#Gray Face in Chair Despair!

[peachsayshi]

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ blessings ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

↬ summary: nanami kento tries to be the perfect husband and father but when a tough night fighting curses ends badly it results in nanami snapping at his daughter. 

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: nanami x female reader; hurt/comfort; nanami has a daughter; domestic drama; being a jujutsu sorcerer is hard; momotarō is a famous Japanese folk tale :c ↬･ wc: 3,383

↬ notes: hi, everyone! I'm currently not really active at the moment so please don't feel disheartened if I haven't been responding to your messages or tagged posts. I'm taking a small break and only coming online for a bit to catch up on some messages, read fics or queue posts. I'll be back to properly posting and interacting soon but in the meantime I wanted to share that I finished up this draft over the weekend. I was actually debating if I should post this but then just decided to go for it! sending all my love xx

nanami’s head is heavy, completely clouded with despair, and it tints his brown eyes a shade of murky gray. the walls of his beautiful home feel narrow, almost claustrophobic, which explains why he’s struggling to catch his breath right now. stepping into the hallway, he instinctively peeks into the dining area to find you and his daughter eating dinner together. she’s sitting on the chair, her legs far too short to even touch the ground, holding a half eaten onigiri between her small hands. you are by her side, sneakily tidying up after her as you brush away the stray beads of rice trickling onto the table. 

a little glow blooms in nanami’s heart at the sight of you both but there is a vicious creature residing in the pit of his stomach that veils the bright light away. 

he quietly takes off his jacket, his bruised fingers loosening the tie around his neck. he clears his throat before announcing with exhaustion to you both that he’s finally home. 

your eyes meet his, the muscles on your face falling immediately. he can practically feel the blood rushing through your veins as worry washes over you. the reaction makes his chest uncomfortably tight, but he knows that he can’t hide his expressions around you like he used to. 

you both move together so fluidly now, like a single body of water that ebbs and flows to its own natural current. 

he escaped the night’s fight with a few cuts and a couple of bad bruises, but there is currently a student on shoko’s table who barely made it through. the young man arrived at jujutsu tech only a couple of weeks ago, but his naive and charismatic qualities turned into fatal flaws in the world of sorcery.

he bit off more than he could chew by trying to take on a special grade curse.  

shoko promised nanami that she would heal the boy, but admitted there was only so much she can do in regards to the aftermath of his injuries. the sorcerer couldn’t bare to leave him behind, but gojo refused that he stay and insisted that he return back home to his pretty wife and adorable daughter immediately. 

“I’ll handle things from here,” is what his superior said, while nanami’s guilt climbed up his throat. 

that student was his responsibility... 

...and he failed him entirely. 

“papa’s home!” his daughter chirps. the pitch of her voice ringing in nanami’s ears to pull him back to the present and far away from the scene where life and death were dancing together in a tango.  “papa, look, look...mama and I made onigiri!” 

her feet bounces up and down, and there’s a touch of a pink against her cheeks when her mouth stretches into a beaming grin. the innocence in her eyes makes nanami falter and he can feel himself falling deeper into the abyss. for a minute he resents himself for selfishly bringing such a beautiful thing into this world, only to gamble with the fact that she may potentially be in his shoes one day. 

he begs for that outcome to never happen, beseeches whatever higher power above him that exists to spare her from this life. she should never have to go through this, never have to experience these heartbreaks that only wither a person down. 

“I can see that,” nanami replies in a low voice before shifting his attention to his feet. 

right now, he can’t stomach an ounce of her purity, and it radiates around her like a halo. she's so unbothered by his presence, so completely unaware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around her... 

“we made tuna, salmon, and veggies...” she babbles on. 

“how nice...” nanami curtly interrupts, before anxiously running his fingers through the strands of his messy blonde hair. 

“which one do you want, papa?” she questions eagerly, pointing her sticky hands at the plate to show off the selection of triangles. 

“sweets,” you interject just as nanami turns on his heel to walk in the other direction, “how about we finish up eating our dinner, and we can save some for your daddy tomorrow...”

“nooo!” she whines far too loudly, which forces nanami to stop dead in his tracks. he glances over his shoulder to see her puffing out her bottom lip with disappointment, “you said...you said we make it so we eat together!” 

she’s only six. 

she can’t perceive that her father is struggling to hold himself together. deep down inside nanami knows that, but it isn’t enough to keep his cool. he doesn’t know why his daughter’s insistence causes him to pinch the front of his brows with annoyance or why he shoots a frustrated look in her direction. 

he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly picturing shoko calling the student’s parents to deliver the news that the man who was supposed to protect their child was unsuccessful in his duty. 

he doesn’t know why he feels at fault for everything that happened, even though the circumstances of the events were completely out of his control.  

he doesn’t know why he’s imagining himself on the receiving end of a very similar call, or why he can’t stop picturing his precious daughter on that table instead…

all of this pummels into him, and the monster emerges out from it’s cave.  

“be quiet and stop making such a fuss.” 

his voice comes out sharper than expected, and the expulsion of his frustration allows him to see the crystal clear picture before him. 

the room is dead silent. 

your face is in full shock at the hissing tone of your sweet husband snapping at his darling baby girl who he only ever speaks to with a gentle voice. 

what truly unravels nanami is the look that his daughter is giving him - her angelic features are sullen, but her eyes remain wide with surprise. her bottom lip is slack, and the only sound he can hear is her uneasy breathing. her eyes, the most beautiful gems in existence, twinkle as tears begin to form and she tries to quickly blink them away before turning her attention back to her plate.  

nanami doesn’t know he managed to stop time itself but the three of you remain frozen in place. 

he regrets his words immediately. 

he wants nothing more than to pull his precious girl close into his chest and smother her with apologies. the part of him with sense tells him to follow through and make things right with her, but instead he begrudgingly continues to wallow in his own self pity as he walks over to his room. 

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

the house is unusually quiet now, the music of domestic joy morphing into hushed murmurs and whispers outside your room door. you settle your crestfallen daughter into her bedroom before moving to check on your husband next. 

fresh out of the shower, nanami is seated on the edge of the bed with his exhausted eyes pressed firmly into the palms of his hands. he exhales a heavy breath, his dirty work clothes still piled just outside the bathroom, and your heart nearly collapses seeing him in such a state of disarray.

you kneel before him, two hands sliding across the soft material of his sweats as you brush them along his thighs before carefully bringing them up to circle around his wrists. 

“kento?” 

he allows you to pull his palms away but your throat constricts when a band forms tightly around your neck. you swallow the lump with an upturn of your brows as you are greeted with red, exhausted eyes. you cup that handsome face in your hands, your thumbs sweetly motioning back and forth across his cheeks as you try to soothe the tension away. 

after all this time together, it hurts you to see that he still tries to hide his tears. nanami constantly holds himself to the highest standard, always ensuring that he can solidify himself as the rock for you and your daughter to depend on through thick and thin. it’s so rare for you to see him crack, to watch him crumble under the overbearing weight of the things that he is burdened to carry. 

“you had a rough night,” you point out in a low, sympathetic voice and he simply just nods his head in acknowledgement. 

his eyes flutter close again when you lean forward to press a tender, reassuring kiss on his brow. “you want a talk about it?” 

the way his voice shakes makes you shiver, but you tentatively listen as he relays the events of the night before finally concluding that satoru called him only a few minutes ago to reassure him that the student in question is alright. 

“he lost an eye, but at least he’s alive...” he concludes somberly, the warble in his final statement prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a protective hug. 

nanami receives it with gratitude, strong arms circling around your waist as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder and breathes in.

your scent is a reminder of his permanent sanctuary.

a safety, a reassurance of home.

you stroke his blonde locks between your fingers until he exhales, "i'm so sorry," he breathes, "I...I didn't mean to snap like that..."

a tiny smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you unravel yourself to cup his jaw into your palms once again. "I appreciate the apology, but I don't think I should be on the receiving end of it..." you hint sweetly.

nanami closes his eyes guiltily. "I'm a horrible father."

you click your tongue with disappointment, your face falling as your disapproval pinches between the space of your brows.

"you're just human," you remind him defensively, "you're a wonderful father, the best man that our daughter can look up to"

"did you see the look on her face?" he replies, his voice unnaturally small. the tender expression he gives you is filled with regret, and it's enough to make your heart ache all over again.

"kento," you contend, "don't do this to yourself. we're both going to have days where we mess up, but that doesn't mean that the problem can't be fixed."

you thread his hair between your fingers, like your brushing through rays sunlight. "she's waiting for me to read her a bedtime story," you explain, "but I'm sure she would rather be with you instead..."

"I doubt that," your husband replies as he reaches for your hand to kiss the inside of your palm.

"we will always love you, kento," you answer back, "unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

he didn't even know how desperately he needed to hear that, for your certainty to remedy away all his sorrows, until they actually left your lips.

your husband's throat tightens, tears pricking his eyes once more but he hides them away when he leans in to seek out a kiss from the woman whose heart he deeply adores.

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

nanami leans his shoulder against the frame of his daughter's room. his heart patters lightly, making him realize that he might actually be nervous. it's strange, he thinks, that he would feel hesitant to approach his own child considering that he was her guardian but nanami had never allowed his professional life to fracture into his personal one like this before.

she's seated on the floor next to a pile of books and her stuffed rabbit secured tightly underneath her arm. there's a warmth in his chest when when he makes note of the soft toy, because he purchased that himself the day she was born and the pair have been inseparable ever since.

he clears his throat, bringing his scuffed knuckles to gently knock on the door.

"my love?" he calls out to her.

his daughter perks up, her breathing changing slightly as it rises and falls with a hint of apprehension. she glances over her shoulder to see him.

"where's mama?" she asks, her question shattering the man into a million pieces at her subtle dismissal.

"taking a shower," he answers cooly, "but I'm here to get you ready for bed..."

her lovely eyes refuse to lock into his own, and she simply tucks her lip between her bottom teeth to avoid giving nanami a reply.

she looks so much like him when he was a child. he remembered when his parents used to scold him too, and how he would also hide away in his room. the only difference is that nanami's parents were far more traditional - a time where elders were never submissive to young hearts.

"may I come in?" he requests politely, ensuring that his daughter knew she had a choice if she wanted to speak to him.

her nostrils flare slightly while she considers him, but to his relief she nods her head eagerly.

nanami steps into her room, always feeling largely out of place amongst her things. "did you find a story for bed?" he asks.

she again quietly nods her head and picks up her favorite book; a compilation of japanese folktales with beautiful illustrations. you both have been reading one for her each night ever since she got it it as a present from her grandparents.

he crouches on his knees to meet her at eye level. "you've really been enjoying this one, haven't you?" he carries on, hoping to coax more words out of her.

“yeah,” she replies in the same mousy voice of uncertainty. she shifts her attention away when she stands on her feet, clutching onto the stuffed bunny tightly while her other hand swings the book by her side.

“and what tale are we reading tonight?”

she shrugs her shoulders with indifference, a hint of pink blushing her cheek. “I dunno. I…I can just until mama is ready…”

nanami visibly slumps. her rejection an entirely new painful experience that he's never endured before. he scratches the back of his head anxiously, finding himself at a loss for words. the seconds pass, an awkward bubble surrounding both father and daughter. it’s only broken when nanami exhales a sigh, and reaches his hands towards her waist to draw her into his frame.

“darling,” he addresses tenderly, “can you look at me?”

“no, you were mean…” she blurts out, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

nanami’s heart sinks.

that’s the first time he’s ever heard those words from her lips.

“I know,” he murmurs shamefully.

her mouth forms into a tiny button of a pout but she meets his eyes for the first time as he acknowledges his behavior.

nanami arches forward to kiss her forehead, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. I’m so sorry if I upset or scared you”

she fidgets with the book in her hand. “did you not want onigiri?” she asks, her innocence tugging the corners of her father’s lips into a small grin.

“it wasn’t the onigiri, my love,” he reassures, “daddy just…had a bad day at work…”

“why was it bad?”

nanami sighs once again.

she still doesn’t know that he’s a sorcerer. you’ve both reduced his position to her by simply explaining that nanami “helps and protects people".

thankfully your daughter doesn’t pry too hard to ask any further questions.

“someone I know got hurt. so, daddy was a little shaken up when he came home…”

"shaken up?"

"scared, my love"

his daughter shakes her head in disbelief, “nu-uh, you never get scared, papa” she rebuts.

nanami huffs out a laugh, flashing her a full grin now as he brings his fingers to his chin to to ponder her sweet statement. he quirks his brow and cheekily replies, "we can't all be brave like you," in an attempt to lighten the mood.

his daughter narrows her eyes towards his hand, her mind instantly distracted with other things already. "you got hurt too papa!" she gasps, dropping the bunny by her side to point at his knuckles.

nanami glances at his fingers covered in red marks.

"wait!" she exclaims as she places the book by his side. "I have something!"

she spins on her heel and rushes towards one of her drawers. meanwhile, nanami just takes her in with his love soaked eyes, watching as she rummages through her stuff with determination until she scurries back his way.

"got it!" she squeaks with a smile, and to his surprise she jumps right into his arms with such nonchalance it nearly make him crumble on the spot.

your voice echoes in the back of his mind: "we will always love you, kento. unconditionally. on your good days and your bad ones"

"mama bought it for me," she explains, regaining her father's attention once more.

nanami rests his cheek on her shoulder, and inhales her powdery scent as he keeps one arm warmly secured around her waist. he watches her peel off the plaster of the band aid, lbefore grabbing his hand and placing it unevenly over his knuckles.

"now a kiss!" she adds, as she brings his hand to her mouth and exaggerates a loud "mwah" sound for emphasis. "mama says the kiss is what makes it all better"

nanami instantly feels significantly better from this remedy of love. he extends his digits out, and looks at the hot pink "hello kitty" band aid that now rests comfortably on his knuckles.

