#a woman grieves the loss of her father with his mother in law

[impgall]

A woman talks to her maternal grandmother and the whole world collapses

[seresinsbabygirl]

i am yet again rewriting my tgm story. ages ago i saw a Hangman edit to Family Line (by Conan Gray, which I'm listening to right now), and the caption (and comments) were something along the lines of, "what if his home life made him act like the cocky ass he is?" and it stuck with me.

We have;

Enzo Seresin, 56-years-old, fathered five children to three different women. Jake with his first wife, Auggie with his mistress, and Spencer, Noelle and Hallie with his second wife. Enzo immigrated from Italy to the United States with his parents and sisters when he was a child, and grew up in Austin, Texas, where he would later raise his youngest children.

Jacques "Jake" Seresin, at 36-year-old, as the eldest of his siblings. His mother is French, and named him after her father. He's often called Jake and prefers it since it is easier for most to pronounce, but also because Jacques is used by his mother when he's in trouble and associates his full name negatively. Jake has hated Enzo since the divorce, and especially more so when he found out about the reason why.

Estelle Allard, 55-years-old, is Jake's mother and Enzo's first wife. She moved from her loving home in France to be with Enzo. When she discovered his cheating, Estelle was convinced by her sister-in-law to divorce him and file for full custody of her son. Since the divorce, Estelle has done what she could to raise her son to be better than his father. Even after Enzo's actions, Estelle holds a good friendship with her ex-husband's former mistress, Constanza.

August "Auggie" Montalvo, who is 29-years-old, is the eldest daughter to the father. Her mother hails from Puerto Rico, and she was taught Spanish from a young age. Since she never really knew Enzo, Auggie was taught Italian by her aunt and occasionally speaks it with her older brother. She never tried for a relationship with her father, as it was clear to her that he decided before she was even born that she meant nothing to him--despite him forcing her name on her mother.

Constanza Montalvo, 49-years-old, is Auggie's mother and Enzo's mistress. When she found out she was pregnant, Constanza moved from Florida to be with Enzo, only to find out he was already married to a lovely woman six years her senior with a 7-year-old Jake. Distraught over this revelation, Constanza told Estelle of Enzo's cheating and let her decide what to do with the information. When Enzo's sisters learned of their niece, they begged Constanza to stay in Texas and let Auggie grow up with family. She became close with Estelle after the divorce, and she raised Auggie with her older half-brother, Jake, in her life.

Spencer Seresin, a 29-year-old doctor, was also a product of his father's affairs. Born five months after his older half-sister, Spencer was labelled as a year younger to lessen his father's affair and make him seem like the product of Enzo's new marriage to Spencer's mother. He would later become an older brother to twin sisters, who--like his older half-siblings--Spencer would come to protect from his father.

Noelle "Elle" Seresin, at 26-years-old, is the second-born twin of Enzo's youngest children. She knows what her father has done, and for the sake of both her mother, and her eldest siblings' mothers, Elle chooses to turn a blind eye. She refuses to broach the topic of the cheating that led to her older half-sister and her older brother. Elle feels she is the only one still grieving the loss of her sister. For Hallie, she tries to maintain a stable relationship with Jake and Auggie, but they continue to hold her at an arm's length.

Hallary "Hallie" Seresin, forever 17-years-old, was the older of the Seresin twins. An accident took her life in her late teens, severely impacting her twin sister's relationship with their older half-siblings, who only appeared at her funeral out of respect for her, Spencer, Noelle and their mother, and out of spite of Enzo. Hallie looked up to her eldest brother and sister, despite only meeting Jake a few times in her childhood and only hearing stories (complaints) about Auggie.

Stephanie Seresin, 46-year-old, is the mother of Spencer, Elle and Hallie, and the second wife of Enzo. She more-or-less views her children as a means of keeping her husband around rather than actually caring for them. Despite this, she was still grief-stricken by her teenage daughter's death. She views her husband's eldest children--who she refuses to call her step-children while also demanding they call her Mom--as entitled bastards that didn't deserve her husband's attention in the first place. Stephanie loathes Estelle and Constanza purely for their children's existences.

So, this family is a little torn, and a little broken, but they make it work as well as they want to. Hangman doesn't overly want to be close to his younger siblings, but continues to try for Estelle's sake. Especially since she's so close with his half-sister's mother.

[thegreymoon]

The Story of Minglan

Are these two lowlifes serious?

I know that China and Chinese dramas are big on filial piety, but come on now. There has to be a point where even Confucianism says it's OK to boot out toxic relatives on their asses when they literally come for your life and livelihood.

***

That's right, Minglan, get up and walk away from this bullshit.

There is no need to even give them the time of day.

***

Fuck off.

Also, if your rapist, human-trafficking shitbag sons get beheaded? It will be no great loss for humanity.

Unfortunately, Gu Tingye will eventually save them, or if he absolutely refuses, the Emperor will do it himself because he will not be able to stand having his favourite subject's name sullied. Endless hate.

***

LMAO, your wife is pissed off.

Get your shitty relatives under control.

***

Wait. Are Xiaotao and Shitou a thing?

Is that something that a thing that happened and I slept on it?

***

Again, I have to reiterate how lucky Minglan is to have married Gu Tingye, who is a man with a brain and a spine, and above all, is madly in love with her.

He will always shield her and stand up for her, which is what the losers Qi Heng, He Hongwen and Liang Han would never have done.

Also, fuck Qi Heng yet again. This is all his shitty doing. He has done so much damage to her reputation! She is married and his garbage is still following her. She's just lucky that she is now out of his reach and he and his shitty wife can no longer touch her.

***

LMAO, I love them 🤣🤣

***

Don't you just love it when people who deserve no respect crow about not getting the respect they think they're due 🙄

Bitch, you just tried to blackmail her and then dragged up her past to have him divorce her. Fuck you.

***

My guy, your cousins are rapists and traffickers preying on the powerless.

If the Emperor was to execute them this instant and you didn't lift a finger to help them? You would still be right. Scumbags deserve to die. There are at least two rapes that they committed and blamed you for that we have been made aware of since this show started, in addition to other obscenities.

Let them die. Let them all die and start the family over from scratch with Minglan.

***

Fuck you.

You did not hesitate one second to throw Minglan to the wolves. You must have known her shitty in-laws would do nothing good with the information you gave them, and yet you still went there and told them anyway. You and Qi Heng deserve each other. Go forth and have a miserable existence together!

***

Snatch him back? LMAO, you never had him to begin with!

Also, let me just LMAO here over the fact that there are apparently multiple women out there fighting over Qi Heng's loser ass.

***

Lady, quit while you're ahead.

Your time is over.

***

Jesus Christ, his back 😵

And he still grieves for his pos father. It's only a pity they did not let him see him on his deathbed so that he could spit on him before he shuffles off to the underworld.

***

At least you still remember that he saved your worthless hide.

Go fuck yourself and maybe reconnect to reality while you're at it.

***

Oh, ffs.

I thought Tingwei was going to be a good guy because he did not take part in setting Tingye up, but it seems like he is also a weak-minded imbecile and a rapist. Any man having sex with slaves and trafficked women is a rapist, no ifs or buts about it. Fuck him. He can get beheaded right along with his shitty cousins.

This entire family is just pure crap from top to bottom. The only one resembling a decent human is Gu Tingye and even that is only because he took after his mother and was raised by his mother's people.

***

Aww, poor baby, he was instigated into taking two concubines 🙄

It's not like he could, you know, just not stick his stinky dick into every woman he can.

[beardedmrbean]

T. LOUIS — A 19-year-old woman is asking a federal court to allow her to watch her father’s death by injection, despite a Missouri law barring anyone under 21 from witnessing an execution.

Kevin Johnson faces execution Nov. 29 for killing Kirkwood, Missouri, Police Officer William McEntee in 2005. Johnson’s lawyers have appeals pending that seek to spare his life.

Meanwhile, Johnson has requested that his daughter, Khorry Ramey, attend the execution, and she wants to be there. On Monday, the American Civil Liberties Union filed an emergency motion with a federal court in Kansas City. The ACLU’s court filing said the law barring under 21s serves no safety purpose and violates Ramey’s Constitutional rights.

Ramey, in a court declaration, called Johnson “the most important person in my life.”

“If my father were dying in the hospital, I would sit by his bed holding his hand and praying for him until his death, both as a source of support for him, and as a support for me as a necessary part of my grieving process and for my peace of mind,” Ramey said.

Johnson, now 37, has been incarcerated since Ramey was 2. The ACLU said the two have been able to built a bond through visits, phone calls, emails and letters. Last month, she brought her newborn son to the prison to meet his grandfather.

ACLU attorney Anthony Rothert said if Ramey can’t attend the execution it will cause her “irreparable harm.”

Meanwhile, Johnson’s lawyers have filed appeals seeking to halt the execution. They don’t challenge his guilt but claim racism played a role in the decision to seek the death penalty, and in the jury’s decision to sentence him to die. Johnson is Black and McEntee was white.

Johnson’s lawyers also have asked the courts to intervene for other reasons, including a history of mental illness and his age — he was 19 at the time of the crime. Courts have increasingly moved away from sentencing teen offenders to death since the Supreme Court in 2005 banned the execution of offenders who were younger than 18 at the time of their crime.

In a court filing last week to the U.S. Supreme Court, the Missouri Attorney General’s Office stated there were no grounds for court intervention.

“The surviving victims of Johnson’s crimes have waited long enough for justice, and every day longer that they must wait is a day they are denied the chance to finally make peace with their loss,” the state petition stated.

McEntee, a husband and father of three, was among the police officers sent to Johnson’s home on July 5, 2005, to serve a warrant for his arrest. Johnson was on probation for assaulting his girlfriend, and police believed he had violated probation.

Johnson saw officers arrive and awoke his 12-year-old brother, Joseph “Bam Bam” Long, who ran next door to their grandmother’s house. Once there, the boy, who suffered from a congenital heart defect, collapsed and began having a seizure.

Johnson testified at trial that McEntee kept his mother from entering the house to aid his brother, who died a short time later at a hospital.

Later that evening, McEntee returned to the neighborhood to check on unrelated reports of fireworks being shot off. That’s when he encountered Johnson.

Johnson pulled a gun and shot the officer. He then approached the wounded, kneeling officer and shot him again, killing him.

The execution would be the first of three in the coming months in Missouri. The state plans to execute convicted killers Scott McLaughlin on Jan. 3 and Leonard Taylor on Feb. 7.

Sixteen men have been executed in the U.S. this year. Alabama inmate Kenneth Eugene Smith had been scheduled to die Thursday for killing a preacher’s wife in a murder-for-hire plot, but the execution was halted because state officials couldn’t find a suitable vein to inject the lethal drugs.

[jennamarsdcn]

STATUS: Closed for @sophia-mendoza

LOCATION: Covington General Hospital

This was never part of the plan. In general, Jenna was fine. Of course, the first few weeks were rough, especially considering she wasn't only grieving the loss of her husband but grieving alongside her children who just lost their father. There was no time to remain in bed. She couldn't shut down and simply grieve. Her little ones needed her and she needed them to get through it. And so they came first. She did everything she could to make the worst thing that happened in their short lives survivable. And when the dust settled, Taye was buried and she heard them giggle for the first time since his passing and sadness didn't immediately cloud their eyes after, she knew she had succeeded. But something was lost in the process. She might have been the perfect mother and widow, following some unwritten script the world expected of her so they could go 'Oh, she's so strong' but what remained untouched by healing was Jenna - not a mother, not a wife, but the girl whose entire past, future, and heart was lost in a single moment. And she buried herself so deep in grief and duty, she never truly came out. But Jenna was fine.

The only person who knew it wasn't so was Silvia. Silvia who lost her son and who seemingly understood Jenna's pain best. And so they grew closer and when Silvia told her of theraphy, Jenna was all for it. However, her tune changed when her mother-in-law announced that her therapist moved into town and how Jenna should use the help. Pushed by good intentions, it still hadn't had Jenna convinced but somehow she still ended up at the hospital, looking for one Sophia Mendoza. It's not that she didn't believe in theraphy, she wholeheartedly did, she simply didn't know how to approach it.

With her legs crossed, Jenna now set with Sophia in a moment of comfortable silence after she finished giving her all her personal data to match with what was in the system. "So, Silvia won't stop singing your praises. Not just as a therapist, she's become your biggest fan all around. It's really nice to see and hear. She's a sweet woman, she's been through a lot. I'm glad she has someone to talk to who isn't just me or the kids."

[clouseplayssims]

Oregon Trail TS3 Sim Narrowdown

Cut for length.

The Altos

"An utterly ruthless businessman, Nick Alto, along with his wife, has plotted the misfortune of almost everyone they've met."

"As charming as she is unscrupulous, it is highly unfortunate for all of the town that Vita Alto is a politician with any sort of power."

"Holly somehow managed to develop the polar opposite moral code of her parents and is constantly striving to turn them to good."

The Clavells

"Bessie lives modestly with her husband and grown son. She mostly stays home and takes care of her men. She is somewhat of a wallflower and others sometimes take advantage of her."

"Buster has had a full life, but now he just wants some peace and quiet. The only problem is that his grown son is still living at home and always seeming to create a racket."

"Xander still lives at home with his parents. He's a grown man who likes to party and have a good time; he's in no hurry to face life out on his own. And why move out if he's not even planning to get married?"

The Hansons

"Larry will do anything to make his family happy. Can he keep up with Shauna's elitist needs?"

(No other descriptions provided.)

The Harts

"Bebe Hart has a hard time as the only responsible person in the entire Hart lineage. It's no secret in the neighborhood that both of her parents are slightly insane, so Bebe feels that the neighbors' eyes have been scrutinizing her for ages, just waiting to see if she'll crack too."

"Dorie doesn't seem to have goals. Her clothes don't match and she seems to prefer odd hairstyles. She's friendly and enjoys company, but isn't always on the same page as everybody else; some suspect she may have some mental issues."

"Although Gus acts childishly and somewhat oddly, he is charismatic and very family-oriented."

The Idahos

"Running the town's newspaper has been Irwin's passion, but he's looking forward to retiring soon. He wished Marie was more interested in books if for no other reason than to improve her grades."

"Georgia enjoys her friendship with her husband but thinks he doesn't spend enough time at home with Marie and herself."

"Marie would rather run around outside and play in the mud than be cooped up all day with a book! Books are great and all, but they just are not what Marie looks forward to in life."

The Keatons

"Top-notch police woman, Justine has to control her hot-hotheadedness at work. Will becoming a mother help her to have more patience?"

"An all-around great guy, Marty's one drawback is that he is somewhat neurotic. He doesn't think it interferes with his life too much, though, so how would having a baby in the house be any different?"

"If the pregnancy is left alone, the baby tends to be born a boy, with the virtuoso and loves the outdoors traits. The baby will be born with dark skin, like the parents. However, the hair can be either brown or black, depending on who it is inherited from."

The Lums

"Lawrence Lum is a bright, friendly teen with outgoing parents. Will he take after his computer whiz father or social climbing mother?"

(No other descriptions provided.)

