#I love my friend but I’m going to wither away if I have to hear loser baby one more time

[ruthytwoshakes]

my tee f two fanart okay goodnight

[tuiccim]

Wrecked (Part 2)

Pairing: Alpha Frank Castle x Omega Reader, Alpha Billy Russo x Omega Reader

Trigger Warnings: References to infertility, smut

Summary: When Frank Castle found his way to your small town bar, you thought you had finally found your Alpha despite being a "wrecked omega" but when his best friend, Billy Russo, blows through town, your world tilts on its axis. You thought you found your happy ending but was it just more wreckage for your life?

A/N: Thank you to my beta reader and hype princess, @whisperlullaby

Wrecked Masterlist

Thursday night ended up being busier than usual with a large group coming in to celebrate… something. You never quite caught the reason. You were so busy tending the bar that you rarely looked up to see faces. It was nice to see the tip jar nearly overflowing towards the end of the night. 

You were pulling drafts for a couple of regulars when the door flew open and a grinning Cecily walked in as if she was a triumphant warrior returning from battle. You laugh and announce loudly, “Batten down the hatches! Hurricane Cecily is blowing through town!”

“Hey!” Cecily laughs as she hugs you, “The place looks great! How are you?”

“I’m great. I’m really good. Looking forward to hearing more about your adventures.”

“Yes, but for now, I need a drink!” Cecily drags you to the bar. 

“Let me guess… a blue motorcycle?” You smirk. 

“You know me so well,” Cecily grins.

“How was your trip?” You smile as you make her drink.

“Fabulous! Saw the sights, made some friends, and had some good times. Pissed my dad off to all hell and back because I refused the match he arranged,” she giggles.

“He should know better by now,” you laugh. Cecily’s father had won the genetic lottery when he, a beta, and her mother, also a beta, produced an Omega offspring. He had hopes of marrying her off to make connections and strengthen the family standing. What he hadn't planned on was her strong will and refusal to marry until she fell in love. It was something you envied about her and probably one of the things that had drawn the two of you together. She was an Omega that a family centered their hopes on which she refused to comply with and you were the broken Omega who had disappointed your family with your inability to comply. 

“No matter their designation, men are all the same. Hard headed and yet oblivious,” Cecily rolls her eyes.

“Can't argue with that. I-”

"Oh, Jesus. Here we go," Frank's raspy voice interrupts. 

"Hey Frankie," Cecily teases. 

“Welcome back. What trouble are you planning to get into?” Frank asks as he takes the stool next to her.

“All the fun kind,” she grins. 

“Oh, Cec, Frank's best friend is coming to town soon. You'll have to meet him. I have a hunch you two will be hilarious together,” you giggle as Frank narrows his eyes at you. 

“Don't give her any ideas. Those two would tear apart the town together,” Frank turns to Cecily, “And if you let him, your bed, too.”

“Well, I'm certain I can show him a good time while he's here," Cecily says slyly. 

"Heard from him yet?" You ask.

"Yep," Frank says with a withering glance at Cecily. "He'll be here tomorrow. Leaving Sunday night or Monday."

"I can't wait to meet him," you wink at Frank. 

Cecily gives him a wicked smile, "Your best friend must be so interesting. Tell me about him."

Frank looks up at the ceiling as if praying for help but, knowing Cecily won't give up easily, he gives a few details, "He's an Alpha. Owns a security company. Real smooth with the 'megas and isn't the kind anyone can pin down. Just your type."

"What are you trying to say, Frank?" Cecily narrows her eyes. 

"Nothin'," Frank gives a shit eating grin. 

"Mm-hm," Cecily sips her drink. 

"Okay, you two, enough. I've got the room ready for him and a bottle of booze waiting," you say as a fresh group comes through the front door, "Play nice while I deal with the newcomers."

You walked away unworried about the two. Despite the way they ribbed each other, they actually liked one another. Cecily held respect for the man who had seen the gem that is her best friend and Frank was grateful for the unwavering support she showed you. So, while they always had harmless barbs to lob at each other, there was a mutual respect shared. 

Occasionally as you poured drinks and served, you would glance over to see them conversing companionably. In one such moment though, your stomach dropped a bit seeing Cecily's hand on his knee as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. You shook the feeling away, knowing she would never do anything untoward, and relaxed even more when Frank laughed while shaking his head. She was probably making a comment she didn't want overheard. You berated yourself for being so insecure. Frank was a good man and, even if he did choose to leave you for an Omega without your hindrances, he would never hurt you in that way. He would tell you... or he would just disappear, which was one of your biggest fears. One day, you would wake up alone and every trace of your life together would be gone. 

Just the thought was devastating. You had never expected him to stay this long and now you were spoiled by the presence of an Alpha in your life. You shake the negative thoughts away. Frank is your Alpha and he is going to mate you. But even that thought came with doubts. Your mind wouldn't let you believe that he would really mate you. He had said it to comfort you. He hadn't really meant it. He wouldn't tie himself to a wrecked Omega for life. No Alpha would. 

"Hey! Can I get another one?" A voice pulls you out of your melancholy thoughts. 

"You got it," you smile at the man and pour. The night is busy for a Thursday but you manage to make it back over to Frank and Cecily after a while. 

"Frank has been filling me in on his friend. I can't wait to meet him," Cecily smiles. 

"Well then, he's given you more information than he's given me," you laugh with a wink at Frank. 

"That's not true. I've told you stories about Bill," Frank laughs. 

"I had pull teeth just for you to tell me his last name!" You assert. 

"That's highly personal information," Frank smirks. 

"What is his last name?" Cecily asks. 

"Now see what you've started!" Frank exclaims. You stick your tongue out at him and laugh as his face drops. "Oh, very mature," Frank grouses.

"I'm sure your thoughts were when I did it," you tease him, leaning over the bar to whisper the words. 

"You're gonna be using it tonight," Frank groans out and then grabs you by the back of the neck to lay a kiss on you. His tongue plunders your mouth before he releases you with a smirk. You knew you were in for it when you got home and you couldn’t wait. 

“Ugh, now I’m looking even more forward to this friend of yours coming. Maybe I can interest him in a little PDA,” Cecily pouts. “I’m heading out. See ya tomorrow.”

“Night,” you and Frank say in unison. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Frank asks. 

“No, it’s okay. Head to the cabin and rest. I’ll see you in a bit,” you reassure him. 

“Alright. Be careful,” Frank gives a backwards wave as he heads for the door. 

The cabin. You always called it that or the house, never home. Part of you was scared he would correct you if you did; the other part worried it would scare him away. It was a precarious place that you stayed mentally with Frank. A fine line you balanced between loving his presence and fearing his absence. Would you ever feel confident in his commitment?

Billy coming had to mean something. Frank wouldn’t introduce you to his best friend, the closest thing he had to family, if he didn’t have intentions of staying. Maybe it was because you felt like Frank always had his eye on the door, waiting for the moment he would have to leave or for his past to catch up to him. How much did you even really know about his past? Maybe meeting Billy would give you more insight into him. 

When the bar closed a couple of hours later, your bouncer, Jordan, walked you to your car. A precaution he insisted on since the incident with the drunken Alpha. You wondered at times if Frank had asked him (or threatened his life) to ensure you got to your car safely. He really was sweet in his gruff way. 

By the time you made it to the cabin, the windows were dark. The porchlight and a small lamp just inside the front door were on but the rest of the house was dark and quiet. You smile to yourself, remembering Frank offering to stay until closing. Obviously, you had made the right decision to send him home since he was already asleep. He worked hard and deserved the rest. 

You quietly make your way to the bathroom and quickly wash up. You peek out the door at him and a sliver of light falls over his body. His arms were curled behind his head, his bare chest rising and falling with slow breaths, and between his thick thighs his heavy cock laid. You lick your lips and feel a surge of disappointment that he’s not awake but then a wicked thought crosses your mind. He never shies from waking  you up by fucking you… maybe he wouldn’t mind the same treatment. After all, he had said you'd be putting your tongue to work when you got home and you didn't want to make a liar out of him.

Shedding your clothing, you make your way to the bed. The sliver of light from the bathroom still lays over him. When he first came to your house, he would wake at every noise or touch but over the months, he had relaxed and was actually a fairly deep sleeper. Leaning over him, you lick a stripe from tip to base. His cock jumps and he stirs but his eyes don’t open. You repeat the action bringing another small response from him. Taking him into your mouth, you work your way down his thick cock inch by inch, your hand wrapping around what you can’t fit. Frank makes a sexy groan as he flexes towards you, his eyes slowly open as you watch. He grabs your head and moves you slowly up and down. 

“Fuck, this’s the hottest way to be woken up,” he growls. “Couldn’t wait until the morning for this cock, huh, babe? Had to have it in you one way or the other?” 

You moan your agreement while hollowing your cheeks. Frank’s deep growling moans are making you wet and you squeeze your thighs together to relieve the pressure. 

“Goddamn, I can smell you. Getting wet from sucking this cock. Get up here. C’mon,” Frank uses his grip to pull you away from his cock and then up to straddle him. You immediately position him at your entrance and sink down, biting your lip to hold in your moan. “What’d I tell you about that?” Frank pulls your lip from your teeth. 

“Don’t,” you whisper. 

“I wanna hear every sound,” he insists. “Now, you wanted this cock so bad, let’s see what you do with it.” His smirk relays the challenge as he lays back, folding his hands behind his head. 

Never one to back down from such a challenge, you knew you had to make this good. You worked your hips to get every last inch of his thick cock inside of you. He was so thick that each drag of his cock was a direct hit to your g spot but he was in so deep there was a bite of pain when he hit your cervix. You ignored it as you rode him and eventually it lessened to a mere whisper of discomfort. Putting your hands on his chest, you leaned a little more forward to grind your clit against him and let out a long moan as the new angle hit even more pleasurably. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Frank groans and then flexes up into you. 

“Oh! Fuck,” you whimper. You move more quickly, squeezing him as you barrel yourself towards orgasm. Not worried anymore about living up to his challenge, that first spark had alighted in your belly and you chased it. 

Frank ran his calloused fingertips over your nipples, no longer content to be a mere observer. He squeezed and feathered over them while watching your face. His hips came up to meet yours and your mouth dropped open to let out a small cry. He repeated the motion until he saw that sweet look pass over your face. The one that told him you were too far gone to turn back and he held himself back from coming with you. He wasn’t ready to be done yet. 

“I’m coming,” you cried as the waves of pleasure took over. Your body spasms around him as you ride out the orgasm. 

“Atta, girl. Squeezing my cock so tight. Fuck,” Frank watches as you fall apart on top of him. When your orgasm had run its course, you stopped for a moment to catch your breath but it didn’t last more than a few seconds when a smack landed on your ass and Frank’s gruff voice said, “We ain’t done yet, ‘mega. You wanted this cock so bad, you woke me from a dead sleep. Now you gotta finish what you started. Move that ass.” 

The shit-eating grin on his face made you want to be just a little defiant. You pull off of him and he immediately protests, “Where do you think you're going, ‘mega?” 

Pushing him back down on the bed, you lean in to give him a small but potent kiss. “Trust me, Alpha,” you give him a seductive look before turning around and straddling him again in reverse. You work his cock inside of you again and then look over your shoulder, “You wanted to see me move that ass…”

You bounce on top of him, being sure to give him a full view of your ass cheeks as you fuck him. Frank loved your ass and was always grabbing, slapping, or finding some other way to get his hands on it. Somehow, you had never gotten around to this particular position with him and you could tell right away it wouldn’t be the last time. His hands shot out immediately to grope you, a smack landing only a few seconds later. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Frank growled, his hands never stilling as he watched you fuck him. He was mesmerized by the jiggle of your cheeks with each motion you made while seeing his cock splitting you open. He sucked his thumb into his mouth, wetting it before pressing it to your tight little hole. He rubbed back and forth, teasing just the tip against your ring of muscle, as you rode him harder and harder. 

“Oh, fuck, Alpha. It’s so good,” you whined. The angle was hitting your g spot and you could feel yourself building again. 

“That’s right,” Frank growls, landing another smack to your ass, “Good, little ‘mega. Just need this Alpha’s fat cock splitting you open, huh?”

“Yes!” Is the only word you can manage at this point. You were tiring but the pull of another orgasm and Frank’s words were enough to keep you going. You were dripping from his praise.

“Fuck!” Frank cries out before grabbing your hips and slamming up into you forcefully. He repeats the motion over and over again and you can’t hold in your scream when you come. Frank’s loud grunts as he releases inside makes you clench around him. He flexes a few more times while holding you in place against him. When he had calmed, he pulled out and then positioned you to lay next to him. “Thanks for the wake up call,” he chuckles in your ear. 

“My pleasure,” you laugh. “I think I’ve always known the answer to the question of whether you’re a boobs or butt man but I think tonight solidified it.”

“Ass man, all the way,” Frank’s laugh rumbles through his chest. 

“Shocking,” you tease.

“Mm-hm,” comes out quietly. 

You glance over your shoulder at him and see he’s already drifting back to sleep. You smile to yourself and listen for his breathing to even out before slipping out of the bed to clean up. Glancing back at Frank from the door, you shake your head at his ability to be fucking the life out of you one minute and then practically asleep the next. “I love you,” you whisper to his sleeping form, knowing you’d probably never hear those words from him. 

–

The next night, Friday, was busy as usual. Frank had sent a text that a water main break had delayed him and he’d be late making it to the bar. It made you a little nervous that you might meet Billy without him here but you try to brush it off and keep up with the crowd. Especially since your other bartender called out. You were glad Cecily had made an early appearance and you set her to work behind the bar with you. She was great at helping out in a pinch and genuinely enjoyed working the bar, as the tip jar showed. Her flirtation skills were on point as you watched her flip her hair and wink at a patron. She knew how to play them like a fiddle. 

She looked gorgeous. Her short, wavy hair fell over her forehead attractively, giving a peekaboo effect that was coquettish. Tight black jeans, boots, and a one shoulder green tank hugged her curves as she twirled a glass in her hand before pulling the tap. You smiled as your eyes followed her for a few moments and she sent you a wink when she caught your stare. 

You were in a lull when the smell hit you, something dark and woodsy and undeniably Alpha. You turned to find a stranger sitting at the end of your bar with his eye on you. His incredibly dark eyes seemed to bore holes right through you. He was handsome, lean but muscular, dark hair brushed back from his forehead in an undercut, and casual clothes that seemed tailor fit. He was dreamy for lack of a better word. Making your way over, you smile at the newcomer, “Well, hello there, stranger. What can I get for you?”

“Whiskey, neat,” the man says as he eyes you. 

“Any-”

“Top shelf,” he interrupts your question. 

Raising an eyebrow at him, you smirk, “I’m afraid this bar’s version of top shelf is Johnny Walker. You strike me as more of a Lagavulin man.”

His face cracks a smile that had probably dropped more than a few pairs of panties, “You’re good, but don’t worry, I’ll stomach the Johnny Walker just fine.”

“You got it, chief,” you turn to pour the drink. Setting it in front of him, you lean on the bar, “What brings you to town?”

“Visiting a friend,” he says as he glances over at Cecily as she puts on a show while making drinks. 

Following his line of vision, you grin, “She’s something, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Is she the owner?” 

“Mmm, excuse me,” you are distracted by another patron motioning for a refill. You quickly pour the drink and a few others before making it back to him. Pouring him a second drink, you breath in his scent covertly, “Ac-”

“So, do you ever take a customer home?” He gives you a smoldering look.

“Do you always interrupt people?” You counter. 

“Only when going after something I want,” his eyes take a lazy path down to your cleavage before flicking back up to your eyes. You lean in closer to him, lowering your voice conspiratorially you say, “Not really but just occasionally someone tall, dark, and handsome blows through and I find I just can’t resist.” His eyes darken as he studies you and you could read his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. “Oh, and to answer your earlier question, no, I’m the owner… Billy. Welcome to town.”

Part 3

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[literary-motif]

ENOUGH ANGST !!!! AAAGGHHH I HATE ANGST !!!! So after Isis confirmed the bound, Xanthus said that he will now sleep with love in order to keep them safe. After listener gets comfortable and finally falls asleep. Xanthus keeps staring at them, slowly releasing what Isis said and building a deeper connection to love. Just for Xanthus to hug them and rest with love PLSPLSPLS

My Design

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

There was something very intimate about sleeping together — literally sleeping together. Xanthus was enthralled with the soft rise and fall of your chest, calming him so thoroughly that he feared it might lull him into the land of sweet oblivion himself. Your eyelids were gently closed, hiding the beautiful eyes he had lost himself in quite a few times since meeting you in that alley. 

He could not believe you had agreed to spend the night. Certainly, his lavishly decorated house — nay, mansion — might have something to do with it. It looked rather nice, he supposed. He was proud of the furniture, his collection of little specialties expanding over many centuries until it consisted of the composition of works he decorated his house with. 

There was an original Böcklin in the study, and a letter his old friend Van Gogh had sent him safely tucked away in the cabinet, next to the volumes of now historical pictures a history student might sell their soul for. 

His bed was very comfortable as well. Perhaps that was the reason that got you to stay, or maybe the thunderstorm raging in the night had made the prospect of walking home rather distasteful. Either way, you were here now, and he was glad for it. 

Isis had been gone for two hours, and his mind was still reeling. The bond was as fascinating as it was utterly terrifying. He had spent centuries living alone, not daring to tie himself to another person because they would wither and fade before his eyes, and now he was entangled with someone who was definitely going to die! 

‘Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch. Yehuda Halevi was right, but instead of the holiness he described at the end of the poem, Xanthus would find insanity when your heart stopped beating. 

How fearful, indeed.

What was this feeling of love he had? How long had he gone without it? Vaguely, he recalled an infatuation at the end of the 19th century — nothing he had ever felt compared to this. 

There was a thread tying you both together, one he could not so easily break no matter how hard he might strain against it. Not that he wanted to, although he supposed part of him did.

Vulnerability never came easy, and now you were his weakness. A weakness. 

You mumbled something in your sleep, and he could not help the fond smile that came across his face. You looked so comfortable with your head buried in the pillows, lying on your side. Unconsciously, you had curled around him, and Xanthus felt the sudden urge to gather you in his arms and make sure nothing mortal or otherwise would ever get the chance to hurt you. 