"thank you, my darling," he coos and peppers her cheek with a few kisses before turning her to face him once again. "you made me feel a lot better"

she flashes him an equally large smile in return, showing off her missing teeth.

"I did?"

nanami chuckles as he scoops her up in his arms to give her a well deserved bear hug. she laughs as he stands on his two feet, and sheds away any lingering thoughts of apprehension that may have stuck.

"you always do," he reassures, his soul vibrating back to life when he feels her return his embrace. “you think you can forgive me for how I spoke earlier?”

“yeah,” she confirms and squeezes him just a little tighter. "I love you lots, papa"

"oh, my angel," he hums, "you have no idea just how much I love you too..."

･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･

after winding down from your evening pampering session, you decide to pass by your daughter's room to check on your little family. you peer through the cracked door to find nanami spread out on your daughter’s bed, with your daughter curled into side and her head resting on his chest.

“did I come from a peach too like momotarō?” you hear her ask, but your heart flutters at the sight of your husband’s pearly whites.

you’ll never get over how much you love seeing him smile with such genuine emotion.

“no,” you hear nanami reply calmly, his finger lightly holding the page open. “you remember your mother explaining how you used to live in her stomach first?”

“oh yeah,” your daughter replies with a hint of disappointment over the fact that she was not birthed from a piece of fruit as mentioned in one of her favorite folk tales.

“shall I carry on?”

“uh-huh,” she answers and she readjusts her position to get even more comfortable. "I think if we look hard enough we might find momotarō..."

"you think so?" your husband wonders with honest curiosity.

"I know so, papa!"

"how many peaches do you think we need to check?"

"hmmm," she mumbles, "maybe a million?"

"a million?" your husband dramatically replies, "that's a lot of peaches don't you think,"

"I mean, it's less than a billion..." she responds quite matter of factly.

you catch his gaze from between the door that’s ajar. his expression fully relaxes, and you smile knowingly in his direction at the sight of father and daughter making up.

“papa?” his daughter questions upon his sudden silence, but your husband keeps his focus on you as he hums in acknowledgement before replying, "you're not wrong, but it'll still be quite a challenge to cut through a million peaches..."

"we might need some help," your daughter adds on.

you blow him a secret kiss as to not interrupt further, and quietly close the door before heading back to your bedroom.

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

[writersblockiskillingme]

could u write something where it's like corio and the reader are both mentors and they go to the zoo to feed their tributes. but the readers tribute is like super violent and ends up hurting them. like how Coriolanus would react to that and how he'd take care of the reader afterwards. thank you!!! 💗💗

The Zoo Accident

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x fem!mentor!reader

Summary: Your tribute stepped over the line.

Warning/s: angst, mentions of wounds, violence, short fic, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Here it is! Enjoy!!

It happened too quickly for Coriolanus to process it quite entirely.

Your arm was wrapped around his, safely locked in as you walked towards the zoo, where the tributes were held before the games would start, after you left the Capitol's Academy.

You two were supposed to feed your tributes so that they don't die before the games even stared.

So once you reached the cages of the zoo you two had to separate so that you could walk up to your tributes.

You saw your tribute standing near the big rock on the ground, you called out to her and approached her.

You were trying to make a pleasant conversation as you gave her food, but your kindness was the reason for trusting your tribute too much.

Lucy Gray bit into the sandwich that Coriolanus brought her when she unintentionally looked your way. Gasp left her mouth along with the tight grip on Coriolanus shoulder and a cry of his name in desperation just so he could notice the same thing that she did.

Coriolanus looked at Lucy Gray, confused by her horrified expression until he looked at the direction she was looking at. He felt his heart jump from his chest onto his throat.

He helplessly watched your unconscious form laying on the ground, blood sliding down your forehead, glass bottle shattered and an angry expression planted onto the face of your tribute.

He ran towards you, desperately calling out your name as he tried to reach you as soon as he could.

Before he could do that though, two Peacekeepers showed up grabbing him under each arm, dragging him away from the scene. Two more Peacekeepers showed up as they started to block his line of vision.

The last thing Coriolanus heard before he was dragged back to the Capitol's Academy was the sound of the gunshot as he caught a glimpse of your now dead tribute.

The moment he was released from the Peacekeepers he ran to the hospital where you will be staying in for a little while.

Once Coriolanus Snow charmed his way into your room he watched your sleeping form in peace.

He stepped forward, his red uniform moving slightly along with his every step as he moved the chair from the corner of the hospital room towards your bed.

Coriolanus sat down onto the cold, uncomfortable chair as he took your hand into his.

He felt so weak, so helpless, so useless as he watched you in despair.

He brought your hand onto his lips, planting a kiss onto your hand and then placing your hand against his forehead, closing his eyes.

As he watched you he realized that he would sit in this cold, uncomfortable chair forever if it meant that his rose would bloom again.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@hellonheels-x @especiallythewomenandthechildren @prettyinsatiable @caroline-books @runningfrom2am @10ava01 @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[prythianpages]

Like An Angel | Eris x Reader

summary: Eris is dancing on the edge of despair when he finds you. The one person who reignites the flickering flame within him, breathing life back into his weary soul.

warnings: angst, slight mentions of abuse/burn marks

a/n: this is purely inspired by Kali Uchis's song Igual Que un Angel. I've been listening to it all day on repeat, it's sooo good! Eris came to mind when I thought of which ACOTAR male to pair to this song and I have been wanting to write something for him for awhile now 🥰

Eris slumps into an intricately carved chair, sore and bruised body sinking into the softness of the cushions. He hastily undoes the top buttons of his white dress shirt, wincing as he catches a glimpse of the maimed skin below. Exhaustion tears through his mind, body and soul. He tilts his head back, a silent effort to contain the tears that sting at the corners of his eyes, despite being in the privacy of his room. He refuses to let those tears cascade down his cheeks. He refuses to let his father’s cruelty win.

Sensing the weight of his pain, the oldest and leader of his hound pack approaches with a measured grace, emitting a soft, empathetic whine. Ember, her dark fur tinged with the wisdom of seasons, brushes against his trembling hand. The remaining hounds, still and watchful on their plush cushions in front of the fireplace, pivot their heads towards their master, their sharp eyes mirroring her concern.

A gentle lift graces the corner of Eris's lips as he strokes Ember's fur. He then eyes the other hounds and notices there is one missing. “Where’s Clover?” He quietly asks Ember.

As if answering his question, Ember nuzzles him once more before pacing toward the window. Intrigued by her behavior, Eris follows suit. He pulls back the heavy curtains and a panorama of gloom unfolds before him. The sky is laden with heavy gray clouds that hang low, concealing any glimpse of the sun. Raindrops compose a melancholic symphony, mirroring his inner turmoil, as they tap rhythmically against the window.

In the midst of the rain-soaked courtyard, he easily spots Clover–the youngest but fiercest of his hounds. She’s prancing around one of the court’s magnificent fountains, tail wagging happily behind her. Eris feels the beginnings of a smile forming on his face. It falters when his eyes catch the movement of another presence outside with Clover.

You.

You’re like a burst of sunshine on the gray canvas of the day– like an angel sent from above to shine light into the darkest corners of his soul, reigniting the flickering flame within. Your soft pink dress molds to your skin, yet you remain indifferent to the elements. As Eris marvels at your beauty, he thinks heaven must be your residence because not even the pouring rain can bring you down.

He blinks sharply, snapping out of his trance, as he hears the echo of Clover’s bark. His eyes widen when your laughter follows, and he watches as Clover chases after you. It's not the usual chase he sends his hounds for. This one is rare, playful, and Eris finds himself at a loss for words when Clover licks your arm and nuzzles against you. Such a tender gesture from one of his fiercest hounds. You must be the Cauldron’s favorite, he thinks as he feels a gentle stirring within him, awakening something deep in his chest.

**

Eris can’t bring himself to care for the way the cold rain stings at his fresh wounds nor the way his shirt and pants drenches immediately along with his hair. Clover’s ears twitch at the approaching footsteps but you don’t seem to hear them. You’re lost in your own world, eyes shut as you tilt your head up toward the sky and embrace the cool touch of rain against your burning skin.

Clover nudges at the hand at your side, alerting you of the new presence behind you, before happily darting toward Eris. He can sense the way his beloved hound holds back, as she must smell the injuries hidden beneath his clothes. She licks at his hand instead of jumping on him.

Eris wonders if he should wait to see how long it takes for you to finally notice him but he’s much too impatient for that. He clears his throat, and at the sound, you gasp, spinning around to meet his gaze. His amber eyes pierce through you, delving into the very depths of your soul, causing you to falter and instinctively step back.

A fleeting frown threatens to mar his features. He banishes it, concealing any vulnerability behind a stoic mask. "Who are you?" he questions, his voice sharp, the intensity of his gaze unwavering.

"y/n," you respond, blinking at him, your eyebrows furrowing at the abruptness of his tone. Your own voice carries a softer, much lighter tone and it’s as if the sky responds to your warmth, the rain slowing to a mild drizzle. Definitely the Cauldron’s favorite. "And who are you?"

Eris, with a taunting scoff, asserts himself as he takes a step forward. Closer to you. "You enter this court without knowing who I am? Has your mother neglected to teach you any manners?"

A downpour of regret engulfs him, more turbulent than the relentless rain from earlier, as he witnesses the glistening in your eyes and the subtle downturn of your lips into a frown.

“My mother is dead,” you say quietly, more to yourself than him, as you drop your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” his tone carries a genuine sincerity, and for a fleeting moment, his impassive mask wavers, the amber gaze softening. It invites you to meet his eyes once more. “I’m Eris.”

“Eris,” you repeat, eyes widening in recognition. There’s no hint of anger or guilt in your eyes at his earlier harsh demeanor. He finds a rare softness instead, the corner of your eyes crinkling as your lips form a small, welcoming smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, Eris.”

There’s a gentle fluttering, akin to the delicate wings of butterflies, awakening in the pit of his stomach because now that he’s up close and the rain has stopped, he can appreciate the depths of your beauty as you smile at him.

Clover nudges at Eris’s waist, eliciting a wince from the male. Your gaze swiftly descends, settling on his exposed chest, where a glimpse of red and irritated skin meets your eyes.

"Are you hurt?" you ask, and Eris is unexpectedly comforted by the genuine concern etched across your face over him. Someone you just met.

Engrossed in observing every little subtle shift in your expression, Eris fails to notice the hand you extend toward him. Delicate fingers graze against his skin, tender and cautious to avoid causing further harm and his breath catches in his throat. He’s almost certain you can feel the rapid heartbeat beneath.

“y/n! I’ve been searching everywhere for you! What are you doing out here? Are you mad? You’re going to catch a bloody cold and–” Sawyer, one of Eris’s younger brothers, voice wavers, prompting you to take a couple of steps back and put as much distance between you and Eris.

“Brother,” The younger Vanserra greets Eris as glances between you two. With his hands behind his back and shoulders held high, he approaches Eris. Fear flashes in his eye and he comes to an abrupt stop when Clover lets out a deep menacing growl, baring her sharp teeth at him. A striking contrast to the way she regarded you.

“I see you’ve met my future bride.” Sawyer steps closer to you instead, lips curling up into a smirk as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, forcing you closer to him. Eris doesn’t miss the way your body tenses at the possessive gesture.

Future bride. As the words sink in, Eris feels a rage of distaste simmering beneath his skin. No.

“Your father and mine are asking for you.” Sawyer says to you, brown eyes taking in your drenched form. His nose crinkles in disgust. “Gods, you’re a mess. Let’s hurry and get you changed. My father does not take lightly to those who make him wait. ”

Sawyer doesn’t bother to spare his brother a glance as he pulls you along with him, missing the way Eris fists clench at his sides. Even Clover’s gaze darkens, not liking the way Sawyer speaks to you in a condescending manner.

Eris hears you reply quietly as you struggle to keep up with Sawyer’s longer strides and the burn marks marring his skin are nothing compared to the burning ache set alight in his chest. Clover nudges his hand, sensing his distress the same way Ember had earlier.

“Heaven must’ve sent you, love,” he murmurs softly, his voice full of longing, as he recognizes the magnetic pull, akin to a golden thread, in his chest the further you walk away from him.

It’s as if you feel that pull too. You’re turning back to steal one more glance at him and in that moment, a myriad of emotions floods your wide eyes. Yet, there’s a purity that remains in the depth of your eyes, mirroring the innocence of heavenly beings and bringing life back into his weary soul. If only you had a halo and wings, the image would be complete…

Eris was aware of Sawyer’s upcoming arranged marriage but he never fathomed for someone as sweet as you to be his bride. People like you are a rarity, the subject of fervent prayers. A heart like yours is precious and on the verge of extinction in a brutal world like this.

You’re pure light, a beacon of goodness. One that the Cauldron favors but how cruel, he thinks, that the Cauldron does not favor him. It’s a bittersweet dance of fate because though you are close to him, you remain just beyond his grasp…promised to another.

a/n: if you'd like to read more about soft reader x Eris, you can find the masterlist for it here (:

[huntiesworld]

How long has it been since you slept? | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: Y/n and Matt break up due to him being away from her. After months of not seeing each other Matt goes to see her to apologize for his mistake. 

Warning: Crying, sadness, depression. 

Requested?: Nope! 

Author's note: That is my work, Please DON’T COPY MY WORK!! Kinda based on Twilight New Moon. 

The days have blended into an unending blur of gray since Y/n and Matt Sturniolo had parted ways. Her room, once a sanctuary of warmth and light, had become a prison of sorrow. She hadn’t left her room since the breakup. The once vibrant space was now filled with an unbearable stillness, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards as she shifted in her chair by the window. 

