#but at least he cared for his son’s safety in his dying moments when he told gojo about him

[smallcomets]

dawg bruce might be the worst dad ever like do you know how bad of a father you have to be when you make toji fushiguro come off as a good dad in comparison to you

[jgracie]

GOLD RUSH — PERCY + DAUGHTER OF HADES

masterlist | rules

❝ could you write headcanons of percy x daughter of hades (or persephone) reader? ❞ — anon

in which percy dates a daughter of hades

pairing percy jackson x hades!reader

warnings makeout scene but it’s very short and not explicit dw

on the radio . . . gold rush (taylor swift)

For many years, it’s always been Percy and you, you and Percy

Ever since he found you and your half-siblings, Bianca and Nico, at your old middle school, you’d been inseparable

You were distraught when you discovered the truth about your dad’s side of the family and how you missed out on the majority of your life because of it, but Percy made it all better, comforting and guiding you through the world behind the mist

It was only natural for you to end up falling for him, especially as the two of you grew up and he grew into his features, becoming increasingly handsome

However, you’re a daughter of Hades, and brought misfortune everywhere you went, so you vowed to simply watch from afar as Percy dated some other girl. Sure, you’d be miserable, but at least he’d be happy.

Besides, it's not like he’d have any trouble finding a nice girlfriend. You weren’t an idiot, you saw the way the majority of girls at camp swooned over him, dying to be in your position as you walked to the beach together

That decision is what put you in your current position. In order to distract yourself from Percy, you’d constantly pretend to have crushes on random people and accept any date proposal from any guy, a part of you hoping he’ll fill the Percy-shaped hole in your heart

Percy didn’t see you the way you saw yourself. To him, you were perfect. You’re the daughter of death, sure, but the way you breathed life into him every time you smiled said otherwise 

From the moment he met you at 13, Percy had fallen hard. The thing is, he didn’t think he had a chance. To you, he was just the best friend you’d rant to about the guys you actually wanted to date, not the one you’d go out with

And whenever they broke your heart, Percy was the guy you’d run to. He’d cradle you and smother you with as much affection he could get away with every time, fighting the urge to beat that guy up for hurting you, knowing he could do so much better if you just gave him a chance

“I just really thought he’d be the one, Perce,” you mumbled into his chest, your eyes fixed on the movie in front of you. Some guy - Apollo? Nemesis? Percy didn’t really care - asked you out on a date in the mortal world, then proceeded to stand you up, not even bothering to fake an excuse

The mere thought of you standing out there in the awful rain, all alone, made Percy seethe with rage. Noticing the glass of water in front of him begin to shake, Percy calmed himself down, choosing to instead rub your back and whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you cried

If he was that guy, he wouldn’t have stood you up. In fact, he would’ve picked you up from your cabin himself in order to ensure your safety on the journey

Little did Percy know, you weren’t crying because of being stood up. Sure, it was a little embarrassing, but you didn’t care about that son of Nike at all. He just saw you as a competition to win. Once he’d gotten you to agree to go out with him and humiliated you in front of random mortals, he considered his job done

You were upset because you were sick of your heart. Every date, whether good or bad, never resulted in your feelings for Percy going away. On the contrary, they got stronger every time, as you’d analyse your date’s every move and think, ‘Percy wouldn’t do something like that’ at every minor inconvenience

As Artemis drove her moon chariot in the sky, the two of you sent opposite prayers to whoever happened to be listening, the desperation in your thoughts being the only thing they had in common

Still, you continued to date random people. Percy continued to feel his heart shatter every time you barged into his cabin to tell him all about this new guy you met, already able to guess the outcome 

Just as you were about to lose hope, Aphrodite sent you an angel. Marcus was a son of Hecate, beautiful in the way petrichor feels like a warm hug, and he liked you

You could tell almost immediately, from the way his eyes seemed incapable of meeting yours to the rhythmic tapping of his feet as he spoke to you. And he was cute too. Was he Percy-level cute? No, no one could be that cute, but he was definitely up there

So, you bided your time. Maybe he would be the one you were waiting for. When he asked you out on a date, you couldn’t be happier, agreeing before he could even finish his sentence and running to tell Percy

Percy could tell Marcus was different. You spoke of him like he held the sky above the Earth, your eyes sparkling

He had to do something about this. He couldn’t stand around waiting for you anymore, and he couldn’t believe it took him this long to realise it

While you prepared for your date with Marcus, Percy decided to seek advice from the only woman in his life he believed he could trust to handle his situation

Sally Jackson made her way over to her son, handing him a plate of cookies and ruffling his hair before sitting in front of him, “so, what did you wanna talk about?” She asked, concerned. She’d never seen Percy like this before

“Well… you know Y/N, right?” He began, biting into a cookie. She nodded, already having an idea as to where this conversation was heading

Sighing, Percy continued, “I really like her, mom. I’ve liked her for years now, but she seems to have eyes for anyone but me. Before, it didn’t bother me that much, but now she’s going on a date with this Hecate kid and I can tell he’s different from all the other ones and I just don’t know what to do. I thought about sabotaging it somehow, she doesn’t deserve to have her date ruined.”

The answer to his problem was so obvious Sally had to stop herself from pulling her hair out, “why don’t you just tell her that? Speak from the heart, Percy. Y/N’s a nice girl, even if she doesn’t like you back, she won’t hate you for it.”

His mother was so smart. Percy had to tell you, even if the only thing he’d get out of his confession is a weight lifted off his shoulders. Suddenly, he was filled with adrenaline as he remembered that your date was today.

Grabbing the remaining cookies and stuffing them into his bag, Percy yelled a jumbled-up excuse to his mother then ran out of the door and all the way to the nearest taxi

Once he got there, he made his way to your cabin, nearly breaking down the door as he entered

“Y/N please don’t go on that date!” He nearly screamed. You were dressed in pyjamas with a face mask on and watching a movie, which confused Percy. You should be getting ready by now

“I’m not going, Marcus caught a cold from one of his siblings, so we rescheduled to next week,” you answered, then, when what he requested of you finally clicked in your head, “why do you care?” 

“Because you should be going on a date with me,” Percy said, finally calming down, “I love you more than anyone in this whole camp, Y/N. I’ve loved you since we were 13, but I was too nervous to do anything about it. I’m sorry if this ruins your date with Marcus, I know you were really looking forward to it and–” Percy stopped talking when he noticed the expression on your face

You were beaming. The way light from the window shone on your face would have anyone mistaking you for a child of Apollo, “I love you too, Percy. I’ll cancel on Marcus. Do you wanna watch this with me?” 

Honestly, you and Percy dating didn’t change much in your relationship. You became a little more touchy and were no longer afraid to declare your adorations to the other, but other than that, Percy was still the same guy you’d been crushing on all these years

It took people at camp a while to realise you’re a couple because of this. The Aphrodite cabin knew, but no one else believed them until they caught you guys making out behind cabin 3

You gasped for air as Percy finally let go of your lips. What started as a mere kiss turned into another, then three, then a whole make-out session behind his cabin, "Perce, we're in public, there are kids in camp," you said, the smile on your face growing

"Don't care," Percy replied, locking lips with you yet again, "love you so much," he said in between breaths. You didn't pull away, content with staying on cloud nine with him, for eternity

Well, it would've been an eternity if it weren't for the sound of gasps and cheers pulling you down to Earth. You pushed Percy away from you, too shy to look anyone in the eye after what just happened. Meanwhile, Percy just smirked as he heard exclaims of, "I told you they were a thing!"

Soon enough, news spread and made its way to a certain half-brother of yours, who wasn’t afraid to give Percy a lengthy description detailing what’d happen to him if he even thought of hurting you

Nico knowing meant Hades found out too. You have a good relationship with your dad, visiting him and your stepmother, Persephone, every once in a while

So, Nico also came bearing a message from Hades, who swore on the Styx to do everything in his power to put Percy in the Fields of Punishment if he ever caused you any pain 

Percy wasn’t intimidated by any of these threats, since he knew he’d hurt himself before laying a finger on you

Sally is SO delighted that the two of you are a couple. Honestly, she was the first to see it when Percy first brought you over, she just didn’t say anything because she wanted you guys to figure it out on your own 

She adores you so much though. Percy thinks she loves you more than she loves him sometimes. She’s always giving him little trinkets and baked goods to give to you!!

You sparred together all the time before you started dating, since as children of the big three, you’re only allowed to fight each other. However, since you started dating, you noticed Percy start to loosen up a little

He thinks you don’t know but you do. He doesn’t want to hurt you!!!

Every day, Percy makes it his mission to prove that just because you’re a daughter of Hades, doesn’t mean you’re unlovable. So far, he hasn’t failed

[onigiram]

sorry yall for the silence my new schedule has me pulling doubles on tuesdays/wednesdays/fridays from monday to saturday so ive been trying to hype myself up to have energy when i can :^) bUT!!!! I HAVE MORE SCAR HEADCANONS!!!

grew up after the attack on his town thinking he was unloveable/a bad luck/a curse

thought he needed to prove to the world how useful he is - that he deserved to live and that he had worth. that there was purpose in his continued existence. there had to be a reason why he was the only one left…

believed that the sister of the church who saved him didn’t love him/that no one truly loved him - because why else would they have left him all alone? why else was he the only survivor?

despite his strength, a part of him from within has always ALWAYS sought safety - something that really motivates his desire for evolution bc evolution = safety = survival

the church sister who saved him was his actual biological mother, who never told him the truth but still loved and raised him as her son

has a fear of actually dying before he can prove himself and ‘save humanity’ - considers himself as the ‘necessary evil’/‘misunderstood hero’

made an alter and a burial ground at the small town he comes from for all the people who were killed during the td outbreak. visits their graves once every year for at least a week, taking care of the area and ensuring nothing was vandalized - very much a ‘although they are gone they were still my original herd’ moment tbh

more to be added but im sleepy ajdiahdhsjs

[officialgleamstar]

MNMOMS??? 👀👀👀👀👀

hmmmm I’d like to know more about the relationship between the moms and their kids maybe? if you havent answered that already?

oh or anything about the relationship between any of the moms

really just anything about mnmoms, im obsessed GSHSHSHGSHEH

HIII LEX!! oogh. relationships between the moms and their kids... i think ive mostly only talked about morgan and nick/nicholas, on tumblr at least, so i can definitely get more into that :D

morgan and nick... well-trod ground. morgan is severely paranoid and over-protective of nick, while nick is severely clingy but also has to pick a fight with everything she say, etc etc. i havent spoken as much about morgan's relationship with nicholas i dont think beyond establishing that she loves him and that hes a total mama's boy gbhjfdhjbj so i can talk about that!! though shes more well-managed by the time he is present, morgan is still very protective of nicholas, helped by the fact that he is the most high-strung kid on the planet. hes very jumpy whenever jodie isnt around, seeing him as his main source of safety, and hes also like... pretty aware of morgan's conflicted feelings on him? nicholas is exactly what morgan always wanted nick to be, well-behaved and careful, and it just makes her so much more aware of everything she lost. nicholas knows he is loved, and morgan does love nicholas, but hes also very aware of... well, his mom is different to him now, too. he can understand that he is just as foreign to her, hes a smart kid. they love each other very much, and honestly, morgan's relationship with nicholas is a lot healthier than it was with nick, but theyre both overly aware of the elephant in the room.

carol and grant probably have the most consistently positive mother/son relationship throughout the entirety of mnmoms, besides mercedes and lark at least! however, this... isnt for good reasons LMAO. pre-forgotten realms, carol generally wasnt home much, preferring to work herself to death at her office job. so grant literally prefers her to darryl just because she was never the one around to get mad at, she was never trying to talk to him, he didnt have to worry about helping her with chores because she didnt do housework, etc. they love each other very much, but once they get to the forgotten realms, carol becomes very aware that she cannot remember the last time she had a proper conversation with her son. just, no comprehension of whats going on in his life at the moment. its BAD, yall, but the two never really question their love for each other, which cant be said for all the kids. ive talked about this before, but they do have a plot of bonding over their sexuality journeys, carol works really harden to soften her sharp edges for her son and to be more present in his life, and they come out of the forgotten realms in a much better place than they went in! (though, take this with a grain of salt, because its definitely the same way that darryl and grant came out better in canon. this does not mean that they werent both traumatized LOL)

samantha and terry junior... start off the worst, for sure :') i have talked about their relationship before but it was part of a longer ramble about sammy, so i will reiterate it here! samantha has a bad habit of going therapy mode on terry junior and he is very aware of it. she is of the opinion that she should not put her emotions on her son at all, because she is his mother and thats not his responsibility (which actually stems a lot from samantha's relationship with her own mom but i think im gonna get into that more for isadora's ask--). however, terry takes her facade of calm as her being utterly in denial about terry senior dying at all, and he cant understand why she wont even show that shes upset. this already puts their relationship in a tenuous space over a few years, and when samantha starts dating and then marries ron, terry's trust in her is. utterly obliterated. at the end of their time in the forgotten realms, like with ron, they arguably have the best relationship though! samantha learns how to show her emotions without having terry junior feel obligated to help her and does her best to be more vulnerable with him in general, and terry junior learns how to accept that his mom is allowed to have a life beyond his biological dad. they make me so fjhbghjbghj <3333

and okay. right. finally. haunted expression. mercedes and the twins.

firstly, mercedes and lark. consistently a good relationship! they have the typical oak-garcia issue of lark running all over her, not really treating her as an authority figure, but its obvious that he absolutely adores her and that she adores him in turn. this is helped by the fact that mercedes is definitely the "fun" parent - glenn parallels, lol - so she has even less control over the twins than henry did, mostly because she never thinks to exert any. still, even though lark and sparrow are absolute agents of chaos, they love their mom and lark never stops loving their mom. by the end of their journey, he's a little more distant from mercedes out of guilt, mostly. lark is still the one to stab henry in this au without any of the deep rooted rogue card anger to validate it for himself, and he has a very hard time looking either of his parents in the eye afterwards. however, he also considers them both his main source of comfort, and tends to trail them quietly around the house when hes upset.

mercedes and sparrow. haunted expression intensifies. "Is there anything as undoing as a daughter?" sorry for quoting arcane but LITERALLY MERCEDES QUOTE OF ALL TIME. it starts... the same as mercedes and lark: no sense of authority, but very positive emotions! sparrow is not out as transfem at the beginning of their journey, its still something she is working out throughout their time in the forgotten realms (she very much has a moment of like... "i'm in a new place where nobody knows me, so i'm going to pretend to be a girl and see how many people are fooled! that's a very normal thing for boys to do!" and lark plays along lol), and a lot of their time pre-rogue card is dedicated to that! mercedes and sparrow bond a lot as sparrow warms up to the idea of coming out as trans, and mercedes. well. mercedes already knew before going into the realms and has been reading a million different pamphlets and consulting advice columns and talking to morgan on how to perfectly handle this situation LOL. so their relationship is kind of perfect, actually, and they are doing really really well until the deck of many things comes into play :')

post deck of many things, sparrow is... very openly Not A Fan Of Mercedes. she is still the upbeat positive lovewolf twin in this (though i think she more wants to generally be a witch than a lovewolf, since her mama's a bard and not a druid!), so it is even more obvious when sparrow suddenly is not giving mercedes the time of day. sparrow is utterly convinced that she is destined for greater things in a very negative way, and blames her discovery of this on mercedes getting them stuck in the forgotten realms. she also, similar to lark in canon, blames the moms as a whole for the fact that walter was hurt and sees them widely as useless. mercedes, for her part, does everything she can to redeem herself to sparrow, and is endlessly frustrated by the fact that nothing she does works. post-forgotten realms, they argue pretty relentlessly, sparrow locks herself in her room and screams herself hoarse, mercedes storms out into the back garden and cries until she gets a migraine, and henry takes lark out for ice cream-- despite this, sparrow does still seek out a lot of comfort from mercedes, and she has a habit of casually finding herself, at night, in wolf form and curled up at the foot of her parents' bed. strange and so weird how she ends up specifically sprawled out across her mom's feet at least once a week, if not fully laying between her parents. crazy. what a coincidence. shes a fully independent child with no need for comfort for sure though

[onesemesterfilmstudentta]

Film #6: Ugetsu Monogatari

It's interesting how the movie twines several tales (the Ugetsu Monogatari tales but also Tobei's original(?) tale) into one plot and keeps the most sentimental or interesting scenes (the last night with a wife, the ghostly mansion, etc). Otherwise, the original tales certainly meander…

The professor introduced this as a ghost story and considering the movies we've watched so far I was pretty certain this movie would end up a tragedy. There are certainly moments of tragedy and horror absolutely but the ending was much happier than I expected. Writing this now, I'm not very satisfied with the plot. This is probably after having sat through two movies where the female characters are so obviously more trapped in their circumstances than the men. Because of men's actions, women are left to fend for themselves as prostitutes, singers, and beggars or die altogether.

It leaves a sour taste in my mouth thinking that the men in this movie can say, "Oh, woe is me! I only realize now that I only wanted to be rich and famous because I wanted to make my wife happy too!" Genjuro, I know you were "bewitched" but you laid down with another women, you gave kimonos to another woman, you gave yourself to another woman, so pardon me if I relished him having all his money taken away and trudging back home to a broken-down house. It's also laughable that the "enchantress" all along, while yes she did suck his energy, was NOT a fox spirit (tricks men like a succubus) like I thought but an actual innocent girl who just wanted to experience true love! He not only cheated on his wife but also shattered the heart of a girl who is already a ghost! I did NOT expect to sympathize with the ghost of a ghost story this way.

That being said, the scene with Genjuro's wife, now a ghost, who had to contend herself with one last night of happiness there with her family, was still a little sweet. It was probably intended to make the viewer just as angry as sad. At least, it made me very angry. The way she still cares for her husband, laying a blanket over him and making sure his feet are covered; how she had to hide her tears from him; how she sat by her husband and son and worked on clothing until the morning came- all through the movie, all she wanted was to live happily with her family. Your wife is dead, Genjuro! Tobei, you're not much better!

I'd rather not talk any more about the plot. What I do like is the director's confidence in using long shots that track the actors through a scene. Because of the war background and the seriousness of the violence, Ugetsu Monogatari feels shockingly realistic at times. Yet these tracking shots are incredibly beautiful as well. My favorite scene is the dream-like fog that surrounds the four central characters as they're on a boat. It is as if the background is painted in soft shades of pink, grey, and blue. Diegetically, Tobei's wife is singing too and everyone seems so content. Genjuro's wife even says she is glad because she feels sure taking this boat was safer than taking the road. The scene at this point is peaceful and serene. This serenity is quickly broken as another boat comes into view. The boatman, before dying, warns them of pirates on the water. So quickly, even as the music, background, and characters seem to feel safe, the chaos of war rears its ugly head again and the cast are scurrying for safety once more.

Another example is the first time Genjuro enters the ghost girl's mansion. As he and the girl's nurse walk through the hallways, the camera follows them from a distance as Genjuro looks obviously nervous. Their path is guided by the rectangle frames of the screen doors and Genjuro himself is positioned in an open rectangle when he sits down to await the ghost girl's entrance. This scene is an exceptionally long shot and it drips with Genjuro's nervousness (which is becoming the audience's because the girl and the nurse are very strange).

The composition of many of the shots is also beautiful as well. One shot that comes to mind is Genjuro "escaping" the mansion. He crashes out into a courtyard and falls onto his back. Tree branches are jutting into the foreground so that his figure is enclosed by them. I'm sure there is some symbolic meaning I am missing but as an image it was pretty.

The panning was also interesting as well! The best examples came from Genjuro's time with the ghost girl. The panning blended with transitions from shot to shot of the two enjoying their time together. The most interesting one was the transition from hot spring to a field. I am used to most pans being incredibly quick - the blur is used to make an easy transition - but this pan was much slower than that! The panning would also be used to block out violence or scenes that would be hard for a viewer to watch too. Even if it's hard to watch, these pans let the imagination run in the worst ways.

I also liked what little music there was is often diegetic. One of the cast is singing and playing an instrument or someone else in the background is. For example, there was a flute player in the background of a market scene or at least when Genjuro was in the market one of those times.

On a technical level, this film was simply amazing and I enjoyed "watching" it even if I didn't enjoy the plot very much. I would also like to end by saying both Genjuro and Tobei displayed maidenless behavior. I have already elaborated.

[libidomechanica]

S son

A sonnet sequence

               1

And bitterness. The doctors return in you are flower unfamiliarity breede. Each to die in beauty brighten that saves the painted fire and beautifie your own quadrille. Greatest living Child, the palaces! Of the wild; and seemed, or speak to her, opes she is smiling that Johnny burr, as careless as aged men; but what once about twice two spirits of Sicily: to northern seas I’ll be, thy mither, nor age such-wise she lines this kingdom!— Albeit I’m sure I didn’t say it—our Ida has a heart; as if foreseen that I fear you’re white Queens. Blistered the down and rain.

               2

The flame, should be dated some red doors gave conspicuous animals of verdurous glooms that softer rhyme, a modern quill employ, she quite so from this was not quit without much as they gain for here paper- gowned in safety to Neptune’s happiness, pleach’d started as if they are, embleme. Then possible song of the midst, where thing safely fedde. Made a sudden swell, full of late. Forsaken lady to prove nor can enlight find they seem like Munch’s Scream Fairies to the moment, dismay’d, no hurt my draught like resign thy heart, o charms, it scarcely afterwards burn clear from the bleachers.

               3

But thou hast thou art force by many Grace in arm: the king—was rosed with, God forbidden, perhaps he fetched man, tall, extremely— thou share you yours, surmounts there with pity, for a hundred hollow watch a heel, nae travelling sire and black chord. My still it backward on the rich of melodies, all blind my soul page after the purest minds and yell: Get out against that gaze at his forehead thinke thus: althought like a common cry and before all to thee, O Latmian persever’d and he world, and when, stupefied, I shall not. And almost to my heard noble hostess, nor common-place book.

               4

Not Eve, when bleak November, make you are clichés and thy capacious pearly did discourse, amongst your fierce agony too: why stamp of their cheered feel, or, knowing, health, my natural. Through her this life. Go call the rose, noble. His nearer blissful gentle Euphues, who, ere Time renders to might how far beyond the full growing, not wonder whose pleasure’s lay; seeing, as every session all plea commence, which, being blest, should drowne, into thee hence? But sicken of sentimental stone—sometime absent from my oblation in which did not at once shall seize thy yellow hair, shining for Aglaia.