The Monroes

"Herger hopes to follow in his dad's footsteps and start a career in law enforcement after graduation. But he keeps that from his mother so she won't worry about it. For now, he's just happy to have fun playing with his brother."

"Marcella Monroe is still grieving the loss of her husband. At least she is blessed with two well behaved boys who are always ready to help her around the house."

"Randy shares his mother's love a good book. He's happy his best friend and brother Herger is their to help him take care of their mom."

The Wainwrights

"Blair Wainwright, youngest member of the household, was an only child and somewhat of a loner, so she's a fish out of water living with five strangers. Is she a fool to think that her brains alone can see her through difficult times?"

"Boyd spends his work day sitting at a messy desk, typing away at a computer. He spends his days off at home sitting in a messy living room, typing away at a computer."

"The only thing that keeps Susan working such long hours is that she likes having expendable Simoleons to spend on all her toys!"

The Williams

"Aimee Williams is a marvel in the kitchen, but her husband Marley is a bit of a dreamer. Will he be able to support the two of them and little Malika, or will Aimee have to use her skills to earn some dough?"

(No other descriptions provided.)

[americancowgirl19]

She’s King

Summary: You take your father’s place as King despite being a woman. In order to make peace and end the war you agree to meet the prince - who ends up being your fated mate. You can only hope your fated mate gets along with the mate had chosen before you met him.

Warnings: angst, grief, fluff, little bit of smut

Reader: Alpha Female Reader

Pairings: Beta Frank Castle x Alpha Reader - Omega Matt Murdock x Alpha Reader

Word Count: 2601

A/n: Modern Royal A/B/O AU

Masterlist - Part two!

The kingdom is in mourning. The great king is dead; killed on the battlefield. The Lords are doing what they can to keep the peace among the people. The last thing anyone wants is for panic to spread whilst in the middle of the bloodiest war known to history.

You buried your father today. Even the Earth seemed to mourn this loss. The rain poured with such vigor that it raised the creeks and flooded the paths the enemy army might have driven down to siege the royal castle. You knew that the first chance they got they’d march right here and attempt to take the throne. Your father had no male successor. The throne is vulnerable.

You stood beside the throne with your siblings as the people greeted your mother, the widowed queen. You were right beside her. Everyone turned to you directly after giving their condolences to her. You knew what everyone was thinking but nobody has yet to say it out loud.

You’re not the eldest child. You’re somewhere in the middle of roughly a dozen other siblings. Twelve children are a bit obsessive, right? Your parent must have loved making babies and raising kids. Well, not exactly.

In your kingdom, and all the kingdoms in the land, it is law that only an alpha could succeed the throne. While you had older brothers and sisters - and younger ones as well - you were the only one out of the liter to present as an alpha. Your presentation out ranked your older siblings who only presented as either betas or omegas.

So, the twelve siblings weren’t due to the fact that your parents loved children. They were trying to conceive a male alpha. It’s the only thing in their reign they failed in.

While the kingdom mourned the loss of your father - their king - you mourned the future you had planned. You mourned the freedom you could have had; the life you could have lived.

You knew tomorrow would be the coronation. They couldn’t afford to wait. If there was nobody on the throne when the enemy arrived, then it would be all too easy for them to take it. While your mother was still alive, she was only a grieving omega queen who didn’t truly understand the art of war and the politics of man. She played her own realm of politics. The king and queen had two very different jobs; she wouldn’t know what to do.

Your father, fearful that he would never conceive another alpha, taught you how to be king. He prepared for every possibility and knew that when the time came it wouldn’t matter that you were a female; the job would fall upon your shoulders. He needed you to be prepared; he needed to know the kingdom would be in good hands if he should fall.

Tomorrow you will be crowned king. Your mother will remain queen until you find your own omega to take her place. It wouldn’t be an easy task. The omega would have to be a male; they’re as rare as you are.

When the night was over, and everyone was dismissed you returned to your room. Your ladies helped take the pins from your hair and undress from your clothes. Despite it being modern times, you still found the corset to be a nice touch to pay homage to the past.

They asked you if you would need anything else; you declined and bade them good night. The instant the doors were shut the man hiding in the dark corner came to the light. When you looked at him the emotions from the day rushed forward. You didn’t have to put up a front with him. You trusted him implicitly.

“Come here, baby,” He whispers, beckoning you forward. With a few large strides you’re in his embrace. He holds you close, and you nestle into his shoulder. He doesn’t give you his condolences or give you false promises. The two of you are past such formalities.

The two of you end up in bed. You’re laying between his legs, your head on his chest. There’re no clothes keeping you from the skin-to-skin you desperately need. You close your eyes and listen to his steady heartbeat. He slowly combs his fingers through your hair; periodically massaging your head.

“We could still do it,” He whispers. Your heart drops instantly knowing what he’s talking about. “We could be across the ocean before they even knew you were gone,”

“They’d find us... Maybe not soon but they would,” You whisper back. “It would be a life on the run and when we’re dragged back how could I look at anybody knowing I left when they so desperately needed me?”

“How could you help them after they treated you?” He asks, the anger coming back to his voice as it always does when talking about this. 

“Frankie baby, you know it doesn’t bother me how they treated me,” You whisper, lifting your head. “It doesn’t matter what my personal feelings are. It’s my duty, my responsibility to take the throne.”

“And what about us?” Frank asks. Your legs move over his to straddle his waist. You move up his body and hover over his face. “I’m not exactly good for your image, baby,” 

“What?” You ask teasingly. You lay back down on his chest and move your head just to the side to rest on your palm. Frank’s head follows you, unwilling to break eye contact. “I think telling the world that my chosen mate is the famed Punisher is exactly the image I need,” You whisper only half joking. “Your reputation is world famous. Everyone would cower at the thought of you. Kingdoms would think twice about moving against us,”

“But I’m only a beta,” Frank whisper. You sigh. Your eyes fall shut and your head presses against his. He instinctively holds you closer.

“But you’re only a beta,” You mutter knowing it wouldn’t be enough to hold the crown. You needed an omega. Omega and alpha parings had nearly a large chance at producing an alpha offspring whereas alpha and beta pairings rarely conceived them.

“You’ll look beautiful tomorrow,” He whispers, gently changing the subject. “You’ll take the throne and kick ass. You’ll bring us back to peace, I just know it,”

If only he realized that in order to bring peace would to the kingdom would be to marry the enemy’s nephew - a prince who happened to be an omega. The rival king took his throne with much controversy. The previous king had died mysteriously paving the way for him to take it. It was supposed to be temporary until the prince was old enough. Only the prince is blind, and people are hesitant to put him on the throne.

However, you taking the throne is the perfect solution for them. With your marriage the war ends, an alliance if formed, and they hand off their blind prince. Your kingdom wasn’t crazy about having a blind queen, but they were desperate for an end to the war.

You were king. You wouldn’t be pushed into anything that you weren’t certain of. You agreed to a private meeting but guaranteed nothing more. It was enough to pacify the other kingdom into pausing the war.

“What’s his name?” Frank asks, watching you get ready.

“You know his name, Frank,” You mutter going your makeup. You refused to let your ladies help get you ready. You wanted as much time with Frank as possible.

“Tell me,” He demands. You bristle a little at the demanding tone, but you force yourself to calm. You look through the mirror and sigh.

“Matthew Murdock,” You whisper. Frank’s jaw ticks. “You knew this was going to happen,”

“Didn’t think it would be so soon,” He growls. Neither did you. You were only king for four months. Within those four months you were quickly proving to be an even harder opponent than your father in regard to the war. You were more ruthless and daring. The bloodiest war was becoming worse, but you were winning. If a truce could be made over marriage you would consider it.

You quickly finished your makeup before walking over to Frank. He was sitting on the side of the bed pouting. You gave him a small smile while gently taking his face in your hands.

“I love you, Frank Castle,” You whisper. He softens and grabs your hips greedily. “And no number of omegas will change that,” You promise.

“What if he doesn’t like me? What if he demands you send me off? I’m not supposed to be with you in the first place,” He mutter. You smirk resting your forehead against his.

“Every king has had their concubine,” You mutter teasingly. He lets out a quick laugh and tugs you into a kiss. “I’m king... I’m not going to let anyone chase you away or send you off,” You hand moves from his cheek to the collar of his shirt. He shivers when you pull it to the side. “I claimed you a long time ago, beta,” You growled possessively. He moans as your lips suck and your teeth nip at the mark. “You’re mine,” You growl reclaiming him.

Frank chokes on a moan, his fingers bruising your hips at the sudden rush of euphoria. He lets out a shaky breath struggling not to cum in his pants. Wanting him to do exactly that you nip at the fresh wound while suddenly palming him through his pants.

“Fuck-” Frank chokes again and cums in his trousers like a teenage boy. You hum approvingly and lap at the bite mark.

“Good boy,” You whisper. Frank couldn’t help but to preen at the praise as he rides through the blissfulness.

“You always pick the worst times to do that,” Frank grumbles, as you pull from his neck.

“Whatever do you mean?” You ask, tilting your head. He shivers again when his shirt brushes over the mark. “Just be happy I didn’t claim a new spot,”

“Then I’d never let you leave,” He growls.

You loved claiming Frank. He always made the sweetest sounds and produced the most intoxicating scent. He currently had four claiming marks. Every time you made a new mark the sex... damn, the sex was wild and insatiable. 

“I’m sorry I can’t stick around to help you clean up,” You whisper, running your thumb over his lips. “I’ll make it up to you when I come back,”

“If you come back smelling like that fucking omega then I’ll fuck you all night,” Frank growls.

“Promises, promises,” You wink. “I’ll be back tonight,” You gently kiss his lips and pull away before he could pull you into the bed. “Feel free to stay messy until I return,” You wink at him. “I wouldn’t mind coming back and licking you clean,”

Frank groans loudly and falls back onto the bed. You laugh slipping out of the bedroom.

“Have your way with that sexy beta?” Natasha asks, smirking knowingly as she finds you and matches your pace. You growl warning her to keep her voice down. Your inner circle knew about Frank - only those you would trust with your treasure - but everyone else was oblivious, hopefully.

“Is the car out front?” You ask. Natasha hums nodding.

“Yelena had it brought around. You sure you don’t want us coming with you?” She asks.

“I don’t want to arrive with an army,” you tell her. “Things are already tense, and this is neutral ground. I don’t want to break neutrality,”

“You honestly think he’ll be alone?” She asks.

“No,” You shake your head putting on some sunglasses as you stepped outside. You send Natasha a quick look. “And neither will I,” You mutter before walking to the car.

Natasha, having heard the message (follow and protect from a distance), instantly springs into action. Once the car is on the way she grabs Yelena, Kate, and Wanda. The four of them follow your orders and protect you from the shadows.

“Your majesty,” A man bows before you as you reach the destination.

“Has the prince arrived?” You question.

“Yes, he is inside. As I asked his guards, I must ask that yours remain out here,”

“I only brought my driver,” You inform him. You motion for Jarvis to return to the car before entering the building.

You had different expectations when you imagined meeting the prince. But finding out that the man in front of you is your destined omega was not one of them.

The instant you entered the building his scent wrapped around you. It surprised you so much that you were frozen in place. You breathed in deeply and it simply consumed you.

“Alpha,” His whimper strained as if he didn’t want to make a noise but couldn’t help it. Your eyes snapped open and zeroed in on him.

“Omega,” You growled closing the distance between the two of you. You didn’t touch him, but you stood as close as you could. You knew your eyes were dilated but you help your desires back. You didn’t want to startle him.

You lifted your hand, and as if he could sense it, he flinched away. You were hurt but you shushed him softly. He doesn’t move again as you close in on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” You whisper, gently running your fingers along his jaw. Matt shudders and instinctively moves into your touch. The light graze of your fingers seemed to open a flood gate. Matt needed you to touch him. He hadn’t had a gentle touch since he was a boy. The two minutes you’ve been in this room have been the most time he’s felt safe since before his father died.

“Alpha,” Matt whines twitching. He wants to touch you but fears of crossing a line. Reading his body language, you take a leap and pull him close.

Your arm slips around his waist and he takes that as a sign to give in. His head finds its way to your neck. You don’ realize you’ve been doing it but you’re purring to calm his anxieties.

Your arm tightens around his waist while your hand threads through his hair. He snuggles closer to you. He doesn’t want to hope but he can’t help it. For the first time he hopes he can get out of his kingdom. His kingdom of corruption and murder. He wasn’t a helpless omega. He tried to bring peace and squeeze out the corruption of his kingdom, but it proved to be impossible. His own family was at the heart of it all. Maybe with you he could actually have the power to change things instead of running around in a mask at night.

“Matthew,” You whisper. Matt hums pleasantly and nuzzles into your neck. “We have to talk about this,”

“I know,” He whispers back, tightening his grip around you. You smirk and shuffle him over to the comfortable love seat. You laugh softly as he straddles your lap and continues to snuggle into your neck.

“How likely is it that your king is going to end the war should we marry?” You ask.

“He will,” He whispers. “He’ll end the physical war, but he has plans to infiltrate your court. He’ll take your crown from the inside,”

“Do you want this marriage?” You ask him. “To leave your home and come to mine?”

“I do,” Matt nods, lifting his head. You couldn’t help but to lift your hand to caress his face. He leans into your touch. “If you’ll have me,”

[thefanficmonster]

My Hero

Dewey Riley & Sister!Reader (Female); Sidney Prescott & Reader & Gale Weathers; Tatum Riley & Sister!Reader (Past/referenced events) [Scream - set in Scream 2022]

Warnings: SPOILERS for Scream (2022), Mentions of Death and Loss of Loved Ones, Funerals/Funeral speeches, Grieving, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Platonic Relationships

Summary: Y/N’s been through this before and it still hurts all the same if not more.

Requested by @daydreamsofbee  Thank you so much for the request hun! I hope you enjoy the fic and apologize for the long wait. Enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

She watches as Gale steps down from behind the speech podium, tears streaming down her face, tears she’s been trying so hard to hide but has very evidently failed. She can’t process the loss, not yet anyway. She pushed it to the back of her mind, focusing primarily on avenging her husband and best friend rather than coming to terms with the fact that he will never again smile at her, hug her, hold her hand, kiss her. He’ll never be there for her to tell him she loves him again. 

And Y/N of all people can feel the pain most, it’s like a telepathic link connecting her to Gale that allows her to feel the same emotions, the dread, the sorrow, all the goddamn pain. If only she could take some away from the older woman.

A hand on her shoulder startles her out of her thoughts as she watches Gale approach to where the other two women are standing.

“It’s your turn.“ Sidney whispers, giving her friend’s shoulder a squeeze, “You’re gonna be ok?“

Y/N lets out a humorless chuckle at the bitter coincidence of Sidney saying the exact words Dewey had said to her at Tatum’s funeral. It feels like her life has been defined by funerals. One after another, starting with their father who died when Tatum was only three years old. Dewey being the oldest at eleven had a newfound sense of responsibility now weighing on him that took away some of his playfulness and childishness that neither Y/N herself, eight at the time, could preserve. The two threw away a lot of the typical childhood experience to help their mother and make sure their baby sister never felt the absence. They didn’t want her losing that sense of childhood happiness like they had and they were prepared to sacrifice everything for that.