Something in his chest shifted at seeing your peaceful expression — one that had been missing from his own face for decades. His chest felt warm, and he felt the burning need to protect that had evaded him since he had watched his nephews being lowered into the ground. 

This is love, he realized suddenly, burning, aching, maddening love. What had he become?

What had the bond done to him?

“Xan?” you mumbled, still asleep. His heart could not take it.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered, carefully wrapping his arms around you to pull you against his chest. Your head lay on his chest, and you let out a content sigh, appreciating his affection even from beyond the veil of sleep. “Sleep, I’m here.”

You did not reply, your gentle breathing filling the air again. Distantly, he heard a crack of thunder, lighting striking across the sky in a sudden flash of unloading tension.

Xanthus closed his eyes, listening to your heart instead, hearing it pump the blood through your body. He hoped it would keep beating for a long, long time to come. 

He would make sure of it anyway.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Of Truths & Dreams; Sebek Zigvolt

Dreams can tell you a lot about a person. Their wants, their fears. But sometimes they can tell you the truth, and sometimes it isn't pretty.

Supporting Characters; Silver & Professor Trein

Content; Soulmate AU (I call them soul matches though), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, enemies-to-friends-to-*insert your relationship here*, reader is done with Sebek's bullshit, bullying Sebek hours (affectionate)

Content Warnings; Talk of death, swearing

Word Count; 5 K

Do not put any of my work into AI, that shit steals. If you do I'm eating your kneecaps.

Prologue & Lilia's Story | Malleus's Story

Sebek knew, even as a young child, that his parents’ marriage would end in heartbreak. That his mother would be left alone for centuries, heartbroken, because of his father’s humanity, because he was mortal. If you know something will only end in heartbreak, why go forth with it? Are a few decades of happiness truly worth it if it will bring centuries of loneliness? 

He used to not think in that light, but the whispers of fellow children, and the look of concern in his grandfather’s eyes upon seeing a single strand of silver in his son-in-law’s hair. His father was ageing, and when compared to the fae, he was ageing rapidly. His mother would still be young when his father would be growing old and senile. That’s what started the seed of bitterness, of resentment, of fear. 

Sebek was scared. He was scared that he may be dealt the same hand of fate; that his lifespan would be short like his father’s. And afraid that he would outlive him by several centuries if he inherited the fae lifespan. Both terrified him, and he was only six. Six years old and sitting on the tire swing that hung from the hawthorn tree, a scowl etched into his forehead. “It isn’t fair,” he muttered under his breath.

“What isn’t fair?” The gentle voice of his father startled Sebek, who fell off the swing. The older man picked him up and dusted off Sebek’s clothes. “There we go, not even a scratch,” he chuckled, ruffling his son’s pastel green hair.

How can he be so happy? Sebek scowled, and he felt a warmness build up in his eyes, tears. “Nothing,” he spat and ran off.

Unlike his mother, Sebek could lie, and it came easier to him than his siblings. It’s because I’m closer to him. And that scared him. It scared him, and he didn’t know why. He loves his father, but his humanity, that scares him. 

Pushing something away is much easier than accepting it, even adults, both human and fae, do it. Keep that fear and hide it away, under a mask of superiority. But the truth will always come out, one way or another.

I hate you! But he didn’t, Sebek loved him, but it was easier to pretend to hate something than to love it and then for it to wither before your very own eyes. 

…

Sebek’s dreams had colour, except for one. It was a mix of fae and human, and a sign from the Thorn Fairy that he had a soul match… but why was there one colour that was missing? His dreams should have been black and white, but the sky overhead was blue, the poppies in the field a brilliant red, and the centres of daisies a cheerful yellow. But one colour was missing, green. Where green should have been, there was nothing but shades of grey.

“Is anybody there?” His voice called out. He could hear his voice, his words weren’t floating in front of him. There was also no one else in the field with him. Sebek was alone. “ANYBODY?!”

He started running, he didn’t know where to, but he needed to get away. So he ran, and he kept on running until he came across a path which forked out into two directions, a crossroad. Sebek needed to choose. Left or right?

On the left, there was a butterfly flitting lazily down the path, whereas on the right was a hornet, its stinger wielded like a sword. The butterfly reminded him of his father, as butterflies do not live for long, and were seen as demure things. The hornet reminded him of his mother and grandfather, fierce and ready to defend; they, and the hornet, were knights. They feared nothing.

Sebek took off running down the right-hand path and kept on running until he came across a familiar castle, the castle where his grandfather worked. The fires glowed grey in Sebek’s eyes, but he knew they must have been green.

“Who are you?”

Sebek startled at the voice and he turned around. Standing behind him was a boy around his age with silvery hair, and lilac eyes. He could clearly make out his face, and his voice. The boy was clearly human, and that irked Sebek; his soul match wasn’t here but this random human child was? Behind him was the butterfly from earlier, glowing white and fluttering about before coming to rest on Sebek’s chest, resting on his heart.

Go away. Leave me alone. But Sebek bit his tongue and marched into the castle. “A future knight,” he boasted, bottling down his true emotions. “I’m going to be a knight. Like my grandfather!”

The boy walked behind Sebek and gave him a sleepy hum. “That’s who you’re going to be,” he said matter of factly, “I asked who are you not who are you going to be.” Not even three minutes of knowing each other, and the relationship between the two children was off to a rocky start.

“Names have power,” Sebek huffed. “How do I know you won’t use it to cross me, human?” He spat out the last word, human, his anger out in the open, his insecurity showing itself. “You tell me yours first.”

The other boy raised a pale brow at the hostility but decided it would just be better to accommodate rather than butt heads. “Silver. And you?”

Sebek huffed, but he could tell that the boy, Silver, was being honest with him. “Sebek.”

Silver offered him a soft smile, his eyes going from the butterfly which was still resting on Sebek’s heart to his face. “It’s nice to meet you, Sebek.”

And then Sebek woke up, blinking his eyes groggily. The only thing he could remember being the castle, his wanting to be a knight, and a butterfly that wouldn’t leave him alone.

…

…

…

The mirror took less than a second to place Sebek into Diasomnia, there was no better or other option. And Sebek was happy, so happy that he could continue serving Malleus, or in his words ‘Young Master’. Scratch that, Sebek was overjoyed. But the ceremony, which should have been perfect, was marred with chaos, because of a human. A magicless human.

Sebek shook his head. Today was good, regardless of the chaos. It should have not mattered, but Sebek couldn’t help but feel that it would have repercussions, a butterfly effect of sorts. It had the hairs on his neck stand on end. He could worry about it more in the morning though, he was of no use to anybody if he didn’t rest.

~

He was on the tire swing in the backyard, slowly going back and forth with the gentle breeze. What am I doing back here?

Usually, his dreams were about training, about being a knight, of protecting the Draconia line… not of childhood places, let alone at his own home. And sitting on the tire with him was the butterfly, still pale and glowing.

“What do you want,” he questioned the insect. 

But the bug paid him no mind and took flight, doing gentle loops around his head. And as Sebek watched the butterfly, he noticed the slow shift in his dream. Everything started to take on a green hue, and the butterfly was now a brilliant pastel green. That could mean only one thing.

They were here. Sebek didn’t really know what to think or feel. On one hand, compared to many, he hadn’t been waiting for very long, which is seen as a kind gesture from the Thorn Fairy. But on the other hand, Sebek was confused about what his colour difference could mean, and why now of all times? He didn’t have the time to go chasing after some random stranger. He had a duty to uphold, and if they got in the way, or possessed to be a danger to his Young Master… well, Sebek knew what he would have to do. 

The air in front of him shimmered. They are just entering the REM part of sleep now. Sebek clenched his fists and righted himself up, standing straight as a board. First impressions meant everything after all, and he for one did not want his first impression to be someone sitting on a tire swing and questioning flying insects. 

The air stopped shimmering, and they appeared in front of him, their appearance hidden because ‘Good things come to those who wait’ according to the Thorn Fairy. 

“Yeah, sure, why not. My day just had to get weirder,” their words floated in front of them, irritated. Sebek could feel their eyes looking him over, inspecting him, judging him. “Who are you supposed to be, huh?”

Sebek wasn’t sure what to expect when he first met his soul match, but he wasn’t expecting someone so… rude. Well, rude in his eyes at least. He felt his eye twitch, but he held together his composure. “I am your soul match!” The words were barked out, but they just floated in the breeze with no volume. The only thing that indicated that Sebek had said it loudly being the exclamation point at the end, as well as the sharpness of the letters.

But his soul match, even though he couldn’t properly make out their face, did not look impressed, and that rubbed him the wrong way. Every fae child grew up waiting in anticipation for their soul match to enter their dreams, to see their coloured hue tint their shared dreams. So why weren’t they more excited? 

“Did you pay any attention to me,” he huffed, still standing at attention, like his grandfather taught him. “I said that I’m your soul match!”

His soul match just brought their hand to their temple and massaged the spot. “I heard… saw? … you the first time, buddy,” they muttered tiredly. “That’s nice, that I’m your ‘soul match’,” they did air quotes around the term, “but I have no idea what that means or why I’m here.”

Sebek felt a lump form in his throat. Fae know about soul matches, even if it was kept secret from the outside world, fae knew. That meant that his soul match wasn’t fae, and other clans knew of the term, which only meant one thing. His soul match is human. 

They were weak and short-lived. Sebek had taught himself to look down on humans years ago, so why now, would the Thorn Fairy make his soul match human? The part of himself that he most feared?

…

…

…

You were running on fumes. Of the meagre sleep you were able to get, you were rudely interrupted by some stranger blathering about how humans were inferior. And quite frankly it pissed you off, royally so. You already got enough shit from everyone else about being magicless in a magic-dependent world, but for your ‘soul match’, someone you barely knew but was supposed to make you happy, constantly berating you for something that you couldn’t change. Yeah, you avoided them at all costs. And when you couldn’t avoid them? Well, you ignored them. It was much easier to ignore someone when you couldn’t actually hear them; all you needed to do was shut your eyes. Could you sleep when you were already sleeping? Well, you were. It was better than paying any attention to your bristly companion.

At least the tree you were resting under was nice, but you could feel your ‘soul match’ staring daggers at you. Cracking an eye open you found them standing as straight and stiff as a board, an air of a scowl surrounding them. 

“Who pissed in your cereal?” 

Your ‘soul match’ reeled back, and you saw a bunch of nonsense spelt out in the air before they controlled themself again, going back to their stiff posture. “THAT IS RUDE AND UNBECOMING TO SAY!” Their words were all capitalized, a sure fire sign that they were yelling at you. But since your first, and honestly disastrous, meeting weeks ago, it had very little effect on you. If anything, it was funny; seeing someone who held themself in such high regard be nothing more than a yappy dog. 

You waved them off, shooing away their words. “You didn’t answer my question though. Did someone piss in your cereal?”

“NO!” They shouted, looking so fed up with you. “You are so… so… so ANNOYING,” they fumbled around with what word to use but finally decided on one. Annoying. “Humans are so annoying! The lot of you!”

And there they went again, on their anti-human tirade again. Seriously, what is their problem? “Better annoying than some stuck up prick,” you countered.

You knew you were playing with fire, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to piss them off. You were tired of playing nice in your waking hours, so in your dreams? You could be as snarky and confrontational as you pleased. Consequences be damned.

They were fuming, and sputtering. “How dare you?! What makes you think you can just act like that?!”

You sighed and got up from your resting spot, and moved over to them. “Because. I. Can.” You poked them, hard, in the chest with each word. “And what makes you think you can act like that? Like an entitled asshole who demeans and belittles others who are different from you?! What is your damage?!”

And right as your soul match was about to answer you, you left the dream, waking up from your own frustration.

Looks like it was yet another night of a restless sleep, only to be met with disappointment and wanting to do nothing more than prove everyone wrong. Prove them wrong about you, and for your soul match, prove them wrong about humans.

…

Understandably, you were not in the best of moods that day. At best you got maybe three hours of rest before you woke up due to pure frustration at your ‘soul match’ and their sour disposition. And it was noticeable, well, noticeable to some people who could pick up the subtle shift. That your smile was a bit too forced, and that you weren’t fully paying attention.

Professor Trein noticed, and Lucius had stayed on your lap throughout the entire class. And as he was walking up and down the aisles, making sure people were actually doing their work, the older man tapped you on the shoulder. “Prefect, a word after class,” it was said quietly enough that you were the only one to hear that, and he went back on patrol.

Shit, was I spacing off? You just hoped that it wasn’t anything serious. The last thing you needed was Crowley finding out about your grades slipping or any other infraction, and getting on your case and bringing up your situation for the nth time. So, the rest of the class seemed to drag on for what felt like forever, even though in reality, there were only fifteen minutes left. But every time you felt the anxiety spike, Lucius would shift in your lap or knead his paws into your uniform, dragging you away from obsessing over it. And finally, the bell rang.

“You guys go on without me,” you said to Ace, Deuce and Grim, shooting them a tired smile. “I’ll catch up with you.”

The trio waved you off, and headed off, leaving you alone with Professor Trein, who was sitting at his desk, preparing for his next lecture.

You took in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “You wanted to speak with me, Professor?”

He set his papers down, and motioned for you to take a seat, which you did. This, this meant something bad, you could tell. Why else would he motion for you to take a seat?

“Prefect,” he sighed tiredly, “have you been taking care of yourself?”

Of course he noticed, Trein, unlike your friends, noticed the familiar look. He noticed the tenseness in your shoulders, and the dark shadows under your eyes. Noticed the cheerful air grow weary, which was such a pity. You shouldn’t have to shoulder everything you do, especially while juggling all of the responsibilities and new knowledge that you’ve been acquiring. 

You looked down at your lap, fiddling with your fingers. “No, not really,” you admitted. 

Professor Trein nodded, since he already knew that, even without the confirmation. “I won’t press you for details, but I’ll have a discussion with the others, about lightening your workload. Please, do take care of yourself, Prefect.”

Take care of yourself. That’s something you hadn’t really been doing, what with all the errands, the near-death overblot incidents, and the piss poor sleep you’ve been getting lately because of your ‘soul match’.

“I’ll try.” You couldn’t guarantee anything, but you would try.

“Alright then, that’s a start. Now, off you go, lest you be late,” he collected the papers he needed and adjusted his coat, ready for his next lecture. “Be kind to yourself, Prefect.”

…

…  

Sebek woke up that day irritated. What is your damage?! Who did that human think they were? But that statement irked him more than it really should. He wasn’t harmed, his value and worth was not impaired. So why was he so affected by the phrase? Why should he care so much about what a stranger said to him? Because no matter what, they are still your soul match. He shook his head and marched out of his room, going ahead and performing his morning duties, his mood being apparent, following him like a storm cloud.

Silver noticed this as Sebek came to a stop beside him, ready to greet Malleus. “Something is obviously upsetting you,” he murmured, shooting him a sideways look while still standing at attention.

Sebek glared at Silver out of the corner of his eye, his brow slightly pinched. “It’s none of your business,” he hissed under his breath. The last thing he needed was for the Young Master to catch wind that he was distracted while on the job. Malleus wouldn’t really mind, but Sebek wouldn’t forgive himself for his own ineptitude. 

Silver sighed and turned his eyes back towards Malleus’s door. “It’s better to admit something than bottle it up Sebek. Eventually the truth will come out, one way or another.”

“Now is not the time for that,” Sebek said, trying to control his volume. “And it doesn’t concern you.” It concerns only me and them. 

Silver raised his brow but left well enough alone, he knew better than to egg Sebek on when he was in one of his moods. But he knew that the truth would come out, and he felt like it would rear its ugly head sooner rather than later. He just hoped Sebek didn’t just blow up on the wrong person. Not because Sebek was bad for feeling whatever emotions he was feeling, but because not everyone understood him.

Maybe even Sebek didn’t even understand himself either.

…

…

You and your soul match were back at the house, but instead of standing straight up like they had a stick up their ass, they were sitting in the tire swing, swinging gently back and forth. And the butterfly that always followed them around, was resting comfortably on their chest, right above their heart. Here was this usually grumpy and tall person, swinging on a tire swing, a butterfly on their chest, and it was kind of cute. In a really weird way. But you could tell they weren’t happy, muttering to themself.

Usually, you would poke the bear to get a reaction out of them, but tonight you didn’t want to. You were too tired to put in the effort. Plus in all the weeks of antagonising each other, you hadn’t really gotten to know them.

“Hi,” you said, coming to rest beside the tire swing.

Your soul match — who was in actuality, Sebek —  gave you a curt nod as a hello back. Something was on his mind.

“What did you mean the other day?” He turned to look at you, eyes probing to try and find something that would tell him who you were in the waking world. But your appearance remained fuzzy, except for your eyes, which gleamed softly in the green lighting of the dream. He hadn’t really paid them any attention, but now he was lost in them, and what he saw was tiredness. “What did you mean by, what is my damage?”

Sebek wasn’t angry, which surprised you. You would have thought he would be a thundering storm cloud, but he was more like the cool breeze that came once the storm had passed. And you noticed his eyes, chartreuse with vertical slits. You could have sworn that you had seen those eyes before, you knew those eyes, but the person in mind was evading you.

You sighed, and the butterfly that was resting on his chest took flight, did a loopdeloop, and came to rest over your heart instead. “I don’t know, “ you admitted. “I was angry and tired. My life is just hectic and sleep is usually an escape from that, but instead I found myself in here with you… You didn’t really help either. Kept on looking down on me for being human, so I kinda snapped… I’m sorry.”

Sebek felt his voice get stuck in his throat. I should be the sorry one. But instead he offered his hand to you. A handshake. “Don’t be sorry for your anger; it’s better out than to let it fester.”

You took his answer to heart. It felt weird, the two of you were at each other’s throats for so long, but because of your combined tiredness and realizations, there was a truce of sorts. “So,” you looked Sebek in the eye, “what does this make us?”

He raised a brow, “Well, we are soul matches. The Thorn Fairy decides upon a person who will bring out the best in you, and in turn, you do the same for them.” He scratched the back of his neck. He knew that he had to tell you everything, but it felt like he was doing something wrong; technically this is breaking a rule, but you deserved to know. “We can be anything we want to be. It’s up to us.”

“Huh, that’s nice I guess. That we get to choose what we are. Thought for a second we would be forced together by the narrative to be in a relationship,” you chuckled. But it was nice that you could choose what the two of you were. “For now how about uneasy friends?”

“Uneasy friends?”