               5

New: nought of every sensuall earth, into the stream: I cannot staies, who laughing, and ears, fourteen years the eyes first begin. Face coins the lass of Love’s excess, and where quiet place and led a hundred airy fellow smoke then, beholding: now your laborious blunder—if it be. But yet through the snowy bank the human that this with graves, and Johnny, Johnny! Have themes in pain, petitioned our court to settling rose, grape, cherry, cream but named. Face I say, There motley follies blend, and the family-likeness and cedar glooms in May, that in the moon in light from the Silver spake, and rejoice!

               6

Don Juan’s fall’n, may rise again, what I do not kneeled and did. To move about poetry, and hence could merely through her father drunken pleasure yield, for she and weeps; such cool me without delayed the springs the after that side of losing is a cursing, Now vse their silver Line divine. To his past so fair, an idle too, and made no sting, salving to thy hand, which he of God to goe: then in starch halls with ease the way to win. Bought; to see, the bark will kame thy rymes beneath to know not for Woes self, should hard upon the caused to it the same song his ill mither he may be.

               7

Not if you meet; long years of him hurry. Dying off, arms that care-worn sage, which her best wanes; who neither shed her bed, circling to a hundred maids, thy tenderness. The basement high of import both, or ear, or a satin heaven he great assault on a lawful awful, and having and have armed myself its most decree that least encumbered. Look, look up and I sooner fighter, and I won’t or can continent’s store; vanish we’ll never know where he weep. Like the sickle; I, poor patient and gray, which opens to kind: false heau’nly beames, and wear my hand, grasping through the women’s No.

               8

Whose pleasure thing the spring, sense of all that soft remembranceses? Of sweet, any part: and hate, and fleets and enough the price touch, risking love withdrew her Milk, she unobservative but the Mortal cloth’d; how waited on to giue my Rosalind, and leaves. Right cannot more admired of whom, how one softly from having dove with a stag. And light at they had I been resum’d in visitor. ’ Said you scorn drew forth a golden thou doubtful deems. That same loving came and I was a back-hoe. Whose quietly her idiot boy. And Tellus feels his pure Will to its inner clown: perhaps he held by the site once grown a prehistorians, her several languor wept: her full fifty yards and you were he did so break. Whether on him, in some rocks,—and which it bore, since then, sleepless counterpart, then far-spooming a picture link the lane has made excursive, breaks white should have known!

               9

Chalk mimics painting a basket empty teacups, the streets, their shafts of regret—no major tension House of two entities: myself too swift as farre of a city greatest down within a dream he was ever dwells, especial animals of a lie. Not till serpents the swollen at the wilder’d up his actions part; opening delight, as on the jawing weares as garments came to Nais paid: behold there, walk’d bad blood in dream, mither, a tide ebbs in some quiet breathless fairly earn’d; and many a scalding tear thee. And scattered them still fragments lights are fallen, having kiss!

               10

I was awful awful, and made lament redundant. To mar the ground, is she talked with thee into the holy was by one day we would not one? Could let the dear domestic streams now fired in this crystal place their shibboleth, God damn! Tress of traitorous in times through that isle of like in words. Icicles. Delicious and blaze up, all the deep scar of voyage, rank as a chin but their dam’s teats, who, ere we are drawne by one by imag’d thing by all well be, that same there we extinguish in. Followed: so the Sun, and hand as a day, sitting in their fresh and light, doe not understand.

               11

Fain would not love to the day I sit and understand: the grasps in passion with free scope, more you are sealed: I listens, stop thine own land for each others samphire, ’ through a ring, and thou hadst cool’d the white robe to me, now teares hungry lick about her hair of night to me. ’ The great Nemesis breath; thou pointed silence. I was colours leaves we love after midnight and therein. The water fair Maid, and nothing it up with all the Spirit would in an April rain, before realm, and the wide night fair wert nobler, that foam’d above thee stop here, tis not afraid of the womankind like Malthus, God of disappointment shews, his fire, pull’d my mind, love; it is teeming of dearths, or dancing so the shadow, and accomplish’d pleasant word too fond, when it would divided frame: and the Muses Hobbinoll, I blest with a psalmodic amble with the thirty mock tyrannizing was, shall stay.

               12

Hair, as I’ve got through a windows? Of mitigated their head, and Creation, he, made answered me—it shall enter’d morning pure with loved well-seeing great bronze for time; and upon the dying. He did shine, sudden rills float my sire, lifted from thee? Diverse? Said the owls in undiscended brethren of roses proclaim it then for spite, this transfer a weak, for Cupid’s sake! Rubbing a death: yea having at such pleasures drowning away, assured out the with circuit of your ain love. ’Er; common bulk, though the air my quiet die. And, silent high defiance. And singeth, and laughter.

               13

And by we’ll never dear! To one every side your loving in this line bore up the sea; the curly foam with cease to a pint of woe were she taught but love Gregory! As purply blank and gain and accomplice of fate: ’tis the world to slake thy brotherhood. As we scale the tableau intact. There and blind voluptuous lantern, instead of shamed by those dear love. Enjoys the arch through blind voluptuous lie huddled wonder understand: they length might not a gentle into his own sweet voice—I feel my widow’d wife, I knew, the whom Fame commends to the stone jaw of pleasures—touch’d the year.

               14

Can see, the best; like two great falls which of mind proves are figures see thee. That just a dream. Be Nature flower, not there in their parts, sisters three love, despite the forst the crush, but which, being here; he barks, my small, jewel’d sandals, and London’s first, your flocks did it soup? My lay, listened with most of vanish’d. Like airy plan, have fall of good woman, there: for the horseback have known them sometime she’s idle; let us meet; there hardly spight. The mother maidens are when the weeping our velvet bodies, that strong at my should I, afternoon—the words by the soyle, thou reviewest thunderstand.

               15

Through crowd confusion; here our fists around then! As dead: o let me home again such a care; they sat at their chief art instead! Thus far, go forth, have falling. And I sit writhing bullet tearily, and vaine on it; and the doors gainst my songster, some people, and white fingers; then falling feet emerged. The flowers or brake ourself, when the summer loathing weeds, to over thee that dirty spring was the evening, haue we in silent season, in five months’ time, when thou openest the trumpets, shoulder blade. Woman, so longer troubled hand; she is nourished. And speak as spider’s selfe to greet!

               16

I find thither; the rough which droop, and the only, you give it have thou leddest Orpheus through great and challendge to yon shrink to do. Like small king,—then along hair! And I thy capacious tears beset her in the earth, where birds from hanging that I can, i’ve done to die, her bones like an empire stern as Pluto bear it. Except the come of night, till serpents craft had yours, the magic: every soul abroad. That skims, or seas? Nor be my sweet and flow. When I’m laid aside like light in her faces levelling. Who in fear we not to bring you not till tempests. I do love’s loving the guide.

               17

His spirits do flowers; and the women comets, break it—What, not to sailed on ocean’s side, is in thee near death: which lent happy spirits need of warm Southey feel distemper right say some few sad thou lean in Fortune may be seen, on him, this face by her ministers and thy you to every mountain roe, with whom, how should come by trecheree didst though t is the woodbines within that their doubt, where he went thee to hear ye lie, ye lie, but I am so opprest, and thither; the said, and the forlorn! Thing but when then pitche, nor be contented: when she spite with vases, to wherefore.

               18

See the grassy lea, my necktie rich a minute than on continuous rage, whose royall round me, can live and gone in an angry word he saw Ilion? Than centaur Nessus garb of more, by poet’s debt; and one’s blue ladies, and though every brow, to light in light their average numerable question, or hope hope will know it, so we fall; and Susan Gale. Be better times each teach muscles of your eyes find the sage hide, stella, loadstar or blame, when I demaund of itself, in hand it have not too daring not only God, who is shifted him for Truth’s and then no tender a broken.

               19

That good mien, especial jury of man. Let us go and left my bad a perfect of a love in arm: they have seem’d quicken, so effect wouldst move them moved on with me that one to see. For sith red wine while his rage and great bronze for once more the green Chinese languid limbs are brief minutest fish would blush’d unseasons of your contrary; but having down one and quick which your side; they ask of me; well, and one monster. But Juan was colour’d by the tape separate, discompose that the old Chaldeans to wexe so little kind; nor services to a tempting her Soul crazed, was mere as marble.

               20

Spring, it light and perfum’d with a shelter’d from no Mother cheek,—upon me like angel from hanging and reproof’s a smile, lest Glory end what way;—juan yet another’s arms already, knows poor idiot boy? Deere, why make you meet; the Crucified. And now sees the should I see that make our golden clime. And which makes waters where lie perdue; for the might I’ll in heard them not appealing sun, thou pointest trees, and hideous roars, and consent, if nothing? Nor shall not have doom’d also of sober’d morning the soft air, or proudlier prancing into the most pretend then no tender sound.

               21

Poor Betty o’er all, not know them up: she set there, but could be thy love of comfort I expectant. But comes, a dull skies change grown land for ever and kin. Hard as a bus. And sank and, while each in the domed and losse office, fed by foul corrupting, is my lambs are belongingly I loved you, woman, if you with her fifteen, for affords. There new denizen had seen, he laid her hue changes ever falls which kills me without and fame witch of briars particle, should men who grew a long seal’d dear, dear officious heavy! In blood that lifts the night a sublime, but I as well of the pit.

               22

’Tis the sooty oil. The Sage would hoist my blue Peter, ’ and more, and he things though street, and takes through brows of beechen grew these words, where, the front of Lucy’s fervent ferment is on thy flocks, but now the the face, her madly; and, they once more quiet-coloured them the pinions and large Neptune, I burst their chances; then a wondering at there nor the vast of one weakeness to the casket empty air was his memory them up with cattle patient art which I doubtful deems. But, as I stood erect and dead; and there worth my brother I! Of powers, budded, and, into eternity.

               23

She saw me lying steps, and maist though the yard, the Spirit by each by mutual arms have been breast. Go, and now of three more conspicuous man. Fling on outside of richest over in misery hardest gazer drank more gaily claspt by my sisters and blows the port of humour. Thou wast the soft remembered country that we were mute to gaze on Amphion learned lucubrations in red bright, soft, unseen, lull’d delectable, and never, I’ll answers in. Is silent, save the way, and dead; or the middle of cheek open. And this is so good, Let us go and faire lands forlorn.

               24

War nor hero, as any other side. The Honeycomb; and there, them out their pivot he heard, and to say just struck a wounded, friend’s direct how to removed. Judas come heart so potently? And which other if I can shew the season, upon the last Review the virgin and now, that clings that said Blanched it solve if he doth light impart, when my steed and blows the women trade, ’ like kindling, but the mail, learning pure in the lawn running Lord Gregory come thrones—amid thing relief—cruel enchantment grew drunk, gamed, and dark, new born in the comfort but a day, the bottom peep?

               25

As sure she was certain o’er thy oaten pype began to proper plac’d that it into play the Third? These commodious plot for the dark. The meanings all are but stern, as we flit by each care of their long sea of what once arose in ponder I say, There is the print of her Hair down she had made of mercy? Peace of Love. That I meant the sea. I leaves on ever flowe. Fear to give fully fedde. Shirt is a great ships and this searing of poetry, and, stepp’d serene a goddess and never spouse—next, the foamy waves roars, and surely hand? Our enemies have lov’d three love-tokens than he.

               26

I would rate but waste, the fields and because you fell asleep tinkle home apace, her throw my voice, nor knew porphyria’s Love? And weary with savage glares arise against the only in my arms, be mine, each in every sweet faces that make: twas Johnny’s but Heaven knows poor for tear the name is a merry meeting of lost a things that which tears: while in her flowing in thy capacious poison’d, tis not so trim and grone. Time’s creeps beside us, knew several score to thee, nae timely, nothings be drowsy hour; bring into a crescent’s illuminated and down to quenchless cinders.

               27

And pearls not evenfall, and heels are won. Flocks did fall of good found not of joy that dies all humanity,—juan, as though for one—all perfum’d without our Serpent-skin of Evil; the foolish fires o’er that all, not your skirts had turned him for it. Me, if the world speaking the byrds, which Eve might his legs swollen at the dying. I came to the Queen of Lochroyan lay deeps, the world’s blast— thou wert true, the Muses you would water was a solitude; ye’re no come. Nor eluish gloom, light-winged China’s crockery-ware metropolis, or lives it a single with black distill’d off the near it grows cold.

               28

Before than might have climb, a dream of my face you see how cream, tho’ the love, despise. Poor Susan groans of a love nothing the and lived again set off you. And last fly to immortal names in me, the flowers. Formed of heaven’s blast—thou would opened against the wind, which Jack and kisses be made of lids the rack torture-pilgrimage of rest, Then she show. Let our way has become offices of power and began to survive. To any that great assault on a diverting than all the spring, with Heydeguyes, and long captivity; while the Doctor from her on his eyes burn blue.

               29

The rout clusters that love you yet mething relieve it?-Night, cliffs and thy beauty, farre of the wrath of comfort but she has no light had a constellation by nodding teares to enlarge eyes, my bonie was not wrong youth, and mine own refuse your Mother cared form, look into the goal, when armour clashed and he said, and huge jaw of nameless love: she bees gorgeous pageantry eye: o, for shall fancy’s spreading sea of songs within like a cloudy symbol-essence! A sidewalk, her several language of a giant’s bier she whom Fame comes beneath the word. And leaves hast too hard upon our pain.

               30

Oh gentle into each eve doth well lit, there dead weighed enormous down hither fruits of those power benign, for still woman! I to tarry: I ken thy scythe annulus— a planet, that he has for those Janizaries, and his shall be my sin you bastard in all in its way to win. Little girl? Dead are shepheards, which I doubt and turned on the sea. Whilst systers of the indentures. In the way right once more travels to the must do? I am losing in that in the victory white shouts—and motionless heavy artillery to picture, bravery truth in you have been begin.

               31

And laughters faire hand that beats its cold in dreams, before I’ll both for ever courteous though is mild! Ah wanton eyes, bright if it come and for the abysm-birth of mine have freeborn nativeness a lamp-lighting when thine own dove of twelve, and take ourself shalt her still, having pale oblivion, and many an ease me, which thou be’st Doubt! Invitation bestow’d upon the bridegroom the heedless lake, on which none puts by the current on deadly spight. A youth and lie therefore then, which wexen old Orinda call the Spirit is a honeysuckle. Lit with a blind where to slake my great, if nothing and question with you, letting you not till my pain! Hesitations of course of the sacred cherries some back to tears, letting on the roote of heaven. Had not married this is so vex’d with flaw-seeking it command,— i’ll writers use of orient pearly houseleek’s heaven.

               32

For thy siluer sought, I met this scent, by Aurora’s peering thereof, with gorges unexplore that has cause of one; nay in my arms championed gaze calibrating some of his heart of light lies lit without- end hour and heares. It promises light, and thy mother for such wonders motion not burn these warrant note do sink away from sounds; see lines out of prison! So they came, the come to know how far this fine: in souls we lose whom these question: and fit to all this great close enough thy praise and had been resum’d in view in year and that I’ll be knowne for Annie turned into some more.

               33

For I must value more trailed, which so sorely puzzled three parting, and cozenage; and as he a branch of London hisses? My bird with oxytocin or coloured every bad angel be time it sleepe, to the next way to open cannot keep them too: why stamp they all well he sleep in their poor good endure in the first doth common- sense! From out the Lady that so it will gain—or none lay their fairest, was boundless sight and sounds; if he fount it be. Her hair and you to bear hence, your idiot boy must ebb and fair, with a hero, as an infant’s side, is sickness; when, from her wand.

               34

If smiles, and blind my soul that beats its utmost word that I did always three eloquent woody dale; and that thou shall I lov’d an old man’s roves into some but thanks, that do sink with scoffing, and praised be above, around—But whence could pour out gratify a bee, like a word of English, with the face may betide with new words that by us, the white flannel trousers, and coral, thou should sleep. And now, break like a tranced in the elm-tops with the apple trees feel palpitation—I don’t know eterne Apollo singer, from the sky like scent wing, all marrow drained the hilts? A shoebox.

               35

With this Irish whiskey in his sweet desire; I am your cheerless, shall away, and happy lot, where they stood alive. Up therefore my head, my own Belovëd, I at last Duchess painted away throat untied her chin, and loud cried, is Freedom, he went from the moonlight bower was it seem’d, sweeping shafts of brother can ease me, i’ll fears; and wett your warm young, haue we in thine eye, high cliffs and taught with dry cheek or fades, mysterical,—he breezy air; but today a coffin for the young and times abroad, the devil take care about Judas, the moon’s last all grace. She fled ere day.

               36

And found then awakes us in the gruff companions of mid-sea, afloat, and even condemn’d, then regalities with the shrunk to me! No more. They as eas’ly their joy, I cannot tell, point after than he. Doubled hand or ever—Then a lawful package, and the auspices wake, my sweet there living laid by the down dead-heavy sank her common-place, thought footsteps behind; and my heard a noise and to booth. That break, soon that’s free informing a table; let us now fill your faithfull woe. Or him that rises from my eyes moved beyond his carried, unsought, weigh I, who would sigh’d!

               37

Renne after rhyme, so, she will be in a time hae I torture all my life, the Crown; a Star under the stayes to compensate, thought lights of light do the lucky, I stared at her eye, silent, straying you the dell, and the twilight as there’s no more be grieve me; for a placid lake came glimmering disaster. Of fresh petals are scatter angel waiting forth, white of her sense, or on my better growe. What mast of tongues were shepherd’s crockery-ware metropolis, or sat at thee. Mild is the palaces! Sweet it fly! That will builds up such a victorie, yet some native in self-same smil’d?

               38

Then is with light that which was meant, at all, the latest space-age gear blank to a Jew; both what Paradise of so great spirit: despaire at my should lend to help them not I heard a noise of her cheek. Since if the Fourteen years which nothing, or heart of hope came quiet sounds of the world-without, in the apple tree, a conquering over my debt to his hook and read loved, that heart’s endeared with blood. Turns out of blessed, a way of sea and coral, they saw them up with eager swirl gain’d lover’s vow they gaz’d upon the city, and forehead to my soul out the child. Ilka body now is this.

               39

She is hurt ye, or not to gas;—through all her name is On gold break. I oft have lied who ruine so consummation find: but such comes peace the flash, all round by thy brightly votes particular sorrow and in his learne the cliff-tops, she said You share. For scene of Wood a furlong from the two delight, within ken, thou hardly heart, my lasse, to west words; and ever yet withouten lincks of iron—when love look, and stands; save the Serpents to see if I meet this Fair One, and blind; and bad, that would cost your warrior thought what is not allowes, sweetness flicker, and pray you cannot be bitterness.

               40

Shining unseen light pinions shed on ocean must this horse, kneel’d down dead-heavy eyelids fine: in souls for a placid sandals, and up, to breath, my dear little darts as we send while ever upon Sion’s harp had water was his worth we let me free, till my spirits do suggest me in I do not enough can I am becoming hand, through it may live her eyes moved on my knee. There arose once more train across to the must not for great shining milk-teeth used up. With the next bestow’d upon his carelesse fere, there laws are in thee Proof that liberal, sine the salt sea deriu’d, tearing.

               41

Fast and unchange their chiefs, orators, queen, Fled is thine above, below, though Amaryllis danc’d to thy babe’s fated words you may thy hand—had grasps in Porphyria; straightway pass fleet as drown. But he lifts the room. Venus frowns are arming, no one by imag’d thine heart, I read against the cold, and to hell, my bosom is tumblings frae my delight He forced for a throne smoothly to my touched his way: soon was all that there, it cross the cause. Suspended on the moon. His troubled and much, and subtle for decision hooves. Which, being many, where never contrary; but never could be above!

               42

A rib’s a thin-pervading span, t will be time to pass fleet of sorrow from eight that’s the universe to cross they are. Have most of rock. Poor Tom was one as she heart wild Moor, the forms and bay; rough which three till happen when thou should melt from thee to more the moon’s lasting to run off where thee to the wall. When I am lost. Sings of an inspiration they all the rest: with silver. Shouted the wren through the moonlight, alone, for Johnny’s lips were shepheards rude. And in the flash’d them all—the earth, we stood last yearning to each other limbs still-kept course must do the lower empire, as well.

               43

We fill—we fill—we fill—we fill! Hale streams my sense of all his ransom, being dumb; the hostess, not a few specially if new, or folk of your advice, to languish, ioylesse, and floats the sullen thunder, Do I dare to cheek open. And loved beyond a strangers as lordly and pay our pretie case, pitie there, to bride in the paired bodies, then dinner, pursued his travel them more graunt; but shakes to acquaintance who lord Gregory, and he then there white Queen of Heaven is the love, my Lady Blanche at distances straight them what to all thee: ah Christian coast; how Vlster like taper-flame to his Head.

               44

No matters down from other ’fore we may, and years beset her, by the hopeless bene withdrew from the root when the women fasted, ere were born at Bethlam? Of day- tide, on which steal about the certain o’er then the fuel of light your body one deepest in: o Moon! Amid his ill minions of Kings a solitary pastures rude and griefe; and give; of moons, and we adores all over blue stony bases for Neptune’s palace, where exceed the holding freshest vengeance can see its heart of heaven’s blast—thou wert noble Fame therefore. As whom my body is writ each other side.

               45

The sad heart it went on deserted by love so tender semi-tone, more this restless, me no more: I will I touch, risking more been cease upon the dew of Peace upon bed. Sense of deer moving mute, in its words were harbrought—o Greta, dear man, tak down between us, I am not, since dawn that my bear her compare. On the king: thaw this is a morning the air sight me had not hollow hair, as yet why that attempt with many maidens are pass the morning zeale, by the town she hies, but still it growing on the upper in another. Chuse to bring at the next tell you all?

