persona was a big lie, that's also when the first troubles started, but it was all to late for you to leave, you were already in too deep. Your inexperience was exploited for the first time. Welcome to the real world, honey. Well, it took you long before you started getting up on your own feet, and you found a way to navigate thru his cycles of insanity. You took your time and learned all you could, only to find out he's been living multiple lives all along. The only thing he didn't lie about was in fact his black belt in taekwondo and that he was a divorcee. The last time he threatened you with physical force was the night you left him for good.

"I'm not as clueless as you think I am." - you hissed as he held you by the throat. His bloody eyes were filled with rage and his breath smelled like alcohol.

"One wrong move and you'll end up behind the bars. My family knows where I am, and don't think I won't walk straight to the police if you leave so much as a mark on me. I dare you." - your whole body trembled of adrenaline rush but your mind worked fast.

"Well, well, look at you all brave, who would've thought you'd turn into such a snake, finally showing your real face, huh-"

"I couldn't care less even if you snapped my neck this instant." you laughed, slowly losing every touch with sanity. 

"You lose either way. Or did you forget?" - your laughter grew louder as he stared at you in horror, not knowing how to react. He had you by the weakest spot yet the look in your eyes was telling a completely different story. He never saw you acting like this, his blood froze. 

"Your black belt", you spoke thru laughter on the verge of a mental breakdown, "your black belt is treated as a cold weapon in the eyes of the law."

Despite hating yourself as much as you hated him, the thought of this abusive bastard ending up behind the bars for cold blooded murder sent an unusual shot of satisfaction thru your entire body. You knew he never had it in him though. He was a coward on all levels and this round was yours. A solid threat works like a charm on scumbags like him who are usually scared of their own shadow. It was written all across his face that he's finally cornered. Any chance for him to plot a sadistic revenge on the only woman who was ever kind and loving to him was completely lost. You didn't know if he'd slam your head onto the kitchen counter or not, but you could feel his hand trembling. Your laughter echoed thru the kitchen as his grip became weaker and weaker, an expression of misery and regret spread across his face. He feared you. For the first time ever, he stood in front of you, completely falling apart. 

He got on his knees again, like so many times before, begging for forgiveness. Vomit of lies started coming out of him, how much he loves you and how this is just a minor misunderstanding. He'd never hurt you and there's nothing but love he feels for you. You're his everything. You stopped counting his strikes long ago and you knew if you don't walk out of there that same night, you may never see the light of day after this, for real. The change in his tone from all mighty to smaller than an ant sickened you. Of course, there's nothing but hatred left in his heart. Hatred and fear, jealousy and shame. Cowards like him hate it when they lose from someone weaker than them, and they would do anything in their power to win their victims back, just so they can hurt them again.

"Next time you decide to lay a hand on me, better make sure I have a well sharpened knife in mine. That's only fair."

Those were the last words he heard from you on the night of your breakup. Breakup from hell. And you thought the trash is out of your life for good, little did you know your fearless attitude and insane threats only awoke in him an obscure obsession towards you. 

It didn't take long to finish the story of your rocky past relationship, considering you tried your best to avoid going into too much detail of how your ex abused you, physically and mentally. Yang-jung sat right across from you, staying completely silent. You looked down, not daring to look Yang-jung in the eyes any longer.

"A wife beater, huh? Who would have thought." - Yang-jung broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Brave." - he paused for a moment. "Was that him who kept calling all this time? Is that why you changed your number?" - Yung-jung's voice was extremely calm, a little too calm. You nodded silently.

"He kept calling from different numbers. And somehow he found out where I live soon after that."

"He probably tailed you, if he knows where you work, which I assume he does. It isn't that difficult. Why didn't you tell me any of this sooner?"

You closed your eyes, letting out another deep sigh. “Isn't it obvious?”

He didn't say a word. He looked at your face instead, trying to read your expression, but there was nothing. The facade on the outside hid a wild turmoil inside your head. Soft and gentle nature of your whole figure, along with your kind voice and elegant movements were completely the opposite of darkness you carried within you. It was hard to hold it in, especially now, but you didn't want to hide any parts of yourself in front of Yang-jung any longer.

“I wish I could fuck him up, you know? For all that he's done and for all that he's still doing.” - you said, looking him straight in the eye. “I'm not the only one with a dark past or present, but I hate these parts of me. I hate that I feel this way. I hate the desperation and helplessness. I hate the nightmares still haunting me. I hate that I let a lowly man take advantage of me for so long. And I hate that I have to tell you any of this. I hate that you won't look at me the same way you looked at me yesterday, and I hate that my ex keeps fucking up every part of my life, still, I hate it.”

Yang-jung's eyes were the softest and kindest eyes ever. The way he looked at you made you almost choke on your own words, those hateful words which made you feel like you're spewing poison in front of the one who never deserved to hear them in the first place. You could see tears in the corners of his eyes and the only thought that went thru your mind was I hate myself so. fucking. much.

You wanted to jump out of your own skin, or rewind the time and walk directly up to that bastard and face him all alone, instead of running to Yang-jung and hiding at his work place. That's not something one should do to their friends. It's not fair. He didn't deserve this.

Realising how much pain you've been carrying this entire time, Yang-jung spoke softly, "You should have told me… Out of all people, you should have come to me. I would have already made sure he never gets close to you again."

Was that a hint of anger in his voice? Or was it all just pity? It didn't matter. His words couldn't sober you back to your senses, they didn't even reach you. You were spiralling straight into a pitch black void. 

"It doesn't matter, it really doesn't. It is what it is." - you said in somewhat slow motion manner. "Just... don't look at me like I'm going to break into a thousand pieces, please, I can't take it."

"You've done well by telling me this."

You smiled softly, not feeling anything on the inside.

"Yang-jung, do you think I could turn his knees into a mush with a baseball bat?" - you scoffed. Dark humor was always your kind of thing, but saying something as dark as that now of all times didn't make it look like a joke anymore.

"There are far less demanding and easier techniques. But when the time comes I'll make sure you do whatever you need to do to him."

What?!

You wanted to burst into a hysterical laughter, but you held it in the best you could. A rush of adrenaline and relief washed over your entire body, leaving goosebumps on your skin. It took you a few moments to realise what the hell this man was telling you. But then it hit you like a cargo train. You opened your mouth trying to word out something. Yang-jung inspected the changes on your face, waiting for you to speak up. You couldn't tell if he's only comforting you, or are you seriously a meter away from a criminal who would move mountains for you, if only you asked. Moments passed and he was almost sure he got ahead of himself.

Seeing you all hesitant, he finally continued, "Unless-"

"Are you serious?" - you cut him off. "Are you...?"

You asked for reassurance, nothing else. Words stuck in your throat. Was Yang-jung really telling you what you think you heard? Is he really who you think he is?

"Don't make me regret my words." - he warned you, unsure of what's on your mind. He was dead serious.

"Ahjussi," - you whimpered, reaching for his hand across the table, "please, don't say that. You're the only real person I have. Do I need to spill my heart out even more?"

His face softened. He took your hand in his and kissed it.

"You're safe here."

____

Author's note 2: It took some time, but here it is finally. I know it's probably not what many of you expected, and I left the open (?) ending in hopes for part 2. Also, if I need to add any more warnings or notes on the classification or tags of any kind, please let me know, since I don't have much experience with these things. Thank you for reading 🫶🏻

tagging a few of sweethearts who interacted with my original posts (link 1, link 2) and expressed their enthusiasm for this fic, pushing me to write it (I hope it wasn't too underwhelming for you in the end): @quillinhand @slutforaemond @castleninja @posessedbytheinternet (I can't tag you for some reason :/)

[theladyofbloodshed]

Part 6 - Azriel's leash is snapping

The precious sanctuary that they had cultivated withered with each nervous inhale.

Lucien’s face had faltered slightly when Nesta peeled back the door. He smoothed down his forest green cloak, shifting slightly on his polished boots.

‘I wondered if we could speak – at your convenience. Here. Elsewhere.’

Nesta let the moment drag on and on until her mind was screaming at her to do something rather than be this statue.

‘Very well.’

She held the door open for him. The male entered stiffly, quickly clocking Azriel also stood like a statue against one wall.

‘You’ve allowed the winter in,’ he commented at the sight of the living room windows wide open and the smattering of snow entering through them.

Azriel’s fingers had enclosed around Truth-Teller. She gave a subtle shake of her head. No, they did not need to dispatch her sister’s mate.

‘Would you like tea?’

Lucien’s eyes canvassed the gathering area; Azriel’s maps with notes scrawled on in his cramped handwriting spread across the table, his casual clothes and lack of shoes, his ruffled hair, her own dishevelled state including a dress that wasn’t laced up properly. The clever fox had earned his reputation.

Nesta kept her eyes on the pot, face scorching more with every passing moment.

‘Teaching Nesta the art of espionage?’

‘Trade routes to the Continent. I’m borrowing her knowledge,’ came the flat, almost bored reply.

Why now? Why Lucien? Nesta racked her brain for any misstep that might have given Lucien cause to suspect them.

‘How do you take your tea?’

‘A splash of milk if you have it.’

Nesta’s hand trembled as she poured milk into two cups. She had just scooped sugar into a heap ready to add it to Azriel’s cup when he said, ‘Sugar for me too, please.’

Right. He was also a guest. She shouldn’t be so familiar with the way he takes his tea. She dumped the sugar into her own – though she hated her tea sweet – then made a show of adding it to Azriel’s and asking if that amount was enough. The males stood at opposite ends of the living room. Lucien smiled placidly, gazing up at the cracked paint on the ceiling while Azriel had walled himself away with shadows. He seemed to be considering whether to leap out of the windows he had just closed.

‘Please sit.’

The red-haired male quirked his lips. The harsh scar that slashed down his face twinged from the motion. ‘Is there a surface that’s safe to do so?’

The colour in Nesta’s face deepened. She had likely turned purple. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘It reeks of sex in here. Is there anywhere in this apartment that you haven’t fucked on?’

Lucien seemed amuse by it – but Azriel’s face told a different story. He swept in front of Nesta, expression severe.

‘Enough vulgarity. Don’t speak that way in front of a female.’

The firelight shone in Lucien’ eyes as he settled in the chair. Every now and then he fought back a grin. Azriel had shown his cards. Nesta felt as if her armour was cracking. It hadn’t ever been something she had wanted to hide – she had never been ashamed of Azriel – but now that it was out in the open, it would be examined. Sensing her anxiety, Azriel moved. Just moved to her. He sat beside her on the couch, knees knocking together. His hand sought her own to give a comforting squeeze. Hazel eyes were trained on Lucien, but the shadows that usually fought his battles remained gently swimming around the pair of them protectively.

‘It’s not my business,’ Lucien said at last, leaning forward to retrieve his tea. ‘And certainly not the reason I sought you ought. You’re adults. Your decisions are yours to make.’

He smiled again. It lacked the amusement or sarcasm of his others; this one was genuine. His eyes landed on their hands. Azriel still clasped Nesta’s with his own rather than abandoning her at the first sign of trouble.

‘I should have liked to have spoken to you privately.’

‘Is it about Elain?’

The mere mention of her name hollowed out Lucien’s joy. ‘No. About you.’

The male weighed his options. Azriel was not in any hurry to depart – nor did Nesta want him to. Acknowledging that, he took a long gulp from his tea.

‘There is movement from the mortal queens. Briallyn – the one who willingly entered the Cauldron – has been vocal in her desire to seek revenge against you.’

Nesta wanted to ask what she had done – but she knew. When she had clawed at the heart of the Cauldron, she had made it bleed. In its wounded form, it had struck out at Briallyn, turning her into a crone for eternity.

The grip on her fingers tightened. ‘You’ve told Rhys?’

Lucien’s eyes ticked between them. ‘I decided to inform Nesta directly firstly then I will head to the Rive House.’ His words were measured carefully. ‘I wanted you to know the truth rather than a censored version.’

This male was decent, Nesta decided. For coming to her with the truth rather than letting Feyre and Rhysand pick and choose what Nesta was allowed to hear, he was decent – more than decent.

‘Thank you, Lucien. You are a good male.’

He had more information on Vassa’s keeper that he shared with Azriel. She had been held by a sorcerer at a lake. Other females remained trapped there as swans. The signs pointed to Briallyn colluding with him to exact her revenge on Nesta. His name was Koschei – and they called him deathless.

Not even a single shadow gave away Azriel’s feelings. His expression had not altered from its blank mask. The only tell were the feelings that brushed her skin as if they were in an orbit around her, always gentle, always comforting. It reminded Nesta of an agitated cat swishing its tail.

On his departure, Lucien’s eyes swept over them. ‘Far be it from me to cast judgement, but I believe that love tends to flourish in the light. After the war, I found happiness in an unexpected place and I am glad not to be the only one.’

At the click of the front door closing, Nesta’s body had turned boneless. Nausea lashed her stomach in churning waves.

Azriel’s arms came around her, rocking her slightly against her lean body.

‘Nobody will ever lay a finger on you. Not Briallyn, not Koschei. Nobody hurts you,’ he vowed, pressing his lips to her temple.

She knew his vow was true. Azriel protected what mattered to him. A queen out for revenge was not the reason why her heart still quaked.

‘They will all know soon.’

‘Lucien will not speak.’

How could Azriel say those words with such certainty? Nesta squeezed her eyes shut, burrowing her face into his neck. Trouble was coming their way.

‘No matter the storm, we will weather it together, Nesta.’

***

Tearing himself away from Nesta was difficult. Lucien, at least, had given them a warning, so when Rhys summoned him, they were ready. Azriel had untangled himself from Nesta in the bed, showered and pulled on fresh clothes from the drawer she had provided for him. He’d had to say a farewell without a kiss and hated it. Hated the farce of his dance as if they were doing something wrong, the dance to ensure their secret was kept. Hated to leave Nesta when she was in danger. Hated the fact he couldn’t shout from the rooftops that Nesta Archeron was his.

Azriel listened again to Lucien’s words – the exact ones he had shared with them a couple of hours earlier. Azriel perhaps needed to monitor Vanserra a little more closely as he gave no indication of his earlier activity, not mentioning Nesta’s apartment at all or that he’d even seen her. Maybe all of Beron’s sons had rigid defences to survive.

‘Give it time to develop,’ Rhys said at long last. ‘See if the queen comes out into the open then we can target her.’

It made sense but it made Azriel’s heart clench. Feyre said the words he was forbidden from saying himself.

‘And Nesta?’

‘Until we’re sure of the threat, she doesn’t need to be warned.’

A nod from Feyre and Cassian. Lucien kept his face neutral from years of practice. His shadows swarmed around him, outraged on Nesta’s behalf and that Lucien had been correct. Nesta would not received the intel that concerned her.

‘If Velaris is breached?’

‘It won’t be,’ Rhys replied to Amren, his snarl enough of an indicator that the accusation stung.

‘It has been,’ Azriel replied coolly. ‘More than once.’

Nesta had no wards around her building, no method of defending herself. There were elderly fae and children living in her building too who would all be at risk.

‘My city-’

‘Koschei is a death god. He will find no trouble with our wards if he wants to press,’ Azriel cut across.

‘We should tell Nesta,’ said Cassian. ‘She might want to move back here where it’s safer, so we can protect her.’

There was an agenda within his words. Terrify Nesta so that she’d come running back. Azriel pushed down his curses, pushed down his wrath that Cassian was already seeking a way to have Nesta closer rather than worrying for her wellbeing. Pushed down on the truth that Nesta was not ready for the world to know.

‘I’m inclined to agree,’ Feyre said. ‘If she finds out we’ve kept it from her, she’ll be furious.’

Across the room, Lucien gave him a knowing look. Their worry wasn’t for Nesta’s safety. It was for the anger she’d express. A shadow stroked against his neck, reminding him to keep calm.

‘We make her train her magic. She’s spent long enough festering in her hovel. It’s time she seized her abilities, Rhysand,’ said Amren, fingers clasping together. ‘With you and I training her powers, Nesta could be a force to be reckoned with.’

‘Nesta is not a weapon.’

It was rare for Azriel to ever take that tone with Amren – one laced with a final warning. The others knew it. Eyes turned to him warily.

‘Nesta is not your weapon. She did enough, gave enough, during the war. She deserves protection no matter where she lives or what she does.’

A part of him was forced to face an ugly truth: their love was conditional based upon usefulness. Especially where Nesta was concerned.

‘And we should let her fade away, wasting her powers, drinking herself silly like at the restaurant last Autumn?’

Lucien beat him to it, striking the iron before he could. ‘She didn’t drink a drop on Solstice. I visited recently to ask about her father’s business. It’s clean and tidy. She has employment. Just because she doesn’t work for you, does not mean she’s not living a worthwhile life.’

Gratitude flooded Azriel for Lucien giving voice to what he couldn’t. The lie was so smooth that Azriel wouldn’t have caught it otherwise. But a part of him hated that Nesta needed to be defended. Elain had struggled for months in Velaris; her every need had been tended to by a protective older sister who wouldn’t let a bad word be said about her. Even Feyre, when she first came to the Night Court, had been shy and bruised, but given ample time to recover. The same chance was never offered to Nesta who had suffered just as much, if not more. Now that Azriel realised it, his blood was boiling.

‘Put it to a vote,’ suggested Mor.

There were three who voted against informing Nesta and an equal number who voted in support. Azriel abstained, barely leashing his fury.

‘Break the tie, Az,’ Mor pleaded.

‘You act like it’s a decision about choosing a bottle of wine rather than Nesta’s life.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not voting.’

‘Fetch your other sister, Feyre,’ said Amren.

‘I’m not staying for this shit.’ Azriel stood. He spared a glance to his high lady. She might have voted to inform Nesta, but Feyre was more loyal to her court than blood. More loyal to Rhys than her sister. Nesta would never be a priority. She would continue to be punished for what she didn’t do as a child – an account that all came from Feyre’s perspective which they had all taken at face value and never questioned.

‘Az, where are you going?’ Mor caught him on the way out with an arm, brown eyes pleading for him to stay a little longer. ‘Where do you stay? We miss you here.’

‘I stay where I’m meant to be.’ Azriel winnowed out of her grasp.

Back at the apartment, Nesta had a pie in the oven, potatoes boiling in a pan, clothes hanging up to dry – his included – and the entire home was neat. The question bubbled on his tongue as she rose from the table where she worked to slink her arms around him.

‘I’m going to ask you something. You can’t get angry – that’s my only condition. You do not have to answer it. If you say no, we close that chapter and never look at it again.’

Nesta drew back so that she could examine him with a dizzying intensity. Her grey eyes were like the clouds that warned of an incoming storm. Azriel had always loved the rain.

‘Those years in poverty, why didn’t you hunt?’ He kept his voice as tender as he could manage.

Her brow furrowed. ‘How?’

‘How?’ He echoed.

‘Feyre spent the last of our coins on a bow. We couldn’t afford another. I don’t know how she learnt. I spent my life educated by tutors in preparation to make an advantageous match in marriage. I’m not brave or a fighter. More than anything, I wanted my weak-willed father to get off his backside and support his daughters like a father should.’

Pieces of a puzzle clicked into place: Nesta’s sudden stop as she entered the dining room on Solstice, the massive portrait hanging up of her father, and the lack of her own. How gut-wrenching it must have been to see her father favoured over her.

‘When Feyre returned to Prythian, to that mountain, my father did not even say goodbye to her. He’d hosted a ball, trying to get her married to a rich suitor, and spent her final day locked in his study counting the jewels that Tamlin had gifted her.’

Azriel held her soft body tightly. He knew that anger; it smouldered in his own veins like a hot coal about his own beginnings.

‘You cooked what Feyre caught.’ Nesta was a traditional female. She had insisted on cooking instead of the twin wraiths when they had first been turned, citing that she didn’t know them and didn’t trust them. Neither Feyre or Elain could cook, and Azriel doubted a mortal male who had been a powerful merchant knew either. She cooked, cleaned, scrubbed clothes and ironed them around the apartment. Nesta had even mended a tear in one of his shirts with neat sewing skills. Not once had Azriel ever seen the house in disarray. Whenever he moved to sweep the ashes of the fire, Nesta had already done it. She woke early every day, leaving him in bed to make tea or breakfast for them. ‘Why didn’t you say all the things you did do?’

A mirthless laugh left her lips. ‘I shouldn’t have to atone for what I didn’t do as a child. Everybody had already formed their opinion of me before they met me besides.’

It was unfair of Feyre to tell her story of a young girl forced to hunt to feed her family but neglect to mention how Nesta had carried the household. No mortal girl would have been able to carry a buck alone, let alone prepare it. Not one of them had given Nesta a chance. No matter what she did in the war, Rhys would never forgive her for not hunting too.

‘You are wonderful. I am so thankful you came to the restaurant that night.’

Her eyes widened. ‘When I lost my sanity, you mean?’

Azriel kissed her, savouring every moment of it. ‘You lost your sanity.’ Another kiss. ‘I gained mine.’ Another kiss. ‘I don’t think I will ever tire of kissing you.’

She smiled then and it was so beautiful. Those real smiles were like sunlight, warming every part of him.

'I want you to meet somebody. Somebody special.'

Her hands pressed against his crotch, mischief now spreading across her face.

'No,' he laughed, keeping Nesta's hand still. 'I want you to meet my mother.'

@mis-lil-red

[simpforfandoms]

Fireworks

word count: 2.9k

Chapter 2 in my series. As always, I enjoy any constructive criticism or comments. So please do tell me! Hope you enjoy it!

masterlist

series masterlist

Washington, D.C. July 5th 00:01 EDT

Well, here you were. Stuck in a tube of all places. It all started when you and the boys found a project, Cadmus. Is that what it’s called? You couldn’t remember. Turns out the project was superman’s clone. For some reason, the boys thought it would be a good idea to release the so-called clone. Now you were all for it at first. Robin sure knows how to make a girl agree. But honestly? You should’ve been against it. You’ve seen enough sci-fi movies to know the clone is always evil. But at last, you were blinded by the charm of Robin. Of course, the clone went berserk. Just your luck! Betrayed by your sister and now a stupid clone was trying to kill you. Fantastic! Note the sarcasm. Back to the problem at hand, you were stuck in a tube. 

Kid Flash is the first to talk, “W-What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious, we’re going to be cloned,” You remark. 

Sometimes KF needs to use his brain.

KF just ignores your remark and keeps going, “Quit your starring your creeping me out!”

He needs to learn when to shut up.

“Umm, KF, how about we not tick off the guy who can fry us with a look,” Robin replies reasonably. 

The boys start talking to the super clone. Probably to distract him from Robin escaping. 

“He can talk!?!” Kid Flash shouts. 

No shit sherlock. You swear Kid Flash is the slowest person you have ever meant. No pun intended.

“Yes, he can” The clone retorts. 

“Careful now you’ll upset him,” you say rolling your eyes.

No one acknowledged your words. Weird.

“It’s not like I said “it” 

“Might’ve well had,” You say.

Again no one acknowledges you. Aqualad and Robin continue to talk with the strange boy. While you’re trying to see if they can hear you. Your thoughts are cut off by Robin laughing.

“Guys Kid Canary is muted! This is the best thing I’ve seen all day!”

The boys all turn to look at you yelling at the robin, but seemingly no sound comes out. Or at least that they can hear. They all laugh at you, even the clone smiles. 

“God, I hate you guys!” You yell one last time. 

“Anyways, as I was saying we could introduce you to superman,” Aqualad states.

“No they can’t, they’ll be other wised occupied,” A voice interrupts.

 Following the voice is a creepy middle-aged man. Great.

“Activate the cloning process.”

“HA! Knew it!” you yell in victory, though no one can hear you.

“Pass, Batcave is crowded enough” Robin states.

You laugh at that, Robin notices and smiles at you.

“And get the weapon back in its pod!”

 A man in a yellow helmet goes towards the clone.

“Hey, how come he gets to call supey an it?” KF exclaims.

You swear he’ll be the reason we all die.

Kaldur looks at the clone and says “help us”

The clones shove off the yellow helmet guy. The creepy middle-aged man doesn’t seem to pleased about that. The middle-aged dude goes on a rant about the clone being a weapon. 

“That’s harsh,” you say though no one can hear you. You ponder why you’re in a soundproof tube. It’s not like you have a sonic scream. It’s pointless.

As the clone walks out, machine-like claws attach to you and the boys. The claws start to electrocute you and the boys. It hurts. But it’s not the worse pain you’ve ever had. 

While you were caught up in your thoughts the clown returns by breaking the door open. The claws stop the electrocution. Relief floods your face.

“You here to help us or fry us?” Kid Flash asks.

“MY GOD KID FLASH SHUT UP FOR ONCE” You yell at him. 

Surprisingly he acknowledges your scream and sticks his tongue out at you. The clone breaking in must’ve ruined the soundproof system.

Robin interrupting your thoughts says, “And she’s back, I did not miss that voice”

“Shut up, you can’t get enough of me” you reply nonchalantly.

“What? I-“Robin's cheeks flood red. It’s obvious he’s trying to fight the urge to blush.

“Not to interrupt your flirting but WE’RE STILL STUCK IN LAB TUBES!” KF exclaims.

“Oh right,” Robin then quickly undoes his lock and falls out of his tube.

“I’m glad batman isn’t here, he would’ve had my head for taking so long”

“Seriously? The whole league will have our heads after tonight!” Kid Flash responds.

Robin presses a button and lets the rest of you guys out.

“Ugh I really don’t want to think about the league right now,” you say

“Let’s get out of here” Robin says

“I’ll have you back in pods by morning,” The middle-aged man says

“That dude is not whelmed, not whelmed at all” Robin says as you and the boys run out.

—————

After some running and fighting your back to the elevator entrance.

“Oh no not this again,” you say

“C’mon we don’t have time,” Robin says grabbing onto you and kid flash grabbing onto you.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god, I’m gonna die” you whisper into Robin’s chest.

“Oh calm down Kid Canary you’re fine, look we’re safe on an edge,” Kid Flash says. 

“Superman can fly? Why can’t I” The clone says

“I don’t know but you can still jump buildings in a single bound. Still cool.” Kid flash replies.

By now you’re holding onto Robin for dear life trying not to fall off the edge.

“I swear to god if we don’t get out of this elevator soon-“

“I’ve never meant a sidekick who’s afraid of heights” Robin chuckles

“I’m not afraid of heights I’m afraid of falling” you respond

“I figured that, as you are literally giving me bruise by holding on to me” 

You mumble a quiet ‘shut up’

Just then an elevator comes down.

Robin states “Guys this will have to be our exist”.

Aqualad and the clone kick down the door. Man, you need a better name for him. Robin grabs ahold of your waist and takes you to the entrance. As you land on the floor you shrug Robin off a brush yourself off. Robin notices this and lets out a snort.

“Cuties aren’t real Canary”

You roll your eyes. More creatures come and you and the boys start running. 

“Go left! Left!” The clone says

“Right.”

You don’t know why you listen and follow him. You follow him to a dead end.

“You’re crazy. supey you trying to get us repodded” KF says

Supey begins to apologize but robin stops him. 

“Don’t apologize this is perfect.”

You guys go into the vents and the creatures follow you. You get out of the vents quickly. The creatures get stuck in the vents. Robin pulls out his wristwatch.