“Yeah, ya know I can’t forgive you that easily for dissing my entire species. Kinda hard to forgive that.” Your tone was light, but you were serious. You couldn’t just go from being dearly detested to buddy-buddy with your soul match.

Sebek pursed his lips but he knew that he was in the wrong. “I’m sorry, truly.” And it was genuine. Sebek didn’t hate humans, he loved them, but that love scared him because he knew that they wouldn’t last forever. That you wouldn’t last forever. 

You leaned back, splaying out in the grass. “Well, explanations can wait. I for one want to cloud watch. You wanna join?”

Sebek rolled his eyes but decided to humour you. “What does that cloud look like?” To him it just looked like an odd blob.

“Hmmmm, kinda looks like a crocodile in a blanket burrito,” you mused. And you were kind of right, but it still looked like an odd blob to Sebek.

…

…

…

Things had quieted down in your and Sebek’s dreams, and for the first time in weeks you felt well rested and not like you were going to randomly pass out in alchemy class only to find yourself headfirst in a cauldron. Plus you felt like you could actually get along with your soul match now, but you still liked to bug them just a little bit so the two of you could bicker. It was fun to see their reactions.

“So, if you’re fae, that must mean that you’re super old right?” You had a shiteating grin on your face, and your words floated around their head, poking at them to mirror what you had said.

Sebek rolled his eyes, he had become accustomed to your sense of humour, it was charming in its own bewildering way. “I am not old!”

You bumped his shoulder, “So you’re just a kid? Ew, gross.”

“I AM NOT A CHILD EITHER!” There it is, that spark, like a bolt of lightning. “If you must know, I am attending a mage school! Therefore, I am not old.”

You hummed, thinking. “What school? Maybe we go to the same one? Although I probably would have recognized you, what with your… unique personality and being fae and all. I don’t think I could mistake you for somebody else.”

Sebek faltered. They attend a mage school? “What do you mean by that, human?” 

There was that word again, human, but this time it was said with fondness, without hostility.

“Personality or school?”

Sebek sighed, and massaged his temple. “Why do I feel like you’ll just answer both?”

You sent him a wink, “Because I will!~ Part of my charms.” You chuckled but decided to humour him by getting straight to the point. “Well, even though you can be prickly, you care very deeply. A bit awkward, but in an endearing way. Loud, and opinionated. It would be hard to miss you, ya know. I mean that in a nice way too, by the way.” You stopped, and considered what you were going to say next, as it could mean finding him in the waking world much easier, but you were ready to meet him. “As for the school thing, I go to Night Raven College.”

“WHAT?!” His words were the largest that you had ever seen, and you knew that you probably would have needed to cover your ears if you could actually hear them. “YOU GO TO NIGHT RAVEN COLLEGE?! SINCE WHEN?!”

Sebek was distraught. You were so close but he didn’t even know? How could he be so blind?!

“Judging from your reaction I’m guessing you also go there, huh? Small world after all, I guess.” Your words didn’t reflect how you were actually feeling though, they mirrored Sebek’s perfectly. “Since you’re fae, I’m also guessing that you’re in Diasomnia. Am I right?”

Sebek looked at you, beguiled. “Y-yes! And what of you?!”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Huh, weird. “Looks like that’s a dead giveaway…” you muttered. Seems like the Thorn Fairy wasn’t going to make this easy for the two of you. But you got an idea. “Tomorrow at lunch, meet me in the botanical gardens! By the roses!”

You were snatched out from the land of dreams by your alarm going off, but you knew what you needed to do. You were ready to meet them. You were ready to meet your soul match.

…

…

Sebek was nervous. After so much he was finally going to meet his soul match. He knew he had seen those eyes somewhere before, been subjected to their teasing on several occasions, but the dreams kept your identity secret, shrouded in mystery. But now, now he and you would know. So why was he nervous? You had come to know him in your shared dreams, but Sebek was nervous that you would reject him once you knew who he truly was.

So he had arrived at the botanical garden in a sprint, having run from his class the moment the bell signified it was over. And it was empty, save for the butterflies and other pollinators that flitted about. It gave him time to gather his thoughts, and he paced by the roses, trying to place where he had seen you before. It was all so annoyingly familiar, it was on the tip of his tongue, but your face and name evaded him. Sebek wasn’t used to being nervous.

He had placed nervousness as weakness, as something human. He couldn’t afford to be nervous, not when he had a duty to the crown to fulfil. But maybe being nervous wasn’t bad. Maybe being human wasn’t bad. Yes, they were weak and had their faults, but that’s what made them beautiful. And Sebek realized and accepted that that was just as much a part of him as it was a part of you.

Sure, it was messy, but Sebek was coming to accept that part of himself because of you. And it would be a work in progress, as he had years of a combination of an inferiority and superiority complex due to the mixture of fae and human, but he was willing to work on it. Not just because of you though, it was a combination of you, accepting himself, and forgiving his father. 

He was mad at him for so long because it was easier to be mad than to love and then lose him. He was mad for his mother. But now he just wanted to say that he was sorry. That he loved him, that he loved him so much that he was scared of losing him. 

The door to the botanical garden opened, and Sebek froze. First impressions are everything! He was about to straighten himself up, but he remembered the last time. This wasn’t a first impression, you knew him, you’ve known him for a while. So, he relaxed, he took a seat on the bench next to the roses. And focused on calming his breathing.

A butterfly, a pale green butterfly, flew around his head before coming to rest on his shoulder, crawling leisurely until it got to a comfy spot, sitting above his heart.

He looked up from looking fondly at the small insect to find you, his soul match, standing in the middle of the path with a butterfly, the same colour as his, resting on your heart.

“I knew that you felt familiar! Ha ha!” You smiled, like you had just won something.

And Sebek felt the same. 

Fin!~

Author's Notes; I love Sebek, but I also like bugging him, so I kinda made the reader a menace in this one. Go forth! Be menaces in the world! Huzzah!

Tags; @xxoomiii, @eynnwwyjth, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @savanaclaw1996

Masterlist~

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Mother Wound (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer and Reader bond over having emotionally absent mothers. Request: reader has an abusive parent and she has developed ptsd from that A/N: Written for a very dear friend of mine, and anyone else who needs to hear it. This is also my entry to @foxy-eva’s Celebration Challenge (prompt “Overcoming Trauma”)! Be sure to show her some love! Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader (also consistent with platonic love) Category: Angst/Comfort Content Warning: Mother’s Day, strained parent & child relationship, implied no contact (with mother), implied mental or physical abuse (from father), crying, feelings of shame Word Count: 2.5k

MASTERLIST

I didn’t go home for Mother’s Day.

I knew that I was supposed to, but I didn’t. Instead, I stayed exactly where I was. Some might say it was inertia, but I knew better. There was no real excuse for violating the duty granted to me by nature of having been born.

But at least I wasn’t the only one.

The case that had almost served as an excuse was both local and over. It ended with serendipitous timing that allowed almost everyone else to scurry home in time for an attempt at recreating a home cooked meal for the woman that taught them… well, everything.

Spencer stayed with me. He called his mother, though.

As I sat on the park bench overlooking the lake, I turned back to see him with his phone still pressed against his ear. Even from where I was sitting, I could make out his knitted brow. It felt too intimate for my tired heart to handle, and so I turned away.

Sort of like how I was avoiding my mother.

My insides twisted and their rioting made my bones rattle. It felt as though my body was tearing in two in protest of my failure to acknowledge its creation.

I breathed in, slowly but with a trembling lip.  I breathed out much quicker, like a swift punch to the gut that left me doubled over.

When I brought my hands to my face, I felt the wetness of freshly shed tears. I looked up at the water, resting and rippling reflections of the universe and I wondered how many oceans I could fill with this feeling.

“Hey, are you ready to go?”

Spencer’s voice tore me mercifully from the thought.

“Hey,” I said as I sat up.

My hands were still over my eyes, rubbing constellations against damp eyelids and hoping that the red would quickly fade.

“Sure, we can go,” I tried to assure him when I finally turned to face him.

But Spencer, that sweet boy with his wringing fingers and always-averted gaze looked directly into my eyes—endless oceans of grief with a relentless rip current of rage. 

He said nothing. Behind us, the frogs and crickets sang a raucous symphony that sounded nothing like a good mother’s tongue.

After a moment, I realized how little time had passed.

“Did your mom not answer your call?”

“No, she did,” he said with a curt shake of his head. Then, with more broken movements he tried to explain, “She just uh…”

I stared back. His eyes fell away, turning towards the lake as his face stretched into a strained smile.

“She’s having a bad day,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I offered.

“It’s alright,” he refused. 

So, we stayed, both filled to the brim with inertia borne from the same shame.

That was, until he asked, “Can I sit with you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The bench was big enough that I hadn’t needed to move to make room for him, but I did it, anyway. I shrunk into myself exactly the way my mother had taught me to do.

Spencer watched me as I withered. Through my peripherals, I watched him struggle against the same instinct.

But then he gave a small act of courage, the trembling of a hand splayed against a bench, the demand to take up space.

It made my heart ache.

“I’m having a bad day, too,” I told him.

Spencer smiled.

“That’s alright,” he shrugged.

My mouth dropped open and stayed there. I silently wondered how many years of suffering it must’ve taken to grow muscles capable of letting go, of feeling badly freely.

“Truthfully, I’ve never really liked Mother’s Day,” he sighed. “It always felt… forced. If not slightly resentful, even.”

What cruel words they were, like a twist of a knife in already knotted insides.

It was an irresponsible thing to say, a horribly upsetting suggestion that I understood with such fury that tears poured down my cheeks with no warning. Again, I fell forward, caught by my own hands that tried to stifle the sobbing. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” he shouted.

Then, with a voice like a child, he begged me to believe him.

“I-I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. I even surprised myself with a laugh and an uncharacteristic level of introspection. “I just… I relate a little too much to what you just said.”

“I’m still sorry,” he offered.

“It’s fine,” I refused.

We sat together in the suffocating darkness until one of us found the courage to speak again.

It was him first.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not really,” I said.

My courage followed slightly later, with the word ‘yes’ fighting through my throat.

Eventually, it came out as a weak and broken, “Maybe.”

Spencer’s eyes scanned my features while I looked up at the lake.

“I’ve been told I’m a very good listener when I manage to be quiet,” he deadpanned.

I laughed. It tasted bitter like the words bottled inside of my chest. It sounded bitter like the way my mother never could compliment me without a condition.

“I just feel terrible saying it all today, of all days,” I sighed. My hands fell back to my lap, abandoning any hope that I could hide my weakness from his eyes.

In an unexpected and swift motion, Spencer moved closer. His body radiated warmth and the faint but familiar smell of a better home.

Without any attempt at hiding or quieting his voice, he chuckled, “I promise you, anything bad you could say about your mother, I’ve thought worse.”

I scoffed, but it didn’t dissuade him.

“I doubt that very much,” I explained.

But he was persistent.

“I mean it.”

Almost enough for me to believe him.

Our eyes locked. Mine, slightly squinted as I tried to find hidden meaning. His, wide eyed and innocent, as though he’d done nothing wrong at all.

“What if I told you that… I was relieved when she hung up on me?” he said, further betraying those eyes. “I spent the whole day dreading that phone call, and I barely managed to smile until I heard the dial tone.”

So simple, so sure that he’d done nothing wrong. I was inclined to believe him.

“What would you think about me?” he asked, “Would you think I was awful?”

“No,” I admitted.

His saturnine smile didn’t wane, but it trembled with both pride and pain.

“I agree,” he said. “Your turn.”

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

It had been close enough to the truth that I couldn’t call it a lie—but Spencer didn’t believe it. He spared me the humiliation of saying that, though.

Instead, he took my hand. His grip was soft and warm despite the springtime chill, exactly like his eyes. He looked at me with such reverence that I felt compelled to hide.

He didn’t let me do that, either.

“Try,” he said instead, “For me.”

He didn’t let go when my fingers twitched in his grip. Again, the seemingly small act of bravery—the daring to hold me even when my hands grew clammy and harder to love—felt like a balm over a bullet wound bleeding harsh words.

I took a deep breath before I spoke.

“I don’t know what to say about my mother because I don’t think I’ve ever had one. I don’t think I really know the woman who made me and I’m not sure I ever will.”

Spencer didn't move. Not even a nod.

Quieter then, with waning confidence, I cried, “I’m not sure if I would even want to know her. But then I say that out loud and I know I’m lying like she always said I was.” 

A sob shook my body and I almost pulled away. Spencer was caught off guard by the sudden jerk, but his grip tightened like he saw how ready I was to bolt.

“Being confused isn’t the same as lying,” he offered.

“It doesn’t matter,” I refused.

So did he.

“It matters,” he insisted. “It matters to me.”

I tried to scoff but I choked on the sound. My free hand clutched at my chest like it could stop the way my heart was tearing in two.

I should have known better, though. How could my heart break in half when it was never whole to begin with?

As I fell back against the bench, Spencer’s grip loosened. He would’ve withdrawn completely if I hadn’t stopped him by squeezing tighter.

He settled, too. We both relaxed against worn wood and shivered from Winter’s dying breath.

“Sometimes it feels like there is this… ache inside of me,” I whispered along the whistling wind, “No matter how much I try to bury it over the years, I can’t seem to shake it. It’s like…. It’s like I can feel her. This version of myself that was never allowed to be.”

I held my hand out like an offering to the lake. I stared at a calloused palm l long enough for it to tremble under the weight of nothing.

“When you’re a child, all you want is a mother. Your mother,” I cried as my offering turned to a fist, “You crave it so badly, that reassurance, that comfort, that… unconditional love.”

Spencer looked down at his own scarred palm.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “you’re right.”

I wanted to pause, to let him speak and hear what he might have to offer from the safety of the other side of this suffering.

Yet when I spoke again, I swore I saw him shrinking away.

“They say when you grow up with an angry man in your house, you will always find him in your house, no matter how far from him you run. And they’re right. They…”

I turned to find him with furrowed brows pointed at the ground. I watched the breath come to him just to leave him again.

I recognized the signs of a heavy heart. Deciding that spilling half of my heart would be enough for now, I swallowed the words about my father. I turned back to my mother at the same time Spencer turned back to me.

“I never expected anything else from my father. But next to him, in front of him, in the space between the two of us, where my mother was meant to be, there is…”

“Nothing,” he finished for me.

“Exactly,” I croaked.

I wasn’t sure how I had any breath left, much less painful, beautiful words to try to fill the black hole where there was once an umbilical cord.

“I can feel it,” I muttered, “I can feel the lack of her like an insatiable hunger that feels… exactly like my father.”

I squeezed his hand. Tighter with each passing word, waiting to see how much of my rage he was willing to endure before I became unlovable.

“That child inside of me is made of monsters without mothers. I am, at my core, half-empty,” I nearly yelled, gripping him so tightly that I swore I felt my own muscles tearing, “and I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to fix that without a mother to teach me how!”

I gasped. My hand let go, flew away from him as I collapsed forward once more. I held myself with that same cruelty—digging nails into skin that looked both too much and not enough like my mother.

To my surprise, Spencer scrambled forward, but he didn’t pry me apart. Instead, he wrapped careful arms around me until he felt the full weight of my grief.

He cradled my head against his chest with trembling hands. I could see angry red welts where my fingers had been, and it only made me cry harder.

I wept shamelessly, clinging to him with tainted hands and half of a heart.

He said nothing and it sounded nothing like my mother’s silence.

Eventually, I came to join him in the liminal space between our suffering.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be angry forever,” I whispered.

“You won’t,” he answered in a way that sounded a lot like a lie. A half-truth, an almost abandoned hope.

He saw how badly I wanted to challenge the notion. He knew he couldn’t promise me peace, so he abandoned the hoping and returned his energy to holding me instead.

“I wish I had all the answers,” he said, and for the first time, I heard his voice shake.  “I’ve spent a lifetime searching for something to help me calm that crying child and I just…”

Our bodies rocked with the soft rippling before us. Spencer’s tears dripped onto my chest and I realized no number of oceans could ever contain this feeling.

“I know,” he blubbered. “I know how it hurts. I know how terrifying it is to grow up with the full knowledge of how cruel the world can be, and it isn’t fair that you had to wait this long.”

How long, I wondered, how long does one have to suffer to be able to admit it wasn’t fair?

I bore witness to his final act of courage. I looked at him, saw him, saw the reflection of my fear and shame as it slid down his cheeks.

“I know that no one can completely fill that empty space,” he sniffled.

Slowly, he lifted heavy eyelids. Our eyes found each other once more, and he chuckled at the sight of himself in my eyes.

“But I can try,” he said with a shrug. “I can try to make it smaller. Because I know where to stand and how to hold you. I can bring a flashlight and beautiful things to try to drown out the darkness just a little.”

I bit down on my lip but it slipped away. With it came the secret still kept tightly against my chest.

“I’m scared,” I offered.

“I know,” he accepted. 

Tired, trembling arms held me higher. He pulled me from the wreckage until my arms fell around her shoulders and my face buried against his neck.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, “We’re gonna make it. I promise.”

In my own radical act of bravery, I allowed myself to believe it. I closed my eyes and I held him, too. With an equal amount of bravery, he let me.

And within the comfort of that embrace, I found a memory that didn’t exist; a vision between the kaleidoscope of colors behind closed eyes.

There were two children adorned with capes made of old curtains and a flashlight strapped to their heads. Their hands were tightly clasped and clammy, like kids’ hands always were. But his grip was strong and steady and neither of them felt scared.

The beams of light fought through thickets of darkness ahead of them.

“Are you ready?” he said through a bucktoothed grin.

He takes a step forward and they both notice how the light travels further with every step.

“Yeah,” the small child inside me says without a tremble in their voice, “let’s go home.”

They couldn’t know where they were going but they didn’t let it stop them. The trek was long and the journey was difficult, but it was made easier by the company of a friend.

With clammy hands tightly clasped, they tried to make their way through the darkness to that storied place where nothing bad happened.

I didn't go home for Mother's day.

And nothing bad happened.

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[waywardangel-wilds]

This was inspired by some posts I saw this morning! Hazelle-Haymitch relationship reveal!

“Hey!” Haymitch shouts from somewhere behind her. She ignores him. “Don’t make me get up and get you, girl!”

“What d’you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?” She shouts in return, leaning back to kneel among the primroses.

“Come here, I need to talk to you.” The old man insists, leaning over his porch railing.