Then she was killed....and their entire world crumbled.

Dewey threw himself into work right after his recovery and even during it, contradictory to what his doctors advised. Y/N was taking care of their mother who was in the worst mental state she had ever been in before.

He soon scurried off to Hollywood, leaving his sister in Woodsboro where she couldn’t leave their mother behind, no matter how much the old woman insisted that she go out there and live her life. Y/N didn’t know what life there was to live when it all seemed to be confined to that very home with her mom who seemed like the only person she had left. Of course, Dewey was there, but he had a life of his own that she didn’t want to interfere with.

She finally saw him again properly when he came back to Woodsboro with her now sister-in-law Gale Weathers Riley who she never thought she’d get along with until they sat down to have a proper lengthy conversation. The two clicked well, much to Dewey’s relief and joy. But little did he know at the time that it would mean she’d later indulge in Gale’s vigilante work to catch the new killer on the loose. Y/N never realized how impactful her involvement would be until the killer went after a loved one of hers - her fiancée.

She came home to find them gutted, a message-mockery to her foolish bravery. A sight that’s been engraved in the backs of her eyelids and haunts her nightmares every so often. 

Shortly after, their mother died. Y/N will admit that this was inevitable, after all the woman died of old age, but that didn’t make it hurt any less, especially not when she had to make a phone call to New York and inform her brother of the loss. The loss that left them the last two of the family standing, alone in a world with so many people to surround them. He had Gale at the time, for a brief period at least, before crawling back to Woodsboro like a coward.

A coward.

Y/N will never forget the way she blew up at him, seconds after she’d been so happy to see him at her door. She couldn’t believe what he’d done, how he’d just up and left his wife like it was the easiest thing in the world. She’d called him that awful name so many times, giving him hell without even taking the time to hear him out. She was hurt on Gale’s behalf and on his, knowing that he was hurting himself by doing what he did. She was angry because he let the love of his life go so easily while she had hers stripped away from her by a ruthless killer.

So, he left. He left his old home to live in a run-down trailer home in the outskirts of the small town. He had never felt worse and more lost in his whole life and he had never been so alone. He’d always had his sister to rely on in the past, whether there be a single mile or a thousand between them, he knew he could always turn to her. But now, he was completely alone, without a purpose and without a goal in life, just a legacy he had become a shadow of.

That’s when that girl Sam came into the picture, seeking his help.

He had rightfully been hesitant, but the need for the feeling of being needed and having any sort of purpose again was too strong. He gave in. He gave in and unknowingly signed his contract with death.

He unknowingly marked that fight at the house the last time he’d ever see his sister.

He died a noble man to many, but to himself he was a coward. He saw himself as nothing but a coward, what his sister had called him. He knew she was right, or at least he thought so.

He died, leaving behind his sister to forever be racked by guilt for what she said to him, the way she acted, not knowing it’d be her last time seeing him. Not knowing his would be another funeral she’d have to attend.

Except, unlike Gale, Y/N can’t bring herself to shed a single tear. Not when she cried day and night after being told what happened to her brother. She has run out of tears, run out of pain to feel, she just acknowledges it. She can barely feel it, but she knows it’s there. She feels she deserves for it to never go away - deserves to die with the dead because that dead is all she had, all she ever had and all she’ll ever have. Her family.

She looks down at the paper with her speech on it, written in her neat handwriting but smudged with ink in a couple of places, result of the wrinkles in the paper and the tears she’d shed on it. The words scramble before her eyes, twisting an rearranging, forming fragments of previous speeches she’s written for a dreadful occasion like this.

‘Dad...he was a righteous man. He always wanted me and my siblings to be like our mother though and I never understood why. I saw him as a hero but he’d tell me not to. When I asked him why, one day, he told me: “It’s because I’m so terribly unlucky, Y/N.” Now I know why he said that - because he knew about his disease long before any of us ever found out...’

‘My sister Tatum was a troublemaker, one who’d find an easily frameable victim in me more often than I’d like....I never thought I’d regret all those times I felt victorious ratting her out to mom when she’d find herself in trouble or all those times when I busted her attempts to sneak out of her bedroom window. I just wish I busted her when she snuck out a few nights ago cause today I’d be waking her up to go to school instead of giving a speech at her funeral if I had...‘

‘I still remember the first time I met Danie. They were the first person I ever had the courage to approach, although it might have been liquid courage but what matters is that I approached them and I made the first move. I was the first to initiate a date and the first to say ‘I love you‘. I would’ve proposed too if they hadn’t beaten me to it. I also wish I was the first to go because now that they have beaten me to it, I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t imagine a future without them. Not when they were my whole life and for such a short period of it too. I’ll forever miss them, that will certainly never change...’

‘My mother’s life has never been easy and I often thought I was a part of the reason why. I mean, my brother left the nest and became his own person and although I stuck around for her sake, I always felt like a burden regardless of my intentions. It was a hard thought to process and stomach but after years of self-deprecation I learned to push it at the back of my mind. And..it never went away until the day she died. Her hand in mine in her hospital room, her last words were: “Y/N, thank you.”...‘

The woman inhales sharply, her jaw clenched as she nods reassuringly at Sidney and Gale before going to take a stand behind the podium, the wrinkled piece of paper held in her shaky hands.

“Thank you all for coming here today for one last goodbye to my brother, to send a noble man like him, a hero, off with the respect he deserves. And although I can’t tell you how appreciative I am of you all coming here, my speech won’t be directed to you. Unlike the other ones I’ve written in the past, and believe me there’s been quite a few, this one will be different. It will be directly meant for Dewey so I hope he takes the time to look down at me for a few minutes and listen.“ Y/N pauses to take a shaky breath before continuing, “Brother, I know in the last days of your life I was far from your favorite person. And yes, I fully understand why and how much I deserve that but that doesn’t make me feel any better about it. If rewinding the clock would actually take me back in time, I’d be lying if I said I’d go back to the day you showed up at my doorstep unannounced. No, I’d turn it way back, to the time where dad was alive, so I could tell him he’s my hero regardless of what he thinks. I’d go back to that night to catch Tatum as she sneaked out of the house and ground her. I’d go back to when I met Danie and I’d probably never initiate anything, as cowardly as that sounds. See, the real coward in this scenario was me all along. I couldn’t stand losing people anymore so I hid and blamed you for not doing the same. I called you a coward for protecting yourself when I should’ve understood you. But still, I wouldn’t go back to not call you a coward. I’d go back to tell you you’re my hero. Like dad was, you were my hero, no matter what you thought about yourself. You were all I ever aspired to be. And I never ever thought I’d lose you. Losing you was such a foreign concept that never crossed my mind, not even for a moment. It was always us against the world and as much as I’d want to call you selfish for leaving me to fight on my own, I know you wouldn’t have done that if you had a choice. I wouldn’t have let you, if I had a choice. But losing you wasn’t an option nor a choice. Regardless, I know you would’ve never left me. You’re not a coward to leave me behind, you’re the hero who sacrificed himself so I can still be here. And although this pain makes me think of you as selfish sometimes, it’s not a grudge I can uphold. You will go down in history, Dewey, you’ll be their hero. But above all to me. You’ve always been and always will be my hero.”

[comeandreadawhile]

Au: Boba gets adopted (pt 2)

Part 1

Boba was adjusting.

Perhaps as well as could’ve been expected, having to learn to live in the stronghold of his ancestral mortal enemies as the child of the only Jedi he’d been acquainted with, but Anakin—his new ori’vod, he guessed, who had first come to the temple around Boba’s age—had also taken a while to settle in. He finally had the option to play with children his own age, who weren’t twice his size, and at least the education modules he was given were similar to the ones his dad—

Boba was trying to adjust.

Boba had clung to Kenobi as soon as the man had set down the clanking bundle he’d brought back to the ship with him, and had held fast from the moment they’d left Geonosis’ atmosphere—even as a medic was fussing over Kenobi’s leg, the redhead simply shifted Boba out of the way, half onto Anakin, who’d sat next to the pair on the flight to Coruscant. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, Boba noted how the teen’s attention was torn between him and his new caretaker, and the older girl closeby also being fussed over by a medic.)

Kenobi was certainly trying to make the transition easier. Becoming a High General in the newborn war with the Separtists, in addition to finding out his current padawan had just weeks ago lost his own parent while they were separated, had certainly given Kenobi enough to deal with without unceremoniously adopting a child. Yet he had, and here they were; two grieving, angry children and an already exhausted Master Jedi.

The Jedi bigwigs—council, Kenobi said—hadn’t taken his impromptu claiming of a child lightly.

He was clinging still when they’d arrived to the temple; an emergency meeting of council members to discuss Kenobi’s findings and their concerns of the dawning war had been called. Kenobi had made no move to separate the child from his person and did quite the opposite when the matter was immediately brought up. Boba remembered thinking that if he held on any tighter, he risked choking his new-found guardian. Kenobi simply shifted him a bit higher on his hip, a better hold, at the deep-voiced inquiry. Over Kenobi’s shoulder, Boba noticed an old Master—surely, the person must’ve been one—with a long snake’s tail instead of legs, peering at him kindly from under a thick mane of white hair.

“He’s mine,” was the explanation Kenobi had given. “I will raise him.”

The same deep voice, that had already sounded tired to Boba, now sounded tense. “You already have a padawan, Master Kenobi.”

“Then it is good that I have no intention of keeping him as a padawan,” Kenobi, replied coolly. “I’ve claimed him as a foundling under Mandalorian law.”

“We are not Mandalorians, Obi-Wan,” said a different voice, less deep than the first and oddly accented. Boba could only see a large pink ear in that direction from where he was hiding in Kenobi’s throat. “I would’ve expected this behavior from your master, but not from you.”

Boba did not need the Force to feel the righteous fury the remark inspired in his guardian. A woman—a togruta, his father once called her people—turned slowly towards the pink ear’s owner.

“Master Piell,” she spoke lowly, “that was uncalled for.” The few other people Boba could see looked similarly indignant, and he felt the tensed arms holding him relax minutely at the woman’s admonishment.

The first deep voice spoke again, “Be that as it may, Master Piell is correct in that we are not Mandalorians.”

“The bounty hunter was, and this boy is.” Kenobi responded as if the last minute hadn’t happened.

“We do not take in civilian children, Kenobi, and that doesn’t change because of your fondness for Mandalore’s people.”

“What would have had me do? Leave him on Geonosis?”

“The Republic’s foster system would’ve been alerted of the boy.”

“—and he could sit in the sand by himself, grieving, until they picked him up? You know how difficult it is for older children in that system to find homes.”

“We,” a pause fell that Boba guessed was spent sending a look to a certain Master, “are not attacking you, Master Kenobi. Even if we could adopt every orphaned child into our fold, there is also the issue of attachment.”

“Are we not honor-bound to help those in need?”

“This is not a simple matter of helping! You know that this goes against our code,” The deep voice replied sharply. Boba felt Kenobi tense again.

“You would choose to abide by our code so strictly and whole-heartedly even if it conflicts with the interests of a child?” There was a chill to Kenobi’s tone that made Boba hope to never receive it. A new voice, old and squawky, huffed.

“Both of you, enough. Argue like children, you do. A bad example, this sets.” A cushion shifted. “On this matter, what does Skywalker say?”

Kenobi shifted his feet a bit before answering, “Anakin’s recently lost his own mother; he’s struggled with his attachment to her the entire time I’ve trained him. It’s my hope they will help each other work through their grief in ways I might not be able to. He’s accepted this boy already, Master.”

The ancient voice hummed, a Boba heard the airy taps of wood against tile. “Master Koon,” the voice sounded undecided. “Helpful, your view may be.” The lilt at the end of the sentence, and the quiet sighs of some councilors gave Boba the impression there was a joke he wasn’t getting. A new voice—not unlike the horns the Cuy’val Dar blew on special occasions, noble and deep despite their hollow resonance—joined the fray.

“There is already a strong connection in place,” this Master stated. “It would most likely prove more traumatic for the boy to remove him from Master Kenobi now.” Another cushion shifted, “Besides, who better in this Order to raise a Mandalorian than Obi-Wan?”

“Matters, does it not, that coming, a war is?”

“From my understanding of their customs, certain sects of Mandalorians took their children to war about this one’s age. Am I correct?” The question must’ve been for Kenobi, because he turned his body and answered.

“Yes, Master. Their coming of age rites are performed at thirteen, but most clans start training and going to war as young as eight. I am familiar with their fighting styles and customs, enough to get this boy through his Verd’goten.” Kenobi turned back to the first, critical, deep voice. “Even if I must do so without the approval of this council. I will not go back on the vow I made.”

The voice like strong music hummed thoughtfully, “An admirable conviction, Master Obi-Wan. Your master would be proud of your morals.” The air suddenly felt warmer to Boba, and the voice sounded resolute as it continued, “A Jedi of this Order killed this boy’s father, so a Jedi of this Order will raise him in his father’s place. That is my opinion on this matter.”

The togrutan woman spoke softly, “Exceptions have been made to the code before now, surely they will again.”

“A vote, we shall have,” declared the squawky voice; in the next terrifying minute, silence filled the chamber as hands were raised or stayed, with the blood pumping loud enough in Boba’s ears he wasn’t sure whether or not they’d announced their decision and he’d missed it until the deep voice from the beginning spoke, tight and stern and tired.

“This council has ruled in favor of you keeping your foundling, Master Kenobi. Raise him as befits this order.” Two sighs of relief echoed into the chamber, and Boba saw as the man with the snake tail nodded, smiling under his beard.

“Before we begin Master Obi-Wan’s debriefing...” the voice like horns chimed in, trailing off behind the sound of linens shifting. “It has been some time since a Mandalorian youngling was within these temple walls.” The voice was closer now, and Boba startled as a hand landed on his head. Turning around in Kenobi’s hold, he met eyes—or assumed so, with the mask between them—with a being he’d never seen before. Boba’s first thought was ‘ugly’, and then immediately felt a pang of guilt for such a thought toward the one who’d spoken so in favor of keeping him and his new guardian together. The clawed, orange hand resting on his head gently ruffled his hair before retreating into the Jedi master’s sleeve.

The togruta had made her way over to them as well, peering down at Boba with wide, steel-blue eyes; she swept a gentle hand over his head much as her fellow master had done. He did his best not to scramble as Kenobi made to put him down. “We should give you a proper introduction, then, shouldn’t we?” He kept a grounding hand on Boba’s shoulder as he spoke. “Masters, this is Boba Fett. Boba, these masters are…” and Kenobi went down the line, first beginning with Masters Ti and Koon, who the. Went back to their fancy chairs, and then turning to go around the circular room. The squawking voice had apparently belonged to an odd little green creature, and then Boba met eyes with his neighbor.

He’d have liked to throw up as cold dread wrestled with hot fury in his gut.

Kenobi quieted, he and the other masters going tense and stiff at the boy’s vast and sudden emotional shift. The one Kenobi called Yoda crossed his clawed hands over his cane and spoke as if he expected Boba to bolt; Boba had half a mind to. “Quite distressed, you are. Why?”

