#I’ve struggled a lot over the years with the fear of abandonment and rejection

[aemonds-sapphire]

💭

[oonajaeadira]

A Kiss Before Dying And In Death We Combine

Rating: M

Fandom: The Last Of Us

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warning: Blood and wounds. Bodily character death. Loss. Love that hurts. Sex of course, but blurred to the edges. Playing fast and loose with the cordyceps and how fast it grows.

Summary: When Joel becomes infected, you make the decision not to leave him alone.

A/N: This is the January installment of my Year of Tropes challenge wherein I tackle tropes that I haven’t written but that I love to read. This month is MONSTERFUCKING and was inspired by Craig Mazin’s explanation of the kiss in ep. 2. Monsterfking is generally a lot darker and rougher genre than I usually write, so of course I’m going to question what is baseline required to fit the trope and then explore those boundaries. Therefore, whether it qualifies as monsterfking is questionable. I feel it qualifies for the sake of my first go at it.

I also think it’s beautiful and sad. Whether it is or not is also up to you.

This is set post season 1 (provided they follow the major plot points of the game) but contains no spoilers. It does briefly mention Jackson which is a settlement that has the potential to be a home for Joel and Ellie. This story, as with all TLOU content I will write, rejects the existence of TLOU 2.

Thank you to my TLOU guru @something-tofightfor for answering my Joel questions.

Everything is slick with blood.

You’ve dropped your pistol. Your boot skids in a splash on the floor. The heavy bookcase that you and Joel are struggling to pull in front of the entrance slips from your hands and comes crashing down on its side creating a sloppy barricade across the door. As Joel slams into the wall of the abandoned, overgrown office and slides his way down, he leaves a long, red smooch in the rotting damask wallpaper and you can’t seem to get a grip on the zipper pull to open your backpack.

“Fuck. Fuck!!! Hang on, Joel. I’ve got some–nnnrrrrrr!!!–I’ve got some bandages in here–”

Bodies pelt like hail against the door outside; a dozen mobile cordyceps vehicles bouncing on the barrier, desperate to claim more meat.

“Stop,” he gravels. “Stop and get the hell out of here.”

“Not a chance. I’ve got–”

“Listen to me, dammit!!”

But for the dull thuds of flesh hitting metal, the world comes to a halt as you spin to look him in the eye, bent on defiance, ready to grit teeth and find your protective growl…and instead come face to face with your own desperate denial.

“No. No no no nononono…” As if controlled by a tendril, you’re pulled to Joel, collapsing beside him, pulling the blood-soaked flannel away from his neck and pushing at the blood pooling there, trying to slick it away with your hands, prove to yourself that there’s just skin beneath and not an angry, oozing bite, not really, please not really…

Joel’s own bloody hands mix with yours, trying to tear them away from his neck and, failing wretchedly, instead find their way to your face to bring your eyes to his.

“Listen. Hey! Listen to me! There’s a door at the end of the hall that will lead to the roof. You go. You get the hell out. I’m done.”

No, says a stiff, involuntary shake of your head. No. You steal a valuable moment to search his eyes as he holds you there, as your breath comes in hitches, as your adrenaline levels begin to sink.

His nostrils flair as his countenance darkens. “You. Run.”

Sternness was the wrong choice. Bravery was the wrong choice. Self-sacrifice was the wrong choice. These are the things he displays in this moment that pull your love up and out of you, spilling over your cheeks, one silent tear, then another, and in any other situation you’d do your very best to keep them out of your voice.

But today is not that day.

“Joel--!”

That whimper--the fear and hurt that cracks you open--shines a light on his darkness, transforms him back into the tired lover you know, infects him with your anguish, and causes him to crush you close in a bruising embrace.

How many times has he held you like this? After the years on the road, in the QZ, finally arriving in Jackson, letting his bones settle as he took root, you’d watched him soften. He’d found trust in his new community, purpose in the patrols, pride in Ellie.

And love. You’d watched him find love. You’d witnessed him resist it and then yearn for it and finally give into it. You never cajoled or pushed him faster than he needed to go. You simply waited with open arms. He was the one that decided to finally fall into them all on his own.

He needed them in moments of contentment and of regret. He sought out your embrace when he woke in the middle of the night from dreams of loss and those moments when he looked toward the horizon at twilight and found one more thing to forgive himself for.

And each time, you held him close enough to make him a part of you; waited for him to let go first.

You promised him you’d hold him as long as he needed it.

As long as he needed you.

Because you needed him too.

Loving Joel had woken something lying deep inside the grave of your heart. Caused it to send up shoots and bloom again. Who knew that your brand of sunshine was a slew of dumb dad jokes? That the sound of a man’s voice rumbling through sad old rock tunes was like a rain to your drought? Joel had patiently flourished you. Like a miracle you awoke one day unfurled and vibrant.

How could you go on without that now?

How could you run back to that gray life? To Ellie’s tears? To a world even emptier than it was before?

How could you leave him here?

No.

You’re not leaving him alone.

His jaw twitches against your cheek. His shoulder jumps.

“Sweetheart. Where’s your pistol.”

“I dropped it.”

“Okay. That’s okay. But you gotta go now. Go on.”

You pull back, but do not rise. It shouldn’t have to be said. “I’m staying.”

Sorrow, anger, desperation. They all pull together like a black hole in the middle of his brow. “The hell you are. I don’t have much time. You’re wasting yours.”

“No. I’m not. I’m just using it all at once.”

“Sweetheart–”

“Joel–”

“No, you go! You get gone and you survive! Don’t you dare make me your executioner!”

The banging at the door has suddenly stopped. Joel’s head begins to jerk repeatedly to one side and he grits his teeth, fighting it, trying to keep eyes trained on you.

“Please,” he whispers, “Sweethar–”

Even as his nerves begin to activate and cause his muscles to jump, even as his last word is choked out by the tendrils rising, you find a center of peace.

A way to keep him.

He always loves it when you initiate touch, when you run your palm along his zipper, when you show him that you admire what’s underneath. And true to the strange state of human biology, here, at the moment of dying, he’s beautifully hard and responsive. There’s no urgency, no rush as you undo his belt buckle for the very last time.

A strained objection echoes behind his clamped teeth and he swallows it as he tries to keep the tendrils at bay, gives one last effort to protect you, his brown eyes brimming with tears.

“Shhh. It’s okay,” you smile, pushing a graying curl away from his damp forehead. “Don’t fight. I’m coming with you. It’s okay.”

And gradually, as you pull at his jeans, his twitching subsides and paralysis sets in.

The cordyceps has reached his brain, become one with his instincts, his drive, it can read the chemicals drawing him to you…and it understands. So it waits.

But his eyes follow you. His eyes tell you that he’s still Joel. You’ve seen that particular bittersweet note in them before. A gratefulness. A soothing. The gift you’ve given him in the last years of his life–an end to loneliness. He’s accepted your will, knows the woman you are and that he can’t convince you otherwise once you’ve set your heart.

The cordyceps understands this. It understands that if it holds back and gives you this last connection, you will willingly assimilate yourself.

His eyes watch as you hurriedly shed your boots and jeans, looking one last time at the body you’ve let him know, the softness you’ve allowed to warm him. And those deep, dark eyes finally close in ecstasy–letting go of pain and welcoming your choice–as you sink down upon him.

Folding your arms around his shoulders, pushing your forehead into his temple, you rock on him–let him fill you and slide with you–whispering in his ear how lucky you were to meet him, how precious every moment with him has been. That all the running and surviving and loss and hurt is about to go away and you’ll be here with him, that he’ll never be alone again.

You don’t stop telling him these things. Not when the infection forces him to roll up into you–the fungus using his knowledge of what brings him pleasure, leading him to where his paradise is–not as you feel threads binding your thighs tightly to his. Not when his arms lock around you and whatever is growing out through his skin begins to burrow into the meat of your back, curiously carrying some kind of numbing elixir…it doesn’t hurt at all.

In fact, there’s a pleasant sense of welcome. A rapture…

You can feel Joel’s love. You can hear it and taste it on your tongue, there’s no more doubt, no holding back, your nerves are burning with it.

It takes a moment for your muscles to start twitching sporadically. And soon you have an overwhelming need to kiss him.

As if you ever spent a minute not wanting to kiss him. Tsk. Silly. It makes you smile.

He senses this and opens his mouth to receive you.

You rock yourself harder. Seal your lips to his. And you let him–it–in.

Bliss.

I’m happy you stayed.

So am I.

You feel…so sweet.

I love you.

As the tendrils vine around your tangled limbs and press you into your new conjoinment, your inner muscles contract and his hips jolt in an upward spasm. There’s a sudden warmth that spreads within you…and keeps spreading…it weaves into your flesh, knitting you to him from the inside.

Never have you felt so full and so adored, so completely merged with another heart…one that is broken but warm, quietly yearning, finding purpose in protecting his own. One that weaves itself around yours in threads of gratefulness and calm. Lifetimes of euphoria grip you.

This is when you think you lose yourself. When you go away. It’s quiet. And dark.

But only for a short time.

Then there’s light.

You can sense light and color. This is…seeing?

The shapes are beautiful, vibrant. Deep, bright, and cool, stretching out over the structure that supports you and across the surface you inhabit. Your cordyceps fan over and around you, holding you, cradling you, protecting a part of you that is shaped like love. A part of you that was once separate but is now with you always.

I don’t hurt anymore.

No. No more hurt.

I’m not afraid.

No fear.

I’m so happy. So at peace.

I love you.

I will hold you forever.

You will never be alone.

Inside you there is a song. A low frequency voice. A melody from another life. It is being shared with you simply to bring you joy. And throughout the network of your tendrils you send back something that once felt like smiling. Like holding. Like laughter. Like giving of your whole self.

But there is no self.

There is only beautiful serenity and intense sweetness.

There are only parts of you that once had worries and sorrows and names, but have shed those sad husks to flower into one gentle, undying love.

________

Commissioned artwork by @mjpens​

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

YEAR OF TROPES MASTERLIST

[dcwnthercbbithcle]

GET TO KNOW THE AUTHOR!

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 : Bunni! I also go by Bunny, Bun or any other synonyms for a rabbit! Haha

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒 : I go by all pronouns! Given I’m agender and like, just sort of foggy about my gender? I don’t really feel any one way or another! So call me what you want, I’m still a Bun!

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎�� 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : Tumblr messages are honestly my go-to, simply because on Tumblr I notice a lot quicker than on discord and I’m less likely to forget!

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄(𝐒) : Right now it’s Fíadh, the Alpinist, Chromeskull, Leshy and 8713!

𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 / 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒? : No one laugh at me, but I started roleplaying on Quotev and Deviantart back when I was, I think, 14? And now I’m 21, turning 22, so crunching the numbers, I’ve been writing for just about 7 years! Probably more though, given my memory isn’t super accurate and I’m probably leaving out a lot! Haha

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 : On the platform?? MEETING ALL OF MY CURRENT PALS! God, I will call them out by name but Bruce and Freddy were some of the kindest, most encouraging and patient folks I have ever met and I’m so glad I was able to find them on here and write with them when I could!

𝐑𝐏 𝐏𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒 : OH MY GOD I HAVE SO MANY; my number one pet peeve, though is when people just straight up do not read your responses and writing! Not in the sense of misunderstanding your intentions but just straight up not reading all of your answers to the point where it shows IN THEIR RESPONSES! Sorry not sorry, but if you cannot handle a multi-para high-lit writer, don’t try to roleplay with them! Letting them create paragraphs for you, only for you to ignore or skim it is a dick move!

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓, 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓? :

𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒? : NGL my pride would physically not allow me to post anything under one paragraph. Just not my style! That being said, I’m not picky with what I get! As long as it has enough for me to build action and voice on top of, I’m happy!

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒? : My most controversial take, but I almost prefer memes more than extremely long and drawn-out plots taking place over weeks, because, no matter how much I adore a dynamic, that commitment eventually does wear me out y'know??

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄? : UHHHHH- whenever I get the time and that hyper fixation strikes! Usually early evening, though!

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒? : WELLL, it really depends! Am I out in the hills eating people, in a hospital healing people, defying death at every turn or ruling a hellish realm? Absolutely not! But each of the muses does contain a small piece of me beneath the surface!

It seems silly but I’ve always done this as a way to make it easier for me to relate and connect to them! It’s often microscopic, but shared traumas, fears, loves and minor personality traits (8713 is most like the mun ngl) does countless good to ensuring that not only can I keep playing them in the long term but ensuring that they are wholly mine!

To outline one of the similarities/shared threads of personality

Fíadh deals heavily with a fear of abandonment and loss of control over her body.

In her story, this is due to several factors from childhood neglect and abuse, a precarious sense of self-esteem, the curse that plagues her, her history of being moved around and used as a piece on a chess board, and the death/rejection from everyone she has held dear up to her current point (except for the Trapper/Trader and Leshy ofc) however the truth is, while narratively it does make sense, it was born from me and my experience as being neurodivergent and struggling with a sense of self and value due to the repeated rejection and experiences that came from it!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : @lettherebemonsters (thank you a ton for the tag! I had a lot of fun filling this out!) 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 : anyone who wants to do this!

[iamanartichoke]

Another totally unprompted ask, on the assumption that you are definitely no longer in need of them… another thing I’m trying to work out about Loki characterisation in preparation for perpetrating fic torture on him is how suicidal the poor sod is most of the time. This is another thing I’ve seen referred to a lot but only in passing. Though obviously this is a pretty triggery topic, so ignore if you want.

I am always in need of totally unprompted asks, otherwise I just assume no one wants to talk to me lmao

So, hoo boy. I have been mulling over this for, apparently, three days now bc there's just ... there's a lot to unpack here. Putting under a cut for obviously triggery content and also for length bc fml.

In my opinion, the response to "how suicidal is Loki most of the time" is "very, but whether or not he wants to do anything about it varies from moment to moment" (see what I did there? I'll see myself out). In other words, I have always had a headcanon that Loki is consistently, passively suicidal. This is a headcanon that comes straight from TDW, bc I'm certain that Loki never had any intention of surviving their mission. And that could be a whole other post, really, but the point is that even though this is a TDW-centric headcanon, I have come to adopt it as applying to Loki in general as well, not just in those specific circumstances.

When I say passively suicidal, I mean that Loki is just sort of ambivalent about the value of his own life. He feels like he doesn't deserve to be alive, and feels like there's little point in being alive. Which - I don't mean to sound all gloom and doom, like, poor uwu emo Loki (and I kinda hate that I have to pause to disclaim that, no, I don't just have a fixation on Loki being depressed for funsies/the aesthetic/whatever); I think that this mindset stems from really complicated places that I'm not sure I can articulate, but I will try.

I view Loki as someone who suffers from a severe inferiority complex, and I feel like it stems from being abandoned as an infant. Loki's life started with a traumatic event and, even if he doesn't remember the event itself, the feelings he experienced stayed in his subconscious. Feelings of loss, of fear, of despair and abandonment, of suffering - these are all feelings that burrowed into his bones and lived there for his entire life, feelings that colored how Loki viewed himself as a person as well as how he compared to the people around him.

Keep in mind that Loki didn't know he was abandoned until the events of Thor 1, obviously. We don't really know how old Loki is, in human years, but I have always assumed that he and Thor were at least adults (not teenagers), maybe the equivalent of early twenties - and the reason I bring that up is because it means Loki made it all the way to adulthood carrying the weight of a trauma that he did not remember or even knew had happened, so to him, there was no real reason for how wrong he felt. There was no explanation for the feelings of loss, of neglect, of fear. So on top of struggling with those feelings, Loki was also burdened with the alienation that comes with wondering why one can't just be like everyone else, why one can't just "snap out" of depression, why one's sense of self-worth has always been lacking.