Y/n sat motionless in her chair, her eyes fixed on the view outside her window. The world beyond was vibrant with spring’s awakening, but it felt distant, like a dream she couldn’t quite grasp. It had been months since she last left her room. Days blurred together, punctuated only by her sporadic tears and the deafening silence that followed. 

She was staring at the blooming cherry blossom tree, a cruel reminder of the day her world fell apart. The tree had been in full bloom that day too, as if mocking her pain. She closed her eyes and was thrust into the memory she had tried desperately to bury. 

You haven’t been good for long 

 —--The day of breakup—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a bright and sunny afternoon. Y/n and Matt had been arguing more frequently, but she never thought it would lead to this. She remembered the loom in his eyes, the mix of frustration and sorrow as he spoke the words that shattered her heart.

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/n. We’re both miserable, and it's not fair to either of us,”  Matt had said, his voice barely a whisper. 

“But we can fix this, Matt, We can work it out.” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “I love you.” 

Is it the sound of your thoughts 

“I love you too.” he replied, his voice breaking. “But love isn't enough anymore. We need to let each other go.” 

She watched as he packed his things, every moment a dagger to her heart. When he walked out the door, it felt like he had taken a piece of her with him. 

—-End of flashback—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/n’s body convulsed with sobs. The pain was raw, as if it had just happened. She clutched her chest, the agony of her broken heart manifesting as a physical ache. She screamed, the sound echoing through the empty house a cry for help that no one would hear. 

Mauve it times to say goodbye 

 Matt stood at the front door, his hand poised to knock when he heard her anguished cries. His heart sank, he had been away for too long, trying to sort out his feelings, and now he realized the depth of the damage he had caused. He fumbled with his keys, finally opening the door and rushing inside. 

“Y/n?” he called out, his voice filled with worry. He followed the sound of her cries to her room and froze in the doorway. 

Y/n looked up, her eyes red and swollen, her face a mask 0f despair. “Matt?” she croaked, barely believing he was real.”

He moved toward her, his heart breaking at the sight of her broken and fragile. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I never meant to hurt you this much.” 

Cause im getting pretty fucking tired

 She stared at him, a mix of anger and relief washing over her. “You left me, Matt. You left me alone.” 

Matt reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands. “How long has it been since you slept?” he asked, his voice breaking with emotion, “Or eaten properly?” 

She shrugged, the simple gesture feeling monumental. “I ...I don’t know.: she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Since you left …everything fell apart.” 

You haven't felt right for days

 His face crumpled with guilt and sorrow. “Y/n, I'm sorry. I thought leaving was the right thing to do, but I was wrong. I should have never left you.”  She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Why now?” she asked, the question heavy with the weight of a month's worth of loneliness and heartbreak. 

“I realized I couldn’t live without you.” he said, his voice trembling. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you. I’ve missed you every single day, and when I heard how you were doing, I knew I had to come back.” 

A tear slipped down her cheek, and Matt gently brushed it away with his thumb. “Please, Y/n. Let me help you, Let me make it right.” 

Maybe it times to shut away

She opened her eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity, but all she saw was genuine regret and a desperate longing to heal the wounds he had caused. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.” she whispered. “But it's going to take time.” 

”I know,” he said, pulling her into a tender embrace. “And I'll be here, every step of the way. I promise.” 

After a while, he gently pulled to her feet. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let's get you cleaned up.” 

He led her to the bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature. He helped her undress, his touch tender and careful, and guided her under the warm spray. As the water cascaded over her, washing away the tears and the pain, Matt stayed close, his presence a steady comfort. 

Once she was clean and wrapped in a towel, he led her to the kitchen. “You need to eat something.”  he said, his voice gentle but firm. He rummaged through her fridge and cabinets, finally settling on making a simple meal of scrambled eggs and toast. She watched him, her heart aching with a mixture of love and regret. 

He placed the plate in front of her and sat down beside her. “Eat.” he urged and she took  a small bite, the food tasting like ash. But she ate, because he asked her to, because he was there. 

Cause i've been eating less all day

After she had eaten, Matt took her hand and led her to the bedroom. They lay down on the bed, and he pulled her close, his arms around her. “I’m sorry.” he whispered into her hair. 

“Me too.” she replied, her voice barely audible. 

They lay in silence, the weight of their past hanging over them. But as they held each other, the distance between them seemed to lessen, the hurt beginning to heal. Slowly, they drifted off to sleep, finding solace in each other’s arms. 

------------------------------------------------------

Heres my Monday fic!! Thank you, guys, for giving me likes on my fics. It means a lot to me!!!

[drapopia]

hard day's work

pairing: papa emeritus ii x reader

warnings: some small mentions of getting hot and heavy, the usual mention of secondo and the reader having a healthy sex life

summary: For a man who boasts of a plush king sized bed, Secondo surely loves falling asleep in an armchair with a good book, to the despair of his back the next day.

word count: 1.4k

authors note: whoa buddy, here's another ghost drabble! i have a hard time with secondo's personality, especially in softer, domestic spaces. i just hope i've done a sort of okay job? with time comes improvement! hopefully ya'll enjoy it, feedback is highly appreciated! :)

————

The room is silent, save for the hum of the central heating and the occasional flip of a page. 

Well, it’s almost silent. Secondo sits in the corner of the room in his armchair made of lush velvet, a dark green that stands out against the muted gray robe he wears. You can see the slow rise and fall of his chest, his head reclined back against the chair at an angle. You can tell that if you don’t wake him soon, he’ll wake up tomorrow with a grumble and a hiss, and you would have to rub the knots from the base of his neck with a coo and a kiss. Not that you mind, but you don't want him in pain, even if he enjoys the feel of your hands on his sorest spots. 

His hands rest on his lap, the book he was reading was slowly but surely slipping out of his hands. His breath is still light and even, a far cry from the usual deep snores he lets out when he’s checked out for the day. From your spot on the loveseat across the room, you can see his nose twitching in the cold air. Although being curled up in the fleece blanket on the couch is appealing, the thought of leaving him in the cold, even while dozing, makes your heart twinge in distress. How many times had he roused you from your sleep after a long movie, picking you up gingerly and tucking you into your shared bed? You couldn’t count, you couldn’t help but feel comfortable around him. You always had, even when you first entered the Ministry. 

With a sigh, you pull yourself up from your sitting position, walking as quietly as possible towards him. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you got closer to him, standing beside and gazing down at him. His face was bare of paint, his eyes only holding a small smudge of black at the tightest corners of his crows feet. His nose was still twitching with the rise and fall of his chest, his breath light and slow. As quietly and gently as possible, you reach for his book to pull it from his loose grasp. Your hands close around it, and mark it to keep his place. Turning it over, you inspect the cover with a small smile. He was re-reading Crime and Punishment. You had teased him many times about it, how he would scoff and roll his eyes about his distaste for older Russian literature. How he felt it went on and on, was repugnantly repetitive, self pitying and obnoxious. But here he was, turning the pages once more of a book he ‘despised’. 

Shaking your head, you turn towards him once more and place your hand on his cheek. You feel the harsh contours of his face, thankful that you couldn’t feel any tension in the apples of his cheeks. This week had been hard on him so far, and it was only Wednesday. You had found him earlier in his office when you stopped with a teeny-tiny quick pick-me-up espresso. While he had thanked you with a kiss and a light squeeze of your hand in his, you had seen the way his shoulders remained bunched with tension, how his hands had a tremor as they held the tiny cup in his hand. And now here he was, as docile as the lambs he spoke of in his captivating sermons at Mass. 

Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek and pull away a fraction, noticing the way his eyelids twitched and his small mustache scrunched up. Smiling, you pepper kisses on his cheeks, as delicately as you can muster. A soft huff of breath hits your neck from where you’re positioned. 

“Cara, what are you doing?” He murmurs, a ricochet of heat hitting your stomach at the deliciously rich timbre of his voice. A large hand, free of his gloves and comfortably warm, hits your hip. You pull back slowly, meeting his gaze as he blinks his syrupy eyes to clear the sleepiness. 

“You know you can’t sleep here, you’ll be groaning all day tomorrow. This armchair doesn’t look all that comfortable, to be quite honest.” You whisper softly. 

“That’s what you think.” He says quietly, the corners of his lips barely noticeable and curling into an almost imperceptible grin. Secondo was more permissible, a tad bit more open when he was slowly slipping from sleep. His eyes held a softness, his words losing their bite. And while you loved the cold charm of him in the day, it always made your heart skip a beat to see him so delightfully unguarded when he woke to the sight of you. 

You pat his chest softly with your hand, raising up with a soft puff. “Come on, we’ve gotta get you into bed.” Your lips turn up at the corners at his small huff of exertion, extending your hands in an inviting gesture towards him. He slides up the armchair, stretching out slightly as he grabs your arms to pull himself up with a groan. And just as he rises from the chair, his arms come to wrap themselves around you, gazing down at you. 

He looks at you, a fond smile on his face. Without the guards of papal paint or his sunglasses, his face was so kind. So much easier to see the way the creases on his forehead melted, the way his eyes crinkled with barely concealed adoration. “Sleep? I suppose we could.” He rasps, leaning in to press a kiss against your lips. HIs accent was deliciously thicker in the throes of sleepiness, and you felt the hair on your neck rise. 

You return the kiss, your lips moving in a well practiced synchronicity. But unlike the passionate nights you shared and the lascivious words he would whisper in your ear with no shame, there was no heat behind the kisses you were exchanging now. Even as his hands curled behind your back, tracing the curve of your spine with dedication and reverence. You smile against the kiss, breaking it as you pull back. 

“Come on,” you whisper and press a kiss to the tip of his nose before he could scoff in mock distaste. “I’ll warm up the heating blanket, maybe give you a back rub? Read you some more of that delicious Russian literature you like so much?” You say teasingly, grabbing his hand and walking towards your large bedroom the two of you found respite in every day. In each other's bodies, words, and simple gestures. 

“I hate Dostoevsky, you know this.” He grumbles, ambling beside you to wrap his arm around your waist and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as your feet hit the plush carpet of your room. 

“Of course, of course. And that’s why you fell asleep with it in your hands.” You smile, rolling your eyes. You reach the bed, pulling back the duvet. Slipping in with a sigh, you pull the covers up to your neck and nestle in, much like a rabbit in its burrow. 

Secondo slips off his robe, completely naked. Before you can admire him, he slips into bed beside you and pulls the covers over himself. Maybe tomorrow you can catch a quick peek, but for tonight, you'll be content with the heat of him beside you.

“I had to bore myself, send myself off to sleep, no?” He leans back against the pillows, gesturing lackadaisically for you to lay against him. You shuffle closer to him, his warmth a soothing balm to the unease of the day. 

“Just come curl up with me instead, problem solved.” You murmur, and Secondo chuckles at your comment as he leans over to flick off the lamp on his nightstand. 

“What do you think it is we’re doing here, amore? I want you here with me, not the dreadful pages of a self pitying bastard pouring his heart out.” He says softly, his eyes falling closed. Papa is still tired, the rise and fall of his chest becoming more even. Your hands reach out instinctively, patting his tummy with as much care as possible. 

“That almost sounds like an ‘I love you’, Secondo.” You say quietly, the tease barely noticeable under your exhaustion, feeling your own eyes slip closed under the weight of the darkness over you both. His hands pull you closer, his chest hair a cushion on your cheek. 

“I do love you.” He says softly, the soft silence around the two of you relaxing the both of you quicker than you’d like to admit. “Now shush, amore.” He says firmly, but with no bite. You smile to yourself, and all you hear is the soft breathing of your Papa, your best friend beside you. 

[whynotshaveme]

No More Red Hair For Lily

By whynotshaveme

Due to a lost bet, Lily, a beautiful teenaged redhead, had to visit her small town's barbershop and let the barber who ran it choose her next haircut.

Mrs. Grayson, the barber, had a particular distaste for redheads. Whenever Lily's older brother Colin went to her, he always came home bald as a cueball, his face red from the humiliation that she inflicted on him. Despite the anxiety gnawing at her, picturing her brother after his infrequent as possible trips to the barber, Lily kept her word. With her head down, in a misguided effort to protect her hair, she walked into the barbershop, the bell above the door jangling to announce her arrival.

Mrs. Grayson looked up from her station, her steely gray eyes locking onto Lily's vibrant hair. A faint smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she recognized the girl. "Look at that red hair. Are you Colin's sister? Are you here for a haircut?" she said, her voice carrying an edge of disdain.

"Yes, I lost a bet," said Lily, "You can do anything that you want to my hair."

Mrs. Grayson smiled and motioned for Lily to sit down. Her heart pounded in her chest as she settled into the barber chair, gripping the armrests tightly. Mrs. Grayson caped her. Then she started to brush Lily's beautiful long hair.

"I don't usually cut women's hair," Mrs. Grayson muttered, picking up the clippers. ", but it will be an act of Christian charity to shave your head."

Lily bit her lip, trying to keep her voice steady. "Please go easy on me. Please don't shave my head."

"No, it's for your own good, my dear. All of this hair must come off," Mrs. Grayson replied. Without another word, she popped the guards off the clippers and turned them on, the ominous hum filling the room.

With tears dripping down her face, Lily watched as the clippers made the first pass, leaving a strip of fair skin down the middle of her scalp. Mrs. Grayson worked methodically, mowing away in swift, brutal strokes. Piles of red hair tumbled to the floor.

"It's always such a pleasure to shave that sinful red hair off your brother." Mrs. Grayson smiled, putting down her clippers. "I'm so happy to be giving you the same special treatment."