“I hacked the motion sensors” Robin states with a smirk.

“Sweet. now I can finally move around” Kid Flash says as he takes off to sub-level.

You and the boys follow him. KF knocks out the creatures in your way. Supey breaks the stairs behind you to prevent the creatures from following you guys.

As you guys make it to the floor a door closes preventing you to make it to the street. Kid Flash runs into it. Supey and Aqualad try to open it. Robin tries to hack it open, but more creatures are coming.

Robin kicks open a door, “This way”.

You and the rest of the sidekicks follow him. You’re cut off by more creatures. Surrounded really. 

“Crap” you mutter

You all get out your weapons ready to fight but the genomorphs don’t fight you. 

“Go I’ll handle him” Guardian, you learned, says

“I think not, project blockbuster will restore Cadmus” The middle-aged man appears and drinks a serum. Project blockbuster you presume.

The man transforms into a monster. Superboy takes on the monster and throws him into the ceiling.

“That’s one way to bust through the ceiling,” Robin says as he takes out his grabbing hook. He grabs ahold of you and takes off.

“Do you think he planned that?” KF asks

“I doubt he’s planning anything anymore,” Kaldur says.

When you all make it up superboy gets thrown into you. At once you all start fighting the monster. Aqualad and Superboy punch the monster and Kid Flash trips it. When the monsters is down you and Robin attack it with ninja stars. The monster gets up and attacks Supey, punching him into a beam. Aqualad pulls his arm back with his water. Now the monster attacks Aqualad. Kid flash tries to help but gets thrown down. Aqualad is punched thrown multiple beams. This gives Robin an idea.

“Of course! KF get over here”

Robin explains the plan to you and KF.

You help implant bombs into the beams while KF distracts the monster. Aqualad and Superboy punch beams down. KF gets the monster to the middle.

“Move!“ 

The beams explode causing the building to collapse. Superboy and Aqualad cover you, Robin, and Kidflash. Superboy lifts the ruble up. 

“We did it” Aqualad says, panting

“Was there ever any doubt?” Robin says

You, Robin, and KF all high-fived each other. Instant regrets flash once you realize how hurt you are.

“See the moon” KF says to Superboy.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” You said smiling

“Yeah,” Superboy says in awe

Just then Superman appears. Oh shit.

“And superman. Do we keep our promises or what?”

The whole Justice League appears. That includes your sister. You can’t even look at her.

Superboy shows Superman his symbol. Superman seems displeased.

Batman starts, “Is that what I think it is?”

“He doesn’t like being called an it” KF states

He really has no filter

“I’m Superman’s clone.”

The justice league seems shocked by that.

“Start talking.”

————-

After explaining what happened, well mostly Robin explained. You just stood there feeling your sister’s look of disapproval. The justice league started to talk amongst themselves.

“What do you think they’re saying,” KF asks

“They’re probably talking about how annoying you are” You respond

“C’mon babe you know you love me,” KF says leaning to give you a side hug before he could you moved away, causing him to fall to the ground.

Robin just glared at him. Before Robin could say anything Batman did.

“Cadmus will be investigated. All 52 levels. But let’s make one thing clear-“

“You should’ve called” Flash interrupts

 “End results aside, we are not happy. You hacked the Justice League systems, disobeyed direct orders, and endangered lives. You will not be doing this again.” Batman finishes.

“I am sorry but we will.” Aqualad states.

“Aqualad, stand down”

“Apologies, my king, but no. We did good work here tonight. The work you trained us to do. Together on our own, we forged something powerful, important.” Aqualad finishes.

“If this is about your treatment at the hall, the four of you-“ Flash says

“The five of us and it’s not” Kid Flash says sternly

“How do you expect us to trust you after what you just pulled?” Your sister asks

“We don’t. We want you to have faith in us. Faith in what you taught us.” You say

“Batman, we’re ready to us what you taught us, or why teach us at all” Robin says

“Why let them tell us what to do. It’s simple. Get on board or get out of the way” Superboy says.

It takes a moment for them to respond until Batman lets out a disgruntled ‘fine’. 

Before you all walk away to your respected hero Robin hands you all a commutator thing

“Here to keep in touch,” He says then walks to Batman 

————

Gotham City, July 5th, 1:34 am

On the way back to Gotham you and your sister sit in complete silence. Until your sister says “We agreed that you and your friends can have a team. By doing this we have put our faith in you. Do not let us down”

“I think you don’t trust me,” you say

“I do. I’m just trying to protect you. Ever since mom and dad died-“

“Protect me from what?!?! I can protect myself and you have to understand that!” You respond angrily 

“You can’t! That’s the thing. You don’t have the canary cry. I can do my best to train you in hand-to-hand combat but that’s not enough.” Your sister says frustrated.

“Batman and Robin do just fine without superpowers,” you say as you and Dinah pull into the driveway.

“Well, you aren’t Robin! Robin is intelligent and skilled-“

“Are you saying I’m not?!?” You interrupt her

“Y/n that’s not what I meant!” She says as you walk away.

—————

messages you dick

Dick

I can’t believe my sister

What she do this time?

She said I wasn’t intelligent 

Well you are intelligent, if I wasn’t at the top of the class you would be

EXACTLY

I mean I get her frustration because I did disobey her today but come on

Oooooo you disobeyed her

Shut up

What did you do?

I snuck out and hanged out with people I wasn’t supposed to

You snuck out?

Y/n the goodie two shoes snuck out?

I don’t believe it

Ik it was unlike me

Then why did you do it?

It was for the greater good

Ok superman

Enough about me how was your die?

Well I almost died

WHAT

I’m kidding!

it was kinda boring

I doubt that, your life is always interesting

Well if you must know, I’m currently grounded for arguing with Bruce

Then how are you texting me?

A man has his ways 😉

I’m just gonna assume you have a spare phone

Do you always have to ruin the fun?

yes.

I have to go to sleep now it’s pretty late and I’m exhausted 

Ok

Goodnight

—————

You set your phone down and look at the time

2:35 am

You didn’t realize it was that late. You hear a knock on your door.

“Come in!”

Your sister sits down on your bed and sighs

“Look Y/n I’m sorry. I was just so frustrated and worried about you. I said some things I didn’t mean. You are intelligent and skilled. And so much more than that. I guess it’s hard to acknowledge that you’re growing up. I have faith in you. But I don’t think you should join that team.”

“What? You literally are contradicting yourself.”

“I don’t think you’re ready. Robin has trained since he was 3. The boys have way more years of experience than you. You’ve only been doing this 2 years while they have done it 5.”

“But I’ll get experience by joining the team!”

“Y/n I am your guardian and what I say goes. You are not joining the team” She says as she gets up from your bed

“I hate you!” You yell as she shuts the door.

Your sister is such a jerk

———————

That morning you wake to a million ‘texts’ on the communicator

5:15 am

Kid Flash

IM SO EXICTED FOR TODAY WE GET OUR OWN BASE AND TEAM

Robin

Why are up so early it’s 5 am

Kid Flash 

Why are you?

Robin

Good point

12:34 pm

Aqualad

I believe it is almost time to head to our new base

Kid Flash

YOURE RIGHT

Robin

Calm down it’s the old Justice League headquarters 

Superboy

Yeah I stayed here last night not that special

Kid Flash

YOU CAN TEXT

Superboy

Black Canary taught me how

She also taught me how to put it on silent mode

1:25

Kid Flash

ROBIN YOU WERE SO WRONG THAT PLACE WAS AMAZING

So was that hot chick

Robin

I added her to the chat you dumbo

Miss M

HIIII

Kid Flash

HELLO

Robin

Hi

Aqualad

Hi

SuperBoy

Hi

Robin

@kidcanary why weren’t you there but Black Canary was?

Kid Flash

I was wondering that too but didn’t want to say anything 

———-

How do you respond to that?  “Oh black canary doesn’t want me on the team because I’m inexperienced but she’ll let an complete newbie on there. I didn’t even know she went, she didn’t even tell me.”

Yeah

No. 

So you respond with “I’m not joining the team”

———-

Kid Canary

I’m not joining the team 

Kid Flash 

Please tell me you’re joking

Kid Canary

I’m not.

Robin

Why?

Kid Flash

NOO I NEED MY TWIN WITH ME 😭😭😭

Kid Canary

Black Canary said I’m inexperienced

——-

There it was. Saying that made it a reality. You could feel the hot tears roll down your cheeks.

Knock

“Can I come in?” Dinah said 

“No.”

She opened the door anyway. Once she saw your tears she instantly felt regret.

“Batman called. It took a while but he convinced me I should let you join. But promise me you’ll be safe.” 

You squealed in excitement and hugged her

“I will! Thank you, thank you!”  you yell

“Don’t thank me, thank Robin”

———

Wayne Manor, Gotham City, 1:30 pm

“I convinced Black Canary to let her join the team. But this is the last time I do any favors for you. You’re supposed to be grounded.” Bruce Wayne, or Batman, says to Dick Grayson.

“I know I know but this was important” Dick replies.

“Dick you have to separate romance and work,” Bruce says

“What? What do you mean? I don’t like her! I never said that! Where did you get that from! Whatever Wally told you it’s not true! He’s not trustworthy!” 

“Master Dick, might I remind you, Master Bruce is the world’s greatest detective,” Alfred states as he gives Dick a pat on the back.

“I don’t like her” Dick mumbles as he walks back to his room.

"He's growing up Alfred," Bruce says.

"Well, what do you expect, the boy is nearly 15,".

[lolita-lollipop]

Royal siren erasermic family? They like adopt you after you hatch from an egg bc they found you or something idk and take you back to the castle and make you their little princess or something cute and fluffy like that.

YANDERE SIREN ERASERMIC FAMILY X BABY PRINCESS READER

Shinso was just out and about, swimming through some forbidden areas he wasn’t supposed to be in, avoiding sharks, when he found an iridescent little ball under some rubble of a shipwreck, it made his gills tingle at the sweet aura that it emmited, he knew, that this creature, was something to protect. It was up until he saw something moving inside that he thought it was just some ancient treasure that would’ve died with this ship, he examined it closer, squinting his eyes, that’s when he realized, it was a Siren. A baby one at that, usually they hatched out of boring white eggs, the royal family’s were gold, but a shiny color changing white that combated the finest of jewels? Never, this little pip was special, he could feel it.

So he brought it back home, through his “balcony window”, debating wether or not he should tell his parents. As you know, he was somewhere where he was not supposed to be, and they would throw a fit. Then again, whatever this thing was, he couldn’t just keep it to himself, something was living inside it, and he wouldn’t know if something was wrong, so he has too. When he did, it came as a suprise that his parents weren’t mad, they jsut kindof stared at the orb, inhaling the addictive scent it gave off, the three huddled around it, aizawa carefully picking the Small thing up, it was only about the size of a pumpkin, extremely easy to pick up, yet he could still feel the heartbeat of a creature inside, it just had to be one of the sirenfolk , there isn’t any other explanation. He stared at it in confusion, noticing the small cracks staring to form.

Then a little hand popped through, and scared the shit out of all of them.

———

As it turned out, you were in fact a siren, a rare subtype of them, thought to have gone extinct long, long ago. The opal-looking scales that littered your arms and tail showed proof of it, this species were intensely more fragile, and weaker, that’s why they went extinct, as they couldn’t hear, and a small crabs pinch could cause major bone breaks, they were just too weak, yet so beautiful. That’s why they were coveted among the royal family. It only helped their growing obsession taht you were so cute.

It might’ve been an act of I’mpulse, but they just needed to have you as their own, of course, their word is law, so they could’ve just kept you, but they felt the need to make it official, they’d already had two pips, you’re just their third! It was simple, of course, you specific species could be born into sirenfolk families, it was just so rare that it had only happened once. You were just so cute, so fragile, just something so breakable, they just

H a d

To protect this tiny lil thing, it was instinctual to feel a protective pull over their little pups, and boy were they feeling that right now, you were special, not just any baby, but you were theirs. Their special little pup, nothing would ever lay a hand on you, ever. It had only be a few days, and word spreads through the underwater kingdom like a wave, from the servant maid who showed them how to take care of you, to the head maid, to a citizen, to the fisher, and eventually, by the end of the week, the whole kingdom was eagerly waiting to get a glimpse of their new princess.

And boy were they shocked to find out it was an opalite, the most rare of rare sirens in the world. Immediately after they had shown you to the world, sitting in a large clam as it was pulled by sharks, the citizens fell in love with you, maybe it was the fact that you were related to their beloved royals, maybe because the royal family would intensely glare at anyone who made negative comments, maybe it was the fact that a few of those people went missing, but who knows right?

You still hadn’t been able to open your eyes yet, and you won’t be able to hear them for a very long time, your hands were about the size of aizawas eye, and you looked closer to a fish than a human, as you hadn’t even developed your face yet, another plus to being the endangered species, note the sarcasm. And guess what? They found it so adorable, just their cute little baby, their little pup who can’t even protect themselves from the water around them. They just loved every part of your little body, from your tails, to your tiny little hands, to your shiny gills. It was all just so perfect- you were so perfect, and you were theirs, they were gonna protect you at all costs.

So of course they did, you were just so tiny right now, they knows practically anything could hurt you, so they opted to be around you all the time, only leaving to hunt for humans that would suffice for their tastes, drawling them in, determined because of that little smile of yours. You motivated them to do it, they were doing this for you. It have them all a sense of pride to have you feel safe with them, to rite them you. On their own terms.

Eri was constantly around you, being that she was a young one just like you, and you were her little sister! So she wanted to always be around while you made those echoing gurgling noises, or flapped your hands around in the water, she didn’t have responsibility in the kingdom yet, unless being cute is a job, so she can be with you jsut as much as she wants. Always sitting with you while you played with the floating pearls that they had arranged over your play area, watching you feel new things, holding you while you dozed off with adorable little bubbles, she always was with you.

Like now, she’s been with you all day, giving you little snacks, glaring at the guards at the door who always had their eyes on you… creeps. The sun was almost setting, and when you’re low down in the ocean it goes pitch black after a little while, and that’s when the jellyfish come out, tonight was one of the most special days out of the year in the northern oceans, the jellyfish festival, the one night a year when the rare white jellyfish would come out to say hi, leaving trails of shimmering sparkle behind them, painting the upper levels of the ocean a shiny silver. It just so happened that it occurred on your first birthday, a very small increment to sirens, as they live almost a billion years, but still a big accomplishment in their eyes. Look! Their little baby girl is turning one! How amazing!

“Do you see them hon? Look, they’re just starting to appear” Aizawa asked both you and eri calmly, swishing his hand through the salty water to pint at the new appearance of white and purple blobs, slowly flouncing their way overhead. Eri smiled up at it, her pointed teeth displayed in full view, her eyes shined at the view, not only of the huge jellyfish, but also at you, who was placed delicately in mics lap, sat up against his chest. Little bubbles escaped your mouth as you blew raspberries into the water, just making the family laugh.

“Mm-hmmm! Look! Look! How pretty! I wanna touch em! Can I touch em!” She yelled at her parents, excitedly pointing towards the jelly’s floating towards the surface, her hair floated behind her as she swished around, shinsho just chuckled, knowing that she eventually would try to touch them, and get zapped, again, like last year, and the year before, and the year before.

“No hon. Don’t do that to us again, you wanna wish your sister a happy birthday? She’s probably really exited!” Mic cheered, distracting his daughter from touching the jellyfish, yet again, meanwhile, you were happily bouncing up and down on his lap, enjoying the freedom of your arms, swishing them all over the place, grabbing the beads around your neck, jsut anything.

“But dad! Why not! It’s not like it’s hurt me or anything I’ll be fi-“ she begged, throwing her hands up in a small tempter tantrum, clearly forgetting her previous events of pain, and idiocy.

“No- nope no no, we aren’t doing this again, please honey, just please, remember last time, we had to clean up your wounds OUTSIDE-of water, you hate going to the surface remember? “

“Yeah but-“ she started speaking, but was soon cut off with a loud giggle, resonating through your lips, kindof rare for you, you hadn’t been very vocal outside of a few gurgles here and there, so it had each and every ones heads turning. That’s when they saw it, your beautiful eyes, shin sing in reflection to the jellyfish. Those beautiful little eyes of yours mesmerized all of them, a pitch black (for protection from the salt), with a shiny silver-like pupal, immediately after they opened, a burst of color filled your vision. You giggled and clapped your hands together with a small toothless smile, watching as the floaty creates went overhead, glittering with the light.

The absolutely gorgeous splash above was admired by the family form their own viewing post, the blues and whites combined to make a heavenly display. You could feel the cool sprinkles of light they emmited hitting your skin, smiling at the feeling, you splayed your hands out and flailed them against the water.

“Ohhhhhh- oh wow. Honey! Honey look! Her eyes opened! Look at taht! Aren’t you just so magical! Look at you, my little pup.” Mic smacked Aizawa over the chest multiple times, pointing at your clearly opened eyes, you just remained oblivious, staring up at all the new things around you, like.. everything! He turned you around to face him, letting you actually see his face for the first time, taking in the long yellow hair, the (also) black eyes, the ethereal face dotted with shiny yellow gills, him, you could see him!

“She’s developing smoothly, I’m glad. Awww, that’s pretty cute.” Aizawa replied to him, holding in his emotions, as soon as he met those new eyes of yours it’s like everything else disappeared, like the world itself didn’t exist, outside of him, and his fmaily. You took his breath away, or what you could call breath, so cute and innocent, such a small thing, that brings so much joy. Your little tail swished back and forth as you stared up at them happily, taking in the features of the people you’d learned to recognize by touch. Blowing raspberries out of your lips with a stream of bubbles.

“Awwwww! I’m gonna cry, she’s growing so fast! Soon she’ll be swimming in her own! In like 200 years! Too soon, way too soon. Comers baby- mm hmmm” mic spoke, knowing full well that even if he did cry, his tears would get sucked in by the ocean. He pulled you close, moving your head I’ve this shoulde is it would rest in the crook of his neck while he hugged you, eventually, the others joined in, eri practically flopping ontop (with careful regard for you of course).

They all stared at you, while you stared up at the “sky”, oblivious to their stares, to the ways they would growl at anyone who came close, to how they kept you from seeing anyone other than what they personally approve. After all, you are jsut their little pup, of course you wouldn’t notice! Their little pup… feels right to say that, it isn’t like you have any family waiting, they aren’t ever gonna come here.

And if they ever did?

Then, well, a few mermaids are going missing

———————————————————————————————————

Thanks for requesting, this was fun to write!

Have a great day today! Goodbye.

[dreamylittlesugarcube]

All You Knead is Love, Part 3

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Characters: You x Kyungsoo

A/N: I was thinking about the clips of Kyungsoo singing the song “Beautiful” with Crush at Park Shin Hye’s wedding that I’ve been seeing floating around Tumblr, as I was working on this. His voice wrecks me……<3

*Please note: I do not own the images above. Credit is given to the original owner(s)*

Tagging: @suzyqgoestothemoon as promised.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, well, well, look who’s here,” Chanyeol teases, that knowing smile you’ve come to hate appearing the moment he spots you walking through the door.

“Minseok, did you think we’d see Y/N today?”, he continues.

Minseok’s head appears from behind the massive Italian espresso machine, his expression mirroring Chanyeol’s.

“Nope, it’s as much of a surprise to you as it is to me,” the shorter man replies, sarcasm dripping from his voice like ice cream from a cone on a hot day.

“Ha ha ha, very funny, you guys,” you retort. “Let’s get one thing straight, okay. I come here for the delicious baked goods and the delicious baked goods only,” you say, lying through your teeth while attempting to say this last part with a straight face. You can tell that neither of the men in front of you believe a word of what you’re saying by the side-eye glances they give each other.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Y/N”, Minseok winks before turning back to his precious machine to start making the chai tea latte that’s become your usual.

You shoot him a playful glare. “I don’t know how the two of you find time to do your jobs when you spend so much time gossiping like two old ladies at the hair salon.”

In the months that you’ve been coming to the Frosted Penguin, you’ve grown to have something of a playful friendship with Minseok and Chanyeol. Despite being self-described as “playing the field” and “not interested in relationships”, the two seem to have a more-than-casual interest in your relationship with Kyungsoo, or lack thereof. Between the knowing looks and pointed comments, it’s obvious that the two are clearly very entertained by the gentle flirtations flying between you and Kyungsoo over the last several weeks.

“Y/N, you’re here.” Kyungsoo pokes his head through the kitchen door, a piping bag in hand. “Wait just a second, I’ve got something in the back I want you to try.” Kyungsoo gives you a bashful smile before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You feel two pairs of eyes on you.

“Say nothing. Absolutely nothing. No comments needed, thank you, “ you command as you turn back to Minseok and Chanyeol.

“Who? Us? We wouldn’t dare.” Minseok pushes off the counter and places a large mug of steaming chai tea latte in front of you. On top, you notice the milk foam has been artfully arranged into a heart design with an arrow going through it. “It’s on the house today, my lovely. I’m feeling generous with all the love in the air,” he says, clutching his chest and dramatically batting his eyelashes.

“Thanks”. With a huff, you pick up your mug and grab a seat at your usual table by the window. Your attention is caught by a young couple walking by the bakery. They hold hands as they meander down the street, taking in the sights. As the young woman pauses to look through the cafe window, the man with her takes the opportunity to tuck her hair behind her ear and bring the hand he’s holding up for a kiss. She smiles up at him and cups his cheek with her free hand. You smile warmly at the display of affection, hoping that one day you too can have someone to share those small moments with. Gentle touches, sweet kisses, tender embraces, and whispered words of love. These days, you can’t help yourself from imagining forehead kisses from heart-shaped lips, long fingers sifting through your hair, and soulful brown eyes pulling you in like a magnet.

Movement in your periphery takes your attention away from the couple and your own romantic desires. You turn to see Kyungsoo standing a few feet from your table, trained on the young couple as they enter the shop, getting in line to order. You aren’t sure how long he’s been standing there, but you wonder if he too has witnessed the tender scene outside the window. Did he long in the way that you longed? Did he imagine you as you imagined him? Did he want you in the same way that you wanted him?

These silent questions remain unanswered, as Kyungsoo clears his throat. Kyungsoo has jettisoned his apron to reveal a light blue button-up shirt, the top three buttons undone to reveal a plain white T-shirt.  Dark wash blue jeans cling to his lower body, highlighting his backside in a way you can definitely appreciate. His soft, back hair is combed straight and his dark-rimmed glasses shine like a newly-polished penny. He looks good. Too good to have emerged from clouds of flour and sugar with clothing that’s relatively unscathed.

Kyungsoo moves to sit across from you, both hands resting behind his back, keeping whatever he’s holding from your line of sight.

“Close your eyes”.

You shoot him a skeptical look.

“Come on, Y/N”, close your eyes”, he laughs. “I want this one to be a surprise.

Smiling to yourself,  you close your eyes. The loss of sight brings your other senses to the forefront. You hear a plate being set on the table and the sound of cutlery clanging on the side of a dish. You feel the sensation of a spoon being held against your lips, begging for entry. You open your mouth and the spoon is gently pushed inside. The taste of vanilla bean hits your tongue as you chew the light and airy bite. You notice a subtle egg flavor that enhances the taste of the vanilla bean. You let out a small moan of appreciation.

A soufflé. The most perfect soufflé you’ve ever tasted, if you were honest.

“What do you taste, Y/N?”, Kyungsoo queries, testing your baking knowledge.

Unluckily for him, you knew a soufflé when you tasted one, all thanks to your many failed attempts trying to bake them at home.

“Vanilla bean soufflé!” you guess with a smile.

“Ding, ding, ding, you are correct!” Kyungsoo narrates, using a game show announcer voice. “Your prize today…..another bite of soufflé!”

You open your eyes to see that Kyungsoo has moved to sit beside you now, no longer a table-distance away.  Kyungsoo dips the spoon into the ramekin once again and brings the spoon towards your mouth a second time. You open your mouth, your lips forming around the spoon as you take what Kyungsoo offers. Kyungsoo takes the spoon away from your mouth, but his eyes continue to watch your lips as you chew and swallow. Kyungsoo notices your scrutiny and quickly looks away, knowing he’s been caught.

Diverting the extra attention away from himself, Kyungsoo artfully slides the rest of the soufflé towards you. Resting on the plate is a small white ramekin. Inside, a soft, fluffy, custard-like soufflé with a high, golden-brown top, covered with powdered sugar and decorated with three red raspberries placed in the shape of a heart.

“It’s beautiful, Kyungsoo. Absolutely perfect.”

“I know. Much better than the cheese one that you brought in last week,” he teases with a smirk.

“Kyungsoo, you wound me!”, you pout, pretending to be dramatically affronted. “It wasn’t that bad”, you add quietly.

“No, it wasn’t, it was just slightly over-baked AND you need to stabilize your egg whites.”

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d tell me your secret”, you say, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to be coy.

Kyungsoo strokes his chin, pretending to be lost in thought. “Lucky for you, I am in a very benevolent mood today and I might be willing to help those less fortunate.” He grins as you shoot him a withering look.

“Oh great master, when will you bestoweth upon me your wisdom?”, you retort.

All jokes aside, you’re excited to bake with Kyungsoo, not only because you’ll get to spend more time with him, but also because the man had a magic touch when it came to baking, and those soufflés were starting to get on your nerves.

“Tomorrow at six? After the cafe closes?” Kyungsoo replies, suddenly serious.

“Perfect. It’s a date!” you reply, without thinking.

Kyungsoo freezes, his eyes finding yours, as though to clarify your meaning.

“I mean–not a date date, just a–”

Kyungsoo cuts you off before you can finish your babbling.

“A date date”, he emphasizes.

Your eyes meet his and you nod your head shyly. “A date date”, you whisper.

Before Kyungsoo has a chance to respond, a voice behind you exclaims, “Ooooooooo a date date, Minseok, Kyungsoo and Y/N are going to have a date date tomorrow. How cute.”

You turn around in your chair to see Chanyeol “sweeping” the already-immaculate floor and Minseok behind the counter, “wiping” the already-spotless counter-top.

You roll your eyes. Way to ruin the moment, guys, you think. Those two really have an annoying knack for showing up at the worst possible moments. Before you can even think of a passable comeback, Kyungsoo has risen from his chair and walked over to grab the taller man by the ear.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow”, Chanyeol whines as Kyungsoo drags him by the ear back around the counter and towards the kitchen door, motioning for Minseok to follow them.

Before disappearing around the corner, Kyungsoo looks back at you.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N. These two will unfortunately be indisposed and unable to join us.” A wicked gleam enters his eye as the three men disappear around the corner.

You feel bad for Chanyeol and Minseok on some level, knowing the scolding they’re in for. But at the same time, you also don’t feel bad at all, with how nosy they’ve been lately.

You chuckle to yourself as you glance at your watch, knowing it’s time for you to get going to your voice lesson. As you head out the door, you pinch yourself just to make sure that you aren’t dreaming.

A date date with Kyungsoo. Your heart flutters in your chest and you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to sleep at all tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End of Part 3

Look out for Part 4!