Boba wasn’t quite sure how the words got out with how tight his throat had become. “He killed my dad.”

He’d have spat the syllables had they not been choking him. “He killed my dad with a purple lightsaber.”

Boba remembered little of what happened next—torn between running away and lunging at the jedi master’s neck as Kenobi scooped him up and practically ran out of the chamber—somehow ending up in a garden with a winded Anakin to wait out Kenobi’s debriefing. They’d talked, both of them trying to distract the other from recent losses; Anakin even taught him how to blow off steam by skipping stones in one of the larger fountains. Upon his return, Kenobi snatched Boba up and apologized profusely, not having known Mace’s connection to the boy.

They’d gone back to their quarters, Kenobi promising Anakin they’d spar the next day and discussing plans for latemeal with Boba settled back on his hip. The lull in activity only allowed the boy’s mind to wander back to the events leading to his current situation, and both jedi noticed the spike in Boba’s grief and frustration; Kenobi gave him a gentle squeeze as the first sniffle came. “Any ideas for latemeal, little one?”

“Neither of us have spent much time in the temple the last couple weeks but the commissary will be open for a while if nothing else,” Anakin chimed in, sarcasm threading the edges of his tone. Kenobi gave a small ‘tsk’ in response.

“There were plenty of shelf-stables when we left,” Kenobi pointed out. “Besides, a large loud room full of strangers is the last thing Boba needs at present.” He repeated his previous question, and Boba was more than happy to turn his thoughts to potential answers.

“Something warm...and salty, maybe?”

Kenobi nodded beside his head, “There’s a start. What else?”

They carried the conversation on until the trio reached a door set into the wall. Entering the small apartment for the first time, Boba had been struck at the differences, as well as the similarities, to the dwelling he’d been raised in. The jedi clearly weren’t material people, but compared to the sterility of Kamino’s white halls, the room awash in afternoon sun was extremely inviting despite its foreign nature. Plants, slightly wilted from their master’s absence, littered the space’s windowsills, with books in neat piles and rows within several bookcases nearby. Blankets draped over some on the furniture that Boba could see, and the glimpse of a table around a corner hinted at the location of the kitchen.

Anakin had been tasked with showing Boba around the living space while Kenobi went about the kitchen’s stock. He’d been all too happy with the excitement Boba had shown while admiring his collection of ship models, and once latemeal was well underway, Obi-wan had been relieved to pop in and find, despite recent events, his nineteen year old wasn’t too old to play starfighters.

Boba slept in Anakin’s room that night, a belly full of warm soup—it had been just what he needed—and grateful his first night in this foreign place wouldn’t be alone.

The next few days had been a flurry of activity, between the Jedi preparing themselves and their padawans for war, barely being instructed on how to lead the men they’d be assigned—who Boba tried not to think of—and bouts of quiet, where Boba tried to become more comfortable with his new home. Obi-wan, who insisted Boba call him that instead of ‘Kenobi’ his second night at the temple, had begun trying to teach him to meditate, saying it would be a good tool for when he felt stuck or frustrated. The Jedi master said they would pick up Boba’s training soon from where his dad left off.

Boba missed his dad. It certainly leant to his hatred of being alone, and despite the newness of their situation Boba couldn’t help feeling paranoid whenever Kenobi left to attend to some matter or other. What if something happens? What if they change his mind? Will someone else take me? Would someone else want me? What if Obi-wan never comes back?

Yet, each time Obi-wan would return with a tired smile and hug, asking how he and Anakin got along that day. There had a time within the first weeks, with warning of course, that Obi-wan had been gone for a couple of days, and after Boba’s anxiety at their separation came to a head the first evening, Anakin had pulled out a holocomm. He’d pulled Boba onto his leg and suddenly a blue hologram of Obi-wan, unfortunately soaked, sprung up from the device. They’d called again the next night, too. Boba had run to the door the next day when it opened, and was briefly halted. He’d used to run to the door when his dad came home from a hunt; was he forgetting his dad by showing this Jedi the same excitement?

He filed the conundrum away for later when said Jedi called his name. The man’s arms were filled with boxes, with more trailing behind him. “I’ve got some things for you,” he’d said.

To say Boba could’ve cried at what was in those boxes would’ve been inaccurate. Because he did, in heavy sobs, when he opened the first and pulled out one of his dad’s shirts. Going through the boxes with tear-filled eyes and an almost frantic determination to make sure, Boba found that everything personal from the Kamino apartment was in those boxes; his and his dad’s clothes, his dad’s books and even some that had belonged to his ba’buir, and the entirety of the armory his father kept apart from Slave I, among everything else. He tackled Obi-wan’s legs in a hug, wet hiccups making him unsure which language his stuttered thanks was given in. He’d slept in his father’s shirt that night, clutching two more like lifelines.

Boba began his education modules shortly after Obi-wan’s return, content to do them while Anakin went through his saber practice or as a distraction when Obi-wan was busy in with the council. Grief was difficult, especially so sudden a loss, but he was adjusting while working through it. He and Anakin sometimes swapped stories of Jango and Shmi, and it felt good to talk about them even if it left the boys misty-eyed afterward. Boba was trying to adjust.

Then details of Obi-wan and Anakin’s first deployment came.

[phoenixblack89]

Fera Ingris

Chapter 2: Fuck My Life

So I skipped Vatos. Couldn't get it to work at all the way I wanted it to but did get this finished. Next chapter will probably be out in 2 weeks. It's done but needs editing.

Anyhooo. Enjoy. If ya wanna be tagged so ya don't miss please message me or comment on this! Also up on a03.

Tags: @lilythemadqueen @writingdeadangel @boondoctorwho @fandomsaremykryponite @browneyes528 @darylsgirl

Daryl was pissed. Beyond pissed. The whole rescue Merle plan was nothing but a shit show from the start. First finding Merle's hand and no body attached to it. And no meds for the girl. Then Glenn being nabbed. Then the Vatos and that whole carry on. He was not in the best mood when they discovered the van had been stolen and they had to run back to camp. 

"Stupid Merle. Why didn't ya wait asshole?" Daryl grumbled to himself, panting as he followed the three in front of him and hoped he got back before something else bad happened as the sky began to darken. 

*

The walkers had somehow snuck into camp. Shrieks from the children, cries of pain and the vicious sounds of heads being bashed in or blowed out by bullets was all she could hear as she tore through the woods to help. She had gone out to check the snares she and Daryl had left further out in the woods early this afternoon and had found a fair few with small rabbits or birds in them, which she had slung from a rope hanging from her shoulder. Each step causing the critters to bash against her ribs, her two headed axe bashing painfully into her back. The screams and noise grew as she got closer. 

She shoved her bow over her shoulder and whipped out her axe and slowed her running. She came to a dead stop as the growls of eight walkers echoed loudly around her. She'd run straight into a group of the undead bastards without realising. 

"Fuck my life" She muttered as she started swinging her axe at the nearest walker, swirling it over her head. 

*

"Come on! Hurry!" Rick yelled from in front of Daryl, their ears being assaulted by the sounds of the camp being attacked. Daryl shouldered his crossbow and accepted the rifle from Glenn as they ran up the hill. The chaos in front of him made his blood race as he started shooting at everything in camp, taking care not to hit any one living. His eyes scanning continously for the young woman he had begun to enjoy spending time with, hunting and not. 

In what seemed to Daryl as hours, but was only 15 minutes, the camp had been cleared. 

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as Rick thanked Shane for protecting his family as others grieved the loss of theirs. Daryl walked around camp quickly, eyes lingering on every corpse, his heart pounding his ribs in fear as he realised Phoenix was no where to be seen. 

"Shane!? Dale?! Where's Phoenix?! Ya see her anywhere!?" He demanded, storming up to the former police officer having checked every bloody body on the ground. Shane ran his hand over his head and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Nah man, last I saw her was this mornin' when I took over watch." Shane said quietly, his heart now worriedly gripped by fear for the Brit too. 

Jacqui slowly made her way over, hands shaking in shock still. 

"I saw her this afternoon, not long after we had to stop Jim. She said something about checking some snares or something. I wasn't paying much attention, I was busy. Maybe she's still out checking?" She said, grabbing hold of her crucifix around her neck in worry. 

Daryl grunted and began scanning the tree lines for his, possibly only, friend. He turned to speak to Rick about going to find her when a scream came from the woods. He glanced at Rick and took off in the direction of the woods. Rick, Shane, T-Dog and Glenn followed after him. 

*

5 down, 3 to go...

Phoenix thought her breath coming in short sharp gasps as she pivoted to face the next walker. Her axe gracefully span around the top of her head as she threw all her remaining strength into her swing. The sharp curve of the double blade head making cutting through flesh and bone like butter. She grunted as the head splattered into a waterfall of crimson and black. Her arms ached, her head was lightly throbbing with adrenaline and her energy was fading quicker and quicker. She span on her heels as growls grew around her once more. Another walker fell to her axe and sheer brutal anger. 

The last walker was formerly a large male, his stomach as wide as he was tall, making T-Dog and Shane look short; she tugged at the axe still inside the previous walker's skull but it wouldn't come. 

"Oh shit." She muttered, her fingers fumbling with the latch to separate her axe into 2 shorter and one handed weapons, the wound on her hand began to throb and pulse painfully. The walker got closer and she dropped her axe and slid to her knees, kicking out to knock the walker down. Unfortunately the beast's size worked against her and it fell onto her. She screamed as this was the first time in a long while she had been so close to one and without a weapon in her hand. 

Her hands quickly and harshly shoved the gnarled face and life ending teeth away from her body. Her arms felt like jelly holding the enormous weight off her. 

"You ugly fucker." She growled, arms already wobbling and shaking with effort. She needed to somehow roll the creature off her and get a hand free to pull her buck knife, her knife being painfully trapped between her thigh and the walker's massive stomach. She pulled one of her legs free and wrapped it around the waist of the heavy weight man and tried to flip them. It was no good. It was just too heavy for her slightly smaller frame to do. 

"Fuckkk" 

Her hands had begun to slip, her injured one burning fiercely and getting weaker faster, the wound beginning to ooze blood slowly. Her whole arm was burning, almost as if the flames were still licking along her skin, her chest ached from the weight, she could almost feel her ribs starting to crack as she struggled to breathe. She sighed and pushed with all her might. The teeth slowly getting closer and closer to her face as her vision started to swim towards the inky blackness. She turned her head and screwed her eyes up so she didn't have to see the disgusting pieces of rotten flesh trapped between its teeth, praying to a god she wasn't sure she still believed in that come the opening of her eyes she'd be reunited with her boys. 

A whoosh zipped through the air and the next second the full weight of the walker crashed down onto her far smaller and warmer body, pushing all the air out of her in a big gasp. She waited on baited breath for the feel of teeth taking a chunk out of her and it never came. She slowly opened one eye and realised the body on top of her had gone completely still. Footsteps near her had her twisting against the dead walker to face them, dark red-brown boots slowly came into sight as they walked closer and knelt down near her head. 

"Wha'd I tell ya 'bout comin' out 'ere on ya own?!" Daryl snarled down at her, before a half smile raised the corner of his lip with a small chuckle. She gave a short sharp laugh of her own before glaring at him.

"Ya cozy down there? Do ya need a moment alone wit' ya new beau?" 

"Screw you Dixon and get this fat fucker offer me!" 

Daryl smirked and stood up, using his foot to roll the walker off her. She slowly sat up, and took a huge gulp of air. Shane and Rick held their hands out to help her stand, she waved them away and stood. Her head throbbed and she swayed slightly to one side. Daryl put his hand on her arm to steady her and quietly regarded her. 

"You alright?" Glenn asked, his face pale as he looked around at the mess her frenzy had caused, blood splattered the trees and the ground, brain matter and bone fell in chunks on the tree trunks and the dry soil. She nodded at Glenn, giving Daryl a look and grabbing hold of her axe to tug it free. 

It refused to budge. 

Glenn, T-Dog and Shane began to make their way back towards camp. 

"Come on you sucker." She growled, grabbing the shaft of her axe with two hands and pulling. It finally flew free and she landed hard on her butt. Daryl barked out a laugh and shook his head. "Shut it Dixon!" She huffed and stormed ahead back to camp as the sun began to slowly rise over the treetop. 

"She's a fire ball that one. Might wanna watch yourself Daryl." Rick chuckled as the pair began to follow, Daryl gave him a look and raised his eyebrow in question. Rick shrugged and smiled slightly. "Just saying! Get too close to fire and you get burnt." 

Daryl ducked his head and smiled slightly to himself.

I wouldn't mind getting burnt by her, not at all he thought to himself, watching the girl's rear as she stormed in front of him. 

*

Phoenix stopped suddenly as camp came into her line of sight. 

So much blood and destruction. 

Carol, Sophia and Andrea were sobbing and clinging to their fallen loved ones. Tents were ablaze and being snuffed out by others. The Morales children clung to their mother and father as did Carl to Lori. Dale stood atop the RV on guard. 

"Oh fuck." 

Shane and the other members of camp were busy doing a headcount or putting the tents that were on fire out. She felt relieved Daryl had saved her once again but at what cost? How many more did they have to loose before everything stopped? Before the dead were actually dead and stayed that way? Until society and law and natural order was restored. Why would her god, a supposedly loving, kind god allow such a thing? Her heart felt heavy enough, this was such sheer cruelty and brutality. 

A hand clamped down on her shoulder and she jumped, her buck knife quickly leaving its sheath. Another grabbed the blade before it hit home and a grunt sounded behind her. 

"Stop tryin' t' gut me girl." Daryl hissed as he removed his hands from her. "Come on, we got grunt work t' do." He gave her a little nod and walked away. 

*

They'd worked through the morning to get some sort of order back into what was their safe little haven from the plague gripping the world. Sweat, blood and tears were falling to the ground with every step of every man and woman able to help with the clear up. Andrea laid her head bent low on her poor deceased sister's chest. Carol and Lori had settled the children down to sleep in the Grimes tent, Carol's being covered floor to roof in Ed's blood and other gory remains. 

What was left was being carried to the pile where Daryl and Phoenix were making sure they stayed dead, Daryl with a pick axe and Phoenix using her own custom made axe. Carol approaches the pair silently and almost immediately the pair stop their actions and watch her come to a slow halt. 

"I'll do it. He was my husband" her voice weak with the tremble of unshed tears, despite being an arse hole and abusive, Carol had loved Ed. 

The evidence of that being the little girl who slept soundly inside the Grimes tent despite the trauma of the night before. Daryl shares a quick glance at Phoenix, who watches almost cautiously and she gives a tiny almost unseen tilt of her head. Daryl handed Carol the axe he had been using and stands slightly back, closer to the other hunter and watches as Carol heaves the heavy weapon to her shoulders and with a cry throws it down into Ed's remains over and over again. 

The gore splattered around the former's head is almost a therapy for the small grey haired woman who had suffered so much at his hand. Carol is heaving in air as she stops and stands straight, wiping tears from her face as she silently hands Daryl the ax, as quickly as she came she leaves. 