Mrs. Grayson then tilted Lily's head back and lathered her scalp with shaving cream. With a straight razor in hand, Mrs. Grayson scraped away the remaining stubble, leaving Lily's scalp smooth and gleaming.

Mrs. Grayson's eyes narrowed as she examined Lily. "Your eyebrows. They're too red. They've got to go."

Before Lily could object, not that she'd be listened to, Mrs. Grayson went back to work. Using her straight razor, the barber scraped off Lily's carefully shaped red eyebrows.

When Mrs. Grayson finally finished, she stepped back to admire Lily's bare, startled face. "There," she said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. "You now look properly humbled like a woman should be."

Lily barely recognized the bald, browless girl staring back at her in the mirror. She felt small and submissive in the barber's chair. That stupid bet wasn't worth it at all. It cost her beautiful hair, her dignity, and her self-confidence.

"Thank you," Lily said finally, reaching for her purse to pay the barber.

"You're welcome," Mrs. Grayson replied. "Tell your brother that he's due for a visit."

Mrs. Grayson took Lily's twenty and then shooed her out the shop. She had to clean up all that hair that was on Lily's head from her floor before her next customer. As Lily walked out of the barbershop, the bell jingling softly behind her and beads of sweat forming on her bald head due to the summer heat, she felt a wave of despair wash over her. As she trudged home, her scalp getting pinker and pinker, she couldn't shake the feeling of ugliness that now clung to her like a stink.

[pillow-anime-talk]

HIII I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL

may i please request prompt 49 and 51 for William James Moriarty from mtp?

Like the reader is as smart as william and helps him with his plans and stuff and they both fall for each other but can't be together?

Thank you, have a great day!!

# tags: scenario; kinda lovers/enemies; unrequited love; light romance; mostly drama; also angst; reader as police inspector; mention of murder and blood; nsfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. william james moriarty {mtp}

author’s note: long time no see. sorry for that but thank you sm for your request; due to the rules i only chose the one number you asked for :) i hope you like it, love u all

49. “I told you this is how it ends.”

You looked with visible regret at the figure sitting across from you, on an uncomfortable chair in a cramped room lit by dim white light. Next to you stood your friend and co-worker, who is a five years older than you, and opposite your person, with a calm expression on his face, sat William, who just a few days ago was drinking tea with lemon with you, and today he was accused of murder. And with particular cruelty.

The young man, however, didn’t reveal anything; no sadness, no bitterness, his eyes showed no positive or negative emotion. Just plain emptiness, interspersed with the flash of a lamp above the three of you.

“What made you kill Sandy Moriarty, née Lonewood?” Asked a young policeman, also a profiler by profession. “She was your sister-in-law after all.” Your eyelid twitched with slight sadness. Sandy was Louis’ partner; they had been together for over two years. You even had the opportunity to meet her – she had foxy hair and calm eyes, and she was a talented painter. “Moriarty answer to me.” The uniformed man’s voice was low and firm. Unlike your expression: soft, full of despair.

“… Well. I had my own reasons, sir.”

“What reasons?”

“It’s all my business, sir.” Your co-worker just sighed, looking at the accused with a disbelieving expression. His nose wrinkled and the whiskers beneath it twitched slightly.

“Y/N, I’ll be right back. I’ll go get some papers and things. Keep an eye on him.” You only nodded at his words, never taking William out of your sight. His long blond hair fell unruly over his forehead and his chest slowly moved back and forth.

As soon as Alois left the small room, devoid of furniture and color, your hands trembled slightly and your eyes turned to the right wall.

“Who are you protecting, William? Tell me.”

“… For your safety, let it go. It’s not a matter of solving the mystery of who stole the little child’s candy and why. Just accept it all that it just had to be like that and let it go.”

“Why?” You repeated in a slightly more confident voice, and your eyes met the ruby ones.

“I told you this is how it ends.” He whispered. “I’m not from your world, Y/N. And I never will be. You wanted to protect me, I appreciate that, but it won’t always go your way. We’re too different.” He added, and after a while the door to the room let in a bit more cold and light. Your work partner stopped next to you again and threw a few photos and descriptions from the scene on the gray table, pursing his lips at the same time.

The photographs showed the silhouette of a woman in a beautiful yellow dress, with a large smear of scarlet blood and several bullets around her.

Whatever your intentions were, you certainly wouldn’t be able to help William anymore, who in your eyes at that moment was just a murderer hiding behind a mask of a calm smile and pale skin. Although your heart was obviously burning like a hot coal, you couldn’t do anything more than look at the photos and move one of them closer to the blonde male.

[plague-of-insomnia]

Six-Sentence Sunday: Synchronize AU, Ch 8

I’m sadly still quite a long way off from finishing the next chapter, but I was finally able to write a little for it the other day, so here’s a small sample.

This scene is basically one in which Sebastian is having issues swallowing and Agni decides to step in, which leads Sebastian into admitting something.

Agni was always observant, and the instant he heard Sebastian coughing, he was at his side, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you having swallowing problems today?”

Sebastian couldn’t meet Agni’s eyes. “I’m fine. I just need some water.”

Agni frowned but nodded and left to get him some.

Sebastian stared at the cup in his hand, setting it on the over-bed table in front of him. He tried to swallow again and felt like he had to use his tongue and accessory neck muscles to execute it. He shut his eyes tight and swore in his mind. He was supposed to be better. He was stronger. He could sit up unsupported for a short amount of time and even transfer to his chair from bed on his own.

This felt like a slap in the face. He didn’t want to believe it. Maybe he was just tired?

“Here you go,” Agni said, offering him the cup with a straw. “I’m going to put my hand on your throat, but swallow normally.”

Sebastian acted indifferent, but he was scared. And pissed. He hesitantly took a sip of water; it felt like it took five or six swallows when it should have easily passed with only one. And he’d barely finished when he began to cough again, several times, enough that Agni took the cup away.

“You’re NPO until Dr. Albrecht clears you,” he said with authority, taking both cups away, meaning that Sebastian wouldn’t be allowed anything by mouth—not food, drink, or medicine. “I’ll give you your medication via your g-tube and go prepare a liquid meal for you once I’ve done that.”

“No,” Sebastian said, his fingers bunching in the blankets. He coughed again since it felt like the water was still stuck in his throat, even though he knew he had to be imagining it. “Please, Agni.”

Agni paused, cups in each hand, staring down at Sebastian, his face sympathetic, and yet stern. “Aspiration pneumonia is serious. This isn’t negotiable.” Basically, if Sebastian’s mouth and throat muscles were weak, it meant he couldn’t prevent food, liquid, and saliva from going down into his lungs. If that happened enough, it could lead to infection and even death.

Sebastian said nothing else as he watched Agni move, suddenly feeling crushed by despair. It had been foolish to hope, he’d known it.

But Agni made things different, somehow. As odd as it might seem, the one who’d come to care for all the needs he couldn’t attend to alone somehow made him feel more independent than he had in years.

And now . . .

“Sebastian? Are you all right? You’re breathing OK?”

Sebastian’s eyes flew from where they’d been fixed on the feeding tube supplies to those beautiful gray eyes. He wanted to be furious with Agni, as if he were to blame for Sebastian’s body betraying him, but he couldn’t bring himself to take his frustrations out on the nurse. Not now. Not after all they’d been through, how much Agni had helped him, even when he probably didn’t deserve it. “Do you have to do this?”

Agni tilted his head, assessing Sebastian. “I’ll do everything I can so you won’t be nauseous.”

That wasn’t what Sebastian meant, but he sighed and moved the blanket away, lifting his shirt to expose his abdomen, the little button that lay flush against his skin in the lower right just above where his pants waistband would be.

“I didn’t want this,” Sebastian said, watching Agni as he worked.

Agni paused what he was doing. “Sebastian?”

“The tube.”

Catch up with Synchronize by reading ch 1-7 on AO3!

[the-moral-of-the-rose]

A tribute to the cats of Montgomery's books.

Part 1. Anne Shirley (later: Blythe).

Rusty-the cat (the fighter):

"The animal was well past kitten-hood, lank, thin, disreputable looking. Pieces of both ears were lacking, one eye was temporarily out of repair, and one jowl ludicrously swollen. As for color, if a once black cat had been well and thoroughly singed the result would have resembled the hue of this waif’s thin, draggled, unsightly fur." (Anne of The Island).

"But, like Kipling’s cat, he “walked by himself.” His paw was against every cat, and every cat’s paw against him. One by one he vanquished the aristocratic felines of Spofford Avenue. As for human beings, he loved Anne and Anne alone. Nobody else even dared stroke him. An angry spit and something that sounded much like very improper language greeted any one who did.

“The airs that cat puts on are perfectly intolerable,” declared Stella." (Anne of The Island).

(He does get better looking though! He's said to become "plum and sleek" and his eyes heal!).

A fighter,

Independent,

Daring,

A survivor of an attempt of "chlorophorm murder".

Joseph-the-cat (a big fat softie that could fight if needed):

"Joseph, as the disgusted Stella said, looked like a walking rag-bag. It was impossible to say what his ground color was. His legs were white with black spots on them. His back was gray with a huge patch of yellow on one side and a black patch on the other. His tail was yellow with a gray tip. One ear was black and one yellow. A black patch over one eye gave him a fearfully rakish look. In reality he was meek and inoffensive, of a sociable disposition. In one respect, if in no other, Joseph was like a lily of the field. He toiled not neither did he spin or catch mice. Yet Solomon in all his glory slept not on softer cushions, or feasted more fully on fat things." (Anne of The Island).

"But Joseph rashly sat up and yawned. Rusty, burning to avenge his disgrace, swooped down upon him. Joseph, pacific by nature, could fight upon occasion and fight well. The result was a series of drawn battles. Every day Rusty and Joseph fought at sight. Anne took Rusty’s part and detested Joseph. Stella was in despair. But Aunt Jamesina only laughed." (Anne of The Island).

Joseph-with-a-coat-of-many-colors,

soft bean,

non-offensive,

sweet,

meek and gentle,

could fight if needed.

Sarah-the-cat (dignified queen):

"Sarah-cat gravely sat herself down before the fire and proceeded to wash her face. She was a large, sleek, gray-and-white cat, with an enormous dignity which was not at all impaired by any consciousness of her plebian origin. She had been given to Aunt Jamesina by her washerwoman.

“Her name was Sarah, so my husband always called puss the Sarah-cat,” explained Aunt Jamesina. “She is eight years old, and a remarkable mouser. Don’t worry, Stella. The Sarah-cat never fights and Joseph rarely.” (Anne of The Island).

"Rusty lowered his head, uttered a fearful shriek of hatred and defiance, and launched himself at the Sarah-cat.

The stately animal had stopped washing her face and was looking at him curiously. She met his onslaught with one contemptuous sweep of her capable paw. Rusty went rolling helplessly over on the rug; he picked himself up dazedly. What sort of a cat was this who had boxed his ears? He looked dubiously at the Sarah-cat. Would he or would he not? The Sarah-cat deliberately turned her back on him and resumed her toilet operations. Rusty decided that he would not. He never did. From that time on the Sarah-cat ruled the roost. Rusty never again interfered with her." (Anne of The Island).

Dignified,

Queenly,

Aloof,

A remarkable mouser,

Proud,

Ruler of the Patty's Place.

Such a queen.

Shrimp (best-family-cat):

"He seems to have recovered nicely from it," said Anne, stroking the glossy black-and-white curves of a contented pussy with huge jowls, purring on a chair in the firelight. [...] As for the Shrimp, Gilbert had called him that a year ago when Nan had brought the miserable, scrawny kitten home from the village where some boys had been torturing it, and the name clung, though it was very inappropriate now." (Anne of Ingleside).

Loves people,

good with children,

likes sleeping curled up with a member of his human family,

forgiving,

patient,

a little ray of sunshine.

Pussywillow (a little lady of the night sky):

"The Shrimp basked in the glow and Nan's kitten, Pussywillow, which always suggested some dainty exquisite little lady in black and silver, climbed everybody's legs impartially. "Two cats, and mouse tracks everywhere in the pantry," was Susan's disapproving parenthesis." (Anne of Ingleside).

Pretty,

Black and silver like a night sky,

Purring,

Dainty,

Sweet.

Jack Frost (a girl in hiding):

"Four years previously Rilla Blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten, white as snow, with a saucy black tip to its tail, which she called Jack Frost. Susan disliked Jack Frost, though she could not or would not give any valid reason therefor.

"Take my word for it, Mrs. Dr. dear," she was wont to say ominously, "that cat will come to no good."

"But why do you think so?" Mrs. Blythe would ask.

"I do not think—I know," was all the answer Susan would vouchsafe.

With the rest of the Ingleside folk Jack Frost was a favourite; he was so very clean and well groomed, and never allowed a spot or stain to be seen on his beautiful white suit; he had endearing ways of purring and snuggling; he was scrupulously honest.

And then a domestic tragedy took place at Ingleside. Jack Frost had kittens!" (Rilla of Ingleside).

White and beautiful,

Clean and well-groomed,

Endearing,

Lovely,

Snuggler and purrer,

Mother of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,

"Diabolical" cat according to Susan.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (a cat suffering from bipolar disorder):

"In his Dr. Jekyll mood the cat was a drowsy, affectionate, domestic, cushion-loving puss, who liked petting [...] When the Mr. Hyde mood came upon him—which it invariably did before rain, or wind—he was a wild thing with changed eyes. The transformation always came suddenly. He would spring fiercely from a reverie with a savage snarl and bite at any restraining or caressing hand. His fur seemed to grow darker and his eyes gleamed with a diabolical light. There was really an unearthly beauty about him." (Rilla of Ingleside).