Thank you for reading, All You Knead is Love, Part 3! I hope you’ve enjoyed the series so far. I’m thinking Part 4 will be the last. If you’ve liked what you’ve read, give a like, post a comment, or re-blog for others to find. It’s so helpful to get feedback as a new writer. I appreciate you all! <3

P.S. Here’s the recipe I found on the internet for vanilla bean souffés that inspired me this chapter: https://www.cuisineathome.com/recipes/desserts/vanilla-bean-souffles/

[amazingmaeve]

Neck kisses ━ p. parkinson

─ “i love it when you kiss my neck.”

summary ─ y/n loves it when pansy kisses her neck

request ─ a pansy smut requester with the numbers 22 27 29 please 🥺

warnings ─ smut (18+)

a/n ─ love writing for pansy!

word count ─

tags ─ @chokemepansy @faerabella @amourtentiaa @inglourious-imagines

Soft kisses flutter against Y/Ns shoulder as she stares at herself in the mirror. Her hands explore Y/Ns body as she leans her head against Pansys shoulder. Y/Ns breath hitches as Pansys hands trace the top of her skirt. This wasn’t how this started with tender touches; it was much worse.

“I love it when you kiss my neck,” Y/N remembers saying to the Slytherin girl who was too preoccupied sucking and kissing her neck.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be for Y/N and Pansy. With Pansy being a pure blood with pure blood family who didn’t like muggles, which is what Y/N Y/L/N was. Pansy believed everything her parents told her, until she met Y/N. A bright witch the same age as her that made her heart flutter. Pansy didn’t know why she was feeling like that but she did.

Y/N and Pansy hated each other when they got to Hogwarts, with Pansy being friends with Draco and his little group and Y/N being friends with the golden trio. They despised each other so much that Y/N almost casted a hex on her in their third year when they were saying some crude comments about Harry.

“God I can’t believe how pathetic Potter is,” Y/N heard Pansy say loudly to his friends as she walked down the hallway. She tried her best to ignore them but they just kept getting louder and louder.

“Yeah and his mudblood friends along with the Weasley who looks like he can’t even afford the clothes on his back,” Malfoy smugly retorted looking at Y/N who’s temper just hit ten and felt like she was about to explode at the slytherins. They crossed the line when he mentioned her and Hermiones blood status.

“I know it's too bad those dementors didn’t take them away,” Pansy faked a dreamy sigh Y/N clenched her teeth walking over to the slytherins and took her wand out and pointed Malfoy but Pansy stepped in front of him. “Are you gonna hex me,” She mockingly said.

“Don’t test me Parkinson,” Y/N hissed gripping her wand tighter but deep down she knew she wouldn’t do it and she knew she shouldn’t waste her time on them but they just make her so angry.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall gasped out of shock at seeing one of her prime students about to hex one of her peers. “What is going on here,” She separated the two girls.

“She was gonna hex me,” Pansy faked a cry as crocodile tears cascaded down her cheeks. Professor McGonagall furrowed her eyebrows in confusion; she knew that Y/N wouldn’t have done this without reason but according to rules she had to be punished. Before Y/N could get a peep out McGonagall stopped her.

“Miss Y/L/N follow me,” McGonagall sternly said then walked away leaving Y/N to glare at the girl in anger before she swiftly followed behind the professor leaving smug slytherins.

That wasn’t their only fight. Over the years they kept making snide comments to each other which led to detention for both or one or the other, depending on the teacher. If it was Snape he would allow Pansy to walk off scott free and Y/N expected it with that teacher knowing he favored his own house.

The attraction towards Y/N didn’t start until their fifth year when she saw Y/N studying in the library. Butterflies erupted in Pansys stomach as she stared at the girl she detested for so long.

Pansy tried to shake that feeling off her since her parents would hate it if she got together with a muggle. But Pansy couldn’t stop staring at Y/N longingly as she studied in the library. The way that she bit her lip in concentration and she flipped the page and jotted notes down for the class. Pansy looked in awe but it soon turned to disgust as she thought the revolting things. She couldn’t like her. She spent these years hating her.

Y/N’s attraction towards Pansy started later that year (5th). She had just finished practice with Dumbledore's army and she caught Pansy looking at her. Once Pansy caught her a blush painted the cheeks of the girl who was starting which made Y/Ns stomach flutter. Why? Y/N thought to herself why is she feeling this way towards a girl she loathed for years.

It kept happening, Pansy staring at her and Y/N staring back which made Pansy look down in embarrassment.

“You’ll be doing this assignment in pairs,” Y/N heard Snape's cold voice which broke her concentration. Snape started to list off the pairs with his usual harsh tone. “.....Parkinson and Y/L/N,” Snape lists and Y/N’s head shot up when she heard her name being said. Of course it was with Parkinson. Once Snape stopped listing everyone went to their respective places while Y/N went to sit next to Pansy who had a sour look on her face.

“Don’t be so mad about it and let’s get this done and over with,” Y/N sneered a glare painted on her face as she got out her book and started to list some of the ingredients off while Pansy just rolled her eyes.

“Can’t believe I got paired with you,” Pansy muttered under her breath and even though under everything she knew that she was kind of happy to be working with Y/N but just didn’t want to admit it.

“You think I’m jumping for joy having to work with you,” Y/N says sarcasm dripping in her voice as she looks up to meet Pansys green eyes. “Because believe me I’d rather work with anyone but you,” She hissed.

For the first time in a while Pansy felt a pang in her heart. She knew she liked Y/N and hearing her say those words made her feel hurt. Like when she got in trouble for messing around with the golden trio but this made her feel even worse.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Pansy muttered her eyes focused on her paper as Y/N looked at her confused. It looked as if she had been sad but what would Parkinson be sad about, they’ve been squabbling ever since first year so why would this hurt her.

Over the next few days Pansy and Y/N have been meeting up for this project and Y/N felt like she was getting closer with the girl. They were joking around more often even though still making snide remarks. Y/N felt her heart race when she had to meet with Pansy.

Her friends often asked if she was okay working with Pansy and she always responded saying that she could handle her.

When the last sessions of them studying Y/N felt almost disappointment as almost though that she would miss working with Pansy. She met with Pansy at her dorm this time instead of her own. Everyone was gone at their classes or in the common room. But Y/N never got over the eerie feeling from the Slytherin common room.

She sat next to Pansy on her bed with green blankets as they finally had finished the assignment the Snape gave them.

“Finally,” Y/N yawned, stretching her arms, feeling her elbows crack. Pansy gave her a tight smile. Before a thought entered her mind this was the last she was going to see Y/N with nice formalities at least. So she decided to make the best out of this situation and lean in and kiss her.

The kiss surprised Y/N as she felt her kiss her, she didn’t respond at first which made Pansy retreat in disappointment but Y/N grabbed the back of her neck and gave her a kiss which surprised her. Of course Pansy kissed back as she put her hands on her hips tenderly massaging them.

The two of them caught for dominance as Pansy finally won and slipped her tongue to let it massage Y/N’s. Y/N moaned into her mouth feeling elated by this kiss. She has never kissed a girl and she has to say it's the best kiss of her life.

“Wow,” Pansy and Y/N said in unison shock going through their veins as they stared at each other with smiles. Pansy hid a smirk while Y/N shyly smiled. They both giggled and started to kiss each other again. That’s as far as it went for that a moment in time they just kissed.

Their first time was much more special.

Pansy and Y/N just kept sneaking around so nobody would catch them. Pansy stopped picking on Y/N and her friends but that didn’t stop Malfoy from doing it though. Even though on opposite sides of their friend group that didn’t stop the passionate moments between the two.

The first time was special to the both of them. It was one night where everyone went out to honeydukes leaving the two of them alone with a few wondering students who were minding their own business.

It was a magical night and after it all laid under the covers pleasured looks on their faces as they intertwined their hands smiles painting their lips. Y/N would never forget that night and neither would Pansy.

Which lead them to the almost the end of the year as they were cooped up in Pansys room where Y/N stood with Pansy behind her kissing her neck. Fingers tracing the hem of her skirt. A happy smile was draped onto Y/N’s as she enjoyed her touch. The tests this year were harder and which made her more stressed. So after every test was done Pansy and Y/N finally got some alone time.

“I just want to please you love,” Pansy whispered in Y/N’s ear making a shiver go down her spine as Pansys fingers finally seeped underneath the fabric of the skirt. Y/N was already soaking from all the teasing that Pansy had done and she smirked feeling her arousal.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me,” Y/N whimpered as Pansy’s fingers began to circle her clothed clit. Pansy hummed feeling the wetness come in contact with her fingers. She trailed her fingers under the panties and began to softly circle the swollen nub.

Y/N moaned when Pansy made contact with the sensitive part. She hated the effect Pansy had on her. Pansy began to rub faster and faster as Y/N could feel her orgasmt about to approach.

But then abruptly Pansy stopped and removed her fingers from her panties bringing them to her own mouth sucking the juices off them.

“You taste so good love let me get a better one,” Pansy seductively smirked bringing herself to her knees pulling Y/Ns panties down and throwing them across the room and she smirked at Y/Ns shocked reaction. Pansy rubbed Y/Ns thighs soothingly as Y/N herself clench around nothing feeling herself get more aroused. “You ready princess,” She whispered letting her breath fan across her pussy. Her skirt was lifted so it covered Pansy’s head.

Once Pansy’s lips wrapped around the swollen nub Y/N moaned loudly grabbing the back of her head and pulling on her hair. She breathed and moaned loudly as Pansy kept sucking hard on her clit. She trailed her fingers to the inside of her thigh and circled her entrance as Y/N closed her eyes from the pleasure.

Pansy entered her fingers and curled them so they hit her g spot and Y/N almost lurched forward as her fingers came in contact with that spot. And all the while her lips still around the sensitive nub. But not for long as she released her lips and pushed her skirt higher so she could see Y/N’s reaction and what she was doing to her pussy. Y/N clenched around her fingers as she felt herself getting closer and closer.

Pansy kept thrusting her fingers in while her thumb made its way to her clit and began to massage the sensitive nerve.

“I’m gonna cum,” Y/N whined as Pansy rubbed her clit at the perfect pace while her fingers kept thrusting in harder and harder and still kept hitting her g spot.

“Cum all over my fingers like the dirty girl you are,” Pansy said with a smirk on her face while she kept thrust and removed her thumb and brought her lips back to her clit and began to suck as well. That’s all it took for Y/N to moan out Pansy’s name loudly and to see stars

Pansy lapped at her sensitive nerve as Y/N came down from her high. Y/N let out a happy sigh as she finally reached her high. Pansy kissed up her body and made her way towards her mouth.

She wrapped her hands around her cheek and leaned in and kissed. As Y/N kissed her she tasted herself on her lips which made her clench around nothing.

“Don’t worry love we’re not finished yet.”

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 6

A/N: Part 6 is here lovelies! I honestly wish it didn’t take me forever to write just one chapter 😭

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, some implications of sex because it’s Lucifer we’re talking about here

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

“Lucifer.” You stood there by the bar trying to get the man’s attention.

The tall man in the suit straightened up once he heard your voice, a glass of alcohol was in his hands as he slowly turning around to face you.

“Well well, if it isn’t my favorite Chthonian, Hekate.” A sly smile broke out on the man’s face. “Surprised to see you here princess, I haven’t seen you in decades.” His dark eyes roamed your frame and the simple clothes you wore while you squinted your eyes at him. “My, you look ravishing as always.”

“Hello Lucifer.” Your voice was firm.

Sam, Bucky, and Zemo had just caught up with you after having to squeeze through everyone, their eyes darting between you and the mysterious, tall, expensive looking man in front of you. Who was this guy and why were you talking to him? And from the way he was looking at you, they began to think he was a previous fling of yours, and though they did not want to admit it, I dare say they were beginning to feel a bit green.

“Well, tell me.” The man finished his drink before pouring himself another glass. “What brings you all the way over here to my little dominion? I’d offer you a drink but I know how much you despise it.”

“I don’t despise it.” You rolled your eyes. “Your liquor collection tastes like piss anyways.”

“I beg your pardon, I always choose the best. You insulting my taste buds now? Truth is, you just can’t get drunk.” He scoffed, turning to you again, swirling the contents of his glass around before taking a sip. “You and your intolerably high tolerance, must be miserable. So tell me, why are you here? Not that I don’t enjoy your company darling.”

“I’m here to collect up on a favor.”

“Oh? Are you now?” The same sly smile retuned to his face as he took a step closer to you. “Does it involve a little you and me? A bit of the ole snog and shag? I’ve always heard how electrifying and intoxicating of an experience it is to be with a Greek deity.”

“Keep that up and I’ll recreate my moment with Julius Caesar.” Your smiled sarcastically, clenching your jaw as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Oh how you hated his smug ass sometimes.

“Well I’d certainly love to tangle with you darling. Oh wait....you meant the stabbing didn’t you. Of course you would.”

Sam stepped up in front of you with his fists clenched, glaring at Lucifer once he heard the little exchange. “Hey man, I don’t like you talking to her like that.”

“Yeah. Neither do I.” Bucky stepped up in front of you as well, squaring up against Lucifer. Even Zemo stood close behind, making you look up at him as he was now right beside you, ready to fight the man if need be. If there was one thing he didn’t like, it was definitely vulgarity.

Lucifer smiled in surprise, scoffing at the three men who had now shielded you behind them. It was now your turn to scoff, rolling your eyes at their defensive behavior before pulling them apart so you can get through. “Chill out you three, for fucks sake, I’m not in danger.”

“But-“ Sam tried to argue but you cut him off.

“Trust me, he’s not a threat. And if he was, you don’t want to fight him.”

“Well who are these three dashing gentlemen?” Lucifer quirked a brow as he eyed them all. “Ohh, what’s this? Terminator, Amenadiel 2.0, and Viktor Krum? Are they your little boy toys Hekate?”

Bucky, Zemo, and Sam were fuming as they all tried to charge again, but you held your arms out, smacking them aside. “Watch your mouth Lucifer. They’re my colleagues.”

“That’s never stopped anyone.” He took another sip.

“What’s your deal man?” Sam scowled.

“Well don’t be rude Hekate. Where’s the proper introduction?” Lucifer gestured as his eyes roamed over them.

You sighed before you started to introduce them to each other. “This is Sam, Bucky, and Zemo. Guys, this is-“

“Lucifer Morningstar.” He boasted, slightly bowing. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Lucifer Morningstar?” Bucky cocked his head back as he did a double take.

“Yes, well I said that just now didn’t I.”

“As in the devil?” Sam smirked as if this was a joke. “Horns, tail, pitchfork, half goat devil?”

“You missed out the red cape and tights, but yes, I am the devil, the one and only, yours truly.” Lucifer replied with sarcasm as he was getting annoyed. “But seriously, what is it with the half goat thing. Is this in your realm as well?”

“Yeah.” You replied blandly.

“Ugh, fuck me. I’m never going to escape it.” He rolled his eyes as he chugged the glass down.

“Wait is he for real or is he just a screw loose?” Sam turned to you.

“Yes.”

“Which one is it?”

“Both.”

“She’s kidding right.” Sam muttered to Bucky.

“Don’t ask me Sam. I don’t have a clue about anything at this point.” Bucky shook his head.

“Don’t look at me like that Sam.” You rolled your eyes as Sam glared at you, upset about not knowing firsthand that you were taking them to the damn devil himself. “This isn’t some kind of college lecture where I write things on the board and you just take notes.”

“Well then.” Lucifer turned to you, giving you his full attention. “What exactly is this favor?”

“I need Mazekeen.”

“Desperate now are we?”

You rolled your eyes yet again, you were sure you’d end up cross eyed by the end of the day due to his antics. “I need her to watch over Athena for a while.”

“Ah yes. I forgot you had a little miscreant of your own. But why Maze? Can’t you use one of your own minions?”

“Well I can’t exactly have the empusas or harpies take care of her. Besides, Athena likes Maze.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want a blood sucking demon or a torturous she-bird near your little delinquent.” He turned to the other side of the bar. “Maze! Mazikeen!”

“I heard you once you know.” A dark haired woman stepped up to the bar, glaring at Lucifer before turning to you with surprise. “Hekate? Well hello gorgeous. I didn’t expect you.”

“Hi Maze.” You smiled at her. “How have you been?”

“Unbelievable.” Lucifer muttered. “She scowls at me but smiles at her.”

“Well I’m stuck with this guy so what do you think?” Maze leaned over the counter with a playful roll of her eyes before they landed on the men behind you as she licked her lips. “Ooh. I see you’ve brought dessert.”

Bucky, Sam, and Zemo looked at each other uneasily. Where the hell did you drag them to? Were you literally going to sell them off to Satan himself and leave them there? Was that your master plan all along?

“Uhhh they’re not on the menu. Sorry Maze, they’re my colleagues.”

“Boring isn’t she? Hekate needs you to take care of her little miscreant.” Lucifer interrupted.

“Athena? Really?” Maze’s eyes lit up.

“Just for some time Maze while I go take care of some things.”

“Hell yeah. I’m down. Anything to get away from this place and this asshole.” Maze jumped over the counter with a grin as Lucifer gave her an offended look. “Let me get my things.” You watched as she hurried up the stairs, leaving you and the rest with Lucifer.

“Sooo.” You heard Lucifer speak up, making you groan in annoyance. What now?

“Since we have some lovely time on your hands.” Lucifer slid up to Bucky, Sam, and Zemo with a sly smile and a dark, mischievous glint in his eyes. “Tell me, what is it you truly desire?”

You watched as the men became trapped in his gaze, their stern facial expressions falling as they became vulnerable, opening their mouths to speak of their deepest secret.

“Oh hell no. None of that shit.” You rolled your eyes as you snapped your fingers in their faces, breaking off Lucifer’s spell. Sam, Bucky, and Zemo shook their heads in confusion as they tried to process what the hell just happened.

“Ugh. You are no fun you know that.” Lucifer rolled his eyes at you. “You’re completely and utterly dull. I thought the detective was boring, then there’s you.”

“Hey, what the hell was that?” Sam raised his voice, upset about the weird hypnosis he just experienced.

“Just one of his stupid hoodoo voodoo staring bullshit.” You muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asked, getting more confused by the minute.

“Well it’s when I ask you what you desire and you tell me your answer willingly.” Lucifer explained the process before make a snide remark about you. “It’s worked wonders until she ruined my mojo.”

“Bold of you to assume you even had any mojo to begin with.” You snapped back.

“You know, I tried my mojo on her once. Do you know what her answer was?” Lucifer brought up.

“I’m guessing her answer was to your disappointment. Was it ‘go away’?” Zemo answered with a sarcastic tone, which made you look up at him, smirking at his comment.

“Close.” Lucifer grinned at Zemo. “It was actually, in her exact words ‘for you to go play a nice game of hide-and-go-fuck-yourself’. How delightful. We became best friends ever since.”

“How unfortunate.” You mumbled with your arms crossed.

“Now I must say.” Lucifer stepped up to Zemo as he touched the fur collar of his coat. “I’m loving this coat. Are you part of the Russian mafia?”

“Please don’t touch me.” Zemo moved Lucifer’s hand away with his gloved one. “I’d rather not have your hands near me, considering the....places they have been.”

“Oh.” Lucifer turned to you with amusement. “I like this one. Now really, what is he, hm?”

“I don’t know. Looks human to me.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“He’s the baron of Sokovia. Lay off will ya?”

“Sokovia? Never heard of it. But a baron? How exciting, looks like we have two royals in the building, including me of course. Now, since we have some time to spare, how about we go upstairs and make it a royal three-“

You scowled at Lucifer, stepping on his foot before he could finish his sentence. This motherfucker.

“Ow! Those are Pradas!”

“Next time it’s your family jewels.”

“Alright then, you win. I’ll keep my mouth shut if that keeps you from tyrannizing me. My word you hit hard.”

You rolled your eyes yet again, praying for Maze to hurry up. You were feeling extremely sorry that the three had to put up with his foolish behavior. You couldn’t help the breath of relief once you saw Maze approaching you with her bag.

“Thank the gods.” You sighed before speaking to Maze. “You ready?”

“Let’s go.” She smiled.

“Well I’ll see you later then Maze, have fun with the little miscreant.” Lucifer commented. “And I hope you’ll return soon Hekate? I always do enjoy your company, no matter how cruel and dreary you are.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” You waved Lucifer goodbye as you made your way towards the exit. “Say hi to Amenadiel and Chloe for me! I prefer their company any day over yours! Oh also! You better ask Chloe out or I will take her out myself!”

Once you had left the stuffy building, you were able to breathe better as you took in a big breath of the night air, feeling a little more at peace.

“Finally.” Sam spoke up with an irritated scowl on his face. “He was getting on my damn nerves. What a guy.”

“You’re telling me.” Bucky uttered, his posture was more relaxed now, now that he was away from the large crowd and away from Lucifer.

“Did you expect anything different?” Zemo tilted his head. “He is the devil, as y/n briefly mentioned.”

“About that.” Sam turned to you with a scolding look. “We need to talk.”

“Not now Sam.” You silenced him before turning to Maze. “Okay there’s going to be some ground rules. First off, no parties.”

“Yeah I know.” Maze rolled her eyes.

“Hang on. I’m not finished. No drinking, Athena does not need to be seeing that. Absolutely no men over of any kind, because that’s just gross. I have plenty of food in the fridge and in my garden. Also here’s some money for takeout if you want it. And-“

“Hekate, I got it.” Maze stopped you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Chloe lectured the same thing to me when I had to babysit Trixie. I know how this all works. I promise I’ll take good care of her.”

“I know. This is just my first time.” You sighed.

“She’ll be safe with me I promise.”

“I trust you Maze. Oh also, if anyone threatening decides to stop by-“

“Slice em up.”

“Yes.....but no.”

“Awww. That’s no fun.” Maze slumped her shoulders.

“Life is full of disappointments. Just give them a good scare. You know what to do.” You told her as you opened up a portal for her that led to your home. “You got everything?”

“Yup. See you later Hekate.” She gave you one last smile before disappearing into the portal. You watched as it closed behind her, trying your best to wash away all the doubts. You knew Maze would take good care of Athena, that was certain. But life hasn’t been very kind to you lately. And you’ve only been more on edge ever since you lost your planet. But you had hope, because Athena was the last favor of kindness that was offered to you, and you weren’t going to let her go. So with the little bit of faith in you, you sent over a protective spell on Maze, just for the extra precaution, a part of you knowing everything would turn out just fine.

“So.” You spoke up. “Where do we start?”

Tag List: @Little-baby-vixen @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thebivirgin @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @pollynx

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Silent Treatment (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Naomi decides that if Ethan isn’t going to treat her like a valued member of the team, she’ll teach him a little lesson.

Based on chapter 1, some spoilers for chapter 2, and my own speculation, so read at your own risk.

I highkey hate this but I’m posting it anyway

~v~

Naomi is quiet. No, she is unusually quiet. Ethan has seen her get silent when it’s time to buckle down and focus on a task, or if something is weighing heavily on her, but at this point he knows her well enough to know it’s neither of those. She’s withdrawn, and he doesn’t understand why.

Her presence is hard to miss, the young resident has enough charm and charisma in her pinky finger to dazzle an entire room. And she’s never this quiet. Naomi demands to be heard at all times. With unapologetic vivacity. With her hands. Eyes sparkling when she gets an idea, or fiery when she needs to dig her toes into something and fight. Nothing about Naomi Valentine is ever subdued, so why the hell is she so silent?

She didn’t speak much during the last few team meetings. He and Harper have led all of the conversations, bouncing ideas back and forth, building off of each other’s ideas. Occasionally, Naomi would offer input, merely to agree or disagree with a theory, before going back into her shell.

It’s even bleeding into their personal life. For the better part of the past 3 months, she’s stayed with him, the two of them holed up in his apartment in the Back Bay, but now she’s opting to stay at her own place. It’s been going on a few days now, this random despondence, and Ethan isn’t a fan of it. He’d take it a step further and say it's driving him crazy. This isn’t the woman he’s known for the past two years, even at her lowest was she never this reclusive.

As he walks down the halls of Edenbrook, he spots Naomi, her personality back to what it once was. She’s with Ines at a vending machine, and Naomi wastes no time animatedly talking to the now attending about a fun date she went on with her girlfriend.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Ethan swallows thickly as he listens to her talk. He’s missed the sound of her voice, the affectionate way her strong accent curls around her ‘r’s’ and dramatically elongates her ‘o’s’. It becomes clear that she’s willing to talk, just not to him. Ethan doesn’t like that idea at all, but it’s the only one that makes sense. And if that’s the case, he needs to get to the bottom of things and remedy the situation.

“Naomi, can we talk please?” He asks once Ines is no longer in their presence.

He doesn’t miss the way she bristles upon hearing his voice. But Naomi nods anyway. “Sure, what’s wrong?”

“Can we talk in the office?”

The walk back to the seventh floor is marked with awkward silence as Naomi refuses to initiate conversation with him. The more time ticks on, the more anxiety settles in Ethan’s chest. What’s going on with her that she refuses to divulge?

The office is unoccupied when they arrive, as Harper has already gone home for the evening. Naomi stands by the door, opting not to settle into a seat or even move further into the room. Everything about her body language reads that she’s poised and ready to strike at any given moment. He frowns. She’s never been this defensive against him, at least when they’re not in the middle of an argument. “What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?”

The question catches Naomi off guard. She blinks slowly before shrugging in nonchalance. “I’m fine, Ethan.”

“You’re fine? Really?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be fine?”

“Not really, but you haven’t been acting like yourself recently.”

Because you’ve been quieter than a church mouse for the past few days. You don’t talk during meetings, you’re silent when we interact with the patients, it’s like you’ve completely tuned out.”

With the way he’s been acting, Naomi is almost shocked that he even realized what she’s been doing. Wow, so maybe the great Ethan Ramsey hasn’t lost his attention to detail.

“Oh, so you’ve actually noticed?”

“I’m a diagnostician, I notice everything,” Ethan deadpans. He can feel the sarcasm wafting off of her. “What, was this an intentional act for my attention?”

“Intentional, yes. But for your attention? Not necessarily,” Naomi answers.

His eyes narrow at her, his gaze near piercing. She’s playing some sort of childish game with him, first with not speaking and now with the vague half answers. “Okay, so walk me through your thought process. Why has the cat stolen your tongue?”

“I decided that if my input wasn’t going to be valued during team discussions, I might as well not speak at all.”

Ethan gapes at her, confused. Where did that come from? “Naomi, what on earth are you talking about? When have I ever not valued your input?”

“I’m talking about the fact that for the past two cases, I’ve stood on the sidelines while you’ve either cut me off mid-sentence to talk over me, or ignore my presence altogether. I might as well blend into the wall.”

“That’s not–”

Naomi doesn’t give him the chance to refute.  “Please spare me the attempt at arguing. Last week, Harper’s first day on the team, you literally had to circle back to me because you cut me off while I was speaking. And now, we’re working on a case, and you and Harper aren’t even taking this patient seriously! I’ve had to redirect the conversation and tell you guys to focus, because you two were too busy acting like bosom buddies, sharing anecdotes about hangovers, and stupid flamenco lessons, and dates you went on in the past, which is not only inappropriate and disrespectful to the patient’s time, it’s disrespectful to me.”