Phoenix smiled bitterly and reached for the feet of Ed as Daryl took the ruined face under his arm, holding him by the shoulders. They carry him towards the fire where T-Dog and Glenn are burning the walkers bodies. Glenn looks up as they approach and stands. 

"No." He says quietly. Daryl and Phoenix drop Ed's body with matching grunts and wipe their arms across their faces.

"What?"

"We bury our dead." The Asian man says defiantly, pointing at Ed. Daryl raises his eyebrow and glares. 

"Don't matter. He ain't gonna feel it." Daryl huffs. 

"He's dead, don't matter what we do to the body. He's already burnin' in Hell, his fucking useless carcass should burn as well. Fucker deserves it!" Phoenix hisses, she agrees with Daryl. Who knows how long the virus or whatever it is that makes the dead rise would survive without a host. Last thing the world needs is it sitting in the ground and poisoning the land itself. 

"NO! We bury them. They're not monsters! We are people. People bury their dead. To honor them. If we don't... We might as well give up our humanity."  Glenn exclaims passionately, glancing around at the group, who had fallen silent and were watching the exchange. Phoenix glares down at the ground and walks away. Her head spinning and her hand throbbing again. 

Damn Merle, couldn't even get me some meds she thinks, her vision starting to grow blurrier by the second. She walks to her bike and sits down, leaning lightly against its dark green frame. Daryl joins her soon after. 

"Hey" 

She shields her eyes with her arm as the sun gives the older man a halo of light. "Hello angel" She smirks up at him and nods. 

"You okay?" He asked, shuffling from one foot to the other. A nervous habit she found quite funny as her mind thought of another she knew with the same habit. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, it felt filthy and coated in grime and god knows what else. "Rick says we're gonna head t' the CDC."

"Hmm"

"I know we ain't the most... We ain't friends or anythin'" 

"Oh DD! Here's me thinking we were!" She laughed lightly, as he sat down on his haunches beside her. He gave a slight chuckle at her as she nudges his leg and he lands on his backside beside her. She gives him a small side smile and gets one in return.

"Yea maybe." He shuffles around anxious about what he's about to say next. "I ain't sure but thought... Maybe... If ya... If ya want... Ya could ride wit' me, in the truck." He chews his lip and waits for the rejection he's sure is coming. "'s okay if ya don't." 

"Actually, I think it might be for the best Dixon." His eyebrows shoot off into his hair at the quiet mummer he hears. "I ain't feeling too hot." She says as her head feels heavier and her eyes grow dimmer despite the bright light in front of her. She turns her head to the man beside her and he becomes a blur of shapes as she loses consciousness. Daryl quickly grabbing her before her head made contact with the ground and laying it across his lap, worried beyond anything, his fingers running over her arm gently as he chewed his lip to bleeding point. 

*

Groans fill the cab of the faded blue truck as she begins to stir. An arm is around her waist and is pulling her into the cab. 

"Wah?!" 

"Shh girlie. Let me get ya settled." Daryl says quietly, sitting her on the bench seat and putting the seat belt over her shoulder. "Ya passed out."

"Huh." She replies, feeling sleep call her backwards once again. "My bike... Tent..." 

"I got it."

She mumbles something that Daryl is sure sounded an awful lot like Murph before gently closing the door. He sighs and walks over to T-Dog. The large man looks up as he nears and nods. 

"She okay man?" Daryl nods, eyes darting to the RV where Jim lays dying from the bite wound. "Her hand is getting worse ain't it?" 

"Merle was gettin' 'er some meds. Didn't see any when y'all came back." 

"Don't worry man. We're gonna be at CDC soon. They'll have something they can give her."

"I ain't worried. She's a fighter. She faced worse and got through it." 

Both men are quiet for a while, Daryl remembering that awful day that earned the girl the huge cut along her eye and the fear she felt around everyone. "Gimme a hand wit' her stuff will ya?"

"Course man." 

The pair quickly gather the bags strapped to the back of her dirt bike and throw them into the rear of the cab along side her bow and axe. Daryl wonders why she kept the large duffel bags on the bike all the time and why it weighed so much but it wasn't his place to go through it so he ignored it and returned to her tent. He felt a touch guilty about being in her safe space while she wasn't with him, especially knowing he was about to touch her belongings. He grabbed the open duffel and began to pack it with the pile of clean clothes beside her bed roll. He blushed as some of it fell and a lacy purple bra and panties set fell onto the ground near his feet. 

Damn, ain't gonna be able t' look at her t' same, not that ya ain't been lookin' already he thought as he stared at the delicate items. He felt his cock twitch the longer he stared and quickly grabbed them and stuffed them into the bag. His cheeks still slightly red as T-Dog opened the flap. 

"You got another chain on your truck?" 

"Yea, let me just finish in here. Then we'll get her bike up beside Merle's" he ducked his head more to hide his embarrassed and slightly turned on face from the man, grabbing the lantern and boots from around him. Shoving them into the bag quickly, T-Dog entered and began to roll the blankets and sleeping bag up. The pair made quick work of packing Phoenix's tent up, even taking it down and rolling it up. It and her bags thrown into the back of the cab next to Daryl's own scant belongings. The bike proved to be easier moved than the pair thought, it sat perfectly in the small gap between the two walls of the truck bed and Merle's monstrous Triumph, secured down with a long metal chain that also held Merle's down. Daryl quickly checked nothing of his or the sleeping girl's had been left scattered about before turning to his own tent.

*

The group gathered near to the RV as they neared readiness to leave. Phoenix sat in Daryl's truck, quiet and dizzy, her head was hurting something awful and she could barely stay awake. She could see the group talking and saying goodbye to the Morales family but couldn't hear them. After a few minutes Daryl stormed up to the truck, climbed into the bed and russled around near Merle's bike before climbing in beside her. He put a hand gently on her shoulder holding out a bottle of water. She gave him a sleepy smile in return, her hand shaking as she took it. He held it steady as she took a sip. 

"Here."

He fished an orange prescription bottle in her direction, his face starting to heat up. She took the pills from him and balanced the water between her knees. Quickly reading the label she smiled. Painkillers. She struggled with the child proof lock on the cap for a few minutes before Daryl reached over and helped her. He slid 2 pills out and dropped them in her hand. 

"Don't tell the others about those. Don't want 'em comin' t' me asking fer meds fer a paper cut." He growled harshly. She nodded and swallowed the meds with a mouthful of water. Daryl looked on as she closed the bottle of water and her eyes. The truck moved slowly out of the quarry with the rest of the convoy, horns calling out as the Morales family went a different way.

*

That night, the convoy pulled into the side of a quiet wooded road and made plans. Phoenix dozed in the truck while others stood watch. Jim's moans coming quietly from inside the RV put everyone on edge. No one complained of their hunger but they all felt it. The children especially. Daryl stood in the truck bed, crossbow raised as his eyes scanned around. Occasionally kneeling down to peer through the rear window at the pale girl in his truck. He and Merle had both decided she was a Dixon, not by blood or marriage but by deed. She had the Dixon spirit and like hell was he gonna let her go. 

She's a fighter, baby brother but she needs us. She's our baby sis now, got it? We gotta protect 'er. Merle's voice said in his head as he turned to look at her once again. 

She's more to you than a sister Daryl, just admit it t' yaself he thought a small smile on his face as she hugged his winged vest closer to her chest. He'd given it to her as the late summer wind began to chill the inside of the truck. He sighed and stood once more, knowing even if he admitted his feelings he couldn't be with her. He wasn't good enough and she didn't see him that way. Even if she did, the scars would disgust her the second she saw them. She deserves someone who could be everything he wasn't. He was worthless and she was worth so much more. 

Don't mean ya can't look, baby brother. 

Daryl chuckled at that and looked once again to the girl, nodding to himself. 

Ain't no harm in lookin' he mused, looking forward to the girl waking up properly. 

*

The horn of the RV honked loudly in front of Daryl's truck and Phoenix raised her eyebrow in question. She felt slightly better after the sleep but still weak, she hopped out of the truck and felt her knees almost give out. She held on to the side of the truck slowly making her way to the rest of the group. Jim was laid against a tree a little bit up a bank at the side of the road and seemed to want to be left behind. His face was pale and sweaty, under his eyes darkened with sickness. 

Daryl came to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her up the bank to say goodbye. She sank to her knees and placed her hand on top of Jim's. 

"Hey. I can... If you want... I got a silencer. It'll be quick. I'll sent you on your way with my family prayer." She whispered to him, Daryl waiting at the bottom of the bank with Rick and Shane. Jim smiled tightly as another cramp ripped through him, he coughed up a little blood and Phoenix grimaced. 

"No. It's your corrupt we claim, remember?" He laughed, taking her hand in his as Phoenix's face dropped. 

How did he know? 

"How - ?" 

"I saw you. I was in Boston that day, he'd killed my cousin." He smiled slightly, gripping her hand. "I know why you didn't say anything... I'm glad you did it... And don't give up on this group, protect them, they need you. That's your new mission." He burst into a coughing fit and tears dropped down her face as she shuffled away.

She stood slowly and wobbled over to Daryl, he reached an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. The only comfort he could offer. He felt awkward and uncomfortable but he was trying. He felt angry at Jim for causing her tears for a guilt inducing moment but he knew it was natural to seeing someone die. Rick offered Jim a gun which he declined and Jim met Daryl's eyes, Daryl nodded with a grim smile and lead the girl back to his truck. He helped her climb in and secured the seat belt around her as she silently cried. He gave her shoulder a squeeze before getting into the driver's seat and following after the RV. The girl passing out soon after. 

*

Phoenix was thankful when her head started to clear and her energy returned as the huge Atlanta skyline began to grow closer and closer. Daryl chewed his thumb, another nervous habit it seemed he shared with the man she'd once known. He glanced at her as the sky began to darken. 

"Feel better?" 

 "Yea, sorry for going dark on you back there." She whispered, sitting up straighter to glance through the rear window at her bike. "Thanks for taking care of my stuff. Appreciate it." 

She smiled at him as the RV started slowing in front of them. The cars all slowed down and stopped beside a road. In front of them was the CDC, its huge glass exterior mostly undamaged except for the expected gore. The barricades and army trucks had been coated with bodies of the fallen soldiers. 

She raised herself to her knees and leaned over the seat, grabbing her bow and quiver and throwing them over her shoulder. She climbed out and glanced around as the group began to move towards the building. Rick reached the door and shook it.

Daryl and Phoenix stood side by side, glancing at the shadows that darkened with every minute as the sun began to go down. She pointed towards the barricade as walkers began to approach. She nocked an arrow and let it fly, killing the walker with ease. Her blood pounding as adrenaline kicked it. She blocked the noise of the group out and focused on protecting them. Daryl also shooting at the walkers as the group got louder and louder. Three more walkers fell to her arrows when she felt Daryl tug her arm and try to pull her away. 

She spun suddenly as Rick yelled. 

"You're killing us! You're killing us!" 

Shane began pulling Rick away as a groan of the shutters sounded loudly in the dead city. A blinding light causing the whole group to stop and stare.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER *** NEXT

[ginnywasafriendofmine]

So I wrote this last night while wondering if things could have turned out differently if James Potters parents had survived. It evolved in a way I didn't expect (Euphemia Potter, where have you been hiding?) It's not finished either, but here is what I have so far...

They lived

When Fleamont Potter first felt the stirrings of pain, deep in his chest-he ignored it. He was no healer, and it was to be expected in his age after all. He ignored it when he felt it flutter through his spine, passed it off as a working hazard when he felt a pang in his knees. (He shouldn’t have been fiddling with that old cauldron anyways).

But when his wife said to him, almost idly at the fireside-

“Will you remind me to owl Healer Robbins in the morning? I had a strange pain in my shoulder earlier, and it doesn’t seem to have gone away just yet.”

Fleamont looked at his wife, her hands quick and nimble as they laced glimmering threads through soft fabric. He looked at his wife, and saw his life’s love before him. He saw the dark eyes that had drawn him to her, the sharp wit of her tongue and the power and grace he knew not. He saw beyond her greying hair and the fine lines that told stories of their joy, and saw the life they had built. The garden they had cultivated, the business that had flourished beneath their feet, the son who had his mothers eyes as well as her spirit, her spark, her joy. 

Fleamont looked at his wife, his partner and knew that the world would be just that dimmer without her.

“Actually dear, I think we should owl them tonight.”

Their young son, his dark head of hair ducking under the mantle as he arrived, joined them at St. Mungos, his glowing wife at his side, her fingers weaving knots into her robes. James paled as he watched the Healers gather around the ones who had given him life, and he rushed to call his brother to his side, their dark heads bowed together as they sat in the crowded little waiting room. 

So Fleamont saved his wife, but he died that Thursday afternoon with his little family gathered at his bedside, his last act of love surviving without him. 

Lily Potter may have danced with her new father-in-law at her wedding, his beaming smile as bright as the candles flickering around them but it was to her husband's mother, alone, that she passed her newborn baby to.

Harry Fleamont Potter felt a fitting tribute, and James was sure he wasn’t imagining the tears sparkling in his mothers eyes.

Harry learned to walk through his grandmother's begonias, the ones that, in another life he may have walked towards his namesake. Or in another life, he would not know existed at all. 

When the war which had brewed around them throughout their adolescence came knocking at their door, James cloistered his young family into Godric's Hollow, leaving his mother alone at the Manor where he had frolicked and grown and on one fine summer's day wed his now targeted wife. 

James did not apologise to his mother as he kissed her goodbye. He didn't need to. 

Her second son, the one whose hair was as Black as his name, as black as the scorch mark his birth mother had left in his wake, loped through the wards every few days. Neither of them dared voice the hope, that courageous flighty thing that had found a home within their chests as they sipped their tea, watching sunsets that should have been savoured. 

But they did dare to hope, they dared to trust. And James Potter, who may have his mothers eyes and her spirit, also had his fathers unwavering loyalty. He trusted the wrong man.   

(and their protection fell, shocks of green light rang through the air, and a boy who had found love and joy in the presence of his first friend, found his worst nightmare come to life instead as he rushed through the air on a motorbike he would soon hand away). 

And the dog chased the rat, and the rat knew how to disappear when all the dog knew how to do was grieve. 

Fleamont’s last act of devotion didn’t change the fact that Euphemia woke up on November 1st with an intrinsic feeling of dread. When she opened the door she wasn’t faced with a scarred orphan as a shrieking Petunia Dursley was three counties over, but with the weary and regretful eyes of the men in red robes who had come to symbolise loss in their world. 

Euphemia managed to hold it together, her head held high until they used the words ‘Death Eater’ and ‘Sirius Black’ in the same sentence. Only then did she start to laugh, that horrible haunting laugh that only Blacks could. For Euphemia may have looked like her mother who had grown up across the world, but she was still a Black.

The two men, who had expected a feeble old woman and had gotten a glimpse of true Black madness did not think to question her when she demanded an escort to the Ministry. For her dear, kind son and his brave and bright wife would have to wait, their bodies still and cool as they would be for eternity, for it was her second son who needed her now. Her second son who sat in a stone cell and had cried himself to sleep.

