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mactavishwritings · 2 years

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Fresh Ink part two

Ghost x Tattoo Artist!Reader

No matter what happens to him, he always comes home

tw: tattoo needles and slight arguing

this one will primarily be from ghost's pov. will switch to reader's pov occassionally. this one is also slightly longer!

part one | part two |part three | part four

The days leading up to the 29th dragged on and on. Ghost couldn't wait to get back into your little shop. Price made fun of him slightly, "I told you that it would become an addiction soon."

The day before the team was suppose to be sent home and Ghost could get his next piece was the final piece of the mission they were on. It should've been so simple, but fucking Graves had to go and throw everything away.

Ghost pictured you sitting in your little chair, waiting for him. He wanted to call or something, but he couldn't. He was stuck in the middle of Mexico, directing Soap to a church. He knew you understood because for active duty soldiers, you did not have a cancelation policy. He always thought it was so sweet that you would do that.

Sitting around a table with the rest of the ghost team, they plotted their next mission. "After this, we should commemorate this shit. We should get little tattoos or somethin'." Soap joked and the team laughed. "We could go to Ghost's girl. She does a fantastic job on him." Price sent a wink Ghost's way and he felt himself tense. The thought of sharing you with the rest of the team made him feel jealous.

He didn't want to share your softness. He didn't want to share your kindness or your artistry. He refuse to allow the others to be tattooed by you, but it was your job; your livelihood. How dare he take that from you.

Ghost nodded. "Considering I was suppose to see her a month ago for my next piece, maybe she can fit all of us in."

You were laying in your bed when your phone started ringing. You were up late like usual, drawing the next day's appointments. You picked up your phone and noticed it was a number you didn't have saved. You usually allowed your clients to give your number out to their friends so it may have been the case.

"Hey this is (Y/N). If this is regarding a tattoo, can you please call again at a better time. It is 2am." You said into your phone, trying to be as polite as you could muster at this hour.

"Why are you up then? Shouldn't you be asleep?" You heard a familiar British voice ask in response and you smiled.

"I was starting to think I offended you or maybe you died. What's up, Simon?" You asked, putting your tablet down. You could hear other voices in the background. You guessed that he was still on the mission that caused him to miss the last appointment he had with you.

"I'm sorry for missing that appointment. Do you think you could possibly tattoo me and my buddies? We wanna get dumb matching tattoos?" While on the surface, it sounded like he hated the idea, but you could tell that he secretly really loved it. He had told you previously about how some of his tattoos were dedicated towards old team members of his who had passed.

"Sounds good to me. You and I can work out a day to continue your sleeve. For this group piece, wanna do like four weeks out? I don't have the book with me. I do know I should be free 'bout a month out." You slightly rambled.

Ghost smiled, nodding along to your words. "Yeah sounds good to me. I can just text you when we get back?" Ghost picked at his thumb again, feeling nervous that you would tell him to keep your relationship more on the business side. "Yeah of course. Now I have your number so I can text you shit about your tattoos." He could tell that you were beaming. He felt his shoulders relax at the thought.

Soap elbowed Ghost and started snickering. "Ghost is in looooove." Ghost quickly thanked you and you two said your goodbyes before Ghost turned to Soap. "I have never seen you so flustered, L.T." Soap leaned forward on his elbows, sighing dreamily. "Shut it."

A few weeks had gone by and Ghost opened the door for your shop. The rest of the team followed him inside, all looking around curiously. Ghost nodded at your receptionist. "(Y/N) in? I actually have an appointment for once." Emma smiled at the group. "Course. Let me grab her. Any of you boys need anything? Water, snacks?"

Soon Emma brought you out as well as some snacks and water. You smiled brightly at Ghost and threw your arms around him. "I'm glad you made it back safely. I worked hard on your half-sleeve!" You laughed.

"Price! How's it been? Lemme see the tat. I wanna see how it healed." You moved on to greet Price and Ghost stepped back, allowing you to greet the team. Soon you led the group back to your room.

Since he had been there last, Ghost noticed that you added a few more couches and just general sitting place. He took the one closest to your usual chair, Soap sitting next to him on the coach, Gaz sitting on the tattooing chair, and Price sat on a bench next to the tattooing chair. "Right boys. Let me know what you guys think. I've been doodling." You smiled and flipped your tablet around to show your designs.

Immediately, Ghost smiled. Most of the designs were serious; Skulls similar to his mask, actual grave markers with dog tags, guns shooting out a ghost. Then there were non serious ones; a cartoon ghost, a small group of ghosts who were holding baseball bats. The guys looked over the designs, all smiling and laughing.

"This is some good shit." Soap looked up at you as you were prepping your work station. "Thank you. I work hard for my favorite client." You nodded your head towards Ghost. Thank god he had his mask on because Ghost felt his face heat up. Soap reached over and nudged Ghost.

Price rolled his eyes and grabbed the tablet from Gaz. "I think we all like the design with the gun shooting out the ghost. I do want you to explain the baseball bats." Price looked in your direction. "Ghost team. Baseball team. Therefore, Ghost sports team. Duh. Alright who's first!" You responded, causing the room to erupt into laughter.