Orange and handsome,

Either sweet, purring, soft and cute, either dangerous and scary,

Possesed (?),

Some kind of mental illness (?),

A kitten of Jack Snow,

Called Goldie in his kittenhood,

Renamed by Walter.

Part 2. Emily Starr.

Mike the First (the fluffiest softie) and Saucy Sal (a badass girl):

"Mike had such a cute way of sitting up on his haunches and catching the bits in his paws, and Saucy Sal had her trick of touching Emily’s ankle with an almost human touch when her turn was too long in coming. Emily loved them both, but Mike was her favourite. He was a handsome, dark-grey cat with huge owl-like eyes, and he was so soft and fat and fluffy. Sal was always thin; no amount of feeding put any flesh on her bones. Emily liked her, but never cared to cuddle or stroke her because of her thinness. Yet there was a sort of weird beauty about her that appealed to Emily. She was grey-and-white—very white and very sleek, with a long, pointed face, very long ears and very green eyes. She was a redoubtable fighter, and strange cats were vanquished in one round. The fearless little spitfire would even attack dogs and rout them utterly." (Emily of New Moon).

Mike: soft, cute, fluffy, darling, handsome, purring, fat, cuddly.

Saucy Sal: a badass, fighter, brave, daring, sleek, green-eyed, gorgeous.

Smoke (the Aristo-cat):

"Smoke was a big Maltese and an aristocrat from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. There was no doubt whatever that he belonged to the cat caste of Vere de Vere. He had emerald eyes and a coat of plush. The only white thing about him was an adorable dicky." (Emily of New Moon).

Aristocrat,

Dignified,

Member of cat caste of Vere de Vere,

Eyes like jewels,

Dignified,

Beautiful.

Buttercup (a tiny cat-cherub):

"Buttercup was a chubby, yellow, delightful creature hardly out of kittenhood." (Emily of New Moon).

Delightful,

yellow ball of fluff,

cute,

small bean,

adorable.

Mike the Second (a cute furry grey demon of the night):

"Emily’s furry kitten, Mike II, frisked and scampered about like a small, charming demon of the night; the fire glowed with beautiful redness and allure through the gloom; there were nice whispery sounds everywhere. [...] (Emily of New Moon).

A gift from Old Kelly,

Cute, furry,

Charming, plump,

Fluffy,

Rescued by Emily,

A forever kitten,

Gone too soon.

Daffodil - Daff - Daffy (a life-long friend):

“The kitten was a delicate bit of striped greyness that reminded Emily of her dear lost Mikes. And it smelled so nice—of warmth and clean furriness, with whiffs of the clover hay where Saucy Sal had made her mother-nest." (Emily of New Moon).

"Daff," said Emily wearily, "you're the only thing in the world that stays put." (Emily's Quest).

"Don't you wish—or do you!—Daff, that you and I had been born sensible creatures, alive to the superior advantages of Quebec heaters!"(Emily's Quest).

Fluffy,

Grey,

Cute,

Nice,

Adorable,

Emily's friend and companion of her lonely years,

Snored loudly in his sleep during his later years,

Followed Emily everywhere,

My personal favourite.

Part 3. Pat Gardiner

Gentleman Tom (an immortal cat):

"Gentleman Tom sat beside Pat, on the one step from the landing into Judy's room, blinking at her with insolent green eyes, whose very expression would have sent Judy to the stake a few hundred years ago. A big, lanky cat who always looked as if he had a great many secret troubles; continually thin in spite of Judy's partial coddling; a black cat . . . "the blackest black cat I iver did be seeing." For a time he had been nameless. Judy held it wasn't lucky to name a baste that had just "come." Who knew what might be offended? So the black grimalkin was called Judy's Cat, with a capital, until one day Sid referred to it as "Gentleman Tom," and Gentleman Tom he was from that time forth, even Judy surrendering. Pat was fond of all cats, but her fondness for Gentleman Tom was tempered with awe." (Pat of Silver Bush).

Ageless,

Troubled,

Mysterious,

Fascinating,

Full of personality.

Bold-and-Bad (a mad-cat ball of energy):

'"Bold-and-Bad", the kitten of the summer, came flying across the yard to her. Pat picked him up and squeezed some purrs out of him. No matter what dreadful things happened at least there were still cats in the world."

"Even Bold-and-Bad, whom ordinarily nothing could subdue, crouched with an apologetic air under the stove."

"Sure and I will, Patsy darlint. Ye nadn't be fretting over Bold-and-Bad. He's living up to his name ivery minute of the day, slaping on the Poet's bed and getting rolled up in me shate of fly-paper. Sure and ye niver saw a madder cat." (Pat of Silver Bush).

Full of energy,

Mischievious,

Living up to his name,

Bold,

Bad-but-adorable,

Brave,

Unstoppable,

Always young.

Part 4. Valancy Stirling:

Banjo (a devilish philosopher):

"Banjo is a big, enchanting, grey devil-cat. Striped, of course. I don’t care a hang for any cat that hasn’t stripes. I never knew a cat who could swear as genteelly and effectively as Banjo. His only fault is that he snores horribly when he is asleep." (The Blue Castle).

Grey devil cat,

has his own chair,

rules his kingdom of Barney's hut,

a graceful swearer,

dignified,

Good Luck (a wistful philosopher):

"Luck is a dainty little cat. Always looking wistfully at you, as if he wanted to tell you something. Maybe he will pull it off sometime. Once in a thousand years, you know, one cat is allowed to speak. My cats are philosophers—neither of them ever cries over spilt milk." (The Blue Castle).

Dainty,

Wistfull,

Charming,

Enchanting,

Clever,

Interesting.

Part 5. Jane Stuart

Two Peters (little cuties):

"The Snowbeams told Jane their cat had kittens and she could have one. Jane went down to choose. There were four and the poor lean old mother cat was so proud and happy. Jane picked a black one with a pansy face—a really pansy face, so dark and velvety, with round golden eyes. She named it Peter on the spot. Then the Jimmy Johns, not to be outdone, brought over a kitten also. But this kitten was already named Peter and the Ella twin wept frantically over the idea of anybody changing it. So dad suggested calling them First Peter and Second Peter—which Mrs Snowbeam thought was sacrilegious. Second Peter was a dainty thing in black and silver, with a soft white breast. Both Peters slept at the foot of Jane's bed and swarmed over dad the minute he sat down."

"First Peter was sitting on the doorstone when Jane came downstairs, with a big mouse in his mouth, very proud of his prowess as a hunter." (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Cute,

Soft,

Adorable,

Lil hunters.

Silver Penny (small but mighty):

"Ding-dong had brought her a kitten to replace Second Peter...a scrap about as big as its mother's paw but which was destined to be a magnificent cat in black with four white paws. Jane and dad tried out all kinds of names on it before they went to bed and finally agreed on Silver Penny because of the round white spot between its ears." (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Beautiful,

Magnificent,

Adorable.

Part 6. Marigold Lesley

Lucifer and Witch of Endor (a devilish married couple):

"Of course the cats were present at the festivity also. Lucifer and the Witch of Endor. Both of black velvet with great round eyes. Cloud of Spruce was noted for its breed of black cats with topaz-hued eyes. Its kittens were not scattered broadcast but given away with due discrimination. Lucifer was Old Grandmother's favourite. A remote, subtle cat. An inscrutable cat so full of mystery that it fairly oozed out of him. The Witch of Endor became her name but compared to Lucifer she was commonplace." (Magic for Marigold).

Gorgeous,

Soulful,

Fascinating,

Witchy,

Subtle,

Almost human-like,

Clever.

Part 7. Kilmeny of The Orchard.

Timothy-The-Cat (Sir Timothy - the real head of the family):

"They have no living children, but Old Bob has a black cat which is his especial pride and darling. The name of this animal is Timothy and as such he must always be called and referred to. Never, as you value Robert’s good opinion, let him hear you speaking of his pet as ‘the cat,’ or even as ‘Tim.’ You will never be forgiven and he will not consider you a fit person to have charge of the school."

"The other end of the bench was occupied by Timothy, sleek and complacent, with a snowy breast and white paws. After old Robert had taken a mouthful of anything he gave a piece to Timothy, who ate it daintily and purred resonant gratitude." (Kilmeny of The Orchard).

Dignified,

With Royal airs,

Sleek,

Black,

Stunning,

A family member,

A family pride and joy.

I love how every cat has its own little personality!

[electronickingdomfox]

Excerpt from "The Entropy Effect" by Vonda N. McIntyre

McCoy flung himself around, swinging his fist in a clumsy roundhouse punch. “Damn you, Spock! Damn you, damn you—” Spock grabbed his hand easily. McCoy kept on trying to hit him, flailing ineffectually against the science officer’s restraining strength. “Dr. McCoy, you know that I am right.” McCoy slumped, defeated. “You cannot hold him any longer. You did your best to save him, but from the moment he was wounded he could not be saved. This failure holds no shame for you, unless you prolong a travesty of life. Let him go, doctor, I beg you. Let him go.” The Vulcan spoke with penetrating intensity. McCoy looked up at him, and Spock pulled away, struggling to hide the powerful feelings of grief and despair that had come perilously close to overwhelming him. “Yes, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said, “you are right.” He opened the door of the quarantine chamber. Air sighed past him into the negative-pressure room, and he went inside. Spock followed. McCoy examined the EEG one last time, but he knew better than to hope for any change. The signal remained flat and colorless; all the tracings sounded the same dull tone. McCoy brushed a lock of hair from Jim’s forehead. He could hardly bear to look at his friend’s face anymore, because of the eyes. Precisely, deliberately, he went to work. Once he had made up his mind, his hands moved surely, unaffected by the liquor he had drunk. He withdrew the needles from Jim’s arm. The chemistry signals started changing their harmonies immediately. The oxygen tones fell, carbon dioxide rose; nothing filtered out the products of metabolic activity. The signal deteriorated from perfect harmony to minor chords, then to complete discord. McCoy removed the connections that would have restarted Jim’s heart when inevitably it failed. Finally, his teeth clenched hard, McCoy disconnected the respirator. Jim Kirk’s heart kept on beating, because the heart will keep on beating even if it is cut out of the chest; the muscle will contract rhythmically till the individual cells fall out of sync, the heart slips into fibrillation, and the cells die one by one. But the breathing reflex requires a nerve impulse. When McCoy turned off the respirator, Jim’s body never even tried to draw another breath. After the final, involuntary exhalation there was no struggle at all, and that, far more than the evidence of the machines, the persuasion of Spock, or his own intellectual certainty, finally convinced McCoy that every spark or whisper of his friend was dead. All the life-signs stabilized at zero, and the tones faded to silence. The doctor pulled a sheet over Jim’s face, over the dead gray eyes. McCoy broke down. Sobs racked him and he staggered, suddenly aware of just how much he had drunk. He nearly fell, but Spock caught him, and supported him in the nearest thing to an embrace that the Vulcan could endure. “Oh, god, Spock, how could this happen?” McCoy sank gratefully into darkness. Spock caught McCoy as he fell, and lifted him easily. Loss and regret pulled at Spock so strongly that he could not deny their existence; all he could do was keep them from showing outwardly. That did not lessen his private shame. His face set, he carried McCoy to one of the cubicles and eased him onto a bunk. He removed McCoy’s boots and loosened the fastenings of his sweat-stained uniform shirt, covered him with a blanket, and lowered the lights. Then, recalling the single, humiliating, inadvertent time he himself had become inebriated, Spock decided to stay until he was certain the doctor had not ingested enough ethanol to endanger his life. Spock sat in a chair near McCoy’s bed and rested his forehead against his hand.

Punch me right in the feelings. 😥

[seriouslysam8]

Could you share a snippet of #6 or #7? I’m curious in what state Andy and Ted find Harry, and I want to know what Ginny’s reaction is when she finds out Harry’s sick!

I’ll give you seven because I have more of that written.

If you read the MIT series, you’ll see a familiar name. 😁

It has been ten months and four days since Sirius Black had seen the outside of his cell in Azkaban when two human guards practically dragged him from his cell, his feet fumbling to walk but they only felt like jelly from lack of use. Nobody said a word to him as they made their way down a long corridor, prisoners screaming in their own despair all around him. It seemed to take days to get to their destination. Some windowless room with only a table and two chairs opposite of each other.

Sirius grunted as they forced him to sit down. Grabbing his hands, they fastened them to manacles attached to the table before they bent down to click manacles on his ankles as well. Sirius didn’t bother to look at what his legs were attached to. He just wanted to sleep as Padfoot, to be left alone.

The guards left. Sirius leaned forward, his hands carding through his knotted hair. His eyes slid closed, wondering if this was some new form of torture he was going to be subjected to. The door opened to the right but Sirius didn’t even bother to look to see who it was. All he knew was that it wasn’t a dementor because he wasn’t seeing James or Harry in his head.

“Sirius,” a familiar female voice breathed.

Looking up, Sirius saw Andromeda Tonks standing there dressed to the nines in an emerald green sheath dress and black robes. Her big gray eyes searched his, a watery smile crossing her features as she stepped forward. Her heels clicked against the stone, echoing in the small space. She knelt down beside his chair, her hands cupping his bearded face.

“Merlin, Sirius,” Andromeda whispered, a stray tear escaping the corner of her right eye. “Is this how they treat all the prisoners?”

Sirius felt a lump in his throat. He didn’t know. He was on one of the highest floors in maximum security. Nobody there was afforded the luxury of leaving their cell. Maybe those on the lower levels were given more freedoms. Sirius didn’t know nor did he really care. He had lost everything, so the sun seemed trivial.

“Sirius, can you hear me?” Andromeda pressed, her hands sliding down his face.

“Yeah,” he croaked, his voice sounding so foreign to his own ears.