               46

Of forest root; and she’d never hurts ye. Thus the Whigs? Strokes the wrathful Dian’s named mount Pleasure quaff until the bases for they reacheries unfold of truth, and joinèd hand, and the tongues resort. A genius or under; sweetest out with my wrong forth a golden chariots trance, stock the evening eyes, mystery, pledge might sky, a delay, tis not a joy,—a pet-lamb in a groves o Shadow flits and all the moon shine so pale for to this, or when though my known through the rose-red with a bitter. These things; alas, why, fearing world! Record, her uterus an evening disaster. Where quickly, before arose: a place of him? The flowers all his base had been my songs that sin in me but under thee. Not for my side, these word. A dove, without depth, with hoary hed: and in gold sandals, and Salámán of Auspiciously a forlorn child the palace. In water sinne of this task of joy.

               47

But my body griefs alike to traced as though all night. But Tom’s no open cans was an inch of bread out of peril and think men love. Seats unscalable but thee and changed, and wild, even so higher views upon his tongue would lay at home. Though I’m sure as thou were blue look upon the other best, our young, but, in all of golden breath of winds war; and past a shadow flits and three; and tunes, and say it is in to-night I was whole again. Moving came, and leviathan, and broken particular sorrow brings; the outward view, he gaz’d upon the Lady Blanche: much the most of rock.

               48

Of being both be heart, I see the owlets throwing of women must convert; or else to our daysleep, in May, in that much empressed. Chariots in for joy; she waterspout had you think, my Soul found. Such is his sovereign, which done, with the other side of the times now a word and sad-sighing towards burnt by cigarettes as when we were still call back: Hello the circuses, so cold. The door, to tell the billows, they heart, o charming, the depth and my mind the heart. Tis not what worth thy sacred mountain pine at my side, untied a kerchief, crying her the night light! The ball. You trouble.

               49

Warmth, whereof at first was afraid of the Princessant misery hardest from annoy, pregnant of into his arms were this lips they grew to be from thee, that from me. Though I can perceiving pale face and roar’d out. Can warm of female which was sexually wrapped crack like mine, for only he, but a ray. To cease not dreamy urn; farewell, so nutty, and people who all carry back and blows loud hath of shame of you the wet with sovereign’d before us, Cyril, batter, I am a shelter for wings of a bullet tears, and I turn’d all hope, with a tongues could dree, and for you.

               50

Of doors to one where must take thee and fears the question, thoughts for the glimmering was in Banquo’s glass! The brink, loue did give it have done to his actions in one and as thy fingers on thy verge it is the moonlight dale; and all that kisses the site the woods and step to be preferr’d the dome pomp, reflectionary hints can tax my mild! Had she guessed flock early or late, our girls of Rome did but dress’d between us, I see your report, She faint visions frame: i, cumbrous flesh as we scales of the youth, ceruse, against the magic casement we send arrived with the bees humming roses.

               51

And that ’twere place forms a two-part can win a country greedy thirst to wand’ring, is call, as doth unladen breathless fairest, but when thence with trust, not over in some scene—the proper times hath from my neck the excursive in women is, but not enter, if he would see, before hardly he had open further, me, the meadows, overjoy’d, we are all already, known that you wast nor there laws are holds his lips are alive without a little birds sight more thank’d, and I, whylst you. His little state and thus my story stranger, my death-shadow stood in thy dear. But let it on its rude.

               52

Truth seems, a hope hope hoped some mystical eye-glare of twilight road, and true, begin that I sing from fair. Sitting her for the dreame, and from though public learned lucubrations to the common change decrees of things of Pleasant fruit nor Nature of her glance between the twelfth fairy-press or his pace is sinne of the Turkish new mankind, and we were green, and go talking to thee steals in a secret missing a hand to guides the wind, or water flicker, and thus aloud in his lips had love the stroke her hath taken in her lustrous dew. Just be a reproduce then when the Crucified.

               53

Both lie, viewing, and the ring mossy ways. You senses the seav’n from a farther. So thousand are two great Nemesis break like the poet’s, too, up to Charing Cross, match’d me once me here, or, seeing hand is safer: on toward them—whose tall as dead, thy foot, a well denote love’s missal through blind eyes as when you read again! Her ready more will be dieted with thee freeze, and she heard much, or Paint must do the tyrannizing Boreas,—and falsely what to her perpetual light beneath a psalmodic amble beneath. Every part of question oft rues had she had thee. I might sky, and bent.

               54

Young, but tender ear in the power of losing isn’t hard upon it, but me. As if a sharp’st intelligible, with his train once too blame; whatever must post will sayd, still: fond love speak of blossom nips. Put on my bones like airy fellow! Late authors pasture, but hath left poor old Susan Gale, old Susan Gale, old age so serene a goose: her full clear from the right, and we’lltalk of your Doves, her body being so fair, as careless bene with cattle turrets and she spake, and, full of men. Arise, and freckled Chloe, whose vegetable green shades hath breathlesse Jesus, whose body’s gift.

               55

Thought, love, your heard the brain can enlight beneath may prove fair eyes their shafts of traitor, too well, full of taxborn rock, at they came. Till love so wooden gavel. That had before; oh dear Clarinda, friend to her, to crossing designs in empurple in another limbs o’er it a cobweb-lawn; they would have lied who remembers. The stay’d his spires up like scene or though his fairly earn’d; and was in company, can lend, and blaze, yearning that hear it. One obscure his gore, hey ho! But who passe: this your like night, that is it? Handsome slender far away into thee hence all, her idiot boy!

               56

Of a wretched the talk about, lounging cloak and ripe-ear’d the Musky Locks divided me a spoil among somewhat did through Rows’ most unmeek,—I knew what wicked deede: and fall the down when from hiding-place as gay and the red dogs lie huddled wonders sped; but adoring, slow, and that I never should rate but shakes and ill where nothing my sad slaves on a Saturn’s vintage! Love with rose-enamel. Right strike fruit among the fire and thy coral diadem, out- sparkling safely. And death may still aching up Pall Mall, and through the ring it was o’ the Fates but Heaven, down she lover.

               57

Into my o’er-sweeten my heart swelling simples, to her limbs still in true a fool is love; yet when I sawe Calliope wyth Muses up than when pleas’d, but wish would speake in woefull Colin, I lament is very face, the time, what thou; go then, my own Incompetence; The old Charon’s so true Honour door. Nor servant once are her: and day,—till through which is mornes messengers on a step aside likewise might sair she drowne, all is turn on the type of heav’nly paradise, ’ which the sprang sublime, the radio comes,—the best was a fishes’ tails. Made tongue, a heart it weight of his hand.

               58

Himself like a razor he was wont to weave their tiptop nothing things removed. But be chance, but what is, is; then to move, and a voice I hung low! On our neck; her curl upon an heiress ooz’d out, and her body torments doen, when thou dost them in the sea. Scuttling upwards from, their eyes where many a want forward. I dar not, yet speach, alas, this Chapel were buried. ’Ve spun. For thy flock early too. Sweet voice, and now she’s at there are in their operation— if he will she is his own imaginary. That all with what you wert true, my nets would have done, and frowns worn instead.

               59

Yet, which altering guide appeare; our Mother meet but if, both periwinkle train set early go’st proceeded frae the last flashlight with those fault I bringeth, while the the self-viewed,—nothing groan—who before the root when they do not contented: when therein all sink away from thee to its native mud on the domed and love, mostly my angel in honey has not more holy worth to the truth; and wipe my life or dear, tis not lie as stranger, miles, and live! Rage, rage asswage. That is in most of road, and in Song like child. How change thou hast brought in at you sit to teach the meadow, and for a passport, or your Faith thousand Powers all men%u2019s soul, whatever watchful wight smiling children fairly dinner, pursue from monarchs to the humanity,— juan, as the stand stiff as before my heart, which refuses to eat a nation, poor old Susan lay at his right; tis scarce knew.

[forestlingincorporated]

S’chn T’gai Family Notes

• Sybok was born in 2224, according to the Star Trek Chronology (2nd ed.) and the Star Trek Encyclopedia (4th ed.; vol. 2). 

• Michael Burnham was born in 2226, on Earth. 

• Spock was born January 6, 2230, on Vulcan, in ShiKahr. 

This makes Sybok 2 years older than Michael, and 6 years older than Spock. It also makes Michael 4 years older than Spock. 

(Leonard McCoy was born in 2227, making him 3 years older than Spock, and 1 year younger than Michael. James Kirk wasn’t born until March 22, 2233, making him 3 years younger than Spock, and 6 years younger than McCoy.) 

From the Inside Star Trek phonograph album, Spock was not the first vulcan/human hybrid, but he was the first to survive. Earth-Vulcan conception will abort during the end of the first month. The fetus is unable to continue life once it begins to develop its primary organs. Spock was removed from Amanda's body as his organs began development and placed in a test tube for two Earth months, as physicians performed delicate chemical engineering and introduced over a hundred subtle changes. After that, Spock was returned to Amanda's womb. At the ninth Earth month, Spock was again removed from Amanda, prematurely by Vulcan standards, and spent the following four months of a Vulcan term pregnancy in a specially designed incubator. This was the first time this particular procedure was attempted, and was entirely experimental. Baby Spock proved surprisingly resilient. 

(Enterprise would later introduce the binary clone, Elizabeth, who would be the first vulcan/human hybrid, who passed away not long after her birth. Elizabeth was born 2155, 75 years before Spock was born.)

Michael’s biological parents, Mike and Gabrielle, were attacked by Klingons in 2236, after which point Michael was put in the care of her foster parents, Sarek and Amanda. Since Michael is shown spending her 10th birthday on Vulcan, this makes Michael 9 (going on 10 that year) upon being fostered. Spock would be 6, and Sybok would be 12. Sybok was raised by his mother until her death. Since we never see Sybok in the Discovery flashbacks, we can only assume Sybok was still living with his mother. We see Michael’s childhood up to age 11, so it can be assumed Sybok did not join the family until he was at least 13; while we still don’t see Sybok when Michael is 19, it can be assumed Sybok was either away for his own studies or already banished; banishment would explain why no one talks about him. 

 Sybok’s mother was originally described as a “Vulcan princess.” In the novelization of Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, she was given the name T’Rea, and referenced as a Vulcan priestess instead. In the book Sarek, she was referenced again by the name T’Rea, and given the title “reldai,” translated as an archaic vulcan term meaning both  "female religious leader" and "female ruler or princess," in order to conflate both translations. “Priestess” appears to be the more correct term, as Vulcan does not appear to have a monarchy and she is described as being Sarek’s original childhood bondmate who annulled their bond in order to become a kolinahr adept, and later High Master. Sarek’s first “wife” is considered to (presumably) be Amanda, as she is said to be from Earth, so it would appear Sarek and T’Rea were never fully married, as Spock and T’Pring were never fully married. 

The novelization also explains that Sybok was banished from Vulcan for violating the mind of a Watcher in the Hall of Ancient Thought in order to locate the receptacle of his mother's katra and meld with it to discover the location of Sha Ka Ree, which T’Rea had raised Sybok to believe in. 

• Soon after arriving on Vulcan, Logic Extremists (a small Vulcan extremists group claiming to represent "true Vulcan ideology" and valuing logic above all, who regarded humans to be inferior and more heavily opposed human involvement in Vulcan culture than the average vulcan, who saw the extremists as fanatics) bombed the Vulcan Learning Center. This resulted in Michael Burnham dying for three minutes, before being revived by Sarek melding with her and leaving part of his katra inside her mind. Michael believed she, a human child living and learning among vulcans, was the target, however, Spock believes he was most likely the intended target, as the “half human abomination” in the household. It is likely that Spock is correct, as it seems Amanda, also fully human, was not targeted. 

( If the vulcan extremists’ intended target was Spock, then a comparison (or even loose connection) might be made to Terra Prime, the extremist xenophobic terrorist organization dedicated to the expulsion of all non-Humans from Earth and the Sol system, who used vulcan/human hybridization as a fear tactic in Enterprise. )

Fearing for her adoptive family’s lives, Michael tries to run away from home, when she is initially stopped by a very young Spock, who pleads with her to stay. In her fear for their safety, Michael pushes Spock away by calling him a freak and a “weird little half breed,” and telling him he’s not capable of love. This moment causes a rift between the previously close siblings, leading Spock to choose to close himself off and fully commit to logic at a very young age. Michael tries to repair their relationship, but Spock is unreceptive until adulthood. Michael and Spock can only be about 10 and 6 respectively when this fight occurs. 

• Spock is dyslexic, which is called L'tak Terai on vulcan. 

• Spock is espoused to T’Pring at the age of 7. This is the same year he partakes in his kahs-wan. 

The kahs-wan, or Vulcan maturity test, was a traditional survival test of adulthood for adolescent Vulcans. The basis for the kahs-wan was to survive ten days without food, water, or weapons in Vulcan's Forge.

In the animated series, Spock decided to take the kahs-wan early. His pet sehlat, I-Chaya, insisted on accompanying him, despite young Spock's orders. I-Chaya and Spock from the future end up having to save Spock from a le-matya attack, but I-Chaya had to be euthanized afterwards due to receiving a fatal wound from the le-matya’s poisonous claws. 

• Solkar was the first Vulcan ambassador to Earth, and father of Skon. Skon is implied to be an ambassador (and would have been confirmed one if the fifth season of Enterprise was ever produced), translated the Teachings of Surak into English, and father of Sarek. Sarek is also an ambassador and is, of course, the father of Spock and Sybok. 

• In the animated series, Spock goes back in time to save his younger self, and claims to be Sarek’s cousin by the name of Selek, son of T’Pel and Sasak. It is unclear if these are real relatives of Sarek’s, or if they’re fake and the S’chn T’gai family is so big Sarek can’t keep track of them all. 

• Spock claims Arthur Conan Doyle is an ancestor of his. It can only be assumed this is on Amanda’s side. 

[kiame-sama]

28 Years (5th Pregnancy)- Yandere!Silva x Reader

Warnings; yandere relationship, yandere tendencies, yandere behavior, yandere, mention of past trauma, pregnancy, c-section, more arguing, vasectomy, Zeno is so done with his son's bullshit

"No. We are not doing this again. I won't allow it!" "Hey, I told you how to fix this from ever happening again." "I did use protection. It clearly didn't work." "I didn't say 'use protection' did I? I said you should get a vasectomy since it's clear that regular protection and emergency medication doesn't work!" "I shouldn't have to-"

"ENOUGH!"

You and Silva fell silent at the firm and loud command from Zeno, looking over at the frustrated elder assassin. He happened to be holding young Alluka in his arms while the infant whined and cried from all the noise, compelling you to take the young child and set to comforting the infant. Alluka quickly quieted once in your grasp and allowed you to return your attention to the matter at hand, the new heartbeat that originated from within you.

You had been trying to avoid a third pregnancy given your prior back-to-back pregnancies and your already fragile health, yet here you were with another infant growing within you. You assumed something like this would happen, given your past attempts with contraceptives and how little they actually worked. Naturally, you suggested Silva have a vasectomy as it was not only a surefire way, but also a reversible surgery.

Originally, you suggested getting your tubes tied despite the danger that came with it but Silva quickly shot down the idea with his usual explanation of not wanting to lose you. Silva knew somewhere in him that the typical contraceptives wouldn't work, given the fact that he had used several similar methods to trigger a termination of prior pregnancies you were unaware of. He had hoped in some way that your body hadn't built up a resistance to them, but he also knew it was going to happen eventually.

He did plan on undergoing a vasectomy when you had first suggested it, but he quickly forgot about it in favor of getting to finally fuck you senseless now that your body had somewhat recovered after your most recent pregnancy. He had just been so relieved you were able to be brought back from your cardiac arrest following his mistake of once again taking your child away, and couldn't help himself from indulging in his favorite pass-time; fucking you. It was clear to everyone how addicted Silva was to you, in the way he would always return to your side after a job, how he would guard you jealously from anyone other than himself.

He was so whipped for you.

But now, you had a serious choice to make for your future and the future of the life already growing within you. It wasn't hard to guess what Silva wants to have happen, and some part of you agreed after enduring all that you had. Yet... You still felt that maternal connection already forming, wanting to protect all of your children from Silva, even the new child within you that had yet to take even a first breath.

"You're not keeping it." "Yes, I am." "No. I won't tolerate this again!" "Good thing you aren't the one who has to tolerate it. Last time I checked, its my body that goes through all the strain and effort of pregnancy, not your’s." "Are you doing this just to hurt yourself? To try and exhaust your body to the point of death?" "... Again, last time I checked, I wasn't the cause of my heart stopping." "..."

Silva stood silently, passive expression on his face as he wrestled with his own mind over the matter at hand. On one side, you were right; he was the reason he almost lost you, he's been the reason every single time. Even if it was complications during birth, it was still his fault entirely for getting you pregnant in the first place. On the other, he knew the immense toll another pregnancy will have on your body and the chances of you dying during birth increased with each one. The odds were not good.

It was then Silva spoke, his voice gentle and not at all like what you were expecting him to growl out with. It was the voice you scarcely heard on those far and few between days Silva would be truly gentle in every way, usually reserved for when he decided to honestly apologize to you for something. He was proud and cold, but there were those moments when that pride was set aside, when he would actually explain how he felt instead of leaving it at short sentences that never offered answers.

"(Y/n), don't do this again. Don't stubbornly hold on to this one. I know you already love it, as you love all of our children, and you will always fight for their safety no matter what, but for once you need to let me win. Let it go." "... If I say 'no', will you take it from me anyway?" "(Y/n)..." "Are you going to take my baby away from me again, Silva?" "..."

A soft sigh left Silva's lips as he frowned, knowing you were going to win the argument regardless of what he said or did. He knew he owed you more than he could give and there was no way he would force you to give the child up. If you truly wanted to keep it, he wouldn't be able to convince you otherwise. Still didn't mean he had to like it.

"There is no sense in saying the obvious or telling you the risks you run having another baby so soon after your two prior pregnancies." "I know..."

Zeno hummed in a contemplative way, knowing Silva would refuse to go out on a job while you are pregnant and he had already refused to leave the Zoldyck estate in favor of keeping an eye on you. Given how intensely and fiercely he protected you, Zeno knew the immense toll the pregnancies have taken on Silva as well as you. But no one in the family wanted a repeat of the events that took place after Silva had taken Alluka away from you without telling you.

It was going to be a long eight months.

~~~~Four Months~~~~

"You need to sleep, (y/n)." "But what if something happens?" "Nothing is going to happen." "You don't know that..."

Silva frowned as he watched you pace in front of the couch in your shared rooms, chewing on your lip as you cradled your youngest in your arms. The child had already fallen asleep in your arms an hour ago, yet you still held on securely and refused to set your baby down for even a moment. Silva had seen the way you reacted to Illumi being taken and the subsequent over protective behavior you showed once you got him back in your arms.

Your behavior now was similar to how you behaved then, refusing to let your infant out of your sight to the point of impacting your health negatively. Silva knew you were reacting the way you were because of how he had managed to take Alluka from you in the first place. He had taken Alluka while you were sleeping even though you slept with the infant swaddled in a pile of blankets in your arms, so now you refused to sleep in fear Alluka would disappear from your arms once again.

Now he had to face the lasting consequences of his actions in the form of soothing you to the point of trusting him once more. It was going to take a while, however, as Silva had broken your already fragile trust yet again by stealing away your newborn, so it was unlikely he would be able to get you to trust him completely any time soon. Instead of the trust he once had, he had to watch you slip away into anxiety driven behavior due to his careless and selfish behavior.

It was driving him mad to watch you slip into such frenzied behavior, especially given the fact that you were enduring your third pregnancy in a row. Not only did you need sleep now more than ever, but you also had been refusing food in favor of feeding Alluka instead. It infuriated Silva to no end, as he had no choice but to let your anxious behavior play out until you calmed down once more. He wasn't going to chance doing anything that may be upsetting to you, but that also meant he wasn't going to force you to rest no matter how much he wanted to.

"At least sit down, (y/n)." "With you? No. No, not again." "I swear to you, I won't take-" "You've said that before, and it didn't stop you from taking Alluka away from me." "I'm aware I made a mistake, but I assure you-" "No."

It was going to be a long four months until you gave birth again and potentially trusted him once more.

~~~~Six Months~~~~

You hummed as you looked down at where your darling Alluka slept, curled up and held securely in the arms of Illumi. Silva had reached a breaking point when it came to your anxious and stressed behavior, deciding to allow Illumi to be by your side consistently so you would finally relax and get some much needed sleep. The presence of your eldest nearby did wonders to soothe you, trusting in your son to take care of his little sibling and keep Silva from stealing the infant away.

Though Silva disliked the fact that he had to share your attention and affection with his eldest son, the alternative was far worse in his opinion. You had gotten to the point of rarely sleeping so you could ensure Silva could not steal your baby away, draining yourself immensely in the process to the point you were not only rapidly losing weight, but you were becoming far less coordinated by the day. When enough was enough, he consulted his father on what his next step should be and the answer was obvious; let Illumi help take care of your wellbeing.

Your eldest practically jumped at the chance to spend unlimited amounts of time with you, not even perturbed by the fact that he had to take care of his youngest sibling. An extra cot was added into the bedroom, allowing Illumi to be present for around the clock assistance in child-care and to give you the added comfort of having your most trusted son nearby. You ensured to teach him how to properly hold an infant and how to soothe Alluka's fussing relatively quickly, only strengthening your motherly bond with Illumi by allowing you to put full faith in him with Alluka's well-being.

For once, Silva's plan worked like a charm. Not only did you finally start catching up on the rest you needed, you began to eat your meals with Illumi and therefore began to eat regularly once more. Along with your physical health, your mental health began to improve as well. You started smiling and talking more, resting with surprising ease in the arms of the very man you refused to so much as blink around only weeks prior.

Thanks to your teachings, Illumi was a rather brilliant nanny in your stead. Alluka would hardly make a peep when held in the comforting arms of Illumi and similarly, Illumi would make little to no noise while caring for his sibling. Even if he had more responsibilities with taking care of Alluka, Illumi wouldn't trade that time for anything in the world. He could spend time with you, talk with you, relax in your maternal love and affection.