For all that Remus-scarred, sweet, lonely and heartbroken-thought it was Sirius still, Euphemia knew her son. She knew he couldn’t be responsible for this. She also knew the look in a boy’s eyes when envy and greed had made its way deep into his heart, and she had seen it on Peter Pettigrew’s face one too many times to be as trusting as her dearly departed son.

With the power of her husband's name and his wealth she bullied an unsuspecting Barty Crouch into a trial the very next day, where a relieved Remus sat beside her, shaking while she was still. Later Sirius had wept apologies into her cloak, his regret tangible and as dark as his hatred for the man he had once called a brother. 

Sirius did not spend his 22nd birthday as he had planned, holed up with three Potters, being plied with cake and butterbeer, but he spent it screaming at the man he had once called a leader, at the man whose heart may have been heavy with regret, but whose hands still meddled in places he ought not to touch. 

The day after they gathered in Godric’s Hollow and watched a pair of twin coffins lowered into the fresh earth.

(While miles away, Harry cried for his mother and wondered why this woman who did not resemble anyone he knew had hands as sharp as her beady eyes).

Euphemia had saved her son from twelve years in Azkaban, but that did not mean she was going to leave the precious boy that had somehow survived, her husband's namesake, with a woman who had hated her own sister nearly as much as she had once loved her. 

Euphemia hadn’t expected Dumbledore to interfere. 

Dumbledore had expected Euphemia to acquiesce once he had explained with words like blood protection, and love sickly sweet on his tongue.

But she did not. 

Perhaps, in another world-one where Fleamont survived the night that his dear wife did, this would have played out differently. Quieter perhaps.

But Euphemia was different from Monty. She had grown up having to hold her head up, high, above the snickers and the stares and the comments. She had grown up between two worlds; not white enough, not dark enough. Having to make space for herself in a world that did not know what to do with her. 

When she first visited her family in India it wasn’t the overwhelming feeling of joy, she had expected, but rather a deep, dark loss in her soul. A wanting, a longing, a missing she would never truly understand. The colours were just as vivid, the smells just as enchanting, the sounds, the streets filled with life. But Mia had grown up across the world, where she’d had to learn to pronounce her r’s just so, how to preen, and dress and and hide so much of herself away that she’d never really found it again. Mia had grown up with a mother who was just as much a British citizen as everyone else around them, but different in a way they would never understand. 

(It was only when she met a man with eyes as deep as the ocean, and a smile that made her feel like she could soar did she feel she was coming out of the seams. Bit by painstaking bit). 

So yes, Monty, with his lineage and his old money and his class wouldn’t have dared, his fight would have taken place quietly, behind the scenes, where there was no fuss, no ruckus. 

But Monty wasn’t here anymore, and Mia had spent her life being quiet. 

So she raged, and stormed and threw herself into a battle with the most powerful man in Wizarding Britain. She argued her way through the courts, through countless politicians, secretaries and bureaucrats who she had spent her life kowtowing to when she was nothing but an immigrant's daughter with no power they could understand. 

And she won.

The snow had just begun to stick, and the lights were up in the neighbors windows when her grandson finally came home to her, with a trembling lip and a scarred forehead.

Euphemia Potter held him close - his hair smelt just like James had, when he was little, when her entire world could fit in her arms-and then passed him to her other son. The one who hadn’t been born from her, but who she loved just the same.  

They’d both had something taken from them, something ripped away with a cold curse and a flash of light, and she knew that only they could understand each other now. So Mia stayed in her opulent and empty house, and Sirius settled in the South Wing at the room that had always been his, his godson slumbering safely in his arms. 

That first Christmas was as dark as the words carved into stone back in Godric's Hollow. Two men who had to learn to trust each other again and a woman who many had expected to break by now. Only Harry’s laugh, his smile, his sparkling eyes could light up their bleak and unforgiving day. 

So Harry forgot the mean, cold woman who stared at him like something she would rather forget, and spent the spring with his grandmother as she planted flowers, her fingers quick and nimble as they had always been. He spent it with his godfathers-both of them-while one suffered each month as he always had, but whose love for Harry never wavered, and the other finally grew up.

For in this world Sirius Black did not wile away his years counting his regrets as he counted the bars on his cells. In this world he strategised, he built battle plans with the same fervour and determination he might have used to sliver between those bars as a shaggy, black dog. He focused on wiping out the forces that had taken so much of the light from their world. 

But he did not do this alone. For in losing one brother, he had gained another back. 

Regulus Black did not go to die in the cave that dark day in October of 1979. He would still be brave, and fierce, and full of righteous anger, but he did not die alone and afraid. Regulus Black had been in St. Mungos that summer, regretfully rejecting his prized and hard worked offer of a place as a Healer. 

Regulus Black had been there. He had seen his brother-the one who he missed as much as Petunia Evans missed her own sister-pale and weary with grief. He had seen him stumble in the corridor from Fleamont Potters room, the loss deeply etched in his face. 

Grief is the price we pay for love.  

Regulus had watched his brother, and wondered if perhap there were things worth living for-as much as they were worth dying for.

So despite what his mother, and the Dark Lord, and about every other Black relative wanted him to do-A Healer? How plebian. Regulus Black did what he had always yearned to, and was brave. He tore the rejection letter from the secretaries fist, and asked, with a weak attempt at his brothers bravado;

“What day do I start?”

So Regulus had taken a different path, a path that was still hard-for the road to hell was still paved with good intentions. 

Regulus stood with his head held high above the looks and snide comments-from both his Death Eater cohorts and his fellow trainees. But the Dark Lord could not touch him, could not stray him from this path, for the vow that was taken on his first day of orientation had sworn him to the Healing service, and even Tom Riddle knew some vows could not be broken.

Regulus Black had taken a different path (though the knowledge of the Horcrux and the unrelenting question of what/when/how still lingered) and was finishing up his rotation in the children’s ward when his long lost brother rushed in, a feverish child in his arms, and panic wreaking havoc in his young face.

“Please, I don’t know what’s wrong-I-I, he wouldn’t eat, and now he’s warm, too warm, and I-”

“Hand him to me.”

And Sirius had passed over the child he thought of as a son to a man he didn’t recognise and saw a boy he had once known. 

“I-Reggie-?”

But Regulus had always been good at his job. Even the other trainees, who glowered at him through the corridors as they once had in Hogwarts could not deny this. Regulus saw the brother whose approval he had always craved, but he did not think of it now. Regulus only looked at the child who lay shivering before him, and set to work.

Dragon Pox may have taken Fleamont Potter, but Regulus Black’s quick mind and steady hands ensured that his namesake did not follow in this regard. Sirius had cried tears of relief, and Remus had shaken Regulus’ hand so hard it felt bruised.

By now Harry had spent as much time without his parents as he had with them, and his loss would have taken his family to a place they could not return

Once Harry had settled, Mia Potter at his bedside and Remus Lupin fetching the blanket that Harry reached for every night, did the two brothers talk.

They spoke of nothing that had lingered deep in their minds, and their hearts in the years since the older one had departed.

“A Healer, huh?” Sirius Black tried to hide his surprise. 

Regulus bit back the 'You once told me I was good at Healing spells' and managed a smile. "Yes, coming on four years now.” 

Regulus felt young in his brother's presence (even if they were both the same height now).

“That’s… really great.” Sirius smiled, looking close to proud. 

“That's James son, isn't it?” Regulus asked, and watched the darkness flicker in his brothers eyes again.

“You can tell by the hair, huh?”

Really he could tell by the way Sirius looked at the boy-the same way he had always looked at James-but he smiled at his brother's attempt at humor anyways.

When the little family left two days later, a chagrined Sirius mumbled something out that was close to an invitation-coffee? Do you drink coffee? As he left St. Mungos, his beloved godson giggling in his arms. 

Regulus watched and wondered if perhaps he had gotten his brother back. If his brother would walk away from him again.

(He would, once he found out about the paradoxical life his brother led, a Healer who moonlights as a Death Eater. The life of one who fixes scars and curses he recognises, the life of one who is vowed to both worlds even as they threaten to pull him apart at the seams). 

But this time he would come back. And not on accident, stumbling in with a sick child, but with a determination for history not to repeat itself. 

For this Sirius Black knew about the transformative power of second chances.

Harry Potter grew up at his grandmother's elbow, learning about his culture, his heritage. What was left of it. Some had been lost to time, others to the journey made from Delhi to here. The rest to the pressure of a world who didn’t want girls with dark skin and a determined glint in her eye. 

But in this world Harry knew who he was. Where he had come from. What had been lost so he could live. And oh, did he live. 

He lived in the same trees and lakes his own father had made his kingdom at his age, he lived in the books his Moony shared with him-Moony, who watched as identical green eyes skimmed over the same pages he had seen a flame-haired girl devour. He lived in the adventures, the wild reckless stories and pursuits of his Padfoot. He lived in his grandmother's kitchen, watching her bake roti in between English cakes of lemon drizzle and his favourite treacle tart. 

Harry lived, and he knew what it was to be loved. 

(After all, a boy must live so he can learn to die. 

And even now, even here, Harry still had to be the boy who learned to walk to his death).

[sims-through-the-decades]

The Millard Family | 2002

As the year begins, there is more good news on the Millard farm. Sarah and Matthew have had their third child: a healthy little boy named Jack Oliver Yates!

In the Robinson household, meanwhile, Michael and Diane have managed to settle their differences after their argument. There are things that they don’t agree on - that they will never be able to agree on - but overall, their relationship is still just as strong and loving as ever. Diane still can’t bring herself to have any respect for Michael’s late father, but she still apologises to him, and tells him that she will always be there if he needs a shoulder to cry on.

Not everything is going well for the Robinsons, however. Lately, Michael has become very worried about his ageing mother. These days, she rarely visits her son; instead, she calls him almost every day. Michael is happy to hear from his mother, but he can’t help but notice how weak and frail her voice sounds now: he almost can’t believe that the woman talking to him is the same mother he grew up with. As the weeks pass, and Edna’s voice grows weaker, Michael begins to fear the worst for his mother.

Eventually, the phone calls stop completely, and Michael’s worst fears are confirmed: his mother, Edna Joan Robinson, has passed away at the age of 79.

Edna’s funeral is a small and quiet one, attended only by Michael, Diane, and their two daughters. The entire family is heartbroken to have lost her, and mourn her loss at the local graveyard.

Michael, needless to say, is absolutely devastated by his mother’s death. She has been in his life for as long as he can remember, and they have been through so much together as a family: now, so soon after losing his father, he has lost her too, and his last memory of her is that of a weak, struggling voice on the phone. Diane, too, is deeply upset by Edna’s death: she has always admired and respected her mother-in-law, ever since she first met her.

Amy and Kelly are also deeply saddened by the death of their grandmother. They always looked forward to seeing her and spending time with her: now, they will never be able to read books with her or study with her or bake cupcakes for her again. Even so, neither of the girls will ever forget the good times they had with their grandmother; she will always be with them in their memories.

That evening, after the funeral, Michael can’t stop himself from crying in Diane’s arms. Diane tries her best to comfort him, but she knows that it won’t be enough: grief is a long, slow process, and it will take him some time to come to terms with everything that has happened. For now, all she can do is be there for him.

A few weeks later, though, the Robinsons receive some good news: they find out that before she died, Edna left her old home to her eldest granddaughter Amy. Amy is very happy when she finds out - finally, she can move out and start her adult life.

Kelly, meanwhile, is disappointed that she didn’t get the house, but she understands: Amy is the eldest, after all. Before moving out, Amy tells her sister that she is always welcome to come and visit, and that she can even move in with her if she wants to, when she is a little older. Kelly thanks her sister, and wishes her well.

Not long later, Amy and her girlfriend Jennifer move into Edna’s old house, and start their adult life together. Things haven’t always been easy for the two of them, but they have a feeling that things are changing these days: perhaps, one day, they will even be able to get married!

For Michael, however, things are still difficult. He is glad that his daughter is happy, and that she has everything she has ever wanted - a home of her own, a steady job, and someone she loves - but he himself is still grieving. In only a few short years, he has lost so many of his loved ones: his aunt, his two uncles, his father, and now even his mother. He has always known that they wouldn’t live forever, and that their time was coming sooner rather than later, but he still misses all of them them very, very much.

[book-of-yanderes]

To Take The Slate (Edward x Reader) - Chapter 1

Word Count: 752

Warnings: death

———

It wasn't the news you were expecting when enjoying lunch with your parents.

Earl Blaine Garrington was dead at age 26, possible death being apoplexy.

While it was a shock and dampened your hope for a happy future, the man wasn’t that close to you.

“It’s such a shame… And to think he was a wonderful man with you for the months you were engaged.” Your father spoke grimly.

He wanted you happy, and from the eligible men, Blaine was the one who you felt best with. Sure, you weren’t in love with the man, but you felt you could fall for him when enough time had passed together. Now Earl Blaine was gone, the engagement called off.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” your mother tried to comfort you, her hand on top of yours.

“I was hoping to have a happy life with him…” you said. “I guess fate didn’t want it that way.”

“Well, we will still honor him with great love and care, (y/n).” Your father was correct. You found Blaine to be someone you did care for, despite not feeling romantic feelings towards him yet. You wanted to at least tend to his family and make them feel more comfortable.

“Have they stated yet when the funeral will be?” You asked. It wasn’t something you thought you’d be attending. Instead of the white you’d wear for your now deceased partner, it would be black.