Andromeda let out a sigh as she stood up. “We should sue. The condition you are in is appalling! I mean, I expected it with the way I’ve seen those on trial looking, but it’s… I’ll get you cleaned up. I’ll push for it. You’ll need to look presentable for your trial.”

Sirius’ eyebrow rose. “Trial?”

Andromeda huffed. “Do you know how much time it took me to secure you one? The so-called Minister of Magic said it was an open and closed case. Reeks of corruption and incompetence. I didn’t take that lying down. I went to every single magazine and newspaper who would listen to me. Took ages to get people to care enough.”

Sirius nodded, trying to comprehend what Andromeda was actually saying to him. He felt weak and his head spun. Part of him just wanted to lie down but he couldn’t thanks to the manacles. He glanced down at his hands.

“Sirius!” Andromeda exclaimed. “Are you still mentally there? Did they, Merlin, did they damage you beyond repair? You need to be competent to stand trial! To be able to speak full sentences!”

Sirius blinked, his thumb brushing right above the manacle. “How…” Sirius cleared his throat. “How’s Harry?”

Andromeda let out a scoff, causing Sirius to look up at her. “Harry? You’re concerned about Harry Potter right now?”

“He’s my godson,” Sirius replied, stating the obvious because Andromeda knew all about Sirius’ love for his godson. He had sent Andromeda countless letters filled with stories about the little boy, not to mention the pictures. Merlin, he had sent her so many pictures before everything went to shit.

“I don’t know how Harry is!” Andromeda exclaimed as she sat down across from him, her arms crossing over her chest.

Sirius licked his cracked and dry lips. “Can you find out?”

Andromeda pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “I’m sure he’s fine, Sirius. He’s off doing normal toddler things.”

Sirius shook his head. “He’s with Lily’s sister.”

Andromeda sighed and glanced across the table at him. “Then I’m sure he’s having a blast with his aunt.”

Sirius sneered. “Her sister hates magic. She hated Lily. She hated James.”

Andromeda’s eyes softened. “You’re worried she’s not treating him right?”

“Either she grew a heart or she’s the same bitch I met a few years ago,” Sirius replied. “Can you check on him? Make sure he isn’t…”

Sirius snapped his mouth shut, his gaze falling back to his hands. He couldn’t say the words out loud because he feared they might be true.But a trial meant he had a way to leave Azkaban, to have the Hit Wizards look for Peter, and to be reunited with Harry. Sirius had never wanted anything more in his life than to feel Harry’s chubby little arms wrap around his neck again.

Andromeda’s hand touched his. He stilled at the touch, as odd expanding feeling filling his chest. He forgot what a nice touch felt like. Sniffing, he blinked rapidly a few times.

“Nobody is as bad as Walburga,” Andromeda whispered. “I can’t believe anyone would be as cruel as she was.”

Sirius swallowed. “You don’t know that. He’s so little. He lost everything that night and he’s with a woman who despises magic.”

Andromeda sighed, her eyes searching his. “Do you know where she lives? Her name? Anything?”

A weight lifted off Sirius’ shoulders. “Petunia and Vernon Dursley. They live in Little Whinging. Somewhere on Privet Drive. That’s all I know.”

Andromeda squeezed his hand. “All right. I’ll stop by after I leave here and before I meet with the lawyer.”

“Lawyer?” Sirius asked. “You hired me a lawyer?”

Andromeda snorted. “Of course, I hired you a lawyer. I wasn’t going to let you defend yourself. What a disaster that would be.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Who did you hire?”

Andromeda pursed her lips.

“Andy,” Sirius pressed.

“Humphrey,” Andromeda said in a cagey tone.

Sirius blinked at her. “Humphrey who?”

Andromeda cleared her throat. “Humphrey Slughorn.”

“No, no, no, I’m not having some Slughorn defend me in court,” Sirius protested.

“Look, Hugh said he’s made a lot of deals for-“

Sirius scoffed. “Wait, Hugh? You mean Hugh Slughorn? Your old Hogwarts sweetheart?”

Andromeda narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes! Humphrey is Hugh’s brother.”

“So, he’s Horace Slughorn’s nephew?” Sirius clarified. “No, I refuse.”

Andromeda arched her eyebrow at him. “Do you want to see Harry again or not?”

Sirius’ heart hammered in his chest at the very prospect of seeing Harry. He wouldn’t just want to see Harry again. No, he’d want full custody and a nice place to keep him safe. If Humphrey bloody Slughorn was the best chance he had… Sirius rubbed his chin as he listened to Andromeda continue singing her praises.

“Humphrey is your best chance. He was Lucius Malfoy’s lawyer and he’s sitting free and happy, drinking wine in his fancy Wiltshire estate. Humphrey also represented Macnair,” Andromeda continued as she held up two fingers. “Yaxley.” She held up another finger. “Do you want me to continue? There’s about five more I can give references for.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “So he basically got off actual Death Eaters.”

“If he can get actual Death Eaters off, imagine what he could do for an innocent wizard,” Andromeda stated.

Sirius sighed. “Does Ted know you’ve been talking to Hughie?“

Andromeda scoffed. “Ted and Hugh are good friends.”

“Right,” Sirius replied, his hands clasping in front of him. “Can you come by tomorrow and let me know how Harry is?”

“Merlin, Sirius, you have a one track mind! There are other things you need to be worrying about!” Andromeda protested.

Sirius shook his head, his jaw clenching. “Where would your mind be if you were in prison and helpless while Dora was off with some magic hating Muggles who hated you?”

A pounding sounded on the door. “Five minutes!”

Sirius sighed, hating that he would only feel alive and human for five more minutes before he was dragged back with the dementors to rot and become a shell of a person again.

“Andy, please,” Sirius insisted.

“Fine. I’ll find him,” Andromeda assured him. “I’ll make sure he’s all right.”

Sirius chewed on his bottom lip. “You’ll help him if he’s not?”

Andromeda stiffened. “What exactly are you asking me to do, Sirius? Kidnap the boy?”

Sirius scratched his yellowing nail against a groove in the table. “If you think they’re hurting him, then yes.

“You can’t be serious!” Andromeda hissed, leaning forward. “You cannot ask that of me!”

Sirius swallowed and looked up at his cousin. “What’s the date?”

Andromeda blinked. “The fifth of September. 1982. You’ve been here for nearly a year.”

Sirius nodded, a lump as solid and hard as a rock settling in his stomach. “So Harry is a little older than two. Two, Andy.

Andromeda sighed, her lips pursing to the right. He blinked at the only family member he still liked, willing her to understand his anxiety and fears for Harry. He didn’t know if it was magnified because of his long exposure to the dementors or because there was a very real cause for him to be so alarmed. Would Petunia actually hurt a child because of her jealousy and bitterness towards Lily?

[timotey]

Ficlet: Of a Ridge and a Valley

The Sign. Phaya/Tharn, Yai. What-If. Unbeta'd.

A bedside vigil and a plea.

(I'm in no way a medical professional. Something off? Hand-wave it as artistic licence. That one covers all!)

***

The medical machines hiss and hum, blinking away quietly. Except for their soft noises, a constant whisper in the background, the hospital room is quiet. Eerily so. Dimly lit and empty but for one bed with a body lying in it, a man, pale and unmoving, and a chair next to it, with another man sitting in it, also pale and unmoving. 

“Shit, Phaya,” Yai says quietly, his voice breaking at the end. He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, and hides his face in his hands.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

When he finally looks up, his eyes, bloodshot and weary, seek out his friend. Phaya is so damn pale, almost gray in the face, a fucking machine helping him breathe. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” Yai whispers in a voice that’s wet with unshed tears. “I promised Tharn I would help him protect you and… I failed. And I’m so very, very sorry. So sorry, Phaya.”

He rubs his nose with the back of his hand, then he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You have to wake up, you just have to, you have to come back, you–”

Yai cuts himself off. He falls silent.

Because he knows how hopeless his wish is. He was there when the doctor talked to Phaya’s grandmother and his sister, he heard the man lay out his concerns about the amount of time that Phaya spent under water, about Phaya’s brain activity, about… coma and brain damage.

Brain damage.

Yai was there because Tharn was there. And Tharn heard it too. And it broke him. Yai had to help him sit down or he would’ve fallen down. It broke Tharn. Yai has seen Tharn sad and depressed and grieving, first hand, he was there, right there, by Tharn’s side, way back when… But he’s never seen him looking like this. Something just seemed to have died in Tharn.

Sand and Tharn, they are the two people enclosed in Yai’s heart, the two people Yai loves more than anything else in the world. Sure, he likes all his friends, he likes Phaya so damn much because he is brave and good and he has so much integrity and he… he loves Tharn. For that, for that Yai likes the guy so much.

But now they’re here. Just the other morning, they laughed and joked and they were so damn happy and Tharn, Tharn was so happy, finally, after so long. But all that now seems so far away, as if it happened in another life, as if it happened to someone else entirely.

Yai reaches out and takes Phaya’s hand in his. It’s callused and warm and yet, it doesn’t really feel alive. Still, he squeezes it tight, staring down into Phaya’s slack face, half hidden behind an oxygen mask.

“Phaya,” Yai says imploringly. “Phaya, you have to listen to me, okay? You have to hear me. You just… you have to. And you have to come back. I don’t know how, I wish I knew, I wish I could help you but I can’t. Still, you just have to.”

He swallows hard. “For Tharn. You have to come back for him. Because if you don’t… if you don’t come back, I’m afraid he won’t last. Phaya–” Yai’s voice cracks. “I’m afraid he won’t survive you dying on him. He won’t make it.” 

He takes a shaky breath. “I didn’t realize, when I pushed you two together, I didn’t realize that he would come to love you so damn much. It’s like he gave all of himself to you and there’s just nothing left over for him now that you are not here. He’s just so… empty.”

Yai gets up and leans over the bed, close to Phaya, and whispers urgently into his ear. “If you don’t make it, you stupid fool, if you don’t come back, it will kill Tharn, you hear me? It will kill him.” 

Then, raising his voice a little, Yai pushes all his pain and fear and despair into his words and snaps, “If you don’t wake the fuck up, Tharn will die!”

Nothing, for a long moment, not that Yai truly expected–

A beep. A flicker on the monitor. Something where there was nothing before.

A pause. Then another jump, a ridge and a valley, a bump in what used to be a flat plane.

It’s not much but it’s there. It’s a beginning.

And Yai cries.

[catt-marp]

Zoroark Story (Part of a Medical Anthology)

My grandmother had suffered from severe dementia for years. The disease had rapidly worsened over the last couple of months, so I went to visit her in her nursing home in Nacrene City. After the staff allowed me inside, I started walking toward her room when I heard a sound I never expected; the voice of my deceased grandfather. I rushed down the hall at that sound, thinking I must have imagined it. Turning the corner and walking up to the correct door, my brain caught up and remembered my grandma’s oldest partner.

Peeking around the corner slowly revealed an elderly man with a thin mop of gray hair standing at the bedside of an elderly woman wearing large circular glasses who rested peacefully; my grandfather and grandmother. 

“Horace, you need to head out to the store and pick up all the things written down on the list, got it? We got that bake sale coming up, after all.” 

She spoke with a strength I had not heard in ages.

“Of course, love. Is there anything else you need?” Horace asked in response. Spoken in a voice I had not heard in a decade.

“No, dear, but aren’t the flowers lovely today? Such brilliant shades of purple! We should have Jane over to see how well they’ve bloomed, don’t you think?”

There were flowers, an innumerable amount in the room, collected regularly from the countless lives this woman touched and set out by her loving family. Horace sat down in a chair at the far end of the room provided for visiting family members and placed his hand on hers. 

“Yes, my dear, they are quite lovely. Let me sit with you for a bit and then I’ll head out for those groceries, okay?”

They both passed the time in companionable silence while I stood outside the door awkwardly, unsure if I should walk in or not. She stirred a few minutes later and turned to look at where my grandfather was sitting. 

“Bridget? It’s been ages! How’ve you been, girl?”

Bridget was a lifelong friend of my grandmother and another person who, last I remembered, had been dead for decades. As if to scoff at that idea, my grandfather’s visage disappeared in a whirl of light, replaced with the body of a much younger woman. My grandmother did not seem surprised at all at this sudden change, only waiting for a response with a soft smile on her face.

“Oh, Millie, I’ve missed you too!” a light feminine voice said in response.

They continued for some time with idle chit-chat and gossip of neighbors no longer present. This included areas in town much further developed and changed than either of the two could have known. 

The conversation dragged on for some time before another comfortable silence filled the air. The younger woman continued to sit at the bedside while the older woman seemed to doze off. A ways away from Bridget, standing just outside the doorway, I tried to focus on Bridget's face. I imagined a series of complex emotions playing across her face; fear, sadness, hope, joy, despair, comfort. I blinked my eyes, turned away for a second, and looked back. All I saw this time was love. Simply love.

My grandmother jolted a bit as a sleep jerk awakened her from her doze. She turned her head a bit to look around as if lost in her surroundings, unsure. But then her eyes lit up.

“Trixie, my dear! How’d you get out of your ball, my love?”

It was like a firework went off with how excited Bridget looked upon hearing that name. Not even a tenth of a second passed before light once again filled the room and where a woman once sat, a Zoroark now stood. The Zoroark bounced in the seat before settling down near the head of the bed, planting kisses on my grandmother’s forehead and cuddling up with her while being as gentle and caring as possible. 

Trixie, of course it was Trixie. I knew the moment I saw my grandfather, but confirmation was still reassuring. The Zoroark was old, not as old as my grandmother, who started her journey later in life with her Zorua in her late 20s, but the age was showing. Her hairs were thin, with some of the black transitioning to a darker gray. Tricky though she may be, the fox was my grandmother’s oldest and closest partner. And here she was, doing what she did throughout her whole life, bringing love and joy to her best friend in the world.