“Nah, if you need to say something say it,” Katniss replies in annoyance, going back to her weeding without a further thought. It’s damn hot and she’d rather finish up so she can sit herself down with a nice cool glass of lemonade, not play who’s gonna scream first with Haymitch, thank you very much.

“Katniss Everdeen!” Katniss jumps, transported back to being 13 years old, her head hung and a busted lip smarting, shoulder to shoulder with her then best friend while his mother rips them both a new one. Hazelle Hawthorne stares her down from the porch, her hands braced sternly on her hips. Nothing much has changed from the memory of her, she looks seconds away from yanking her by the earlobe. “Don’t you make me waste my breath, listen when you’re spoken to.”

“Yes ma’am,” the response comes to her automatically. She stands and brushes her hands against her thighs taking a moment to jump the fence between hers and Haymitch’s house.

“Let me look at you,” Hazelle says when she’s on the step below her, cupping the younger woman’s cheeks with her hard working hands. “Aren’t you a cute little thing?”

She blushes, “thank you. I hadn’t heard about you getting back…?”

“You wouldn’t have, I wasn’t back till now.” She pats her cheek and takes a step back. “Come inside now, we don’t bite.”

“I know you don’t,” Katniss gives Haymitch a withering glance at the comment. “What? I’ve seen you do it.”

“That isn’t funny,” she mutters as she she walks past him.

“Take a seat please, darlin’. This won’t take too long. Lemonade?” Hazelle offers over her shoulder, disappearing down the hall.

“I’ll take a glass.” Katniss mutters absentmindedly, shocked by the state of the house. “What happened in here?”

“We cleaned.” Haymitch replies, going to sit on the couch. “Better close that mouth or you’ll catch flies.”

“You cleaned? How?” Katniss sits, taking in the shinning wooden floors (still burned and stained in some places, but what can you do?), the new curtains, the pretty and clearly handmade throw pillows. “Are you sick? You’re dying?”

“No I’m not—” Haymitch rolls his eyes. “Will you just behave? You’ll hurt Hazelle’s feelings.”

“What—”

“Here you go, darlin’,” Hazelle returns with a sweating glass of lemonade which Katniss greedily accepts. “Now, I’ll just come out and say it if you don’t mind. I don’t see the point in beating around the bush or what have you. Old Haymitch and I are a couple now.”

Katniss chokes, sickly sweet lemonade burning a path up her nose. “What?!”

“You heard. Now, I know you’ve taken a special liking to the old goose—“

“Hey now,” Haymitch adds.

“But things might be a little different now. Haymitch thought it best to tell you first, just to give you a few days to chew it over before the boys come by.” She nods and folds her hands expectantly.

“Well?” Haymitch asks, watching her with an amused quirk to his brow as she opens and closes her mouth like a dying fish.

“I-just. W-why?” She turns her head several times as she tries to comprehend what she’s hearing, looking at Hazelle at one moment and Haymitch during the next. “How? Why?”

“Don’t be rude now, you already asked why.” Hazelle’s eyes twinkle with that motherly sternness and Katniss promptly shuts her mouth. “I know this might seem hard to believe, but us grown folks still have it in us to fall in love.”

“Love?! Why my—with, my god, Haymitch?” Katniss stumbles over her words incredulously.

“What did I say?” Hazelle waves that stern finger of hers and Katniss shuts her mouth again.

“I’m sorry but,” Katniss looks around the house. “How? And without us noticing— wait, Peeta doesn’t know, does he?”

“No,” Haymitch pats her leg. “You’re the first of the kids to know.”

“But we’re right next door.”

“You are,” Hazelle chuckles, taking a seat on Katniss’s other side. “But, you’re a little preoccupied with each other.”

“Obsessed is more like it,” Haymitch interjects.

“They’re young,” Hazelle defends easily. “I know the honeymoon stage is a lovely thing, but, bless your heart, it makes fools out of everyone.”

Katniss would refute that, but, well, yeah it’s true.

“You’ve been coming and going then?” Katniss looks to Hazelle who nods in confirmation. “For how long?”

“Oh, months darlin’,” Hazelle chuckles. “See here? I hand stitched these myself.” She shows off one of the throw pillows.

“It’s lovely,” Katniss might be socially inept, but she knows how to interact with her elders. “And— wait a minute. The boys? The kids are coming? What about Posey?”

“Oh she’s upstairs,” Hazelle waves dismissively in the direction of the staircase.

“What?” Katniss sits at attention. “And you didn’t come say hello?”

“Well, she’s been busy with school,” Hazelle says.

“And I wanted to make sure I told you what’s been going on. No more secrets, you know, because—” Haymitch says.

Katniss nods, “yeah, I know. Thanks, I guess.”

There’s a silence then as Haymitch pats her knee and awkwardly acknowledged that old betrayal she still hadn’t entirely put to rest. She avoids looking at him. This whole thing feels weird.

“And you know what this all means don’t you?” Hazelle asks carefully.

Katniss blinks, feeling as if she’s missing something vital. “You’ll be our neighbour? Yeah, I get that.”

“No— well yes, of course. But..”

“She’s trying to say tall dark and righteous is coming over,” Haymitch elbows her. “Keep up.”

Katniss can feel the blood draining from her face. “Oh. I see.”

“If that’s alright—”

“No! Yes! Of course, yes!” Katniss cuts Hazelle off. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I’m not upset, honest.”

“I just don’t want to make anything harder for you, it’s only been three years since—“

“I’ll be okay.” Katniss lays her hands on Hazelle’s. “thank you for telling me. I won’t keep you any longer, I… I should go home.” She takes the lemonade from where she’d braced it between her knees. “Peeta’s probably looking for me by now.”

“Well, alright,” Hazelle says unconvincingly. “But if you need anything you know where to find me.”

Katniss stands, nodding. “Right. And, you’ll let me know when…?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.” She claps her hands together awkwardly. “I-uh. This is nice, I mean— uh I suppose this is okay, um, you and uh.”

“Haymitch, sweetheart. It’s still Haymitch.”

“Right,” Katniss grimaces. “Um. Bye? Give Posey my love?”

“Will do,” Hazelle smiles.

[good4olivia]

about you

pairing: aemond targayren x niece!reader summary: after returning to kings landing after six years, you are welcomed back by intense feelings from your uncle a/n: yall i gave up with this fic, it was not going anywhere but i still like what i did end up writing so i will post it even though it's sorta of unfinished ah

Aemond wouldn’t keep his eyes off you for most of the dinner, you must admit you felt a bit uncomfortable under his watchful gaze. You hadn’t see him since you were both children and now that you were both a man and woman grown, there were other feelings emerging - feelings you weren’t sure how to feel about yet. 

Aemond on the other hand, knew exactly how he felt about you. He had since he was a child, you defend him in front of his brother and nephews, you would train with him in the yard laughing as you both fell in mud and together you study the histories. After Driftmark, Aemond despised his older half-sister for taking you away. You were one of the only things in his life that brought him happiness and then you were gone. Until now. 

There was nothing he could to prepare himself for seeing you again. All his fantasies about what you would look like now could never compare to seeing you in person. You we’re prefect, your smile was still the same and your laugh was still the most beautiful song to his ears.

“To my beautiful niece Y/N Valyron. Through the years that kept us apart, my love for you has not withered and I would be overjoyed if you would accept my hand in marriage.” The room fell silence for moment. Your heart was spinning, nowhere in your mind could you imagine Aemond wanting to marry you, let alone have the nerve to ask in front of everyone after just insulting your brothers. 

Aemond looked at you, the pure love and adoration in his eyes for you made you stomach erupt in butterflies. He wasn’t looking at anyone else, gauging anyone else’s reaction. He only cared about yours, to him no one else mattered. 

You stared back at him still mostly in shock. You could see in his eyes he was starting to worry about your answer so you pushed out your chair to walk over to him but your mother stood up first. 

“Thank you for the offer, Aemond but I must decline. My daughter is already betrothed to a lord from house Stark.” Rhaenrya said. 

“Good thing I’m asking Y/N and not you, sweet sister.” Aemond spat at her, his fist tensing around his cup. 

You quickly stood up from your seat and walked over to Aemond, grabbing his hand in yours, rubbing your hand over his. “I had no idea about this until now, please believe me.” 

Aemond smiled at you, squeezing your hand. “I know, my perfect girl.” He then looked up to his half-sister and the love in his eyes was completely gone. “Y/N will be my bride.” He moved his hand to the small of your back, you moved closer into him. “If you see through her bethroment to the Stark lord, I will feed him to my dragon before the wedding feast is over.” Rhaenrya tried to keep her gaze steady though her younger brother’s threats did not fall silent on her ears. 

“It’s okay mother, I want to marry him.” You spoke. You weren’t quite sure anyone could hear you but Aemond, your voice so small. He knew that it was hard for you to stand up for yourself, let alone to Rhaenrya.

“You have to speak up, my love. They can’t hear you.” He spoke softly in your ear. You were nervous under everyone’s gaze. You took a deep breath, “Mother I want to marry Aemond.” 

Everyone heard you this time. “Well that’s great news isn’t it?” Your grandsire, Viserys said. In his old age, he couldn’t sense the tension floating around the room. 

“I think before we make it offical we should talk it over.” Alicent suggested, standing up as well. 

“Yes, I think that would be best.” Rhaenyra agreed, if the two old friends could find common ground on one thing - it was not wanting their children to be wed. 

Aemond only sighed, “Talk it over all you must, it will not stop us.” 

He took your hand back in his, “Let us take our leave, my beautiful.” You walked out of the hall with him, avoiding the eyes of everyone. Especially your mother who was burning holes into the back of your head. 

As soon as you reached his chambers, Aemond closed the door. “Y/N, my perfect bride-“ 

“Aemond what the hell was that?” You yelled at him. 

He was caught off guard by your outburst. “Darling, what are you talking about?” He moved closer to you and flinched when you moved away from him. 

“You proposed to me in front of our estranged families, why couldn’t you have given me warning? Or talked to our mothers beforehand.” You paced in front of him. 

“You said you wanted to marry me in front of everyone. Were you lying?” His voice dropped and the look in his eye stopped you in your tracks. 

“No.” 

“Then I don’t see the issue. Would you like some wine? You barely drank anything all evening.” He walked over to the table. It didn’t cross your thoughts that he was on the other side of the room yet had a perfectly good idea of how much you had drank. 

“Aemond, please just tell me why you didn’t bring this up with me beforehand?” You walked to stand in front of him.

He didn’t look at you as he replied, “I was afraid you would say no. I thought if I did it at dinner, you would feel compelled to say yes. Tell me, my niece would you say yes if I asked you here, alone in my chambers?” 

“Yes.” You breathed. 

He looked up at you and you slowly moved your hands to remove his eyepatch. He tensed a little but made no effort to stop you. You looked into his eyes, “I want to be you wife, Aemond.” 

He brought your mouth into a kiss, you melted into it instantly. “I feared you would moved on from our childhood companionship.” He said to you, though his lips were still just a breath away from yours. 

“I could never forget you, my prince.” You told him earnestly, running your hand down his hair. “I still don’t appreciate what you did tonight.” 

He sighed and pulled further away from you, “What bothers you so my flower? That our mothers don’t approve of our engagement? Even if I had done what you had wished and asked them in private, they still wouldn’t have said yes. You know that, yes?” 

“Yes, I know. What are we going to do?” You asked him as you sipped on the wine he gave you. He stared to remove his outerwear. You put the wine down to help him. 

“We are going to wed, of course.” Aemond replied not missing the way your hands lingered around his waist. He relished in the feeling, his desire growing stronger every moment he was with you. “I will be counting the hours until I can finally lay with you as husband, princess.” 

“You do not care about the rumours about my parentage?” You wondered as you folded his clothes over the chair. 

“Hmm, it does not matter much to me. Once you are my wife, you will be a Targaryen.” He said. 

You turned around sharply, “I am a Targaryen with or without you, uncle.” 

“My love,” He spoke gently, cupping your face in his hands. “You are a bastard but when you are my wife, no one will dare question your parentage. If they do, I’ll cut off their head.” 

You smiled sadly at his words, he truly thought he was proving words of comfort. “Taking inspiration from my step-father, I see?” You teased. 

He laughed at your comment and was about to reply with a snide remark when the was a knock at the door. He sighed and kissed your head before walking to answer the door. 

At the door stood Alicent, she peered behind him to see you standing further in the room. “Aemond, can we talk about this please, alone?” 

“Anything you want to say, you can say in front of my bride.” He stated stepping aside letting his mother into the room. 

“It’s okay, Aemond. The hour is late, I should return to my chambers.” You said. After tonight, you weren’t sure you could handle the argument that was about to occur between Aemond and his mother. The comforts of your own space is what you needed right now. 

Aemond didn’t want you to go but didn’t put a fight instead he planted a chase kiss on your cheek, “Sleep well my love. I will come see you in the morrow.” He promised. 

Alicent smiled at you as you walked past her, you returned it. You understood she was only doing the polite thing but it still felt nice. Alicent waited a few moments before turning to her son, “Son, I wish you would’ve talked to me about this beforehand.” 

“Why? So you could tell me not to go through with it?” Aemond questioned. 

Alicent nodded. “It was rash for you to make that announcement in front of everyone, have you even through it through? What it means for our families? Are you absolute sure you want her to be your wife?” 

Aemond never liked to take a tone with his mother but really did not appreciate having to explain himself when it came to you, he believe the feelings you shared to be only for the two of you. He took a deep breath before replaying, “I’ve always known my love for her, mother and I meant it when I said I would feed that Stark lord  to my dragon.” 

“Those intense feelings aren’t healthy, my son. It might be best for you to entertain some other ladies at court, perhaps you will find a better match.” Alicent suggested. She had never been afraid of her second son until this moment, seeing the fire in his eyes. 

“I will be marrying Y/N before the next moon, with or without your support. Rhaenrya took her away from me for six fucking years and I will not let her do it again!” He yelled, his composure leaving him the further his mother pressed her concerns. 

Alicent flinched, not used to hearing her son raise his voice in front of her. It made her even more against this wedding but she knew her son wouldn’t change his mind, at least tonight. She could admit to herself she was afraid of what he might do if she kept pressing the matter. 

After a few moments, Aemond apologised. “I did not mean to raise my voice at you, mother. I’m sorry. I just,” He paused trying to gather the words, “It’s so frustrating knowing no one wants us to be tougher, when frankly its no one else’s mind but ours.” 

Alicent held her sons hand in her own, “I understand how you feel, my boy. I still have my concerns but I will hold my tongue for now. Get some rest now.” She kissed his cheek before leaving his chambers. 

— 

Aemond kept his promise and visited you in the morning, your handmaidens had brought breakfast for you both. “Thank you, that will be all.” Aemond said to them once they set down the food. You didn’t appreciate him dismissing them on your behalf, perhaps this is something you’ll have to get used too when he is your husband. 

“Did you sleep well, my princess?” He asked you, as he sipped his wine. You were never one for drinking in the morning and you thought Aemond wasn’t either. 

“I suppose, it was hard sleeping knowing my mother isn’t happy with me right now. We never fight.” You told him, taking a bite out of the lamb. 

“Hmm, I’m not so used to my own mother being cross with me either. You know it has more to do with them, than us though right?” 

“And you are okay with your mother being upset at you… if it means we will be together?” 

He gave you an intense look before chuckling, “I thought last nights theatrics would erase all the doubt about my feelings for you.” He leaned over to hold your hand in his, “I would do anything for you my love. All I ask is that you stay here with me, in Kings Landing and be my lady wife.” 

You were about to reply when your door flew open, your mother and step-father the cause of the intrusion. Aemond instantly tensed up and held your hand tighter. 

“Did he spend the night? What has gotten into you, Y/N?” Rhaenrya questioned at the sight. 

“No of course not mother, Aemond only came to break fast with me.” You answered, the nerves clear in your voice. To Aemond’s dismay you removed your hand from his grip. 

“We have to speak to my step-daughter. Alone.” Damon told Aemond, sizing him up. 

Aemond only smiled, “I’m not leaving, I just got here.” He gestured for them to sit down, “I think we can all discuss this as a family.” 

They remained standing but didn’t put up a fight to Aemond staying, “Y/N. I’m sorry I did not tell you about the lord from House Stark, I was planning on it when we got back home. He’s a good man, I can assure you. I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.” Your mother told you. 

“I understand mother, though I do wish you would’ve told me. Will Lord Stark be okay with cancelling the proposal?” You asked, standing up to meet Rhaenrya. 

“Who gives a fuck about that fucking northern lord? He will be fine that his engagement is broken, otherwise-“ 

“You’ll feed him to your dragon, yes we know.” Damon finished for Aemond. 

“Mother, I sincerely want to marry Aemond. I know that is not what you want, but I hope you will find it in your heart to be happy for me.” You said to your mother, who was searching your eyes for any lies. 

Rhaenrya couldn’t say she found anything but she could tell her daughter had some reservations. “Let’s take a walk in the gardens, my daughter.” 

“Y/N, we were in the middle of breakfast and-“ Aemond was once again cut off by Damon, with a hand to his chest as the woman walked out the door. 

“You need to calm down, nephew. The more you try and control her, the more she’ll push away.” Damon tried to counsel. 

Aemond was not having it, “You don’t know her like I do, I am what she needs and her mother is going to try to take her away from me, again. I will not allow it.” 

— 

“How did you talk with Rhaenrya go, my love?” Aemond asked, linking his arm with yours. After your talk with your mother, you had left to find Aemond where you knew he would be - the training yard. As soon as he spotted you, he quickly finished his match with the guard he was sparring with. 

Now he was walking with you along the beach, he knows how much you love the water. He loved your the way your eyes would light up. “She does not want us to marry, that’s for sure.” You said as you rubbed his forearm. 

“Hmm. What did she say, exactly?” 

You were hesitant to say the truth, Aemond’s behaviour recently has been of concern to you. “She still very much would like for me to marry the Stark lord, my prince. She refuses to send word of our engagement.” 

Aemond’s jaw tensed but he managed to temper his rising rage. “Well we weren’t expecting any different, we were, my flower?” 

You were taken back by his calm composure, you smiled up at him. “No I suppose we weren’t. I still don’t know what to do. Are we to wed without our mothers approval?” 

“Yes, that’s a beautiful idea, my love.” He dropped his arm from yours to hold your hand, “I will arrange for a priest to marry us in secret.”