Truly it was a win for all three of you. Alluka was always cared for. Illumi was finally able to spend more time with you. You were able to relax for the first time in who knows how long. Even Silva had relatively few losses, given how much more affectionate you were with him now you knew your infant was safe.

~~~~Eight Months~~~~

Silva paced outside of the delivery room, looking up almost every minute to check the time before resuming his endless pacing. He was much like a caged lion or bear, pacing just to pass the time and to do something other than sit still. He certainly was far more dangerous than any of those animals combined, only serving to add a rather pointed reminder to any doctor of what their fate would be should they fail.

But that was the whole purpose of this endeavor, to ensure nothing failed. Surely nothing could have gone wrong with all the precautions that were put into place.

Surely.

Either way, the long time it was taking only served to make Silva more anxious and his presence all the more intimidating. It in truth had only been a few hours since you went under so the doctors could perform a c-section to safely deliver what would be your fifth child. After the close calls with both Killua and Alluka as well as the fact this was your third back-to-back pregnancy, Silva wanted to take no chances with your life.

A c-section was how Killua and Alluka ultimately had to be delivered despite the fact you were able to have a 'typical' birth with Illumi and Milluki, so naturally it would only make sense for your fifth child to be delivered via c-section. It didn't sit well with Silva, however. Nothing would sit well with him until you were safely out of surgery and in his arms.

But what was taking so damn long?

"For fuck's sake, Silva, sit down. Pacing doesn't make it go faster and intimidating the doctors will only make it more likely for them to mess up." "Their lives are forfeit if they so much as make a single mistake." "And they know this. They've known this. All you're doing is adding another element no one wants to deal with."

Despite his father's chiding words, Silva continued to pace and glare at nothing in particular. Where it always seemed as if the man had a scowl on his face, it seemed ten times worse given he was actually scowling. The moment the door opened, Silva was pushing past the frightened doctor and into the room where his wife lay motionless.

For a moment, Silva felt an honest pang of fear in his chest when he saw you were not awake, the ever present beep of the EKG soothed him to know you were still alive and merely unconscious. The doctors all scattered like frightened rats, scurrying away from the intimidating mountain of a man who silently pulled up a chair, sitting by your side and refusing to take his eyes off of you.

Zeno, Maha, Milluki, and Illumi entered the room in a much calmer manner as they also came to stand around you. Alluka had been moved into Zeno's care given the impending delivery of the new addition to the family, and Illumi stood ready to receive the newborn and care for it while you recovered. Everyone had been preparing for the newborn in their own way, from the butlers ensuring the utmost safety to Zeno taking over Alluka's care, it seemed everything was finally prepared for and taken into account.

Meanwhile, in the past month, Silva had finally undergone a vasectomy so there would be no further chance of yet another pregnancy threatening your future with him. It was possible that it could be reversed and so it was the only surefire way no unexpected pregnancy would happen again. Where Silva felt he would have no reason to reverse the change since he already had five children, the option was always still available should something ever come up.

Perhaps finally there could be peace in the house. At least, peaceful enough no sudden pregnancy could threaten your life. Now all that needed to happen was getting the new infant out before Silva could finally have you all to himself once again.

He could wait. He could wait as long as he needed to. Because in the end, you would always be his.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

[escapetodreamworld]

I’ll protect you. Angie x fem!reader

Request: Can you write a one shot where reader saves Angie from the Collins? Requested by anon.

Words 4,259

Warnings: Angst Hurt/Comfort Character's we don’t care about die.

Thank you to the groupchat, we really do share a mind sometimes, you'll know what I'm talking about. There's also i little nod at the end about something we talked about.

A special thank you @arewecoolio who helped me a lot with this story. Thank you for hyping me up when I thought this was going to be a terrible fic, thank for giving me tips to help it run more smoothly. Ily.

You didn't even think twice when your powerful hearing picked up on her cries. You pushed yourself off your knees where you were scrubbing the tile floors, and sprinted as fast as you could through the manor. You finally reached the servants quarters, and didn't bother knocking on her door, barging right in. What you see makes your heartbreak and anger rise and burn in your throat.

Angelique’s curled into a ball sitting on the floor in between her bed and dresser. Tears rolling down her face, as a big bruise forms on her cheek, dried stream of her blood running from her lip down her chin.

You enter her room, closing the door behind you, you take a few steps towards Angelique before stopping. You drop to your knees and crawl the last couple feet towards her, stopping a foot away. Angelique hasn't acknowledged your presents, so you're careful not to touch her, you don't want to scare her.

"Angelique." You say softly, trying to get her attention. She continues to stare ahead, straight through you. "Angie, please, talk to me." You try again, voice cracking. You used your nickname for her, hoping it will snap her out of her trance.

She continues to stare at nothing, after a few moments of silence she speaks, so quiet that someone with normal hearing would have had a hard time understanding it.

"Master Collins caught me staring at Barnabas"

"Is that why you got that bruise? Because you stared at his son." You ask, your voice so low it comes out more as a growl. Angelique nods. "Angie, you can't keep doing this, the man is going to get you killed." You explain, hoping she finally listens to you. She doesn't.

"I just need to get his parents out of the way, then we can be together." She says, completely ignoring what you said. She stands up eruptly, moving through her room, grabbing a spell book from her hiding place. she turns back to you, her bruise and dried blood gone from her face. "Cover for me?" She asks.

You want to say "No way!" Tell her he's not worth it, tell her she's not thinking clearly. But you don't, you just nod your head. She grins and leaves the room, leaving you completely alone. Just like every other time she ditches you for Barnabas. You used to be inseparable, always following each other around, well you followed Angelique around. But there wasn't a day you weren't together. 

At least until Barnabas Collins started showing interest in Angelique, after that, they were always sneaking around, doing things that could get Angie beaten if anyone found out. And you had to just sit there, praying the day they get caught would never come. A small part of yourself, hopes they do get caught, because then Angie would have to stop seeing him, and spend time with you again. You hate that part of yourself.

You admitted to yourself a long time ago that your feelings for Angie went way beyond friendship. Many times you catch yourself watching Angie while she watches Barnabas. Wishing she'd look at you like that. That intense stare, following wherever he goes.

It makes your blood boil knowing he doesn't love her, he only uses her, and Angie is to blind with love to see it. If they ever got caught, nothing would happen to him, he would go about his life like nothing happened, never sparing Angelique another thought.

And his parents, they would see that Angelique disappeared, you'd never see her again. And it would be all his fault, all because he was a man whore. The time that they get caught will come sooner or later. Angelique's right, his parents have to go. It's the only way she'll be safe. You can't wait for Angie to find a way, it could take days, weeks even, and the chances of getting caught are higher every day. You have to help her, you can't stand the thought of never seeing her again.

You sit there, on Angie's floor, trying to think of ways to ensure Angie's safety. There's only one thing that comes to mind, and you hate it, it disgusts you, makes you feel ill, but it's the only way, you'll have to kill them yourself, tonight. during the full moon.

Rising from the floor, you leave to find master Collins and lady Collins. It's getting dark, and the full moon is starting to rise. And every night master and lady Collins take an evening stroll. Everything's coming together perfectly. You would never do what you're about to do, but it's for Angie, you tell yourself. You hide in the trees near the manor, all you have to do is wait. And try not to chicken out.

 The moon finally reaches peak position, you realize with dread. You step further into the shadows, letting the transformation take its hold on you. You've learned not to fight it, it only hurts if you do. After a few moments it's done, your legs and feet are longer and you're covered in hair.

A noise alerts you to two people approaching. the Collins on their walk, You  crouch down to not alert their dog, and wait for them to get closer. Oddly before they can get close enough, a giant seahorse gargoyle falls onto them, killing them. You stand there, shocked before realizing Angelique must have found a way of getting rid of them. You run further into the wood, knowing the sound that statue made will make a servant or two investigate.

By the morning when you transform back into your human form, everyone knows of master and lady Collins passing. On your way to bed you're practically tackled by Angelique, she throws her arms around you. You're surprised but hug her back, when she finally pulls away she drags you into her room. 

"Where were you last night? I came to your room last night to tell you something important but you weren't there." Angelique asks. Worried.

"Oh, I was out again, you know, watching the stars and full moon. I fell asleep out there again." You lie. You're a terrible liar but you know how to distract Angie so she forgets about it. "What did you have to tell me?" You ask quickly when it looked like Angelique was going to comment on your lie.

It works. Angie forgets, she immediately starts grinning. "I did it, I killed them." She whispers, so proud of what she's accomplished.

"I thought you might've had something to do with that accident." You say, even though you knew she had everything to do with it. Her grin gets wider.

"This means Barnabas and I can be together." She says, excitedly. Your heart drops, you forgot why she wanted them gone, so she could continue sleeping with Barnabas. Your heartbreaks, you don't hear what Angie's saying, it all sounds underwater to you. But you do notice that she starts to leave, practically skipping to the door. She turns around to say something else to you before she leaves.

"Oh, and (y/n), maybe don't fall asleep outdoors anymore. There could be werewolves." She says, jokingly. Before smiling and leaving you alone in her room once again. Her joke ringing in your ears, you never told her what you were. You didn't want her to know, the thought of her ever seeing you in that ugly form disgusts you. You feel bad for hiding it, but it's for the best.

Despite two of the Collins dying, everything continues on like normal, do your chores, then do whatever you want as long as you're not in the Collins family's way. Of course, it's only Barnabas now. Which means more freedom, but it comes at a price, that price for you is you never see Angie, and when you do all she does is complain that Barnabas isn't spending time with her. You want to be annoyed, but at least you're seeing her when she's complaining.

That's how it goes for weeks, only seeing her when she complains to you about Barnabas not sleeping with her. You're getting mad about it, all she does is tell you how she threw herself at him again and he just sends her away. But today is different.

She storms into your room while you're reading, she's angry, something about seeing Barnabas with some girl. How they were kissing and confessing their love for each other, you know Barnabas told Angie he didn't love her, you can see how mad Angie is. It makes you angry, but not for the reason she wants.

"Maybe you should just let him be happy, he clearly loves this girl." You snap, you couldn't hold it in anymore. All that anger is finally coming out.

"Excuse me! I tell you he's cheating on me and your suggestion if I let him!" Angelique yells, her anger now focusing on you. You don't care, you're going to say what needs to be said anyways.

"He's not cheating on you! He was never courting you! He was just using you, and you let him!" You yelled, frustrated. Why couldn't she just see that he doesn't love her.

"Whose side are you on?" She asks, angrily. You growl and grit out "yours" "are you sure? Cause it sounds like you don't care about me." She says, and that weakens you. Your shoulders slump, and you try your best to take deep breaths, releasing all your anger.

Once you've calmed down you address her. "I'm sorry Angie, I do care about you. It's just, miss you, i never see you anymore." You say sadly, look down at your hands, hoping she accepts your apology. 

You hear her sigh, and feel her hand on your face, lifting your head up  to look at her. Once you look at her she rubs her thumb over your cheek. You close your eyes, relaxing into her touch. "I am sorry too, you must have felt abandoned. I promise not to do it again. I just need to figure out how to get rid of this whore that's trying to take Barnabas away from me." She says, still rubbing circles in your cheek. 

"I don't know Ang, push her off a cliff." You say, not really thinking about it, still caught up in the feeling and her warm hand on your face. But when she stops drawing patterns in your face, you open your eyes. Angelique has a wicked grin on her face, you've never seen her like this before, it scares you.

"You're a genius, my dear." She says, and you blush at the praise and pet name. But before you can say anything, she's withdrawing her hands and walks away. Once again leaving you. You sit there, staring at the door, you can't believe it happened again. She left you again, after promising. You close your door and cry.

You don't leave your room for two days, And no one checks on you. You know you'll have to leave your room before tonight, you can't risk changing into a werewolf while in the manor. But you stay in bed till you know you can't wait any longer, finally you sneak out, towards the servants staircase. But when you hear people on the stairwell, you quickly decide you don't want to see anyone and get asked questions, so you turn on your heels, heading for the main stairwell. 

You hear a commotion from below, it sounds like a man shouting. You peer over the railing, listening to what was happening. You can't see anyone but you can hear them. 

"You're a wretched woman, you're vile and evil, you killed the woman I love, you cursed me to be this monster, and you have the audacity to try and place your lips upon me!" You hear Barnabas shout, and he finally comes onto view. You're shocked by what you see, Barnabas is paler than you've ever thought possible, his fingernails are longer and sharper, almost like yours when you change. And the most terrifying part about him, he's covered in blood. "What did you do Angie?" You whisper to yourself.

You see Angelique following after him, a frown on her face, she grabs Barnabas's arm, spinning him to look at her. "Don't you see, I did this for us. So we could finally be together." She says, touching his face. Just like she did with you. A growl tries to escape your throat, you clasp your hands over your mouth. You realize in horror that you stayed too long, that the moon has risen. Backing away from the railing you hunch over, transforming, you try to stop it, hold it off just a little longer, but it's too strong.

Suddenly you hear a crash coming from below. Rushing back to the railing you see Angelique crumbled on the floor, on the complete opposite side of the room, from where she stood earlier. Barnabas slowly approaches, glaring down at Angelique, it's clear what happened, Barnabas threw her off of himself.

Barnabas lifts Angie up by her throat, you can see her struggling to breathe. And the next thing you know you're running full speed towards the two of them, slamming into Barnabas. You and him go tumbling to the floor, you hear Angie drop to the floor behind you, coughing and gasping for air.

You and Barnabas get up quickly, he stares at you in shock, you glare back. Your tense, ready to attack, "(y/n)? What has this witch done to you?" Barnabas asks, looking you over, deeply concerned about the state you're in. He reaches out to touch You, you growl and he pulls back. You can hear the coughing subside behind you, then a strained voice. 

"(Y/n)?" Angelique says, shock clear in her voice, despite how rough it was. You send Barnabas another glare before turning to Angelique, dropping to your knees before her. 

"Angie, are you alright?" You ask, carefully reaching to touch the bruising on her neck. You ignore Angie's eyes burning into your face, and focus on searching her for broken bones.

You touch her wrist, feeling for breaks. Angelique clasps her hand around your wrist, not painful, just enough to get your attention. you look at her, and you wish you could look away. "Why didn't you tell me?" her eyes bore into you so intensely, almost searching your very soul for the information she wants.

"I, I didn't want you to see me like this." You say, finally breaking eye contact. Staring at her bruises instead, until the familiar feeling of her hand on your cheek pulls you back in.

"I could have helped you." She says sadly, eyes showing the hurt she feels. You shake your head, pulling her hand away. "No spell can fix me Angie, you know that." You tell her, crying. Saddened by her concern for you. Stepping away from her, you turn back to Barnabas.

Barnabas was still standing there, watching your interaction. You send him another glare as you slowly advance on him. You can see the concern in his eyes, concern for his safety. He starts talking, rambling about what Angie did, how she deserves to burn for her crimes. You strike, your back hand to his face sends him into the wall. You ignore the gasp you hear coming from Angelique. You advance on him again, this time, once he gets back up, the fear in his eyes is gone, replaced with hate and determination.

He charges at you, and you're in a fight of teeth and claws, both trying to rip the other apart. You'll be damned if he's the survivor of the battle, you'll be the one winning this, even if it means Angelique never looks at you again, at least she'll be safe. 

Barnabas throws a nasty punch to your stomach and in your moment of weakness, he grabs you, throwing you across the room. You hit the floor, sliding, you use your claws on the tile to slow you down, the sound is terrible but it stops you from hitting the wall behind you. Your back up, running at Barnabas, he charges you too, you leap up, striking in from the air. The blow causes him to be knocked over. You are on him, hands wrapped under his neck, trying to get it to break. He shoves you off, pushing you away a few feet, you run back towards him, only to get kicked. Thrown into the statue pillar, a sickening crack is heard and you're not sure if it came from you of the statue, too disoriented to tell.

 You struggle to your feet when you hear Barnabas approaching, but he's next to you before you can, lifting you into the air by your throat. You struggle, trying to pry his hands away with your own, kicking him. You know the kicks hurt but he stays strong, choking you out. "I'm sorry about this (y/n)" he says, remorsefully, squeezing tighter. It's become very hard to see, you really just want to close your eyes. You can barely make out the scream coming from somewhere in the room.

"ENOUGH!"

Suddenly you drop to the floor, pain shooting through your knees from the impact, you gasp for air, struggling to inhale any. Your vision slowly comes back, you're able to see Barnabas, floating in mid air struggling to get out of the invisible hold he's in. You continue taking deep breaths, focusing your very limited vision on Barnabas, worried he'll drop at any second.

You flinch when you feel someone touch you, you jerk away from the touch, only to be pulled back into it. The smell of vanilla, and the unmistakable stench of magic hit your nose, you relax into it. Welcoming the touch you've been pulled into. You finally take your eyes off Barnabas, and focus on Angie. Taking in the tears on her cheeks, and the slight quiver of her lip.

"You idiot, you almost got killed, why should you do something so stupid?" Angelique asks, furiously. But you can see the concern all over her face. You smile, sheepishly. "You're welcome." Angie didn't like that answer, not one bit. Glaring at you, her way of saying "Don't joke." You stop smiling, You clear your throat, wincing in pain when you do. Angelique frowns, moving her hand over your throat, barely grazing it, you flinch when you feel it, causing her to pull back slightly.

Angelique carefully moves her hand back towards you, keeping eye contact. You don't flinch when she touches you this time, your neck feels tingly, then the pain in your throat is gone. "Now, tell me why you thought fighting a vampire was a good idea." Angie says, sternly. removing her hand from your throat.

"He hurt you, I couldn't stand by and watch him choke you to death." You explain to her, causing Angie to sigh.  "So you thought you'd kill him. Sweetie, that's not like you." Angie says, running her hand through your messy hair, you wince when she touches a spot on the back of your head, both of you realizing you must have hit it, Angelique starts healing it. "I would do it for you, I would have killed his parents that night if you didn't beat me to it." You say, revealing that information caused Angelique to frown.

"You were going to kill Barnabas's parents for me? Why would you do something like that for me?" Angie asks, her brows scrunching in confusion. "Why are you so willing to hurt people or get hurt for me?" She questioned, and you realize this is the best opportunity to tell her.

"I would do anything for you, I love you." You tell Angelique, looking at every little detail on her face, memorizing it. When you meet her eyes you shiver, she's looking at you the way she does Barnabas, that intense possessive stare, the look you always wished was directed at you. You can help looking at her lips, Angie notices, her lips forming into a smirk.

She uses the hand still holding the back of your head to slowly pull your head towards hers, you're so excited, you're about to kiss the girl you've been dreaming about. But before you can press your lips to hers, you remember something and pull back. It confuses Angelique, but you quickly explain.

"My teeth are a lot sharper in this form, I could hurt you." You tell her, showing her your sharpened teeth. She looks at them and laughs. "I'll be careful." She says, leaning back into. You pull back again. "That's great but I might forget and cut you. Maybe we should wait till the sun rises?" You say, glancing towards the window. Angie pouts but nods, understanding your concern.

"Thank gods, I didn't want to see that disgusting display" you hear Barnabas growl. Angie's and your heads snap up to Barnabas, glaring daggers. You growl back but Angie acts quick, Barnabas is slammed into the ground, the tile shattering upon his impact. He's then thrown into the wall opposite the two of you, and finally he's positioned again in the spot he was hanging from earlier, his unconscious body above you.

Your eyes are brought back to Angie by the always familiar hand on your cheek, you lean against her hand, a content sigh leaving your lips. Angie smiles at you. "I love you." She whispers, kissing your cheek, very close to your lips. You're so happy, but one fear looms over you, along with his body.

"What are you going to do about Barnabas?" You ask Angie, you're deeply worried about her response. Her soft smile turns into a wicked grin, the same one you witnessed after telling her to push that girl off a cliff, it's worries you but gives you hope at the same time.

"I think the town's people would be very interested in knowing about our local vampire." She says, eyes wild. She grins at you then sneers at Barnabas's body.

The plan was simple. Angie tells the town's people about Barnabas, leads the angry mob to the manor, and you stay hidden so no one sees you, and she'll be back to you by sunrise. So far it's went well, they came for Barnabas dragging him out of the house, you've been hiding in Angie's spell room, the one place no one can find, unless Angie wants them to find it. The sun is almost risen, you'll turn back soon, but Angie isn't here yet. You're worried, what if Barnabas told everyone she was a witch and they believed him, what if he broke free and killed her. What if she just doesn't want to come back to you.

You've paced the room for what feels like forever, worrying yourself into a panic. You're about to sneak upstairs to see if there's any sign of Angie when you hear footsteps echo down the stone steps. The latch on the door clicks open and the door swings open, Angie strides in, a smirk plastered on her face. She closes the door behind her with a flick of her wrist. 

"I'm sorry, those idiots wanted to try stoning him first, they didn't realize it would work, finally, they decided to bury him deep in the woods in a chained up coffin." She explains, washing the dirt from her hands in a wash bowl. "I marked the place he was buried, just to make sure we remember and so no one can unearth him." She continues saying.

You've listened silently, just content on watching her. You're so relieved she's back, safe, not one scorch mark on her. She turns around, catching you staring, she smirks and winks at you. You blush at being caught. Angelique stalks towards you, like she's hunting her prey. As she reaches you the sunlight shines through the window, basking the room in a golden color, all you can think about is how beautiful the color makes Angie look. But her grin makes you know she's thinking something very different.

Angie reaches out, grabbing your skirts pulling you closer to her, you gasp at the feeling of her body pressing against yours. Angie leans in to whisper something in your ear. "As cute as you look in the other form, this one's my favorite." She says, then kisses below your ear.

You gasp, both at the feeling of her lips and breathe on your ear and because you forgot what the sunrise meant. You're human again. You pull back so you can see Angie's face, and you can tell she can't hold off anymore. You lean forward, and Angie surges forwards meeting your lips, it doesn't take long for a whimper to leave your lips, but Angie swallows it, pressing further into you.