“So either you are completely oblivious, which I find hard to believe for someone as astute as you are, or you have no respect for me, not just as your colleague, but as the woman you claim to be in a relationship with,” Naomi continues. The floodgates have been opened and now that she’s started, she can’t stop herself. “And maybe it’s the latter, because I set that standard. I’ve let you go days, weeks, months without speaking to me with zero consequence, I’ve let you shut me out and slam doors in my face, make snide comments last year when we were treating Leland, I’ve let you have carte blanche over the pace of this relationship. I’ve always just been here and allowed your shitty social graces and piss poor communication skills to rule, and time and time again, you’ve gone unscathed, but now I’m just really tired of it.”

For the first time in a long, Ethan doesn’t have a clue what to say, and as always, Naomi is the woman who puts him in this position.

“Naomi, you can’t possibly think that I think so little of you.”

He can tell by the way her eyes darken that he put his entire foot in his mouth just now. The warning bells go off in his brain, and he scrambles to think of how he can correct this latest blunder.

Naomi bites down on her lip, and she’s actually shocked her mouth isn’t instantly flooded with the metallic taste of blood. She’s getting Punk’d obviously. The office is bugged, and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out and announce his presence soon. That has to be it. Ethan has to be pranking her, because there’s no way a 38 year old man could ever be so dense, right? Surely his response to her grievances isn’t to dismiss her claims.

“You know what? You’re being obtuse, and we clearly aren’t getting anywhere, so I’m going to cut this conversation off now.”

She refuses to look like the psycho in this scenario and breathe any more life into this argument, and she’s not about to plead her case any further like she’s the one in the wrong.

Ethan’s eyes soften, and he takes a step forward, arms outstretched to touch, soothe whatever hurts he’s heaped upon her, but Naomi sidesteps, moving out of his reach.

If he wasn’t nervous at the start of this conversation, he is now. If the physical act of Naomi blatantly refusing to touch him wasn’t clear enough, the metaphorical chasm between the two of the just widened by a few yards as well. A chill races up and down the length of his spine.

“Naomi, I’m sorry,” Ethan says gently. “I…” His words taper off and he pauses, struggling for what he wants to say next. This has never been his strong point, being vulnerable.

And Naomi doesn’t offer him a lifeline. She’s not going to give him an out or assuage him of anything he’s currently feeling like she usually does. She’s laid out all of her cards, and things are in Ethan’s court at this point. Like always. 

“I’m going home,” she announces. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~v~

The sun is barely out when Naomi shows up for work in the morning. Most of the hospital is still, the last of the night shift heading out as she’s on her way in. She heads towards the residents’ lounge, wanting to put her things away before checking in on her patients and having a team meeting.

As soon as she opens her locker, she spots a gorgeous bouquet of red roses wrapped in newspaper invading the space. There’s no note attached to the bouquet, and she spared a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else is there. The lounge is empty, save for another resident in the corner, sleeping.

Naomi takes the bouquet out of her locker, careful not to smash the petals and holds it up to her nose, inhaling deeply. 

Deciding to not put more thought into where they came from, Naomi simply cradles the bouquet in the crook of one of her arms, stuffs her bag into her locker, and continues on with her morning routine.

She’s passing by the nurses’ station on the 7th floor when someone catches her attention. “Oh Dr. Valentine! You have a special delivery.”

Her steps slow down as she approaches the front desk where Sarah, one of her favorite RNs is stationed. Sarah steps aside, revealing an even larger bouquet of roses, these ones white.

“Where did these come from?” Naomi asks.

“They were delivered about half an hour ago,” Sarah replies with a wink. “No note, though. I won’t let Dr. Ramsey know that you have a secret admirer.”

And that’s when it clicks into place. Memories of her fight with Ethan come flooding back, and it becomes clear that he’s the one gifting her these flowers. Before she even realizes she’s doing it, her eyes roll. If he thinks a couple of bouquets of roses are a good enough apology, he can think again.

Naomi plucks a white rose right from the center of the bouquet and hands it to Sarah. “For you.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I insist,” Naomi says. “Happy Friday, Sarah.”

“Thank you, Dr. Valentine!”

Seeing the smile on the senior nurse’s face is almost enough to cleanse Naomi of the annoyance she feels towards Ethan in this moment. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Naomi manages to scoop up this new batch of flowers – they’re in a vase, to which she adds her red ones – and finishes her trek to the office.

She isn’t expecting it to be covered in bunches of bright yellow sunflowers.

Their communal desk is covered in them, along with Ethan’s personal desk and the couch. “What on earth was he thinking?”

“I was thinking that sunflowers are your favorite flower,” Ethan answers, and Naomi jumps, startled at his voice. She whips around and sees him standing in the doorway. “And so I got up well before the sun was shining, went to the Boston Flower Exchange and bought every single one I could get my hands on.”

“And the roses?”

“White is supposed to be symbolic of new beginnings and forgiveness,” Ethan explains. “And you simply can’t go wrong with red.”

“If you think buying me flowers is going to cut it, you must not know me well,” Naomi says. Him buying her things doesn’t impress her, no matter how much she jokes about his money.

“No, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.” Ethan takes a cautious step into the room, shutting the door behind him. A sleepless night without her beside him forced Ethan to do a lot of thinking about how he wanted this conversation to go. A peace offering is always a good start. “And it got you to talk to me.”

Naomi scoffs and sets her flowers down. “Barely.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says. “I’m an idiot, and an asshole.”

“It’s good that we can agree on something.”

Okay, it’s clear that she is not going to give him any leeway. “You were absolutely right to call me out on my behavior towards you.”

“Why did you do it?” Naomi asks.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ethan says simply. “I got so caught up in having Harper on the team, and it’s easy to slip back into old habits without even realizing.”

“It wasn’t a simple one time thing. It was more than once that you and Harper completely forgot I was even there. And I like Harper, I don’t think I could respect her more than I already do, and I have a very healthy sense of self esteem, but even the toughest person on earth wouldn’t like being in my shoes, on the outside looking in while you and your ex reminisce on old dates and inside stories. Ethan, you couldn’t handle a modicum of the shit I have willingly put up with in order to be with you.”

His stomach knots up at the thought of an ex-boyfriend of Naomi’s coming into his personal space, sharing personal jokes with her, ignoring him, and monopolizing her time. If the thought of it had him this twisted, he can’t believe he’s been putting her through that reality.

“You were right to call me out on my bad communication skills. I am terrible at relationships. I’m not using it as an excuse, it’s just the truth. But I’ve gotten complacent, which is unacceptable.” Ethan takes another step towards Naomi, and when she doesn’t instantly recoil, he takes it as a sign to get even closer. “The last thing I ever want to do is stifle your voice, or make you feel invisible. Naomi, you are...invaluable. To this hospital, to this team, to me, and I am so sorry that there was ever a time where I made you feel like you weren’t. You are the most important person in my life, and what we have is something I’ve never had with anyone else.”

“Okay, so start acting like it,” Naomi challenges. “I’m your equal and I demand every bit of respect you have to offer. Anything less than that cannot be tolerated anymore, personally or professionally.”

Ethan nods emphatically at her words. “Of course.”

“I mean it.”

“You have my word, Naomi. I’ll never let it happen again.” He closes the gap between them and cups her face in his hand. “Just please...never give me the silent treatment again. Yell from the rooftops, argue with me, I don’t care, but I can’t take not hearing your voice.”

“You needed to be taught a lesson,” Naomi says simply.

“I learned my lesson, and I hated it,” Ethan confesses, his lips dangerously close to hers. Naomi doesn’t budge, not even an inch. She’s terribly stubborn, even at the end of a fight. “It was torture.”

“Good.” Deciding to put him out of his misery, Naomi tilts her head up and captures Ethan in a kiss. He doesn’t waste a single second returning it. His free hand wraps around the small of her back, pulling her in closer. How did he go this long without touching her?

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing, but he finally breaks apart from her long enough to bury his face in her neck, allowing her scent and soft skin to soothe any of his fraught nerves. She smells like home.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Ethan asks.

“The jury is still out on that one.”

“You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

“Are you up for the challenge?”

Ethan untangles himself from their embrace and takes a step back, so he’s able to look Naomi in the eyes. He takes her hand and presses a soft kiss into her palm. “For you? I’ll do just about anything.”

~v~

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[tamagochiie]

a line without a hook | part three.

part three. “merely tolerable, really.”

chapter synopsis. Had you known freedom tasted like this, you wouldn’t have bothered to form an attachment with Mr. Ackerman. Was there really a point in what you were doing? 

word count. 7.5k

tags. swearing, angst, tones of misogyny

notes. This is a very late post, and I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As for the upcoming chapter for this week, there may been another delay. I’ve been swamped with a lot of assignments and its my finals week, so I hope you all understand :/ 

back to master list

<< part two. | part four. >>

Your mother always told you gossip to women is like honey to a swarm of flies: you can catch more of them depending how sweet the scandal is. But she never thought to tell you what it'd be like if you were the honey, that the women would stick to you, drinking the life out of every little thing you do and unpack it together with their girl friends over afternoon tea and biscuits.

Your name, along with Mr. Ackerman's, had travelled from one tongue to the other in the last four days.

Each story are more intricately fabricated than the last. You heard all sorts of things, too many thing to keep track of — something about Mr. Ackerman's family background and more so yours, but you didn't want to pay heed over something that didn't come directly from the man himself.

And just the other day, while you commuted to town to deliver Reiner's forgotten lunch, you overhead a group of women whispering that you were already singing with the church bells.

You had shuddered at the thought and assumed it was something your mother must've cooked up given how she easily melted at Mr. Ackerman's feet when he came to visit a few days ago.

You and Mr. Ackerman were both aware that his visit, and all the kind and loving words he had said before you and your family, were merely for show. And that it was for purpose of sweeping your house clean of all trespassers and violators of your freedom.

But nonetheless, even with a letter that came to heed you of his visit, you were still left utterly speechless.

Mr. Ackerman had strolled into your cozy home, he hadn't been swathed in his usual drab choice of clothing, but settled with more pleasing fashion that didn't say,"I'm pessimistic and moody, and I've got a reputation for killing for sport".

He had been bathed in shades of blue, but still leaned on the darker side of the color spectrum. It had been a good change save for his signature cravat, and it led you to wonder just how many he owned.

You came to the conclusion he owned quite enough to be stitched together and make a thick and long blanket to last through the winter.

However, what had left you gobsmacked and rapidly blinking in succession was not Mr. Ackerman's slight change of style, but the little smirk across his lips while he spoke to your mother. His tone hadn't been clipped and did not drip in annoyance, but was a twinge softer — completely out of pocket for a man with a reputation for being dark and brooding.

Sasha, on the other hand, had been easily tickled in pure curiosity by Mr. Ackerman, poking and prodding him with peculiar and rather personal questions. You had expected he'd yell at her, seeing he'd be the kind of person to do that.

But he didn't snap. It was obvious his patience had been wearing thing, so he kept his replies quick and short just like his temper.

Pieck never spoke a word, but had instead observed the exchange as she sat on the couch, sandwiched between Connie and Jean while your mother had done her best to entertain Mr. Ackerman in small talk even though the man reeks of disdain for it.

Though Mr. Ackerman had successfully wooed your mother, and probably the rest of your sisters and Connie, Reiner was anything but.

Your brother protectively glued himself to your side, glaring down at Mr. Ackerman with a vexed look plastered across his scruffy face. Unfortunately, Reiner's attempt to be intimidating had fallen short and made you not only you, but Mr. Ackerman, suppress a stifling laugh.

Regardless of your brother's wishes, Mr. Ackerman's visit had been deemed fruitful. Your mother's eyes as well as her heart completely set on Mr. Ackerman and Mr. Ackerman alone.

To which both requests you firmly nodded and smiled at.

But your smile had been quick to fade.

You agreed to this little sham because you admired your freedom, but ever since Mr. Ackerman's visit, despite no men coming to bother you from the early hours of the morning till the late afternoon, you find yourself anything but free.

Your mother, the seventh circle of your personal hell, has taken it upon herself to berate you—tells you to make more of an effort on your appearance. She'll comment on how you sit, how you speak or how you eat, and every other thing you do.

You may have been liberated by the lusting grips of men, your mother's iron clad hold on even the thought of you being a few steps away from marriage is much tighter, and much more stubborn than you ever imagined.

So you spend your days hidden in your room, away from your mother and the rest of the world.

Sometimes you'll read or stare out the window, and when you do decide to step out of your little bubble, you'll be sure to check if the coast is clear from any possibly ambushes from your mother.

Though the only time you really do go out is to check the mail to see if Mr. Ackerman has written to you — he has not — or spend some time with your great love, your horse, Maria.

But for the most part, you plant yourself on the couch right up against window sill with your back slumped on the wall and legs sprawled out. You stare outside, not really looking at anything in particular.

Maybe the chickens.

You heavily sigh, fogging up the class as you gaze idly, twirling the ends of your hair. You grow jealous of the chickens and the roosters because at least they have their freedom. Their simple minds and their simple lives; the lay eggs and crow at dawn.

Damn chickens, you seethe in thought.

There's a faint knocking on your bedroom door that cease your internal tanget. You turn your head as the door creaks open, revealing your sister, Sasha, poking her head out between the gap. A friendly smile adorns her pink lips as she holds a plate of food in her hands.

"Can I come in?" She asks, already stepping inside. "I brought you food. You've been cooped up in here for too long, I thought you might be hungry."

You chuckle and motion her to come in.

Sasha moves briskly and steps inside before shutting the door behind her. She tiptoes across the room and over to you. She lightly taps your foot to make room and you swing it off the couch.

She places the tray between the two of you. A few loaves of bread, some grapes, and other fresh fruit that you assume she's stolen from the batch Reiner's supposed to sell.

She swipes the loaf of bread, breaking it in half and hands you the bigger piece before chewing her's down.

"You alright?" She asks, her words muffled by the bread. "Mamma's gotten under your skin, hasn't she?"

You bob your head, humming in response as you eat the bread bit by bit, taking your time.

Sasha follows your line of sight, checking to see what you've been so keenly staring at. Only to find that it's just a bunch of chickens running around.

"I'm overwhelmed," You confess breathily. You pull your legs up to your chest and rest your chin onto your knees. "I don't like the feeling one bit."

"Is it because of Mr. Ackerman?" Sasha looks at you with concern outlining the softness of her face. You don't really reply, just lulling your head in thought. "You surprise me, you know."

"I do?"

Sasha hums delightfully as she takes her last bite of her bread before moving onto the grapes.

"For someone who admires her freedom and never spared an interest in even the thought of forming an attachment, you latched onto Mr. Ackerman rather quickly." Sasha had always been mistaken for an idiot at a surface level, but she's a lot more perceptive than people give her credit for — than you give her credit for. And for once, you hated it. "One could even say that it's a bit...odd. But you've always been off, so maybe it isn't so out of the blue."

"Oh, how you read me so well," You say, sarcasm oozing from your words. You take a quick bite of bread.

"What's he like?"

You shrug your shoulders, pouting in thought. "I've only ever met him thrice," You point out, laughing at the curiosity avidly pooling from her eyes. "There's not much I can judge. If anything, I think you'd know more than me since you've pummeled the poor man with one too many questions."

Sasha takes the tray of food and scooches closer to you before putting it on her lap.

"But that's different! You've gotten first hand experience. Is he really like all the rumors?" She asks, a little too keenly. "Is he really as mean as they say? Because when he visited the house, he seemed too stiff for comfort."

You snort and are quick to cover your mouth to keep the bread from spilling from your lips.

"Mm, well, Mr. Ackerman is man of few words and very few expression, but he seems...genuine?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding like a question, but the more you speak, the more you're hit with the realization you know absolutely no idea who the man is.

All you're really left with is his hatred for attention, and your mutual need for peace. Everything else you try to think of comes up short.

Mr. Ackerman hasn't written a letter to you since his visit. It's not like he said he was going to, but a very small and naive part of you thought he would.

Sasha continues to rain down on you with more questions, but it isn't as persistent as you'd expect her to be. Its either her line of concentration snaps too quickly for you to formulate a response, or she's just too excited to hear more.

You answer what you can until you can no longer think. Eventually you're too tired to talk about you and the subject of the conversation shifts to Sasha.

"Hey, Sasha," You carefully speak between chews, minding the grape in your mouth. Sasha's eyes, still colored in hunger as she takes another loaf of bread, darts to look at you. "What about you, though?"

"Hmm?"

"You and..." You shift in your seat and lean in. "You and Nicolo - are you two really - Oh! My God, are you alright?"

Sasha nearly chokes on her bread. Clenching her fist, she beats her chest to help soothe the burn in her throat, coughing for air.

"Sasha!"

"I-I'm fine!" She finally says, swallowing thickly. "Sorry, yes, I'm fine."

"Do you need water?" Sasha shakes her head as she rests her hand on your shoulder to keep you still in case you choose to leave. You move even closer to rub her back to ease her, but once she does, a smirk plays across your lips and chuckle stumbles from your lips. "So, I guess it's true. You and Nicolo really are —"

"Shut up!" Sasha interjects, her head snapping up to look at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "Please! I've had enough of mamma pestering me about this— ever since Pieck decided to tattle on me! If you're going to being just as annoying as her than—"

"I won't be!" You argue, your tone playful and lilting. "I'm only asking, and you're taking forever to say anything!"

"Well, fine! Alright." Sasha sharply huffs in defeat as she tosses her bread onto the tray and sets it back onto the couch. "Yes, okay, I suppose I might have feelings for Nicolo, but I don't know. I can't tell."

"You can't tell...?"

Sasha lets out another breath as she slumps against the wall. Her head tilts up to look at the cracked ceiling before looking back down to you, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she picks the right words to convey how she feels. She nervously twiddles her thumbs while doing so.

"How do you even know when you like someone?"

You blink at Sasha, taken aback by her question while she looks at you eagerly.

You realize, after a few breaths, you don't have a definite answer because unlike Pieck, you've never really experienced the feeling yourself. You always lived vicariously through fictional characters you read in novels, and Mrs. Bloom's sweet story of how she met her husband.

But other than that, you come up short—you can't tell at all.

"I think I'm the wrong one to ask." You confess, causing Sasha to look at you quizzically as confusion stirs in her mind. "I haven't really found the answer myself, I'm sorry."

Sasha sighs dejectedly.

"It's best to ask Pieck, isn't it?"

"As me what?" Pieck's voice, delicate and laced in curiosity, has your heads turn to the bedroom door.

It seems you were both too deep into your conversation to hear her knocking.

Pieck stands by the door, her olive green dress flows in the gentle window coming from the opened window, her hair into the usual messy, low ponytail that falls down her shoulders; her eyes heavy-laden with sleepiness.

Your eyes trail down to her hand, finding a pile of letters tightly held in it.

"Pieck, what's that?" You ask, dismissing her question with a question.

"Now hold on," Pieck hides the letters behind her back, pressing herself against the door to create even more distance—as if the wide expanse of the room wasn't enough. "What's the question?"

Sasha rolls her eyes. "It's silly."

"Well, if it's from you, I'm sure it is."

Sasha grumbles at Pieck's sarcastic retort, and you watch as your two sisters begin to bicker.

"If you're going to be an ass, I won't tell you." Sasha crosses her arms and twists her body away from Pieck and towards the window, her eyes falling to the clucking hens.

Peick nimbly trots across the floor and over to Sasha's side, crashing into her and quickly wrapping her arms around her shoulders, nosing through Sasha's hair bunched up in a high pony as she rests her chin onto her shoulder.

"Go away!" Sasha growls, her face contorts a sour expression as her attempts to shove Pieck off fails.

"Oh, c'moooon," Pieck coos, peppering kisses over her little sister's cheek, "won't you tell me? I hate being left out, especially when it's the two of you."

Sasha grunts as she tries to pry away from Pieck, but only to be caught in sloppy kisses on the cheek and the temple of her forehead. Though Sasha visibly shows disgust, even you can see that she loves being showered in affection from Pieck.

Pieck, being the eldest and holding the most responsibility, had always held you both with great love and adoration.

"Alright!" Sasha yells in surrender, tangled in the arms of her sister and somehow in a headlock as Pieck sits behind her. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Let me go and give me room, please."

Sasha elbows Pieck away from her, giving her enough space to breathe, and you snatch the tray off the couch and onto your lap to keep it from falling.

And as Sasha begins to explain her little dilemma, Pieck comfortably sits herself behind her, propping her chin back onto her shoulder and winding her arm around her waist as she listens intently. Pieck's gentleness doesn't go unnoticed by Sasha, and you watch as she sinks in the hug.

Pieck clicks her tongue, her eyes look at you as she falls into a thought, not deep enough to overthink and get carried away as she finds the answer.

"Hmmm, love and likeness can be complicated, but only if you let it be." You tilt your head at Pieck as she continues on her train of thought. "But you can tell if you like someone if you enjoy being with them and find their company pleasant. Do you find Nicolo's company pleasant?"

Sasha mindlessly hums in thought as her head lulls back on Pieck's shoulder.

"I do, actually." Sasha admits without hesitation. "I think..." She takes a beat to suck her teeth as she continues to think about it a little more, "I like the food he makes and that he, well, never seems to be bothered by me..."

"He's always so kind—like his eyes. His smile's nice, too, I suppose. Whenever he speaks, whether it's about food or well, other things, I can't help but listen."

There it is, the shimmer of affection in her light brown eyes and the oh-so-subtle smile across her lips. You almost miss it, but the world stills around you as you're caught in her bubble.

Pieck gives you a knowing look, smiling playfully.

Without saying a word or even slipping a sound, you and Pieck come to the agreement that Sasha'll have to come to her own realization that he loves him. The question is when she'll arrive at it.

Sasha brushes it off, not wanting to muddle herself any longer. She plucks the letters from Pieck's grasp and eagerly swifts through the pile while humming thoughtfully, completely ignoring Pieck's groan of disdain.

It's the usual; a couple of people from your father's family, inquiring when you're to sell the estate, one from your distant aunt from your mother's side that never bothers to actually visit, but diligently sends letters whether it be rain or shine, and one for —

"You've got a letter!" Sasha chirps, snapping her head up to look at you before shoving it into your hands. "It's from Mr. Ackerman! He's finally written to you!"

You throw your legs over the edge of the couch, sitting upright and fixing your hair as if Mr. Ackerman's just right there, watching you as you open his letter with shaky breaths and nimble fingers.

You quickly but carefully open his letter, scanning through his words and your eyes bulge out of it's sockets.

"What's it say?" Pieck inquires, excitement dripping from her lips as she scooches closer to try and peak at the letter. "Will he be visiting again?"

You shake your head.

"Well, don't be shy!" Sasha whines, "What is it?"

You open and close your mouth, blinking frantically as your shock still rides through your body. "Mr. Ackerman would like me to visit him at his estate next Tuesday."

When your mother heard news of your presence being requested by Mr. Ackerman, she took it upon herself to teach everything you needed to know about being "prim and proper". She stole your remaining days of peace and prepped you as best as she could.

When it came time for you to leave, she was adamant that you opt to take horseback instead of taking the carriage. All, especially your brother Reiner, were completely against it when they noticed the storm clouds reeling in. But your mother was deeply rooted in her stance, firm like a tree that not even the wind of your brother's disdain could change her mind.

So there you stand, having been caught in the rain, dripping from head to toe as the Smith estate towers over you, as if it's ready to swallow you whole in one go. You have to crane your neck back in a particularly painful angle to get a good look of the entire building, and you’re sure you’re only seeing the very tip of the iceberg.

Your mother warned you it would be much larger than you were used to - you just never imagined it to look like something out of a book.

Shivering and tightly wrapping your coat over you to trap any warmth you might have left with one hand, you swiftly knock on the door with the other. A shuddering breath escapes you when the door creaks open, revealing a servant to greet you in.

“Ah, Miss,” The servant’s eyes widen in fright, flinching back.  His gulp is audible even with the thundering behind you. He scans you from head to toe, and he doesn’t bother to mask his sneering at your drenched frame and all the mud collected at the hem of your skirt. “You must be Miss Blouse, yes?” You greeted him with a sneeze, and briefly apologized. “Come quickly before you catch a cold.”

But your second and most aggressive sneeze yet tells him you might already have one.

“He’s been expecting you,” Is all the servant says before guiding you down that hall.

You rub your eyes, wiping your hairs sticking to your face as you take in the sight before you. The air in the estate is chilly and deadly quiet - enough to hear the sound of your clothes dripping with water and to catch the servant clicking his tongue at you.

You hold your breath; you didn’t think the estate could get any bigger, but it does. The hallway is vast and seemingly endless; portraits of many different men and women - all who you assume were probably family members of Mr. Smith because of the signature blonde hair and blue eyes - canvas over the great walls.

Giddiness tickles down from your chest and into your stomach as you trail behind the servant, your arms swaying to the side with a little skip in your step. You try your best to catch a peak at every room and hall you pass by, but everything moves in blur.

You can’t tell if you’re tired from your travels or if it's the pace you’re walking in. You take deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together as the servant ushers you into the drawing room.

“Mr. Ackerman will be here shortly,” is all he leaves you with, not bothering to spare another breath.

You’re surrounded by more paintings and books, but a particular painting catches your eye. It’s a portrait of a woman relaxed on a chair; she looks nothing like the ones outside.  She has soft features and kind eyes, her lips supple and plump with an endearing smile. Her dark hair flows down to her shoulders, framing her face.

You squint your eyes, inching towards it with your hands clasped behind your back to avoid reaching out to touch it. The longer you stare, you find a weird sense of familiarity in her. But you just can’t -

“You’re wet.” You snap your head towards the gravelly voice to find Levi standing by the door with his brows pulled down in horror. “You’ve tracked in so much rain water, I thought a dog had stalked in.”

“Oh, I’m quite fine - achoo! Thank you for asking - achoo!” Your feeble attempt to shoot down his sarcastic remark is embarrassingly interrupted by your persistent sneezing. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove, earning a look of disgust from Mr. Ackerman. “Excuse me, I got caught in the rain.”

“I couldn’t tell,” He clips with a tight lip. “You could catch a cold -”

“Achoo!”

“It seems you already have…” Mr. Ackerman groans, and you find yourself picking at your fingers in embarrassment, your head lowered to the floor. “Follow me, I’ll give you something to change out of.”

Mr. Ackerman wastes a single breath, nor does he allow you to. But instead, with the utmost jaded expression on his face, he turns on his heels and leaves the room, expecting you to follow. You have to admit, with a fuzzy feeling buzzing in your head and the sudden sensitivity to the ache in your bones, it takes you a moment to pick up what he says and follow suit.

Has it always been this chilly?

A tremble in your damp coat, exhaling tremulously as you trot down the hall behind Mr. Ackerman. Your struggle for warmth doesn’t fall on dear ears, but it does motivate him to pick up the pace, up the winding steps and into another hallway.

Your shoes continue to click against the marble, passing by paintings and statues; for a moment you mistaken yourself to be wandering around a museum and not someone else’s home. But your head is spinning and you can’t appreciate the art even if you wanted you - you can’t even glance at a painting without wanting to vomit.

Mr. Ackerman comes to a jagged halt, causing you to nearly stumble against him. He glares at you over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” You mutter before stumbling a few steps back to give him space.

“Wait in there,” He instructs dryly, “and I’ll get someone to help you in a bit.”

“Oh, I - I don’t understand -”

“You have a cold,” He points out, “and I don’t think you’ll appreciate it if it were me helping you change out of your clothes.”