So imagine what it's like to grow up as Loki. He was traumatized as an infant. The trauma has been with him his entire life, along with the confusion/alienation of not understanding why he feels the way that he does, and then on top of that, his basic personality lends itself toward introspection and isolation, so he likely felt even further removed from Thor and from his peers. Loki's too smart for his own good, and he's got an enormous capacity to feel and I feel like this is a combination that works against him as much as it does for him, bc it probably means he spent a lot of time examining himself and identifying all of his perceived flaws - and then berating himself for said flaws.

People with depression are probably pretty familiar with the bully that lives in your head, the one who is always there to remind you that you're stupid, or ugly, or that nobody likes you, or that you have nothing of value to contribute to anyone, etc. Loki's no different; he's got that bully in his head, too. Add onto this the fact that his brother is literally perfect, that he feels his father doesn't love him (or love him as much), that his interests in things like magic are looked down on in his culture, and that he's a prince (meaning that along with the privilege comes pressure, and being in the public eye, knowing that everyone around him is comparing him to Thor as much as he compares himself to Thor, well.) and you have a total clusterfuck of a mindset, and Loki's been existing inside of that clusterfuck for nearly all of his life.

I always go back to the quote where, when filming I think the vault scene, Kenneth Branagh directs Tom by saying, "This is the moment where the thin steel rod holding your brain together snaps." And it's such a significant moment for Loki bc this is where it all crumbles for him, learning the truth, but I also fixate on the "thin steel rod" part of the quote bc that's not how one would describe a healthy, stable person's mind. The implication, to me, has always been that Loki wasn't that stable to start with due to his general upbringing, his internal struggles, and his personality, so of course the devastation of learning he's adopted, and Jotun, would send him over the edge. One doesn't go from zero to 60; one doesn't fall over the edge unless they were balancing fairly close to it in the first place. And to me, the "thin steel rod" basically equals the aforementioned clusterfuck of a mindset.

THE POINT IS. (Holy shit, I ramble.) This is the foundation on which I'm basing my headcanon that Loki neither values his life nor feels as if he even deserves to live it - bc his default mindset is one of inferiority, of loss, of pain. And I think that going from being a general unstable person pre-canon to being passively suicidal post-canon is a thing that happened because, somewhere between the vault in Thor 1 and the dungeons in TDW, Loki just stopped caring.

Life is exhausting for everyone, but even moreso when your mental load becomes more than you can carry. Loki is exhausted. His experience is that things just keep getting worse and worse for him - he's never been valued, he's always been found wanting. He discovers that he was literally thrown away as an infant, unwanted and left to die, and things haven't gotten much better for him since then. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. His plans spin out of control. He's unable to prove his worth and his value and when he is, in fact, rejected, he literally tries to kill himself (only to survive and end up in an even worse situation).

It all just continually goes downhill, and Loki is fucking exhausted. He's done. He has no hope that anything is ever going to change - he will never be valued or even seen, he's unable to connect to anyone, he has no family (aside from Thor, but their relationship is so fraught with pain). As far as he's concerned, his life has been nothing but a waste since he was born and if no one else values it, why should he?

So - passively suicidal. He places no value on his life, and doesn't shy away from situations that could cost him his life. It's possible that the only reason he's not actively suicidal is bc his previous attempt not only failed but led to such a horrible situation that he's probably too afraid to intentionally seek out death again. He doesn't want to fail and end up worse off for it.

And - not that you asked this in particular, but - my biggest disappointment in the series is that none of what I've just written is addressed in a satisfying way (to me). That is, we don't get any real explicit acknowledgement of the trauma of Loki's abandonment as a baby or how that affected his mental health growing up; we don't get to explore how devastated he was to learn of his adoption; we don't ever see him reconcile his ingrained belief that jotuns are monstrous savages with the fact that he is jotun. He says "I betrayed everyone I loved, but I'm different now" and we're supposed to infer what he means without Loki actually articulating why he feels that he's the only one who should be held responsible for all these things that had happened or what "I've changed" even means to him (aside from not betraying Sylvie).

I would have liked to see these things addressed for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that I would want to see how Loki comes to terms with all of his issues and his pain enough that he stops being passively suicidal. We never get to see that; after TDW, the time that passes allows for Loki to kinda chill, resulting in the Ragnarok version, but if there was any real healing or recovering going on, it was happening off-screen, with the audience expected to just go with "yeah Loki was going through it for awhile but he's kinda better now."

Furthermore, much of what I've written here is based on prime Loki's development through TDW, but doesn't account for series Loki's split from that timeline nor the theme of "Lokis survive" that's so prevalent in the series. So I don't think the "passively suicidal" headcanon is really appropriate for series Loki but, at the same time, I'd like to have seen why. I'd like to have seen Loki learning to value his life, or where the "we survive" mindset comes from, since that's not really been a thing before now. (Out of universe, I suspect it comes from the context of Loki just not dying whenever he tries to, but since TDW and IW haven't happened, and Loki didn't intend to survive his fall from the bifrost, framing Loki as an innate survivor doesn't really make sense, but to be fair, I'm just being picky.)

So, yeah. I'm not saying Loki doesn't experience growth or development in the series, I'm just saying that his arc left much unsaid and, furthermore, framing his growth as "wanting a throne to not wanting a throne" without addressing that Loki doesn't actually want the power of the throne, he wants the value and self-worth he associates with the throne, is - well, again, unsatisfying. Not bad, but it leaves viewers like me wanting bc we're cognizant of how much more could have been done.

I ... am going to end this now. This is probably nonsensical and all over the place, so I'm very sorry, and I'm sure this is why I don't get meta-starter asks lmfao bc no one's out here trying to read my dissertation submission for a Ph.D in Loki, but well, sometimes it just be like that.

Thank you for the ask and the opportunity to ramble.

[water-fan-art]

Ooh, Volleyball for the headcanon ask game?

Okay first off, Volley is my second favourite character and I absolutely adore her and think about her a lot (even if I don’t draw her as much).

Headcanon A- Realistic: Volley becomes Little Homeworld’s photographer (in the background of one of the last scenes in the final episode she is taking a photo of Flint and Chert- the two Gems we see Yellow Diamond healing at her desk). At first it starts off as a hobby, taking photos of random earth things because a camera looked like fun and this planet interested her (she struggled at first because of her eye, but she also found the off centre/ blurry photos funny). She began to take photos of her plant’s progress in Peridot’s classes and soon Gems were asking her to take photos of them too.

Being a photographer was something she sort of fell into, but she found she enjoyed it a lot more than just remembering, and it was something she was able to contribute with in this new world, that made a lot of people happy. She loves that her little job is one where she gets to see people smile. She also likes to make cat edits of photos she took of her friends.

Headcanon B- While it may not be realistic, it is hilarious: She goes around spraying graffiti on walls- they’re all poorly done drawings of cats. Blue Pearl catches on that it’s her when Volley joins her class to improve drawing cats and suddenly the mysterious graffiti artist also improves their cat themed graffiti. Blue Pearl says nothing.

I basically love “evil Volley”. She’s ‘evil’ in a way that is abstract, kinda silly, and mostly full of mild inconveniences. She calls herself evil, but everyone thinks her antics are adorable, and she has a lot of fun which is all that matters. I say unrealistic but I think in an interview or Q&A, Rebecca or another crew member said that there was discussion of her reactivating an abandoned Reef/Shell on Earth. Which I think would be great if she was being a little antagonistic while trying to come to terms with (or avoid thinking about) what had happened to her, but I very much appreciate what we saw in canon.

Headcanon C- Heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends: I’ve 100% talked about this before, and I will happily talk about it again- she is fully aware of the fact that other Gems are terrified of her. After learning about what happened during the 8000 years during White Diamond’s control, Volley begins to notice that a fair few Gems flinch when she enters a room. They jump back when they notice her standing still or if she gives a toothless smile. Their posture suddenly goes from relaxed to rigid when they notice her looking over at them. She sees how they have to force a friendly smile as they regret their involuntary actions, hoping Volley hadn’t noticed.

Although she has her colours and her consciousness back, a lot of Gems can’t help but see her as “White Diamond’s Pearl” or White Diamond herself if they knew how her powers worked - of course they come to love Volley, but there’s a general sense of unease. For a while it controls her actions- she tries to force down physically expressing her excitement for things (in the fear that her jumping around or clapping might scare those around her), and she begins to get nervous before talking.

It breaks her heart a lot more when it’s other pearls that are scared of her. It takes Blue Pearl and Yellow Pearl a while to feel safe around Volley again, since they had seen her a lot more before and after White Diamond took control of her form. (They feel guilty about it and try to work through it for her sake- ultimately they missed her). Volley can never bring herself to ask them what they think of her- are they scared of her? Scared for her? Do they look at her and only see the things she went though?

Headcanon D- Unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own: Volley becoming friends with Jasper. Jasper not being enthusiastic about her at first but warming up to her over time (toleration turned to endearment). Volley is silly and not that scared of Jasper (I mean, come on, her entire life had been around Diamonds) plus she just generally likes to make friends with Quartzes- that last part I don’t think is unrealistic, I think she would love to become friends with a bunch of the goofy uncorrupted Quartzes. Jasper isn’t a goofy Quartz though.

Admittedly, I’ve recently finished writing a jaspvolley fic (which lightly touches on my photographer and other Gems being scared of Volley headcanons) so they’re on my mind.

[secret-engima]

In your LC Birbs verse, what would have happened if Ardyn had found Ozpin before Ramuh had intervened?

hgfgf forgive how long I’ve been perching on this ask but it’s just- has many possible answers and so I was hoarding it a little. Also I shall proceed to meet timeline for the sake of Prompto’s existence, just be aware XD.

-If Ardyn had found Ozpin before Ramuh had, he would have likely been in denial at first. He would have likely just been skulking around during a bout of restlessness, since as the Accursed sleep isn’t really an option very often, and found this isolated clone tank. Because the clone in that tank is dark skinned, at first he wouldn’t even have suspected the child was his. But then Ozpin, dimly sensing magic outside his tank and desperate to be free of this constant sedated haze, reaches out and Ardyn.

-Freezes.

-He knows that magic.

-He presses close to the tank, hands rising up to shakily touch the cold glass as the little one inside (probably only about half a year old in this AU? If that) stirs faintly. Gold eyes fight open to half-lidded cracks, and little fingers struggle through the haze of sedation to reach for Ardyn on an almost subconscious need-help-please-please. Ardyn feels his breath stutter as he looks at those gold, gold eyes and feels magic that burns slightly at his Scourge in a mix of LC-Oracle-Ardyn-Aera and feels the pieces collide.

-He yanks himself away from the tank and stalks away. It can’t be. It can’t be. The Scourge is toying with his mind again, making him see things, feel things.

-He mentally slaps at the magic that desperately reaches for him, and tells himself he feels no regret when it turns from hopeful-pleading to terrified and shrinks away.

-Ardyn tells himself he was imagining things for a month. Maybe two. Maybe far more than that, time is so hard for him to grasp. He tries to forget. But he can’t. He obsesses. The sight of the child in the tank haunts him whenever his eyelids shut, burns at him whenever he visits the lab after and catches a flicker of magic before it vanishes again.

-Finally, the need to know is too great. He returns and breaks into Besithia’s private office. He sorts through the papers about the MT project with growing frustration, yanks open locked drawers with raw strength of the desperate and paws through files of words that make little sense until he finds it.

-Project: Remnant stares back at him, a collection of photos of the tank child, of reports of various infant experiments that he cannot fully understand but sound like they would hurt (for doesn’t even the mildest strike of electricity hurt no matter how ultimately harmless it is?) and ... his origins. A project to clone the Accursed (to clone ARDYN) and while he doesn’t understand all the fancy words and self boasting littered in the reports, he understands the gist. That the initial clones all failed, daemonified within days. That Besithia had to eventually combine two extra strands of DNA in order to stabilize the child now in the tank. One of those strands was just a placeholder, a sample he had on hand that is at fault for the subject’s dark skin. The other strand-

-Tombs of the Oracles. The First Oracle.

-Aera.

-Aera-Aera-her-child-his-child-AERA’SCHILD

-Things get hazy. He remembers standing in Besithia’s quarters while the man writhed and screamed and paid for daring to desecrate Aera’s grave. He remembers setting ... a lot of things on fire, his armiger tearing open the walls as he raged.

-He remembers the crash of glass and black blood pouring from his arms before they healed as he pulled Aera’s drugged child free of the tank. The little one was so small, so alone, and somewhere with that thought in his head he thinks he snatched up another child on the way even though it was of Besithia’s blood, because there’s a screaming in his head that isn’t human but isn’t entirely the insanity of daemons insisting that hatchlings need playmates to grow up properly.

-He comes back to himself far away from the ruins of the laboratory, trekking through the wilderness with not one, but two children in his arms, one of them an infant barely a few months old. The other is his- is Aera’s- is their son. The infant is shivering and he takes a moment to securely wrap it in a spare coat (he didn’t intend to steal one of Besithia’s little MTs but he did and so this child is HIS now) before inspecting his blood child. The little boy is still drugged into sleep, unresponsive to Ardyn’s careful prodding, and Ardyn feels something inside him crack in pain as he inspects and realizes that the boy is no longer an infant, but a toddler. Perhaps two years old, bordering on three even.

-How long had he spent running away in denial while Aera’s child floated in that tank at Besithia’s mercy? Too long. Unforgivably long.

-“Oh my little one,” he breathes hoarsely, “Oh Aera. I abandoned our son. I would strike myself down were he not in need of me.”

-He carts both children through the wilds, slinking into the nearest town only to steal as many supplies as he can before flitting away again. The blond infant he’s stolen is not drugged and so wake up periodically. Ardyn had no real intention of getting attached, but his own son has reawakened things inside him, and the realization that this tiny infant is already well trained to not cry even when hungry or in discomfort makes his stomach churn and his armiger flicker briefly into being. He tries to distract himself from his worries over his sleeping son by fussing over the infant, making silly faces and cooing as he tends the infant who will be his own child’s playmate and little foster sibling. The little one needs a name.

-He will decide later. He must name Aera’s child first.

-He must ensure Aera’s child is alright first.

-The toddler finally wakes up on the second day of their travels, sluggish and confused. Ardyn feels precious, precious magic unfurl sleepily, tentatively little fingers of energy trying to pinpoint his new surroundings. Ardyn reaches back, eagerly, instinctively.

-The flinch from his son as gold eyes snap awake in fear, the way too-young magic all but recoils from him, hurts worse than Somnus’s blade through his heart all those centuries ago. The toddler in his arms gasps faintly, looking around, wide awake and confused-afraid. Ardyn shakes free of his shock and tries to hum a soothing note, but all it gets him is his child clumsily trying to raise his arms over his head like he expects a blow.

-Ardyn remembers that first meeting, that first sighting in the tank, the way magic had reached for him half asleep and needy and so vulnerable.

-He remembers how he had lashed out and slapped it away.