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

My Queen Chapter 1

Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother.  He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Warnings: smut, slight domestic violence, minor character death

Steve sighed heavily as his mother, Sarah, blabbered on about court gossip.  He poured over his father’s books, trying to budget and fix all the mistakes and figure out what damage had been done.  His father, Joseph, had died a few weeks prior from alcohol poisoning while gambling away whatever money he had left, leaving Steve as the man of the house and the newly appointed Duke of Brooklyn.  The debts were enormous, and after selling much of the valuables from their home as well as the summer home that his parents had bought years ago, he’d been able to finally break even.  His mother had been beside herself as he’d sold her favorite things right out from underneath her, more worried about how it would make her look to her noble friends.

“Oh!  And great news!” Sarah took the pen from his fingers and twirled away from him to get his attention.

“Ma, please,” Steve grunted, reaching for the pen back.  “I don’t have time for this.”

“I’ve been speaking to the Queen’s privy counselor, Mr. Sam Wilson, you remember him,” she continued like she didn’t hear him.

“Yes, I know Sam,” Steve rolled his eyes.  “We’ve been friends for many years.”

“He’s been looking for suitors for the Queen!” Sarah quipped excitedly.  “She’s getting older and needs to marry and have an heir.  And I reminded him of you and your lack of a wife–”

“Ma please tell me you didn’t,” Steve glared at her as he stood.

Sarah withered a little at his tone, her eyes widening as she finally stopped moving.  “I…but it’s the Queen, dearest.  She’d make you a great wife.  And you a great husband!” Steve rubbed his face with his hands and started pacing around the room, Sarah following him.  “She could help us get back into a better place, your connection to her could be incredibly advantageous–”

“What makes you think I want to marry?” Steve turned on her, his eyes blazing.  “After watching you with Father all these years and how much you hated each other and brought out the worst in each other, pitting me against each of you, having affairs,” Sarah gasped.  “Yes, I know all about them.  You expect me to still want to chain myself to someone cut from the same cloth as you and all the other ridiculous nobility?  That's not love.  That’s not anything that I want to be a part of.” 

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears at her son’s accusations.  “How dare you,” she whimpered.  “I’m your mother.”

“Unfortunately,” Steve hissed at her.  “I want no part of your matchmaking games.”

Sarah straightened herself up.  “Well that’s too bad, because you have an audience with her next Friday.”  

Steve’s eyes widened, his brow furrowed, causing a deep crease between his eyes.  “You…what?”

“A lunch date,” Sarah sniffed as she wiped her eyes hastily.  “I’m trying to secure your future, and mine.  You can hate me all you want, but I didn’t endure your father for 37 years just to throw it all away.   You will meet her for lunch, be the gentleman I know you can be, flirt with her, and win her affections.”

Steve hung his head, sighing again.  He clenched his fists and walked closer to Sarah, making her back up into the wall behind her.  His eyes bored into her as he gritted his teeth.  “I will go to this lunch.  But after that, don’t you ever speak for me again.”

Sarah’s lips tightened to a thin line, defiance in her eyes, but she solemnly nodded.

***

“A lunch with Steve Rogers?” Y/N asked incredulously as she reviewed the itinerary for the week.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Is there a problem, your Majesty?” Sam asked, looking bewildered.

“Well, he’s not exactly friendly,” Y/N said, looking at his name on the paper again.  “I haven’t seen him at any events for…God, 15 years?”

“True,” Sam agreed.  “He’s not one for the spotlight.  And with his father’s gambling problems and recent death, he’s had a lot to deal with.”

“Of course,” Y/N agreed politely.  She had sent his family a condolences card upon hearing of Joseph Rogers’ death, although he was not necessarily someone that would be missed in the community.  She could understand how anyone would be embarrassed of their parents who acted in such a way so publicly and mishandled their family money.  Her own parents caused a number of controversies during their reign.  She had received multiple letters from Joseph and Sarah over the past few years asking her to increase their yearly nobility stipend money.  “I know he’s your friend, Sam.  I’m just surprised he would call on me.”

“Well…” Sam grimaced.  

Y/N eyes narrowed at him.  “Oh I see.  Sarah is meddling again.”

Sam pursed his lips, looking to the ground and nodding.  “Yes, she’s quite…enthusiastic.”

“Opportunistic,” Y/N corrected him.  She sighed.  “Well, this should be interesting.”

[oskea93]

✦ It Had to be You: Two ✦

John “Bucky” Egan x OC Gale “Buck Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and not associated with the real people mentioned from the show. This is simply based on the portrayals of the actors playing these characters. Warning for this chapter: Cursing, mention of death, suicidal ideations.

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“You need to eat something, Carolina – “ My mother’s voice straining. “You’re withering away to that of a corpse.”  

The thought of eating anything at this point, especially the pickled beetroot, was enough to make me want to vomit. I moved the spoon around in the liquid, playing with it as if I were still a child. You really don’t feel like eating after watching the love of your life be lowered into the hard, cold ground.

I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not hungry.” Mother darting her gaze in my direction. “Thank you anyway, Mother.”

I knew her patience with me was starting to wane, her emotions taking a direct hit as well. I didn’t want to do anything – eat, bathe, talk – I just wanted to be left alone and that was killing her to see. My father on the other hand just pushed everything to the side, whispering to mother that this too shall pass. He had fought in the Great War – seeing many of his fellow colleagues and friends shot down right in front of him. He knew the tolls of war and what they could do to someone’s psyche, especially the wives of the soldiers that never made it home. To him, this was a natural part of life. To my father, Gale was taken for a reason that we didn’t have any business knowing. It was his time to go and there was nothing that any of us could do about it.

She took a seat at the table across from me, pushing her greying hair from her face. The air was silent between us, neither her nor I making direct eye contact. She finally broke the ice, clearing her throat before speaking,

“Carolina –“She took a short pause as she gathered her words. “I won’t tell you that I know how you’re feeling right now because I’ve never had to deal with such tragedy, but I can’t stand seeing you act this way, darling.” Tears brimming her lined eyes. “You're love for Gale is something that I admire greatly and I know he was your everything if not more –“I narrow my eyes as she speaks. “But you can’t keep pushing yourself down this rabbit hole of self-neglect and mourning.”

I was appalled – dumbfounded that she would even say such a thing.

“He was you're first love – and while that is important – you are still young, and I don’t want to see your beauty go to waste.”

“I just buried my husband less than four hours ago and you’re telling me that I need to suck it up and go find another man?” My voice low. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?”

She was taken back by my question – her eyes squinting at my argument. “I just want what’s best for you, Ca-“

“No-“ I cut her off. “I’m not gonna sit here and be lectured by someone who’s never been through what I’m going through at this moment.” My voice quivering with anger. “Gale was the love of my life – and I’m sorry if you’ve never felt that way towards Daddy, but there’s no man on this planet that could ever fill Gale’s shoes and there never will be.”

My chair scrapped against the hardwood floor as I jump up to leave. I could hear her calls as I marched back to the bedroom, slamming the door with all my might. The sobs that I had held back escaped as I slid to the floor – my knees curling into my chest as the tears streamed down my face.

I didn’t even cry when they lowered his casket into the ground.

The shock of that being the last image of Gale that I would ever see again sending my body into a hypnotic state. My mother’s words finally breaking the damn open – my anger allowing the floodgates to open…

“You see that soldier over there – “Her painted finger pointing in the man’s direction. “I bet you I can get him to ask me to dance during the next song.”

I rolled my eyes as I sipped on my coke, watching as Brenda and the other girls at the table laughed and flirted with the man in question. He was tall and dark headed – not really that handsome – but that was for her to worry about. Brenda Cogsworth was a girl that my mother forced me to be around. Her mother and my mother had grown up together, becoming friends while our fathers were fighting in the First World War. The Cogsworth family had money, but class was missed with their precious Brenda. She was wild as a stallion, kissing ever boy that looked in her direction. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up knocked up or infected by a disease that Penicillin couldn��t cure.

“Why aren’t you putting yourself out there, Carolina?”

Brenda smirked to her friends as she waited for my reply. It was obvious they were teasing - knowing that I hadn’t spoken to a single fella since I arrived. My mother had forced me to come to the dance – telling me that I needed to be cordial – silently demanding that I find a future husband. Initially, I was a very shy person, but I opened like a flower in the Spring once I got to know someone. By coming to dances such as these, I didn’t think I was up to par with the other ladies, such as Brenda and her gaggle of friends. They had bright blonde hair and smooth skin – I had dirty blonde hair and chastity pustules that would pop up during my flow. My mother always made sure I was well dressed but you must have a pretty face, not just a nice dress to get a soldier to notice you these days.

I kept quiet as I watched the man in question smile to his friends before sauntering towards our table. He removed his cap, tucking it under his arm, as he slicked back his already oiled hair. He introduced himself, taking Brenda’s hand in his, pressing a kiss against her skin. The table swooned as they watched the events they had just discussed unfold, quietly celebrating as the solider lifted Brenda was from the table and onto the dance floor. I guess you would call them good friends for being happy for her, but these girls were calculative. They would be happy for you to your front, but their bodies were raging with envy. They all wished they could be Brenda at that moment – dancing away with a soldier that you’d be lucky to see again once the war was over.

“Now he’s a looker.”

I followed the glances of the girls as they watched the man walk towards the bar. He was dressed in slacks and a collared shirt – his blonde hair positioned in a tousled fashion.

They were right – he was very attractive – too attractive to be from around here. I watched as he spoke with another male – his smile big and bright – as he laughed at their words. The girls continued to whisper about him, telling each other to make the first move before someone else decides too.

“If you ladies will excuse me.” I took one last sip before standing up, smoothing down my dress before turning towards the gentleman. I don’t know what had gotten into me – the fact that I was tired of being the butt of their jokes – or the gumption of just trying to find out if I could confront someone of the opposite sex. My mother always told me it was the man’s place to approach for the first time. Make him do the work as you sit back and bask in the attention.

Mother’s rule went flying out the window that night.

I let out a deep breath, my hand reaching out to tap his shoulder. His friends were the first to notice me, grinning at me as the man I had sought out slowly turned around. He was about a foot taller than me – his blue eyes connected with mine.

“Hello –“My cheeks blushing. “I’m Carolina Davies.”

His eyes trailed down my body – his friends snickering as they nursed their drinks. “Carolina?” His voice deep. “Like North Carolina?”

The tone of his voice having a hint of tease, “Yeah.” My confidence starting to slowly deflate as he looked at his friends, knocking into each other as they laughed.

“Not to be a drag or anything, Carolina-“He paused as he stood a little straighter. “But your looks aren’t doing it for me, sweetheart.” He spoke matter of fact. “Sorry if me looking over at the table you were sitting at made you think that I was interested in you –“Another pause. “But I was looking at the girl you were sitting next to – the pretty one.”

I could feel tears welling in my eyes as the shame and embarrassment draped over me. I had just made a complete fool of myself – knowing damn well that I should’ve just kept my butt in that chair.

I didn’t bother saying anything else to him – there was nothing to say to be honest. I just gave him a small smile before excusing myself. The girls I had been sitting with watching the interaction, hiding their smiles as I walked by.

My stride grew faster as I pushed past the dancing couples, needing the immediate feel of fresh air on my skin. I felt like an utter fool – a reject – ugly.

The cool autumn air provided me a sense of relief as my body pressed against the brick wall of the hall. I ignored the glances of those that were entering, wiping away the stale tear that would occasionally drop from my lashes.

“Carolina?”

My eyes darting over to the man standing to the right of me. “Carolina, right?” His smile growing as I looked at him confused.

I nodded, “Yeah?” My voice weary.

He took a step closer – his facial features coming to light as he stood under the singular bulb. His smile started to fall slightly as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He shuffled his feet. “Saw what those guys did back there – should’ve never happened.”

Silence struck me – my brain trying to wrap around the words he was saying.

“I’m Gale Cleven.” A twinkle showing in his blue eyes.

“Carolina Davies.” My voice cracking.

His charming smile reappeared causing the theoretical butterflies to migrate around my stomach. He was very handsome – much more attractive than the guy at the bar. “Beautiful name for a gorgeous girl.”

I watched as the birds hopped around the yard – pulling the early worm from the soggy ground. The weather mimicked my mood – dark and grey – the sun disappearing the morning of Gale’s funeral. It had been over a week – a long week – full of sympathetic gestures and “I’m so sorry for your loss” sentiments. I had sent my parents away two days ago – no longer able to take their constant supervision – hiding sharp objects and medications so I wouldn’t harm myself in anyway.

I constantly thought about it though.

Just a flick of the blade one right way or a handful of the right pills – Gale and I would be reunited, and the worries of the world would dissipate. I could never get the gumption to do it. I was positive that Gale was looking down on me – just the way the wind would blow a certain way – or a red cardinal sitting on the fence that sat in front of the kitchen window. He wouldn’t want me to reach that level of despair. He would want me to go one and be happy, but it’s hard to do so when your heart is breaking into a million pieces. It’s hard to remain happy when lying in bed, reaching across to the spot where he once slept – the sheets cold – the empty void of waking up alone every morning.

The distant sound of a truck pulled me away from my thoughts – the familiar black Ford kicking up dust as it came closer. I let out a sigh, pulling Gale’s shirt tighter around my body, hiding the thin lace of my nightgown from John’s view.

“Morning, Carolina.” His gruff voice sounding as he removed himself from the driver’s side.

I stayed silent – rolling my eyes at the sight of him. I had gotten rid of everyone except him – John was like a piece of lint that just kept popping up – no matter how many times you swept – he still lingered long after.

My eyes glanced over as he walked to the back of the truck, pulling two suitcases from the bed. Worn leather and seeing better days, he placed them on the wooden steps. “Good to see you getting some fresh air.”

Pushing out of the rocker, I retreated into the house, the screen door slamming against the frame. Muttered words slipped past his lips; his boots heavy as he followed my direction. I had made myself a pot of coffee earlier, forgetting about it until reaching the kitchen. Pouring the dark liquid into my cup and the rest down the drain, not up to sharing with the likes of John Egan. I took a seat at the table – our eyes connecting over the coffee cup as he entered the room. Silence blanketed the room as he leaned against the counter, his gaze focused on the backyard.

“Why are you still coming around?”

His neck turning – our eyes meeting once again. “Pardon?”

Sitting up a little straighter, Gale’s shirt opening slightly as I moved. “I said –“My tone low. “Why are you still coming around? He’s dead and gone – your services around here are no longer warranted.”

“And what services might those be?” His jaw clenching.

A loud sigh blew through my nose, “Those of the mighty hero – the devoted friend – the courageous major who led his team out of the trenches. Only thing –“ I paused. “You weren’t brave enough to take the bullet yourself, letting your dear friend, Buck, take the lead instead. That’s a real heroic act if you ask me, Mr. Egan.”

The words dripped with venom – John’s eyes burning with utter rage as the room acquired a deafening silence. His diaphragm moving at a rapid rate as the anger coursed through his body – his fist balled together as he resisted the temptation to start swinging.

I struck a nerve – Gale’s death was the nail that was hammered into John’s figurative coffin on the daily. The thoughts of seeing his friend being shot down – only following his commands to go over the wall to a hopeful escape. Seeing Gale’s lifeless body lying on the snow-covered ground as blood seeped from the open wounds – John deserved to see that every time he closed his eyes.

“I never claimed to be a fucking hero, Lina.” His voice thick with emotion.

I rolled my eyes at the mention of the nickname he had given me. Crossing my arms in a defensive motion as he stepped close to where I sat.

His knees cracking as he crouched down, his blues level with mine.

“You think hiding behind this hateful wall is gonna make you feel better? Sayin hateful things to the people who are just trying to help you?”

My eyes narrowed.

“Get off your high horse, little girl. Your husband was my best friend – the only person that kept me going during those God-awful days at that fucking camp. You think you’re the only one hurting – honey, you don’t even know the half of it.”  

Our faces were centimeters away – his eyes searching mine for a reaction.

Kicking my leg out as I stood, I bumped purposely into his body as I retreated to the front entrance. His bags still sitting by the door – no reason at all why they should even be in the house to begin with.

Taking each case in my hands, kicking open the screen door, I haphazardly tossed them into the muddy yard – a smile forming as they landed with a splash in the dirty water.

The thunderous sound of his footsteps met my ears, his jaw slacked at the sight of his things lying in the yard.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I couldn’t help but laugh, watching as he raced down the steps, pulling the leather out of the puddle, water dripping as he held it away from himself.

It was the first time I had laughed since the news of Gale’s death – coming at the misery and expense of John Egan.

[teaberrii]

Chapter 16: Connecting the Dots

You've been Cupid for as long as you can remember. You've brought countless soulmates together, yet you've never found love.

When you're assigned to bring two childhood friends back together, it should be simple until you unexpectedly catch feelings for the mysterious and cold Ph.D. student, Dan Heng, the man with a soulmate… the man with answers to your past.

Dan Heng/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

“You’re being threatened?” Stelle’s unexpected revelation almost makes Pom drop his cookie. “By who? Why?”

Stelle fidgets as she says, “I don’t know.” She gets up from the couch and picks up her phone off the coffee table. “I… took a picture of the note.”

Her bottom lip curls inwards as Pom watches her tap her phone a few times. Then, she hands it to him. Upon reading the messy scrawl on the ripped piece of paper, Pom immediately gets goosebumps. However, is it just him, or does the scrawl look a little familiar?

"Do you have any idea who'd do this?" Pom asks. "A fan? A… friend, maybe?” She looks down, hesitant to answer. “Stelle…?”

Finally, she looks at Pom and says, “No. I have no idea who'd do this, but..."

"Does the writing look familiar?"

Stelle is looking away from him when she says, "My brother."

Pom blinks once. Twice. “Caelus? How? Isn’t he, um, studying abroad?”

“I know his handwriting.” Pom takes another look at the photo, and it’s then he feels as if the scrawl mimics someone who’s slowly losing his mind. “His writing isn’t usually messy,” Stelle continues. “But I know it’s his.”

Pom gives her phone back. “But why would he write this? The message itself doesn’t make much sense if he’s the one who wrote it.”

Stelle sighs and leans back. “I… I don’t know, Pom. My dad’s been acting strange. Caelus hasn’t been answering me. I just… I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“Acting strange? How?”