Your cheeks flush and your heart paces quickly in your chest; embarrassment overwhelms you and you wish the ground would swallow you up. He’s too direct and it makes your knees a little wobbly along with the rest of your body - you’ve turned into jello.

“Just wait in there and there’ll be a maid to bring you clothes. I’ll meet you again once you’re done.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You whisper, your eyes finally snap from the floor and meet Mr. Ackerman’s same old arid visage, but there’s a tenuous, unfamiliar gleam in his eyes you can’t seem to read.

He sternly nods, but just before trodding off you call after him, “Mr. Ackerman?” Your voice hushed and trembly.

“Yes, Miss Blouse?” He watches you expectantly, his head faintly tilting to the side. “Is there something else?”

Ironically, despite Mr. Ackerman coldness and indifference, you can feel that he cares - his warmth. And you can’t help but feel dangerously eager, a little selfish even, for wanting more. You can’t help but want to push further, but you’re reminded of the rumors and prefer not to push your luck.

“Thank you,” You say with a smile, a genuine one that catches him off guard, but not that you can tell with your glossy eyes.  “Thank you fo - achoo! I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Ackerman.”

There’s a very, very subtle blush that spreads across his cheeks that reaches the tips of his ears, and maybe if it wasn’t for the odd lightly in the hallway, you would’ve caught it. But once again, Mr. Ackerman thanks his lucky stars and gulps, “Don’t mind it too much,” and spins on his heels before striding down the hallway.

You watch till his footsteps fade and his slender frame disappears as he turns the corner before finally looking at the door beside you. You stare at the door knob, your hand fidgeting over it before finally taking it in your hand and opening the door.

You gasp in awe, your eyes going round - the room can eat your house in a single bite. Even the bed that sits at the center, headboard pushed up against the wall, is bigger than the one your share with Pieck. Maybe bigger than the bed your mother and father shared.

You step inside, pushing the door shut behind you before twirling and taking in all the green and gold in the room. You’ve never seen so much gold - you’ve never seen gold in general, but here you are completely surrounded by it.

The strident knocking on the door causes you to still, staggering over your feet to find a familiar face greeting you with a cheerful smile, balancing a folded pile of clothes in their hand.

“Hange!” You squeak in shock, nearly losing your balance.

“Miss Blouse,” They playfully salute to you before entering in completely. “I saw you come in earlier and Levi said you’d be in here, so I thought to help. Though he did oppose, I'm not one to follow orders anyway.”

They cleverly wink at you, stretching their arm out to hand you the clothes and you meekly take it.

“How are you feeling?” They ask, taking a seat on the bed, “You can change over there, behind the partition,” They point to the other side of the room where it stands beside the window, and you quickly shuffling behind it.

You finally peel off your clothes, finally being freed by way your damp clothes and the way it clung to your body. You sigh heavily, tremulously.

“So, how are you feeling?” Hange’s voice echoes in the room from where they sit. They lean back on the heel of their palms, lulling their head bad carelessly as they wait for your response. “Levi said you might have a cold, and luckily for you, I’m a doctor.”

You hum in response, your focus directed on changing your clothes as quickly as possible.

“I’m, uh, I think I’m okay,” There’s a tingling in your skin and an unbearable ache in your bones. Your whole body feels sensitive; you’re not sure if you feel chilly or too warm. But you don’t want to be a burden, especially since you’re already borrowing someone else's clothes.

Whose are these anyway? You can’t imagine these are Hange’s, it’s way too small.

“He said you were sneezing!” They say, their voice slightly raising. “That you were sneezing a lot.”

“Probably just allergies!” You try and laugh it off, hoping Hange doesn’t press any further. But much to your displeasure, Hange isn’t one to simply let things go.

But the moment you step out from the partition, tying your hair up to keep from staining the dress, Hange strides over to you, placing her wrist onto your forehead and hums.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” You press.

“You’re a liar.”

“I'm not!” The whine that escapes your dried lips, takes enough energy from you to have your vision grow spotty and have your knees give in. Hange loops their arm around your waist and you slump onto their chest for support. “Right, maybe I am a liar,” You admit breathily, your eyes fluttering shut. “I’m really sorry, this is extremely impolite and my mother would kill me if she found me like this.”

“Never mind what your mother says,” They sigh before helping you over to the bed, “nothing good will come of thinking about what your mother says,”

You laugh softly, finding irony in their words.

The cushions are warm and comforting, pulling you into ease as you’re swayed by your need for rest. You try to combat it by blinking away, but drowsiness overtakes you like an unrelenting storm and you fall perilous to it the second your head sinks into the pillows.

You're greeted by a sharp, persistent ache in your head and a stubborn throb in your bones. You moan in discomfort and writhe beneath the cotton bed sheets.

You feel something cold dripping down your head, but before you can reach to check, you feel a wet cloth being placed on your forehead. You crack your eyes open and draw a bitter breath to find Mr. Ackerman towering over you. His brows pulled into a deep line of focus and his eyes colored in determination as if its taking all his verve to adjust the way the towel sits on your head.

He looks down at you and his expression softens.

It softens?

"You're awake," Mr. Ackerman notes. Maybe its the sickness, and that you're probably imagining it, but does Mr. Ackerman's tone sound a lot gentler? Its almost as if he's concerned for your well-being — almost as if he's worried and relieved you're finally awake. But his face remains unreadable, devoid of emotion. "You've been asleep for quite some time, but your temperature seemed persistent. Hange said as long as the rag is frequently changed then you should be better. How are you feeling?"

Does that mean he's been changing the rag? He said it should 'changed frequently' —

You arch your back when the ache in your bones come back stronger than ever. You whine in pain and drown back into the mattress.

"I don't feel too well," You croak, swallowing dryly.

"Do you need water?"

You can only nod.

Mr. Ackerman swiftly reaches for the glass of water that sits on the bedside table. You try and sit up , your bones feel like chalk as it grates against each other. You try to take it from him, but he raises his free hand to stop you. “Let me,” is all he says to you before bringing it up to your lips.

Baffled, you still drink it.

Your thoughts are still too foggy to draft a single thought. But all you is know your heart’s drumming in your chest and your breath is hitched in your throat for an entirely different reason that’s far from your cold.

You sigh in relief after a few gulps, muttering a ‘thank you’.

“Mr. Ackerman, you said that I’ve been asleep for quite some time,” You recount, looking at him puzzled, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” He replies flatly, as if he's not bothered by it at all.

“Excuse me?”

Mr. Ackerman hums as he falls back into his chair grabbing the book beside him before opening it up to the page he left off.

“You needn’t worry,” He eases without looking up to meet your eyes, as unbothered by the worry screaming in your eyes. “I’ve already written a letter to your mother the moment you fell asleep and informed her of your current state.”

“And what did she say of it?”

“She deeply apologizes for overstaying your welcome, but is pleased to know you’re in good hands.” Mr. Ackerman turns to the next page before he crosses his legs. His eyes flicker up to look at you to find irritation seeping out of your through eyes narrowed at an empty space on the floor, chewing on the inside of your cheek “I assured her that **you are in good hands, Miss Blouse.”

“I’m sorry,” You apologize again for the umpteenth time as you stressfully run your fingers through your hair. “My mother must’ve planned this in hopes that I may grow closer to you.”

Mr. Ackerman cocks his brow at you, “Are you blaming your mother for your cold? Shouldn’t you be blaming the weather, or that you rode on horseback on a rainy day?”

"I cannot blame my mother for my cold or the weather, but I can blame her for scheming along with it." You sigh, leaning your head back onto the pillow, "My mother is an opportunist, so she must've seen the rain clouds as her 'moment to grasp'. She was adamant that I take horseback and not that carriage. My mother is many things, but most importantly, she's a scheming woman."

Much to your surprise, Mr. Ackerman smirks at your words. He smirks.

He licks his thumb before turning the page of his book, his eyes ghosting over the words without much intention to actually read.

"What are you doing?" You ask, twisting to face him, your hand tucking beneath the side of your face.

"I'm reading." He isn't.

"Here?"

"Would you rather I not keep you company?" His grey eyes blink away from the page and up at you. "Isn't this the whole point of your visit, to get o know each other?"

"W—Well, yes, but I didn't think you'd take our proposition quite literally." You voice falls soft at the end of your sentence and you feel yourself shrink in embarrassment.

"How else are we to make them believe we've formed an attachment?"

"Oh, well—"

"Is my company a bother?"

You shake your head. "Is mine?"

Mr. Ackerman chuckles and if it weren't for the whirling of your brain, you would've caught it. "Merely tolerable, really. You best get some rest, Miss. Blouse."

When you awaken again, it’s a little later in the afternoon and the sun is harshly bleeding through the glass window and casting over your face.

The first thing you notice is not the freshly changed rag resting over your forehead, but the empty chair that Mr. Ackerman sat himself earlier. You pout and you feel a little disappointed.

Disappointed?

What?

You prop yourself up on your elbows, drawing a sigh of relief. The smell of fresh sheets permeate your lungs and your tilt your head back before tilting it back up again.

Through your hooded gaze, your eyes scan through the room. You finally appreciate just how beautifully decorated it is. Shades of complimentary greens canvas the room and soft golds accent the room here and there. It’s ingrained in the walls and on the doors, and coloring the the bed posts, too.

With nimble fingers, you peel the covers off and a wave of cool air washes over your body.The floor is just as cold when your feet meet the carpet. You shuffle around the room, nosing through things but never really touching anything. You're too scared you might accidentally break something.

But the thirst of your curiosity has yet to be quenched, so you find yourself straying out the room, trotting down the hall and twirling around the space gleefully.

The estate is something written in the books. If it wasn't for the dreary, unsettling air hanging over you as thick as fog, the feeling would be magical.

Too busy to play make believe in your head, you find yourself too far off the path. Everything looks the same, and you eyes widen in panic.

Think, think, think, you chant inwardly, twisting your head around for something familiar.

Panic rises from your chest and lodges into your throat, and the last thing you need is to fall onto Mr. Ackerman's bad side.

But before your knees can shake in such unnerving trepidation, faint whispers echoing down the hall and towards you pull you from your thoughts. The voice are so faint and low, you nearly mistaken it to be elves.

You listen intently and follow the source, passing through a few more paintings and doors to lead you to a fragment of light bouncing off the wall and onto a door left ajar. You come to an immediate standstill when you recognize the voice — it's Mr. Ackerman.

Every inch of you tells you to turn around and walk away, but you aren't your mother's daughter for nothing. So the greater part of you belonging to her tugs you close, stealing a peak through the little gap as you hold your breath.

"When did you hear of this?" Mr. Ackerman's voice is gravelly, laced in annoyance. You hear him sharply huff followed by the sound of a hand slamming against the table, causing you to jolt in place. "How long have you known?"

"Not long," The unfamiliar, gruff voice says, and Levi grumbles. "Be thankful I'm telling you now and not waiting any longer. How could I with all your dallying? Since when have you taken any interest in marriage?"

"I haven't." He clips, tone dry. "The point is —"

"The point is, he's back and the last thing you need to do is wasting your time in courting a woman. Honestly, Levi, since when have you been so reckless?"

"Erwin," Mr. Ackerman grits, "my personal affairs have nothing to do with you. Who I choose to spend my time with has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" Mr. Smith seethes, yelling in a whispers. "If you cannot do your job, then how can I trust you? Do you not remember the reason why we're here?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"It seems that you are," Your eyes widen at Mr. Smith's counter, "she's slept here for two days, and you for two days, you've watched over her instead of doing what I've instructed you to do."

"She was sick." Mr. Ackerman argues flatly.

"Hange is a doctor for a reason."

"And I don't trust them for a reason."

You can only assume it's Mr. Smith who sighs dejectedly and clicking his tongue agitation. It only further piques your interest, and you wish it doesn't. But you can't help it, hearing that Mr. Ackerman stayed by your side while you rested made your cheeks burn and you can't help but grin to yourself, completely overjoyed.

You mentally kick yourself for being so much like your mother.

"You cannot hold that burden with you forever." Mr. Smith sighs.

"Whatever," Is the weak counter Mr. Ackerman spits back. "I'll take care of it tonight — the one of Governor Pixy's."

"Be sure to make yourself like an artificial night when you do." Mr. Smith commands, his voice smooth and stern. "You mustn't be caught."

"When have I ever been?"

You quickly leave, sprinting down the hall the moment you hear a chair grating against the floor.

Your heart drums in your chest and you breath tremulously. You heard something you shouldn't have even if it was only in incoherent pieces. Truly, it could be anything, but with the rumors circulating around him, it shouldn't be so surprising.

So why is it?

You find yourself in a more familiar part of the estate and you breathe out in relief.

You’re about to head back into your room when you stumble past a room, catching a glance of a grand piano standing tall from the corner of your eye. You retract your steps and turn your head to get a better look, your lips falling into an 'o' when you do.

She's beautiful, you think.

It’s an alluring, glossy ebony piano — one Sasha finds herself drooling over to play on whenever she sees one. She'll hate you so much when you tell her about it.

Against your better judgement, with all the bells warily ringing for you not to, you walk over to the piano, your hand shadowing over the wood. You take a seat before the keyboard just to take a good look at her. You have no intention to play her, really. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't for the life of you.

Your eyes flicker to the fall board of the piano and find a name engraved in gold.

"Petra," you whisper. "It's very nice to meet you. You're very beautiful, aren't you?"

"What the hell are you doing?" You shoot up from the chair and snap your head up to find Mr. Ackerman fuming at you. His eyes dark with rage and his jaw screwed shut, gritting at you. "I asked you a question."

"I— I didn't touch anything." You peep. You feel incredibly small underneath his scrutinizing gaze. You wish the ground would swallow you up right then and there. "I, I really didn't—"

"Get the fuck away from her." Mr. Ackerman speaks lowly, his voice quietly trembling, but you can't hear it. 

Even if you hadn’t done anything wrong, you feel as if you’ve been caught red handed. Fear buzzes in your head and fogs up any line of thought. 

"I'm sorry?"

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE PIANO!" He bellows, his eyes as fiery as his anger, causing you to stumble back and nearly trip up on your feet. "Who the fuck do you think you are, wandering into places you have no business? Is this what you shitty farm people are like? You get a chance to walk into a place thrice the size of your home and they think they could just parade around?!"

"I—I didn't mean to —"

"You and your family are fucking disgusting."

There are many things you're willing to put up with. You don't mind if someone were to come after you and call you out, but coming after your family is completely different. So your kindness and the very last bit of your patience snaps like a twig.

"I would imagine you're the disgusting one." Your voice is still small, but you’re building up to your confidence, peeling your eyes away from the patterned carpet to stare daggers right back at Mr. Ackerman who stills completely.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll admit I've overstepped and I deeply apologize for that," You begin, your voice no longer wavering in fear, "but how dare you? My family’s been nothing but kind to you."

"I think you've mistaken that I fucking care."

"I've heard many things about you, too many, for that matter. Yet I never labelled as anything as derogatory as what you've called me." You draw out a sharp breath, closing your eyes for a moment to steady you heart before continuing, "I think its disgusting, I think,  that such a man as yourself, who've I've heard has been through hell and back, would think so lowly of people that's no different than him."

You never dared to listen to the rumors or any of the gossip. Even when your mother would try to entertain any of it, you’d stop listening or leave the room if you could. But if Mr. Ackerman was willing to aim for such a low blow, you couldn't think of a reason why you shouldn't do the same.

"I think you’re 'fucking disgusting' for forgetting where you came from."

Mr. Ackerman clenches his jaw and balls his fits tight til his knuckles paint white. He's ready to fire bullets into your self-esteem, but before Mr. Ackerman can even utter a syllable, a servant appears behind him, clearing his throat to cut of the momentum.

"Apologies for the intrusion," The servant says, his tone monotonous and dry, "but it Miss Blouse's brother is here to collect her."

You widen your eyes at the servant, and your expression softens. 

“Reiner’s here?” You voice is small again. 

“Yes, Miss.”

"Perfect." Mr. Ackerman huffs, his whole body still tense. "Get the fuck out."

You snap your gaze back to Mr. Ackerman, sneering, "Gladly."

tag list. @castellandiangelo @astronomyturtle @regalillegal @oshuncheyenne @drapetomaniaac @whalerus @hinaamaya @ggsmashgg @kyosugi92 @daikushiji @acker-baby @lundabean @moonxochu @melodiamore @unlikelyfestivalshepherdhuman @osmosly @halparkebitch @leashaoki @bonkybabe @myeg1993 @chikenbitches @subtlepjiminie @mangobee

[bamf-jaskier]

Okay so I’m going to try and do a comparison of some of the major scenes between Geralt and Yennefer in Bottled Appetites vs The Last Wish. 

Warning: this is a very long post and I tried to keep it as short as possible but Geralt and Yennefer is the relationship that is mainly focused on in both the short story and the show so there’s..a lot of content here. 

Now, before I really jump in it’s important to note that the show is basically the spark notes version of the book, there’s a lot of missing content in the show mostly because the book just has so much more complexity so for a brief timeline:

Jaskier is injured

Talks to Chireadan 

Meets Yennefer

Take Bath Together 

Yennefer mind-controls Geralt and send him off to go fight some council members

THEN this is where the show and book differ 

In the books, Yennefer’s mind-control has more obvious consequences and Geralt gets into legal trouble and there’s a whole scene with some town leaders threatening Geralt and Jaskier. (Although it is important to note Yennefer in the books has a back-up plan to save Geralt)

As well when Geralt goes to stop Yennefer in the books from capturing the Djinn  she portals away with Geralt and they hate-crash a Noble’s party before having a conversation and fighting the Djinn again, Geralt makes his third wish and then they have sex 

So basically the townspeople sub-plot is removed in the show and the Djinn fight is streamlined into one-scene instead of multiple. Now understanding that, let’s get into the scene comparisons. 

Geralt Meeting Yennefer:

The Last Wish:

“You parried my spell,” she finally said. “You're not a sorcerer; that's obvious. But you reacted exceptionally fast. Tell me who you are, stranger who has come in peace. And I advise you to speak quickly.”

“I’m Geralt of Rivia. A witcher.”

Yennefer leaned out of the bed, grasping a faun—engraved on the pole—by a piece of anatomy well adapted to being grasped. Without taking her eyes off Geralt, she picked a coat with a fur collar up off the floor and wrapped herself up in it tightly before getting up. She poured herself another mug of juice without hurrying, drank it in one go, coughed and came closer. Geralt discreetly rubbed his lower back which, a moment ago, had collided painfully with the wall.

“Geralt of Rivia,” repeated the sorceress, looking at him from behind black lashes. “How did you get in here? And for what reason? You didn't hurt Berrant, I hope?”

“No. I didn't. Lady Yennefer, I need your help.”

“A witcher,” she muttered, coming up even closer and wrapping the coat around her more tightly. “Not only is it the first one I’ve seen up close but it's none other than the famous White Wolf. I’ve heard about you.”

“I can imagine.”

“I don't know what you can imagine.” 

She yawned, then came even closer. “May I?” She touched his cheek and looked him in the eyes. He clenched his jaw. “Do your pupils automatically adapt to light or can you narrow and dilate them according to your will?”

“Yennefer,” he said calmly, “I rode nonstop all day from Rinde. I waited all night for the gates to open. I gave your doorman, who didn't want to let me in, a blow to the head. I disturbed your sleep and peace, discourteously and importunately. All because my friend needs help which only you can give him. Give it to him, please, and then, if you like, we can talk about mutations and aberrations.”

She took a step back and contorted her lips unpleasantly. “What sort of help do you mean?”

“The regeneration of organs injured through magic. The throat, larynx and vocal cords. An injury caused by a scarlet mist. Or something very much like it.”

The Show:

Yennefer: And quite a bit more. You’re immune.

Geralt: You must be the mage.

Yennefer: Yennefer of Vengerberg. 

Geralt: Hm. Chireadan didn’t mention that, uh…

Yennefer: What did he fail to mention?

Geralt: We need your help.

Yennefer: “We”? [Geralt looks to Jaskier who gives a feeble wave.] Just a friend, I hope? [Geralt looks back at her.] Your heartbeat, it’s extraordinarily slow. You’re… a mutant.

Geralt: A witcher. Geralt of Rivia.

Yennefer: The famous White Wolf! [Standing up she steps close to Geralt.] I thought you’d have fangs or horns or something.

Geralt: I had them filed down.

Yennefer: [chuckles] First time I’ve seen a witcher up close. [She circles him, looks him over.] What little spells can you cast with your hands? Call it professional curiosity.

Geralt: Please, Jaskier here needs immediate attention. And then, if you’d like, I’ll indulge your curiosity all night long.

Yennefer: It won’t take all night. But I’m sure we can find a way to fill the time.

Geralt: [holding up the small sack with the pot’s shards] He was attacked by a djinn.

Yennefer: A djinn?

Geralt: Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s spreading. [Yennefer takes the sack and inspects the contents.] Fix it and I’ll pay you. Whatever the price.

Yennefer: You’ll have to do better than juice. [to the undulating figures] "Ragamuffin"!

In the books there is no orgy sequence, instead Yennefer has been mainly just been fucking with the merchant Beau Berrant, who in the show is the Mayor of Rinde. The apple juice sequence occurs in both adaptations and Geralt goes to Yennefer. In the books, Yennefer is alone in Berrant’s bedchambers, in the show she is in the orgy sequence. If you read the passages, they share the same bare bones. Yennefer tries to bespell Geralt, he is immune, she comments on his mutation, Geralt asks for help. 

Yennefer and Geralt have the same flirtatious overtones in both adaptations. Honestly I don’t have much to say here because it parallels relatively well as far as characterization goes. I will say I prefer the book’s prose but I also understand that the show has more simplistic writing and wording. 

Anya Chalotra has fantastic energy in playing Yennefer and the tension between the actors in this scene are quite apparent. 

Bathing Together:

The Last Wish:

She entered the bath-chamber just as Geralt, sitting naked on a tiny stool, was pouring water over himself from a bucket. He cleared his throat and modestly turned his back to her.

“Don't be embarrassed,” she said, throwing an armful of clothing on the hook. “I don't faint at the sight of a naked man. Triss Merigold, a friend, says if you've seen one, you've seen them all.”

He got up, wrapping a towel round his hips.

“Beautiful scar.” She smiled, looking at his chest. “What was it? Did you fall under the blade in a sawmill?”

He didn't answer. The sorceress continued to observe him, tilting her head coquettishly.

“The first witcher I can look at from close up, and completely naked at that. Aha!” She leaned over, listening. “I can hear your heart beat. It's very slow. Can you control how much adrenalin you secrete? Oh, forgive me my professional curiosity. Apparently, you're touchy about the qualities of your own body. You're wont to describe these qualities using words which I greatly dislike, lapsing into pompous sarcasm with it, something I dislike even more.”

He didn't answer.“Well, enough of that. My bath is getting cold.” Yennefer moved as if she wanted to discard her coat, then hesitated. “I’ll take my bath while you talk, to save time. But I don't want to embarrass you and, besides, we hardly know each other. So then, taking decency into account—”

“I’ll turn around,” he proposed hesitantly.“No. I have to see the eyes of the person I’m talking to. I’ve got a better idea.”

He heard an incantation being recited, felt his medallion quiver and saw the black coat softly slip to the floor. Then he heard the water splashing.

“Now I can't see your eyes, Yennefer,” he said. “And that's a pity.”

The invisible sorceress snorted and splashed in the tub. “Go on.”

The Show:

[Later, in the bathroom, Geralt takes a bath while Yennefer keeps him company]

Yennefer: Fishing for a djinn seems an extreme measure to remedy sleeplessness.

Geralt: When extreme measures seem reasonable, yes, I’m desperate.

Yennefer: And yet you didn’t ask me to help with that.

Geralt: Looming death kind of jumped the queue. Now I’m wondering if I can afford you. Have I accidentally agreed to indentured servitude? [Yennefer notices his scars.] Go ahead, ask about them. Everyone does.

Yennefer: Everyone else is boring. [She undresses and steps into the tub.] Turn around.

Geralt: [Tries to look at her in a mirror, but Yennefer moves it with magic so he can’t see] That’s cheating.

Yennefer: Nobody smart plays fair. Tell me, are all witchers similarly blessed? [She sits down so they’re back to back.] Come now, you promised.

Geralt: Hm. I haven’t conducted a survey, but I’d hardly say we’re blessed.

Okay!! Now I can get more into the characterization differences because oh boy are there some here. First, Yennefer mentions Triss in the books which I would have loved to see in the show but the main thing here is how they objectify each other. In both adaptations, Yennefer notices Geralt’s scars when they begin to bathe together but in the books, Yennefer uses it as a way to pry more into the biological functions of Witchers whereas in the show she uses it as a way to talk about their shitty childhoods. 

This ties into how the show, instead of focusing on the more biological aspects of Witchers, focuses on the tragic backstory of the characters. Of course, Lauren is of the mindset (like much of fandom) that Witchers are more animalistic while Sapko really pushes the idea that Witchers are creations of science so it makes sense the show wouldn’t want to talk about Witcher science as much. 

As well, in the books, Geralt is rather respectful to Yennefer, promising to avert his gaze and she ends up turning invisible so she can objectify him but he can’t objectify her. It places Yennefer in charge and the obviously more powerful force in the room. 

In the show, Geralt tries to take a peak at Yennefer and they sit back to back, establishing them as equals. And this is no mistake. In the books, Yennefer is quite a bit older than Geralt, she is powerful mage and Geralt is just a guy. Yennefer is the one in power in their relationship and that is obvious in every aspect of their relationship. 

The show made Geralt 32 years older than Yennefer. They push a narrative of Yennefer and Geralt being on more equal footing (or even at times go as far as to make Geralt seem the more mature and older one which we will see later with Yennefer not being aware of the Wish). 

This reverses a lot of the show/book dynamic where instead of Yennefer being the dominant one she is on equal footing with Geralt. Of course, this is likely due to Henry Cavill being around 37 and Anya Chalotra being around 23. Hollywood is allergic to the older woman/younger man dynamic that is seen in the books so making Yennefer seem younger is not a problem specific to The Witcher but with Hollywood at large.  (Not to say it isn’t still bad to see this perpetuated in the show because it is)

Yennefer mind-controlling Geralt:

The Last Wish:

“He's asleep,” said Yennefer. “And dreaming.”

Geralt examined the patterns traced on the floor. The magic hidden within them was palpable, but he knew it was a dormant magic. It brought to mind the purr of a sleeping lion, without suggesting how the roar might sound.

“What is this, Yennefer?”

“A trap.”

“For what?”

“For you, for the time being.” The sorceress turned the key in the lock, then turned it over in her hand. The key disappeared.

“And thus I’m trapped,” he said coldly. “What now? Are you going to assault my virtue?”

“Don't flatter yourself.” Yennefer sat on the edge of the bed. Dandilion, still smiling like a moron, groaned quietly. It was, without a doubt, a groan of bliss.

“I already knew what you were like,” she continued, “after exchanging a few words with you in Beau's bedroom. And I knew what form of payment I’d demand from you. My accounts in Rinde could be settled by anyone, including Chireadan. But you're the one who's going to do it because you have to pay me. For your insolence, for the cold way you look at me, for the eyes which fish for every detail, for your stony face and sarcastic tone of voice. For thinking that you could stand face-to-face with Yennefer of Vergerberg and believe her to be full of self-admiration and arrogance, a calculating witch, while staring at her soapy tits. Pay up, Geralt of Rivia!”