-It’s painfully, achingly, burningly clear that his son remembers it too, even though he shouldn’t, even though he should be too young to recall that horrible mistake, and Ardyn has to fight to breathe past the guilt screaming in his skull even louder than the Scourge. He can’t lose his mind, not yet, not again. He can’t lose his mind or run away or try fruitlessly to execute himself for the crime of hurting Aera’s child, because the little one (little ones, he hasn’t forgotten the burbling infant) need a caretaker and Ardyn is the only one (the only one who knows, who can be trusted, a magic child will suffer if given to non magical parents and he wouldn’t trust Somnus’s bloodline as far as he could throw Ifrit).

-He talks soothingly, mindlessly, trying to get the toddler in his arms to uncurl. He does eventually, looking around in fear-confusion, but his magic stays coiled tight inside him, and Ardyn’s tentative poke at it is met with another flinch and a wild-eyed gasp of terror.

...

-Ozpin wakes up and doesn’t know what’s going on or where he is. At first he reaches out, but the moment he brushes up against another, larger, magic, memories of Salem and half-formed impressions of this same magic striking him in anger that might be a dream or might be truth make him retreat and curl in on himself. He feels small, helpless, there is an eerie silence in his head where only faded memories lie instead of a new voice and a new host and he doesn’t understand.

-Talking draws him out of the haze of half-panic, but when large, dangerous magic pokes at his core again he recoils, expecting it to turn into fangs and the burning agony Salem was so very good at unleashing. It’s been so, so long since he felt any other magic than Salem’s or his own that he cannot stop himself from assuming pain will follow. That all magic not his own is intended for pain.

-The man holding him falters in his speech, like he’s in physical pain, and Ozpin uncurls again to peer at him. Is he injured? Who even is he?

-Ardyn, Ozpin learns as they travel. The man’s name is Ardyn, and Ozpin is in a toddler’s body that seems to belong to no one but him, there is another child, a blond infant who doesn’t look like he’s related to Ardyn or Ozpin but is with them anyway, who gurgles too-quiet in the way abused children do. Ozpin thinks, hazily, that this man might have rescued the pair of them from somewhere horrible. Or he might be at fault for that horrible place.

-Ardyn names the infant Prompto, and calls Ozpin “Zagreus” and Ozpin is too wary to tell him he already has a name. They’re traveling through the wilderness, one that Ozpin doesn’t know, and the moon above their heads is strange and unbroken.

-Ardyn has magic. Ozpin is too wary still to do more than flinch and hold painfully, obediently still whenever the man cautiously brushes it against Ozpin’s senses, even though he knows it hurts Ardyn to be rejected so, even though he knows he should be brave and reach out in return, because he doesn’t think this man has ever hurt him. Not yet at least. Not intentionally. The man is terrible at self care, so Ozpin thinks those repeated stretches of forgetting to feet him and Prompto are unintentional. Ozpin works up the nerve to keep track of time himself and repeatedly (hesitantly) tug on Ardyn’s coat when he thinks it’s time to feed Prompto and himself.

-Ardyn calls Ozpin his son. Ozpin has yet to figure out if that’s true or not. If he mingled magic, he’d be able to tell he thinks, because there is a strange new magic woven into his core, bolstering and healing his long-faded green and mingling into it with strands of blue and gold he can see behind his eyelids, but- he can’t.

-Every time he thinks of trying, all he can think of is Salem. And all the ways she killed him. All the times she forced their magics to mingle so he could feel her rage and hate and possessive, poisonous love as she carved him open and ended yet another lifetime.

-It doesn't help that Ardyn is ill. It’s not Grimm Darkness, he thinks after the first three panic attacks that trigger when he glimpses the man’s sickness. But it is very similar. Too similar. A part of Ozpin, his gold magic, itches to reach out and fix it, but after seen Ardyn look more Grimm than man when tearing apart the strange night monsters that sometimes hunt them, it’s all the self control he has not to grab Prompto and run into the wilderness. To let Ardyn pick them up and continue on their way. They will die without Ardyn, he knows that.

-It doesn’t make him any less afraid.

-It takes a long, long time to be able to fight down that fear even a little, to not stiffen in preparation for a strike when shaking hands pet his hair, to not duck his head and breath slow when Ardyn looks at him and speaks to him, trying to coax out a response that remains frozen silent on Ozpin’s tongue. He knows he’s acting poorly. But despite his infection, despite being so very hauntingly like Salem in some ways, Ardyn never loses his temper at either of them. He never turns violent or raises a hand against them, or withholds food or clothes or stuffed toys when Prompto misbehaves or Ozpin once again recoils from the touch of Ardyn’s magic.

-They’re wandering another continent entirely, and Prompto has already started babbling his first choppy words (Ze and Dyn respectively), by the time Ozpin works up the nerve to let his magic out into the air again. To probe at the air around them while Ardyn goes desperately, fragilely still and watches him without daring to reach out for fear of scaring Ozpin. It takes a lot of nerve, but he manages to brush his magic against Ardyn’s in gratitude-trust before retreating again, exhausted from pushing past so many lifetimes of Salem’s pain to do even that. He’ll try actually speaking aloud another day. Maybe.

-A few days later though, Ozpin hears two birds cawing hoarsely in the air and feels something familiar, and suddenly he’s racing away from Ardyn as fast as his tiny legs can carry him, chasing those birds in the sky and reaching for them with magic and need because that feels like-

-The birds plummet from the sky, and a moment later, two scraggly, wild eyed children with black hair and bright red eyes burst out of the underbrush to tackle him with gleeful cries.

-He’s found Raven and Qrow.

[littleoddwriter]

Heavy Heart | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

Another Vent Fic, sorry. This time with Arrowverse!Roman Sionis (Batwoman Season 2), though. The episodes still aren’t out here, but I think I’ve seen enough Clips to at least get his voice and feel right. Sorry if not (in case anyone even ends up reading this).

summary; You’re struggling with personal issues, regarding your interpersonal relationships. Roman unexpectedly shows up at your doorstep and you have a heart-to-heart.

notes; Male!Reader; Reader has Borderline Personality Disorder; Favourite Person (FP); Rejection; Abandonment Issues; Spiralling; Mild Dissociation; Self-Harm (Scratching and Cutting); Blood; Hurt/Comfort; Unexpected Visit; Love Confessions; Soft Kisses; Hugs; Little Dialogue.

It’s only been a couple of months, since you and Roman have started dating. Honestly, you’d never expected it to happen at all. You’ve been his assistant at Janus Cosmetics for over two years at that point, while you’ve been silently crushing on him the entire time. So to say that you were ecstatic about the fact that he liked you, too, would’ve been an understatement.

Naturally, as it always happened, Roman has become your new Favourite Person all too quickly and crushingly. Of course, at this point in your still blooming relationship you couldn’t care less, because you were happy, you were on top of the world when you only thought about him and the way he kissed you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

Still, in the back of your mind, this tiny voice kept reminding you that every time you’ve had an FP in your life, it didn’t end well; and it never lasted very long – a year tops, maybe. So, you were cautious, like you always were. You were hyper aware of everything you said and did around him; how often you texted him; how fast you responded to him; how many gifts you made for him and how much time passed in-between them. All so you wouldn’t fuck it up by being too much or too little. You were desperately trying to find this golden balance between it all.

The last time you had a Favourite Person wasn’t too long ago, actually. They had still been it when Roman has asked you on your first date with him. But not even a week afterwards, they had suddenly stopped responding to your texts and ignored you. They had never tried to contact you again and you were far too afraid and anxious to do it on your own accord after too much time has passed already. After all, you had already convinced yourself that they had lost interest in you and hated your guts all of a sudden.

Of course, you had tried to forget about them, which was made a little easier by the fact that your entire focus was on one Roman Sionis. Still, it didn’t prevent you from thinking about this supposed friend at least once a day, if not more, and wondering where it had gone wrong and if the same would happen with Roman very soon. It was bound to happen after all, and since this particular friendship had ended so very suddenly after not even four months, you could only fear how long your relationship with Roman would last.

Every single day, you tried your damnedest not to ponder too much and let anxiety overtake your body. Instead, you attempted to just focus on Roman and how much you loved him, which was a whole lot and far too much, to the point where it caused your chest to hurt. Often times, you wondered if it would be acceptable of you to already say those three particular words to him, or if that would ruin everything. You were incredibly uncertain, and he never seemed as though he was going to say them any time soon. Either way, you forced yourself to be patient and not fuck everything up again.

The fact that Roman had asked you out, even though he very much knew about your BPD diagnosis had shocked you to your core, but it somewhat calmed you down to know that it wasn’t a secret between you two (you had even checked in with him if he really knew upon his question). Still, you often wondered if he was truly aware of how much baggage you had on your shoulders and just how exhausting it could be to be in a relationship with a person who had this particular disorder – not only for you, but for him as well.

As the months have stretched on with barely an incident between you two, you had allowed yourself to get a tiny bit more comfortable. Whether or not you should regret it was beyond you, when your best friends have suddenly ceased to respond to your texts and more and more people around you have seemed to ignore you. At first you’ve given it all some time and tried not to jump to conclusions, because you knew they were all busy with their own lives and weren’t always in the mood to talk or text – and you respected that, you knew exactly what that was like.

But as two days have turned into four and essentially a whole week, you couldn’t help yourself anymore.

Feelings of utter loneliness and rejection overcame you in waves. You’ve been short of crying every couple of minutes; your chest hurt so much; your skin felt so tight – you desperately wanted to claw it off.

Then, you started to isolate yourself more and more. At work, you acted mostly normal, just like always – putting on this mask of being fine and a good worker – when in reality, your entire world was falling apart piece by piece.

None of it went past Roman, of course, he was way too perceptive for that. But when he asked you what was wrong, you deflected the question and said that it wasn’t important, it would be okay in a few hours or days anyway.

That wasn’t the case, though.

It didn’t get better at all. The feelings just wouldn’t go away. Every time you looked at your phone and saw all the unanswered messages you’d sent out to people weeks and months ago made your heart heavy and your chest tighten painfully. The more time passed, the worse it got.

Eventually, you also just couldn’t help wondering about Roman and doubting his interest in you. Was he truly interested in you at all? Would he have enough of you soon? Would he drop you gently or harshly? Would you even still have a job when he did? Fuck, it certainly wasn’t the best idea to date your boss, was it?

As you sat at your desk at home, preparing Roman’s schedule for the next week, your phone suddenly pinged. Immediately you took it into your hands to see if it was Roman – he was the only one who you were talking to at all anymore, after all. But then you saw that it was your previous Favourite Person, the one right before Roman. They had reacted to something you had posted on social media. They had commented on it as though they hadn’t suddenly stopped talking to you months ago.

As soon as you saw it, your eyes burned with tears that suddenly pricked them, your heart clenched so painfully and your skin was crawling. You were hurt and confused. It was all too much.

Just half an hour before that you had exchanged a few texts with an acquaintance you had on social media, which was as unfulfilling as it always had been. They clearly didn’t care about you, since they would never once truly ask how you were feeling, but in fact only talked about themselves and their life’s struggles. You were nothing but a tool for them to vent their worries to without an ounce of care in what you had to say in the least. It was a role you’d been very much used to, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

So, naturally all of this was a lot for you to process – too much, really – and you felt so many negative emotions all at once. They were crushing you. You were in agony.

As the urge to hurt yourself to relieve the emotional pain and exchange it with a temporary physical one overcome you, you forced yourself to take a few deep breaths and distract yourself first, before you did something you would later regret.

Unfortunately, it only lasted for a few minutes at a time, as the urge became bigger and your anguish stronger.

Only a few hours later, you decided to shower and as soon as you got dressed, you couldn’t even think twice before your fingernails met your neck’s skin and scratched it open. You stared at yourself in the mirror as your hands just kept on moving, all across your neck and collarbones, scratching away intensely until it was bright red, irritated and bleeding.

For a moment, you inspected the fresh wounds.

It still wasn’t enough.

You quickly disinfected the irritated, scratched-open areas and then proceeded to take out the small blade you kept in the drawer below your bathroom sink. Then, you pressed it against your inner forearm and drew a small, deep line with it, causing blood to well up instantly as sharp pain shot through you. You set the blade down and squeezed around your wound, forcing out more blood. You desperately needed to see it flow out of you.

A few seconds passed and you took the blade back into your hand and rested it a few inches below your fresh cut.

You hesitated.

Shaking your head, you put it back into the drawer and instead nursed your still bleeding wound.

After all, you’ve already done more than enough damage.

The loud and sudden ringing of your doorbell startled you and you quickly, but quietly, walked towards your apartment door to look through the peephole. Roman stood in front of your door.

Were you supposed to meet him and you forgot amidst all the pain you’ve been in?

Nervously, you opened the door and smiled at him. It hurt to smile. You could only guess how strained it must have looked, not to forget the angry red and mildly bleeding wounds on your neck that you had no way of hiding, then.

“Roman, wh- what are you doing here? Sorry, uh, come in first, maybe,” you stammered out your awkward greeting, stepping to the side to let Roman into your apartment, while your heart violently hammered against your rib cage.

“I’m sorry for suddenly coming by, but I’ve actually been in the area and thought I could pay you a little visit. I missed you,” he replied as he walked past you and hung his coat on the hook on the wall, “Besides, I tried to let you know by sending you a text, but I suppose you were busy showering by the looks of it.”

“Oh- yeah. Yes, sorry. It’s okay, though. I missed you, too. I’m glad to see you,” you responded softly, nervously looking around the room and avoiding his eyes.

Suddenly his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, your bodies flush against one another. His left arm travelled up and around when he cupped your cheek with his hand and gently stroked his thumb over it, before he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. You were entirely too overwhelmed and still a little beside yourself, but you reciprocated the chaste kiss automatically and put your arms around his shoulders.

When he broke the kiss, he looked you over. You could feel the shame crawling beneath your skin, making you feel far too hot.

“I didn’t catch you at a good time, did I?” he inquired quietly, grazing his fingers over the wounds on your neck so very lightly so as not to hurt you more.

Because of how tight your throat felt, you could only shake your head and avert your gaze.

Roman heaved a deep sigh and kissed your forehead softly, “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmured against your brow, “May I ask what’s caused this?”

Hesitating, you opened and closed your mouth a couple of times, so short of crying again, as you thought about whether or not it would scare him off if you told him the truth. In the end, you nodded, though.

“Let’s sit down first, please. Can I get you something to drink?” you said brokenly, daring to look at him for a second.

“Water, please.”

Quickly, you walked into the kitchen and got Roman a glass of water, while he sat down on your couch in the living room. Your hand was shaking when you passed him the glass and he looked at you with such a soft expression that it took your breath away.

Why wasn’t he up and running already?

When you sat down next to him, he set the glass down on the table in front of you two and put his arm around you, once more pulling you close against him. Your sides pressed together and you allowed yourself to rest your head against his shoulder.

“You can tell me as much or as little as you want, okay, my sweet boy?” he told you softly and kissed your temple shortly.

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and exhaled a shuddery breath. Then, you started to tell him everything that’s been going on lately and how much it all hurt. Sometime into your explanation the tears that have burned your eyes started to flow and run down your reddened face, leaving painful streaks behind. All the while, Roman was quietly shushing you and rubbing your upper arm soothingly, and peppering gentle kisses on the top of your head.

When you were done talking, you squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your entire body into Roman’s side in an attempt to both vanish and be close to him one last time, before he would leave you (at least that was what you’ve expected to happen anyway).

Instead, Roman wrapped his other arm around you as well and embraced you tightly, lovingly.