“He’s been doing everything he can to keep that article from running.” Stelle looks up at the ceiling. “The Withering supposedly makes people go crazy. With the way my dad’s obsessing over this article”—she scoffs—"the disease is truly making him lose his mind.”

Hold on a minute. Is Stelle supposed to know about the details of The Withering? Pom remembers her father mentioned that he doesn’t know much about it himself besides that it’s rare. Perhaps she read about it somewhere, but Pom still feels like he should ask.

“How do you know it makes people go crazy? Did someone tell you?”

Stelle reaches for a cookie. “Luocha.”

Pom froze. Did he hear that correctly? Luocha? The fake, pretty-boy doctor who was your brother? How does Stelle know about him? Through Caelus or—

"He’s a doctor,” Stelle says.

Finally, Pom takes a deep breath and takes a sip of the tea Stelle prepared moments ago. “How do you know him?”

“He’s my other brother.” Pom chokes on the tea, and he almost drops his cup. Stelle has to quickly take the cup from him and put it on the table. Then, she moves onto the couch he’s sitting on and gives his back a hard pat. “Geez, Pom. Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”

His heart can’t any more of these surprises or else he’s going to suffer from a fatal heart attack. After hitting his chest a couple of times, Pom asks, “You have another brother? But”—he vaguely gestures to her hair just her in general—”you look nothing alike!”

“He’s—”

A knock comes at the door, and Stelle gets up to answer it. Pom quickly takes out his phone, eager to tell you and Dan Heng this shocking truth. But as he’s typing, he hears a familiar voice that makes his blood run cold.

“A friend?”

“Yeah,” Stelle answers. “His name’s Pom.”

And that’s when Pom sees Luocha come around the corner with Stelle. 

“Well, what a small world.” The gentle smile on Luocha’s face makes Pom frown.

“You two know each other?” Stelle asks, looking from Pom to Luocha.

"We're acquainted," Luocha says, looking at Pom. “The last time we met… he was suspicious of me.”

Pom shoots Luocha a look to which the doctor returns with a kind smile.

“Suspicious?” Stelle asks. She looks at Pom. “Why?”

Is this what being cornered feels like? Pom puts his phone aside and says, “You were thinking too much.”

When Stelle’s phone goes off, she picks it up from the counter.” Ah, I need to take this. It’s from my manager. Be right back!”

Neither Luocha nor Pom looks at her as she walks off while answering her phone.

As soon as Pom hears a door close, he immediately asks, “What are you doing here? And... how in the world are you related to Stelle and Caelus?" Then, without thinking, “Does that mean they’re also related to Cupid—”

Luocha smiles. “How much do you know about the past, Pom?” Pom looks up and sees Luocha leaning against the counter. “Or is magic the only supernatural phenomenon you believe in?”

“Sounds like you believe in much more than that.”

“I guess my sister hasn’t filled you in.” Luocha pushes himself off the counter. “I’m talking about my half-sister, by the way. Our beloved Cupid.”

Half sister?

“I know about doppelgangers and reincarnations. I also know about a past life where I lived as Cupid’s brother.”

“You referred to her as your half-sister a few seconds ago,” Pom says.

“Because that’s who she is.”

“How are you so sure?”

Luocha walks over, and Pom instinctively gestures for him to stop with his hand. “D-Don’t come any closer.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Pom. I won’t hurt you.”

“Great. Then”—Pom points to a chair that’s a fair distance away—”you can stay all the way over there.”

Luocha almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't listen, however, and sits on the couch adjacent to the one Pom is sitting on. Pom immediately moves to the end of the couch.

“Caelus was the one who told me,” Luocha says.

“...Caelus?”

“Haven’t you heard? Caelus is getting his memories back.”

Oh, Pom’s heard, of course. But nothing about you.

“And you believe him?” Pom asks skeptically.

“Does he have a reason to lie?”

“He's been hostile towards Cupid. I don’t know why, but he might be telling you things to get you to hate her for whatever reason.”

Luocha leans back and crosses one leg over the other. “Let me ask you something, Pom.”

“...What?”

“If something you were supposed to have was ripped away from you… and you found it in the hands of another person who didn’t cherish it, what would you do?”

“Are you saying Cupid stole something from him? She would never do that!”

“Not her,” Luocha says. “Her father. Or… our father.”

A young Caelus awakened to the sound of muffled conversations in the room right outside of his. He looked over his shoulder and saw his younger sister, Stelle, sleeping soundly. So, he quietly slipped out of bed and put his ear to the sliding door to hear whatever conversation was happening on the other side.

“I don’t… I don’t understand what you’re saying.” A woman raising Caelus and Stelle stood in front of two armoured men. “I am not going anywhere with you.”

“It’s the king’s orders.”

“Has he gone mad?” she snapped. Caelus quietly slid the door open a little. "I have a life here. I’m looking after two children—”

One of the men grabbed her arm. “You’d be doing the kingdom a favour.”

“No! I—”

Caelus fully slid the door open. “L-Let her go!”

The woman gasped. “Caelus!” The man let her go, and she rushed to Caelus’s side. “You're supposed to be sleeping.”

“Who are they?” Caelus asked, nervously looking at the men.

She stood in front of them, blocking Caelus's view. “Just visitors.”

The men looked at each other. Then, one of them unsheathed his sword. “If you don’t come with us, we’ll take the kid instead.”

The woman pushed Caelus behind her. “Leave him out of this.”

“...Or, we’ll kill him.”

Caelus’s eyes widened. What was going on? Where would they take him? Why would they kill him? Caelus nervously looked up at her. After a moment, she turned around and crouched to be at eye level with him.

“...Mommy’s going to be gone for tonight, okay? Just… Just for tonight.”

“Where are you going?”

Caelus could feel her trembling when she put her hands on his cheeks. “To visit… the king.”

“Come,” the man said. “We’re leaving.”

Caelus could feel it in his gut. He couldn’t let her go. So, he grabbed onto her sleeve and said, “Please… Don’t go.”

“I promise… I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as her sleeve left his grasp, his heart fell to the pit of his stomach.

“That was the last time he saw her,” Luocha says.

Pom is at a loss for words. He can only stare at Luocha who’s not looking at him but at the coffee table. Finally, Pom asks, “Who... Who was she? Did he know what happened to her? She must have lived another life or—”

"She was their guardian, and... she was murdered." Pom’s eyes widen. Luocha looks at him. “Do you want to know how I know?”

Pom doesn’t have to give him an answer.

Luocha was still processing everything Caelus was telling him in the hospital room when Caelus suddenly stood.

“...Caelus?” Luocha asked cautiously. Caelus’s eyes had clouded over, and he was swaying as if he had too much to drink. When he stepped forward, he stumbled, and Luocha steadied him, not realizing that he’d touched Caelus’s infected hand.

But that was when it happened.

Luocha saw himself sitting with a man dressed in an elegant hanfu. The men were drinking alcohol, and the older man’s face was becoming more and more flushed.

“I’m so proud of you, Luocha,” the king said with a soft laugh. Then, he downed the alcohol from his small glass. “A doctor who's also a king. You’ll be the first.”

“...I have no interest in becoming king, Father,” Luocha said.

The king slammed the glass on the table. “What are you saying, Luocha? You're my only son! If you won't take over the throne, who will?"

“Sister is getting married to Jing Yuan. I’m sure he would make a fine king.”

“Women cannot carry the family name!”

Luocha poured his father more alcohol despite seeing how red his father was getting.

“I’ve heard some interesting… gossip from the maids,” Luocha said cautiously, watching his father for any kind of reaction. “They said I’m not Mother’s son.”

“How…” A sudden laugh. “...What do they know?” The king downed another glass. Luocha poured him more. “How would they know such a thing?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. Where did this rumour come from? They said Mother was the one who admitted it.”

That was when he saw it: the darkness in his father’s eyes. Coupled with the smile, he looked almost… demonic.

“How dare she,” the king said between drunken laughter. Then, he looked Luocha in the eyes. “My son…”

“...Yes, Father?”

“I"—a hiccup—"I suppose you’re old enough to know.” Then, his father grabbed Luocha’s hanfu and pulled him closer. “But secrets come with responsibilities.”

“It’s true I wasn’t the queen’s son,” Luocha continues. “They had seven children before Cupid. All of them were girls, but they needed a boy.”

Pom does not like where this is going.

“So, he brought in a concubine.”

“W-Wait a minute,” Pom says. “Was this woman…”

“That’s right. It was the woman looking after Caelus and Stelle.”

“But you said she was murdered…”

Luocha’s gaze hardens. “After she gave birth to me, they killed her. Just like what they did with the other girls that came before Cupid.”

Pom’s head suddenly starts spinning, and when he puts a hand on his forehead and closes his eyes, he hears your voice.

“After they killed them, they burned their bodies.”

You knew. While Pom isn’t sure where this is in the timeline, he’s certain that you knew… because you were the one who told him.

“Is this too much for you, Pom?”

Pom looks up and sees Luocha looking at him. “...Cupid knew. She knew about what her father did.”

“And does she know why she was spared?”

The queen cried loudly with one last push. Two maids, who stood on either side of the queen were holding her hands. The one who delivered the baby was cradling a newborn baby girl.

“It’s a girl.” The woman’s voice broke, and the other two maids glanced at each other with a crestfallen expression.

“Let me see her,” the queen said, reaching out.

As soon as the queen saw you, she smiled with tears falling from her eyes.

Hours later, the queen was on her knees in front of the king. Only one maid was in the room, standing near the king with you in her arms.

“Please,” the queen sobbed as she bowed her head so far that her forehead touched the wooden floor. “Please spare her.”

“Why should I?” the king asked. He glanced at you in the maid’s arms. You were surprisingly quiet for a newborn, unlike the others. "Don't tell me you're feeling guilty."

The queen didn't have an answer. Perhaps the guilt had gotten to her. But she sensed something different about you when she held and looked at you for the first time. 

“We can keep trying,” the queen said, looking up to meet her husband’s eyes. “I just…” Then, she clenched her fists. “There are other options.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I know of a woman… a single woman looking after two children. She lives a very quiet life. No one would know if she were to go missing.”

“...Missing? Why—” That was when it dawned on the king. Then, he laughed darkly. “I never thought you would resort to such measures.” The king stood and looked at you. “If that is your wish… I will spare her.”

“From the beginning, Cupid had a fate worse than death,” Luocha says.

Before Pom can say anything, the migraine and your voice return…

“She regrets it.”

“...Is that why you’re letting her die?”

“...Are you… are you really on our side?” Pom asks. “If what you say is true, they killed your birth mother. Do you… hate Cupid?”

“I have nothing against my sister,” Luocha says. “She is also a victim.”

“Then why are you working with Jing Yuan?” 

Luocha turns to Pom, a stern look in his eyes. “We are not your enemies, Pom. Our worst enemies are ourselves.” When Pom looks away, Luocha continues, “There are still questions I don’t have answers to.”

“You're telling me all of that came back from just one accidental touch?"

"Yes. I don't know why or how, but that was what happened."

Does this mean if Pom also touches Caelus's hand, would his memories also return?

"I wasn't born yet when my father—the one in the present—was infected," Luocha says. "I relied on my mother's diary of the accounts. When he was almost completely paralyzed, he kept telling me of a woman. He started seeing her everywhere as if she was haunting him.”

Was that woman… you, somehow?

“I assumed the disease made him lose his mind as he went on about a past life. But knowing about the locket, meeting Jing Yuan and Cupid and you… I’m convinced.” Pom’s heart begins to race out of anxiety. “The description my father gave back then. It matches her. It matches Cupid.”

“...What happened to your mother?”

“She’s gone.” Luocha exhales sharply. “If Cupid was responsible for The Withering, then she killed more than just my father.”

The silence that follows is loud, almost deafening.

Finally, Pom takes a breath. “After all that, it still doesn’t explain why Caelus hates Cupid. It was her parents who broke apart their family, not her.”

“Call it a hunch, but maybe you can thank Jing Yuan for that.”

◆◆◆

Jing Yuan has just finished a call when he turns his car onto another street. He can’t believe he’s driving halfway across the city for Lan. The god had called him earlier, saying they needed “to talk.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Jing Yuan deadpanned.

“It’s much worse than that.”

For the past ten minutes, Jing Yuan had tried getting in touch with Luocha—but the man wasn’t answering. Eventually, Jing Yuan gave up and turned his focus to getting to the hospital.

When Jing Yuan’s car rolls to a stop at a red light, he looks to the side and sees a young couple walking on the sidewalk. They are holding hands, and they’d smile at each other. Then, when Jing Yuan blinks once, he suddenly sees you… and him.

It was not long after you and Jing Yuan met that your parents volunteered you to show Jing Yuan around the village. When you saw him, you bluntly said, " You’re not going to the village dressed like that.” Your mother had glared at you, and you frowned. “He looks like he’s going to war. We’re going for a walk, not to a battlefield.”

So, that was how Jing Yuan ended up on a casual village walk with you dressed in a black-and-white hanfu.

You’d just finished telling him about some of the shops you passed by when he said, “You’re very knowledgeable.”

“Well, I grew up here. What did you expect, General?"

“You grew up here, sure, but not everyone knows so much about its history. However, you know all about the ins and outs of everything. It’s fascinating.”

"I guess that's one way to look at it." You smiled at him. "You have manners, General."

"I'm offended you'd think otherwise."

"Just accept the compliment before I change my mind."

"For a princess, you sure are... direct."

"What were you expecting?"

"Is this a trick question?" Then, Jing Yuan suddenly took your wrist, making you stop. “Tell me about this place.”

You looked up. “...The noodle shop?” You raised a brow. “Are you interested in learning about its quality ingredients Or would you like me to tell you their secret of staying in business for more than thirty years?”

“Well if you’re willing.”

“...That was sarcasm.”

“Too late.”

Before you could say anything else, he was walking inside with his hand still around your wrist and you beside him.

A loud honk snaps Jing Yuan out of his thoughts. He shifts the gears and drives off, trying to forget whatever he just remembered.

◆◆◆

In an empty area of the hospital, Lan and Dan Heng stand off to the side. You’re sitting on a bench where Lan and Dan Heng can keep an eye on you. You haven’t said much since you left Caelus's room. After Lan had said everyone needed to talk, you had turned to Dan Heng.

“...Sorry,” you said. “I… didn’t mean to hurt him.”

He could see it in your face. It was like you were fighting with something. Dan Heng put his hands on either side of your face.

“Something came back for you,” Dan Heng said. When you looked down, he knew he was right. You put his hands on top of his, and he felt you trembling. “We’ll get through it.”

You looked down, and he wasn’t sure what to make of your silence.

“I had someone look into The Withering,” Lan says, and Dan Heng turns to him. “To conclude, The Withering is the result of black magic. And... it couldn’t have been done alone.”

Nanook had just come out of his quarters with nothing but a towel around his waist when he nearly jumped at the sight of Lan sitting on a chair.

“Who said you could just waltz in here?” Nanook frowned. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?”

“...I need your help.”

Nanook raised a brow. “Are we in danger? Since when does the all-powerful God of the Hunters need my help?”

“It involves Cupid.”

“...Cupid?" Nanook's gaze hardened. "Did something happen to her? Whose ass do I have to beat? Is it Dan—"

“She may have created a curse.”

Nanook’s eyes widened. “...What? Are you messing with me? This is Cupid we’re talking about. Why would she—”

Lan took out a vial with black liquid inside. “I need you to examine this for me.” Nanook walked over and took the vial from him. “It’s a blood sample from an infected human. I can’t match whatever is in it to any curse families I know about.”

“If I help you, you better tell me what’s going on with her.”

“I told him everything,” Lan says. “If I didn’t”—he scoffs—”he’d probably try killing me in my sleep.”

“Why ask Nanook?” Dan Heng asks.

“He’s the God of Destruction. He owns the Grimoire of Black Magic. If there’s anyone who knows something about how The Withering is made, he’s our best chance.”

“...Did he find anything?”

The next time Lan saw Nanook was to get some answer—but Lan was not expecting it to come in the form of a full-blown report.

“It has everything you need to know,” Nanook said. “All the way down to its base components, ingredients, and whatnot.”

“You got all of this from one blood sample?”

“Of course, I also had to do research. Hate to admit it, but the blood sample you gave me did help a lot, though.”

"So, you are useful for something," Lan said, flipping through the notes.

"You're lucky I'm more worried about Cupid than beating your ass right now." Lan looked up and Nanook sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on down here, but are you sure she's the one who created this?”

“Why do you ask?”

“The Withering was created using advanced black magic,” Nanook said. “We're talking top tier." Lan made a gesture for Nanook to get on with his point. "Cupid was human at the time, wasn’t she? There was absolutely no way in hell she could’ve created that.”

A small pause.

“Not on her own.”

Lan narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

“Black magic is powerful, but advanced black magic is on another level,” Nanook said. “It requires two or more people, depending on what you’re trying to do. To create something like The Withering, a curse in the disguise of a disease, you need a human and a magical being.”

“...Like who?”

“Anyone who’s not human and knows about advanced magic."

Lan glanced down, and his eyes widened when it dawned on him. When he looked at Nanook, the God of Destruction exhaled sharply.

“Don’t have any proof, but the rabbit's lookin' a little suspicious."

Upon making eye contact with Dan Heng, Lan also knows he’s thinking of the same person.

“...Do you know something, Dan Heng?”

“Pom… he said he remembered being a shapeshifter. A shaman… he helped Young put a protection spell on the pendant to keep Cupid safe from Jing Yuan.”

Lan leans against the wall. “A shapeshifter…”

“Were there others like Pom?”

“You wouldn’t know someone is a shapeshifter unless they told you. They were common in folklore, but I’ve never met one before.” Lan looks down as if deep in thought. “If he did help Cupid create The Withering, it would explain why he’s on The Astral Express.”

“...The Astral Express?”

Before Lan can say anything more, the men see you standing, staring straight ahead. When Dan Heng looks in the direction you’re looking at, he sees Jing Yuan who has just reached the top of the stairs.

“Is it just me, or is the atmosphere awfully dreary?”

When Dan Heng is by your side, he notices you’re slightly shaking as Jing Yuan walks toward you. Then, when Jing Yuan is in front of you, he leans down.

“We meet again, Sweet—”

His eyes widen when you swiftly grab his neck without warning—but what frightens him isn’t that you’re choking him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even blink. He’s forced to look at you as he suddenly feels a searing pain in his stomach.