She grabbed his hair with both hands and kissed him violently on the lips, sinking her teeth into them like a vampire. The medallion on his neck quivered and it felt to Geralt as if the chain was shrinking and strangling him. Something blazed in his head while a terrible humming filled his ears. He stopped seeing the sorceress's violet eyes and fell into darkness.He was kneeling. Yennefer was talking to him in a gentle, soft voice.“You remember?”

“Yes, my lady.” It was his own voice.

“So go and carry out my instructions.”

“At your command, my lady.”

“You may kiss my hand.”

“Thank you, my lady.”He felt himself approach her on his knees. 

Ten thousand bees buzzed in his head. Her hand smelt of lilac and gooseberries. Lilac and gooseberries…Lilac and gooseberries…A flash. Darkness.

The Show:

Yennefer: If you wake him before he’s healed, the spell won’t take. That’s no way to treat a friend, Geralt.

Geralt: You want the djinn, but the amphora’s broken. The djinn’s already long gone. [Suddenly the candles around the sign flare up.]

Yennefer: [rubbing perfume onto her wrists] Do go on. Tell me how stuff works. The djinn is tied to this plane and its master. How many wishes did the bard express before he lost his voice?

Geralt: You need Jaskier to make his last wish so you can capture it.

Yennefer: So that’s… two then.

Geralt: The djinn will fight you. If you try and bend it- [He breaks off, clears his throat then inhales.] Ah… That scent… Lilac and…

Yennefer: Gooseberries. [Geralt exhales sharply.] Tough to get in your head. You have a strong will, but you can’t contend with me. Sorry I couldn’t be direct, I knew you’d fight it. [She leans up to kiss him, bites on his bottom lip until it bleeds.] And I do love a good old-fashioned trap.

Geralt: [slurring] A good old-fashioned… nap. [His eyes flutter shut.]

I mentioned how the show is a spark notes? Well, in the books Yennefer finds out through interrogating Geralt in the bath how many wishes are left. As well, in the books Yennefer is much more physically violent, again asserting the idea that she is the dominant one in the relationship and that she is in charge. 

Honestly, the show softens Yennefer quite a bit in this scene. While she does bite his lip, it’s slowly and not particularly violent. In the books, she is compared to a vampire, grabbing his hair, pulling him down. 

It all ties into the softer, younger version of Yennefer we see in the show vs the books. She is not as aggressive in the show and also not as dominant. Again, this could be due to the actor’s age difference but I also think it ties into Hollywood’s avoidance of placing women in a position that is above a male character. (Especially with Henry Cavill as Geralt, he would be unlikely to play a more subservient role to a woman purposefully considering some of his past statements about Me Too). However, having Yennefer as less aggressive also might make her more relatable to the audience and have her be more likable. At least, that could be what the writers were going for but I’m not psychic and I couldn’t tell you for sure. 

Geralt trying to save Yennefer from the Djinn:

The Last Wish:

“Yennefer saw him, jumped up and raised her hand.

“No!” he shouted, “don't do this! I want to help you!”

“Help?” She snorted. “You?”

“Me.”

“In spite of what I did to you?”

“In spite of it.”

“Interesting. But not important. I don't need your help. Get out of here.”

“No.”

“Get out of here!” she yelled, grimacing ominously. “It's getting dangerous! The whole thing's getting out of control; do you understand? I can't master him. I don't get it, but the scoundrel isn't weakening at all! I caught him once he'd fulfilled the troubadour's third wish and I should have him in the sphere by now. But he's not getting any weaker! Dammit, it looks as if he's getting stronger! But I’m still going to get the better of him. I’ll break—”

“You won't break him, Yennefer. He'll kill you.”

“It's not so easy to kill me—”

She broke off. The whole roof of the tavern suddenly flared up. The vision projected by the sphere dissolved in the brightness. A huge fiery rectangle appeared on the ceiling. The sorceress cursed as she lifted her hands, and sparks gushed from her fingers. 

“Run, Geralt!”

“What's happening, Yennefer?”

“He's located me…” She groaned, flushing red with effort. “He wants to get at me. He's creating his own portal to get in. He can't break loose but he'll get in by the portal. I can't—I can't stop him!”

“Yennefer—”

“Don't distract me! I’ve got to concentrate…Geralt, you've got to get out of here. I’ll open my portal, a way for you to escape. Be careful; it'll be a random portal. I haven't got time or strength for any other…I don't know where you'll end up…but you'll be safe…Get ready—.” 

... (description paragraph skip)

“This way!” shouted Yennefer, indicating the portal which she had conjured up oh the wall by the stairs. In comparison to the one created by the genie, the sorceress's portal looked feeble, extremely inferior. “This way, Geralt! Run for it!”

“Only with you!”

Yennefer, sweeping the air with her hands, was shouting incantations and the many-colored fetters showered sparks and creaked. The djinn whirled like the bumble-bee, pulling the bonds tight, then loosening them. Slowly but surely he was drawing closer to the sorceress. Yennefer did not back away.

The witcher leapt to her, deftly tripped her up, grabbed her by the waist with one hand and dug the other into her hair at the nape. Yennefer cursed nastily  and thumped him in the neck with her elbow. He didn't let go of her. The penetrating smell of ozone, created by the curses, didn't kill the smell of lilac and gooseberries. Geralt stilled the sorceress's kicking legs and jumped, raising her straight up to the opalescently flickering nothingness of the lesser portal.

 The Show:

[In the bedroom]

Yennefer: [still chanting in Elder]

Geralt: [as he enters, Yennefer lifts a hand in his direction.] Don’t! I’m here to help you.

Yennefer: [lowers her hand] I don’t need your help. You’re free. No longer under my spell.

Geralt: And yet here I am.

Yennefer: You seem to want to meet your end.

Geralt: As do you.

Yennefer: [groans] The djinn isn’t weakening. The bard expressed his last wish, but it’s- [screams] it’s getting stronger! Go!

Geralt: That’s because I’m the one with the wishes.

Yennefer: You? You’re the djinn’s master?

Geralt: Yeah.

Yennefer: Well, what are you waiting for? [She screams as her bones crack.] Make your wishes!

Geralt: Becoming the vessel for the djinn will have you lose control, not gain it! Can’t you see what this is doing to you?

Yennefer: True transformation is painful.

Geralt: Release the djinn! I’ll give you my last wish!

Yennefer: You heroic protector… noble dog, permitting my success so long as you command it yourself. Fuck off! I’ll do this myself!

Geralt: Damn it, Yennefer! Tell me what you want!

Yennefer: I want everything!

[In the bedroom, Yennefer’s eyes have gone red, her voice distorted]

Djinn: [speaking through Yennefer] Make your wish! You can have anything you want! You could choose not to be a witcher. What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power?

Geralt: I wish… [The rest of his words are drowned out by the wind. Yennefer falls forward and the wind calms down. Geralt pulls up his sleeve to reveal the third cut.]

Yennefer: The djinn… Wh- Where did it go? [The house groans and creaks, and the two look to the ceiling as it crashes down.]

Yennefer still craves power and wants for everything in the show. In the books, she is more established and wants to try and control the Djinn. This is why when Geralt comes back for Yennefer, both versions express surprise at why Geralt would come back to help after they cast a spell on him but Netflix!Yennefer tells Geralt to fuck off on the basis she doesn’t want a man controlling her life (tying into the Strong Female Character Trope) while Book!Yennefer wants Geralt out of danger first and foremost.

Of course, much of this in the show is likely a response to try and subvert the “damsel in distress” stereotype and while the books have Yennefer as the dominant one and in control, showing that she in not in distress, the show has her explicitly point this out because she is not established as the dominant one as much as in the books. 

The show constantly is more overt with its themes that the books which are far more subtle. 

Yennefer is mad at Geralt and then they have sex:

The Last Wish (Warning this is rather long and I even tried to shorten it without removing content!!):

“You moron!” Yennefer yelled, trying to scratch out his eyes. “You bloody idiot! You stopped me! I nearly had him!”

“You had shit-all!” he shouted back, furious. “I saved your life, you stupid witch!”

She hissed like a furious cat; her palms showered sparks.

Geralt, turning his face away, caught her by both wrists and they rolled among the oysters, seaweed and crushed ice.

“Do you have an invitation?” A portly man with the golden chain of a chamberlain on his chest was looking at them with a haughty expression.

“Screw yourself!” screamed Yennefer, still trying to scratch Geralt's eyes out.

“The wish, Geralt! Hurry up! What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power? Might? Privileges? Hurry, we haven't any time!” He was silent

“Humanity,” she said suddenly, smiling nastily. “I’ve guessed, haven't I? That's what you want; that's what you dream of! Of release, of the freedom to be who you want, not who you have to be. The djinn will fulfill that wish, Geralt. Just say it.”

He stayed silent.

She stood over him in the flickering radiance of the wizard's sphere, in the glow of magic, amidst the flashes of rays restraining the djinn, streaming hair and eyes blazing violet, erect, slender, dark, terrible…

And beautiful.

All of a sudden she leaned over and looked him in the eyes. He caught the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

“You're not saying anything,” she hissed. “So what is it you desire, witcher? What is your most hidden dream? Is it that you don't know or you can't decide? Look for it within yourself, look deeply and carefully because, I swear by the Force, you won't get another chance like this!”

But he suddenly knew the truth. He knew it. He knew what she used to be. What she remembered, what she couldn't forget, what she lived with. Who she really was before she had become a sorceress.

Her cold, penetrating, angry and wise eyes were those of a hunchback. He was horrified. No, not of the truth. He was horrified that she would read his thoughts, find out what he had guessed. That she would never forgive him for it. He deadened that thought within himself, killed it, threw it from his memory forever, without trace, feeling, as he did so, enormous relief. Feeling that—

The ceiling cracked open. The djinn, entangled in the net of the now fading rays, tumbled right on top of them, roaring, and in that roar were triumph and murder lust. Yennefer leapt to meet him. Light beamed from her hands. Very feeble light.

The djinn opened his mouth and stretched his paws toward her.

The witcher suddenly understood what it was he wanted.

And he made his wish.

... (time skip)

Yennefer, slightly flushed, knelt by him, resting her hands on her knees.

“Witcher.” She cleared her throat. “Are you dead?”

“No.” Geralt wiped the dust from his face and hissed.

Slowly, Yennefer touched his wrist and delicately ran her fingers along his palm. “I burnt you—”

“It's nothing. A few blisters—”

“I’m sorry. You know, the djinn's escaped. For good.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Not much.”

“Good. Help me up, please.”

“Wait,” she whispered. “That wish of yours…I heard what you wished for. I was astounded, simply astounded. I’d have expected anything but to…What made you do it, Geralt? Why…Why me?”

“Don't you know?”

She leaned over him, touched him. He felt her hair, smelling of lilac and gooseberries, brush his face and he suddenly knew that he'd never forget that scent, that soft touch, knew that he'd never be able to compare it to any other scent or touch. Yennefer kissed him and he understood that he'd never desire any lips other than hers, so soft and moist, sweet with lipstick. He knew that, from that moment, only she would exist, her neck, shoulders and breasts freed from her black dress, her delicate, cool skin, which couldn't be compared to any other he had ever touched. He gazed into her violet eyes, the most beautiful eyes in the world, eyes which he feared would become…

Everything. He knew.

“Your wish,” she whispered, her lips very near his ear. “I don't know whether such a wish can ever be fulfilled. I don't know whether there's such a Force in Nature that could fulfill such a wish. But if there is, then you've condemned yourself. Condemned yourself to me.”

He interrupted her with a kiss, an embrace, a touch, caresses and then with everything, his whole being, his every thought, his only thought, everything, everything, everything. They broke the silence with sighs and the rustle of clothing strewn on the floor. 

They broke the silence very gently, lazily, and they were considerate and very thorough. They were caring and tender and, although neither quite knew what caring and tenderness were, they succeeded because they very much wanted to. And they were in no hurry whatsoever. The whole world had ceased to exist for a brief moment, but to them, it seemed like a whole eternity.

And then the world started to exist again; but it existed very differently.

“Geralt?”

“Mmm?”

“What now?”

“I don't know.”

“Nor do I. Because, you see, I…I don't know whether it was worth condemning yourself to me. I don't know how—Wait, what are you doing…? I wanted to tell you—”

“Yennefer…Yen.”

“Yen,” she repeated, giving in to him completely. “Nobody's ever called me that. Say it again.”

“Yen.”

“Geralt.”

The Show:

[Yennefer and Geralt portal into the room inside the manor, where they first met.]

Geralt: Yennefer? [He gets to his knees and shifts the hair of her face.] Yennefer. It’s me… Geralt.

Yennefer: [She opens slowly her eyes, shoves Geralt away and rises.] I know who you are. What did you do? You stopped me, didn’t you? I nearly had it.

Geralt: You had shit all. I saved your life.

Yennefer: And I saved yours! You let the djinn escape. Who knows what havoc it’ll wreak now that it has no vessel at all?

Geralt: No more havoc than you. Djinns are only dark creatures when held captive.

Yennefer: How can you be so sure?

Geralt: When did you last feel happy when you felt trapped? And if you were going to portal us to safety, you could’ve taken us out of this shit town!

Yennefer: A fine critique if you could make a portal yourself. And it wasn’t a shit town, it was a fine town till you came along. I had a plan!

Geralt: [chuckles] And that was going swimmingly!

Yennefer: It was. Like a drowning fish. [They kiss and begin to have sex.]

I tried to keep it short here, but the show combined multiple scenes from the book here. I do love the fact that they kept the shit-all line, it’s a favorite. Of course, many people have likely noticed the HUGE difference between the show and books. In the books, Yennefer knows what the wish is and she’s aware Geralt tied their destinies together. 

The show keeps Yennefer in the dark about the wish (likely as a way to manufacture tension on the mountain and have it be dramatic tm) and this just further places her as the not-dominant one in comparison to Geralt. I will also say I love how in the books, Geralt gets a flashback through Yennefer’s past and her trauma. It would have been interesting to see that in the show. 

This final scene suffers so much in the show by being so shortened. We don’t see Yennefer and Geralt have a long conversation about the consequences of the wish or what they might do next, they just exchange a few lines about the Djinn which makes the sex scene seem more sudden than in the books. 

Of course, I will give props to the actors for the sexual tension they are able to generate in just a few lines as they move closer to each other (granted this tension is ruined as soon as the music starts playing and Jaskier shows up, making the sex scene humorous instead of impactful). 

The last lines in the book passage where Yennefer asks Geralt to call her Yen just breaks my damn heart and I would do anything to have seen it in the show. The way the books showcase two very traumatized people finally finding each other is just so lovely and I don’t understand the directing decision to have the tone of the scene switch so quickly in the show from serious and impactful to light. It takes away a lot from the characters. 

In the end, the show has Yennefer in a less dominant position in the books and also has her act younger in a sense. This could be due to the actor’s age difference or Hollywood’s allergy to dominant women but despite this, the actors bring a lot of chemistry to the screen (especially in the first meeting/bath scenes). 

I would have liked the show to give Yennefer more agency in regards to the wish, especially considering that is her character arc in the show, but I did appreciate how many scenes paralleled each other and I believe at the end of the day, the show was able to preserve enough of Yenralt to make it a believable pairing in the show and I can see them improving the dynamic they have already established throughout the first season in season 2. 

[stitch1830]

Change

Kantoph Mondangst here we go! I'll probably have more to add to this before it's posted on ao3, just a heads up :)

......

“What are you doing?”

He said nothing as he kissed her neck and gently rubbed her stomach while she cut vegetables for dinner. They weren’t unwelcome gestures, in fact, she quite enjoyed the attention. Still, Toph had tasks to complete and she couldn’t have her boyfriend cling to her like this for the next six or so months. So when he didn’t stop kissing her neck and rubbing her stomach, she feigned being exasperated and once again commented on his antics. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Nope,” he replied quickly, grinning into her neck. His hands gently wrapped around hers and coaxed them to release their hold on the knife and vegetables, and once she did, he turned her around to face him. “I have nothing to do except kiss you and say hi to our little baby badgermole all day long.”

“That baby badgermole is barely a baby right now,” she teased.

“Nonsense. I can tell already.”

“Are you calling me fat??”

“Please Toph. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“That’s not a no, Hotshot.”

He said nothing, but leaned his forehead against hers and swiped his thumb over the small swell in her belly. Normally, such close quarters and cheesy gestures would’ve had Toph complaining until the man stopped, but with Kanto, it was okay. In fact, she enjoyed it. Loved it, even.

His hair tickled her forehead as he stood there with her, leaning on the counter. She could practically feel his mind reeling with thoughts, and one of them he thought aloud. “You can actually feel the heartbeat, huh,” he quietly remarked.

Toph chuckled. “Yeah, ever since Katara said that’s what the echo was, can’t stop hearing it.”

“I wish I could feel it.”

She teasingly clicked her tongue at him. “If you weren’t such a lily-livered earthbender, you probably could.”

“Hey!” he playfully shouted as he wrapped his arms around her, effectively ‘trapping’ her. “Some would say I’m a pretty good earthbender.”

“Pretty good doesn’t cut it with seismic sense, Hotshot.”

He grumbled and buried his face into her neck, and she breathed out a laugh as his towering figure huddled over hers. They stood in their kitchen, content with the silence and the intimate moment they shared with one another. Pretty soon, those moments would be limited, so there was no need to rush. And it was strange how soon things would change. One moment, they were two, the next, they would be three. A change that while they had months to prepare for, would still be rather sudden for the both of them. For that, a wave of apprehension overwhelmed Toph. The idea of motherhood was distant, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be prepared.

It was as if he knew what she was thinking, because he commented on the very same idea.

“Funny,” he began. “A year from today, our lives will be so different. And the year after that will be different, and so will the year after that.”

The comment seemed straightforward, but it left Toph curious. She had only told him last week that she was pregnant, and while he had been ecstatic then, there was that fear in the back of her mind that this wasn’t what he wanted. She swallowed thickly and noted, “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Not at all,” he reassured her quickly. “If anything, it’ll be amazing and perfect. I just mean, it’s crazy what can happen in a year.”

“I suppose,” she pondered.

Toph meant to say more, but she refrained. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of the change, or the weariness she still felt about becoming a mother, or a combination of both. Change could be good, but she feared it wouldn’t be all perfect like he dreamed it would be.

He seemed to be reading her thoughts once again. “Don’t worry,” he began, “I’m going to be with you every step of the way, and you’re going to be a great mother. The very best mama.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, and as quickly as her worries came, they disappeared. Her response, however, was filled with sarcasm and sass for their continued banter. “I feel so much better knowing you’ll be there to hover all day,” she jabbed. “And of course you’re not worried about being a dad. You’ll be a natural.”

“True,” he replied, mimicking Toph’s dramatic tone. “But that’s only because we’re gonna have a baby girl that’s gonna be just like you. And I know you like the back of my hand.”

Toph scoffed. “How do you know that??”

“A father’s intuition.”

“Well, my motherly instincts say it could be a boy. And if he’s anything like you, I know you like the earth beneath my feet.”

“Oh yeah?” he jokingly challenged. “What happens when I pick you up from the ground and you’re not on the earth, huh?”

His hands found her waist and did just that. He lifted her up and set her on the counter, her feet losing the sense of the world around her. Toph laughed at his antics, and he chuckled with her as her legs wrapped around his waist. “I’d hit you until you put me back down,” she threatened, thumping his chest with her knuckle.

Kanto breathed out a laugh. “I suppose I deserve that.”

She smiled at him while his thumbs smoothed out the wrinkles on her shirtfront. Her hands found his face and traced out the marvel and joy etched on it. Things were perfect, even with change looming over them. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem so bad with Kanto around for it, despite what she thought moments ago.

He looked up at her. “I know you’re still worried, but I’m really looking forward to what this year is gonna bring us.”

His heart beat with hers, and his hands were warm and gentle and reassuring, and fear was far from her mind. All she felt was joy and excitement with him.