“I’m not going to leave you, baby. I’m not going anywhere. It angers me to know how much pain people have caused you in your life, especially as of late, but I won’t be one of them, alright?” he assured you and kissed your temple once more. “I love you, Y/N.”

Stopping to breathe altogether, you could barely believe what you’ve just heard.

Despite your disbelief, you choked out a quiet “I love you, too, Roman. So much”.

The issues that caused you so much pain in the first place may not have been solved with it, but you felt a little more secure in your relationship with Roman now, at least. That way, you could now quiet down these nagging thoughts in the back of your mind that kept telling you that he was going to drop you any second.

Sighing deeply, you relaxed a little and wrapped your arms around Roman’s middle as you pressed your face into his chest.

For the time being, you could pretend that everything was going to be alright.

[sfb123]

Sapere Aude - Part 8A

Book: The Royal Heir

Pairing: King Liam Rys x Queen Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Catch Up Here

Series Description: I developed a theory of what I think will happen in TRH Book 4, and I was encouraged by some very lovely people to turn my theory into a fic, so here it is. Basically, Riley is recruited to join the Via Imperii, this series will follow her as she joins them to try and bring them down from the inside, and all of the drama and bombshells she learns along the way. Sapere Aude is Latin for “dare to know” it seemed like an appropriate title.

Rating: M -MATURE 

Warning: Adult language, smut (🍋🍋🍋) and other adult themes.

Word Count: 4,049

Notes: I know I’ve sucked at updating and posting. I hit kind of a personal slump in my writing, there was a lot of self-loathing involved. I really struggled with writing chapter 9, and I eventually had a revelation that it was likely because I wasn’t done exploring everything that happened in chapter 8, so I’ve made a sub chapter. We follow Liam when after he leaves their quarters and get into his thought process in dealing with the bombshell that was dropped on him.

And yes, you read that rating right, my lemon tree has had its first bloom. I really stressed myself out over this, so I hope it’s worth the time I spent trying to convince myself that I was doing a good job, not to mention the time my friends had to spend (see below) to boost my ego.

Thank you so so much to @txemrn for reading a couple of snippets for me and being the cheerleader I needed when I was feeling really down on myself and my work...even though I was supposed to be the one giving YOU a peptalk!

And a super special thank you to my fairy smutmother @jessiembruno. You listened to me complain, and doubt myself, and a million other things multiple times a day while I was trying to find my way, and you never once came off as annoyed or frustrated. I am so lucky to be able to call you a friend.

Finally, thank you so much @twinkleallnight​ for my UPDATED moodboard! She took it upon herself to update it to better reflect the feel of the story, and she did a kick ass job!

Tags: I’m officially rocking my new tag list. Everyone is listed below as well as in the comments for safety. If you’d like to be added or removed, let me know! 

“Liam, where are you going?”

“I need to take a walk. Gather my thoughts.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I need to be alone right now. You stay here, I’ll be back shortly.”

Before she could stop him, Liam was out the door. He knew she just wanted to be there for him, but he needed to be alone. The royal quarters, his home, his sanctuary, suddenly felt so small. He was suffocating there, he needed to get away, to breathe.

“Your majesty?” Bastien stopped him. 

“I’m fine, Bastien, just going for a walk. Please stand down.” Liam tried to keep his tone and expression neutral, but it was obvious to Bastien that something was wrong. He bowed to the King, following orders and remaining at his post. 

Liam continued walking through the palace, unsure where he was going, he just needed to get out. He found himself walking through the gardens, approaching the maze. One of his mother’s last projects before her passing...or rather, before she abandoned him. It was always a special place for Liam. Growing up, he would often go there to hide out when he was feeling lonely, or missing his mother more than usual. It was one of his favorite spots on the grounds, possibly in the world. How would he ever be able to look at this space the same again? It would serve as a constant reminder of the insurmountable betrayal he had faced at the hands of the woman that gave him life. 

As he walked the familiar path through the maze, he considered his options. Perhaps he would burn it to the ground, and salt the earth to prevent any attempts at regrowth. Would that make him feel better? Would it take away the pain? 

Likely not, but it would feel good to know that I took something away from her that she cherished so dearly. A metaphor for what she has done to me. My memories of her, her kindness, her generosity, they mean nothing anymore. Because, to her, I meant nothing. I couldn’t have. If I did, she wouldn’t have left. 

He continued his journey, getting lost in his thoughts. He would look back at his childhood memories, trying to remember something, anything, that could ease this moment for him. Nothing came. His mind then wandered to the relationship he could have had with Thomas, his brother. He had another brother this whole time. All those times when Leo had run off to god knows where, he wouldn’t have had to be quite as alone as he was. Sure, he had Drake to keep him company, but Drake wasn’t a prince. He didn’t have the same expectations, the same limitations, that Liam faced. He could have had someone else by his side that understood all of it. 

How was he supposed to feel about Thomas now that he knew the truth? His first instinct was anger, but he quickly rejected that. It wasn’t his fault that they were kept apart their whole lives. He was suddenly very curious about Thomas’s life.

What was his childhood like? How did he feel when he learned that he was also royalty? Has he ever wanted to say anything to me, to come forward? Would I have believed him if he had?

Even though he wasn’t supposed to know any of this, he hoped that things would get to a point where he could talk to Thomas, and ask those questions. Ideally in a casual setting over drinks, and not an interrogation cell. 

Liam soon found himself in the center of the maze. As he took in his surroundings, his mind kept racing back to his childhood. The picnics with his mother, the games of maze tag with Drake. 

I wonder if Thomas would have liked to play maze tag with us, had he been around. 

He felt a sudden calming come over him at one point. When he took a look around, he realized that he was standing in the exact spot where he and Riley had landed when he inadvertently tackled her the night of the masquerade ball. The night he learned she had traveled halfway around the world just for a chance to be with him, because she felt what he was feeling after just a few hours together one night in New York. Even now, all these years later, he still felt the same butterflies in his stomach thinking of that moment. 

Wistfully, he walked a bit further, to the spot where they stood the night of his coronation, where he had finally managed to say those three words he had been feeling since the moment his eyes met hers. He smiled as he replayed the memory of her saying it back to him. He was fairly certain at the time that she felt the same way, but to hear those words fall from her beautiful lips, he had never felt a high quite like that in his life. His mind then wandered to the events that those words led to, another moment he had long dreamed of. Physically expressing the love they had just declared. He felt his heart start to race thinking of their first time together. All of the sudden, anger quickly replaced all other emotions, as he remembered that there was a tape of that moment. A tape that was recorded, and held, by her group. He quickly searched the area, digging his arms through the hedges, looking for anywhere a camera might be hidden. He came up empty. Given how long it had been since the recording, it made sense that they had likely removed their surveillance from the area. 

Another reason to be rid of this maze once and for all. Another reminder of the deceit. Only this time it’s worse, they brought Riley into it. 

Liam needed to move on from the center of the maze, so he continued walking, finally coming across the wishing well. The wishing well his mother had told him about when he was a child. 

Can you take back wishes? I wished so many times that my mother would come back to me, for her death to have been a misunderstanding. Well Liam, you got your wish, now look at you. How many other wishes have I made that will come back around to bite me in the ass? 

His mind began to wander again. This time, to the night of the Homecoming Ball. The night Riley was officially presented as the Duchess of Valtora, and more importantly, his fiance. They both made wishes that night, he remembered his wish: to never let fear dictate his choices, the way his father did. 

He let fear dictate his choices because of the loss of his wife. Had he known what truly happened, things would have been different. Perhaps he wouldn’t have interfered with my choice during the social season. I could have been with Riley all along. The way things were always supposed to be. I know we ended up together, and the struggles made our bond that much stronger, but there was a very real chance that I could have lost her forever, I almost did, over his choice.

Thinking of Riley reminded him of her reassurances that night, she was so confident in his ability to be a good King. She believed in him from day one, and never faltered in that. Even when he didn’t believe in himself, thinking of Riley, and her faith in him gave him the strength to continue on. To be the best man, and King he could be. To make his Queen proud. 

In that moment, Liam had an epiphany. This maze was so much more than his childhood and memories of a mother that betrayed him. This maze was about the love he and Riley shared. It had played a paramount role in their story. When he looked around, he saw memories of them, their stolen moments, their heartfelt confessions. He couldn’t get rid of this maze, if he did, he would be destroying a piece of his heart. 

From this moment forward, this maze is not about her, not about the lies that she raised me on. It is about the love and support I have shared with my soulmate. This is where our love, much like the flowers that adorn these hedges, blossomed. 

Riley...my heart, my world, my Queen. She gave up her life, her freedom, to be with me. She left her family and friends, her job, everything, for me. She has dedicated her life to my country, she has taken on my responsibilities. What have I done in return? I’ve put her in this impossible position. I’ve put her in harm's way, yet again, for the good of Cordonia. A country had never even heard of before I came in and turned her life upside down. 

He needed to get back to her. Walking back toward the palace, he started considering how she might be feeling in that moment. He had been so caught up in his own mind, that he didn’t stop to think what all of this was doing to her. She had to deliver devastating news to the man she loved, and his reaction was to abandon her. His heart sank as he approached their quarters, he felt so small. He entered their bedroom, overwhelmed with shame for the way he had left her. 

Of course she’s still awake. She probably stayed up worrying about me. I was so selfish to just leave her like that.

He kept his head down, too ashamed to look her in the eye, and walked straight into his closet to get ready for bed. His mind working overtime, trying to find the right words, but nothing came. He exited the closet and walked toward the bed, hoping something would come to him. 

Finally, Riley broke the silence in the room. 

“Liam…” She said barely above a whisper, he turned his head and looked at her for the first time since arriving home. “I’m sorry.” She placed her hand gently over his. 

She thinks I’m mad at her. She’s blaming herself. How does she not understand that she is the only thing keeping me from going off the edge? I’m the one that dragged her through all of this, and she’s apologizing to me. I don’t deserve her love. 

He was overwhelmed with anger at himself, and heartbreak for his wife. “Riley, you have nothing to apologize for. I am the one that wanted you to do this. You did nothing wrong. None of this is on you.” He tried to smile, but he knew it was unconvincing. He could feel the sting of tears beginning to well up in his eyes. 

“Fine, but you’re not allowed to blame yourself either.” 

Even to this day, after all of these years, it astonishes me how she can see right through me like that. I’ve had years of training to hide my thoughts and emotions, that training proved useless when it comes to Riley.  

“What you just said, telling me you were the one that wanted me to do this. I know you Liam Rys, better than anyone. You’re thinking about how you brought all of this on yourself.” 

It’s the truth. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t talked you into joining. 

For the second time that night, Liam couldn’t bear to look his wife in the eyes. She was right, but so was he. Liam felt the firm, yet loving touch of Riley’s hand holding his chin and lifting his gaze to meet hers. There was a fire in her eyes, unlike any he had seen from her before. 

“This is all on them, it’s the Via Imperii’s fault. That’s why we’re going to take them down. Together. Just like Anton, just like Auvernal, just like Barthelemy, just like any other enemy that has ever, or will ever come our way. We are the King and Queen of Cordonia, Liam and Riley Rys. We are a force to be reckoned with.” 

Liam was taken aback by the determination in her statement. He knew she was strong, she had been his rock since the day they met, but this was so much more than that. He didn’t know it was possible, but he felt his love for her grow. 

Awestruck, he took the hand she had planted on his chin in his, and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. “You always know just what to say, love.”

“Years of diplomatic training. I need to be prepared for every possible scenario.” She winked at him.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the comment. She made it seem so easy to turn his mood around. It was something he would never understand, but always be grateful for. 

God, I love this woman. 

Riley smiled and leaned into him. “C’mon, let’s try to get some sleep. We can circle back to this nightmare in the morning, start working on a plan.” They both laid back onto the bed, and into each others arms. 

In the middle of the night, Liam’s eyes shot open, his heart pounding in his chest, worry overcoming him. He needed a moment to get his bearings, turning to his left to make sure she was still there. She was.

He had been dreaming, a nightmare, technically. Riley was gone, he wasn’t sure where she had gone or why. All he knew was he felt empty, broken, more so than he ever had before. He watched Riley as she slept, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He thought back to his family, the people that were supposed to be there and care for him above all else. 

His mother, who had lied to him from the second he was brought into this world. She was his benchmark for love and support, but it was all fake. Because of her, he lived his life based on false ideals. Then he met Riley, she showed him what love and support truly was. 

Leo, he was a great brother growing up. He made sure Liam got to have fun, and took the heat when it would get out of hand. However as he got older, his priorities changed, and he was around less and less. When he finally abdicated the throne, he placed the weight of the world on Liam’s shoulders. The bright side to that, was that becoming the Crown Prince, and having a social season, brought Riley into his life. She helped him believe that he truly could carry the weight that was thrust upon him. 

His father, a King above all else. As hard as Liam tried to break through that wall, it was duty and his country above all else. That never mattered to Liam though, he still looked up to his father and held him to such a high standard. Until it was uncovered that he attempted to destroy his son’s one chance at true happiness. Despite his attempts at ruining her name, and putting her in harm’s way, Riley stayed and fought. She fought for herself, and she fought for their love. She forgave him for his actions, something Liam was never fully able to do. And when Liam mourned his loss, she was there by his side, holding his hand. 

Riley, his bright spot in all of the darkness. His constant source of goodness and joy. In all of that pain, Riley was there. Who would be there if she left him? He would have nothing, he would be nothing. He felt a tightness in his chest at the thought of losing her. He reached his hand out and gently stroked her arm, needing to touch her. 

He saw her eyes slowly start to flutter open. 

She’s cute when she’s tired. 

He watched as she lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

“Hey, are you ok?”

He unsuccessfully tried to swallow away the lump in his throat before answering. “Please don’t leave me, Riley.”

Liam watched as she sat up in bed, a confused look on her face. “Liam, never. I love you, you’re stuck with me for life.

He knew she meant it, but he also knew these things weren’t always under their control. “I just…there have been so many people that said they cared about me, and then left. Losing them was so hard. But if I lost you Riley, I don’t know how I would be able to continue on. You are the most important part of me, my everything. I don’t exist without you.”

A sadness overtook Riley’s face, Liam felt horrible for making her feel that way. He looked down before feeling her hands on either side of his face, her thumbs softly stroking his cheeks. “Liam, I promise you with all my heart, and everything I am, that there is nothing on this earth that could take me away from you. My husband and my daughter are the greatest joys of my life. A world without the two of you is not a world I would ever even want to think about.”

In that moment, all Liam could think about was being as close to her as he possibly could. He desperately needed to feel her body tangled with his. He surged forward and kissed her with everything he had. It was a kiss loaded with love, longing, and need. He lowered Riley from her seated position and rolled on top of her. 

“Show me.” He whispered. 

“Yes, my king.”

He shuddered at her words. Pinning her hands above her head, he slowly rolled his hips into her so that she could feel just how desperate he was for his wife. Riley closed her eyes and moaned at the sensation. 

Liam’s mouth moved to her ear, nipping at the lobe before saying in a commanding, yet tender tone, “Open your eyes Riley, I want you to see everything I am going to do to you.”

Riley’s eyes opened as she met Liam’s hungry gaze. “Yes, my king.”

“Good girl.” He kissed her deeply, removing one hand from hers and slowly moving it down her body, traveling the familiar curves that drove him crazy time and time again. 

Liam’s lips moved away from hers, treading across her jawline and down her neck. Riley hissed at the feeling of his teeth running along her tender skin. “Liam, calm down. You’re going to leave marks.”