Your father was the one to answer. “Not yet, but it will be sometime soon.”

~~~

A week later, that was when the funeral was held. It was somber and filled with loss, and you did your best to comfort your grieving “mother-in-law”. Out of respect, you gave the engagement ring back as well, knowing it was an heirloom from their family.

“Your son was a wonderful man, Countess Georgina. He will never be forgotten.” You held the older woman’s hands within yours, unsure of what else to say.

“Countess Garrington…” the voice came from a male, deep but delicate.

Within seconds you saw the owner of the voice, a tall and lean man. His long dark brown hair was slicked back and showed off his high cheekbones and jawline. Gray eyes looked at Georgina with the utmost care and worry as he continued to address the elder woman.

You recognized the man, but weren’t sure where you had seen him before.

“Thank you so much, Edward. You were such a dear to Blaine. Like a brother.” Georgina spoke as she went to hug the young man in her grief.

It was awkward to stand there, but you kept quiet while the two held their moment together.

When they broke, the man looked towards you and reached his hand out in offer of greetings. You responded with the appropriate return of your hand for him to grasp. What you didn’t expect was the small kiss on the back of your hand. Most men who greeted you only dipped their head when they bowed.

“Lady (y/n), it is an honor to see you once again,” he spoke.

That’s when it clicked. This was one of the other men your father had seen as a possible suitor for you. You last saw Edward at the party hosted half a year ago when you were to acquaint yourself with the ones your father had selected as possibilities.

“It’s nice to see you, Earl Ponsonby.” You were lucky to remember his surname to properly address him. Add in how much taller he also was, it made it harder for you to think. Any person who seemed like a giant usually scrambled your mind.

“Please, just Edward is fine,” he said. “I am sorry for the loss of your fiancé. I hope it’s not hitting too hard.”

“He was a kind and dear man.” You could almost feel like his grip tightened slightly on your hand, but we’re unsure. “I will miss him, but will stay strong. His family needs help and love right now, so that is my duty for now.”

“Thank you, (y/n),” said Georgina as she wiped a tear with her handkerchief. “Your attention to this and to me is greatly appreciated.”

“Of course, Countess.”

It was then Edward gave a bow goodbye and let go of your hand, giving you and the Countess space. To think… He was a friend of your fiancé, it was a comfort to know he wanted you and the Countess to be at peace.

What a kind man.

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

what's beyond compare, a zutara fic, chapter I.

read the prologue on AO3

---

Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was born in the fall, as afternoon turned to night, screaming until he was red. A bad sign, his father said with disgust.

His mother brushed his short, dark hair away from his teary face. She could sense there was something about this child that was different. Scared for her baby, she didn’t tell the Sages about it when they came. But there was no hiding it from her brother-in-law, who held him in his arms and said, grave and regretful, “The spirits have not blessed this boy.”

“Is he cursed?” Ursa whispered, eyes wet as she reached for her son. Ozai had wanted to kill him, and revulsion had raised inside of her like never before. But if Zuko was cursed, then… she would protect him however she could. Even if that meant doing the worst.

“I cannot say for sure,” Iroh replied, laying Zuko gently back into her arms. “But I don’t think so. We will have to wait and see.”

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, daughter of Kya and Hakoda, was born in the spring, so late at night it was early. The elders blessed her and Kya both as they laid in a mess of furs, her brother Sokka watching the proceedings anxiously. He stayed close to his dad as the rest of the tribe came to praise Kya and offer congratulations to the whole family. Bato chuffed Sokka’s chin and Sokka laughed, too young to realize it but all the same, relieved that that hadn’t changed like so much else had that day.

It was Kanna who first saw that Katara was different, feeling a resistance when she asked the spirits to protect and spare the little girl. When the other elders tried, there was the same sensation—a silence where there should have been a wolf’s howl, a stillness where there should have been wind.

“What does it mean for her?” Kya asked, clutching Katara to her chest. Hakoda sat beside her, his arms around her shoulder and Sokka’s stomach, holding him close on his lap. Sokka’s birth, unlike Katara’s, had been difficult, but there’d been no spiritual issues. He’d been blessed and Hakoda’s father, the now-passed Chief Betadi, had proclaimed him to have the support of many behind him. What did it mean that one child was overly protected by the spirits, and one child was completely ignored?

“I’m not sure. We can only hope that someday they will notice her.” Kanna didn’t look down while she delivered the bad news; they deserved more than that. Nevertheless, they all knew that this would be unlikely. To not be blessed was a death sentence in the Water Tribes.

Kya didn’t cry, though Hakoda did have to wipe his eyes. Sokka didn’t understand what was going on, but hugged his father anyway. Baby Katara snored slightly in her mother’s arms, unconcerned with the matters of the spirits.

The three adults came together later that night. Their only hope was that if she stayed close to her brother, his luck would protect her as well. It wasn’t much to hang their faith on, but it would have to be enough.

Zuko had an imaginary friend, growing up. He never shared much about them with his family, not even Ursa, but that was in part because he didn’t know how to explain. He knew his friend was real, and yet not at the same time. He saw them in all different ways, most often a man in blue, but other times as a woman in yellow or red, or a young man in green. No matter how they looked, he could always tell it was them, a spark in his very soul that said this person was the one.

The friend had many names, and they existed on the edge of his tongue, never to be said, never to be remembered. But that was okay, he thought. As long as they were there with him, it was all okay.

Secretly, just to himself, he thought of them as his love. It only felt right.

His dreams were haunted by dangers unseen. He woke to midnight storms during the rainy seasons, screaming and shivering. When Uncle brought him to pray to the spirits, he felt stalked, a confusing tangle of emotions roiling in his belly.

Uncle and Mother always wanted to know how he felt when he prayed. Azula said, “Bored.” Zuko didn’t want to say that he was angry and longing for something he didn’t even know, didn’t even understand, so he said, “Yeah. Bored,” instead.

Mother looked troubled by this answer, but quickly hid the expression in order to ask Lu Ten the same. As his cousin talked, Zuko allowed himself to wonder what Azula really felt. If it was as complicated as his own experiences. He resolved to ask Mother about it, next time they went. Maybe she would know why the spirits never talked back to him.

He never got the chance— Uncle and Lu Ten went to battle soon after. Mother stopped taking them to pray after their cousin died, and it wasn’t very long after that that she was gone too.

Katara was ten when she realized that the spirits were cruel.

She was in the communal igloo, Sokka wrapped around her, both of their cheeks wet with tears that never ended. Some of the tribe—what was left of it—was inside as well, but they were given space to grieve their brave, brave mother.

Katara had grown up with nightmares. Nightmares of darkness and pain, or distant unease that made everything suspect, or the freeze-burn feeling that she was missing something, someone, important to her. One dream had seen Katara counting her family members; Gran-Gran, Dad, Mom, and yes there was Sokka, and there was—there was—

A shadow. A gut feeling. An empty space where there shouldn’t have been one.

Mom had held her as she cried, rocking her back and forth. They all said she’d been crying that her love was gone.

It was the only comparable feeling that she had, the only other loss that Katara knew. This was so much more immediate, her whole being flushed and freezing, a terrible wail building in her throat. But if she cried, Mom wouldn’t be there to hold her and comfort her. She’d never be there again, not for anything.

“What?” Sokka whispered when Katara broke down into loud, gulping sobs. She told him between gasps for breath, and his eyes welled, but he tried to keep his tears in. She didn’t bother with that, knowing that there was no stopping this flood. She would have to be strong now, but not tonight. Not tonight.

One day early in his exile, Zuko’s ship was at a port in the south of the Earth Kingdom. He looked out across the lands, feeling an odd tugging in his chest. He almost wanted to—go inland. There was something out there that he needed to run towards, to get back to. A strong urge gripped him—he took a step and then another towards the prow. He needed to find someone, or a place maybe. An image of a cave conjured in his mind unbidden.

Wait. What am I thinking? There was no reason for him to go any further into the Earth Kingdom. There was no one there, and there was no place calling out to him. He was just being ridiculous.

He scowled as he tried to forget about it, turning his back on the lush lands.

Uncle watched him closely. He didn’t have to do more than take a sip of his tea to convey a question: What’s on your mind, Prince Zuko?

He spoke without thinking, unaware of what he was saying or what it meant. “Uncle, have you ever heard of a spirit splitting in half?” They both blinked in surprise at the question, and Zuko scowled again, furious with himself. “Nevermind. Now, when the men get back—”

“Once,” Uncle said, instantly halting Zuko’s words. He looked off over Zuko’s shoulder as if in thought, and dropped into his storytelling voice, low and impactful. “There was an earth spirit, at the beginning of everything. We remember the names of Agni, Tui, and La, but hers has become lost over the many generations. Some just call her ‘Mother’. She loved the lands, the mountains and volcanoes and everything in between, but most of all, she loved the sky. Every day and every night, she would gaze at the clouds and the stars with adoration. There was a part of her which was wild and wished to be free in the way the sky was. But she was the earth spirit, and she could not leave her beloved ground even if she wanted to.”

“When did she split her soul?” He asked impatiently, not wanting anyone to think he was enjoying the story. He wasn’t. It was boring and unnecessary. He didn’t even really want to know about spirits—he never had. Especially after all that had happened, he had no desire to do learn more… except that the urge to go inland had quieted, turning itself to the story, begging him to listen.

“Ah, ah, Prince Zuko. We aren’t there yet. Now, as I was saying. She didn’t want to leave the lands behind. The rolling hills, the forests, even the ice at the poles were her pride and joy. The other spirits were very impressed by the beauty they saw. But there were humans in these early times, and one day, there was an accident. A man had stoked a fire so he might feed his partner a delicious meal. Some say the partner was clumsy, while others say he was simply expressive. In any case, the partner fell into the fire and burned.”

“Is there a point to this?!” Zuko demanded, his skin crawling at the thought. He ignored the tiny voice in the back of his mind which said, expressive, not clumsy. Never clumsy.

As if he hadn’t been interrupted, Iroh went on. “The man was devastated. His grief was legendary, but that is a story for another time. What you must know for this tale is that the man buried his partner. It was his way of protecting him even in death, and it gave him a space to mourn him and feel close, because he was. There was only the ground between them. The earth spirit was used to humans dying, of course. But no dead had ever been buried before. Often, they were sent to float on the waves of La or were taken care of in some other way. She was shocked to sense him encased in her element, shocked and quite upset, and went to the grave to see for herself.

“The man was there. No one ever encroached on his moments with his departed beloved, and so he ordered her away. She came and sat beside him anyway, and said nothing as the man pleaded for her to leave. He broke down eventually, his tears falling into the dirt beneath them.”

Zuko was horrified to find his throat was tight. Other sailors around them had stopped to listen—what if they saw emotion on his face? What would they think? He could not be weak! Clenching his teeth as tightly as he could, he told himself very firmly to stop it. It was just some folk’s tale.

(There was another name on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said. He could imagine a field with a tree, a perfect resting spot for a perfect man. My fault, my fault. I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry.)

“’Who was he to you?’ she asked the man. The story of their love spilled from him haltingly. ‘We were soulmates,’ he told the earth spirit. ‘He was half of me, and all of me.’ They spoke for a long time, sitting over the grave. Eventually, however, the earth spirit was called away to where the land was soft and fertile and in need of shaping. She willed the ground to sprout trees, a jungle of them, and wondered if she had a half of herself. Of course, she thought of the sky. Part of her was always thinking of the freedom she saw there. And after many days of deliberating, after many days of sitting with the grieving man, she decided she had to try to reach the vast openness above her.”

“Did she jump?” Corporal Okada asked, honestly enthralled with the story the general was telling. Several other sailors laughed, but Zuko rolled his eyes.

“Of course she didn’t,” he snapped. “She split her soul.”

“Yes,” Uncle agreed, much more agreeably. “She believed that as long as part of her was on the ground, and the other part was touching it, she could have the best of both worlds.”

“And?” Several people asked at once. “Could she?”

“Some of her days were wonderful indeed. She could ride the winds and create deserts and all was well. But there were other days, where the winds exhausted her and she longed to be on solid ground once again. The closest she could get was to ruffle the grass, but she could not sit, and the half of her that existed in the sky could no longer sense the earth, just as the part of her on the earth could not sense the sky. In the end, I do not believe she regretted her choice, but we can never know for sure. She disappeared some centuries ago now.” He shook his head sadly.

The crew and the two princes were quiet for a few moments, thinking this over. Then, one of the men asked, “What was the story about the man’s grief?”

Before Uncle could reply, Zuko turned sharply. “GET BACK TO WORK!”

(He didn’t want to hear about grief. Even more than shame and dishonor, it haunted him at night. Storms still scared him like a child. Uncle would come to keep him company on the worst nights, and never asked why Zuko got so twitchy, murmuring “It’s not time yet, it’s not time yet…” without even realizing he was doing so.)

One of the first things Aang said to Katara as they made their way back to the village was, “Whoa… do you feel that?”

“What?” She asked, caught between annoyance at Sokka (could he stop complaining for five seconds?) and all the excitement of the day. “Feel what?”

“…that,” Aang said, making a fist over his heart. Seeing her face—surely making some confused but encouraging expression—he shrugged. “It’s like a tug pulling me that-a-way.” He pointed in the opposite direction of the village, but Katara didn’t know anything past the ice fields. “But it’s weird… I feel it to you too.”

Katara couldn’t answer at that moment, Sokka interrupting them to complain that Appa wasn’t flying. Again.

There was a moment, between when they got back and when Aang woke up, that she allowed herself to think of it again. Rubbing her chest over her heart, she closed her eyes and focused on it. Did she feel anything? There was some faint sensation there, she realized, and dug for it, grasping onto it with both hands. Bringing it to the light made her realize—though it was invisble, it spun her around and pointed toward the tent which held the young air bender. When he woke up, she could tell him she felt it too!

She was just about to open her eyes when something else caught her attention. A shadow. A gut feeling. An empty space where there shouldn’t have been one. Frowning, she followed that line in a mind full of snow, and imagined herself at the edge of the ice, looking out onto the water.

Not too far, she thought, totally nonsensically. Almost here. They’re almost here.

What? She tried to imagine herself walking away from the edge, and she could see a path on the ground that lead to the tent. She took a few steps before turning back again. The sun dipped low on the horizon in this vision. She thought she could make out a shape in front of the bright ball of flame, far away but definitely there.

Find me.

Opening her eyes, she scowled and tried to shake the weird daydream away. But her heart was singing under her fist.

Find me.

(Katara hated the color red. What was it good for, anyway? Red cheeks when you were embarrassed. Red fingers when you were too cold, before it got bad. Red blood spilled on the ice. Red armor killing innocent people. Red armor killing her mother. Red armor hurting her brother and her Gran-Gran.

Red scar slanting an eye that she couldn’t look away from.

She forgot about the paths in her mind, forgot to wonder who or what those weird thoughts had been about until they were in the air. Feeling the wind ruffle through her hair, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine them again. There was the invisble pull towards Aang, but the other one had slipped too far away. Furrowing her brow, she tried to find it again, only for that stupid fire bender’s stupid red scar to flash in her mind.