“...How does it feel?”

He hears your voice but your lips never moved. His mouth opens but no words would come. Instead, when he finally looks down, he sees himself bleeding from a gaping wound in his stomach. Another voice comes, but this time it’s his own.

“I did it... so you'd never forget me. Hate runs deep, deeper than love."

Jing Yuan falls to the ground, still reeling at whatever it was he just experienced. It felt so real. The metal through his stomach. The blood from his wounds. Then, when he looks up, he sees you and Dan Heng; the murderous look in your eyes Jing Yuan saw moments ago disappeared.

This time, he's sure this feeling is real.

Because looking at you and Dan Heng, it feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest. And the worst part is Jing Yuan has no idea why.

Chapter 17

End notes: I was not expecting Jing Yuan to have such a big role in this story, lol. But through his back story, you will gradually learn about everyone else's, including more about you and Young. This is just the surface, fellas LOL more to come...

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @seirenspinel @tanspostsblog @theprinceofkhaos @nqctre @lunavixia @akwardbiscuit @kplatzman @sunsethw4 @hiqhkey @n8mareee

[kairithemang0]

I don’t know if I’m ever going to actually write this into something, but tonight kinda sucks so this is how I’m choosing to shove my problems onto people

by making agent Curt mega punch a wall

Curt’s head burned, it burned more than it was supposed to. He yearned for touch, for a light that wasn’t going to blind him. What light did he deserve to see after wandering such a dark road, after running so far from that facility a few months back.

The facility. The vile Russian air. The field he collapsed in. The smell of smoke filling the air from a mile away. Owen’s body was in that fire, withering away.

Curt should’ve been the one burning, maybe the screaming headache was just a bit of that pain seeping into the person that deserved it. Owen didn’t deserve to die, Owen deserved none of it. How could Curt have been so foolish to let it happen?

Curt felt his body find its way to its familiar corner in his living room, figures of Owen dancing across his tear stained eyes, his vision blurry. The way he swayed, the way he hummed, held his hand out to Curt. He pulled Curt closer to his chest, hands resting gently on his hips. That was then. This is now.

Now the paint on the walls was chipped, just like those motels they found themselves going to after missions, after bars, getting so drunk they didn’t know what they were doing. Curt still didn’t know what he was doing, with his head pressed against the wall Owen would push him against and his hands wrapped around a bottle of whiskey he had run dry.

Curt looked at the whiskey, the was it reminded him of Owen, so addictive, so deadly, so delicious. He threw Owen away, and yet he held to this cold empty bottle.

Throwing it was a bad idea, and yet hearing it shatter on the other wall was so satisfying. It wasn’t what he needed though, a quick relief. Is that what it sounded like when Owen fell? When his bones snapped in half before he died? Before Curt let him die? A shattered bottle of whiskey, was that what Owen was?

Curt pulled his legs close to his chest, head burning, pounding, breaking. Owen. Owen. Owen. He felt his fist meet the wall behind him. Owen. Owen. Owen.

Curt was useless.

His knuckles ached, skin breaking.

He wasn’t good enough.

Owen. Where was Owen?

What type of a friend leaves the person they love to die?

His hand began to bleed as he broke through the wall, hand inside the dusty hole of his apartment, body shaky.

Curt pulled himself away from the hole he had created. Of course, he made another mess. He fucked up again. That’s what he was good at, right?

He buried his head on his knees, tears finally shedding, his bones snapping into pieces as he remembered the way Owen looked so scared as Curt ran away, the way he thought Curt could’ve come back.

Well, Curt thought he could’ve come back too. He could add that to the list of things he was wrong about, a list that grew by the day.

Maybe he just was never cut out for a job like that, for a job where losing people happens every day.

[mamuscript]

On the Idea of Forgiveness:

For all that Aziraphale is a “being of love,” (and don’t get me wrong - I’m an Aziraphale defender until actual Armageddon) he consistently avoids opportunities to tell Crowley how he feels about him, while Crowley is consistently telling Aziraphale what he means to him, albeit also not explicitly.

The closest that Aziraphale comes to telling Crowley what he means to him is after the duo performs The Bullet Catch, and he says, “I knew you would come through for me. You always do.” Aziraphale clearly demonstrates how he feels about Crowley, thanks in large part to Michael Sheen’s sublime and peerless performance: the way he looks at him; the giddiness with which he grabs Crowley’s hand and drags him to the dancefloor; they way he relies on him; the way he bounces out into the world every day, full of conviction that Crowley will be by his side. And Aziraphale tells Crowley again and again, despite resistance from the demon himself, that he is a good person, a nice person. That is so important - Crowley needs to hear that, and he needs to know that Aziraphale believes that about him - but it’s all so subtle.

On the other hand, Crowley expresses to Aziraphale, again and again, that they’re a team. When the world is about to end and Crowley can’t think of any other ideas, he asks Aziraphale to run away and be with him. He shows up to protect Aziraphale time and time again, including from himself. He shows that he knows Aziraphale fully - “You have three reasons for calling me,” etc. He threatens everyone who poses danger to the angel. After the fire at the bookshop, when Aziraphale appears in his spectral form before Crowley, the demon tells him, “I lost my best friend.” Aziraphale could comfort him in this moment, he could return the sentiment. But instead, he only says, “I’m so sorry to hear it.”

And this one hurts the most - Crowley keeps letting things go and coming back to apologize, even though he isn’t wrong.

When they argue at the bandstand, it’s because Aziraphale is being deceptive, cruel, and sanctimonious. The angel is willing to sacrifice their relationship for his ideals, while Crowley is willing to sacrifice everything for their relationship. Aziraphale is clearly in the wrong, and yet Crowley comes crawling back - “Whatever I said I didn’t mean it. Work with me - I’m apologizing here.” When they argue over Gabriel, neither of them is wrong, per se, but Crowley has an excellent point - Gabriel is a significant threat to them both, and in particular to Aziraphale. Once again, Aziraphale dismisses him out of hand. But when Crowley learns that Aziraphale is in trouble, he comes back and apologizes (even though he wasn’t wrong) in order to protect the angel.

Crowley keeps putting himself out there, making himself vulnerable, swallowing his pride, and Aziraphale not only doesn’t do the same, he never even acknowledges it.

This is what withers my heart about that final scene. Crowley has put himself out there for Aziraphale again and again over thousands of years, has come far closer to telling Aziraphale what he means to him than the angel has to telling him. And despite the inevitability of the rejection he’s about to receive, he does it again. He makes himself vulnerable, he tells Aziraphale that all they need is each other - my guy comes so close to telling him that he wants to spend eternity at his side. And Aziraphale shoots him down again.

Not only does he cast Crowley aside, but he has the audacity to tell Crowley that he forgives him.

I’m not going to dissect that particular act of forgiveness (not right now, anyway).

But I will say this: that despite the ever-present topic of what Crowley may or may not have done to get cast out of heaven and whether he’s worthy of mercy, despite Aziraphale priggishly deigning to offer Crowley forgiveness not once but twice, despite the fact that Crowley has the black wings and Aziraphale the white… Despite all of that, in an ironic twist of fate (or rather, due to the unparalleled and masterful achievement of the storytelling here) the next time we see these two, it won’t be Crowley who will need to earn forgiveness. It will be Aziraphale.

[jellypopjoo]

tied up. (suh kyungmin 서경민)

synopsis : your friend kyungmin who’s struggling with his recent college assignment, pleads for your assistance. so you help him with it, as well as with tying up his hair.

genre : fluff, friends with crushes

warnings : death jokes, uhhhh idk there’s a lotta fake bickering between you two ig??

wc : 1.3k

-

-

this phone call had lasted way longer than you had intended, but that seemed to be a common theme when it came to your good friend kyungmin. he was never one to talk too much, except for when it came to you. he could talk for hours, even on autopilot.

“kyungmin, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t die any time soon,” today’s topic… was a hectic one.

“y/n, y/n I’m terribly sorry but to be fair it’s this assignment’s fault,” kyungmin was losing his mind! but what else was new?

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” defusing your friend was never your strong suit, with his bold and stubborn personality and all.

“not that bad…” oh, here it comes. “why don’t you try taking econ then, see how you like it!”

“absolutely not,” you shut him down quickly.

“okay then! so the least you can do is try to ease my pain,” and here comes the part where he throws in a request from you.

“good god, why did I befriend you?” you kid, a common theme between the two of you.

“to be honest y/n, I don’t wanna hear it,” you smile on the other end, because truth be told you did love his little attitude.

“yeah yeah, where are you at so I can make sure you don’t die early?” and you also did love him, so of course you’d give in to his requests.

“our usual spot of course,” ah yes, the campus quad, under the tree you both agreed looked like a bizarre version of the pokémon mew. “withering away… can’t hold out much longer…”

“you’re so dramatic, I’ll be there in a bit,” you smile to yourself once more.

“bring… snacks…” and then you roll your eyes at yet again another request.

“we’ll see. bye.”

-

finally managing to make it to the quad after about five minutes (which according to kyungmin time was an eternity), you finally spot your friend at the very spot he stated he was. he sat crisscrossed with his chin rested on one of his hands, textbooks sprawled on the grass. you speed walk towards him, careful not to make too much noise.

“hi, kyungmin,” you greet him, snaking your arms around his shoulders to hug him from behind. you feel a small jolt from his long frame, before he instantly relaxes upon realizing it’s you.

“y/n, what a relief,” he sighs while leaning his back into you, soon shifting to turn around and wrap his arms around your torso.

“I see you’re that excited to see me,” you say, taken aback by his embrace but still having your arms around him nonetheless.

“thrilled actually,” his voice is muffled as he speaks into your chest. “so if you don’t mind, I’m gonna stay like this for a bit.”

“if you insist,” you respond, and for a bit he does because it’s probably a solid minute before kyungmin finally lets you go.

“okay, okay. I’ve recovered,” he plants a small smile, eyes half open due to his drowsiness.

“so I’m the antidote to your studying sickness?” you tease as you always do.

“I thought that was obvious,” he says with a pout, enlarging his eyes.

“you’re ridiculous,” you laugh, because truly he is.

“ridiculous this, ridiculous that,”he rolls his eyes. “what’s really ridiculous is this godforsaken deadline.”

“okay, poor sap,” you smack a hand into his shoulder, then sliding yourself to sit opposite of kyungmin and his mess of textbooks. “just show me what you’re dealing with and I’ll try my hardest.”

“my hero!”

-

“I see you’re in your zone, kyungmin,” you’ve been observing your friend for the last few minutes as he’s been scribbling left and right, never looking up.

“huh?” he darts up to you the minute he hears your voice, the first he’s heard of it since a while. “oh, guess so.”

“question,” you probe him.

“hm?” he asks, tilting his head the slightest bit.

“have you ever considered cutting your hair?” you tread cautiously, because you don’t actually know what thoughts your friend has for his hair.

“hmmmm…” he looks away in thought, deeply considering your question.

“not that you need to!” you backtrack instantly, afraid you’d give him the wrong idea. “I like the length, but does it ever bother you like, especially because it’s warmer out now?”

“hm, a little I guess,” he admits, tugging at the ends of his shoulder length hair. “and I try to tie it up every now and then, but to be honest…”

“what?” you’re intrigued by his next words, him dragging them out.

“I don’t really…” he still hesitates, before he’s finally admitting it. “know how to use a hair tie.”

“you grew your hair and you don’t know how to work a teeny elastic…” you can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“I don’t need you shaming me!” he’s locks down into defense mode quickly.

“alright, alright,” you backpedal, deciding not to tease him today. “but at least let me help you.”

“yay,” he says straight faced. perhaps admitting he’s bad at something aside from his econ class brings him shame.

“give me the hair tie,” you demand, hand outstretched doing grabby motions.

“it’s on my arm,” he says, extending his right arm out to you. somehow, you didn’t even notice he had something attached to it.

“okay. one day I’ll probably use hyunwoo or yejun’s head as an example to actually show you how to use it, but for now I’ll just do it for you,” you say, dragging your friends into it as you remove the tie from his arm.

“y/n… you’re my lifesaver. what would I do without you?” he says with a pouty expression, you swear you see his eyes start to glaze over.

“I thought we’d already established you’d be dead,” you reply, dragging yourself to be positioned directly behind him.

“we did, didn’t we?” he nods.

“dork,” you can’t help but chuckle a little. but back to the task at hand. “do you want it in like, a low pony or half up?”

“I think half up is fine,” he answers surely.

“your wish is my command,” you rub your hands together, as if you’re a mosquito.

“okay, genie,” now he’s the one laughing.

you start grabbing pieces of kyungmin’s hair, smoothing out the top and making sure you’ve grabbed enough before you finally tie it all together with the band.

“alright done, now let’s see…” you shift back to where you were before right in front of him now, examining your hard work.

“is it fine?” he asks, eager to see the result of your hard work.

“ah, hold still,” you grab the right side of his face, tilting it so it’s angled more downwards. “I grabbed too much of your bangs…”

“oh,” kyungmin’s breathing stops as you pull away at his bangs, grabbing the few you accidentally tied up.

“okay!” you let go of his face and examine your work once more. “perfect as always, suh kyungmin.”

“ah… thank you,” he says, feeling the tiny pony tail you tied up. he attempts to hide the blush he didn’t even realize was growing on his face.

“of course!” you examine him fully, looking at every detail of his hair and face. but clearly more his features, and not the obvious cherry he turned into. “it suits you too, your bangs frame your face so nicely but you can hardly tell when your hair’s just down.”

“maybe I really do need to learn how to use a hair tie then,” he says in a chuckle, looking away from you now.

“you definitely do,” you laugh back.

“now uh…” he starts, but it seems he’s hesitating as he looks back up to you. “before we continue my suffering I mean studying, I have a question.”

“shoot,” you respond eagerly.

“…did you bring the snacks?”

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Operation Death Wish | Chapter 11

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

Synopsis: Jake Seresin knew what it was like to lose people he loved, he’d been losing them his whole life. Yet in the midst of chaos as the world as he knew it ended Jake found somebody he never wanted to lose. But what if he’d already lost her. Warnings: swearing, dystopian descriptions, gore, death, violence, alien descriptions, fighting, sexual images, 18+ (minors dni), angst, some fluff at times, main character death, grieving ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What ensued after that was carnage. You had been ushered away by Natasha while the others made a plan to defend the base.

“I can help, please let me help,” you’d begged but both your father, Jake and Bradley all remained firm.

“You’re too important, Sweetheart. You look after that little baby of ours, okay? It’s my job to protect you,” Jake had confessed, placing a lingering kiss in your hair, before Natasha all but dragged you away.

You were sitting on the cold hard bench of the underground bunker, the air stagnant and stale from years of lying empty. Above you, the sound of gunfire and explosions filled your ears and you cradled your head, trying to block out the images that raced through your desperate mind.

The bunker was overloaded with civilians, all the soldiers except you and Natasha were up top fighting.

“I should be up there Nat, I’m a doctor for Christ's sake, they need me.” But your begging had been futile, there was no way anyone was going to let you open the bunker door.

You rocked back on your heels, your fingernails digging into the steel bench, the cold metal a stark contrast to your fiery skin, as the sweat trickled down your forehead and into your eyes. The commotion above you caused you to cringe. You should be out there helping, healing the wounded and instead, you felt like you’d been dismissed.

After what felt like several hours but in reality must have been only an hour at least, a small group of soldiers appeared in the doorway, bloody and bruised but alive. Your eyes scanned the crowd frantically in search of your loved ones but the faces of the strangers in front of you told a different tale, one you weren’t willing to hear. One man was carried in on a stretcher, a deep gash across his abdomen seeping with crimson blood.

“WE NEED A MEDIC!” One of the other soldiers shouted, lowering the man onto the bench.

“Out of my way I’m a doctor,” you pushed through the crowd toward the wounded soldier. His eyes were dark and glassy and his mouth hung open as a small trail of blood trickled from his lips. His uniform was stained and the all too familiar iron smell filled your nostrils, causing your stomach to churn, as you pulled back his shirt and revealed the blood pooling quickly on his skin.

“I need a first aid kit, bandages and morphine, anything you can get your hands on,” you called out to the man, making quick work at ripping open the rest of his shirt and revealing further bruises and small cuts. One of the soldiers appeared with a first aid kit and you made quick work of applying the bandages tightly around the wound. There were two vials of morphine in the kit and you quickly injected one into the soldier's thigh muscle, hoping to release some of his agonies, as he squirmed and cried.

“There’s nothing more I can do for him,” you admitted to his friend quietly. “Without the proper equipment that’s all I can do.” His friend nodded solemnly, knowing that the inevitable was bound to happen. You felt so hopeless watching the man in front of you wither in agony.

The door of the bunker flew open with a sickening crack and more soldiers filed into the already cramped room. “WE NEED A MEDIC!” Several of them shouted as further wounded men were carried through. Natasha appeared beside you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

“What can I do?” She asked, her eyes a little watery but her lips set in a firm line. You took a deep breath, calming the thoughts that raced through your tired mind, all you could think of was Jake. Why hadn’t he come back yet? Why wasn’t he here holding you?

“I need you to triage the soldiers and send the walking wounded to the back of the line if their bleeding applies bandages. Anyone with more severe wounds or haemorrhaging I need to see immediately.” Natasha nodded, turning to a few of the women behind her and telling them the plan.

The night was long, as the line of wounded soldiers felt endless. Most of them were now comfortably settled on makeshift beds, their wounds dressed and pain medication in their systems. Two of the civilians had volunteered to find more medical supplies and had returned with nearly enough equipment to treat most of the injuries. You had stitched, dressed, injected medication and monitored them all through the night and by the time morning came you were exhausted.

Slumped on the cold metal floor by the door, your head rolled to the side as your eyes fluttered open. Something wasn’t right. You stood up, looking across the bunker at the sleeping soldiers and civilian families, all still peacefully unaware. It was almost tranquil and… silent.

“They’ve stopped,” you whispered to no one in particular. “They’ve stopped!” You exclaimed and watched as a few of the closet people began to stir. Natasha and Sophie looked up at you, sleepy-eyed and confused faces.

“What?” Nat asked, standing to stretch out her aching legs.

“They’ve stopped. It’s quiet. Listen.” Natasha stopped, squinting as she strained to listen to the nothingness.