“Good, they will serve as a reminder that you belong here, with me.”

Riley freed her wrists from Liam’s grasp and brought his face to hers. “Liam, I don’t need a reminder, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.” 

He silenced her with a searing kiss. One hand traced the curve of her breast as the other traveled downward, rubbing her center through her panties. “You’re so wet for me already, love.”

All Riley could do was groan in response. She felt his lips return to her neck, as his hands traveled to the hem of her tank top, he gently lifted the shirt over her head and deposited it on the floor. His mouth continued its descent, kissing her shoulder and quickly moving to her breast, taking the nipple into his mouth, slowly circling it with his tongue. He kissed across her chest, paying the same attention to the other breast. 

The quiet moans and whimpers coming from his wife were the encouragement Liam needed to continue moving south, kissing down her torso until he was met with the waistband of her panties. He paused and looked up at her. 

“Liam, please.” She whispered, desperate for him to remove the lacy barrier. 

He gave her a wolfish grin before taking them between his teeth and quickly dragging them down her legs. Once they were removed, he lifted her foot and softly kissed the inside of her ankle, his lips moved at a painfully slow speed, resting her leg over his shoulder as he moved closer to her wanting center. 

As soon as Riley felt Liam’s breath on her glistening core, her own breath hitched. Liam heard it, and it satisfied him to know that in that moment she needed him just as much as he needed her. He tantalizingly licked up the length of her slit until he reached her sensitive nub. 

She gasped as he began sucking and licking, his tongue moving in calculated circles. He knew her body inside and out, he knew just what to do to her to get the reaction he wanted. 

Riley’s hands quickly found their way to Liam, running her fingers through his hair and gripping tightly guiding him exactly where she needed him. The pressure caused Liam to moan into her, Riley felt the vibration against her body and trembled. 

Sensing that she was close to her release, he slowly slid one finger inside of her, and curled it slightly. She bucked her hips and moaned Liam’s name, that was all the invitation he needed to add a second finger. 

“Yes Liam, don’t stop.”

He looked up at her with an unmistakable mix of lust and adoration. “Never, Riley.” Before continuing his efforts, causing Riley to plummet over the edge, loudly moaning his name. He worked through her release, savoring every second of her ecstasy. 

As she started to come down from her release, Liam kissed a path up her stomach, positioning himself on top of her. Once they were face to face he kissed her deeply. 

Their tongues intertwined, and Riley’s hands drifted to the front of Liam’s pajama pants, palming his hardness through the fabric eliciting a deep groan from him. Riley smiled into the kiss, moving her hand into his pants, wrapping it around his length and pumping slowly. 

“Mmm...are you ready to take all of me, love?” He asked as he thrust into her hand. 

Riley nipped at his bottom lip before responding. “Yes Liam, I need you.”

He quickly removed his pants, lining himself up with her entrance. Pressing his forehead to hers, and looking deep into her eyes, he eased himself into her carefully, desperate to feel every inch of her. He paused for a moment, allowing her to adjust before slowly rocking his hips against her. 

As they moved together, Liam began sucking and nibbling on Riley’s earlobe. Riley whimpered in response, her hands running up and down his muscular back. She wrapped her legs around him and dug her heels into him, urging him to move faster. He complied, and almost immediately, he felt her walls starting to clench around him. 

“That’s it Riley. Cum for me, love.” He locked eyes with her again, bringing one hand to her cheek to ensure she held his gaze through her release. 

Riley’s back arched as she lost control, the muscles in her body tensed, and she screamed out in pleasure. “Oh god Liam, yes!”

Watching and feeling Riley come undone was all Liam needed to push him over the edge. He thrust into her one last time with a guttural groan as he filled her with his seed. 

They laid still for several moments, Liam resting his face in the crook of Riley’s neck, breathing in her scent as his breathing slowly began to return to normal. He then removed himself from her and laid on his back, pulling Riley to his side. She rested her head on his chest, and he responded by planting a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. 

“Are you feeling better?” She tilted her head up to look at him. 

He stroked her cheek and smiled softly at her. “Much. Thank you Riley.” Their lips met in a brief kiss. 

“Good. Now please try to get some sleep, we’re going to have a lot to figure out in the morning.”

“Of course. Riley?”

She looked up at him, eyelids heavy. “Hmm?”

“I love you, so much.” He kissed her on her forehead. 

She smiled and leaned into him, placing several light kisses on his chest. “I love you too, Liam. Always.”

He let out a content sigh and tightened his arms around his wife as they both drifted off to sleep.

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Liam x Riley:

@jared2612​

[words-with-wren]

you are someone that i’ve loved but never known

yeah it’s still minecraft hours lads 

This is what happens when you loop Never Love an Anchor by The Crane Wives for the entire plane ride from uni to home. I wrote this a while back - before Tommy even left Logstedshire I believe, which is why it’s not completely canon compatible. 

___

Technoblade was about seven years old when he met his younger brother. He and Wilbur had been messing around with Wilbur's new guitar when their father returned home, looking exhausted, wings closed protectively around a bundle. 

Techno had never see anyone quite so small. The child had blinked up at them both with large blue eyes and Phil had smiled tiredly. 

"He's going to stay with us for a while," he said quietly. 

"What's his name?" Wilbur asked, looking up at their father. Techno couldn't quite bring himself to look away from the tiny human's frowning face. Phil settled onto the ground and placed the boy down. He stood uncertainly, watching them all and both Techno and Wilbur echoed their father and sat. 

"I'm… not sure," Phil said. Wilbur frowned, watching as the child glared out at the world with an anger that Techno grew to know all too well. 

"Tommy," Wilbur said finally. "I like that name." 

The newly named Tommy stared in Wilbur's direction and stepped forward. He misjudged his step and lost his balance and collapsed to the ground and his eyes welled with tears and from that moment on Techno knew something. 

There was a weakness to his brother. A weakness that Wilbur shared as well, that even Phil had to a certain extent. Techno didn't exactly know what it was, but he knew he was different. He was stronger. He was more powerful. He was tougher and violent and full of blood-lust. The voices whispered that his family was weak and pitiful and Techno couldn't help but believe them. 

He watched as Phil swooped down to scoop up the now crying Tommy, bouncing him effortlessly and cheering him up. He watched as Wilbur shuffled to their side, leaning over Phil's shoulder to talk to the new addition. 

He watched, but he didn't want to interfere. Didn't want to be the cause of the next welling of tears. 

Didn't want to listen to the voices that chanted for blood. 

The voices chanted louder as he grew. Wilbur grew outward, making friends where ever he went, easily talking, easily leading, easily influencing. Tommy grew beside him, stepping effortlessly in his brother's footsteps, his quick tongue and sharp anger getting him into his fair share of scrapes (always accompanied by their newest addition to the family, the boy they had found alone on the side of the road. Phil hadn't even hesitated to take Tubbo in, and he and Tommy were barely apart). 

Techno grew on a different path and that became more and more clear. While Wilbur followed music, Techno followed battle. While Tommy followed people, Techno followed blood. 

"I can't shut them up," he said softly one night, hands gripping the edge of his cape and he stared at the fire. Phil looked up from where he was writing in a notebook. It was just the two of them, Wilbur was out for the night and Tommy and Tubbo had gone to bed a while ago. 

"Then learn to work with them," Phil had said. Phil was the only one who knew - the only one who knew about the voices that chanted for blood, the urge to destory and kill, the need to fight. 

"I don't know if I can." 

He had seen fear mixed with adoration in Tommy's eyes so many times. The hero worship of a younger sibling mixed with the fear of an inhuman force. When he gave into the chants, when he gave them what they wanted, he saw - saw the concern in Wilbur's face and the fear in Tommy's. 

He didn't like that. Didn't want that. Didn't want to be unable to control himself. 

Didn't want Tommy's fear to be justified. 

So he left. He struck out on his own, wandering the world to learn how to work with the cacophony in his brain. He saw Tommy's hurt expression, hidden by anger as he left. 

"Why're you leaving though?" he had demanded, arms crossed, eyes flashing. 

"I gotta go," Techno had answered, ruffling his brother's hair softly. 

"Yeah well I didn't want you here anyway," Tommy had said, head held high. And if the words had been true, Techno wouldn't have blamed him. He had seen Wilbur and Tommy - how close they were, how Tommy would do anything for their brother. How much Tommy wanted the same from Techno. 

But Techno couldn't give him that and so he did the only thing he could. He left before he hurt them more. 

He came back. Came back to a canyon underground and a revolution and two brothers who had been changed and hardened by war. He came back to Wilbur's wild eyes and speeches of chaos and anarchy and destruction and the voices cheered and Techno couldn't help but agree. 

He came back to Tommy's hard eyes (far to hard for any boy his age), Tommy's quiet pleas for peace, Tommy's loud laughter and excitement. 

He hadn't been broken, not by all that he'd been through. And for a moment, Techno thought that coming back might have been a good idea. He had missed his brothers, missed Wilbur bouncing lyrics off him, missed Tommy trying to beat him in combat (he had improved a lot since Techno had left, but so had Techno and it still wasn't a contest). He had missed the quiet evenings when it was just the three of them sitting around a fire in silence, enjoying the company and not needing to speak. 

And then he was reminded why he had left and he knew he could never let them get close to him. 

He stood on the stage, wind fluttering his cape, blowing hair into his eyes. His hand gripping the handle of the crossbow, eyes boring into his back and voices screaming for blood. 

He stood on the stage, staring into the panicked eyes of his brother's best friend. Tubbo, who loved bees and Tommy and probably so much more but Techno didn't know because he hadn't let himself get close. 

He pulled the trigger and reminded himself why. 

Tommy's eyes flashed with anger but Techno couldn't bring himself to feel guilty for what he had done. He had tried to distance himself from them - but they had invited him back. Tommy had insisted in seeing the best in him, in adoring him as a brother and not a force of nature. Not the blood god. 

And Tommy took betrayal hard. 

And yet Techno had stayed. Despite himself, despite the flashing rage in his youngest brother's face he had to see this through. Wilbur called for chaos and the voices echoed the call and this - this was where the blood god would find blood. 

If Tommy insisted on being betrayed again that wasn't Technoblade's fault. 

Until it all went wrong and their father was kneeling over Wilbur's limp and bloody form and Tommy was picking himself up from the destruction of his entire world and still fighting and suddenly the victory felt pointless. The thrill of chaos and battle and death felt like ashes in his mouth at Phil's guilty expression, Wilbur's dull, dead eyes, Tommy's hard face, a little more cracked, a little more damaged. 

There was a reason he had left the first time and there was a reason he left again. He didn't want to listen to the voices anymore. He didn't want to see the betrayal and hate in his own brother's eyes. (And wasn't this why he had kept his distance in the first place? Wasn't this why he had never been close to Tommy? Wasn't this why he had rejected the hero worship, the adoration and love of his brother? To avoid this, to avoid this hate and hurt and pain and yet here they were.) 

And yet he couldn't bring himself to leave entirely. Couldn't bring himself to abandon his only brother. 

He saw, saw the betrayal and abandonment, saw his own words come true though he had never wanted them to. Saw Tommy once again betrayed and thrown aside - this time by his very best friend. And Techno didn't know what to do because he didn't know Tommy. Hadn't let himself know Tommy. 

But when he saw his brother, alone in exile the voices were louder than they had been for a long time. Tommy needed people - that was something Techno knew. Seeing his brother like this, exhausted and tired and finally, finally crumbling to pieces after all he had fought through he knew. 

Maybe he didn't know his brother. Maybe he had never let himself know his brother. But there were two things he did know - and that was blood and that was that he never wanted to see Tommy hurting again. 

He gripped his axe and hardened his face and listened to the voices one last time and when it was all said and done and a stark white mask lay stained with red he stood in front of his brother. 

"I hate you," Tommy said, the venom in his voice almost all faded, replaced with exhaustion and grief and a deep, bone aching tiredness after all he had struggled through. 

"I know," Techno said and held out a hand. Tommy hesitated, glanced back at his home - no, his prison - and back to Techno. Techno, with the light of battle still in his eyes, with blood tattooed onto his face and clothes, axe reded and still in his hand and anger and fear and tiny, tiny hint of hope began leaking through Tommy's exhaustion. 

Despite it all, he stepped forward 

This time Techno did as well. 

"Let's go home." 

[yandere-society]

hi, can u do jeongguk yandere which he’s a werewolf and the oc childhood sweetheart???

Moon Bound

Jungkook, YN’s childhood best friend, abandoned her their senior year of high school without a word. Determined to forget him, YN attends college across the country. But what will she do when he shows up on her doorstep rain soaked and sharp toothed, confessions and craziness slipping from his lips?

Warnings: Yandere themes

Admin @chimchimsauce

YN always hated storms. Ever since she was but a small tot, the bright flashes of light and loud boom that shook the air after terrified her to her core. Without fail, she would run towards whoever was nearest for comfort.

That’s how she met Jungkook. Her parents and his had decided to get together for dinner after Jungkook and his family moved in next door. It started off fine. Jungkook was shy kid with big eyes and a small smile who agreed to play with the stuffed animals she insisted on bringing over.

After eating, the adults talk about whatever adults talk about while YN and Jungkook play in his bedroom.

“You know,” six-year-old YN said as she raised a purple giraffe into the air, “You don’t talk very much.”

Jungkook’s cheeks went red in an instant and the eye contact he struggled to maintain fell away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice quiet and small smile gone.

YN could tell right away that she hurt his feelings.

“It’s not a bad thing,” YN found herself saying, “You can be quiet if you want. I can talk for the both of us.”

And just like that the smile was back and a best friendship was formed.

Jungkook and YN were best friends for over a decade. They saw each other every day at school and then saw each other some more during the evening when they hung out. They were inseparable, closer than two people could possibly be.

And it was heaven. Jungkook understood YN better than she understood herself. He supported her when even her parents were against her decisions. He was there for the bad days just as wholeheartedly as he showed up for the good ones. And of course, because he was Jungkook, the sweetest and kindest best friend, the years were incredibly kind to him. He bloomed like a rose, beautiful and eye catching and tempting to all who swarmed around him.

But he never abandoned YN. Because if Jungkook was a rose, YN was the moonlight watching over him. Sure, sunshine brings out the best in people, helps them shine the brightest, but the moon knows your deepest secrets. The moon watches over you with gentle reassurance and a knowing smile, a peaceful friend.

Jungkook’s life was perfect. Perfect, until his senior year of high school when he came home to find a giant beast lurking in his living room. Before he could scream, his mother came out form behind the beast, a gentle smile on her face.

“Get away from that thing, Mother!” Jungkook shouted, rushing towards her and hiding her small body behind his larger one.

“There’s no need to be afraid, darling,” his mother says, “He will do you no harm.”

“He? Mom, it’s a wolf! He could kill us!” Jungkook says, terrified.

“He’s also your father,” his mother says.

One simple sentence changed his life forever. That night, over a steaming hot cup of cocoa he didn’t touch once, his parents explained that Jungkook wasn’t human. They told him of the Moon’s curse and the way it passed from generation to generation, from father to son. They told him of the changes he would soon be experiencing and the role he was to play in this world he didn’t know existed.

“What do I tell YN?” he asked, mind reeling.

He wanted nothing more than to run to her and let her comfort him, tell him that his parents were crazy.

But he’d seen the beast transform into his father right before his eyes. As much as he wanted to, Jungkook knew that there was no way this was fiction.