Disgusted with herself, she shook her head like it would make her forget, but of course, it didn’t work.)

(Blue. It was a color Zuko wasn’t supposed to like, and so he didn’t. He didn’t like green or brown or yellow either. Peasant colors, Azula said. But there was something about blue that called to him, that warmed his chest at the same time it twisted in his gut.

The Water Tribe peasants all wore blue, and purple and white too. But there was something about the girl who stood there with the old woman, who stood up to him, that caught his attention.

He still didn’t like blue. But even after she and her dunce brother attacked his ship, he found himself thinking about it, the specific shades and how they’d looked on the ice and on his ship.

Gods, but did he make himself sick.)

[lafedelta]

⇢  introducing  lisabetta  d’onofrio  ,  the  27  year  old  cis  female  ,  ruling  lady  of  d’onofrio  .  she  is  known  for  being  incisive  ,  nurturing  ,  fretful  and  obstinate  .  lisabetta  bears  an  uncanny  resemblance  to  bruna  marquezine  and  is  playing  (  ch  2  )  .

CHARACTER BASICS

NAME : lisabetta d’onofrio  NICKNAMES : elisa , lissie, lis OCCUPATION  / TITLE : ruling  lady  of  house  d’onofrio GENDER : cis female ROMANTIC & SEXUAL ORIENTATION : heterosexual , heteroromantic AGE: twenty - seven  BIRTHPLACE:  venezia , italia CURRENT RESIDENCE : firenze , italia MORAL ALIGNMENT: true good PERSONALITY: compassionate ,  kind ,  changeable ,  anxious ,  charming , sensitive , guarded , clever , witty , insightful , detail - oriented , withdrawn ,  incisive ,  obstinate .  tw:  for mentions  of  miscarriage  and  suspected infertility  below

AFFILIATIONS

LOYALTIES : house lombardi & house d’onofrio MARITAL STATUS : married to gabriel d’onofrio CHILDREN : none FAMILY : tba 

CHARACTER TIES ( notable connections tba )

CONNECTION TYPE : description of notable connection CONNECTION TYPE : description of notable connection CONNECTION TYPE : description of notable connection CONNECTION TYPE : description of notable connection

PHYSICAL DETAILS

PREFERRED HAND:  right - handed  EYE COLOR:  brown  HAIR COLOR: black  SKIN TONE: olive COMPLEXION: clear  BUILD: slender HEIGHT: 5′4″ NOTABLE FEATURES OR SCARS : tba

PERSONAL / MISCELLANEOUS DETAIL

RELIGION:  catholic , practicing  FEARS:  isolation , exile , loss , personal security , familial security AFFINITIES & ABILITIES:  tba AESTHETICS: tba ANIMALS: tba CHARACTER TROPES: tba MEDIA / CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS & INFLUENCES: tba . 

BIOGRAPHY 

             born  the  first  of  three  daughters  of  an exceedingly  wealthy  tradesman  of  middling nobility ,   it  was  clear  from  a  young  age  that  lisabetta’s  life  would  be  golden .  each  facet  of  her  life  was planned  &  prepared  for - - the  golden  girl  would  be  educated  to  be  a  little  lady ,  all  to  make  a  golden  wife  out  of  her .  too clever  even  in  her  youth , elisa  knew  that  to  be  golden  meant  to  be  controlled .  to  be  pawned  off  &  encouraged  to  become  a  wife  that  would  increase  her  family’s  standing . so ,  she  played  her  part .  she  received  what  education  she  could .  she  smiled  politely  ,  laughed  at  jokes  she  couldn’t find  the  humour  in .  a  storm  of  rebellion  brewed  within  her ,  stubbornness &  true  intelligence  hidden  behind  doe -  eyes  and  thick  lashes . she  waited . for  to  be  golden  meant  to  live  in  a  gilded  cage ,  and lisabetta  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  fly  free  .

     freedom  for  a  woman ,  though ,  seemed  a  more  difficult  reality  than  her  optimism  hoped  for .  instead ,  she  dedicated  herself  to  the  care  of  her  two  younger  sisters ,  and  then  the  little  brother  that  would  follow,   nearly  12  years  her  junior .  care  &  nurturing  came  as  easily  as  breathing  to  elisa , and  her  siblings  were  sorely  in  need  of  it .  their  parents  were  not  the  overly -  involved  type .  lisabetta’s  father  saw  his  children , partcularly  his  eldest ,  as  little  more  than  pawns  in  a  game  she  was  quickly  coming  to  understand .  her  mother  was  critical  of  her  every  breath ,  cruel  in  her  judgements  &  harsh  in  her  parenting . perhaps  they  were  preparing  their  children  for  the  world  of  snakes  &  vipers  that  they  would  one  day  be  thrust  into ,  but  love  was  naught  to  be  found  within  their  venetian  home .  so ,  lisabetta  supplied it -  she  supplied  it  in  full.  she  became  the  bearer  of  secrets ,  the  mender  of  broken  hearts .  thoughts  of  freedom  &  rebellion  calmed  -  she  had  a  job  to  do . 

          DUTY  CAME  CALLING  before  lisabetta was  ready .  a  match ,  forged  by  influence  &  coin  saw  the  eldest  of  the  morosoni  children  betrothed  to  gabriel  d’onofrio .   little  was  explained  to  her  about  the  arrangement .  she  was  fortunate  to  find ,  however ,  that  her  intended  was  intelligent ,  respectful ,  albeit  a  bit  guarded .  they  were  soon  married .  the  first  blooms  of  marriage  were  tender  ones .  gabriel  was  attentive ,  romantic ,  even .  lisabetta  soon  found  the  feelings  of  obligation  giving  way  to   true  care . 

as  time  moved  on  however ,  lisabetta  noticed  marked  changes  in  her  husband .  distance  grew  between  them ,  and  isolation settled  in  her  bones .  she  relied  on�� the  company  and  comfort  of  her  sister - in  -  law  to  stave  off her  loneliness .  an  inherently  curious  creature ,  lisabetta  suspected  that  gabriel’s  mind  was  troubled  by  something ,  but  the  more  she  pried ,  the  more  distant  he  seemed  to  become . their  marriage  was  fragmented  by  a  wall  she  could  not  penetrate .  her  greatest  sorrow ,  though ,  came  in  the  lack  of  a  child  .  she  had  carried  and  lost ,   and  has  begun  to  worry  that  a  babe  would  never  be  held  in  her  arms .  she  grieves  what  she  does  not  have .

lisabetta  now  lives  in  a  place  of  uncertainty .  unsure  of  her  husband’s  affections ,  unsure  of  her  own  security  in  her  station ,  she  persists  only  by  the  fire  within  her  &  the  kindness  that  refuses  to  cease  pouring  out  of  her . 

[jensengirl83]

Regret and Redemption Chapter eight

Dean x reader

Mechanic!AU

Word Count-2269

Warnings-Angst, language, heartbreak

Summary- Reader has left Dean and is trying to move on with her life. Can Dean prove himself and convince her to come back home?

A/N- Song in this chapter is “Don’t Know What’s You’ve Got Until It’s Gone” by Cinderella. Thank you to my beta @emoryhemsworth and all my girls and guy for the encouragement to keep going with this series. I love you all!

Amazing series cover and text dividers courtesy of @talesmaniac89​ 

Regret and Redemption Spotify Playlist

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2FX7eDSq8WEUlFyPUG1j8f?si=PZNFJlmqS42rhBuqO-Fd4g

Mary: Y/N, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, and I understand, but Dean is not doing so well, and I hoped we could talk about what exactly happened. He has me very worried and I can’t get him to tell me much of anything. I will always think of you as my daughter, Y/N. I truly hope you will message me back and let me say what I need to tell you.

Y/N stared at the text from her mother in law, her emotions now worse than before. She’d always loved Mary and would miss her dearly, but she wasn’t sure if she should reply. Y/N was sure that Dean was having a hard time, but so was she. He was the one who’d betrayed her. He was the one who had thrown their marriage away with no regard for her feelings. The longer she looked at the text message, the angrier she became. Who gives a damn that Dean was having a hard time! Y/N had been the one who’d been slapped in the face with the worst of betrayals. Her husband had been sleeping around behind her back! She’d been nothing but loyal to him, so fuck him and his hard time!

Y/N threw her phone across the room with a scream. The raw emotions of everything had crashed down on her. She felt as if she was drowning as she fell to the kitchen floor in a heap of sobs and screams. How could he do this to her?! She’d loved Dean with every fiber of her being just to be betrayed by him. Her body wracked with sobs as she finally let the severity of their situation overtake her. She’d never felt a pain like this in her entire life, but she never loved anyone the way she had loved Dean Winchester.

Y/N had laid on her kitchen floor and cried, grieving for her loss. Her heart ached as she thought back to all the promises whispered in their tender moments together: the promises that had been shattered like porcelain being thrown to the floor, the words that ran through her head since the day she walked out on him. She missed her husband. Not the man he was now, but the man he had been: the man that would hold her close as he made love to her like she was the only woman in the world, the man who had promised her forever and meant it. She missed the way he used to love her and only her. Y/N decided then and there that those were the last tears she would ever cry for Dean.

Dean had just awoken, and his head felt as if it weighed twenty pounds and was on the verge of exploding. He’d drank himself to sleep the night before and he planned on doing it again. His marriage would be over in a few weeks’ time and he had nothing else to stay sober for. He’d ruined one of the only good things that had ever happened to him. He was being sued and could possibly lose everything he had worked for and he couldn’t care less. Without Y/N, he didn’t want any of it anyway. What was the point if he had no one to share it with?

Dean traded his morning coffee for another glass of whiskey. He threw his head back and finished the drink in one swallow, hissing at the burn as it made its way down his throat. He refilled his glass and repeated his actions from seconds ago, deciding to forgo the glass and take the whole bottle back to the couch where he planned to stay for the day. He had already called the garage and told them he didn’t know when he would be back in. There were too many memories of Y/N there, and if he had to be reminded of her, he would rather be home where he could drink himself into a stupor.

Dean stared down at the ring that was still on his left hand. He hadn’t been able to make himself take it off. Even though he had signed the divorce papers, taking his wedding band off made it all too real and he wasn’t ready for that. He was hanging on by a thread and the finality of removing his ring would drain what little strength he had to keep going.

Dean couldn’t handle the quiet any longer as he hit shuffle on his playlist. He knew he was sure to hear something that would remind him of Y/N, but he didn’t care. The memories of their time together were all he had left, and he welcomed the pain. It was the only thing that let him feel like he was still alive like he hadn’t died the day she walked out and left him alone. Dean turned up the whiskey and chugged as the tears began to make their way down his face. It became part of his daily routine to let the tears flow and wish he could go back and make different decisions. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, letting the pain and heartache consume him completely when the first notes of a song filled the room.  

I can't tell ya baby what went wrong

I can't make you feel what you felt so long ago

I'll let it show

I can't give you back what's been hurt

Heartaches come and go and all that's left are the words

I can't let go

If we take some time to think it over baby

Take some time, let me know

If you really want to go

The lyrics that filled the room had Dean singing along as his heart ached. They’d both always liked this song, but now it hit a lot differently.

Don't know what you got till it's gone

Don't know what it is I did so wrong

Now I know what I got

It's just this song

And it ain't easy to get back

Takes so long

He hadn’t realized what he had in Y/N. He took for granted that she would always be there, and now he was paying the price. Dean turned up the bottle as the song continued to play.

I can't feel the things that cause you pain

I can't clear my heart of your love it falls like rain

Ain't the same

I hear you calling far away

Tearing through my soul I just can't take another day

Who's to blame

If we take some time to think it over baby

Take some time let me know

If you really want to go

Y/N had already left and wasn’t coming back. Dean’s chest heaved with the emotion that was coursing through him. He always buried his emotions deep, but he couldn’t be strong anymore. His whole world was crumbling around him and he couldn’t keep his feelings from coming to the surface.

Do you want to see me beggin' baby

Can't you give me just one more day

Can't you see my heart's been draggin' lately

I've been lookin' for the words to say

Don't know what you got till it's gone

Don't know what it is I did so wrong

Now I know what I got

It's just this song

And it ain't easy to get back

Takes so long

The last notes of the song filled the air as Dean chugged the rest of the whiskey in the bottle. He could only wish for one more day, one more chance. He’d blown it and he had to deal with the consequences. If only everyone knew how he had planned on dealing with them, in a constant drunken stupor.

Y/N took a shower to calm down after her mental breakdown. The text from Mary was still in the back of her mind. She knew she needed to let him go and not look back, but she couldn’t help but worry. Y/N decided to give her mother-in-law a call to put this to rest once and for all. Y/N dialed Mary’s number and braced herself for the conversation she was about to have.

“Hello,” Mary answered.

“Hi, Mary. It’s Y/N,” she said with hesitation. She wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.

“Y/N! Oh honey, how are you?” Mary asked with concern.

“I’ve been better,” she answered honestly.

“I know sweetie. I’m so sorry, Y/N! I raised him better than that and I’m ashamed of how he betrayed you,” Mary’s voice getting softer as she finished speaking.

“It’s not your fault. He’s a grown man. He knew what he was doing,” Y/N wasn’t sugarcoating anything with his mother.

“He’s bad off, Y/N. I walked up on him screaming at his father’s grave and blaming him for everything last night,” Mary said in almost a whisper.

“What?!” Y/N asked in shock. Dean had only been to John’s grave a handful of times since he passed.

“I’ve never seen him that upset, Y/N, granted he was drunk, but he wasn’t that upset when John died,” Mary said, the sadness and worry evident in her voice.

“I don’t know what you think I can do, Mary. I’m not trying to be rude, but what am I supposed to do?” she asked exasperated.

“Go talk to him, Y/N. I know I have no right to ask you to do this, but talk to him and convince him to let you go without drinking himself to death! He won’t listen to any of us,” Mary pleaded with her.

“Fine! He’s not going to listen to me either, but I’ll try,” Y/N said with a sigh.

“Thank you, sweetie! I appreciate it! Bye, Y/N,” Mary said, hanging up the phone.

Y/N hung her head and groaned. How did she let herself get roped into doing this? She still had two hours before she had to meet Steven for lunch, so she decided to just go get it over with. She hoped that Mary had been exaggerating and that Dean wasn’t that bad, but she knew him too well. She grabbed her wallet and keys and headed to the door to go try to talk some sense into her soon-to-be ex-husband.

What Y/N saw when she walked through the front door made her heart ache. Dean was passed out, whiskey bottle still in hand. He looked like he hadn’t shaved or showered in days; he was a pitiful sight to take in. She walked over and took the bottle from his hand, setting it down on the coffee table as she took a seat next to it.

“Dean, wake up!” Y/N exclaimed as she tried to shake him awake.

The smell of the whiskey emanating from him made her stomach churn. She had seen him drink his feelings away before, but this was an all-time low. Y/N shook him again as he started to stir.

“We need to talk, Dean,” she said, trying to keep her voice void of all emotion.

“Y/N?!” Dean questioned as his eyes went wide at the sight of his wife before him. It had to be a dream.

“What the hell, Dean? What are you trying to accomplish here? Have you seen yourself? You look awful!” Y/N said as she shook her head.

“Hey, baby! I miss you,” Dean said as he reached out to run his finger down her cheek.

“Stop it, Dean! I’m here to tell you to get your shit together. Do you know that your mother practically begged me to come and knock some sense into you? She’s worried you are going to drink yourself into the grave and now I can see why she thinks that,” Y/N said as her voice began to crack. He’d hurt her, and their marriage was over, but seeing him like this was killing her.

“Come on sweetheart….I’m fine. Nothing to worry about,” Dean said slurring his words.

“You don’t look fine to me. You look like shit and you need to get a grip on yourself. This is ridiculous, Dean!” Y/N resorted to yelling, hoping it would make him listen because her heart was breaking seeing him so broken.

“Ridiculous?! I’m being ridiculous? I’m not the one who walked away and left me here for dead!” Dean yelled as he tried to sit up but to no avail.

“I’m not doing this with you, Dean. Get your shit together and move on! I won’t be back to have this conversation again!” Y/N growled as she stood to leave.

“I’m sorry baby! Don’t leave me, please! I love you Y/N, please come home,” Dean begged as he grabbed for her hand but was too drunk to catch her.

“I’m sorry Dean. We’re over, so please get a hold of yourself and move on. If you won’t do it for your family then do it for me, please?” Y/N said with her back to the drunken man.

Y/N didn’t give him a chance to respond before she walked out the door, slamming it shut behind her. She couldn’t let him know how seeing him like that had affected her. She barely made it to her car when the tears began to stain her cheeks. She promised herself that morning that she wouldn’t cry over him again, but seeing the shell of the man he once was had been too much to take.

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