“You’re right. They’ve stopped fighting…” Before Nat could even finish her sentence you were yanking at the bunker door, heaving the heavy metal object out of your way and running up the steps, Natasha’s desperate cries following you as you fled.

Your heart sunk at the scene in front of you, smoke floated across the base, fires visible from several of the buildings, shaky shadows sprinting through the smoke and bodies, human and creature, littered everywhere. You pulled up your jacket, covering your mouth as you headed into the smoke, it burnt your eyes causing them to water uncontrollably. In the distance, there were several dark shadows, all congregated by one of the warehouses. You called out, increasing your pace, feeling that if you found Jake a minute sooner then everything would be ok. You just needed Jake. Stomach churning, eyes streaming you lurched further through the smoke, crying out to the figures.

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

Jake’s whole body ached, the gash on his torso stinging painfully whenever he moved and his throat dry as he spluttered, shielding his mouth from the smoke. Mav was close by, slumped against the wall, the large cut on his head oozing down his face. A few of the other soldiers were mingling about, patching each other up and checking their ammunition reserves. Jake didn’t think he’d ever fought like he had last night. It had been the most physically and mentally challenging battle he’d ever witnessed. The creatures were relentless, Jake could still see the vivid images of their jaws drool dripping from their large fangs and their screams, those ear-splitting screams. He cringed at the thought. He’d never seen a massacre like it and they had never stood a chance. It wasn't until Mav remembered the TNT that was left on the base that the table began to turn but they had lost a lot, they had lost a lot of good men and women. Jake sighed slumping down beside Maverick who looked over at him, a small but grim smile on his face.

“How are we gonna tell her, Maverick?” Jake asked, watching as his eyes followed Mav’s to where the bodies of the soldiers they had lost lay under blankets.

“I don’t know, Jake. I don’t know,” Maverick admitted, resting his head in his hands. Jake knew Mav may not admit it but Bradley had been like a son to him and despite everything that had happened he was grieving his loss too. Jake had never expected to like Bradley after everything but his good nature and the way he had truly cared for you made it hard not to. Although they had a rough start Jake could see why you had loved him, why you still loved him. When it came down to it Bradley had fought to protect the woman they all cared so much for. A faint cry in the distance caught both men’s attention, looking up through the smoke as the woman's voice called out again.

“That’s (y/n),” Mav spoke first, his voice strained and he groaned, holding himself up against the brick wall to stabilize himself. Jake stood quickly beside him, both men turning to face the women they both loved. She appeared through the smoke, like some kind of angel, breaking through the mist, her voice calling out to them.

“(Y/n)?” Jake felt his legs carrying him forward until his arms were wrapped around your shoulders. His face was bruised and bloody but he looked relieved.

“Jake,” you threw your arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly as the relief flooded through you, tears pricking your eyes as you frantically tried to blink them away.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” you whispered in his ear, voice shaking uncontrollably as tears spilt down your cheeks. You pulled back, crushing your lips against his in a desperate kiss as if everything depended on it. Jake winced slightly, his cut lip stinging from the salty tears but he refused to pull away. He held onto you so tightly, you knew he felt the same.

You pulled back, noticing your father hovering behind him.

“Dad!” You lunge forward, running into his embrace. You felt him squeezing you close to him, his hand holding the back of your head, cradling you close to him. “Dad,” you sobbed into his shoulder and you could feel hot tears trickling onto the bare skin of your neck as your father cried with you. Within the last few weeks, you had found your father and nearly lost him all over again. Wrapped in your father's embrace you finally felt a sense of safety after the long night you’d all endured, maybe everything would be ok.

“Love, I have something I need to tell you,” Maverick whispered, pushing you away slightly so he could look you in the eyes. His face was contorted and you noticed how much older your father suddenly looked, deep wrinkles lined his face, and dark circles encapsulated his eyes, his dark eyes full of sorrow.

“What is it?” Your voice comes out strained and small.

Your father sighed, guiding you towards the small brick wall and allowing you to take a seat, holding onto your shoulders to support you. Your eyes looked behind him, eyes waving over the soldiers behind him trying to catch a glimpse of Bradley, you just wanted to make sure he was ok.

“Dad, where’s Bradley?” You asked, looking at him like a small naive child. Maverick locked eyes with you and you noticed as Adam's apple bobbed in his throat.

“That’s what I need to tell you, Love. Bradley is a hero, he saved my life and without him, many more of us would have perished. He was a good man, one of the best and I never gave him enough credit but he was. He earned my daughter's love and I’m so glad he did because not many people get to experience that and despite everything, I know you’ll always love him. Bradley died a hero, Baby Girl. He was a true hero.” You stared at him in disbelief, unable to accept the fact that the man you had loved was gone, the boy you had loved since childhood. Bradley, who was so full of love and life was just gone.

“How?” You choked out. “How did he die?”

Jake was by your side now too, holding onto your arm as you gripped onto his shirt, your fist twisting the fabric into a tight ball. You couldn’t see, salty tears blurring your vision as you gasped out your words. It felt like your lungs were being compressed, the weight of your grief crushing you. Jake’s arms were around you in seconds, holding you against his chest as he whispered into your ear but you couldn’t hear what he was saying, everything was a blur.

“Just tell me what happened,” you whispered, teary eyes staring up at Jake, whose face was stoic and serious but his eyes sparkled with budding tears.

“He’s a hero,” Jake began.

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

Bradley’s chest heaved, his back pinned against the wall, eyes watering from the smoke. The creatures were relentless, they had pounded them with the 50-calibre guns, and grenades, hell Mav had even tried a flame thrower but nothing was taking them down. They’d lost almost half the team they had set out with, many of them with families waiting longingly for their return. He rubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to clear the dust and sweat that trickled down his forehead. He’d lost sight of the others in the chaos and now pinned against the wall, he was vulnerable and exposed. He peered around the corner, spotting one of the creatures ambling across the clearing, its legs creaking and groaning as its metal hinges moved to carry its great fleshy body. A thud behind him cussed Bradley to spin around, raising his gun at the figure.

“Jeez, it’s just me. Put the gun down,” Jake hissed, grabbing the end of the barrel and pushing it away from his face. “You’re a little jumpy aren’t you Bradshaw.”

Bradley sighed, “Yeah, well so would you be if you’d been here helping. Where the hell of you been and where’s Mav?” Bradley glared at him accusingly. Of course, he’d been off keeping himself safe while Bradley and his friends had been out here defending their loved ones.

“I…” Jake began, his signature smirk gracing his lips, “have been saving your ass.” He pulled the rucksack off of his shoulder and swung it round between the men, pulling open the zip and revealing its contents. The bag was crammed full of TNT.

“Where the hell did you find this lot?” Bradley asked, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Mav and I found it in one of the old ammunition stores. He’s got a bag full of it too. He’s gone to find the others and will come up with a plan.”

Bradley nodded, his eyes darting about, looking through the smoke to see several human-shaped figures running back and forth between the buildings.

“Until then, we’ve gotta sit tight.” Jake slumped down on the floor and Bradley followed suit, resting his gun between the two of them.

“So Bradshaw, how long have you known (Y/N)?” Jake asked casually, Bradley could see the way Jake smirked as he tensed at your name. It was still a sore subject and despite you forgiving him Bradley still felt like a complete asshole for the way he treated you. He’d never meant to hurt you, hell he loved you and the thought of you dying broke him. He turned to Jake his face solemn, “I’ve known her since I was a kid. Our dads were best friends and so we became best friends.”

Jake nodded, “and how long have you been in love with her?”

Bradley let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “since I was a kid.” He didn’t know why he was admitting all this to Jake Seresin of all people, this guy had stolen his fiancée but for some reason, he just couldn’t hate the guy as he should. Something about the way he looked at you, held you and spoke to you made Bradley realise he did truly love you and if he made you happy then that’s all Bradley had ever really wanted.

“How long have you loved, (Y/N)?” Bradley asked, shielding his face so Jake couldn’t see as he wiped away the stray tears that had fallen.

“Ever since I first walked into her office after a bar fight,” Jake admitted, “she patched me up and after that, I was done for.” Both men laughed, looking at each other knowingly. Bradley knew that feeling all too well.

After what felt like waiting for hours, Mav finally appeared, his face was grimy and thick layers of dust outlined his wrinkles but he still wore his signature grin, his eyes wild.

“Right! So we’ve got a plan.”

“Here we go.”

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

“The plan was straightforward. Everyone knew what they had to do but those creatures had other ideas. I tried to stop him, Baby I swear,” Jake pleaded, holding onto your shoulders. You could see the tears forming in his eyes as he looked at you. You knew he felt responsible for what had happened but how could you blame him?

“Please just tell me what happened?”

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

The plan was simple. The building on the furthest side of the base was to be rigged with TNT, a siren would be set off in the building to draw the creatures in and when they got there the TNT would be detonated. BOOM.

Bradley and Jake had rigged up the siren, while the others set the TNT so that it would go off once everyone else had left the building. It was straightforward, everyone would have 30 seconds to get as far away from the building as possible before the siren began, once all the creatures had made it inside the building, Mav would detonate it.

“Why the hell isn’t it working?” Jake cursed, throwing the spanner at the siren with a loud clang. “Fucking piece of shit!”

“I don’t know, Seresin but that’s not helping us right now,” Bradley hissed, picking up the spanner and placing it back in the toolbox.

“I know but we are running out of time, everyone is waiting on us,” Jake sighed, leaning over the edge of the railings to see the group below waiting for them.

“We need to turn it by hand,” Bradley said, his voice quiet and shaky as he came to the realisation.

“What? No, Bradshaw, there has to be another way,” Jake began, reaching towards the other man but Bradley put his hands up to stop him.

“One of us has to stay.” Jake looked back at him, eyes wide. Bradley thought he could almost see his eyes glistening slightly in the pale light.

“No,” Jake’s voice broke, “no, I’m not letting you do this. How am I going to tell (y/n)? She’s only just gotten you back… I.”

“She doesn’t need me anymore, Jake. I fucked up. I don’t deserve her, I never did. She’s always been far too good for this world but she’s happy with you. You make her happy, Jake, happier than I’ve seen her in a long time,” Bradley’s voice broke slightly as he spoke, tears pricking his eyes. “Will you promise me something?”

“Anything,” Jake came to rest a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Look after her and love her. Make sure you tell her how amazing she is every single day.”

“I will. I promise,” Jake meant forward pulling Bradley into a tight hug, Bradley fisting his hand into Jake’s shirt.

“Now go! Get out of here,” he shoved Jake away hard, his hand poised on the handle. Jake gave Bradley one last look before he began his descent down the rickety metal stairs, taking them two at a time. Jake didn’t look back, he didn’t know if he could. Despite having known Bradley for only a short length of time and despite the anger felt between them Jake couldn’t help the growing ache in his heart as he left him behind, knowing his impending doom. How was he going to tell you? How was he going to tell Mav?

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

“I’m so sorry, Love.” Jake pulled you into a tight hug as you cried, all the years of emotions came pouring out but Jake just held you and let you weep. He cradled your head as you sobbed for the other man you loved, the man you had loved since childhood. Jake knew that you loved him too but he couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt towards Bradley because even after everything he was still the martyr and you would always love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Taglist: @wkndwlff @a-reader-and-a-writer @callsign-phoenix @imjess-themess @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @sunlightmurdock @topguncortez @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover @okiegirl24 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @airedale17 @shadowolf993 @flyboyjake @topguncultleader @callmemana @marchingicenotes7 @t-nd-rfoot @shanimallina87 @emorychase @jstarr86 @shadowsintheknight @starkleila

[sorrydearie]

#: shaky hands :) :) :) :) :)

berlermo + sick whump prompts

“You’ve been hiding this from me. Why?”

It wasn’t an accusation, not exactly. There was no malice behind the words. No hatred, no ire. Martín didn’t have enough strength left for it. 

He was too exhausted, lying there on the living room floor, feeling empty and drained and like a mere shadow of himself – like someone had shoved a fist into his chest and ripped out his miserable little heart. 

There had been so many times in the past when Martín had wanted to punch Andrés, and God knows the bastard would have deserved it. Whenever he had brought home another one of his women like a tomcat dragging in a dirty rat, when he would just up and leave in the middle of the night to chase a flight of fancy, when he wouldn’t listen to Martín’s practical concerns because think about the aesthetics, Martín!

But he’d always held back. 

Until tonight.

Martín hadn’t been able to help it. It was as if a switch had been flicked: he’d seen red when he had found the doctor’s note among Andrés’s things. 

Helmers Myopathy.

Andrés’s mother's disease. 

A death sentence. 

Andrés was going to leave him. He’d fuck off and die, like the selfish bastard he was, and leave Martín to wither away by himself.

Next to him, Andrés heaved a sigh. The air rattled inside his lungs, hollow and damp. There was a faint whistling noise when he spoke, too; Martín thought he might have broken his nose when he punched him. 

“I never meant for you to find out,” Andrés said matter-of-factly: water is wet, the sky is blue. I never intended to tell you. “But I should’ve known it was pointless. You’re as nosy as Veroni—”

“Don’t!” Martín gritted his teeth. “I’m not one of your fucking wives, I’m so much more. So don’t you fucking dare compare me to them, you fucking piece of shit.”

Something sparked to life inside his chest. Righteousness, a red-born fury. 

He had been Andrés’s best friend for the better part of a decade. He’d been at his side, always. Together, inseparable. They’d been destined for greatness, to burn as bright as Icarus chasing the sun. 

Where had they gone wrong? In what world did it end like this – without their heist, without their reward. 

Nothing.

Fucking nothing. 

Martín had written the most beautiful mathematical poem for Andrés – a declaration of love, if you so will – and now he’d never get to show him.

Andrés would never know how far Martín was willing to go for him, what kind of beauty he inspired in Martín. What he’d create in his name and lay to his feet, like a humble offering to a cruel and vain god. 

His throat tightened and he blinked furiously, staving off tears. The ceiling blurred into a sheen of white, the hanging lamps turned into glowing stars. Did heaven look like this? Was this what Andrés would see when he—

When he died. 

Andrés’s hand found his. Squeezed, as though he wanted to hold on to him after all, as though he wanted it as badly as Martín. 

A sob caught in Martín’s throat.

He wanted nothing more than to turn his face and curl up next to Andrés. To have and hold him, so close, so tight, so possessively that not even Death himself would dare to take him from Martín. 

“You are right. You’re so much more, you’re—” Andrés trailed off. He was searching for the right words. The ones that’d pacify Martín. The ones that’d mend what had been broken.

(Martín wasn’t sure they even existed. He prayed they did.) 

A few beats of silence, then Andrés sighed. Half exhale, half resignation.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” he said again, sounding impossibly tired. “You worked so hard on the plan, I couldn’t let you throw it away. Not for anything in the world, not because of this. Giving up was never an option.”

He hesitated.

Martín's heart pounded in his ears, so loud he thought Andrés might hear it.

“If tonight was my last night,” Andrés went on, intently, “I’d want to spend it robbing the bank of Spain.”

With you. 

The words hung in the air between them, unspoken. Always unspoken. 

“Don’t take that future away from me, Martín.”

Martín’s chest seized.

His fingers curled around Andrés’s, his grip tight and unyielding.

Andrés never begged for anything, wouldn’t even dare to bat an eye in the face of Death. 

But he pleaded now, with Martín. 

So how could he refuse him?

(How could anyone refuse Andrés anything he wanted?)

“We’ll do it,” Martín said quietly. A promise, an oath, a vow. “We'll rob the bank of Spain. It’s our right.”

And after… 

After, Martín would find a way to keep Andrés. Forever.

[n7viper]

While there are things I’m not loving about the season so far and new lore that isn’t hitting for me, I’m definitely loving the small changes to the Dreaming City and the info we’re getting about it. I don’t even know if this really talks about everything that’s been rattling around in my skull, but I had to put something down on “paper” before I lost my mind. I was stupidly emotional about updated dialogues and have spent the last few days thinking about it. So anyway, onto the main event — (under a cut for your sanity 💖)

I had a patrolling Corsair say “Sister, lend us your strength” as I was running past her a few days ago, which I feel is new? I do a lot of patrolling in the Dreaming City because it’s a comforting area for me to chill in when I’m stressed, so I’ve heard most of their dialogue at this point. Up until now, as an Awoken guardian, they’ve always called me cousin. Petra also has updated dialogue where she says “It means a lot to the Corsairs, being able to count on you.” When I heard it, I withered instantly.

I’ve spoken about it from time to time because of the content I’m obsessed with, but the Dreaming City is a sort of home away from home for Mae. She leaves the Last City and retreats there after the main campaign of Forsaken and after Riven’s death to help Petra with the curse, having previously earned her favour in the events of D1.

Despite having Petra’s favour, the Corsairs are hesitant to have Mae around at first. The game makes it clear that they dislike having Reef-born Awoken Guardians around because it’s a bit morbid, but I don’t see why they wouldn’t also have issues with Earthborn Awoken Guardians around as well. I can see many of the Awoken sharing Uldren’s views about guardians being careless and ignorant of the world around them due to their immortality. Maybe she’s impressed (or fooled?) Petra, but how are they supposed to believe that she’s there to help them instead of being there for glory?

Mae doesn’t really do much to help change this opinion in the beginning, camping alone in her jump ship and avoiding everyone but Petra as much as possible. But still she persists, going out daily to clean up the Taken and the Scorn and keep them away from the others as much as possible. It’s for countless reasons — she wants to get away from Last City and all of the pain there, a dead friend, a broken friendship with her only other remaining friend, a growing distrust for the Vanguard. But also because she feels responsible for the cursed state of the Dreaming City. After all, “do you have the audacity to wish for my death?” Of course she had, and thus she feels responsible for the Corsairs trapped in the cycle.

When Amrita finally asks her why she still comes out, week after week, it’s the first time one of the Corsairs speaks to her about something that isn’t mission critical. Mae speaks before Lyra can speak for her and tries to reassure Amrita that they have to believe change is possible, before giving her a small smile and promising to release her from the cycle. She fails at this, clearly, but keeps coming back for months anyway.

As time goes on, there is a progression to the way they refer to her — going from Guardian, to Cousin, and finally to Sister. It’s important and significant for Mae to hear, to feel accepted among them as a comrade, but I think it’s gutting as well. It feeds her guilt to be accepted, to know that they respect her despite the fact that she hasn’t done anything to alleviate or outright solve their suffering.