“You can’t tell her,” his father says sadly, “I know the two of you are close, but that will have to stop. It’s too dangerous. We have to keep our secret to keep us all safe.”

“She wouldn’t tell anyone! I know she wouldn’t! You know she wouldn’t!”

His mother places a pitying hand over Jungkook’s tightening fist.

“YN is a very sweet girl. A very good girl. But she’s also human.”

“SO ARE YOU!” Jungkook roared out, standing up with a force strong enough to send his chair tumbling.”

“But I am your Father’s moon bound,” his mother continues, “The one the mood goddess chose to love him and help continue his legacy.”

“But I love her!” Jungkook insists, desperation beginning to take over.

He’s known YN nearly his whole life. She’s his best friend, the person he trusts more than anyone on the planet.

“You may feel that way now, son, but -” his father starts to say.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Jungkook screams.

“But the moon goddess knows what’s best for you. She will send you the one who is truly meant for you.”

“It’s YN, I know!” Jungkook says, “It has to be!”

“You will find out on your twentieth birthday. That is the day that your transformation will be complete. Until then you have to stay away from her.”

“No!” Jungkook says.

His emotions are all over the place. He’s scared and angry and confused and it swirls together into a violent storm in his brain.

“You could hurt her, Jungkook. These next two years are going to be difficult and dangerous. You never know when your body will change or when your mind will yield to the wolf’s call. You could end up killing her.”

That knocks the air out of his body. He’s never lay a hand on her, never.

“I-”

“That’s why you will be going to the University meant for Werewolves as soon as you graduate. It’s best if you just cut YN off now before anyone gets hurt.”

And that’s exactly what he did. Without a single word to her, Jungkook forcibly removed himself from YN’s life. He ignored her in school, blocked her number, and never answered her when she rang his doorbell. No matter how much she tried to talk to him, Jungkook rbushed YN off like she was an annoying fly, never so much as giving her an explanation. 

It hurt. It hurt more than YN wanted to admit. She spent most nights her senior year crying herself to sleep, unaware that Jungkook’s newfound senses caused him to hear her pain. Her grades slipped, she lost weight, and that glimmering personality that she carried with her faded into nothingness.

It was like she was an entirely different person, the old her dead and gone right along with Jungkook’s friendship.

So when she graduated, YN wanted out. She refused to spend another moment thinking about Jungkook, glancing out her window into his with the feeble hope that his blinds would be open. She moved across the country, leaving her old persona behind her, lit with fire to become someone she would be proud to look into the mirror and see.

And she did. For once, YN was the flower, digging strong roots and blooming under the sunlight. The only thing she carried with her from her past was her fear of storms.

Right now, thunder booms loudly in her ears and she huddles under her sheets, trying her hardest to keep calm and breathe evenly. When a loud ring sounds through the air, YN startles, wondering what it is. When it comes again, she recognizes it as her doorbell.

Odd. She doesn’t usually get visitors this time of night. Still, YN goes to answer the door, bringing her blanket with her. It’s too dark for her to see out of the peephole, so YN unbolts the door and opens it fully. 

For a moment, everything is black. Then lightning zooms across the sky and illuminates a face she never thought she’d see again.

“Jungkook?” YN asks, breathless.

Thunder booms again and she shrieks, only to be swept up into once familiar arms and ushered back into her home, the door slamming shut behind them.

“I missed you so much,” Jungkook says, his voice muffled by YN’s hair as he hugs her tightly, “So so much.”

“What are you doing here?” YN asks, uncomfortable, “How do you know where I live?”

Jungkook ignores her questions and pulls away to look at her face, caressing it.

“I love you so much. I’m so glad that it’s finally time for us to be together.”

YN rips herself away from him, growing scared.

“What are you talking about? Why are you even here? I don’t want to see you,” she hisses out.

The venom is minimized by the way she jumps when thunder sounds again.

“You don’t mean that. I know i have a lot of explaining to do but -”

“No,” YN says, “I tried to talk to you every day for an entire year. You don’t get to pop back into my life like this. Get out, Jungkook. I don’t want to see you.”

For a moment, all is silent. Jungkook’s face falls in the dim light. He looks so different now, bigger and more filled out. Gone is any trace of the little boy she used to play with. 

“You’re going to see me,” he says, his voice completely devoid of any and all emotion, “I didn’t kill my moon bound for you to reject me, YN.”

A chill shoots down YN’s spine. She has no idea what he’s talking about, but she does know that he’s insane. YN grips her wet blanket close to her body, trying to figure out what to do. Maybe she can make a run for it?

Thunder booms again and YN shinks back, terrified. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” she says, tears beginning to fall down her cheeks.

“I’d never hurt you, YN,” Jungkook says adoringly, “Never ever. I don’t care what the mood goddess says. I’ve always known you were mine. Why worship her when I have you?” he says, pulling her close once more and nuzzling into her neck.

YN feels something wet and warm glide along her skin and she freezes, stiff as a statue.

“Now why don’t I run you a bath and we get caught up, okay? It’ll be like I never left,” he says, pulling away.

Lightning illuminates the room and YN can see the blood caked onto his fingers and his teeth, much too sharp and much too bright. Jungkook catches her staring and nods innocently, having the gall to look ashamed. 

“I should have cleaned up before I came, but I was so excited to see you! I’d kill anyone who tries to keep us apart. Now how about that bath?”

YN can do nothing but nod, looking at the boy she once loved and seeing nothing but a monster.

[seriouslysam8]

For the ask game, would you please answer questions numbered 2, 8, 14 (all of your titles have such cool names), 18 (I hope Abditory isn't one of them as that story rocks), 21, 24, 29, 30, 33, 34, 44, 51, 62, 76, 82, 85, 88, 90, and 98.

Sorry for asking so many, but I love your work! Entombed gave me so many feels! I found your stories because author Breanie said to read them in her author's notes. Best rec ever! Thank you for answering.

Wow, that is a lot of asks! Thank you so much for wanting to know so much about little ole me. I think I hit them all in this and my apologies if I missed one. Let me know if I missed one. @breaniebree is awesome and my writing BFF. She is amazing, and I love her.

2) What fandoms do you write for and do you have a particular favourite if you write for more than one?

So, I’ve written for The X-Files, Supernatural, and Harry Potter. I currently only write for Harry Potter. I would say Harry Potter has always been the most fun.

8) Where do you take your inspiration from?

Random shit. Brontide came to me because I was browsing the HPFanfiction subreddit looking for a story suggestion and someone asked for a story where Harry was addicted to Felix. Only one unfinished dimensional time travel story was listed. It idea sparked me to write my own version. Entombed came to me because I was rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Buffy was buried alive. I knew I wanted to bury Ginny alive. As I stated in the author’s notes of last Kalopsia chapter, I drew inspiration from the Djinn storyline in Supernatural. I write about things I know, too. I have young kids at home so I like writing the Potter children as young because I can mimic their mannerisms in my writing. I’ve even asked my kids to say certain words to emulate their speech pattern in my writing if I’m writing that age group.

14) How did you come up with the title for the XXX? You can ask about multiple stories.

I HATE coming up with titles. My newest trend has been to literally Google “unique words”. There are a ton of Pinterest accounts who make fancy word and definition pictures. I scroll through all these little unique words and pick out ones I think fit a story. Sometimes I Google a unique word for BLANK and see if I can get a cool version of that name. @breaniebree actually helped me with Entombed.

18) Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

Sadly, I would put Abditory in this category. Never say never though. I think about it from time to time. Honestly, I abandoned it due to such a negative response I was receiving and the lack of positive response. I became discouraged. It wasn’t even negative response due to my writing, it was literally a bunch of “why would you waste your time writing a story about the biggest plot hole in the books? JKR butchered the whole SK storyline and it’s unbearable to read.” So, basically, my reviews and PMs were filled with JKR hate over that plot point in the books. They heavily outweighed the positive reviews I received. Honestly, I think that’s why a bulk of stories get abandoned - lack of positive reviews or enthusiasm for a story. If I didn’t get so many great reviews for my stories, I don’t know if I’d be able to finish them or continuing writing new ones. Fanfiction is free, (as it should be) but it’s a lot of time and hard work. A little appreciation goes a LONG way. So, my advice, review everything you love reading and encourage writers to keep writing. I always say in my authors notes that reviews make me want to write and inspire me. That’s the truth. The moment I stop getting reviews will probably be the time I take a writing break again.

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

@breaniebree. I mean she’s dedicated years to a single story with so many plot lines and characters that I’m amazed she did it. She’s a fantastic writer, and I definitely consider her my writing BFF. I feel like I’ve learned a lot from her and enjoy talking about writing with her so much. I’m so glad we’ve become friends.

24) How do you feel about writing smutty scenes?

Horrified. Anytime I get a little steamy in my stories, it goes immediately to @breaniebree who usually adds way too much smut and then I cut it down to still be somewhat PG-13 in order to appeal to a wider audience.

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

I feel like Kalopsia isn’t getting as much love as my other stories. I’m way behind in my normal review count per chapter. I wonder if it’s just the confusing storyline or if it’s just not as fun to read? But I was definitely worried it wouldn’t get the love I thought it deserved when I started writing it and it’s lived up to that expectation.

30) In contrast to 29, is there a story which gets lots of love which you kinda eye roll at?

Cronus Rising. People still recommend it occasionally and I still get random reviews. I’m like, “why????” Its horribly written and a stupid plot line. I literally was getting back into writing after not writing for a good five years, so it’s abysmal. I’ve often wanted to rage delete it.

33) What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

When someone tells me I should write an original novel and they’d buy the hell out of it. I do have some original novel ideas floating around (one I’ve been writing since I was like 15), but crippling fear of rejection from publishers have stopped me from ever actually finish an original novel.

34) What’s the harshest criticism you’ve gotten?

I got some criticism in Brontide for having drama for drama’s sake with no real purpose or goal for said drama. I felt my drama served a purpose, drove the story along, and I add a lot of fluffy and cute family moments. I feel like in real life, when you to your loved one is going through sometime, it feels like nonstop drama and bad news and like a dark cloud just follows you. I wanted to emulate that in real life. So Harry’s POV was often drab because HE was the one going through something horrific and it was all doom and gloom for him.

44) What is the last line you wrote?

“You never think I listen to your ramblings, but it’s kind of hard to block out, mate.”

51) From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

Um... I’d say a 3. I think I have some good and unique plots for stories but sometimes I struggle on how to execute those on paper effectively. I struggle with descriptions, action, and showing rather than telling. But I do think I’m good at dialogue and capturing a character’s personality. So, 3.

62) Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

A lot! I have a Teddy/Victoire stalker story in the works that I’m excited about. I have (this is going to sound weird) but an outsider rom-com planned where Ron/Hermione breakup right before Hinny’s wedding and Hinny struggles to get them back together before the big day. I have a Potter family vacation fluff/comedy story planned. I have a game night one-shot planned. I have a short story about Luna’s wedding. So many that I want to write and don’t know which one to write first!!

76) Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

I’d say no. I’ve always tried to write my ideas down. Some I’ve never finished because inspiration peters off and some I plan on finishing once my newest big project is done.

82) Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

Harry goes through some shit, and Ginny is his soulmate.

85) Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I don’t understand why people don’t ship Harry/Ginny more. I don’t understand the Harry/Daphne obsessions (like just why???) or the Harry/Hermione ship at all. I always see people asking for story recommendation and they specific say “no Harry/Ginny”. They are literally perfect for one another and they are soulmates.

88) If you could ask one other fanfic author three questions about their writing, writing process, or works, what would they be and who would you ask?

@breaniebree .

1.) How do you organize all your charts? Send me the ALL the charts. Because I don’t understand how you keep everything straight!

2.) How do you write so much? You’re like a little writing machine in a cute little package.

3.) Where do all the ideas come from? In a dream? Just thinking? Driving? Do you write everything out in your head like meeee? Can I have some of your writing mojo?

90) How do you process and deal with negative reviews?

I obsess over them. I analyze them. I may get bummed out and not write for a few days. If you don’t like what I write, then don’t read or review. It’s a hobby. I do this for free. I’m not asking you to critique me. Give me a nice review or ask me a question, but don’t be cruel or mean because you can hide behind a keyboard and be a bully to make yourself feel superior.

98) If you had to give up either snacks and drinks during writing sessions, or music, which would you find more difficult to say goodbye to and why?

Music. I grew up with three older brothers. My house was always rowdy and loud and obnoxious. I need it to be loud. I can’t stand the silence or focus when it’s silent. I need music to help me think and write. When I’m home alone, I always turn on the TV or music, because I can’t stand when it’s silent. I think I’d go insane.

[rotationalsymmetry]

Commenting on without reblogging re: the assertion that LGBT+ kids having to fear parental rejection and cishet people not having to worry about that.

That works fine if you mentally translate it into I statements: this happened to me and it wouldn’t have happened if I was not LGBTQ+. It also kinda works as a broad general statement of privilege: straight kids don’t have to worry about their parents rejecting them (possibly up to kicking them out) for being straight.

As a universal statement it is not true. There are reasons other than homophobia and transphobia for parental rejection/abandonment. I’m thinking of one straight guy in particular who was turned out by his family in his late teens for trivial reasons, and who never reconciled with them and experienced many of the same issues, like financial insecurity, that many queer people experience for that reason. I’m thinking of a straight woman of my parents’ generation (maybe straight? I guess I don’t know for sure she’s not bi) whose parents stopped paying for her college education when they’d found out she was “no longer a virgin”.

And for queer people, being queer isn’t always the one main thing messing up our lives. I’m thinking of one queer woman I’ve known whose parents were queer and as far as I know she was never afraid of coming out to them, but she was a victim of CSA and that affected her a lot. For me, I didn’t figure out I was bi until adulthood and didn’t figure out my gender stuff until the last couple years, so I wasn’t afraid as a child that my parents would freak out over that (but also...I’m not sure I would have anyways, at one point in my teens my mom told me she “got” being same sex attracted and I 100% registered that as it would be safe to come out to her), but I was afraid that my parents wouldn’t love me if I didn’t do well enough at school and later in a career. (Turns out I guess I didn’t need to worry? At the time I didn’t know that though and I was worried and it did mess with me, and most likely that was exacerbated hard by ADHD because Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria is a bitch.)

And for some people, losing parental support has more devastating consequences than for others, especially for disabled people who can’t live without assistance (and often more assistance than government services are willing to provide), and people for whom mainstream society is hostile in specific ways that their family is not.

So, first, intersectionality: homophobia messes people up, but so does ableism and racism and all sorts of other things. But also, intersectionality doesn’t cover everything and sometimes people have deep traumas and struggles (and concrete problems like risk of homelessness or insufficient medical care) for reasons that you’re not going to be able to discern by asking them a finite number of very personal questions. And, uh, people are people and individuals and you can have two people who check identical demographic boxes and yet one might say “homophobia/transphobia was the main thing that messed me up, this other thing had less of an impact” and another might say “no, actually this other thing was the worst.”

[narcissasdaffodil]

what are the things you like and dislike about Marisol and what makes her your favourite?

I love any excuse to ramble about Marisol, so this one will likely get long. In addition, I do ramble a lot naturally, I work my way through all of my thoughts first, so some stuff I write about might appear unrelated, but I promise I’m going somewhere here! As a second note, this has already started turning into a self analysis thing, but I feel that’s the easiest way to do this. Parts of what I’m writing are very personal here.