So she didn’t hesitate to respond, “I’m looking forward to it, too.”

~~~

She dreaded this day. She wanted anything but this day to come.

But the days came and went with the wind, and a year had passed since she felt his heart beat in time with hers, a year since his warm hand was in hers, a year since she heard this deep, calming voice.

She hated today. It reminded her how much things could change in a year.

Toph bitterly chuckled at the thought. He wasn’t wrong when he spoke about change before they had Lin. Change came suddenly and unapologetic. And their lives were so different from a year ago. But they weren’t better. That was apparent.

The memorial itself was a lovely, intimate ceremony with her friends and some close work colleagues in attendance. He would’ve loved it, or, she hoped he would’ve. Out of all the endless conversations they had, death was not one of them.

All the flowers had to be shipped in; Republic City’s bitter winter started to roll in early, and no native flora could withstand the sudden overnight freezes. Still, it was important that the hill had a flowery aroma with the incense. His botany obsessed heart and mind would’ve rattled off all the different types and facts of each flower, and he would’ve spent half the time describing each petal in great detail to Toph.

She insisted that there be at least one panda lily to set by his memorial, and the lengths she went through to have one in bloom in time for today was no small feat. It hung low by her side in one hand, the other occupied with her—their—daughter. Poor Lin didn’t understand the reason behind today. The chilly wind bit at her cheeks, and she sought refuge in the crook of Toph’s neck while she waited for the adults to carry on with whatever kept them outside on this cold, windy afternoon.

Zuko gave the speech. It was lovely, really, but Toph didn’t remember a single word of it. And all the hands and pats to her shoulder and back felt distant; they weren’t his steady hands, and if they weren’t his hands, then she didn’t want their support.

At the end of the formal ceremony, those in attendance dropped a single, unique flower by the memorial portrait. Some took a moment to say something to his picture, others dropped the flower and left. It meant a great deal that so many came to honor him, but truthfully, Toph didn’t care about anyone in attendance. She didn’t care about the number of flowers that dropped to the ground for him. Because in the end, only one mattered, and it wasn’t even hers.

When everyone dropped their flower in honor of him, Toph set Lin down and held onto her hand. Katara handed her the very last flower designated to be placed for him, and Toph gently steered Lin toward the memorial. It took a few moments, but when Toph and Lin arrived at his picture, Toph placed her panda lily on the pile for him, and gave a white chrysanthemum to Lin. She wrapped Lin’s chubby fingers around the stem and gestured toward the flowers.

“Come here, Lin,” Toph prompted, rather shocked that her voice sounded so strong and calm just then. “Give your flower to Daddy.”

At the sound of his name, Lin toddled over to his memorial and the pile of flowers. Her little body crouched down to the level of the pile, and she set hers on top.

Toph pulled Lin into her arms and whispered to her, “Good job, Lin.” She placed a single kiss on Lin’s cheek, and listened as her daughter said, “Dada,” over and over.

She ignored the sting of the breeze as it hit her tear-stained cheeks. “Tell Baba you love him,” she told Lin.

Lin whispered to the wind those words, saying them only loud enough for Toph to hear.

Spirits, she hated all of this. Time moved so slowly each and every day, and yet, here they were, remembering his life because it has been a year since he was alive. She hated that a year had passed, she hated that she still wasn’t over it, she hated that all the things they used to forever memorialize him were things that she couldn’t enjoy to their full extent, and she dreaded the day Lin wouldn’t call for her Baba any longer. Because that day would be sooner than Toph cared to think about.

There were too many people around, now. Toph wanted a moment with her family, no matter how broken it was. But it didn’t feel right to snap at the others and scream at them to leave, so she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until finally, Toph Beifong got her wish. As the crowd disappeared and all who remained were her closest friends, Toph only told them once that she wished to be alone. When they left her alone with Lin and his memorial, and as her friends waited at the bottom of the hill, Toph wept openly for him. For the drastic swerve her life took, for the inevitable reality that she’d spend more time separated from him than they were together, and for the change that the future held for her, because she no longer looked forward to it.

[thinkingisadangerouspastime]

what do you think of aang's comments in "the southern raiders" and what they meant to katara? I watched that episode recently with my sister who dislikes atla, and assessed similar things to what certain people of the fandom are saying: "aang didn't understand her", "aang was pushing his beliefs onto her", "it didn't seem like he knew her", etc. she was more fair than those people of course because she did say it was realistic that he'd be so worried since she recognizes that he does love her.

Honestly those arguments are all,, tired. They’re outdated. They’re boring. They’re wrong. They’re a result of a fundamental misunderstanding of A:TLA canon. This isn’t to say that those who genuinely, truly believe these arguments are terrible people (obviously not lmao), but somewhere along the line they had a seed planted in their mind that posits them to have inherent dislike for Aang. And honestly? I just feel sorry for them, because not understanding and appreciating Aang means their A:TLA experience really can’t be that great. But I digress!

“aang didn’t understand her”

Oh, what’s the post? Right - “Fandom once again forgets that Aang is the sole survivor of genocide.” Aang understands better than anyone else what Katara is going through*. There is a direct parallel between Aang finding Gyatso’s skeleton and Katara finding Kya’s body. I’m not going to sit here and argue which was more traumatizing (literally can’t stand when people do that) because you can’t quantify grief like that, but it cannot be denied that Aang has experienced something incredibly similar to what Katara has gone through: the loss of a close parental figure followed by finding said parent’s corpse. Not only that, but Aang and Katara both share a unique sense of helplessness intertwined with their grief regarding their parental figures’ deaths. For Katara, there are the questions of:

- what if I wasn’t a waterbender

- what if I had run a little faster

- what if I had fought against Yon Rha back then

All leading to “Could I have saved her?” For Aang, there are the questions of:

- what if I wasn’t the Avatar

- what if I hadn’t run away

- what if I had stayed to fight the Fire Nation back then

All leading to “Could I have saved him?” Both of them feel incredibly guilty on a personal level about the death of their parental figures, thus blaming themselves. Katara tries to push it off onto Zuko/the Fire Nation and Aang tries to suppress it entirely, but ultimately it is revealed how closely they hold responsibility to their chests. For Aang, it comes out in “The Storm.” For Katara, it comes out in “The Southern Raiders.” So, bullshit that Aang doesn’t understand Katara! He understands her grief better than anyone.

Also, many, many people have gone into this before, but Aang’s example of Appa being stolen was not callous/rude/etc. Appa was the last living piece of his culture. Appa is not “just a pet.” People who insist so are the actual ones being callous, not Aang. And, as Aang himself says, “How do you think I felt about the Fire Nation when I found out what happened to my people?” Aang has experienced more hurt at the hands of the Fire Nation than anyone. There’s a great meta here that delves into Aang’s experiences as the sole survivor of genocide. I don’t understand how someone could acknowledge all that Aang has lost (read: he has lost everything) and then argue that he doesn’t understand Katara’s pain. Like, what? Do you have no sense of empathy?

But most importantly, from Katara herself: “Thanks for understanding, Aang.” She says this after her initial dismissal of him. So take it from the source, my friend - Katara believed Aang understood her. Who are we to argue?

*The only exception perhaps being Sokka, since Kya was indeed his mother, too, but it is worth noting that Sokka did not have the same experience of seeing Kya’s dead body or feeling the intense self-blame that Katara did.

“aang was pushing his beliefs onto her”

It is SO funny how those SAME people have NO problem with everyone in the Gaang telling Aang to kill Ozai the finale! Y’know, when they were disregarding the pacifistic beliefs of his people in exchange for emphasizing their, ahem, more aggressive ones? SO funny! I’m laughing SO hard right now!

Heavy sarcasm, in case it wasn’t obvious. They’re hypocrites and they know it.

But, more importantly, Aang was not pushing his beliefs onto her? At all?? Tell me where in the episode Aang:

- refused to let Katara go after Yon Rha

- told Katara what she was doing was wrong

- told Katara that HE was right and that SHE needed to listen to HIM

Here’s the thing: none of that ever happened! Not only does Aang accept that Katara needs to go (see: “I wasn’t planning to [stop you]. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man.”), but he allows her to take Appa on her journey. Appa, the last living piece of his culture. Aang has incredible trust in Katara, and his choice to send Appa with her (essentially sending a piece of himself with her) demonstrates this fact clearly. That should end the discussion point blank, but I guess I’ll break down the lines people seem to have issues with:

1) “It’s okay, because I forgive you. [Pauses.] That give you any ideas?”

Honestly, the criticism this line gets is laughable to me. People use it to argue that Aang was being disrespectful to Katara’s feelings and?? I hate to break it to them, but you HAVE to look at the context a line is in if you’re going to judge it. That is Analysis 101: Context is Everything. This moment is used to break tension. That type of scenario is an entire literary trope, okay? A:TLA did not invent it! Shakespeare literally did it in Romeo and Juliet when he had Peter argue with musicians about something stupid after Juliet’s “death.” The whole point is to break tension before more serious scenes. In R&J, it is before the lovers kill themselves, and in A:TLA, it is before Katara leaves with Zuko to confront Yon Rha. That’s why there’s another moment just like it at the end of that scene! Y’know, Sokka asking to borrow Momo for no reason? It breaks tension! It’s a moment of respite before weighty scenes! It’s incredibly common in every form of media! This is what no Humanities classes did to some of y’all, I swear to God. So yeah, Aang was not disrespecting Katara’s feelings with this. It’s just a tension-breaker. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news for those who devoutly believed it was a sign of Aang being a Horrible Person. You were wrong, ain’t no big thing, go drink some water and stay hydrated okay darlings?

2) “I don’t think so. I think it’s about getting revenge.”

Um, a major point of “The Southern Raiders” is that Aang was right about Katara’s initial drive to face Yon Rha? It was a quest for revenge? Katara literally bloodbends, an ability she was forced to learn and essentially feels cursed to bear? Also, nowhere here does Aang tell Katara she was a horrible person for feeling angry and wanting revenge. He simply brings her attention to the reality that what she’s currently seeking is revenge. He’s worried about her. She’s his best friend! He loves her! He doesn’t want her to kill Yon Rha because he knows that for Katara to have blood on her hands from a revenge quest would hurt her tremendously. (As a matter of fact, the audience knows - or should know - this, too.) So, sorry that Aang expresses concern for her? Apparently not wanting your best friend to murder someone is forcing your beliefs onto them? Damn. Y’all are harsh these days.

3) “The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you’re being poisoned yourself.” // “Katara, you do have a choice: forgiveness.” // “No, it’s not. It's easy to do nothing, but it’s hard to forgive.” // “But when you do, please don’t choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.”

I put all the forgiveness quotes together since people tend to complain about them as a whole. But like,, I really don’t see how this is Aang forcing his beliefs onto her? He asks her to choose forgiveness. And just speaking plainly: on an emotional level, it is better for someone to forgive than to murder. Killing someone is not easy, even if you hate that person with every bone in your body, and it will mentally scar whomever does it. Y’all know this! It’s obvious! I shouldn’t have to say it! But Aang knows this, too, and thus he doesn’t want to see Katara kill Yon Rha and perhaps kill a part of herself in the process. Katara is not a killer. I’m not arguing about whether she could have or even if she wanted to, because you know what, she admits she was tempted, but Katara is not a killer. An FMA quote is very fitting here:

“Your hands weren’t meant to kill. They were meant to give life.”

Why should Katara have to live with a man’s murder on her conscience, especially when his death would be a result of fruitless revenge? The answer is simple: she shouldn’t, and Aang doesn’t want her to. Katara is a warrior. A healer. A leader. A friend. But not a killer.

Anyways. Back to my point: Aang is not forcing his beliefs onto her here. He’s offering her another option, the option she ends up choosing, albeit she extends forgiveness to Zuko instead. And Prince Holier-Than-Thou (jk love you Zuzu) acknowledges it himself: “You [Aang] were right about what Katara needed.” Aang didn’t force anything on Katara here. He reminded her of her choices, he reminded her about the consequences of revenge, and he reminded her about the value of forgiveness. Never once did he tell her she had to forgive Yon Rha or else. And when it came down to it, he stepped aside, and he let her go, because he knew this was a journey she needed to take. So… He actually did the exact opposite of forcing his beliefs onto her! He respected her feelings and let her make her own decision! Seriously, how many pairs of anti-Aang goggles do people have to wear to genuinely believe otherwise??

“it didn't seem like he knew her”

Ohhhhhh my God this is SO close to one of the actual points of the episode! So close!! It’s not that Aang didn’t know her; it’s that Katara wasn’t acting like herself. I’ve talked about it before here and here, but Katara was incredibly consumed by her emotions in “The Southern Raiders.” It’s why she ignores Zuko the entire time before they leave on Appa! It’s why she makes that callous comment to Sokka about their mother that we know she never would have made normally! She is drowning in grief about her mother’s absence, guilt regarding her mother’s death, and anger about Zuko (she still does not trust him, and yet he can lead her to her mother’s killer; I don’t know about y’all, but that is really freaking difficult to reconcile). So when Aang compares her to Jet, it’s not a far-off description. She is acting like Jet, because she’s consumed by grief and hurt and anger and she’s not acting like herself. It is instrumental, too, that Katara isn’t acting like herself, because it makes her decision not to pursue revenge and instead offer a second third chance to Zuko even more profound. “I’m proud of you,” Aang tells her, and damn! The audience is, too! I was incredibly proud of her for finding her way out of what can be a bottomless spiral for some people. So again, it wasn’t that Aang didn’t know her. It was that Katara wasn’t acting like herself (I guess meaning… no one knew her?).

In conclusion, literally all of these anti-Aang arguments regarding TSR are exhausting and so easily disprovable. The fact that they somehow manage to live on is evidence that people just want excuses to hate Aang, plain and simple. Like, it’s so easy to just say you don’t vibe with his character? You don’t have to pull BS excuses to “justify” it? I don’t vibe with Ty Lee as much as I do other characters (although I have recently grown much more fond of her; bless the Renaissance for more Mailee content, even if some of it is just a Zukka byproduct), but y’all don’t see me twisting her sacrifice in “Boiling Rock” to make it seem like it was selfish or something (mostly because, spoiler alert, it wasn’t). Like, you can say Aang isn’t your favorite and move on instead of using the same boring rhetoric over and over and over that just makes it look like you lack critical thinking. :/

TL;DR - Aang’s comments to Katara in “The Southern Raiders” came from a place of concern. A place of wisdom. A place of love. And honestly? I think Katara realizes this, and she’s grateful to him all the more for it.

[shafverani]

Lethal Embrace - James “Bucky” Barnes & Y/N Reader!

Part 2

Note: This is my first time writing anything! Your positive feedback and constructive criticism is welcome! Inspiration: Just a few girls chatting about Bucky being a mob boss in a Sebastian Stan chat. Word count: 1628 Hope you all enjoy, please leave a comment, it helps me to write :) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2

The next morning was here faster than you had imagines, you alarm had been ringing for the past 1 hour and you kept hitting the snooze button. It was 8:30 am now and if you hit the snooze button one more time, you knew you’d be late to work. With all the strength in you, you lifted off the covers and got into the shower to get ready for your day. Paring a white shirt with black pencil skirt, you did you makeup and headed out for the day.

You reached your office at 9:30 and made your way to your room, you knew you had a meeting with your boss today at noon to discuss how you were going to get access into Bucky’s day to day life. as your day progressed and you made your way to meet your boss in the conference room, you were met with a surprise. The James “Bucky” Barnes in flesh sitting in the conference room next to your boss discussing something. You made your way in and sat across from the 2 men, you could swear you felt Bucky’s eyes move up your body as if he was checking you out, but you didn’t dwell on it.

 *Bucky’s POV”

As soon as I laid my eyes on her, memories of that one night came flooding back to my mind, I remembered how she was so close to me yet so far away, when she had hugged me, it was like as if I was finally breathing again. That was the night I had sworn to myself that I would protect her with my life no matter what, I would always keep an eye out for her. I had found out everything about her, her name, her job, her family history, everything that there was to know about her I knew, and that’s why when Draco came to me with a proposal of his magazine wanting to do a piece on my life, I had specifically asked for Y/N. Draco couldn’t say no to me, after all I was the mob boss of the city, and saying no meant asking for unnecessary trouble.

As Y/N walked into the conference room, I looked at her from head to toe, taking in every minute detail of her, the way her hair was tied up in a messy bun with a pencil keeping everything from falling over, having a few strands surround her face. Her hands filled with papers, or rather the research that she had done on me. The way the white shirt fit her curves well, with the first two button open giving me just a slight view of her cleavage. Her skirt was well fitted around her bottom, hugging her curves in all the perfect way. In that moment all I wanted to do was take her right then and there on the conference table. I wanted to run my hands over every inch of her body, kiss her till she could see the stars and just fuck her senseless till she begged for my mercy, and once I was done, I would make her feel like the queen she was, I wanted to make love to her, cuddle her, protect her with every fiber of my being. I was amazed at myself for thinking all those things about her, never had a woman in my life made me feel the way Y/N did. I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on what Draco was saying and paid attention to the meeting at hand.

*End of Bucky’s POV*

 You sat right in front of Bucky, surprised to see him here, it was like as if cat caught your tongue, Draco saw Bucky shift in his chair as you made your way towards the table, he let it slide by him, thinking it was nothing. Bucky kept his steady gaze on you, while you sorted out your papers to get started with today’s meeting and avoiding Bucky’s stern gaze on you.

Before you could get started with your presentation for both Bucky and Draco, Bucky looked over at Draco and said, “the answer is yes, she gets to observe my day-to-day life, but I have one condition, since she wants to be a part of my everyday life, she needs to move into my mansion starting tomorrow”. Both Draco and you were dumb founded, your mouth hung open, you had not expected Bucky to just say yes so easily, without you even trying to persuade him, you thought maybe Draco had already spoken to him. All you could do was stare at Bucky. Bucky looked at you and gave his signature smirk. He knew what he was doing, those blue eyes and that smirk made you weak in the knees and made your stomach flip 10 times. You knew he wanted something, that smirk said it all.

*Y/N POV*

MOVING INTO HIS MANSION that one phrase had multiple light bulbs go on in your head, there was no way you would move into this man’s mansion. You hardly knew him, let alone the fact he was the most dangerous man of the city. It wasn’t that you were scared of him, after your encounter with him 2 months ago, you felt everything but scared of Bucky Barnes, but moving in with him was a big step that you were not prepared for and you had to make him aware of that.

“I am not moving in your mansion, Mr. Barnes”.

“Oh doll, if you don’t move in, I’m afraid this deal is over, the choice is yours.”

Oh this cocky son of a bitch, he knew this deal meant everything to you, it was your step to climb the ladder of success and there was no way you could blow this away. You turned your head to face Draco, hoping he would rescue you out of this mess, only to have him give you the look of a helpless man, he had a sorry emotion written all over his features. Draco spoke,

“Mr. Barnes may Ms. Y/N and I be excused for a few moments?”

Bucky kept his gaze on you, noticing your every single movement, without averting his gaze from you, he spoke, “Draco, you and I both know that is my final word, you have to make Miss Y/N here understand that, you know what this deal means for your company, it’s a take or leave it chance and I give you 5 mins to make your decision”.

You stood up and made your out of the conference room, Bucky’s eyes following your every move, its like his gaze would burn right through you, it was as if he could feel every single emotion that was going on inside your head. Walking out of the conference room, you knew you had no choice but to say yes to this cocky son of a bitch, otherwise you would go back to being a mere journalist in this office who was hardly noticed by anyone, but you couldn’t let Bucky know that you would give in so easily, specially when he was noticing your every move, you had to put up a fight for yourself.

You tried to make reasonable arguments with Draco, but you knew it was not going anywhere, your time was running short, and you had to go back into the conference room and say Yes to him. You looked back at Bucky, there was amusement adorning his features, like he was having fun making you go through this and right then and there you knew you were in trouble, Bucky Barnes is going to create a havoc in your life and turn your life upside down and the worse part was, there was no way you could stop him from doing so.

You walked back into the conference room and without looking at Bucky, you said, “The answer is yes, Mr. Barnes, I will move into your mansion, but I have some terms and conditions” to which Bucky replies, “Doll, don’t worry, all your terms and conditions will be met, see you tomorrow morning, I shall send a car to pick you up in the morning.” He got up from his chair and walked towards Draco, shook his hand and was about to leave the conference room, when Draco spoke and said’ “Y/N, could you please escort Mr. Barnes to his car”? you hated every bit of this, but you couldn’t do anything, instead you looked up at Draco and replied, “with pleasure.” Sarcasm lacing every single word you spoke.

Bucky and you walked together towards his car, as you reached the entrance, he leaned in and whispered; “no hug for me today doll, the last I remember you couldn’t keep yourself away from my arms”. You looked at him and all you wanted to do was wipe that smirk off his face, but him being so close to you, made your heartbeat go wild, those blue stormy eyes made you get lost in them and you couldn’t form a sentence. Bucky caught you dumbfounded and smirked, this brought you back to reality and you replied saying; “Those times were different Mr. Barnes.” Bucky just smiled and leaned back down and said, “See you tomorrow Y/n and don’t bother bringing any of your clothes with you”. Suddenly jerking away from him, you looked up and before you open your mouth, he finished his sentence saying, “I’ll have your wardrobe set up for you, remember its my house, my rules”. With a wink, he got into his car and drove away, leaving you all flustered with a shiver running down your spine and a pit in your stomach.

Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of Y/FN Y/LN.

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[antihero-writings]

If These Walls Could Talk (Ch7)

(^^ Art commissioned from Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!!)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: Hey all! I am SO sorry this chapter took so long to come out. My perfectionism really got the best of me with this chapter. But I saw that S4 was on its way and that really lit a fire under my butt because I really do want to post my season 3 chapter before s4 comes out. I’m highly doubt I’ll accomplish it as it almost always takes me longer than I have to get a chapter out, let alone two, but I'll try, at least.

I really really hope you enjoy it!! If you enjoy this chapter, please please consider commenting. I assure you it’ll be more likely I’ll post the next chapter faster the more people comment on this showing you still enjoy this fic. Each comment is a little shot of energy and motivation for me.

Important! This chapter is meant to have aesthetic indentation in some places. So if you want to read it as-intended, please look it at on Archiveofourown at I_prefer_the_term_antihero on your computer or tablet!!

If you get here and are thinking “Wait, what was this fic about? What were the main themes?” then this would be a good time to reread/skim back through the earlier chapters. This is the climax of the fic and will (hopefully) be more impactful the more you remember about the rest of the fic and its many themes.

Chapter Summary:

"Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my Mother no more!" "How? How—How is it that I've been so defeated?" "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love." "Ha—Ah... Sarcasm. 'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26, I believe. "Tell me. What—What were Lisa's last words?" "She said 'Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, then at least do them no harm. For theirs is already a hard lot'. She also said to tell you that she would love you for all of eternity." "Lisa, forgive me. Farewell my son."

Chapter 7: “Heart”

Hey there, Sunshine, the Room adds with a smile.

The Room forgot the sweet tang of breath. How gentle, how vicious. Like honey, like relief, like a cozy blanket and a fireplace. It came in great, gulping gasps, and living was painful after such long breathlessness, but hurt far less than being half dead.

The Room rushes to Castlevania, shaking it, saying, Open your eyes! Open your eyes! It’s Adrian. It’s our boy. My master. My sunlight. And Castlevania limply flickers open its eyes, for it cannot help but obey.

Obey to see the golden man standing in its doorway.

And it feels a jolt of warmth in its broken chest.

Alucard has returned home. He arrives at the doorstep with resolve in his closed fists and a sword on his tongue. The threat to the war they all knew he would be, and the Room promised it would rear him to be.

But he isn’t alone this time.

There are two humans by his side. One with fire in her fists—quite literally—the other with a barbed tongue at his hip.

Castlevania recognizes a crest on the clothing of one of them, gold and proud: The Belmonts. The ones who came with whips and scourges to defeat its master long ago. The ones whom Dracula and his Castle were bound together against in their undead war. The ones whom Dracula trusted his Castle to protect him from. The owner of the hold now beneath Castlevania. He has come to defeat its master like the rest…but this time the boy is by his side, and for that reason, the Castlevania is unsure how this will end.

“I terrify them,” the Belmont explains the plan, “Sypha disorients them, Alucard goes over the top and we support him.”

“Yes.” The Speaker confirms.

Alucard holds his sword out horizontally in front of him, unsheathes it, and speaks:

“Begin.”

Alucard is with the Belmont.

And Castlevania knows when it sees them, the fire in their eyes, that they are the intent that brought it here. That they have indeed come to kill its master once and for all. It had wished when the boy returned, it would be with the promise of hope. But there is no promise of life and the sparing of it this time.

They bring death inside with them; the war room is filled with war, blood and burns on its floors, but it is different this time, because this is not an ambiance, a continuation, a fact of life, it is a swift and fatal kiss—the end they said he would bring, once. The blood is rotten on the floors, but it doesn’t itch or burn. And the boy uses those techniques his father taught him on brighter nights about turning into things with teeth, and the ones his mother once taught him on sunnier days about how to make metal listen.

They did not bring life inside this time, not life of the same kind at least. The war, the death, has followed and swallowed them too, but not in the same way it has its master. They are not bloodthirsty. The cold the dark and the death are merely clothes they wear, they have not reached the deepest parts of them; there are still light-starved Rooms in their hearts waiting to breathe.

There is a song at their heels as they dance in rings of fire, with the wind and the moon, upon the blood and water Castlevania isn’t sure will come out of the carpet. It is a song that is all too familiar. It has been played here before, when other, more, less, holy Belmonts barged in long ago. A song of blood and tears.

Bloody tears its master cried once, for his wife when he realized they had taken something that could not be borrowed, bartered, or souled.

They’re bringing an end to the strife, and all the undead lives that facilitated it, and vice versa. They are cutting the puppet strings, and not all puppets can live without them.

Isaac fights the nameless soldiers on the staircase for its master…until he sees someone who is far from nameless.

Isaac’s reddened eyes meet Alucard’s golden ones. Alucard’s sword aims at him, but it hits the deadened flesh of the nameless instead.

Isaac runs to tell its master—Dracula, busy ripping out the heart of a nameless—who’s here; that his sun has returned, and at his side is magic and might.

Dracula knows the prophecy.

He’s willing to die—Issac. He stands before Dracula, his form barely able to shield three-quarters of Dracula’s, willing to give his feeble human life for Dracula’s indefinite undead one. He believes knowledge and will are more important than the blood of a good man. He believes in love, and loyalty is love of a sort. And it is Castlevania’s understanding that when someone is willing to live for something, they are also willing to die for it. This is the noblest of causes.

“You are the greatest of your people, Isaac. You have a soul, I think.” As Dracula says the words, he raises his hand, and the mirror shards behind them begin to rise. “Perhaps that is more valuable to the world to come than a dusty collection of books and apparatus.”

Lisa looks on from the portrait, and Castlevania thinks it is a look of pride. She always did stand for saving human lives rather than destroying them. Isn’t it funny that in what will perhaps be the deciding battle of this war, the one where his goals should possess him stronger than ever, it is the human who he values more than himself?

“Or perhaps you simply deserve a better fate than to die instead of me.”

“I choose my death, as I chose my life.” The words are stronger than iron.

“Then I regret only that I have taken a choice for you.” A hand at his shoulder.

Dracula throws him halfway across the world, to the kind of place Isaac was born in, and the kind of place Isaac least wants to die in.

Isaac believes in love. And it is for this reason, this belief, that Vlad saves his life, Castlevania knows. Saves his life, by denying the choice he so desperately wanted to make—perhaps his whole life—and had no regrets or apprehensions about making, rather a lot more in being kept alive.

And when the mirror shatters and falls, his son is standing there, like he did a year ago, though this time he is not backed by sunlight. The only light in the room is the fire glinting in his eyes.

A pause. To remember the dead.

“Father.”

A word. To remember the living.

“Son.”

This should be a reunion, perhaps. Better people would think they should happily hug each other, and say they missed each other, and that they love each other all the same. Better people would say that the sunlight should plead with the dark to come back into its embrace. All the sinners know there was no chance of that the moment Dracula scrawled fate on his son’s skin with his own claws.

Instead, there is nothing but bitter, fighting words:

“Your war is over.”

Dracula tilts his head to the side. “Because you say so?”

“It ends.” Alucard looks at his sword, the one she taught him how to use. “In the name of my mother.”

Dracula looks at his son, the one she gave him. “It endures in the name of your mother.”

“I told you before I won’t let you do it.” Alucard’s voice is so soft, yet solid and unwavering. There is no anger, but he will not step aside. Not this time. Even when the claws come. “I grieve with you…but I won’t let you commit genocide.”

“You couldn’t stop me before.” Dark assurance in soft words.

Footsteps. A cue to the magic and the hunt behind the curtain, who step out on either side of him.

“I was alone before.”

And Castlevania understands. Understands that they are not here to talk things out. Understands that they are not here to save Dracula, to appeal to the good in him, as Lisa once had, and the Room once thought. Castlevania itself even hoped, when the boy returned, the song would be a bit more inspirational. But, beaten and broken and bloody, Castlevania understands now, if Alucard stands with the intent, if Alucard brought a Belmont—

Then they do not believe there is a chance. They are not here then, to talk him out of it. They are here to halt this war in its tracks, make it rear up, lose its balance, and fall.

—(And Castlevania knows, deep down, that to do this… they must end something else)—

Alucard is bringing back the sunlight. But there is only one way he can do that, and goodnight is not quiet.

And make no mistake he does intend to bring the full, the warm, the life, and the light back, just like Castlevania and the Room wanted. But there is too much cold, dark, death, and emptiness here to do this quietly. They are here to kill Dracula—the master now puppeteered by Death’s strings rather than his own soul.

The Speaker raises her fingers to her lips as if to say a prayer, or perhaps take a heavenly name in vain for the sake of a little silence. The Belmont’s whip clinks in his hand. Alucard’s sword sings as he raises it.

Alucard drives it towards his father: a bolt of golden lightning through the room, pinning him against the fireplace as books fall to the floor. Castlevania, wincing at the pain, knows that will bruise in the morning.

The picture of his mother cracks and falls, as if she has to close her eyes for this.

Alucard, growling with fierce resolve, pushing the sword into him with all his might. But Dracula has the sword in his hand, rather than his heart. He steps calmly forward, barely having to use any of his strength to combat so much of his son’s, as if he’s about to tell him to put the toy away.

A glint of golden eyes. Alucard pulls back the sword. A slash. Two. Three.

Dracula raises his arm as if to knock the sword from his shoulder.

Instead he bashes his son’s head into the fireplace—and Castlevania cries out at the feeling, feeling its stomach burn.

The Speaker and the Belmont ready for a fight. The floor splinters—(Castlevania grimaces, tasting blood)—as Dracula flashes through the room, and pins the Belmont into the hall, against the wall, sending his sword out of his hand. He keels over onto his hands to cough up blood, the puddle crawling on Castlevania’s skin.