My thoughts of their journey and the stories grandma told me played through my head when I noticed the fox looking up from the bed directly at me, finally picking up my scent a little better in her base form. The look was quizzical, but not all that surprised, before she spun back to my grandmother. 

I stepped away from leaning in and sat in the hallway to wait, giving them their moment. It was rare, I heard, for my grandmother to recognize the fox nowadays. If only she knew. The pain was clear enough for the old fox. 

She didn’t want to leave my grandmother’s side, but she was still a proficient battler who could support a Gym or a family member well. Initially, she had difficulty taking care of herself during the more severe episodes at the beginning of my grandmother’s worsening condition. My family worked out a deal with the nursing home that allowed her more frequent visits and allowances, given her gifts and abilities.

The noise of a clearing throat startled me out of my reverie and I glanced up to see a younger woman again. Not Bridget, though. Bridget had light brown hair and brown eyes and appeared in her twenties in the room. This woman had long black hair, teal colored eyes, and a bangle tied into her hair near the base of her head, with the rest flowing down past her hips. She appeared middle-aged and looked at me with friendly eyes, a set of bags under each. 

She moved again when I noticed her and sat down on the ground next to me, turning to chat.

“How long have you been here, Samantha?” she asked naturally, the Zoroark’s human disguise a perfect replica she had used for decades.

“Only about 15 minutes; startled me a bit when I heard grandpa before I realized…” I trailed off feeling awkward. It wasn’t like Trixie was doing anything wrong. Well, maybe, I didn't know. Don't know how I would have reacted if I heard and saw myself in the room.

She seemed to pick up on my feelings, though, and heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry if I scared you, and I’m sorry if that upsets anyone else in the family. I understand how that can be frustrating to hear, only…” she said as she lifted her fist up and tightened it in front of her. 

“I fought so hard for her, Sammy. She did the same for me, and we took care of each other for years. Thick and thin, humans like to say. That was us.” 

She pounded her fist to her chest, as if in confirmation of that fact.

She paused for a second before she continued, “I noticed something off the past couple of years before some of her caretakers explained it to me. To lose the ability to know who you are…you humans have it rough. And so do I.” 

She looked down at her fake human legs and sighed. I glanced at her face again and noticed moisture appearing at the edges of her eyes. Shock rocked through me. I had never seen Trixie cry before. I leaned into her and placed a hand on her leg in support.

Trixie jumped a bit, not expecting that physical support. She must get a lot less of it now with everything that happened. I felt her lean into me in response, and I saw a small smile on her face before it fell away.

“She deserves the world, Sammy. That and more. It isn’t fair that she has to lose it all yet still BE here. It doesn’t make any sense! Even with it explained to me over and over again, it makes me angry again and again,” she said, her frustration plain with the rise in volume of her words. “She did everything right and still– still , it came to this!”

Tears fell liberally from her face after those words escaped her mouth. I sat with her as long as she needed, a soul in need of love and comfort as much as my grandmother resting silently in her own room. 

“I will continue to do what I must, Sammy. As much as my body allows, as much as can be accommodated. Millie deserves my support. And if she sees her grandpa or one of her old neighbors or a random mailman? I will be whoever she needs.” 

She moved to stand up and supported me while I did the same. She looked at me, determination clear in her eyes.

“And when Millie sees Trixie, the Zoroark? I will bring the energy of a fox she remembers from our life together. And I will revel in it for as long as I still can. We both deserve that, don’t you think?”

She asked that last part with a smile on her face, the tears dried. I smiled as well. Who could resist, when you knew without any doubt your grandmother had her greatest protector and friend at her side in her time of need? 

“Do you want to go see her now? I will support you in any way I can, and give you the time and space you deserve as well, Sammy,” she said.

I nodded in answer as she followed with a flash and transformed back into her natural Zoroark form. Ready to assist and support, as always. She could fill the role of anyone my grandmother needed, but I knew all my grandmother ever needed was the fox. As we walked into the room, I vowed to make sure Trixie had the same love and support from myself and my family that she gave to our family her entire life when her own time came. It was only right, after all.

[comfort-questing]

things heard in silence

It was a cold night and a colder morning, gray daylight sparking off the thin frost on the stones of the courtyard. Someone had huddled up by the wall, faded cloak pulled tightly around them, head bowed and red hair tumbled loose to hide their face.

Under cover of the hair, Selick was biting at her knuckles, an old habit from her childhood that returned at the worst possible moments.

He's got to be all right. There just isn't any other way about it.

But if he's going to be all right (said the mean, sneaking voice in the back of her mind) why are you freezing yourself solid outside the infirmary at dawn because you couldn't sleep nor bear to wait any longer?

Because he's my friend, Selick savagely told themself. And friends like to have their friends nearby when things have – not gone so well –

There, now it was starting to get light in the sky above the walltops, and a door slapped open and shut somewhere near the guardhouse. It made a little more sense, now, her being there. Sullenly, gritting her teeth, fighting the tight sick knot of fear inside her, Selick clambered upright and went the seven or eight paces to the infirmary door.

Tala, who had been sitting up in a chair by the door, looked obscurely up at her from the half-finished stocking she was darning. "Selene, isn’t it?"

"Selene Aberan," said Selick. "I – I've come to – to talk with Hal…" She could not stop the slight shaking in her voice. She had to get a grip on herself. In a moment she might cry, and what would that look like? Surreptitiously, she clenched her numb fingers around fistfuls of her cloak.

Tala's eyebrows were a study. Selick suddenly received a horrific vision of herself from the outside, and hated what she saw: some sniveling little girl, shadow-eyed and sleepless, more fit for a sappy romance novel than for a borderlands fort. But if she had had the strength to stand up straight and match the healer’s resolute glance she would have done so.

"Haldyn's awake," said Tala, quietly, "so you can talk, if you like, but don't pester him for answers.“

“He’s awake?” She cringed at the hope in her voice.

“After a fashion, anyway.” Tala’s mouth tightened a little, needle pausing mid-stitch through the faded wool. “It’s been a long night for all of us.”

Finally Selick dared to look about the half-shadowed front room of the infirmary, then skitter towards the quietly-burning woodstove and the bed next to it. The soft tousle of Hal’s brown hair spread out on the pillow, the empty sprawl of one hand just above the quilt’s edge - she paused on the tips of her toes, squinting close, watching for the small lift and fall of his breaths just to assure herself.

Why am I such a twitchy little fool? Selick thought viciously, again. If there were a war on, or if they’d been up north before the Fort was built, this wouldn’t be new to her, be strange. They would have had to get used to this sort of situation… to feeling so everlasting powerless.

"Selick? What're you doing here?" Hal's voice, cracked and tired and quiet, but entirely and unmistakably his.

Every nerve in her body tautened at once, bright and sharp. Trembling, she set her back against the wall and sat down, so she was eye-level with Hal as he lay under the blankets on the bed. All the color was leached out of his face save for the cloudy amber of his eyes, skin gray beneath the summer’s tan, each breath bringing a wince and twitch of pain to his pallid lips.

He looked half a ghostly thing, and altogether weary, in a way she had never seen him weary before; and the despair was sick and bitter in her throat as she swallowed.

"Hey, Hal," she managed to say, pulling her knees in close to her, tucking her hands together so they would not shake. "I wanted to come talk." That sounded odd. "We miss you." That sounded silly. “I was… worried about you.” That - that just sounded obvious, and soppy in addition.

He was shivering under the blankets, despite the layers weighing him down, and it took him a moment to answer. "Did Father tell you – what happened?"

"No… not yet." She’d heard enough, from the guards who’d reached the walltops first; enough, and more than enough to keep her from sleeping. She didn’t know that any more information would have helped. "There was a fire in the stables last night," she said, just to have something to say.

"Why?" Hal blinked, muddled.

"We don't know for sure," Selick had to answer – which was true, but begged the question of why they had said it in the first place. It was only that there were too many things that they was about to say, that lurked around in the corners of what to say, and could never be quite said. Things like I have nothing to do to help you besides bother you and who attacked you yesternight? and don't die, you dolt. "But - all the horses are safe, and a lot of the structure, it was just - the tack room, I think. I don’t know.“

Back to things you don’t know, Selick, she told herself sourly. Would you be done with saying what you don’t know? But somehow the last intolerability of this situation was that she could not half talk suddenly. Not with her friend watching her with that awful, exhausted look to his face.

Long pause. Selick watched Hal out of the corner of her eye, trying to look like she were only watching the floor; she didn't know what to say next. There had got to be a better way to manage this sort of talk. Unfortunately, all the examples she'd heard of ran far too romantic, or laid too much stress on glorious deeds accomplished.

She wasn’t part of a story like that. All she knew was that if Hal were gone, it would be like part of the stars were gone from the sky; if Hal were gone, the color would be gone from the future, like a flag left out in the noon sun. And she could find no words to share that in any way she knew, or any story or ballad she’d heard, so she huddled there in silent frustrated waiting.

Hal solved the problem by speaking next. "Father and I talked. Last night." He coughed then, a painful wet sound, squeezing his eyes shut as the effort wracked him. "I went up to the walltop… because of the note I’d gotten… Daevrel was there. He said – I'd always been protected, that I'd been safe – when others hadn't been. His family's dead, Selick. They died in the plague. All those years ago."

Daevrel. So the guesses were right. Selick gritted her teeth again, the sudden heat of rage surprising her.

Hal's eyes were still shut, the twist in his mouth remaining.

"He said - said that I didn't belong here. He hated me, Selick."

"Blast him.“ Her voice seemed to have come unstuck all of a sudden, shaky as her stuttering breath, throat aching with tears and anger at once. "What does he know? Who cares what some vile traitor like him says, who’d strike down his own lord’s son for - for what - “

"This is going to sound silly," said Hal, almost in a whisper, "but I didn't think – anyone could hate, here." He smiled crookedly, as though laughing at himself. "At least not hate me. Can you – believe that? Before this business, I've have thought – that I could trust them here, that I could trust all of you. Is this – what they all think of me? Spoiled – weak – luckier than I deserved – ?"

Before she thought, she’d flung herself forward, crossing the slight gap of floor between them. "Oh, hush! You numbskull.“

There were flecks of blood on his lips, now, where his teeth had bitten down against pain; she reached out, sleeve tugged up over her hand, to blot them away. More wrong to see, to think of such things, than to touch him then.

"You're right," she said, through clenched teeth. "It does sound silly. Because it is. Because people who lie about everything and leave you secret notes and stab you in the middle of the night are so, so trustworthy in their judgement, you know?“

Hal froze for an instant, as her hand brushed over his face, eyes focusing and unfocusing dimly.

" – And whoever said that it mattered, really? Nobody has everybody be their friend. Maybe you don't either. But – you've got us, Hal. Me and Lirent, and Renian, and Issya, and your parents – and Jossin, too – we will find Jossin, Hal, I promise. And Gerald says you set the smartest rabbit traps in the borderlands, and Kremder thinks you're the best fellow on patrol for getting everyone to listen to you – "

Selick paused, and before they could let themselves be too afraid, she grabbed at Hal’s limp hand on the pillow - an odd sort of thing a for second-class scout to do for her commander, no doubt, but his chilly fingers wove into hers as if he were the one lost and drowning, and her hand reaching out in rescue.

"So stop thinking about people hating you. Start thinking about us. We're your friends, so what we say counts more than what he says. You’re ours - you will always be ours - and mine - and I will - “

Her eyes were swimming with tears now, and it was too late to stop them; but somehow it didn’t seem to matter anymore, now. And half a breath away from her Hal was smiling, just a little bit, which mattered the most of all.

“ - and I will never let anyone hurt you like this again,” they said, thickly - “so next time you do something utterly stupid like you did last night, come get me first.”

She dashed her free hand across her eyes, savagely, and tried to smile, though it didn’t feel very convincing. But Hal’s crooked smile had broadened anyway, almost enough to banish the pain-lines from his face, and he squeezed her hand in his.

"All right, Selick, I promise,“ he said. ”I'm sorry – for glooming you. Please tell - the others hello from me?"

In that moment Selick realized they weren't afraid at all, not anymore, not in any way. Because somehow she had found the words she needed, or something close enough to them anyway. And Mercy willing, there would be time to find all the words they would ever wish for, whether they were new words or the same as the old.

Perhaps it was the light shaky pressure of Hal’s hand in theirs that steadied them, after everything, and made it so simple to straighten the pillow behind his head as he coughed again, and brush back the tousled curls from his sweaty forehead.

"Sure, Hal, I’ll tell them." Her voice was steady now. Rooted and quiet. She got up to her feet, then, not trembling, not cold anymore. "Get some rest, all right? And Lirent will probably be by later, too, once they let him out from cleaning up the tack room."

They even managed to smile at Tala, as the healer came to take their place at Hal’s bedside, with fresh bandages and a strong-smelling cup of something. Tala smiled back, with a knowing sort of nod. “We’ll be seeing you, Selene?”

“Yes - I’ll be back,” Selick said, and opened the door, to step out into the sudden blinding brilliance of the morning beyond.

[aph-america]

Inevitable Temptation - Chapter 1: A Deal

After years of bullying due to a disorder that leaves him infertile, Ivan swears to never marry an Alpha. But living in a society that leaves him with few freedoms, his father marries him off. His Alpha fiancé, Alfred F. Jones, is a charming fellow who seems to not have a reason to marry an omega like Ivan- or does he?

“I won’t, I won’t have of it!”

“Yes, you will! Now shut it!”