- Marisol’s a character who’s really close to my heart. When I first played the game I fell for both her and Lottie at first sight. Her route is my favourite route, I struggle with simple and easy routes and am a sucker for a good slow burn. When I first played Season 2, I was starting to recover with my own mental health issues and building myself as a person while learning to not treat myself badly for my own mental health. I’ve experienced further self growth in that time, but the game itself helped me go further with my self journey. Having a distraction that absorbed me so fully and got me interested in the journeys of the characters was appreciated during that time.

- It took me a while to fully come out myself as a lesbian and to sort out who I believed I truly was from the mess in my head. Part of that was due to having a heavily homophobic ex bestfriend so for my own safety I came out as bisexual and let myself believe I was bi, so I could avoid extra questions. Once I was free from her, I came out fully as a lesbian, as I realised how much of my beliefs about myself with my sexuality were a lie and that it was okay to not be attracted to men at all. The reason I’m mentioning this is mainly that I understand her fear about coupling up and why it took so long for her to face her fear there. I saw so much of my younger self in her, and I do relate to her heavily in addition. Actually coming out fully can be difficult, especially if you’re uncertain at the start, or have doubts whether the people around you will be accepting.

- I do understand her commitment issues, especially if she’s been burned in the past. I’ve never been in a relationship at all myself, and am in no rush to do that. I want to do it in the future, but on my terms and when I’m comfortable enough with myself. Being single and never having had a relationship isn’t something I’m ashamed of either, real life isn’t how they portray in the media and wanting to wait and being single in general shouldn’t be stigmatised. People have judged me for waiting before, but I just block that out. Marisol pretending she doesn’t want commitment is likely a defence mechanism to prevent herself getting hurt again. When she finally couples up with MC, she lets go from her previous reservations and becomes very loving and fiercely loyal, which proves she does want commitment but is scared of it.

- I relate to her with the analysing people too. I do that myself as a defence mechanism as I’ve been hurt in the past multiple times by ex friends and other people. So I have to gain an accurate reading on people before I can trust them fully. That still does cause issues for me as I mess up still, but most of my readings on people have been accurate, especially recently. I base whether I like someone on their interactions with others as well as myself, mainly as people can and do be two faced. I’ve had people suck up to me, and be rude to my friends and I’ve also had the reverse.

- I love her growth during her route and it helps give me hope myself that I can eventually get better at trusting people and allowing myself to be more vulnerable with people. I was so happy when she finally coupled up with MC, I found myself doing a happy squeal and was relieved to have the house to myself! It takes a lot for me to have a connection to a character, but once I do I care with all of my heart.

- To follow on from the analysing people point, something else I remembered. Analysis can definitely come from being isolated, which I can confirm there. From Year 1 until Year 4 of primary school, I was entirely alone as my only friend had left me, which had a serious impact on me. It landed me with a fear of rejection so I preferred to be alone. I’m still working through that and helping myself grow. Having connections with people does scare me, a lot, so I do find myself scaring people off by accident or not trying at all. Connections usually appear from people seeking me out, I’ve gained actual people recently through that. People abandoning me will always be a worry for me, which is why I do find myself apologising far too much and doing everything I can to maintain connections with people until there’s a valid reason to let them go.

- I also struggle with being open and vulnerable with my feelings so I can relate heavily to her there. I have to have a strong connection with someone or trust them enough to properly be honest with them. Meaningful connections do take a while to develop for me. She also feels so real and true to life, that’s something I’d likely say about most of the characters of this game.

- She’s also very observant and picks up the subtleties of people in general. I do that too, but I don’t base my entire reading off my observations and what I hear from others. A weakness for her is likely her tendency to rely heavily on reading people over getting to know them herself, and basing her perceptions of people on her observations.

- She can come across as quite cold on first impression which I relate to. I’m like an onion or a pineapple, my spiky exterior/ multiple layers put people off getting to know me, but once they get past my walls and spiky exterior I’m a very warm and loving person. That observation there is based off what people have told me. I do scare people off without meaning to. Marisol as a character does divide opinions herself, which makes sense. I tend to lean towards characters who are more underrated and divide opinions, the more popular characters don’t tend to draw my attention. There’s been exceptions to that rule, and it’s not deliberate either, it’s just the type I automatically default to. Once Marisol trusts people and lets down her walls she’s so loving and so warm. That’s definitely something I’m drawn to in a LI, someone who you have to work through their layers to find who they truly are.

-She’s also very ambitious, which is something we do share there. I do have life goals and have been called intelligent by a lot of people. She’s pretty stubborn and set in her opinions too, which I also relate to. I have experienced personal growth opinions wise, but it has to be me making the decision and coming to that realisation myself. Marisol’s like that too, I feel.

- Right, this is getting so super long! If you’re still with me, wow. Anyway, something I dislike about her is definitely the game playing. Having her use Graham to try and make MC jealous is pretty cold, especially when Graham actually liked her. Playing through Casa did hurt for that reason. I was slightly hesitant about taking her from him, as they seemed to be really compatible during Casa, but I worked through that pretty quickly due to her being the only one I was compatible with.

I think that’s finally it, in terms of analysis points. This has been sitting about for a while, so I’ll finally publish it!

[angria]

I’ve also been somewhat worrying that I’m too enmeshed and dependent on T...

Before continuing, yes we do have boundaries and discuss them frequently.  And I’m fully open and honest (at least try to be) when I’m struggling with them.

With that, I’ve been trying to think why I’m spiraling so bad, because a lot is due to his current situation and comparing it to my history.  He has had other family emergencies in the past where I didn’t necessarily react attachment-wise, but the only thing different I can think of is that this one has to do with his kid.  When I have so much parental transference and attachment to him, along with my stupid wish (again, we talk about this frequently).  Consequently, I have some level of a meltdown because I’m upset around the changes to routine and the details on top of guilt that I’m reacting this way when it is due to an important, significant, understandable reason.  I’m not this way to this degree with others, like my psych, E, etc....yet I also hold back a lot to avoid the rejection triggers of when they leave (yes, this is my disordered thinking).  Whereas, I do not hold myself back when talking to T because I need to be open and vulnerable with my emotions/thoughts/symptoms.  In addition to having more trust in him than others.

And it’s a two-edged sword...the reason T tells me about the situation with some personal details (to an appropriate extent) and its timeline is that he knows people with attachment trauma usually panic from all the horrible what-ifs running through their minds, particularly ones about whether the therapist hates them, wants to leave, etc.  So he tries to provide a more detailed context in order to avoid that.  Janina Fisher (and others) illustrates how people with attachment trauma benefit from as much reasonable detail as possible compared to other types of illnesses (obviously it ultimately depends on the individual and their situation).

So I appreciate how open he is being because it does help with those abandonment fears, but at the same time, lights up all the attachment stuff.  I wonder if it is unique to this situation due to it involving T’s kid?  Because those other family emergencies did not trigger this.  Describing all this, I don’t know the lesser of two evils...ask him not to go into detail when it has to do with his kids and risk the abandonment what-if panics OR know about the details, mostly avoiding those abandonment panics, and have attachment meltdowns? And now that I think of it....it may still trigger a meltdown because when he doesn’t go into detail as usual, I’ll know it has to do with his kids....

Probably need to tell T this....except I am so, so terrified about telling him to not share details when it comes to his kids because I don’t want him to then stop sharing details all together.  Since it does help with the panic, plus shows me that he is human and has a life.  That I’m not talking to this brick wall.  I’ll have to think about it....once this situation has calmed down.

(I am not looking for comments over whether T is being inappropriate or breaking boundaries.  What I write on here is merely a glimmer of what goes on in our sessions, T’s 30+ years of professional experience, and a lot of times, it’s me emotionally venting so it may come across as more negative.  This post is for me to record my thoughts since my memory is shit).

[honouraryweasley12]

Remembrance

At Shell Cottage, Ron and Hermione grieve a fallen hero. In doing so, they must face some truths long-hidden and make a decision about their future.

Also on FF.net

The sunlight streaming through the window provided ample light, but the sprawl of words in front of her were hazy, Hermione's own thoughts preventing her from focusing. It was rare for her to have such difficulty, especially when she was reading for sheer enjoyment. Her recovery had taken a lot out of her, and she'd been pouring her remaining energy into the planning of their next task.

A lull in the strategizing was a welcome change, yet she felt unsettled. Like she should be doing something more meaningful with the precious respite they had been granted. Time seemed to slow at the cottage, her first real breather since August.

The book lay still in her lap as she stared at the window, her eyes misty as she recalled the blur of empty oppressive days and narrow escapes, living in fear and paranoia.

So much had happened, the most recent as terrible as anything she could recall physically, and certainly the worst thing she'd ever personally experienced—the wiping of her parents' memories an extremely close second.

The torture she had suffered was not something easily forgotten, being so close to her own demise shook her to her very core. She found tears would come unbidden, as they were presently, at the most random times. Her hands had started trembling, and any loud noise startled her. Through it all though, she had found her source of comfort and healing.

Ron.

She smiled and wiped the wet trails running down her cheeks. The pretense between them had been shattered. That night had been a wake-up call that anything could happen, and it spurred them both, especially Ron, into action. They were no longer afraid to be openly affectionate and supportive toward one another. She didn't care about being vulnerable in front of him, if it meant an embrace and the soothing warmth of his hand rubbing slow circles on her back.

It was their silver lining.

She sighed, putting aside the book. She wanted to embrace his attentiveness as much she could, until their time ran out. It wouldn't be long now until they had to abandon the safe haven of Shell Cottage and attempt another incredibly dangerous mission.

Their so-called plan was foolish at best, fatal at worst. It was high risk but also high reward, their first real lead on a Horcrux in ages. The chances were grim, but at least there was a sliver of hope. She didn't want to think about that now, especially the myriad of potential outcomes.

The urge to see him seized her. Gingerly, Hermione got out of the bed and shivered, her skin erupting in gooseflesh as a gust of cool sea air blew into the small bedroom. She eyed the jumper he'd thrown over the back of the chair, where he'd been spending time with her at every possible opportunity. Debating for a second, she slipped it on and took a deep breath, his scent a balm for her frazzled nerves.

Slowly making her way down the stairs, she could hear muffled voices from the small living room. Turning to the kitchen, she found Harry, staring hard at the white wood of the quaint table as he turned that lucky shard of glass over and over in his hands, a reminder of what they had suffered through.

She almost couldn't bear to look at her friend in such a state of despair, opting instead to glance around Bill and Fleur's kitchen. Something was missing though—or rather someone. Ron was usually around to keep Harry's spirits up, so it struck her as odd that he was alone.

A sudden panic gripped her, her heart pounding in her chest. Where was he? Had he left? Her hand flew to her chest and she tried to take a calming breath, despite her obvious stress.

No, he wouldn't do that again. He'd promised her, and she believed him. The demons that had been plaguing him months ago had been pushed away with the destruction of that insidious locket, at least for now.

She hated that this was her first reaction, still scarred from his last departure. The bruises on her heart were a sickly yellow, healing but not completely gone.

Stop it, she chastised herself silently. He had more than made up for it since his return. Even now, after she'd been through such a painful ordeal, he was showing such consideration and concern for her. A deft touch that she never would have suspected he possessed. This is how she thanked him? By doubting him, yet again? By dwelling on a mistake she knew would haunt him forever?

She felt disgusted and angry at herself. He'd come through for her  innumerable times, the doubt the last vestiges of lingering hurt. She didn't trust anyone more than she trusted Ron, that much she knew.

Harry, who suddenly looked up from his stupor, raised his brow at the large letter 'R' emblazoned across her torso. He must have noticed her misery and nodded his head towards the door. "He's outside."

"Thank you," she whispered, watching her friend's face as it fell into deep thought once again, the weight on his shoulders crushing him.

Pushing open the door of the cottage, she stepped out, squinting from the bright light. Too many days of darkness had taken its toll, the freedom of simply being outside, in the open, felt foreign. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the harsh rays and began walking toward her source of comfort.

Ron was crouched down, all limbs and fiery red hair, messed from the breeze. He had matured, they all had, far too quickly. His transformation upon his return had shocked her, but her self-erected barricade hadn't allowed her to express it.

She hugged herself as she walked up, the too-long arms of his jumper enveloping her thin frame. It was a poor substitute, having felt his warm embrace more in the past few days than she had over the previous seven years.

He stirred slightly as she approached, stilled by her hand on his shoulder. His weathered plaid shirt was soft under her fingers. She almost laughed at how easily they'd transitioned to something more than they'd ever been. How natural it felt to just give in and touch him without fear of rejection. The years they spent skirting their feelings seemed rather silly now.

She waited, giving him time. She was learning not to rush him. That he would often take a minute to organize his thoughts the way he wanted to, rather than feeling the pressure of replying before he was ready to. It was just the two of them on the bluff, with the churning sea below. Nothing else existed except the memorial in front of them.

The crudely carved stone held a heartbreaking epitaph. Such simple words for someone who had made the ultimate sacrifice.

Ron sniffed, his voice rough. "He was so fucking innocent."

She squeezed his shoulder in agreement, watching from above as he twisted a pair of worn socks in his large hands. After a moment, he gently laid them down at the feet of the plot and placed a stone on them to keep them in place.

He cleared his throat before continuing, his voice wavering. "I wish I could do more, besides giving him Bill's old socks."

Her eyelashes prickled with tears at seeing how deeply Dobby's death was affecting him. Beneath her hand, his body shook for a moment and calmed. After taking a deep breath, his voice broke the silence, quiet but firm.

"I've thought—for a while now—that if the time came, I'd sacrifice myself to help Harry. So many have. Maybe that's all I would be good for. The expendable Weasley. Seemed like I was made just for that purpose. Now..."

She held her tongue, wanting to admonish him for even considering something like that, to extol his virtues, and tell him how truly broken she felt during his time away. How much he meant to her, Harry, and everyone that knew him. Something stopped her; she was curious to hear where he was going with this.

He glanced up at her, his piercing blue eyes filled with an intensity she'd never seen before.

"Now, I... I don't feel as if I could, knowing what I might be leaving behind... what could happen if I dared to think I could make it through this."

That one look told her everything. Everything. His remorse, his fear, his love for her. She was the reason he wouldn't do something foolishly heroic. Even though he already had in rescuing her.

She could see his continuing struggle, his anguish. The waves of tension were palpable, his muscles straining under her fingertips.

"It feels so wrong to want something, to want happiness. Look at Harry—he's given up everything for this war. I bet if he could sacrifice his life to end it, he would in a heartbeat."

Seeing his pain so openly caused her chest to tighten. She wanted to wrap him in a hug and spirit him away. Just the two of them, hidden from the rest of the world.

Her voice was soft in her ears. "It's not selfish to want to live, Ron. To want something more after this war. There's a life beyond this that I dream about, too."

As he watched her, she tried to convey everything he meant to her through her eyes. That the life she imagined included him, could only be with him.

He gave her a slight nod, as if telling her he understood. Slowly, his hand reached up and met hers, their fingers loosely intertwining.

"I'm scared, Hermione. Scared for Harry and my family. Mostly terrified for you, of losing you. Almost did."

He looked away, but Hermione knew what he meant. She shared the same fears, unvoiced but ever present.

Ron sniffled again and let out a quiet cough. "Those were the worst moments of my life, in Malfoy Manor. I felt so bloody helpless. There was nothing I could do."

She didn't mean to say it in the moment, but it slipped out. "We're even now."