Castlevania never had any qualms with the blood of Belmonts on its floors before, so this hurts less, but this is different, and Castlevania still wonders if Dracula could be a little gentler with his Castle.

A flash of light at his side. He raises his cloak as the Speaker sends tongues and teeth of fire at him.

“Speaker magician!” Its master realizes.

He rushes at her, knocking her hand out of position. She creates an ice shard before her with the other.

He scratches up with a claw, sending her flying with the broken pieces towards the ceiling, and angry gashes appear on her arm as she rolls along the floor.

“Sypha!” The Belmont calls.

He must love her in some way, because in a fit of some sort of emotion—instead of picking up his sword—the Belmont uses his fists. They probably haven’t failed him before. But this is Dracula, and his punches don’t cause the king to so much as flinch.

“You must be the Belmont.”

Castlevania laughs a little at the words; it too thought the method was rather common of his line.

It’s Dracula’s turn, and his punch doesn’t just cause the Belmont to flinch, the sound is as if he hit rock, sending him into the air with the force. He doesn’t give him a second to breathe, rather reaches his claw is around the human’s neck, holding him there.

He raises his other claw level—a blade, more trustworthy than any.

“The end of your line.”

Before he can make these words true, another blade stops him: his son’s, driving itself through both his arms.

While he is pinned the Speaker, knowing this is an opportunity she will not get again, rushes forward—still bleeding, mind—a bead of fire between her fingers. Dracula cannot move to protect himself, and the magician, knowing this, lets the fire loose to lick his face raw.

Dracula drops the Belmont, attempting to get away, deciding his own life takes precedence, but it is hard to get away when your hands are tied together with metal.

The Speaker, seeing that her fire is about to hit Alucard, falters. And in that moment Dracula wrenches his arm off of the blade and uses it to knock her down, before sending his other fist into his son, who goes flying along with his sword hitting the wall. This one may not be so hard as to bruise, but, with everything aching and breaking, the smallest tap hurts Castlevania.

The Belmont pulls a blade of bone from his back-belt, and as Dracula turns he drives it into his chest.

It’s not close enough to his heart, but red distaste fills Dracula’s eyes. He thought this was a game, but they have some amount of ability, and he may have underestimated them. As Alucard and the magician get up he attempts to grab at the Belmont in quick motions, but he has some skill in dodging.

The Speaker rips off her shirt and cauterizes her wound as the Belmont and Dracula dance in the hallway, neither weapon hitting flesh.

Dracula sees the Speaker’s intent over his shoulder, and as the Belmont lunges at him grabs his arm and throws him into her, stopping both their attacks. An effective move, if Castlevania does say so itself.

Alucard sees his opening and rushes forward, pinning his father to the wall, which shatters behind them with a painful lurch.

Dracula puts his hands together and brings them down over his son’s head with such force the floor cracks.

And Castlevania coughs blood.

Alucard pushes his arms away and slaps both sides of his face, getting a grunt this time. Dracula sends him back with such force it almost seems like a shockwave, creating wind and smoke curling around them all.

The Speaker roots him in place by sending ice spears into his leg. The Belmont clears the smoke by spinning his whip, before creating more by sending that whip—the one he fed the vampires that didn’t agree with their compositions—sizzling into Dracula’s chest. There’s an explosion to be sure—a rather big one—but after the smoke dissipates, and a wait with bated breath, Dracula is still standing just as he was before—as Castlevania knew he would—like all he threw at him were words.

…At least at first, to show he isn’t taken down so easily. He does fall to his hands thereafter.

“The Morningstar whip.” The words are scratches in the carpet. “Well played, Belmont. But I am no ordinary vampire to be killed by your human magics.” The words sizzle on his tongue. “I am Vlad Dracula Tepes,” he crosses his arms with purpose. “and I have had ENOUGH!”

His voice is a shockwave of its own across the sea of stone and bone. He sweeps his hands to the sides, his cloak rising like wings as he floats into the air, and creates a ball of magma: the cheat that will end the game. He was going easy on them until now.

It rumbles towards them, eating the carpet as it goes—and Castlevania can feel the burning in its chest. The Belmont’s eyes widen with fear at last. The Speaker rises to the occasion without hesitation, and holds out her hands to stop it with the force of her magic. It’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure: at first she succeeds, but, though it may be slowing, it isn’t stopping, and her feet are slipping. The Belmont puts his back to hers, as any good friend and comrade would. Alucard phases in front of them, the burning wind rushing against his face. He calls his sword, which sings as it reaches his hand, poises it, and drives the point into the magma ball.

They each fight with all their might, the Belmont and the speaker begins to grunt with the weight of it. The ball gives a falter their way, and Castlevania is sure even three cannot match Dracula’s strength, but the Speaker gives a final push, which gives Alucard just the right amount of momentum to drive it back toward his father, who is as caught off guard by the display as Castlevania is. He needs no sword or magic to stop it, however, and puts his hands out to hold it. Gold and red push against each other, until Alucard gives a deciding motion, then another, another, each chipping away at the ball until the sword goes flying and it’s just Alucard’s arm against Dracula’s throat, and their momentum creates a sizzling tunnel in the wall.

Castlevania may not know what guns are, but it knows what it feels like to be shot.

The two burst into the library, shattering the already shattered mirror.

It was so quiet in here. Must they sully the silence with the sound of strife? They read here, once. Sometimes alone, sometimes to each other. Whispered to each other of history and mystery.

Dracula lands on the floor and Alucard floats above him in the room in which he once stood on his level and told his father calmly he wouldn’t stand for genocide.

There’s anger in his eyes now.

Dracula hisses, then gives a war cry, and the two allow their hungry fists to attempt to devour each other as best they can in the air, red and gold flashing.

The Belmont picks up a sword in the other room and, deciding it’d be best not to follow them through the tunnel—(Castlevania is glad for that decision. The wound is still raw and would more than likely sting tremendously if they walked on it)—he and the Speaker run up the stairs to follow them.

They’re on the floor now and their punches fly like starlings—their duel reflected in the shards of mirror fluttering, jittering about, ever awaiting their command, as if attempting to tap their shoulders and ask what they should do, and why they are hurting each other—until they are hitting the bookshelves they once were gentle with—lest the pages rip and the silence tear—the ones they once smiled and discussed philosophy beside.

Castlevania’s head aches, nausea in the back of its throat.

A smiling boy and his father handing him another book, saying if he liked the first he’d like the second too, are all but gone now.

Dracula throws Alucard into the ceiling, and enters the room above with an unearthly sound, in an unearthly way: only his cloak is visible, moving like slime. As his hungry footsteps lick the floor behind him, Alucard is heaving on his side that same floor, his hair falling across his face. He turns around, fear coating the sound he makes as he, without his sword, grabs the nearest block of wood that happens to have a point on the end.

Dracula laughs, like they’re playing a game—(they did once, do they remember? Humans and monsters. Sometimes there were princes, and knights, or pirates. Even a princess or two. And the wolves and the bats were free in the night wind)—and stops.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.” Alucard murmurs, turning around with some difficulty.

“What?” Dracula chuckles, still with that put-the-toys-away intonation.

“You didn’t kill me before.” Alucard breathes. “You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.” The look in his eyes is almost crazed.

“DO I?!” The tone is almost crazed in response, the nonchalant edge gone, the words resounding with power and grief.

Alucard scrambles away like an animal, causing Dracula to punch the floor instead of his head—Castlevania’s body lurches. It feels a gentle touch at its chin, someone trying to wipe the blood off perhaps.

“You died when my mother died. You know you did.” He reasons as Dracula’s breathing gains weight. “This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

Castlevania jerks its head up, eyes wide at these words.

And Castlevania understands.

The cold, the dark, the empty, the death. They all make sense now.

Alucard rushes at him, Dracula knocks the stake out of Alucard’s hand with ease, but, in a moment of extreme dexterity, Alucard manages to grab it from the air and drive it into his chest still. The look in his eyes is almost pleading, like he’s going to ask “Daddy did I do a good job? Did I do it right? I’ve gotten better at fighting haven’t I?”

“Not quite close enough.” There is a gurgling quality to Dracula’s enunciation.

No more playing.

He shoves Alucard so hard its into the next room.

Castlevania keels over onto the floor, it’s stomach aching and prickling.

Dracula pulls the stake out and heaves before rushing after.

Floors below the magician and the Belmont can hear them, and are trying their best to catch up, to have a say in this fight.

But Castlevania isn’t sure they have much chance of that, as they are flashing through the halls now, Alucard, a foot off the ground, zig-zagging between the walls in the narrow hall as Dracula keeps punching bloodless stone—

—(The stone may be bloodless, but god this hurts)—

Until Alucard punches him back, sending them into a room, a bedroom—(but not that one)—and the room is a pile of rubble with just that. And Castlevania can feel the splinters. That furniture was nice.

Dracula grabs Alucard’s face and shoves him into the dining room, pinning him to the table like he’ll eat him too if they’re not careful, and those chairs were perfectly nice too—

And Castlevania sees a little boy waiting at the table for his birthday surprise, and his father pulling out a burned cake, and his mother laughing. There was no fear then. Though its master was a creature of blood it never thirsted for theirs, and they knew this full well. Can they see it too? Why would they destroy this room if they did? Why would they destroy each other if they did? Are they even the same creatures as those in the memory?

At this point Castlevania is pretty sure they broke a few of its ribs.

Alucard kicks his face and gets on the table on all fours, rushing him into the next room still.

Castlevania’s bleeding, broken heart skips a beat. Surely they must have broken a few ribs, for how else could they get into Castlevania’s heart? The control room, where its gears still lie dripping, glowing as orange as a brand, once beating organs now blazing stalactites.

They punch each other along the platform, Dracula’s cloak whipping about, like a cat’s fur trying to make him look bigger and scarier.

They are framed in the paneless window—those bones have been all but broken too now. The frame where the picture—that is to say, the die—no longer sits. For Castlevania’s heart didn’t just break, it was destroyed when they brought it to this place, the place where its enemies once lived, and still stand today.

—(So why can Castlevania still feel it beat?)—

In the frame now is moon drunk on blood, a night soaked in tears—and the wind whispers to their cloaks, bidding them to whip around them.

Dracula draws in a hissing breath.

Alucard stands tall, his eyes aglow, gold melting into something new in this forge, his hair whipping about him as he raises his fist yet again.

They are getting tired. Their snarls have a weakened quality to them now.

—Can they see the father and son in this room, the father teaching his son that his Castle is special?—

But instead of just punching him, Alucard teleports beside his father, hitting his shoulder, sending a gust of wind to his face, then teleports around the room to send his fist into him over and over, from every possible angle, and some of his kick-offs create cracks in the already breaking bindings of the room.

It feels like pins and needles, but it’s okay. It’s okay.

Why?

Dracula’s grits his teeth, sharp as ever, his eyes alight with bloody determination, his hair playing about this gaze. To end it, on the next hit he grabs his face, shoving him by it onto the stone platform. He shoves him once, twice, a third, the metal cracking, the metal creaking—

Castlevania’s gut lurches, and it can taste bile and iron at the back of its throat, and it’s hard to breathe.

Then its master raises Alucard back up, holds him by the face in the air a moment, and punches him with such force he is blown across the length of the platform and through the thick stone wall into the next room—

And Castlevania vomits blood.

Dracula bolts after him, the dust creating patterns in his wake—and Castlevania could gaze in the clouds if it weren’t for whoever’s trying to slap it awake.

Alucard coughs, and it sounded deep.

Its master is nothing human now. There’s a growl in his throat as he marches towards him, and another cough in Alucard’s as he struggles to stand.

Another punch, but this one is not fast like the rest, nor is it blocked. Alucard tries to stand up, to rush towards him, but he is getting tired, and Dracula hits him again. Another growl. Alucard takes a single step back, soft against the floors. An exhale. Another of both, and as Dracula raises his fist the murmur—plea?—on his son’s lips sounds a lot like “Father,” as if he’s reached his limit, and has to stop the game.

It’s too late to hit quit now.

The vampire king doesn’t grant the plea—or perhaps even hear it; with a belabored punch he sends him into the next Room, rolling this time, instead of flying, the contents of the Room staying in tact…all except the bed, which catches the boy.

The next Room. But this one is not like the rest. It is not just a room.

This one breathes.

A gasp, another growl, a scratch against the wall, and—

Castlevania burned today in this bloody fight, on this bloody night. Its skin, its legs. Even its heart broke.

Castlevania. The thing that Vlad Tepes brought to life with a little bit of lightning, several gears, and a few words. No magic words, just words: the ones he spoke on lonely nights to the walls about how he’d like to be something more than ruthless.

Castlevania did everything it could. It lies burned and broken and unable to fight now because of it.

But none of that burned half as much as those scratches on its walls.

There have been many stories told about Dracula, and there will one day be more stories told about Dracula, books written, enough that one could fill libraries with just the retellings of his story. And Castlevania has no doubt that one day these scratches will be on their covers. This growl, these scratches are the signet of a vampire, of a monster: the disfigurement of his Castle, bloody intent directed at his son. The dark, the death, and the emptiness have overtaken completely. That is all a monster is, really. That is all he is now.

He marches into the Room, his cloak flowing, dipping and twirling in the broken wind. The sound of Alucard’s breathing fills the Room as he heaves against the bed.

Or maybe the breath is the Room’s own.

The Room has seen all that happened, it has been watching Castlevania beaten bloody till it could barely breathe, or see through the blood dripping down its face, let alone move. Castlevania could barely feel the comforting hands on it, the attempts to bandage the wounds, or at least stop the bleeding that it knew could only belong to the Room. Castlevania could barely hear the Room’s frantic, desperate calls to action, to get up, or just ask if it was okay. And now the Room stands, fists clenched at its sides. The Room wants to fight back. It will fight back.

The Room is not violent. From the very beginning it stood against all the violence, the dark, the empty, and the death. That was what it was made for, after all. As much as it would like to, it does not wrap its hand around Dracula’s throat, claws digging until it draws blood, and demand “How does it feel?! How does it feel to be on the receiving end?!”

The Room’s footsteps are soft as it comes up beside Dracula. It puts its hands over the king’s eyes and whispers in his ear, gently as it can:

“Remember me?”

Then, quietly as it came, it removes them, as if playing peekaboo, revealing that it was there the whole time, his eyes were just covered for a while.

It may as well have been removing scales, because Dracula freezes, his eyes wide, as if he’s seeing, not just the Room, but the whole world for the first in a long time—And he is. The first time with living eyes. And one sees things very differently with living eyes. And Castlevania was his world and it hopes he sees the world differently, for Castlevania is not a thing for him to beat and break. Just when Castlevania thought there was nothing left…there is something more than anger in his eyes now.

Dracula’s angry cloak quiets, falling docile at his feet: a sign of reverence towards the Room, and all it stands for.

Alucard, after allowing his breath to regain itself, looks up, his eyes widening too at his father. His father. No anger, no fear, not even determination now. Not in this Room. This Room is different. He remembers now: in the hush that has fallen across the world like freshly fallen snow, this is his father.

The Room kneels at it’s boy’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder feeling nothing but life and love, so much so it extends to the creature that created the scars on its throat, and on its boy’s chest.

“It’s okay. You can go to him now.” The Room says.

And it knows what that means.

It knows that sometimes peace comes at the price of war.

Dracula curls his hand, the one with the claw that just made marks on the walls that are written in stone, and will never be undone. Within the glow of the window, his reddened eyes too are no longer angry. For so long those eyes sat dormant, empty, and glazed in his skull and at last they contain something. The Room’s words have gotten through the glaze, shattered the glass.

“It’s your Room.”

It’s more than just a statement. He made a promise when he made this Room. This Room was to be his son’s Room. There would be no violence, not in this Room. Not ever. Not today in as much as not ten years ago. He will not hurt this Room. He will not dare touch it, for fear those claws will mark more than just the walls; that all the memories will come crashing down.

The words are not angry. They are not dark. They are not empty. They are not dead. They may seem dry, and stated, but they are dripping with such longing and loss it might fill the whole Castle.

The desk where Vlad taught Adrian of letters, and of numbers, and of the borders of the world. The wardrobe where Lisa dressed him up in fine clothes, and casual ones depending on the occasion—Dracula had so few special occasions to celebrate alone, they were a lovely thing. The bookshelf full of all the knowledge of immortals, and the stories of mortals. The carpet where the boy sat and played with his toys. The nightstand, still with a potion bottle upon it, and the cards of a game they’ve no doubt forgotten how to play, right where they left it long ago. The shelf above it with another bottle, and a tiny satchel of even tinier precious things, and a little toy lamb. The bed upon which Vlad and Lisa once sat and told stories, and sang lullabies, or else lay curled up next to him when the nightmares got too vicious to bear alone.

—(How many did he have to face alone?)—

And Castlevania can see them all. The father teaching his son to count, and to write. The mother running after her naked toddler, trying to convince him clothes really aren’t so bad. The careful pouring of the potions so they change color, or explode just right, the father smiling proudly when he gets the questions correct. The pride of the mother when her son won the game, and the way her husband said “again” like if they just played another round he would win this time. The boy playing with the lamb and the wolf; they they got along in his stories.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart…was it?

Alucard stands—the motion fluid now—blue light caressing his face as he raises his eyes. Vlad too looks up. But they’re not looking at each other, or the Room, rather into the stars. Not the ones outside, the ones they painted—brushing paint upon each other’s noses, so long ago, and Castlevania can see that too—as if those stars hold all the bottled wishes of childhood. It always was crowning jewel of this Room.

Adrian’s eyes oscillate like perturbed waters, because he knows, he knows he’s about to lose it all. And yes, there’s a sort of childlike yearning in Adrian’s eyes, as if he’s wishing upon those stars that he didn’t have to do this, because he’d really rather find another way to spend this night.

The stars wipe the bloodstains off of Dracula’s eyes. The blood drains off the moon too, as if he is so powerful he can bid the sky to bleed.

His lips shake with long-forgotten words—(or maybe they were just buried, and not everything buried in a grave stays there)—and he holds his hands to his chest, if nothing else to stop them from hurting innocent boys and castles, and shuts his eyes.

“My boy.” The words are said like everything in him is breaking

And it is.

—(The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. Does that mean it never broke?)—

“I’m—I…” The word falls to the floor, so soft, like it’s the only apology he has to shed. “I’m… I’m killing my boy.” And the truth is so gentle and broken its almost more painful than all those punches to the walls.

He steps across the Room, and this time his footsteps are not foreboding, not marching nor stalking. They are soft. He is only walking. This boy is not his prey. Not in this Room.

He walks to the picture on the wall, the one called “Happy.”

Castlevania remembers the day they took it home. The painter really did do a good job, Lisa had said, and Castlevania agreed. Castlevania soon learned that even when they were not here, even when the boy was not small, even when they were not happy, that moment would still be captured upon the wall to return to any time they missed it. Long ago Dracula had no need of pictures and paintings. But those pictures have been everything to him, and everything left him, now that Lisa is gone. They are all the traces left of what they once were in this Castle. That picture—the one Dracula buried and tried to forget existed—that picture bottled happiness, and it gives Vlad back his happiness now. And it makes him so very sad.

“Lisa. I’m killing our boy.” Vlad says to the memory. “We painted this Room. We…made these toys.”

His eyes as they dart around the Room—to the books, to the basket with the wolf and the blocks—are glazed, but not in the same way as before, this time it is with memory, and that makes them more alive than ever, as are his words. And in that moment she is alive too, and he is Vlad, Lisa’s husband, and Adrian’s father.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

And then as he looks down his eyes are not glazed at all, rather they hold understanding. He understands what must be done.

Alucard’s foot pushes off the ground, bends the knee, stands, and, no, he is not Adrian, for there is a cracking, a cracking like lightning, a cracking like the world breaking.

And it is the most horrible sound either the Room or Castlevania have ever heard. More horrible than the squelching any heart Dracula ever ripped out. More horrible than the desperate pleas of his victims. More horrible than the cackles of his friends. More horrible than the crying of the child that Castlevania can still hear echoing through the Room.

—(The sound Castlevania hated so so long ago, and now longs for far more than anything else in the world, longs for that painting to swallow the universe and bring it to life again)—

Castlevania and the Room can both feel that sound like a thousand splinters and spider bites, like both of them shattering as if they were made of glass after all. Even the furniture here bleeds.

Vlad backs up, putting his hands over his face—Don’t hurt them, they don’t know what they’re doing—

—(Yet…he hurt them all. So much so he didn’t just disgrace her words, he tried to kill her gift, their son, her blood)—

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He lifts his hands from his face and looks into his son’s eyes, his own so alive, despite their glass, tilting his head to the side. Everything slow and gentle now. He is Vlad. He is Adrian’s father. Not the vampire king who put innocents on stakes. But they all know something happened to Vlad on the night Lisa died.

“I must already be dead.”

And Castlevania, burned and bleeding, understands. The final piece of the puzzle has been put into place. It has been dead too. It’s life, bound in red to its master, will break to the call of a stake. Because a reflection cannot exist without the thing it reflects.

Because…they are mortal.

That was the trade, all those years ago: immortality for mortality. Lisa would gain an immortal mind, and Dracula a mortal soul. He would teach Lisa the knowledge of immortals, the methods of healing that must be kept secret to live with a vampire like time held no grip on them. And she would teach him how to live as a man, how to travel as a man, how to care for his son, as a man, as a father. And in that moment his soul was bound to hers.

She brought the undeath in him to life, and Castlevania understands; only things that are alive can die.

It learned through Lisa, through Adrian, what it was to be alive. And it knew that undeath, while not death, is not life. Dracula was undead and his body could not die. But now that she brought him to life, he could die. His soul already died with her. He’s been rotting in an empty shell—no wonder Death could tie those puppet strings to him. That’s why the emptiness in him was so active; cold and dark and empty were only adjectives before, now they are nouns; he was emptiness, death, walking around. And that, too, is what Castlevania has become. It too is mortal. It didn’t die with her, but something in it ceased to tick when Dracula came back without a soul in his chest, and it knows, bruised and burned, broken, and bleeding that that stake in his son’s hand is calling them both.

You knew all along, didn’t you? Castlevania asks the Room, and there is no malice, no blame, there.

The Room jerks its head up to look at Castlevania, then its eyes soften and it grimaces. I hoped I was wrong. The Room replies softly. I…I hoped there was another way.

Alucard’s eyes hold some sympathy, some semblance of the boy they once knew, in fact rather too much, for both threaten to pour out of those eyes and stop all this. He doesn’t want to. But it’s too late for anything else.

Vlad eyes hold some semblance of the man they once knew, so much so they threaten to make him something more than ruthless, something that doesn’t deserve to die. He closes them tilting his head. He knows what must be done.

There is no anger in either of their eyes, no determination, not even resolve. Not anymore. Adrian wants to free his father in the only way he can.

A step forward, and this step has purpose, that stake is silently growling, drooling at his side as he stalks his prey. Another. Another. Like the beating of all their hearts, and the atmosphere is so silent that everything can only break.

And Dracula will not stop him, will not fight back. Not this time. Like all those times he let his son win, because even though he was more skilled at at the game, it was more satisfying to see Adrian smile.

He is not here to talk things out.

Alucard barely raises that stake—

A second horrible cracking, this one in flesh.

This time he aimed higher.

Dracula’s mouth fills with blood, it seeps through the cracks in his teeth. The blood from his chest drains down the stake—the broken piece of childhood—down his son’s arm, collecting on his elbow, and when it hits the carpet a burn begins to appear on the Room’s chest.

A grunt as Vlad leans forward, the blood dripping from his mouth to the floor—another angry gash upon the Room’s skin, and the Room is trying to pretend it’s okay, but it can’t hide the hurt in its eyes.

It knew what had to be done…but the violence goes against its nature.

His eyes fill with blood, but not from undead purpose. The moon is still clean. These are those bloody tears, the ones from the song earlier today. He is free, relieved…and he will never see his son again.

“Son.”

To remember the living, and those who will live on without him.

And the word is spoken very differently than it was earlier today. Then it was solid and hollow. Now it is ghostly, and so full it could hold all the world. Their world, at least.

This Room, this Castle, that word. They are their whole world.

And it is an honor to have been a world to such terrible, wonderful creatures.

“Father.”

To honor the dying, and what they once were while alive.

The word on Adrian’s tongue is the same, though more solid, more alive, and thus able to hold more pain. A faltering breath, a cracking forgiveness.

The word means something now, at the end, where before they were nothing more than titles. They are pleading with each other. They are bleeding with each other.

They don’t want to do this. They shouldn’t have to. It is far too cruel.

Mothers shouldn’t have to bury their daughters, and sons shouldn’t have to kill their fathers. It’s an unspoken rule of life.

But Alucard can’t stop there. He must finish this. The fire, the resolve regurgitates in his eyes, and he pushes harder, like with the magma ball, and, no, this cracking is worse, because Castlevania can feel it in its own chest now.

Castlevania can hear its master’s heartbeat, can feel it with the drops of blood dripping and sizzling on the floor, and it thinks it might just be its own heartbeat.

Alucard does not hate his father: there is pain on his face. But he cannot stop there.

He must end this war. And unlike those given with kisses to his forehead once, this goodnight is not gentle. Not this time.

He inhales,

closes his eyes,

and breaks his father’s chest.

That stake goes right through Castlevania, and something in it involuntary breaks.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. The destruction of the die was merely the amputation of both its legs, still bleeding out. This is a breaking, not of skin or bone, but of something deeper. It thinks this might just be what it feels like to cry.

And something happens in the breaking. A change of some sort. Castlevania isn’t quite sure what—pain and disorientation are the best of friends—all it knows is that the world is smaller now, and hurts less.

And as Castlevania’s heart breaks, the reflection in the painting shatters, the reflection of the bond between father and son severing with a stake.

The world is so much smaller now.

Dracula’s head jerks back and, eyes now seeing something other than this world.

Dracula is no ordinary vampire, so he does not die like an ordinary vampire. Rather than catching on fire, there’s just smoke and ash; his face drains, turning from ghostly pale to a charcoal, black without flame, before it really is ash, sliding off his face, his cloak like sludge.

There’s no orange, just the red stain, and the grey his life was marred of. Ash and smoke. The true undeath.

Alucard turns his face away, still holding the stake in place.

Dracula lifts up a hand, a skeleton hand, and Alucard turns to see the skin sloughing off around his ring. Though his spirit may have left, it seems his body won’t quite let go of this world; with mere bones Dracula reaches out, takes a step forward, as if to touch his face, to hold his son one last time, to catch the last embrace he was not afforded.

Adrian has shed that resolve, now he can do nothing but take slow and careful steps back away from the monster he has no sword or shield to fight. He the child again, the one who belonged in this Room, shying away. He is Adrian, the one who didn’t like the stories that were bloody. And in all the years the boy spent in this Room, the sheer fear in Adrian’s eyes as he looks up to see his father’s rotted face, with mouth agape, leaning bloodlessly towards him—an image that Castlevania fears will haunt him the rest of his days—is matchless.

Hurried footsteps at the door. The Speaker and the Belmont, at last, have made it to the show, though it seems they paid for only the final song. They step upon the threshold to see the rotting corpse of the king stepping towards his fearful, tearful price.

The Belmont draws his sword, and Dracula’s deflated head—the one that seemed so alive moments earlier—lies in a bloody pool on the floor. And as the neck bleeds and the Belmont watches the body fall to the floor, he isn’t sure if that was enough.

And Castlevania can’t feel its heartbeat anymore.

“Alucard. Step back.” Sypha’s voice is tempered. “Let me finish this.”

He does, the steps cautious and small, sorrow in his gaze. He holds the unbroken bedpost till his hand shakes.

Castlevania never liked children, the crying, the leaving, the guests, or being controlled.

But it did like Lisa. It did like Adrian. And—be it a sting—it did like the sunlight. And always and forever, it loved its master. A reflection cannot help but adore the thing it reflects. A creation cannot help but be a worshipper of its creator. A dream cannot help but revere its dreamer.

“You want me to.”

Smiling a little at how true the words were, in the end, Castlevania found it quite liked the relief.

Castlevania puts a hand on the Room’s cheek, smiling, and its mouth tastes less like blood now. It looks at the moon—bleeding no longer—and blue calm fills every part of it.

“What a wonderful night to have a curse.”

The Room stares at the castle, a little horrified by the sentiment.

“What…What should I do?” The Room stutters, fear and realization coating its words, for it knows what’s happening.

Castlevania smiles wider than ever, and its voice sounds softer; “The children.”

“What?”

“You should let them in. Any child who needs refuge. Along with as many guests as your master wants to welcome. And you should cry. Cry when you need to—and let your master cry too. Stay, but let him leave, if he must, knowing he will always come back. Let yourself be controlled at times, because sometimes that which feels the least right is the most right.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Be warm. Let the light in every window. Be full, and most of all, live. Can you do that for me?”

The Room holds onto the Castle to keep it from falling, tears already descending its cheeks.

“I—I will try.”

The Speaker lets the flame loose to eat the pieces, to engulf its master’s body in the fire he stared at all along, as if yearning for its embrace, creating a spiral of flame upon the circle in the carpet.

They were right to assume it wasn’t over, at least, because there are shapes in the flames; from the smoke and ashes rises a tower of skulls, a legion of spirits, more than a one king’s soul should hold. They’re all crying havoc, war, blood and pain from a yesterday long forgotten. Their smoke snuffs out the flame, blight covering the Room, blocking out the stars that so enraptured them earlier. Sypha and the Belmont cover their faces, but Alucard is unsurprised and undaunted by the darkness lurking in his father’s chest, and faces it without looking away. This darkness bursts out the window like a flower bloom, flows like a river out into the hall—the one cracked and bruising—flying over the war Room where the war resides no longer, and escapes into the night, fluttering, spiraling around Castlevania’s parapets like butterflies.

On the charred floor, the only thing left of the king is his wedding ring.

Castlevania sees the vampire king as he once was; young and restless. The skeletons eating stakes. Castlevania remembers what it once was: lightning, books, gears, and a few lonely words. It sees the woman with the knife at the door. It watches them build the Room. It watches the boy grow up into this beautiful thing.

Castlevania always wondered if it could breathe. It was never quite sure. The Room always seemed to possess a kind of life it never had; a life that hid in the breath.

“Take good care of him for me,” Castlevania murmurs to the Room.

“Have I ever failed you before?” The Room tries to smile, wiping its eyes.

As the sun rises over the hills, a single ray filters in through Castlevania’s window, touching it, filling every part of it, and for once it doesn’t sting.

And with the last sigh of the last ghost circling the parapets, Castlevania exhales its last breath.