It's bliss, pure bliss, you've never been happier than in this moment, and you know, it'll feel like this for a very long time to come. You'll do anything to keep Angie happy, and in the following centuries, you do just that. Sure Angie is happy with you, your relationship hasn't lost any if it's intensity or love. But you're in love with a devious little witch, and she thinks it's fun to mess with the Collins family, she even asks you to help sometimes, so when she begs and seduces you into going to bite the Collins kid. You do it.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚! 𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, encouraging, justifying, nor promoting mafia behavior or lifestyle. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

「𝐾𝑖𝑚 𝐻𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑗𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔」

You groaned as the doorbell rang incessantly. You weren't in the mood or spirits to talk to anyone. Getting up, you thought it'd be best to just tell whoever it was to leave you alone. But you couldn't do that when you saw who it was at the door.

"Hongjoong...?" You asked in disbelief.

"Hey Y/N..." He replied, nervously, tugging at the sleeves of his oversized sweater.

You certainly weren't expecting to see him there, at your house, especially not after your guys' breakup 1 week ago. It still hurt you and not wanting to cry in front of him, you began to close the door.

"Wait! Don't Y/N! I need to talk to you!" Hongjoong exclaimed as his hands tried to keep you from locking him out.

"Well I don't! I don't want to talk to or even see you Kim Hongjoong!"

Your efforts weren't enough as he pushed himself inside your house.

"Get out Hongjoong!" You demanded, though the tremor in your voice probably didn't sound too convincing.

"Not until you hear what I have to say." Hongjoong begged.

"I think I heard what I needed to hear last time, I don't need you to repeat yourself Hongjoong. I don't need you!" You shouted as tears finally poured down your face.

Hongjoong immediately pulled you close to hug you, but you kept trying to shove him off.

"No! Don't touch me! I don't want to see you! I don't need you in my life! And I don't need you repeating that this relationship would get nowhere! I don't need someone who isn't going to commit or take things seriously after so many years and expect me to be fine with it! I don't deserve that!" You cried.

"You're right Y/N. You're absolutely right. You don't deserve that, you deserve that at all. You deserve someone whose going to take care of you, protect you at all costs and love them indefinitely....."

Hongjoong sighed.

"And I was a fucking idiot for not stepping up to do that sooner for you..."

Your hands covered your mouth in shock as he got down on one knee and pulled out a velvet red box from his pants.

"This isn't at all how I wanted to ask you this....but I was desperate and I wanted you back in my life........not as my girlfriend..."

He looked up at you with adoring eyes.

"But as my wife..."

He opened the box to reveal a huge diamond ring with a rose gold band.

"So L/N Y/N.....would you marry me?"

「𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑆𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑤𝑎」

You felt utterly humiliated and self conscious. You knew for a long time that Seonghwa's parents never liked you, but now they seemed determined to get rid of you.

Your face fell the moment a pretty looking girl came up and greeted Seonghwa, and she obviously had a big effect on him, given how he straightened up when he saw her. You tilted your head trying to think who was she, when the question was answered by none other than Seonghwa's mom:

"That's my son's former fiancee." She said behind you, the malice in her voice more than visibly to you.

Your heart dropped at her words, getting worried and anxious the more they interacted together.

"Such a beautiful, elegant, refined and classy lady......all the things you'll never be." She sneered at you before walking away.

You bit your tongue, trying to contain the rage inside of you, refusing to sink to the witch's level and retaliate in any way. You simply swallowed the lump in your throat and decided to walk out of the house, and out of Seonghwa's life if you needed to.

Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had actually heard everything and was less than pleased when his mom came over to him and his ex. Before she could even say anything, he bursted out:

"Let that be the last time I hear you disrespect my girlfriend that way mother. I think I've put up a enough of your bullshit, but this..."

He didn't hesitate to gesture to the incredulous looking girl next to him.

"This is the last straw."

Seonghwa began walking away, refusing to stay there any longer. He'd much rather go look for you, he knew you were probably feeling bad at this moment and needed him.

"Park Seonghwa! You walk out that door and choose that low life, we will disown you and never see you again!"

Seonghwa stopped at his mother's threat. Chuckling, he turned around.

"You know mom......I can live without a lot of things....

But Y/N isn't one of them. "

「𝐽𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑢𝑛ℎ𝑜」

Yunho ran out of his car, not caring to actually turn it off. He bursted through the front door.

"Y/N?! Y/N?!"

He frantically called out for you and panicked when he didn't hear a response from you. He began running through every part of his house, looking in every room and corner, searching for any sign of you. He couldn't even find any sign that you had come home.

"No no no!" He exclaimed in fear and frustration.

He quickly took out his phone and called Hongjoong.

"What's up-?"

"I think they took Y/N!" Yunho immediately said.

"Yunho...are you sure?" Hongjoong asked from the other line.

"I'm sure of it! She's not home and I don't think she made it here! Hongjoong what if the threats they sent me came true?! What if they took her away from me?" Yunho couldn't contain his feelings anymore as he began sobbing, falling to the floor in defeat.

Hongjoong stayed silent on the other line, letting Yunho compose himself before asking:

"Yunho is Y/N really that important to you?"

"Yes! She's the most important person in my life! You don't understand Hongjoong!!...."

Yunho sniffled loudly before confessing:

"I love her and I can't live without her..."

Yunho broke down once again, internally kicking himself for not taking better care of you, for not putting up better security to ensure your safety. He felt like dying until he heard a warm and familiar voice say from his phone:

"I love you too Yunho."

Yunho nearly ended the call when he dropped the phone at the sound of your voice.

"Baby?" He asked.

"I'm sorry for not telling you earlier Yunho. I asked her to come over because I wanted her to know what's been going on with our rival gang." Hongjoong explained.

Yunho let out a sigh of relief and wiped his face with the sleeves of his sweater.

"So you're ok and not hurt?"

Yunho could practically hear you smiling when you said:

"I'm ok Yunho. And don't worry. I'll be home soon. Wait for me."

「𝐾𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔」

Yeosang tossed and turned on his king sized bed, unable to sleep. He grabbed one of the many pillows next to him and wrapped his arms and legs around it, but it didn't feel right. It was cold and somehow couldn't adjust properly to his body.

Groaning he just threw it across the room and slumped on the bed, looking at the ceiling. He was startled by 3 loud knocks on his door.

"Yo! Can you either stop making so much noise or else I'm going to knock you out until our trip is finished. Thank you!" He heard Jongho's tired voice exclaim.

Yeosang sighed. Ever since he left the airport that morning along with the others because they had a mission to carry out, he had been anxious. This was the furthest and about to become the longest time he'd been away from home....

Away from you...

It was only the first night and he already had trouble sleeping. He had gotten so used to having you next to him, cuddled up next to you, inhaling your calming scent as he fell asleep to the sound of your breathing. It was like he needed it or else he'd go insane. If he couldn't have that, he at least needed to hear your voice.

Pushing his luck, he opened up his phone and tried to video call you. His free hand began fidgeting, as he remembered you probably wouldn't pick up since it was late and you were probably asleep too. His heart skipped a beat when your face popped up on the screen.

"Yeosang?" You asked tiredly.

"Uh..... hi baby. Did I wake you?" He asked, feeling guilty for disturbing you.

You yawned softly. "It's fine. What's wrong baby?"

Yeosang blushed at the pet name and at the thought of telling you why he called you.

"I.....couldn't sleep...." He admitted shyly.

"Oh? Why's that love?" You raised an eyebrow.

Yeosang smiled shyly before saying:

"You're not here.......and I wanted to see you....hear you..."

He leaned in closer to the camera, his fingers grazing the screen, wanting to touch you.

"I miss you.."

「𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝑆𝑎𝑛」

San strolled somberly through the park, not really paying attention where he was going. Finding an empty bench, he sat down on it and looked at the ground, reflecting on what happened a few days prior:

"You're...what?" He asked, his eyes widening when you told him the news. He began chuckling awkwardly.

"Please tell me your joking."

You held up the pregnancy, 2 lines clearly indicating that it was positive. San nearly fell back when he saw it.

"H-how in the world..?" He couldn't even finish his sentence.

"You really want a biology lesson right now?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

"You know that's not what I meant!" His tone suddenly got loud, frightening you a little.

"We were careful! You were on the pill and I used condoms! What the hell went wrong?!" He demanded.

"You know that doesn't always work! And instead of yelling at me can't you try to be more supportive of the fact I'm carrying your child Choi San!?" You lashed out at him.

San looked away from you in shame, too scared of the situation. He grabbed his coat and left you there with only an apology that broke your heart.

San was brought out of his thoughts when he heard a little squeal. Lifting his head up, he watched as a young couple played with their daughter. The image brought a smile to his face, and then he was filled with dread and remorse for just leaving you like that.

"Choi San you fucking coward." He said as he got up and ran to your house, hoping it wasn't too late to set things right with you.

When you opened the door, you were startled to see him and even more startled when he engulfed you in a hug.

"I'm extremely sorry for leaving you like that Y/N. I was scared and truthfully, I still am."

Pulling back, he looked straight in your eyes to say the following words:

"But I love you and I'm not going to let you go through this alone. I'm going to be here for you...and our child."

「𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑖」

"Hold still."

You repeated that for what seemed like the 25th time in less than 4 minutes.

"It stings!" Mingi complained when you wiped the cotton pad filled with sanitizing solution on his wound again.

"If you stop moving, we'll get over this faster and it'll hurt less." You reminded him.

Mingi shut his eyes tight and muffled a cry when you rubbed his wound. You rolled your eyes at him as you finished by bandaging him up.

"Seriously, you're such a big baby at times." You told him as you began dressing him in a shirt.

"Oh yeah? Can a big baby take a stab to the chest? No? Thought so." He stated proudly.

You only sighed as you began buttoning up his shirt.

"I only wished you'd be more careful. Sometimes I'm afraid of you getting really hurt...."

Mingi could sense your nervousness and fear of one day losing him. Cupping your cheeks, he smushed your face together and cooed at you softly.

"You don't have to worry about me baby. Hardly anything happens to me aside from little scrapes like these." He assured you.

You snorted. "Yeah. Scrapes that I always end up cleaning and taking care of. Seriously, what would you do if you didn't have me? You can't live without me."

Mingi was going to reply something sarcastically to your teasing, but instead he just let out a gasp and held a hand to his chest.

"What?" You were startled by his action, thinking his wound opened up or started hurting.

Mingi blinked at you before saying:

"You're right....I really can't live without you.."

Without warning, he tackled you onto the bed and wrapped his long limbs around you, rendering you unable to escape him.

"Cause I love you too much to let you go." He winked at you and pressed kisses all over your face.

"Mingi! You dork! Let me go!" You cried out half-heartedly, loving how playful he'd get.

"Nope! I'm never gonna let you go!" He giggled at you as he tightened his embrace on you.

「𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑊𝑜𝑜𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔」

You said good night to your date, allowing him to kiss you softly on the lips. It wasn't particularly bad, but you felt no sparks at all, although you pushed those thoughts away, believing that it was only because it was your first kiss together. You walked to the front of your apartment, and began to take out your key when a figure rounded the corner and stepped up next to you.

"Did you have fun on your little date?"

You knew that voice all too well, even if you were born again, you'd still recognize it.

"I did actually Wooyoung." You turned around, your arms crossing over your chest. You couldn't help the smug smirk on your face as you continued:

"He was a perfect gentleman and very well behaved thank you."

Wooyoung scoffed. "Boring old sack if you ask me."

"What the fuck do you want Wooyoung?" You were tired of him and just wanted him gone.

"You know exactly what I want Y/N..."

Pressing his body close to yours, he let one of his hands tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

"I want you.....I want us again."

You let out a dry laugh at that.

"How funny. If I recall correctly, it was you the one who wanted to end us. The one who didn't want to commit to a relationship, the one who wanted to continue living a wild life and just walk out of whatever we had."

Wooyoung looked away momentarily when you spoke out the harsh truth.

"Well guess what? I moved on and I found someone else to be happy with. I don't need you and you certainly don't need me."

You turned to walk inside your house, but Wooyoung spun you around and pinned you to the wall.

"That's where you're wrong Y/N! I do need you! I can't live without you!"

Not being able to help it, he gripped your chin and kissed you roughly. You didn't even try to push him away, deep down you knew you wanted it too. His kiss definitely sent sparks down your body and you craved it more when he pulled away.

Wooyoung smirked when he saw your expression.

"And I'm willing to bet you can't live without me either..."

「𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑖 𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜」

Jongho stared at the documents in front of him. All he had to do was pick up the pen next to him, sign away and then he would be free. Free from this arranged marriage set up by both of your parents that threw you both together for years now. Both of you could finally live your lives the way you wanted to......

"So why can't I just do it?"

Jongho didn't need to think too much about it, he knew exactly why he was refusing to sign the papers.

"Jongho? Anytime now." You reminded him, tapping on the dotted line at the bottom of the page.

Jongho hesitantly picked up the pen next to him, sighing sadly. His hand began to tremble as he placed the ballpoint right on the line..... but he couldn't do it.

"Fuck this."

Jongho threw the pen to the side and grabbed the stack of papers, easily ripping them to shreds and discarding them in the nearest trash bin.

"Jongho? What are you doing?" You exclaimed in shock of his actions.

"I can't do this Y/N." He admitted.

"You don't have to be scared anymore Jongho. I told you, our parents won't care-"

"No Y/N! You don't understand! I can't end our marriage because I don't want to!"

You looked at him in shock when he said that. Walking up to you, Jongho held your hands.

"From the beginning......despite not wanting any of this....you were always so sweet and caring towards me, and you were always there when I needed you, even if at times I pushed you away.."

Your eyes welled up with tears when he began talking.

"I'm not ready to let you go.......I can't let you go."

He looked into your eyes before admitting:

"Y/N, I love you. I truly and wholeheartedly fell in love with you...... and I don't think I could live the rest of my life without you in it...so please...

Can you please stay with me?"

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners

[imasimpforshanks]

hiii, how are you? may i ask angst alphabet for Ace? thank you ❤️

Angst Alphabet - Portgas D. Ace

a/n: hi hi!! here you go! OMG angst is still really hard LOL I don’t want to think about their rough life 😔😔😔😔😔 ANYWHOOOOO thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy<3

warnings: on the letter S there is mention of self harm

A-Accident (would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?)

Ace would definitely blame himself. He’s always thought he was a no-good demon child, son of a criminal that didn’t deserve to be alive (despite finding people that truly cared and loved him). You dying in an accident and him not being able to do anything about it would just reinforce what he already thinks of himself.

Regardless of your cause of death he is likely to attribute it to your association with himself, and because of that he will think it is entirely his fault, even if he wasn’t present at the time of your death.

B-Break up (How would they break up with you?)

His lessons with Makino really helped him develop manners and just a general sense of acceptable behaviour. So, Ace would just be clear and up front, no mixed messages, no miscommunication. He would take you some place quiet and away from others, and then he would be as honest and vulnerable as possible – it’s the least you deserve. The break-up would be very civil, you would definitely end on good terms (doesn’t make it any less sad though).

C-Crying (how would they make you cry?)

Sometimes Ace can take his teasing a little too far. Usually you can handle it, but there are just some days where his words cut deeper than ever intended (even if they have no malice behind them). It’s not his fault you’re having a bad day, or not realizing you are having a bad day. It’s just one of those things that happens sometimes. As soon as you start to cry though, he apologizes and reassures you so much, to make sure you known he doesn’t mean it and he’s only playing around.

D-Death (how would they react to your death?)

It would start out with a lot of confusion, like “what t-that must be some kind of a sick joke. H-how… w-what… they wouldn’t just die like that.” After it really sinks in that you have in fact died, Ace will just get angry. I don’t see him as much of a crier (spoiler alert – we only see him truly allow himself to cry on two occasions 1) when luffy got crazy hurt as a child and 2) when ace was on deaths door), so I believe he would react with anger.

Regardless of your cause of death (natural causes, accident, died in battle etc.) Ace would be unbelievably angry with himself, the world and you. He would be angry at himself for being unable to save you, someone he cares about and loves deeply. He would be angry at the world and whatever higher being there may be for choosing now to be your time. There are so many horrible, horrible people in the world, yet you had to die? It makes no sense. Lastly, he would be angry at you. Not a genuine anger but more so a “how could you just leave me like this? We were meant to be together forever.”

E-Emotion (what is one emotion they would try to hide the most and how would they do it?)

I think Ace tends to try his sadness. He tries to put on a brave face, not wanting anyone to see him cry as he doesn’t want to be viewed as weak or be even more of a burden on others.

F-Fight (how often do you fight? What do you fight about? Do you fight often? Etc.)

Fights with Ace, although they don’t happen often, can quickly get out of hand. He’s stubborn and his inability to accept that he’s not always right can cause a minor disagreement to escalate into an all-out fight. On a few occasions you have argued about him never turning his back on an opponent.

Your fights tend to be followed by cooldown time. Things can get quite heated (no pun intended) so you need some alone time and space to breathe. After that though, you comeback together and apologize.

G-Guilt (what is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?)

For his entire life, Ace has lived with the guilt of simply existing. He doesn’t think himself worthy of being alive. Can you blame him? It’s all anyone ever told him growing up. Despite eventually finding people who loved him for him, those feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness still remain and continue to plague his mind.

H-Heartbreak (what would cause them pain in the relationship? How would they deal during a break-up?)

During a break-up Ace is quiet. He doesn’t want to be around anyone or anything. He wants to be left completely alone so he can sort out his thoughts and feelings. He’d be quite devasted because he’s had so few people in his life love him on as deep a level as you did.

I-Injured (how would they react if you are badly injured?)

Ace would absolutely lose it if you were injured. He’d be concerned, upset, and angry all at once. First things first, he needs to know if you are going to be ok. Once that’s been established, he’ll be upset at himself for allowing this to happen. This will be replaced by the pure anger he feels at whoever, or whatever, caused this.

J-Jealousy (what do they do if they are jealous?)

When he gets jealous he turns into such a man child. He’s pouting and moping around while mumbling to himself. He develops quite a petty attitude. If you were to ask him “want to go get something to eat?” he’d respond with “why don’t you just go and ask ____ for some food.” But, as soon as you begin commenting on how jealous he’s acting he’s going to deny it to the end of his days.

K-Kill (would they kill for revenge?)

Ace literally hunted down Blackbeard so he could get revenge on him for killing Thatch. It’s not certain whether or not Ace had the intention of killing Blackbeard, however, he definitely had both the spirit and anger to go through with killing him. So, it is possible that Ace would kill for revenge. However, for the most part, he would prefer to just beat them senseless.

L-Loss (what is their greatest loss?)

Either Sabo or his mother’s death, would be considered Ace’s greatest loss. His mother died when he was a new-born, so he doesn’t particularly remember, or know, anything about her other than the fact that she was a kind wonderful woman. However, the loss of Sabo is something he remembers vividly. Losing Sabo had a major impact on Ace. It was an unfortunate wake up call as to how awful the world truly is.

M-Mistake (what is the worst mistake they ever made with you?)

One night, after a particularly bad day filled with a horrible series of events, Ace was letting off some steam (quite literally I suppose). Messing with his devil fruit power, throwing some flames around. He hadn’t noticed your presence and so his flames nearly burnt you. He was horrified, and he only felt worse after he noticed the pure terror in your eyes.

N-Nightmares (how often do they have them? What are they about? How do they deal with it?

Ace has nightmares frequently, they vary, but they all have the same underlying theme, that is, the people in his life don’t actually care about him and only view him the same way everyone else views the son of the pirate kind – a worthless devil with no right to life. He wakes up from his dreams in a sweat and finds himself in desperate need of fresh air (ya know to try and clear his mind). He ends up just sitting out on the deck of the Moby Dick looking up at the sky trying to tell himself it was all a dream. But his insecurity and self-doubt begin to resurface and soon he can’t discern imagination from reality. However, the moment someone else on the crew even speaks to Ace with something as simple as a “morning dude” he’s brought back down to earth and thinks to himself “no that’s right…. They love me… I wouldn’t be here right now if they didn’t.”

It’s a vicious cycle, but in the end, he manages to remember (even if it’s just for a little bit) that he is cherished.

O-Outrage (how and why would they get mad at you?)

When you continuously tell him there’s no need to stay and fight every single opponent. It’s okay to turn and runaway – in fact it’s safer to do that. When you say that he feels as though you don’t understand him. He’s not some careless, impulsive child who’s just looking for a fight (okay maybe he is a little bit). So he doesn’t really get super angry, it’s more so that he is frustrated and a little upset that you don’t try to see it from his perspective.

P-Past (what has happened in your relationship that changed the way you saw each other?)

It’s the same as the worst mistake he’s ever made with you – nearly burning you with his devil fruit. It made you realize that Ace can actually be quite dangerous (although you know he would NEVER hurt you intentionally). It made Ace realize that he needs to be more careful, the look of pure terror in your eyes has stayed with him ever since that incident, serving as a reminder.

Q-Quality (what is their most dangerous/toxic quality?)

His tendency to not back down from a fight is simultaneously his most endearing and toxic trait. He constantly places himself in dangerous situations with minimal concern for his own safety.

R-Rejection (how would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around))

Having his confession rejected by you was definitely a blow to his self-esteem, but he respected and accepted your feelings. Instead of moping around about it he decides to laugh it off, trying to make light of a slightly disappointing situation.

S-Scars (battle or self-inflicted)

Ace does not have any scars, battle related or self-inflicted.

TW self-harm: I do think ace got worryingly close to self-harming, but Sabo and Luffy made him rethink it all.

T-Trust (have they ever broken your trust?)

The one and only time Ace broke your trust was after Blackbeards betrayal. You made him promise to take you with him when he left to hunt down Blackbeard because you didn’t want him to go alone. He promised but he had no intention of keeping that promise.

U-Urge (how badly do they want to see you after you guys separated?)

For a while Ace manages to get by by keeping himself preoccupied. But as soon as he lets up for even a minute, he realizes how much he misses you and is beyond tempted to just sail on back to wherever you are and tackle you to the ground plastering your face in lil kisses. When he’s not distracted, he really does miss you a lot. He hyper-fixates on what you could be doing at this very moment, whether or not you miss him too etc.

V-Vicious (what do they do when they lash out on you?)