His neck twisted up and he stared at her with wide eyes, his expression one of incredulity. "You can't mean..."

She nodded, her eyes wet. "When you left, I was so afraid I'd never see you again. I was utterly heartbroken and there was nothing I could do. Whatever the locket was doing to you was a form of torture, too. It must've been for you to leave. That wasn't the Ron I know."

He protested, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. "You can't compare the two! You didn't choose to be tortured, and you still didn't give in. You weren't the stupid git who left!"

In that moment, she knew in her heart she forgave him, that he had come back and ultimately saved her. She was hit by a sudden realization.

"Don't you see? It doesn't matter anymore! Whatever happens, we'll find each other again. My voice brought you back, and you were there to rescue me!"

She felt his posture slump.

"I didn't though, not really. I couldn't even take your place." Ron's voice dropped to a whisper, almost lost in the breeze. "I couldn't stop them from hurting you."

"It was an impossible situation, but you saved me, Ron. Everything you did that night saved me. Your screams for me, the way you fought them, getting me here safely. Harry told me—"

He shook his head. "I got lucky, so fucking lucky. Dobby was the real hero," Ron said, staring back at the carved stone. "Hermione... he died... so... so you could live. He didn't have to help us save you. If it was Harry he was worried about, he would have just brought us here first and then maybe tried to rescue you. But he didn't. Without him... I would have lost you."

His words rung in her ears, a horrific truth. "He died... so you could live."

She hadn't thought of it that way. In her head, she’d equated the loss of Dobby with another loved one protecting Harry. The impact of it hit her, and she stumbled back a step. Ron was on his feet in an instant, pulling her to him as they cried, together. Mourning the loss of such a selfless, compassionate soul. Releasing the pent-up emotions of almost losing one another. Ron held her tightly and she was reminded of Dumbledore's funeral. This time, however, Ron dropped loving kisses into her hair.

She pressed her face to the flannel of his shirt, her tears soaking into the cloth. She held onto him, anchored to the cliff by his strength.

"Dobby was so incredibly courageous. Gods Hermione, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't saved us all. If he hadn't sacrificed himself."

"He saved me, Ron. But so did you."

He looked down at her, brushing away her tears with large unsure thumbs. Their eyes met, the gaze between them deep.

"Sod it!" He suddenly declared. "You-You are the most important thing in my life, and if you hadn't survived..."

She pressed a finger to his lips, causing them both to shudder. "I did, and I intend to finish this and have the life I want. With you. But..."

"Not until this is over."

She nodded. "Alright, Ron?"

"Yeah," he agreed, but he couldn't resist pulling her against him once again.

They stood there for a moment longer, silently paying their respects to the one who gave them a chance.

"I swear Hermione, I'll never forget what he did. I'll never be able to thank him or repay him."

"All we can do is honour his memory and keep fighting."

Ron nodded his head in agreement. It was all they could do for the future they both so desperately wanted.

As they turned to head back to the cottage, she thought she heard him whisper a final thanks to Dobby.

They were quiet as the walked down the cliffside, their hands clasped. A new determination had overcome them. They were going to fight. They needed to be as brave as the departed elf.

As they reached the cottage, Ron playfully nudged Hermione, the amusement obvious in his voice. "You know, maybe SPEW wasn't such a bad idea."

"It's S.P.E.W!"

[bonemarroww]

Something Else - Trans!(O) Amajiki Tamaki x (A) F!Reader

Summary: “You’ll get there someday!” Mirio always says. “You’ll do better next time.” Tamaki doesn’t want to get there someday. And if every Alpha always does, well, maybe he’s something else then.

Warnings : Crochet inaccuracy, probably. Also, confession stress.

Feedback is welcome !

(I do not own the picture)

AO3

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

——————— Chapter 3

“I j-just don’t know w-what I should do.” Tamaki admitted, his head comfortably against the wall of Nejire’s room.

Ever since he had come out to his best friend (and a little later, to said friend’s mate), things had been going rather well. They had not really changed when out and about, as to most he was still the shy Alpha from class 3-A. He didn’t mind it too much, for luckily, though people identified him as an Alpha from his scent, it was a subject unlikely to be discussed in most contexts. As long as he could be himself around his friends, so far, he was satisfied.  

Since Mirio and Nejire knew, Tamaki had taken to just leaving his nest made in his room, simply locking the door on the off chance that someone else would visit him while he was not here.

One thing bothered him, though, and that was not knowing how to behave around the Alpha that caught his interest. The thought of telling her of his feelings as an Alpha was only slightly less dreadful than that of coming out to her. He was at a dead end.

“I’m pretty sure she likes you.” Nejire shrugged. “She would probably accept any kind of confession, if it’s from you. A letter maybe?”

The shy boy shook his head, sighing defeatedly.

“She’s b-been raised t-to be the best Alpha. I have to be m-more traditional than that.”

From behind him, he could hear Mirio humming.

“So that leaves making her a homemade gift, or asking her to scent something, depending on how you want to go about it.” The blonde thought aloud.

Tamaki shook in his shoes as he remembered his dreadful attempts at any sort of crafting when he was younger. His father had tried to get him to crochet, his go-to practice when nervous, and his mother had tried to take him woodcarving; but young timid Tamaki hadn’t even known how to make the simplest bead bracelets or drawing.  

The intent behind it made the craft feel so overwhelming. He had quickly decided he would wait until finding a potential mate before trying again any of these.

“Maybe I should just s-stay like this. M-maybe if I just keep spending time with her as her f-friend, I’ll g-get used to her presence...”

Nejire was quick to come grasp his hand, pouting.

“Come on, I’ll teach you how to make these cute little thread bracelets! Or Mirio could show you how to patchwork a blanket.” She offered.

The sad Omega shook his head.

“These bracelets d-don’t last forever...” He sulked against the wall.

Tamaki tuned out Nejire’s coos about how much of a closet romantic he was at heart. The obvious answer would be to ask her to scent something for his nest, but he didn’t want to come off as not making enough efforts to court her.

“Maybe you could ask her.” Mirio helpfully decided. “Tell her you don’t know where to begin, have her help you. Maybe she’ll even tell you her favorites.” He coaxed.

With a sigh, Tamaki timidly looked away from the wall.

“Y-you think?” He tried to mask the hopefulness in his voice.

The blonde Alpha and his mate looked at each other, feeling they may have finally breached the shy boy’s defenses.

“I am certain.” The bubbly Omega grinned.

.

Much to Tamaki’s relief; his Alpha friend –and secret flame– had been ecstatic at the idea of helping him in his future courtship. She had first asked a lot of questions, the kind that left him with burning cheeks and ears, as he told her he couldn’t tell her yet.

When asked why, he had panicked and said he wasn’t sure of his feelings yet, and that he wouldn’t want to embarrass himself telling her if it was to be rejected soon after by said potential mate.

She had seemed to believe his lie – as he was positive there was no one else on this planet for him but her and her sweet scent.

The Alpha had given him clues as to what he could try; saying in passing how crochet was her favorite way to go. It took time, dedication, and a lot of love for someone to go through the exercise. Tamaki immediately chose it.

Next was what to do.

“If you were an Omega.” She looked at him in the eyes. “What would you like best from your Alpha?”

The shy boy had thought for a moment, unwilling to make his feelings too obviously out in the open. Looking for words, he fumbled with the rim of his shirt; suddenly aware of how hot the day was. Had his cheeks been this flushed the whole time?

“I-I guess I would w-want something that m-makes me think of t-them... S-something p-personal between us...”

In her smile, he knew he had a given a good answer.

“The key to a good gift is to make it thoughtful. Show the Omega you’re courting that you understand their needs and can provide.”

Early on, as she made him choose what colors he felt could be best for his work, Tamaki knew what he would do. He could not identify a single fault or need in her being, but he could make something that called back to their shared history. A scarf.

He chose a soft green that reminded him of the comfort her smell brought him, and a pretty pearly white that suited her bright personality.

His Alpha chose her own colors, so she could teach him by example.

They settled in her room, in the 2-B dorms. It was the first time one of them discovered the other’s sanctum. Amajiki took in the soft colors of her walls, white and green. She had told him these tints helped to calm her Alpha down, when it proved to be restless. For some reason, Tamaki felt even more nervous to be in her den. Sure, he had already been in Mirio’s dorm room several times, and knew visiting each other’s den was something most Alphas didn’t have trouble doing nowadays...  

It probably didn’t feel any different to her than showing her place to one of her Beta friends, he thought, his Omega sorrowful, as it was simultaneously ecstatic to be shown around his Alpha’s place.

The room was drenched in her scent...

“It’s not easy, but don’t worry too much. You’ll get the hang of it soon.” She reassured him, sitting on her bed and him on her chair, as she showed him how to crochet with her own project.

Her colors were a light blue, a pale purple and white.

She spent an hour showing him different simple knots, letting him decide which ones he preferred. Feeling overwhelmed, Tamaki chose the first one she showed him, internally freaking out too hard to concentrate on the others. She also showed him how to change the colors, and gave him ideas of patterns.

They started immediately; the shy boy afraid he would forget if he was to leave now. He knew he wouldn’t have the courage to ask her again another time.

His beginning was sloppy, and he abandoned his first pattern idea when he struggled to change the color on a bad first try. Still, when they decided they were too tired to go on, Tamaki actually felt proud of what he had crafted.

The Alpha hadn’t asked more questions, so neither did he, but he had noticed while working in comfortable silence that her work was quite wide. Was she making a blanket? These gifts were very popular among Omegas. Easy to scent, soft enough to be put in a nest, warm. Tamaki wondered if she was just making it to accompany him, or if she too had someone in mind to gift it to.

.

Tamaki got his answer the next day, after class, as they had agreed to continue working on their projects in each other’s presence as soon as they could. Mirio had cheered for him as quietly as he could manage, and had batted away his fear of her having an Omega in mind. All in all, after spending the day with his friends and discreetly repeated the moves the Alpha had taught him, the shy boy was quite eager to get his courting gift (he still couldn’t think the words without blushing madly) finished.

At the time they had agreed on, Tamaki made his way to her dorms, hiding his face bashfully whenever he caught the gaze of one of her classmates.

A very tired looking Alpha opened the door to him, and seeing the bags under her eyes, and her hair ruffled from sleeping, Tamaki panicked. Had he mistaken her invitation of the passed day? Should he have checked by text if she was available? Or, worse, had she forgotten about him? His inner Omega wailed at the prospect.

“Oh, come in!” Her gaze lit up slightly when she noticed it was him. “I’m sorry for the state I’m in, I didn’t get much sleep.” She yawned as she moved from the door.

Tamaki nodded, and found his spot from the day before. As he got his halfway project out of his bag (where he had made sure it wouldn’t get messed up), he noticed she didn’t.

“A-aren’t you f-finishing yours?”

A bad feeling seized him then, only confirmed by the Alpha’s bashful expression.

“My Alpha wouldn’t let me sleep until I finished it. She’s very eager to give it away.”  

There was no sound coming from the third year, though he wondered how to talk over the painful crack of his broken heart. His Omega whined, the urge to nest for comfort strong as he contemplated the pitiful work he had done.

“Oh.” he simply said.

He wouldn’t cry in front of her, he decided, as the urge to felt more and more intense.

The girl apparently felt his distress, though she misunderstood its origin.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m still here to help you, and I’ve got plenty more yarn to show you if you don’t remember well the gestures.” She reassured him, voice sweet, her calming scent a bit stronger.

Tamaki eventually managed to keep on his work through the sorrow. If the Alpha noticed his sadness, she didn’t comment on it, as she read over her homework while he crafted.

The elf boy didn’t dare ask her how her mate reacted. Eyeing her when she wasn’t looking, he could see her small smile through the exhaustion. If she had confessed her wish to court an Omega, the lucky person had most likely accepted.

Who wouldn’t? Tamaki got angry at the very notion that someone might not share her feelings. She was the most perfect Alpha, even to those who weren’t her mate –or not even Omegas, to her knowledge. He knew that very well.  

After some time, all his thoughts blinding him, Tamaki realized what was supposed to be the end of his scarf was now a mess of knots not even closely resembling what he had in mind.  

Ruined. His courting gift was ruined .

A tear escaped him, despite his efforts not to let it upset him.

He would never be enough for her. What Alpha, or even Omega, would want to wear such an ugly thing?

The Alpha must have felt his distress in the air or in his scent, for the next moment, she was all over him, her hand on his shoulder and her cheek pressing against his hair as she leaned down to take a look at his failed attempt at a scarf.

“I-it’s r-ruined.” Tamaki choked up, unable to keep the tears in.

Instantly, she coddled him, whispering sweet nothings to make him feel batter. She pried the fabric from his hands, inspecting the place where everything had started to go wrong.

“It’s okay, Amajiki... It’s salvageable!” She smiled at him. “If you only let me...”

The boy took the thing from her, heart on a full-on crisis. What use was he if he could not even make the girl he loved a proper courting gift?

“Y-you c-can't! I-It's supposed to be m-made on m-my own...”

He saw in her gaze that she understood the real struggle. Her eyes became soft, her soothing words becoming cuddling as she took it upon herself to comfort him.

“It’s fine... It’s only the first time you’re making this, you should have seen mine when I first learnt...”

And then, for some reason Tamaki would never understand himself, he told her. He told her in a cracked whisper, voice wet and miserable from his tears and body shaking.

“I-it was sup-supposed to b-be for you...”

As soon as the secret escaped him, two things happened at once.

One, he realized the nature of the confession he had just made, his hands flying to his mouth as if it would still keep the words in.

Second, above his hurried apology, a loud, loud purr was heard.

So loud, he felt it emanating from her chest against his side; so loud, he barely could think above its rumble.

When he dared look into the Alpha’s face, confused, what he found in her gaze was nothing less than joyful excitement.

“Really?” She exclaimed, crouching in front of him to get a better look at his eyes, from beneath his bangs.

His Omega quieted its cries at the excited contentment showing on her face, and the continued purr. Tamaki nodded shyly.

She stood up, practically ran to her dresser, and came back with a grin and a folded bundle of light blue, pale purple and white that she promptly thrusted his way.

“It’s a plaid. You can use it as a loose scarf –I know you don’t like anything too tight against your neck– or as a small blanket. I thought it would suit you well.”

For the first time, the shy boy saw her expression grow bashful.

“That is, if you accept it as my courting gift.”

Tamaki’s cheeks burnt, and he felt like hyperventilating as he felt the honesty in her voice. The purr hadn’t lessened, louder than he knew an Alpha could express their joy. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, overwhelming as they were.

“I-I do. Ac-accept it, I mean...”

A mess of jumbled words escaped him, and when he nervously stopped talking, afraid of making a fool out of himself, Tamaki only found fondness in her gaze.

“Then I declare you, Amajiki Tamaki-”

“J-just Tamaki is f-fine...” he interrupted shyly.

“-my mate. Tamaki .” She repeated his name as though to prove a point, equal parts amused and tender.

————————

I know absolutely nothing about crochet, and so, forgive me for any unrealistic detail about the making of their courting gifts. I read that a scarf could be made by a beginner in under 6h with favorable choice of yarn; as for the plaid made in one night, let's just collectively agree that she has a side quirk that allows her to crochet faster than is normal.

On a happier note : Tamaki got a girlfriend ! Yay !

PS : it's not the fact that he's an Omega that prevents Tamaki from crafting a gift, but the responsibility it holds that makes him too anxious to do it. ;)