Cries echoed through the room, as two men had a passionate yelling match. One much younger, had a red face with watering eyes. Another older, with a wrinkled harsh frown. Graying hair, and taller, he spoke down to the younger man. His voice lacked patience and empathy. His scent overpowered the room, asserting his presence.

“We let you go to school, get an education… Give you a few more years to… mature … and now, it is time to get married. The Jones are a respectable family, and the omega price they have offered is undeniable. We need the money, you need an alpha-”

“But father-”

“I WILL NOT HEAR OF IT!”

The younger man gasped, taking a step back as his vision blurred. Innocent eyes terrified. 

“It is done. You will be marrying Jones.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

“This is going to be good for you Ivan, I swear!”

A thick blonde with a bob haircut smiled, fixing the hair of the omega in front of her. Said omega was her younger brother, who wore a deep scowl on his face. Earlier that day, he found out that his father had betrothed him to an alpha he’s never met. After a crying session, he was ordered to pack his bags and prepare a move to the Jones estate. Evidently his fiancé had requested they move in together as soon as possible.

Ivan snorted, ignoring his sister’s attempts to cheer him up. “Good for me. Ha. Yes, to be some alpha’s house omega. What a life!” He spat out in a sarcastic voice. His tone dripped with despair, as this fate was one he despised. He clenched and unclenched his hands, fighting the urge to break an object. A headache began to form, making the side of his head throb. 

“Who says you can’t work? Not all omega’s stay at home.” His sister Natalia corrected, raising a brow as she helped him pack his things. “My omega works.”

“If he comes from such wealth as father says, I doubt it…” Ivan whined, his voice defeated. He looked at the ground, staring at his dress shoes. He put on his Sunday best to meet his new fiancé. His father insisted on it. Slumping in his chair, he pulled his scarf over his face. He felt his older sister poke him on the side.

“Sit up straight! Posture!” Sofia scolded then straightened Ivan’s tie. “Listen, I know you are… Rebellious… and have a free spirit, but marrying an alpha isn’t the death sentence that you seem to believe it is.” She continued her lecture, ignoring Ivan’s eye rolling and head shaking. “You will have a husband and alpha to take care of you and provide… It is not such a bad thing-”

“I don’t want to be provided for!” Ivan interrupted, his voice cracking. “I don’t want to be taken care of! I can take care of myself! Why must I need an alpha to function in this world?!” He cried out, getting emotional. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to calm himself down. His scent started to become more noticeable, as the rush of emotions were pushing the aromas out. The three siblings all kept their scents at bay when around each other. Natalia and Sofia were the only alphas who’s smell didn’t make Ivan feel overpowered. His sensitive nose added another reason to his disdain for alphas.

“This is all so easy for you two to say. You both are alphas. Perfect ones at that…” Ivan glanced down, a crestfallen look in his eyes. “You will never understand having your fate and life in the hands of someone else… Omegas are seen as mere baby makers… And I can’t even do that !” He closed his eyes, his hands balled into fist out of frustration. “And I don’t want to hear it anymore! Let’s just go!” Heart racing, he rose and rushed to grab his belongings. His sisters didn’t respond to the outburst. The pair weren’t accustomed to their brother being this emotional. Ivan was known to be quiet, calm, never the one to yell or shout. Smiles on his pretty face. Nevertheless, today had brought out a side of Ivan the sisters hadn’t witnessed before.

“Our father is so happy to pawn me off to another alpha! I am such a burden to this entire family! I see it now!” Ivan ranted, sniffling as his vision went haywire. He snatched one of the handles of the suitcase and dragged it out the room, the sounds of heavy breathing echoing in the room. Sofia chased after him, heart broken to hear such words slip from her brother's lips.

“You are not a burden to this family!” Sofia pleaded, shaking her head. Eyes wide, she was frantic to calm her brother down before their father overheard his tantrum. Her voice lowered as she attempted to reason with him. Tears fell down her cheeks, disheartened by the entire situation. “Our father just… He knows what is best for you, even if you disagree-”

“Best for me or what is best for our family image?” Ivan interrupted, shaking his head. His eyes narrowed, lips trembling. His voice matched his expression. “Don’t act like this is for me. It never has been.” A lump grew in his throat with him desperate to push it down. He couldn’t bear to look at his older sister’s face. Such a beautiful alpha, both of his sisters were the pride and joy of their parents. Ivan was nothing short of a pure disappointment; an omega who couldn’t bear children.

“I miss mother. She’d never let this happen…” Ivan's voice cracked again, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Red and stained, he rushed away to their car. His fate was awaiting him, and the emotional exhaustion of arguing with his family had drained him.

The car ride to the Jones’ estate was silent. The tension in the air was thick, no one dared to utter a single word. With Ivan on edge, they required him to be calm and collected when meeting his fiancé. Ivan’s heart raced, pumping blood faster the closer they drove to the house. His hand went to his neck, rubbing the skin raw out of anxiety. In his mind, this car ride was it. His last ride forever, before he was shackled to the chains of marriage. Any ideas of sabotage were thrown out the window. His father made it clear earlier if he didn’t see the engagement through, he wasn't welcomed back.

Ivan couldn’t fathom trying to guess what his fiancé looked like. No one had offered to show Ivan a photo of what the man looked like. Or even describe him, he only kept hearing how respectable of a family he came from as if that meant anything to Ivan. It meant something to his father, who viewed status as most important. But to Ivan, he couldn’t care less. What about his personality? Interest? Passions? Hobbies? Do they have anything in common? Knowing his father, he could answer that question: none. It meant nothing to his father to match him with a man he’d get along with.

Once pulled into a driveway, Ivan’s eyes scanned the house. Big and beautiful, it was a house perfect for a family, but that gave Ivan a sting to the chest as he couldn’t provide such a blessing. ‘It’s so big for just two people…’ Ivan thought. The car parked and outside stood a man. Ivan's eyes averted, avoiding any contact for the moment. The rest of his family got out of the car, with himself last. At a slow pace, he opened the door, eyes still glued to the ground. It wasn't until he heard someone address him that he finally had the courage to look up.

“Ivan! It’s so nice to see you again!”

Ivan's eyes met the man speaking to him. Tall, slight tan, bright blue eyes, blond, with a radiant smile, he’s… handsome. Ivan blinked, wondering if perhaps this was an assistant or family member to his fiancé.

“Ah, uh, yes?” Ivan hesitated. He’s never seen this man in his life, but he had zero idea if his father had lied that Ivan knew and remembered him. Not prepared to deal with the backlash of being truthful, he attempted to verbally agree to whatever this man said.

The man walked up and took his hand. With gentle care, he lifted it and brought it to his lips. A simple kiss before he slowly placed it back down. He flashed his perfect smile again, bright white teeth that were straight. This brought a burn to Ivan’s face. He despised it.

His scent kept Ivan’s face red as well. This alpha smelled good . Sage and citrus, with a hint of musk. Masculine but not overpowering. Ivan hadn’t come across an alpha with intriguing pheromones before.

“What a gentleman. Alfred, I know you are going to take great care of my son.” Father said, using a kinder tone than the one Ivan experienced earlier that day.

‘This… This is him?’ Ivan thought. This is Alfred Jones? This is the man who paid money to marry him? But why on earth would a handsome alpha, with higher social status want him, an omega who’s infertile? There had to be an ulterior motive, but Ivan didn’t have the time to ponder on his new fiancé's plans. A forced smile appeared on his face out of habit. 

Ivan had been raised to continuously form a smile on his face. When he was younger, he did it to appear friendly since he had been bullied relentlessly. As an adult, others pressured him to come across as ‘approachable’ . No one wanted to see an omega with a sullen look.

“Of course I will! Let me help you guys with his stuff!” Alfred offered, immediately aiding Natalia with taking out Ivan’s suitcases. His father joined in on gathering his belongings, with Ivan zoning out for a moment. He was snapped back to reality when Sofia grabbed his hand and led him to the door.

“What a lovely house! I can not wait to see what’s inside!” Sofia said, her smile beaming. She hoped her positive energy would rub off on her younger brother.

“ Actually- We are going to head home. Let us give the new couple some privacy.” Their father stated, his voice clear. There was a command to it, hinting to the sisters not to argue.

Ivan blinked, stunned that his sisters couldn't even stay to help him settle in. His father without a doubt couldn’t wait to get rid of him it appears. His chest tingled with hurt from the reminder that he was simply a burden to his whole family.

“Well, you guys are always welcomed over!” Alfred said with cheer in his voice. He opened the door and carried Ivan’s belongings in while he said his goodbyes to his family.

Said goodbyes were awkward, Ivan hugged everyone, even his father. This entire situation was rushed and appeared on a whim, he struggled to process it for a proper farewell. Although, it wasn't goodbye forever; his family only lived an hour away. This goodbye symbolized him leaving his pack. Even so, he had a feeling that his father planned to keep him away from his sisters for as long as he could. The quick hugs didn’t give Ivan the chance to be scented by them.

Suddenly, everything became a blur. Dissociating, he couldn’t recall what happened between his goodbyes and coming inside Alfred’s house. Out of body, he was snapped back to reality by his new fiancé.

“Ivan- Ivan? You okay?”

Ivan flinched, his eyes wide and his heart racing. His eyes went to Alfred's, who wore a worried expression. Moving his lips, no words came out. After a few deep breaths, he fought to compose himself. The scent hit him again, the sage and citrus made Ivan clueless for a second. 

“I- Yes, I, I am alright. I am, just, um, this is just a lot.” He spat out, eyes wide, another weak smile. Looking down, he was embarrassed by how odd he was acting.  Then again, he began to question why he cared. Who cares about how he appears in front of an alpha!

“Oh, yeah, it is, ha. But, how about I show you the house? I want you to feel at home.” Alfred said, a soft smile taking over his face. He took Ivan’s hand, which made the man stiffen. Ivan ripped it away, he didn’t want to be touched by any alpha, especially one whose scent was so intriguing. Not at this moment at least. He needed to keep a distance.

“You can… lead the way.” Ivan was frigid. He refused to turn into a shy, stuttering omega. He desired to compose himself, as he wouldn’t be won over. ‘I don’t need him thinking he bought me and now I’ll do whatever he pleases…’ Ivan thought, critical. ‘I need to get it together.’ His forced smile had returned to a neutral expression. 

Alfred raised a brow, but saved face by continuing to smile. A smirk plastered on his face was his iconic look, the man always appeared positive and put together. Fixing the collar of his dress shirt, he began his tour of the house. Said home had five bedrooms, and three bathrooms. The master bedroom, that Alfred saved for last, was the most luxurious. A large bed, velvet sheets, beautiful hardwood furniture, decorated by someone with taste. The entire house was picture perfect out of a magazine, but this room topped it off like a cherry.

“And this is our room. Nice, ain’t it?” Alfred bragged, turning around to catch Ivan’s expression. He took wide eyes to mean Ivan was captivated. His goal was to relentlessly impress his new omega.

Alfred had a habit of flaunting money with regards to lovers. Since childhood, it was engraved into his head that a good alpha provides for his omega. And that he could do, plus more. An omega could never be too spoiled in his eyes.

Alfred subconsciously put out his scent, as the flexing of his house encouraged it. Especially in reaction to Ivan’s - the man smelt delicious. Fresh flowers with vanilla, Alfred tried not to pay attention to it at this moment. If he focused on that sweet scent too much, he would struggle to control himself.

‘Stop staring as if you've never seen a nice home before…’ Ivan thought, neutralizing his expression. Violet eyes lazed upon Alfred. “Yes. I like it.” An understatement coming from Ivan. He’d love nothing more than to throw his body on that bed and hide his face in the fluffy pillows. He was in desperate need of a nap, but he had to get away from Alfred’s overpowering smell.

Placing his pale hands on his waist, he decided to use this as a chance to discuss sleeping arrangements. “So. Will we be sharing a bed so soon…?” Ivan presented the question as if it had to do with social etiquette, and not with the fact that Ivan had zero interest in sleeping next to Alfred right now. Maybe even, at all.

Alfred’s expression stayed unfazed. “If you think it’s too soon, then that’s fine! I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom until you’re more comfortable. Nothin’ to rush.” He shrugged, his demeanor unbothered. In reality, he was a bit disappointed, but not surprised. It would be cocky of him to think he had a chance to nuzzle his nose into Ivan’s neck anytime soon. He turned on his heels to walk out, extending his arms. “So, yeah, that’s the house! Uh, any questions?”

Ivan shook his head, his hands staying on his hips. “No… Other than if it would be alright if I took a nap? I am feeling exhausted, yes?” He asked. Hooded violet eyes did appear tired to Alfred. The poor omega’s face was red, with his heart still racing. Lips twitching as his natural urge to smile fought against his inner despair.

“Yeah, yeah, of course! I bet all the packing was a lot of work…” Alfred’s eyes went to the floor, then came back to meet Ivan’s. He pointed to his bedroom, “You can take the master, I don’t mind.” He offered his attempt to swoon his fiancé with politeness.

Ivan shook his head with haste, walking away from the room in a hurry. “No, no, it is fine. It is your room. I will take the spare. Do not worry…” He waved his hand as he took the chance to hide away. “I will… see you later…” The Russian said, tone awkward as he closed the door.

Taking a deep inhale, he was relieved that the room didn’t reak of Alfred. He was stressed, sad, tired, and emotionally exhausted. A condition where commonly, an attractive alpha’s presence brings peace. Nevertheless, to the proud Ivan, it’s a stress beyond belief. He hated alphas, they were selfish, awful, rude, and only viewed omegas as a sex object or baby maker. The oppressor to his kind, and he refused to have his knees buckle to one. Not now, not ever.

Ivan threw himself on the bed, shoving his face into the pillows.

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