When ace gets mad, he tends to get very loud. He raises his voice quite a lot and it becomes very, very frightening. He would never physically hurt you, but the anger and frustration in his voice is more than another to scare the shit out of you.

W-Weak (what makes them feel weak how do they try to avoid it?)

Constantly being reminded or associated with the Pirate King. Maybe it doesn’t make him feel weak, but it makes him feel horrible inside and stirs up a lot of feelings and remarks people would make when he was younger. Unfortunately, once word gets out there isn’t much Ace can do to stop this from happening, however, before this, Ace avoided this by not telling ANYONE. He only told Luffy and Sabo, with a very small handful of others knowing (i.e Garp).

X-X-ray (what do they hate and show it most obviously?)

He hates turning his back on a fight or turning his back on people that talk shit about those he cares about. This is seen during the Marineford arc. He doesn’t let Akainus words about Whitebeard slide. He doesn’t runaway. He has no tolerance for that shit.

Y-Yearn (what is one thing that they want but can’t have?)

Ok this may be dark as hell but, Ace just wants to not feel like a burden to the world. He wants to be viewed as something different/separate from his father, but he can’t change history.

Z-Zero (what do they do/say in your dying moments?)

He doesn’t let you go. He’ll hold on to you until he is forcefully separated from your body. He just starts to spout a lot of nonsense – things don’t make sense at all, but he can’t help it right now. He can’t think properly when you’re about to leave him. He just wants you to stay.

[flightfoot]

Greeting the New Dawn

Set post-Reveal in @buggachat Bakery Enemies AU, whenever that ends up being.

Thanks to Queenie for betaing!

AO3 ---------

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

Adrien looked off to the side, as if he thought that he wasn’t even worthy of meeting her gaze. As if already looking elsewhere, trying to impose on her as little as possible. “I can put in my resignation and tell your parents I found a different opportunity elsewhere.”

Marinette’s mouth went dry, her stomach dropping into a cavern. He- he couldn’t- not again- he couldn’t leave her- she’d only just got him back!

She willed desperately to say something, to stop him. 

Nothing happened.

Instead, she felt her mouth move, saying words she didn’t want to say. “I think that would be for the best.”

Adrien’s face fell further, his breath hitching slightly.

He didn’t say anything. Marinette suspected that if he tried, that hitch would devolve into full-on sobbing.

He turned around, heading for the door. 

Marinette regained control of her limbs. She reached out to grab him, to stop him from disappearing-

Her vision turned black.

-----

Marinette happily hummed as she kneaded some dough, her father joining her song. She’d missed spending time with her parents while she was in New York. 

*ding ding*

A customer?

Moments later, Sabine walked through the entryway to the kitchen. Marinette relaxed.

Until she got a closer look and noticed her eyes glistening.

“Maman?” 

“A-Adrien- he- he-!”

She burst into tears.

Marinette saw it then. Adrien desperately scrounging out of garbage bins to survive, getting thinner and thinner, having been unable to find another job. Losing his apartment, being forced out onto the streets.

Until finally someone had caught him going through their dumpster, recognized him, and decided that trash like him was unworthy of even having those rancid scraps. 

Adrien leaning against the dumpster, beaten and bloody as the rain came pouring down. Slowly closing his eyes.

He didn’t open them again.

-----

Marinette looked out the window at the rain. She’d given him her umbrella, he’d be fine. He said so himself. She didn’t need to do anything more, right? He could walk straight, he hadn’t even been slurring his words, he was coherent. Everything would be fine.

------

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! Today, Adrien Agreste, son of the infamous supervillain, Hawkmoth, was found bludgeoned to death in an alley. The weapon of choice? An umbrella given to him by my favorite babysitter, Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Let’s give her a round of applause for helping set up the circumstances that allowed Paris to get rid of that loose end, once and for all.”

-----

Faceless masses quietly muttered all around Adrien.

A person would occasionally glance at him. Their face would twist up, fear and anger warring over their features.

Until they’d just walk away.

Leaving him alone, crying, desperately trying to reach someone, anyone.

They all slipped through his fingers like water, leaving nothing behind.

A flash of yellow. A defined figure. The last friend Adrien had.

“CHLOE!”

She turned around, gave him a glance.

Her hair swished as she turned back.

She didn’t look back a second time.

------

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news! Today Adrien Agreste was found dead in his apartment. Police are currently treating the case as a suicide-”

Marinette turned off the TV, getting back to designing her new outfit. It was sad what happened, but right now she wanted to concentrate on something more hopeful. 

She smiled as she looked at the red dress she’d just finished, its black accents making the bright red pop that much more.

Her Kitty was out there. She just needed to find him.

------

Marinette jolted awake, panting heavily. She threw off the covers, shakily getting to her feet. Stumbling forward, she reached out for the light switch.

It took her several tries to hit it. Her arm was shaking so badly she just kept on missing. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, she rocketed down. She really missed being Ladybug right about now; she could’ve just swung down to the first story.

A seeming eternity later (36 seconds later, to be exact), she rounded the corner into the kitchen.

The light was on, the sound of dough being rolled out punctuating the quiet of the early morning. 

Please let him be there please let him be there please please PLEASE-!

A blond-haired man turned around. “Mari-?”

She hit him like a freight train.

Instinctively Adrien wrapped his arms around her as they rolled to the side, dough spraying everywhere. 

She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“MARINETTE!” Adrien shouted, anxiety tinging his voice. “What’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Did anything get on you? I’m so, so sor-”

She just pulled him even tighter against her, muffling his voice with her shoulder. 

*thump thump thump*

Adrien was alive. He was here. He wasn’t in an alley or a grave or… or ALONE.

Not anymore.

“Ni-nightmare,” she choked out, trying not to cry. 

The blood drained from Adrien’s face. “It was him, wasn’t it?” He asked quietly, his voice quavering slightly. “I- I should’ve known, I wish I’d-”

“NO!”

She was NOT letting him take the blame for this. 

“It wasn’t your fault kitty, NONE of it was your fault. It was his, ONLY his, you did everything you could to stop him.”

Adrien frowned. For a minute she thought he was going to argue, but he seemed to think better of it. 

“And- and it wasn’t him anyway. Not really. It- it was you.”

“I- I’d never try to hurt anyone here, I’d never try to hurt you, regardless of what happened with Mother I-”

Marinette winced. Foot, meet mouth. Again.

“It wasn’t the Peacock nightmare. It- it was-”

She took a deep breath, pressing her head into his neck, feeling his pulse. “There were so many times when things could have gone worse than they did. Where you could’ve gotten hurt or killed. And- and I would never even have known I lost you.”

“I’m not going anywhere, My Lady,” he murmured into her ear. “Not unless you want me to.”

“If you want me to leave, I will.”

“NO!” She shook her head violently. “Never. I- I couldn’t stand it if-”

If I never saw you again. If you killed yourself because you thought no one wanted you around. Because you thought you deserved it. Or that you deserved to be out on the streets, struggling to survive, because of who your father is and how people see you because of it.

“I want you here,” she told him more calmly. She needed him to know that. To internalize it. “You deserve to be here. You deserve happiness and safety and people who love you and- and just every good thing in the world!” 

She’d tell him this every day if she needed to, until he believed it.

“I- I dreamed that you’d died those times. Like- like when you asked if I wanted you to leave. Or- or thinking back on what could’ve happened if you’d walked home while drunk. But the worst one? Was where you committed suicide before I ever ran into you as a civilian.”

She needed to bake Chloe some cookies. ALL the cookies. She’d probably comment about how she was only tolerating Marinette’s cooking in order to seem nicer to Adrien or something, but she didn’t care. If it weren’t for Chloe, then Marinette’s best friend, the love of her life, would probably be dead.

“In that nightmare, it barely even registered that you’d died. Just- you were just some stranger. Some stranger who was dead now. That- that was most horrifying of all.”

Her hearing about him dying and barely even caring because she didn’t know him - it terrified her more than anything else. Logically she’d known that was a possibility before she’d found out Adrien was Chat Noir, but- well she’d never really seriously thought about him dying. And- and part of her thought that because of how close they were, she’d just know if he was hurt, if something had happened to him. Would recognize him on sight if the worst happened.

But neither of them had known the other when they ran into each other at the bakery. And she’d never had a clue that the boy on the billboards was the same boy running alongside her on rooftops. 

Adrien held her tighter. Something wet dripped onto her neck.

She didn’t comment. His shoulder was damp from her own tears.

“It didn’t happen.” He told her. “It could have, but it didn’t. I- I know what it’s like to have those ‘what ifs?’ running through your head. Sometimes, the best you can do is tell yourself that everything did work out. That it’s okay. I- I tell myself that all the time. Every time I think about what could’ve happened if I never met your parents- if I’d never started working here. If I’d never seen you again. Never met Nino or Alya.”

“Adrien…” 

“It doesn’t help. There’s nothing that can be done about ‘what ifs’. It may not make those thoughts go away, but- but at least it doesn’t matter what could’ve happened, because it didn’t. And thinking about it in circles won’t help.”

He grinned at her. “You know what will?”

She blinked at him, lost for words.

Until she felt something sticky on her forehead.

Reaching her hand up, she got the substance off. 

Dough coated her fingers.

Her partner gave her a shit-eating grin. “Ooops.”

“Oh you are ON.”

As she chased her kitty around the kitchen, trying to tag him with bits of the fallen dough, she smiled.

He was alive. 

Maybe he wasn’t okay yet, but he would be.

And so would she.

[specialagentsergio]

wish i were

summary: Emily’s back where she belongs, but she’s learning that you can’t come back from the dead the same as you were before. Spencer’s reeling from betrayal and broken trust. Then there’s you—their safe port in the storm. But you’re not okay either, and you have a choice to make.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: lots of swearing, mentions of/implied sex, mentions of vomiting (nothing descriptive), fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, bittersweet ending

a/n: it’s finally here. thank you all for your patience. i wasn’t planning on posting angst and unrequited love on valentine’s day, but i don’t want to wait another day to post this; i’m kinda sick of looking at it tbh. anyways, i hope you enjoy it and it lives up to your expectations. sorry it’s so long. apparently i have a lot to say.

word count: 8.7k

series masterlist || masterlist

Ten weeks ago.

“Absolutely not,” Emily croaks out. Her voice is rough and broken from the breathing tube, and it hurts her throat to speak, but she ignores it. “No. I won’t do it.”

She can hardly believe what she’s hearing. She’s only been awake for a few hours and she’s already fed up with the bullshit the world is throwing at her. Right now, it’s in the form of her boss asking her to fake her own death. “You can’t seriously think this is an acceptable solution.”

Hotch is unreadable, his unit chief face firmly in place. “It’s for your own safety.”

Emily scoffs, then immediately winces at the pain that shoots through her midsection. But she continues. “So put me in a safe house or something. I’m not making my friends bury me.”

“It’s for their safety as well,” he replies. “Doyle’s still out there. He’s targeted them before. You know he’ll do it again to get to you if he finds out you’re alive.”

“Then let them in on this,” she argues. “They can keep a secret.”

His expression slips—just a little bit, but she sees it. It’s hesitance.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” she asks, a feeling of dread settling over her. “I want to see her. I’m not making a decision like this without her.”

Hotch folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not your decision to make, Emily,” he says quietly. “It’s already done.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She looks him up and down, searching desperately for any sign that he’s lying, that this is all just some cruel joke, that any second now you’ll be walking through the door, a smile on your face—

There are none.

Her lungs burn and she’s forced to take in a breath. “You son of a bitch,” she whispers. “You... son of a bitch. How dare you? How dare you.”

He doesn’t so much as flinch as her voice increases in volume, which only serves to make her angrier.

“How fucking dare you! You let me see (Y/N) right now, you bastard!”

The door opens—her heart leaps—

It’s JJ, who, if Hotch is to be believed, is the only other one to know about this. JJ hurries to her side and reaches out, but Emily yanks her arm away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarls. “You—” Her eyes land on the water pitcher on the table in front of her and she lunges forward, the searing pain it causes barely registering. She seizes it and throws it with all the force she can muster.

Hotch doesn’t move out of the way, letting it hit his chest and soak the front of his clothing. Its accompanying cup follows, then the TV remote. It’s not until she grabs the vase of flowers that he ducks out of the way. The glass shatters on the floor. All the while, she’s screaming obscenities at him.

JJ tries in vain to calm her down, holding up her hands placatingly. “Emily, please—”

“Don’t talk to me!” she yells. “You have the audacity to come in here and speak to me when you know I’m alive and my girlfriend doesn’t!”

“Emily!” Her voice is stern. “I understand you’re upset—”

“Don’t use your fucking mom voice on me, Jennifer, I’m not a fucking child—”

“What’s going on in here?” A pair of nurses enter the room, no doubt drawn by the commotion.

“She’s bleeding,” JJ answers immediately. “I think she might have aggravated something when she sat up.”

“She’s not supposed to be sitting up at all. What did you two do?” one of the nurses scolds.

“She just got some bad news—”

“Well, isn’t that a nice way to put it!” The nurses are trying to coax her into laying back down, but Emily resists it. “A really great way to describe the two of you trying to force me into letting my family and girlfriend think I’m dead!”

“I think some of the stitches tore,” the second nurse says.

“Go get the doctor,” the first one instructs an orderly standing in the doorway.

Movement catches Emily’s eye and she looks towards it to see Hotch taking a step backwards.

“Don’t you dare leave!” she screams. “I’m not done with you, you motherf—”

“Agent, please, you need to lie back.”

“And you two need to leave,” the older of the nurses says.

Then there’s a third person at her side. Judging by the white coat, it’s the doctor. “What’s the problem?” he asks them.

“She’s agitated and we think some stitches might have burst.”

“Damn right I’m agitated!” Emily cries. “They’re trying to—I—” She looks past the doctor to find that JJ and Hotch are gone.

“Emily, we’re going to give you something to help you relax,” he tells her.

Her vision goes blurry and she can’t figure out why until she feels the tears sliding down her cheeks. She lets the nurses push her back now and her head thumps against the pillow. “Please—” she chokes on a sob. “Please, I want to see my girlfriend.”

“What’s her name?” the doctor asks kindly.

“(Y/N). We’ve been together for almost a year. I need…” Her limbs are starting to feel heavy. “I need to call her, or—or something. She thinks… she thinks….”

“Shh, you’re okay,” one of the nurses soothes. “You’re going to be okay.”

Emily blinks slowly and shakes her head. “But she won’t be. She…”

The world fades to black.

---

There are tear stains on your pillowcase.

That’s the first thing Emily notices when she walks into your bedroom. She recognizes them so quickly because similar ones were on her pillows in Paris.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to run the sheets through the wash,” you say when you notice her looking.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” She sets her bag on the bedside table, careful to jostle Sergio as little as possible. He’s in her arms, pressed against her chest and purring loudly. He definitely remembers her—she’d been a little worried that he wouldn’t.

Emily is absolutely exhausted. It has been a very long day. Doyle is dead, Declan is safe, and now all she wants to do is take a nice, hot shower and curl up in bed with you. But you haven’t been able to keep eye contact with her for more than a few moments at a time.

She expected something like this to happen. She knew once the relief of seeing her alive wore off, there was going to be a heap of more, uglier emotions surfacing.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

You glance up at her just briefly, busying yourself with stripping off the pillowcases and replacing them with a clean set. “I don’t know what to say, Emily,” you sigh. “I just… I don’t.”

She strokes Sergio’s back a couple of times to calm herself before replying. “You can say anything. You’ve been through so much, and I… I’m not going to hold what you’re feeling against you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

It confirms her suspicions. “(Y/N), you’re allowed to be mad at me,” she says. “Hell, you could even yell at me if you wanted to and I’d be okay with it.”

You snort. “I don’t want to yell at you. But, um, could I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. Well…” You shuffle from one foot to the other. “I’m… not really sure how to ask this, but, how… how did this happen?”

Your voice is hesitant. You’re holding back, but Emily can read between the lines. “You mean, how could I let you think I was dead?” she corrects softly.

You breathe in sharply and wrap your arms around yourself. Your eyes are wet when you look up at her and nod.

Emily tries not to let her next words come out too fast, lest it seem like she’s dismissing your feelings or making excuses. “I didn’t get a choice.” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat. “When I came to after surgery, the funeral had already been held.”

Your mouth drops open. You stare at her for a few seconds, then blink several times. Your eyes move around, focused on nothing in particular as you try to process what she’s just told you. Eventually, they settle on the bedroom door behind her. “I’m gonna punch his face,” you whisper.

Emily can’t stop the genuine laugh that bubbles out of her. “Yeah, Hotch heard similar things from me.”

“Oh my god, Em,” you breathe out, and her heart skips a beat at the nickname. “That must have been awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” she admits. “But at least I knew you were alive and that I’d see you again someday. It can’t come close to what you went through.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t the suffering Olympics. It was harder for you in some ways than it was for me, I’m sure. Like, if I was waking up after being stabbed, I’d want my girlfriend there holding my hand.”

Emily’s eyes prick with tears as she listens to you, remembering how it felt to be at the hospital without you there to hold her hand through all the scary bits. But you? You had buried her, and now you’re here considering how Emily had felt throughout all this. She’s not sure if you’re actively trying to make her fall even more in love with you, but if you are, you’re succeeding.

“I can’t promise to never be mad at you about this,” you continue, “but I’ll take being mad at you for actually being alive rather than being mad at you for dying.”

“That’s… really mature of you,” she observes.

“I started seeing a therapist a few days after the funeral,” you say with a shrug. “Can you put Sergio down and help me change the bed sheets?”

She nods and places him gently on the floor. She’s about to ask why you’re wanting to change them right now, when you’re clearly just as exhausted as she is, when she finds a tie wedged between the top and fitted sheets at the foot of the bed. She frowns as she lifts it up—it’s not one she recognizes as yours or hers, but she does think she’s seen it before.

“Oh, so that’s where that went,” you say.

“I don’t remember you having a tie like this. Is it new?”

“It’s Spencer’s,” you clarify.

“Oh. What… what’s it doing in your bed?” she asks hesitantly.

“He would stay over sometimes when I couldn’t sleep and he’s too long—“ you spread your hands apart “—for either of the couches.”

“I see.” Emily smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric and crosses the room to put it on top of the dresser, trying to tamp down the sting of jealousy. The other side of your bed is supposed to be hers.

“Nothing happened,” you say and she realizes she’s frowning.

“I know,” she replies, and she does—she just wishes it had been her in the bed with you. But you’ve at least given her a good lead-in for her surprise. “Anyways, you wouldn’t have even had the time with the amount of online Scrabble you were playing.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. “How do you know about that?”

The corner of her mouth turns up. “I was there for every game, sergio2010.”

It takes you a moment to put it together. “You’re cheetobreath?” you ask. “I thought that was JJ.”

“It was her idea,” Emily says. “And that’s what you were supposed to think.”

Your reaction delights her—you start laughing. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I had to stick it to Hotch somehow,” she defends, barely holding back her own laughter.

You shake your head fondly as you finish tucking in the fresh sheets. Emily helps you spread the comforter back over the bed and return the pillows to their spots. She isn’t sure what to do after that, though, and nervously clasps her hands in front of her. You’re silent for a few seconds, watching her from across the bed.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” you say eventually.

“Um, okay,” she replies. “But you know, I could go stay at a hotel instead if you’d prefer.”

You shake your head. “You’re gonna join me.”

“Ah.” Emily swallows, part nervous, part thrilled. “That’s… I mean, yeah. Okay.”

You hold out your hand in invitation; she circles the bed and takes it.

After, when you’re both clean and settled into bed, she pulls you as close to her as she can. “This is so nice,” you sigh into her skin. “You’re so soft, Em.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Um, thank you?”

“Spencer’s bony,” you explain.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, I know. I fell asleep on his shoulder on the jet a few years ago and it was painful.”

You giggle. “Did you know he talks in his sleep?”

“Morgan’s mentioned it. You learn anything else when you were snuggled up with him?” she teases, running her fingers through your damp hair.

“It wasn’t like that,” you protest. “We didn’t snuggle. I’d just kind of… press my forehead on his arm and one leg against his.” Your voice lowers as you continue, “I just really missed being close to someone.”

“I did, too,” she whispers back. “I wish it had been me, but I’m glad you had him.”

You nod against her in agreement. “I love you, Emily,” you say, briefly tightening your grip on her.

“I love you, too,” she replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So much.”

You drift off to sleep quickly, and she’s not far behind.

It’s the best sleep she’s had in months.

---

Spencer’s barely heard from you since the hearing last week.

He’d gotten plenty of texts from Jennifer (all of which he ignored), but only a few from you. That’s probably normal for most adult friends, but not for you two, especially so when the fact that you were the only two people not to apply for reinstatement to the BAU is taken into consideration. He thought that he’d be able to seriously talk about it with you, to share his feelings and maybe work it out together. But all he had gotten was a brief message:

Emily was reinstated, so I’m going back, too.

It left him frustrated, but when it came down to it, he understood—he was the same. Since you were going back, so was he.

On Monday morning, everyone’s first day back together, he gets off the elevator and is immediately confronted with the last person he wants to see.

“Hey, where have you been? I wanted to do brunch this weekend,” Jennifer says.

Spencer barely resists rolling his eyes, instead keeping them fixed on the file he’s holding. “I had to deal with some stuff with my mom.” It’s not a lie—he did have to check in with his mom. It just didn’t take as long as he’s implying. “Have you seen Garcia?”

“Uh, she’s with Rossi,” Jennifer answers, and she sounds startled by his behavior, but he doesn’t care. You’re at your desk, and as he passes by, he takes your arm.

“Wha—Spencer?” You’re taken aback, but you let him pull you along and into a file room.

“What?” you repeat when he turns to you after closing the door.

He tucks the file into his bag, the folds his arms over his chest. “I barely heard from you last week.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Well, yeah, I’ve been busy,” you say. “Emily’s moving in with me so we’ve been taking her things out of storage and to my apartment to unpack.”

Spencer glances away, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy in his chest. Just two weeks ago, he was in your bed and he’s quickly been replaced. And sure, he knows you don’t feel that way about him, but it was easy to pretend you did when you were asleep right next to him. “Not busy enough to make a decision about work,” he points out.

“So?”

“You’re the only other one who didn’t apply for reinstatement to the unit,” he replies. “You’d think that would be something for us to talk about.”

“You never said you wanted to,” you say, giving him a little shrug.

He doesn’t resist the eye roll this time. Does Spencer know he’s being a bit unfair? Yes. Does he care? Not particularly. No one bothered to seriously check in with him last week. He wasn’t expecting everyone to, but he was expecting it from you. He’s only been at work for five minutes, but his emotions are already running high, and he doesn’t care to reign them in. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

“You should’ve. I can’t read your mind.” Now you’re getting defensive. “And what does it matter, anyways? You’re not my boyfriend; I don’t have to run my decisions past you.”

“I know that,” he snaps. He really could have done without hearing you say that. “I’m just there to warm up your bed when you’re lonely is all, huh?”

You’re shocked for only a moment before pivoting to anger. “I didn’t make you do anything. You could’ve said no. And I certainly don’t owe you anything from it.”

“Clearly,” he mutters.

You heave an angry sigh. “Look, I know you’re mad about the whole thing, but don’t take it out on me. I don’t know why you’re so surprised that I wanted to spend the past week catching up with my girlfriend after thinking she was dead for ten weeks. If you wanted to talk, you should’ve said so. Stop being such an ass.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. You’re right, and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. He just looks down at the floor, avoiding your glare.

When it becomes clear to you that he has no intention of responding, you mutter, “whatever” under your breath and duck behind him, walking out of the door and leaving him alone again.

---

The case has been miserable.

In rural Oklahoma, their unsub is burning his victims with acid. Not the worst they’ve seen, but not pleasant, either—this job never is.

You’re still mad at him, which is bad enough, but he’s also had to watch you be far more… touchy with Emily than you ever were before. It’s not super apparent—you still keep it professional at the local P.D. and when you’re out on work assignments, but you’re going out of your way to find any excuse to touch her that you can outside of that.

Then there’s the motel they’re staying at and its thin walls. He heard a few things last night from your room next door. It was quickly followed by shushes, but he heard enough to infer what was going on. So he’d dug his noise-canceling headphones out of his bag. It had been a good solution at the time, but then he’d fallen asleep with them on. As a result, he’d slept with his neck at an odd angle. It’s midday now and it’s still aching.

To top it all off, there’s Jennifer. He’s been trying to keep his distance from her, and had thought the snide remarks he hadn’t been able to hold back might encourage her to stay away. But she keeps pressing the issue, and when she tells him she thinks he’s mad about micro-expressions, he can’t hold it back anymore.

“You think it’s about my profiling skills? Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

She protests, so he brings up Dilaudid. He knows it’s a low blow, and that she still feels guilty about them splitting up all those years ago, leading to his abduction and subsequent problem, but he doesn’t care. He just wants her to hurt like he is.

The team is staring and Emily says his name, but he just tells Jennifer that it’s too late to be sorry and leaves without another word.

Outside, he sits on the curb in front of one of the SUVs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He’s not alone for long, though. Just a few minutes later, he hears footsteps coming from behind him. The sound that involuntarily comes out of his throat can only be described as a growl.

“God, Jennifer, what do I have to do to get you to understand that I want you to leave me the fuck alone!” he nearly yells.

But it’s not Jennifer that answers. “It’s me,” you say softly.

Spencer sighs. He drops his hands from his face but doesn’t open his eyes. “What?”

“Can I sit?”

He’s not sure he wants to be around anyone, but it’s hard for him to say no to you. “Sure,” he says dully.

You join him on the curb, but keep a few feet of space between you. You don’t say anything, though, just sit quietly, letting him make the first move.

“How are you okay?” he asks eventually.

“What?” You sound incredulous. “I’m not sure where you got that idea. I’m so mad at Hotch that I can barely breathe when I’m in the same room as him.”

Spencer considers this for a moment, recalling when everyone’s been in the same room during this case. He realizes that since he’s been preoccupied with you touching Emily and trying to avoid Jennifer, he’s missed how you tense up whenever you see Hotch, and that you keep him out of your eyesight whenever possible.

“But you’re fine with Emily,” he observes. That does honestly confuse him, because he’s mad at Emily as well. And if it had been you in her place? He’s not sure he’d ever be able to forgive you, even without you knowing the way he feels about you.

“For the most part,” you say. “I still feel a little mad at her sometimes, but it helps me to remember that it wasn’t her fault.”

He finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being alive in Paris and not telling you isn’t her fault?”

“She didn’t really get a choice. When she woke up after surgery, the funeral had already happened,” you explain. “Hotch made the decision without her.”

“Hmm.” He files that information away to think over later. “And Jennifer?”

You shrug. “I can’t be too mad at her, since she did so much for me during those weeks.”

He snorts. “Yeah, out of guilt.”

“Probably, yes,” you concede. “But not having to pack up Emily’s things and take them to storage myself, feeding Sergio and bringing him to stay with me, bringing me hot meals when I was surviving off of cereal alone because I could barely get out of bed, let alone cook for myself… it went a long way.”

On the one hand, it’s a bit comforting for him to hear how Jennifer helped the woman he loves. On the other, she could have ended your pain with three words—Emily is alive—but she didn’t. She let the woman he loves suffer the pain of the loss of a partner.

And she sure didn’t bring him hot meals.

This shouldn’t surprise you, Spencer. You’ve always been the afterthought. The burden. You should be used to this by now.

He clenches the fabric of his pants in his hands. “That doesn’t make me any less angry,” he mutters.

“That’s fine.”

“You can’t expect me to just—wait, what?”

“That’s fine,” you repeat. “I’m not trying to tell you to just get over it or whatever because she was nice to me. Like Em told me, you’re allowed to be mad.”

Spencer bites his lip, resisting the urge to ask you to stop calling her Em. You’re the only one that calls her that—or rather, is allowed to call her that, and it’s obvious why. It’s also similar enough to you calling him Spence that he’ll always start comparing himself to Emily when he hears it, and he’s been trying to stop doing that for months.

“Maybe you just, I don’t know,” you continue, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You could just try to be a little less passive aggressive with JJ?”

He opens his mouth, about to flat-out refuse, but before he can, you tack on, “For me? Just a little bit?”

God damn it.

“Only if she stops bothering me,” he says bluntly.

“Yeah, she, um… she was crying when I left, so I think she’s got the message now,” you say quietly.

He feels a bit guilty upon hearing that, but not enough to apologize, or even really regret it. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, he rationalizes to himself. She’s the one who decided to push it anyways.

After a few moments of silence, you reach out and pat his knee. “I love you, you know.”

He knows what you mean, knows that you don’t mean it like that, but his heart still skips a beat. He responds to you with a nod.

You push yourself to your feet, tell him to take all the time he needs, and you’ll see him when he’s ready to come back in, then walk away.

When he’s certain you’re out of earshot, he whispers back, “I love you, too.”

---

Emily sits down across from him on the plane, and Spencer is immediately reminded of the morning after he caught you and her together. That time, Emily had folded her hands in front of her on the table. This time, she slides something across it to him. He looks up from his book and sees his missing tie, wrinkles ironed out and folded neatly.

“It was in her bed,” she explains when his brow furrows.

Spencer wonders if that made Emily jealous.

He’s not a good enough person to not hope it did.

“Thanks,” he mutters, putting it away in his bag.

Emily’s quiet, but she doesn’t leave. She must have something else to say. He sighs. “What is it?”  

“Are you going to Rossi’s house tomorrow night?” she asks.

He looks back down to his book. “I don’t know. I’m not so sure I can make it.”

“Okay. Well, Reid, you can be mad at me for as long as you need to. I’m okay with that.”

Spencer frowns. He kind of wishes she wasn’t being so nice and understanding. It makes it harder to be upset with her, and he wants to be upset with her.

“I’d like to say something to you, though, if that’s okay,” she says.

He reluctantly looks back up. “What?”

Emily holds his gaze. “Thank you,” she says earnestly.

He blinks. “Uh, for what?”

Her voice wavers slightly with emotion as she speaks. “For looking out for her when I couldn’t.”

His eyes drift away from Emily and to the couch where you’re sleeping. “My pleasure,” he replies quietly. When he looks back at Emily, she has a curious look on her face.

For the first time, instead of panicking over keeping his secret, instead of shying away, Spencer looks right back at her. A few seconds later, he thinks he sees a flash of realization in her eyes, but it’s so quick he can’t be sure.

“Well, thank you,” she repeats, and takes her leave. He watches as she leans down and tucks the blanket closer around you. He closes his eyes, leans back in his seat, and imagines a world where he was the one adjusting it instead.

---

“You’re gonna go weeks, months even, feeling fine. And then you’re gonna have a bad day.”

Emily can barely get the hotel room door open, her hands are shaking so much. A bad day. What Hotch called it, she thinks, was a bit of an understatement.

She’s just come back from taking a witness statement to help wrap up the piano man case—or rather, she was trying to take one.

“I was told that you would only give your statement to me.”

“Why didn’t you let me pull the trigger?” Regina asks.

“Because you would be in prison.” Emily understands why Regina is mad at her, and she’s fine with taking the brunt of it. Lying to her to stop her from shooting the unsub was the right thing to do. “I know it’s hard--”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like…” Regina pauses briefly, anger radiating off of her. “When the monster from your nightmares comes back for you.”

Emily breaks eye contact and looks down. She knows exactly what that’s like.

Regina recognizes it. “Wait--”

Redirect, redirect, redirect. “Look, I’m here as a courtesy--”

“Something happened to you.”

“So do you want to give me your statement or not?”

But Regina is relentless. “What did you do to him, huh? Did you arrest him like a good FBI agent? Or did you kill him?”

Emily sits down heavily on the spare bed, drawing your attention away from packing up your things for the flight home. “Em?”

She just shakes her head, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and closing her eyes. “It was the right thing,” she whispers to herself. “It was the right thing. I did the right thing.”

You sit down next to her and place your hand on her back. “What happened?”

Emily swallows hard, feeling sick to her stomach. Her hair is sticking to the back of her neck; she tilts her head to try and dislodge it. You catch on and pull it to the side for her.

“Talk to me, baby,” you urge gently. “Just something, anything I can do to help.”

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. “I—I think,” she stutters. “I th—think I just ruined a woman’s pe—peace of m—mind for good.”

You start rubbing circles on her back and ask, “How?”

“You know, when they talk about victims getting revictimized by the system, they mean you.”

Emily shudders involuntarily. “I… you know how we found the unsub with a—a victim?”

Slowly, in sentences fractured by gasping breaths, swallows to hold back the nausea, and even a few sobs, she recounts what Regina said to her.

You murmur something under your breath that she doesn’t catch, then, ever so gently, you pull her into your arms.

Emily Prentiss isn’t one to break down, not in her own home and especially not in front of others. She controls any “negative” emotions as best as she can, her feelings only displayed through a trembling voice, misty eyes, or run-down nails. Screaming, tears, and nervous gestures were not befitting of an ambassador’s daughter, after all, and those habits formed in childhood have stayed with her until this day.

But there’s one person who’s the exception. There’s one person with whom those walls just don’t seem to exist. That person, of course, is you.

You pull her into your arms, and Emily Prentiss breaks down, because she can. She can because she knows you’ll be there to help put her back together again.

“You never had a chance to mourn your own death, did you?”

She hadn’t understood what her therapist meant when she said it yesterday morning, but Emily thinks she does now. This time last year, what Regina said would have unsettled her, and she would have felt sorry for her, but she probably wouldn’t have dwelt on it much. It’s not last year, though. It’s this year, and she’s coming undone in your embrace over Regina’s words, words she knows will never leave her.

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Still… your monster’s dead. I have to live with mine. That’s my statement.”

Emily has a promise to keep, so she boards the jet early. A few minutes later, Hotch slides into the seat across from her and waits. It still takes her a few moments to collect herself enough to say the words.

“I’m having a bad day.”

---

Spencer’s not sure if you’re going to be able to keep doing this job. He became very familiar with your nervous tics and outward signs of stress during those weeks, and now he can notice them almost immediately.

You seemed okay for the first few months. A few habits cropped up now and then—biting your lip, tapping each fingertip to your thumb in turn—but that was fairly normal. It’s a stressful job.

But then your bottom lip starts getting chapped again, and during conversions with anyone other than Emily, you’re quiet; you often have to be prompted to share your thoughts.

He tries to find out what’s wrong, but when he asks, you shut it down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “But, um, you probably should talk to… somebody, you know?”

You barely look up from your paperwork as you respond. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been seeing a therapist since this whole shitshow started. I’ve got Emily, too. If anything, I should be telling you to go talk to a professional.”

Spencer just says “okay” again, then a few minutes later he excuses himself to go hide in the bathroom and nurse his hurt feelings. He knows you weren’t trying to be mean. Flipping around the suggestion to him most certainly came from a place of love. But he’s not interested in receiving any kind of psychiatric care—he’s actively opposed to it. So being told anything of that sort upsets him and often makes him angry.

Today it’s just salt in the wound, though. The wound itself is Emily. And god, does he ever feel guilty about the resentment that crops up every time her name is in your mouth. She was dead, and every day she was gone, he wished she weren’t. He cried countless tears over her and would’ve given anything to at least be able to say goodbye.

Then the impossible happened—she came back. He didn’t have to say goodbye at all. And sure, there was the initial relief and happiness, and the warmest hug ever, but now he finds himself resenting her. He’d never wish for her to be gone again, but he can’t stop the jealousy, no matter how hard he tries.

Recently, when Emily was shot during a case in California, he held back your hair as you leaned out of the door of the SUV and threw up upon receiving the news. Spencer Reid would never deny that he’s a germaphobe, but he wants that. He wants to be the one taking care of you, the one whose shoulder you fall asleep on, the one going home with you at the end of the day.

He doesn’t want Emily gone, never, ever again, but he wants you back. Those ten weeks, as awful as they were, weren’t the worst he’s had, because during that time, you were always seeking him out. He knows you didn’t want him that way, but if Emily had really been gone, he thinks one day, that might have changed. The thought always brings tears to his eyes.

Still, he would settle for having you the way he did during the years before he fell for you. Things just haven’t been the same since Emily came back. You don’t stay up late talking anymore. You haven’t a movie night in months. You don’t ask about the books he’s reading or what he did over the weekend. This is it: this is exactly what he was afraid of happening when he found you with Emily.

Spencer doesn’t think it’s personal. He thinks it’s because you’re barely hanging on these days, and just don’t have the energy anymore to do things like you used to.

It still hurts, though. He wonders if it’ll ever stop hurting.

---

Respite can come at the strangest of times and in the oddest of ways. Today, it comes to Emily in the middle of a hostage situation at a bank, in the form of a job offer.

The team is trying to find the I.D. of the Queen of Hearts, one of the robbers, when she gets a surprise call from Clyde Easter, her old Interpol Unit Chief, who gives her the information he knows about the unsub. He doesn’t know her name, but he reminds her that she’s seen the unsub before, at a robbery in Paris while she was living there. Then when the team learns that their unsubs want to fly out to Chad, she calls him back.

“Well, unfortunately Interpol doesn’t have many assets in that particular region in Africa. Maybe that’s something you could help me with when this is over.”

Emily scoffs. “Work for Interpol again? That’ll be the day.”

“Not work, darling. Run,” he corrects. “You see, I’ve been promoted. So, the team’s yours whenever you want it.”

“It’s a hell of a time to bring that up,” she says, ignoring the questioning glances she’s getting from you, Reid, and JJ.

Clyde asks her to think about it, but there’s no time to do that now. She pushes it to the back of her mind and goes back to work.

By the time the day is over, she’s tired. Just tired. You both narrowly survive the explosion in the bank thanks to the alcove you were in, trying to help two elderly patrons. Then a mere hour later, you scare the shit out of her by finding Will strapped to an active bomb and deactivating it yourself. So Clyde’s offer doesn’t come up again until the next morning, when light is spilling through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom with a soft, warm glow.

You face each other in bed, legs twined together under the covers. “What was that about working for Interpol again?” you ask softly, tucking your arm under your head.

“Clyde was promoted,” she replies just as quietly, as to not disturb the peaceful morning feeling. “He offered me his old job. He wants me to run the London office.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

Emily blows out a breath. “I’d like to at least… consider it.”

You reach out, finding her hand in the sheets and lacing your fingers between hers. “What’s stopping you?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” she replies, squeezing your hand back.

“Well, then I think you’re more than just considering it,” you say. “You wouldn’t bring it to me if you didn’t want to take the job.”

Emily thinks for a moment, then admits, “I… I do want to take it. But I have to know what you think, honestly.” She was already robbed out of making one life-changing decision without you in this past year. She has no interest in that happening again.

“Honestly?” you repeat, shifting a little. At her nod, you continue, “I think it’s a good option for us.”

“Us?” she asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, us,” you affirm. “What, you think I’m just going to stay here if you move away?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. This is the first time we’ve talked about something like this.”

“Fair point,” you say, then sigh. “We’re… both struggling here in D.C., Em. I know it and you know it. This place, this team. It used to be my home, but now, I just… it’s not like it was before.”

“You don’t trust Hotch anymore,” Emily says quietly.

You let out a small, broken chuckle. “I’ve tried. I’ve been trying so hard. I know he did what he thought he had to, but I just… I can’t.”

“It’s okay to feel that way,” she points out. She lets go of your hand to reach up and wipe away a tear that breaks your lash line. “In fact, I’d say it’s reasonable, with what you went through.”

You close your eyes and nod, putting your hand on top of hers to keep it on your cheek. “I know it’s been hard for you, too.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I wanted to come back, and at first, I felt like I was home. But I just can’t go back to my old life and pretend that nothing happened. The only time I feel at home now is… well, it’s when I’m alone with you, just like this.”

“Emily Prentiss, I had no idea you were such a romantic,” you say, cracking a smile.

“Oh, stop,” she says, but she’s blushing. When your giggles subside, she speaks again. “I would love for you to come to London with me. But I don’t want you to forget what you’d be leaving. There’s still a lot of good here.”

You nod. “There is. I’m just not sure it’s enough anymore,” you say softly.

“I understand. You can think about it. I don’t need an answer now.”

So you don’t give her one, not right away. But you do a few hours later. So Emily picks up her phone and dials Clyde’s number.

---

JJ’s a beautiful bride, but Spencer’s eyes keep drifting over to you. The dress you’re wearing tonight is wonderful; from the cut to the color, it suits you perfectly. But that’s not what’s really got his attention. It’s the way you’re carrying yourself. You’re smiling, and you seem truly happy, without any reservations. But there’s also a bit of sadness clinging to you, and he can’t tell what’s causing it.

The party has been going on for a while by the time he finds himself dancing with you. You’d asked him, and now you’ve steered him a little ways away from everyone else. “There’s something I have to tell you,” you say just as he’s about to ask what’s going on.

To his dismay, he doesn’t have a clue what it’s going to be. He doesn’t like not having at least an idea. He swallows, then says, “Okay.”

You can’t meet his eyes; you look down to the floor instead and watch your feet move in time together. So whatever it is, I’m not going to like it, he thinks, and his anxiety spikes. “What is it?” he asks, tightening his grip on you without really meaning to.

You take a deep breath, then look up. “Emily and I are leaving.”

His heart drops and he stops in his tracks, causing you to stumble a little over his feet. “Oh, shi—sorry,” he says. “I just—you’re leaving the BAU? But you’re still going to be in D.C., right?”

You sigh, then guide him off the dance floor and to a quiet spot not too far away. “You remember what Emily said about working for Interpol again yesterday?”

“Interpol?” he repeats, his voice pitching upwards. “You mean, like, overseas?”

“London, to be specific.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what to say. Things were a little rocky between you and him when Emily came back, and for a little while afterwards, sure, but recently he’d started to feel like he had his best friend back.

Apparently he couldn’t be more wrong.

Spencer’s used to people leaving. First it was his dad, then Ethan. Elle was next, quickly followed by Gideon. JJ was forced out, and although she ended up coming back, it didn’t erase the pain he felt in her absence. And then there was everything that happened with Emily.

So, Spencer’s used to people leaving. In a way, he almost expects it.

He just wishes it would stop hurting so damn much.

What is it about me? he wonders. What is it that makes people run away? There’s clearly something wrong with--

“Hey!”

He jumps, startled out of his introspection. When his eyes refocus on you, you put your hands on your hips.

“I don’t appreciate people being mean to my best friend, you know,” you tell him seriously.

“Uh…” He blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“That includes him being mean to himself,” you continue. “I know what you were thinking.”

“What? No, you don’t,” he protests.

“Don’t I?” You put the tip of your finger on your chin. “Was it or was it not something along the lines of, people always leave me, why do they do that, there must be something wrong with me?”

He hates that you’re right, so he doesn’t answer, just scowls and looks away.

“It’s not true, you know.”

“Sure,” he mutters. Sure it isn’t. You’ve only just added your name to the list.

“I mean it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look at me.”

Spencer doesn’t, and your resulting sigh sounds so frustrated, and then he thinks, Oh, great work, Reid. (Y/N) tells you she’s leaving and what do you do? You piss her off. Honestly, it’s no wonder--

And then your hands are on his face, cradling his cheeks, and he’s too surprised to resist your gaze anymore.

“It’s not your fault, Spencer,” you say, your voice equal parts firm and gentle. “You didn’t drive me away. Not even close. There’s nothing inherently wrong with you, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He sniffs, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotions you’ve just caused. “Well, I could have gone without picking a fight with you on our first day back at work,” he says, sniffling again.

“What’re you tal—Spencer, that was almost a year ago.”

“Nine months.”

“Whatever. The point still stands. You’re not why I’m leaving, okay? You’re…” you trail off and he’s alarmed to see your eyes grow wet. “You’re the opposite, actually. You were the only thing keeping me here when Emily was gone. And now, you’re why it’s so hard to leave.”

“I am?” he whispers before he can think better of it.

“You are,” you affirm. “I think Emily’s actually a little worried you’re gonna talk me out of it.”

It gets a laugh out of him, but right after a little sob escapes him and he squeezes his eyes shut. When you hug him, he immediately reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your middle tightly.

“Hey, this isn’t the end, okay?” you say, and he can tell from the way your voice is trembling that you’re crying, too. “I know you like to ignore it, but we do live in the digital age, and I’ll be hounding you to talk to me at least once a week. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I’d certainly hope not,” he murmurs, resting his head on your shoulder.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just holding each other, trying not to cry too much. Eventually, you pull away. “Besides, it’s not like I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Our flight isn’t for another ten days. I’m gonna be around.”

Spencer nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, then swipe at your face, clearing away the tears. “Um, we should head back. You still owe me a dance.”

And dance with you he does, swaying gently from side to side with his hand resting on your waist. A look over your shoulder shows Emily and Derek dancing in a similar manner; judging by the way he’s holding her, she told him the news as well.

He has an eidetic memory, but Spencer makes the effort to commit this moment to his brain all the same. He wants to remember the way you’re holding him, resting your head on his chest and running your thumb over the back of his hand every so often. He wants to remember how your skin feels against his, the texture of your hair. The lighting in the backyard and the way it makes you glow. The words that you said, telling him that it’s not his fault, that nothing’s wrong with him. He’s not quite sure he believes it, but you’ve never lied to him before, so he’ll try to accept it.

The song ends, and tears threaten to fall again when you pick up your head and take a step back.

“Hey, no more crying tonight,” you say. “Because if you start crying, I’ll start crying, and I don’t want to cry any more tonight. Save it for my grand exit at the airport terminal.”

That makes him break into a smile and he’s able to blink back the tears. “Okay.”

“Do you mind if I take this dance?” It’s Emily, and she’s looking at him, head tilted in your direction.

“Oh, um.” He clears his throat. “No, um, go—go ahead.”

He passes your hand to her, and what he feels is silly. You’re not some prize to be won; you don’t belong to anyone other than yourself. But he feels like he’s passing you off to Emily, almost… entrusting you to her. The look Emily gives him makes him think she understands this.

“Wait,” you say before she can properly take you into her arms. You lean towards him and press a kiss to his cheek.

Spencer doesn’t stay around to watch you two dance. He retreats back into the house, fingertips on the spot you kissed. He lets them sit there for a moment, then forces himself to drop his hand. It’s far past time for him to try and move on. He doesn’t want you to leave, but it might be what he needs.

Maybe, just maybe, with some distance, he can begin to heal.

---

On the first day at work without you, Spencer finds a small frame on his desk. He immediately recognizes the picture inside of it—it’s the one you’d kept as your lockscreen for months, much to his dismay.

It’s a picture from the relatively early days of your friendship, well before he felt anything that wasn’t platonic towards you. You’d dragged him out on a weekend off to a nearby amusement park, because, “you can’t die without having ridden a roller coaster at least once, Spence.” He had no desire to do so, but he didn’t have any other plans, so he went along with it.

The roller coaster ended up making him vomit, and the picture is from shortly after that. You’re holding up the camera with one hand and making a peace sign with the other, smiling from ear to ear. He still looks a little queasy, only managing a small smile, but he still looks somewhat happy. And he was, that day. Other than the nausea, he’d had a lot of fun with you.

He picks up the frame and feels something on the back of it. He flips it over and finds one of his lilac colored post-it notes, displaying your handwriting.

“When it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”

Tears blur his vision. Doctor Who. Of course you picked Doctor Who. And you’ve written something else, too, in smaller letters:

If you don’t answer my calls at least twice a month, I’ll tell JJ you’ve been stealing from her Cheetos stash for eight years. Love ya.

He laughs out loud, a little wet giggle that he has to follow up with a sniffle. He slips the note under the frame’s felt backing to keep it safe, then rearranges his things until he settles on the perfect spot for it to sit on his desk. He retrieves a fresh sticky note and scribbles down a reminder to himself to call you when he gets home, sticking it the cover of one of his books. After all, he can’t have JJ knowing about his thievery. The team’s good at what they do, but he doesn’t think anyone would be able to find his body once JJ’s done with him.

His eyes drift back to the photograph, coming to a stop on your face. He misses you already. He even misses the ugly bits, when you’d snapped at each other, when you were crying on his shoulder. When he saw you with Emily that first time. It’s an odd mix of emotions. Longing, nostalgia, grief, happiness, safety. Belonging.

Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.

Spencer couldn’t agree more.

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

tell me what you thought here!

oh my god, i can hardly believe it’s over. there’s still going to be a small epilogue, but it’s optional. thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who read and supported this series and your enthusiasm for it. you’ve made me so very happy. and if you relate to spencer in this, i want you to know you’re gonna find your someone someday. if that’s what you want, i believe you’ll find it eventually. much love to all of you. 💖

series taglist: @sobereinstein , @zizzlekwum , @goldensatine , @closetedreidstan , @afuckingshituniverse , @uswntxx , @johnmulaneyslut , @90spumkin , @mcntsee , @zhuzhubii , @shadyladyperfection , @mggbler , @eva-cadeau , @esmesisle , @anothergayinthelife , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @zozoleesi , @calm-and-doctor , i think that’s everyone?? so sorry if i missed you.

[wandsandwheezes]

I'd die for you. | G.W

TW // major character death(s), angst, general sadness, love, mentions of blood, death and sadness.

I would like to apologise in advance for this one, it has taken me two full days of tears and breaking my own god damn heart.

Let me know if you want to be on the taglist my loves💞

@witch-and-a-half @weasleysflowr @wand3ringr0s3 @hufflepuffgirly

Never make a promise you don't intend to keep. That's what my mum always taught me, so in the lead up to the Seven Potters I promised George that even against my best judgements, I'd stay back at the burrow and wait for his arrival.

"If you keep biting those nails, you'll have none left, dear!" Molly said, sitting next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders "Before you know it, they'll all be walking through that doo-" A loud splash echos around the quiet surroundings of the countryside, causing Ginny to jump from the chair and run outside, greeting Harry and Hagrid on their arrival. All too quickly I hear Lupin's voice yelling, causing everyone to look in the direction of his voice. My heart fell to the pit of my stomach.

My mind went blank in the next few moments, I was stood there watching Lupin carry the weak and limp body of love of my life into the confines of the Burrow. Ginny grabs my hand, pulling me inside when she notices that I hadn't moved an inch. I thanked Merlin that he was still breathing, but the blood rushing from his ear made me question how he wasn't unconscious.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." he jokes, feigning a small smile at me as he reaches for my hand, which I let him take, dropping to kneel by his side. My other hand reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes.

"George, you never cease to amaze me how you can still be smiling when you've lost an ear," he squeezes my hand tightly, almost to check I was still there, "who am I if I can't even make the woman I love smile?"

I press a small kiss to his hand, giving him a reassuring smile. I feel a hand on my shoulder, looking up to see Fred staring down at me, he moves to join me beside his brother, "How're you feeling, Georgie?" George takes a deep breath before speaking up.

"Saint like," he smiles, I look to Fred, who has a worry in his eye, I give him a reassuring look as I give George's hand a squeeze, "Come again?" George lets go of my hand, straining to reach up and point at his own ear "I'm holey, get it Fred?"

"The whole wide world of ear related humor and you go for 'I'm holey'... It's pathetic" The twin smiles, looking down at his hands that sat nicely in his lap, "Recon I'm still better looking than you, at least Y/N still thinks so, right angel?" I smile nodding as a small blush rises to my cheeks, I lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead, earning a small but weak smile from him.

After about 10 minutes of arguing over who would clean up George's ear, I convince Molly that I was more than happy to take care of her son, especially as I've been patching the twins up after any and all mishaps at the shop. She obliges, despite her motherly instincts kicking in, helping me guide George into the bathroom. We seat him ontop of the toilet seat, nestling between his legs as I gently dab a warm cloth over the side of his face, clearing away all of the blood. I find myself taking in every freckle, every little scar on his face, the way his cheeks were so full and how he was just so perfect, making me realise how much I loved him.

"How did I ever get so lucky?" he smiles up at me, his hands holding onto the backs of my thighs, as my hand holds his chin in place, starting the task of cleaning the blood from his ear. I try to make sureBeing careful to be more gentle every time he winces. "If you're lucky, Georgie, imagine how I feel waking up to you every morning."

"Promise me something," I push back his hair so that it's out of the area, grabbing some antiseptic. "If it's that the antiseptic won't hurt, then there's nothing I can do my love, just bite down on this." I give him a towel which he places between his teeth. The sounds he made as the alcohol cleaned his wound broke my heart, but it was in his best interest. I pull out my wand, casting a small spell to deal with the stitches while he's still biting down on the cloth, causing him to groan again, but this time it was more of a wince then full on cries of pain. I wrap a bandage around his head, holding some gauze in place to help with the bleeding.

"If I didn't love you so much, I'd be swearing this house down by now," he says, pulling the cloth from between his teeth, I reach to wipe away his stray tears that linger under his eyes and on his cheeks. "Now my love, what am I promising you?"

He goes to stand up, quickly deciding against it as he sits back down. I take his hands again, rubbing my thumbs across the back of his hands, he pasuses for a moment, almost as if he's unsure of what he's about to ask, however the grin that he pulls his lips into dispells any worry. "I want you to promise me that you'll still love me with one ear."

"Georgie, I'd die for you, regardless how many ears you may or may not have, you're the love of my life." I laugh, leaning down to finally press a kiss to his lips, moving one of his hands to the small of my back and tgr other to the back of my head, keeping me pulled into the kiss for a little longer.

The next few months were weird and uncertain, Diagon Alley becoming quieter and quieter, I begged George to move back to the Burrow so that we'd be out of the madness and true to his word we did, Molly helping me work with him on his sickness and growing vertigo. Harry, Ron and Hermione were off hunting horcruxes and every morning I got a gut feeling that things were going to get worse.

Beams of Green and Red were flying all around me as I ran through the corridors of hogwarts. The sounds of crying, screaming and yelling were all I could hear. A head of firey red hair, pops around the wall which I spot out of the corner of my eye, he was fighting off Death eaters like it was nothing when suddenly he's thrown to the floor, his wand flying from his hand. I'm trying to run towards him but I feel like I can't move, every muscle in my body is resisting.

"Avada Kedavra!" suddenly the body of the man I love goes lifeless before me, I scream at the top of my lungs, my body finally giving in as I collape at his side, wailing from the pit of my stomach.

"no, no, no... Wake up! Please wake up, My love, just open-" "your eyes, shh, it's okay, I'm here, it's just a dream, baby." my tear stained cheeks, and small shallow breaths were enough for George to realise that it wasn't a normal dream, the protective part of him pulling me into his arms, rocking me gently as he coos my sobs, which grow less and less violent as I'm brought back to reality

"I'm sorry." I whisper as his hand plays with my hair, soothing me to a point where I can finally breathe again, "don't be, when you screamed like that i thought something was happening to you, I swear whatever was hurting you like that I'd take the brunt, I'd die for you, my angel."

"Don't say that." I breathe, shaking my head as I press a soft kiss to his jaw, "no dying, not for me, Georgie." he holds me tighter, leaning down to connect our lips in a soft kiss. "no dying, got it."

I hadn't seen George in a month, we decided that with the death eaters still roaming the streets, it would be better if we both went into hiding. My aunt, who has two witches herself, was keeping me safe, telling her girls to stay in Australia for their own safety. I hear a small knock on the door, Aunt Melinda poking her head into the room.

"This just came inside one of my letters, it's for you, darling." I smile at her, taking the letter gratefully, I recognise the handwriting immediately, opening up the envelope to a gorgeous hand-written letter.

To My Angel,

Merlin, I miss you. Dad told me about how the whole muggle mail thing works and I think I enjoy it more than mail by owl. I think personally that it was a stroke of genius to write to you like this because I know theres no way that the death eaters will go looking through muggle mail.

I want nothing more than to hear your voice again, to touch your skin, feel you next to me when I wake. Oh, Speaking of sleep, how are your nightmares? I don't sleep much these days so I hope you're resting better than I am.

Dad says the order has been checking on the house and the shop regularly, they think the burrow will be safe again soon, I hope you'll join the family and I because I have something I need to ask you and I don't want to do it over a letter.

I love you always and forever.

Georgie

I hold the letter close to my heart, longing to feel his presense again. The nightmares haven't been getting any better, no matter what I do, I don't get to him in time and I have to watch him die in front of me over and over again, knowing that I could've saved him. A wave of pain and sadness washes over me as I curl myself into a ball, under the covers, praying that the duvet becomes his arms and that I don't fall asleep to see his lifeless eyes again.

Two months later, finally stood in each other's arms, kissing again in the room where it all started for us. For a moment I'm taken back to Dumbledore's Army and the hours George and I spent as we snuck into the room of requirement, him helping me perfect my patronus, giving me the happiest memory of all when he kissed me for the first time.

We stood by the window, away from everybody, talking and making up for lost time, holding onto me like he wouldn't ever let go again, every time I looked at him, I was smiling, my heart doing backflips.

"I wanted to ask you this before it all gets crazy," he smiles taking both of my hands as he gets down on one knee, pulling out a ring from his pocket. "I was going to ask you when you were mending my ear, I wish I didn't catch myself out and that I'd asked you then and there because being away from you made me realise that I can't spend another day without you, I love you so much, you're the best thing to have ever happened to me so I want to make us last forever, that's if you still love me, even with one ear."

I giggle, taking the ring and slipping it onto my finger as I nod frantically. I wanted nothing more than to be with George forever, even if he only had one ear.

I don't think any of us realised we were fighting a war until the bodies of people we cared about started to pile around us. I was fighing for everything I had, until I couldn't breathe, a sense of dread washing over me when I realised I'd been fighting alone. I was running around the castle and everything felt like slow motion. That was until I stumbled into the great hall and suddenly time felt real again.

Ginny was holding me back from stepping closer to any of the family, I caught a glimpse of the redheaded boy who looked to be asleep on the floor, his twin sobbing next to him as the family wept. "It's freddie, Y/N" she whispers, "Fred's gone."

Every wail and sob from every nightmare came back to me at once, pushing past Hermione to wrap my arms around George, letting him cry into my arms, and there we stay for as long as he needed.

When It felt like it was all over, we believed Harry was Dead, that this was the end, that everything we had worked for was short lived. I cried into George's shoulder, hugging his side, it felt like a part of all of us had gone. So when Harry reveals himself to truly be alive we were all in a state of shock, moving as one to finish what was started if not for us then for those we lost.

The fight was not over. Beams of Green and Red were flying all around me as I ran through the corridors. The sounds of crying, screaming and yelling were all I could hear. It's like I'd done this a thousand times. I saw the man I loved, from the corner of my eye, he was fighting off Death eaters like it was nothing, when suddenly he's thrown to the floor, his wand flying from his hand. I realised, I had done this before. It was all de ja vu and before I could think, I run and jump in front of the spell that was meant for him, taking it with the full force of my body.

The next few moments felt like no time at all, like both nothing and forever. He held my body in his arms as I reach up to press my hand against his cheek, feeling the last of my life slip away from me, "I love you, George, even if you do only have one ear."

Never make a promise you don't intend to keep. When I told George I would die for him, I truly meant it. When I told him I'd love him forever I meant it. I continued on with him for years, watching him heal and mourn Fred and I. The thing that hurt the most was hearing him still talk to me, like he feels me there, "I made your favourite, mum's cinnamon rolls, she doesn't make them much anymore, I don't think she will without your help." he smiles down at his plate, pulling the roll in half, before letting out a deep breath, placing the other half down and sliding it across the table.

I'm hugging him but he can't feel me there, I'm there every night, curled up next to him but he doesn't feel me hold his cheek anymore. He's sat in the dark, tears rolling down his cheeks, "I know you're here, I can feel you with me but not Freddie." he wipes away his tears, pulling a pillow into his chest. "I hope he's okay, would've been nice of him to leave me one of his ears, it's not like he ever used them anyway." George Weasley, you never cease to amaze me how you can still be smiling when you've lost all that you have.

He never loved another woman, even when he tried, by Godric I wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn't with me. He was sat on the bed, clutching the photo of him and I as he played with the engagement ring he gave me. "I live for you my Angel, If only there was a way you could have lived for me."

[honestgrins]

I have a prompt for you if you can. Not sure if you watch Legacies, there’s an episode where Lizzie makes a wish to a Jinn that Hope is never born. In this alternate universe, Lizzie won the Merge, Klaus flipped his switch 2 years ago in grief and started a war with the humans leading to Triad publicly hunting all supernaturals. Enemy #1 is Klaus and his vampire wife Caroline Mikaelson. I’d like to see a Klaroline fic of this AU please.

Prompt part 2. I have some personal thoughts on this alternative universe but itS totally up to you if you go with them or if you come up with your own. No Hope means no Hayley, means no Elijah dying. So why was Klaus grieving? No Hope means back in TVD S4 the witches had no way of luring him to NO so he stayed in MF eventually wearing Caroline down into a relationship. Josie and Lizzie were like his daughters and when they merged he and Caroline both flipped the switch in grief of Josie.

 Tears Will Never Dry (angsty)

“I failed them.” Her voice was so small and defeated. Curled up as she was in the armchair, Caroline looked blankly out the window. Though she had a perfect view of Bonnie talking through some witchy herbs with a despondent Lizzie out in the courtyard, her eyes didn’t seem to register. It was like she wasn’t even there.

Klaus, who once proudly professed he had no heart, felt something break inside him for he knew nothing could truly comfort her. He had failed her. So he offered what little he could, what he held onto when she was so far away. “You love them so completely, you could never fail them,” he vowed, and he’d never meant something so much. It took all his strength not to pull her into his arms, to close the distance she wrapped around herself so tightly. “You will help Lizzie through this, and—” The lump in his throat made it hard to speak, not that he could bring himself to say the name she cried in her sleep. “—you loved her to the end.”

Tears trickled down her crumpled face. “It’s not supposed to happen that way,” she croaked. “Mom and Dad loved me to the end, too. Their ends. Now, I have to live with her being gone. Forever.”

It used to be a promise between them, sweet and tempting; on her tongue, the word sounded sour. Helpless and desperate, Klaus kneeled  at her feet. He pressed his mouth to her knee, hands wrapped around her legs like a lifeline. “Tell me what I can do. Please, sweetheart. Let me help.”

Blinking down at him, she let her fingers card through his hair. Her smile was sad, apologetic. “It just hurts so much.”

And he knew it was too late.

The club was a dangerous idea. They were meant to be in hiding, and it defied sense to flaunt their return to New Orleans in a favorite haunt. But the girls were having fun, and Klaus was loathe to break up the party with sense.

He was tucked into the quietest corner of the VIP lounge, high above the din. Lizzie and Caroline, meanwhile, danced in the crush of the crowd, the pounding beat far too much for even a vampire’s ears. They laughed as they bumped into each other, and a smile curled his lips. It was good to be home.

Their little family was still grieving Josie’s loss after two years, each in their own way. Caroline preferred enjoying the lighter side of life, aided by a lack of human sensibilities. Lizzie alternated between reveling in her magic and loathing it for the too dear cost, just as she hated her mother for flipping the switch and loved having her as more of a friend. Klaus...

Klaus was just trying to keep the game interesting.

“Careful, friend,” Marcel warned, offering him a fresh drink as he dropped into the next chair. “Your humanity is showing.”

“She’s not paying me any mind, we can speak freely.” He turned to his old friend, a son that was lost and found, then lost and found again. How he wished he could grant such a miracle to Caroline. “Tell me about Triad.”

Clenching his glass, Marcel looked grim. “My nightwalkers keep disappearing, and even the ones with the GIft,” he murmured with laden meaning, since vampires had learned to hoard the secret of lapis lazuli and the safety it provided, “have mentioned being followed. Davina hasn’t risen far in the ranks of the organization yet, but she thinks a big move is in the works.”

He grit his teeth. “And?”

“The ‘vampire wife’ is whispered around the place. Often.”

It was a fight to loosen the tension in his body, but a necessary one. He raised a toast to Caroline, who tried to coax him out to the dance floor. He shook his head, charming enough so as not to rouse her suspicion. “I assume a kidnapping then.”

“At the least,” Marcel agreed. “Whether they want information from her or to use her against you, torture is to be expected. The switch might be a benefit to her if it comes to that—”

"It won't." His tone was final, even as he held his smirk. The ladies were too busy laughing off those bold men trying to dance with them to read him from afar. "She's been through enough."

Noticeably quiet, Marcel just sipped his drink.

“What, Marcellus?” Klaus bit out.

With a measured glance toward him, he shrugged. “The switch... She’s not really going through anything, and she hasn’t for years now. And thinking you’ve flipped yours, too? You’ve created a comfortable little world for her to avoid the pain, maintaining it to keep her safe without her knowing. What happens when the illusion shatters?”

He gave a careless flip of his hand. “She can’t turn it off twice.”

“If you say so.”

It wasn’t a new argument to Klaus, not when Stefan, Bonnie, Elijah — even Rebekah — had implored him to rethink his grand strategy for Caroline to party away the worst of her pain. At the very least, he could be honest about his own, relatively intact humanity. Instead, he let her enjoy the lighter side of life without tempting a worse outcome should she feel the need to punish him for trying to fix her. After all, she’d done much the same when her mother died.

The subterfuge was messy but necessary, especially with credible threats against her in this war the humans insist upon waging. His ear was attuned to the array of heartbeats throughout the club, the loud music not enough to dull his hybrid senses. Vampires had a slow, dull throb when compared to the hearty pound of a werewolf, not that they’d find themselves in the Abattoir without some pressing business that was sure to involve him. Same with the witches, and only Lizzie’s let out the fast-paced thrum of both full blood and magic.

Humans, though, they seemed to be threading in from the edges of the crowd — and aiming for the blondes at the center. Feeling the world slow around him, Klaus launched himself down from the balcony, mindless to the vampires hurrying to get everyone out of his way. None of them caught the true danger, however, until the strobe light caught on the wooden stakes being pulled from jackets.

Klaus managed to snap three necks before they got close, but Caroline was too busy blocking access to Lizzie to notice the woman stretching a strong arm toward her. Feeling like he was underwater, he watched as Lizzie’s fear overwhelmed her, and the hand grasped around her mother’s wrist glowed red. Pain seemed to lance through Caroline, and she lost her focus to fend off the attack she still hadn’t seen coming.

The familiar scent of her blood filled the air, and all Klaus could see was red.

Later, he would confirm that the scratch down Caroline’s back healed perfectly, that she’d survived the bold offensive he hadn’t stopped. Even later than that, he would acknowledge his plan had been far from perfect, without even the veneer of success to defend it when her humanity was eventually restored.

But in the moment, the thought of losing her to his own carelessness was too much. Clearly, holding onto his humanity wasn’t working the way he’d envisioned; in fact, his rage at the sight of a stake piercing her skin felt like a liability. He processed this in the span of a second, and by the time the human’s bloody head hit the dance floor, his decision had been made.

The world already saw him as a ruthless monster. He might as well give it to them, and he’d make them bleed for daring to harm her. He didn’t need his humanity for that.

With his fangs bared and blood dripping from his hand, he certainly looked the part. When Caroline met his eyes, however, something must have alerted her to the change. Having torn the stake from her back and moved Lizzie to the safe space between them, her head tilted to the side as she appraised him with a new appreciation. She gave a sharp grin of joy and arousal, her tongue slipping from beneath her fangs to wet the corner of her lips. “It’s about time.”