You printed out all the stencils and got them all placed on the boys. Price decided to go first and you got his tattoo done quick. It was a relatively simple design so it wasn't had to get done. Ghost was never able to watch you tattoo from this side before. He was always the one being tattoo, not the watcher. Your arms flexed with each line you created. Your eyes squinted when you concentrated. He felt himself relax in your presence like he did every time he heard the hum of your machine.

Gaz was next. He was the only one in the group who did not have a tattoo. "Is it gonna hurt?" He looked at you with big eyes and the rest of the group rolled their eyes. "Dude, you've been shot before. Grow up." Soap groaned. You laughed and started on Gaz's tattoo. Ghost felt himself tense as Gaz tried to get you to comfort him. It was clear the young man was flirting with you.

After you finished Gaz, Soap plopped down and looked at you. "How many do you have? Tattoos I mean." Ghost was thrown off. He had never thought to ask you. He was sure you had tons that had many deep meanings. "Well, I have two full sleeves. I also have a sternum, a few on my rips, I got two matching pieces on both thighs, and some on my back." You recounted. Ghost had seen most of the ones on your arms. When he first came to you, it helped make him feel at home to see that you were somewhat tatted.

Finally, it was Ghost's turn. He decided to put his piece behind his ear, close to his hairline. Each of the boys had picked different spots and this was an intimate spot for him. You adjusted the tattoo chair and patted it. "Alright, your turn." Ghost lied on his back and turned his head. He lifted his mask up enough so you could tattoo the spot, but didn't reveal his face. You placed a hand on his head softly, running a thumb over his forehead. You started on the tattoo and while the hum of the machine was loud, he could still hear Gaz flirting with you.

Ghost clenched his jaw and slightly adjusted his position, not wanting to mess you up. You suddenly also moved to block his view of the team and your hand rest on his jaw. Once you started tattooing again, he heard you whisper something. "Relax, Simon. He's just messing."

The way you tattooed the rest of the team compared to him was completely different. You were gentle with him. You held him softly in a way that no one had before. He had never felt such softness before and he wanted to keep you to himself. He could feel himself falling.

He could feel himself falling in love with you. Hard.

Ghost's appointment to continue his sleeve came and he actually was able to make it to this one. He had stopped at the local coffee shop before his appointment to grab your favorite coffee. After the team tattoo, the two of you started talking more. First, it was to plan out his sleeves, but now the lines between professional business had blurred.

Emma smiled when he arrived. "Coffee? Someone's really trying to impress her." She sent the man a wink before nodding back to your room. "She's already back there. Go ahead, Ghost." He nodded at her before heading back to your room. You had just put up curtains, after asking for his advice. He was glad you did, made the room a little more private.

He stepped into the room and smiled. You had a stick of incense burning, leaving a warm feeling in Ghost's stomach. You weren't facing him, in your own world. You had music softly playing and were nodding along to it. You were wearing a pair of black jeans that you had cuffed, a black short sleeve shirt that showed off your tattoos, and a pair of black shoes. You soon turned and noticed Ghost standing at the door.

"Si! Is that coffee?" Your eyes soften as you accepted the cup from him. "You're a life saver. I'll have this after so I'm not shakin' with the machine." You put the cup off to the side and gave Simon a hug. He wrapped his arms around you and all the tension melted away. You tended to have that affect on him.

"Ready to get started?" You adjusted the tattoo chair for him as he sat down. He pulled his sleeve up so you'd have full access. He nodded, looking over at your station. You had the stencil already printed out, ready to be fitted. You lifted it up and started fitting the stencil, cutting small dents into curves to fit his biceps.

"Feeling better?" You asked casually, causing him to look at you confused. "Last time you were in, looked like you were gonna rip the little one's head off."

"Oh..Gaz. I don't know what you mean." Ghost immediately got defensive. You looked at him with an unconvinced glare. "Simon. I'm gonna let this stencil dry and you are gonna sit here and tell me why you almost killed your teammate for flirting with me."

You sat back in your chair and prepped the ink. He looked at you, terrified that he was going to have to admit his feelings. He didn't want the one constant kindness to be ripped from him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want him to make you uncomfortable." He said flatly. You rolled your eyes and turned away from him. "Sure. Cause I was the uncomfortable one."

A silence fell over the room as the stencil finished drying. Ghost watched your movements carefully. He could tell you had a lot on your mind, a lot you wanted to say. As you sat back down and grabbed your gun, he sighed and turned his head away from you. "I'm sorry. I didn't like him flirting with you."

He saw you nod to yourself out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you. Why didn't you like that?" You asked as you leaned closer to him, starting to tattoo him. "Who are you? My therapist?" You smiled again and looked at him. "In a way. You're always relaxed with me. Expect for that day. I wanna know why. If it's what I think it is, then okay."

"What do you think it is then, little miss therapist?" Ghost turned his head towards you. He knew that you could break him down with a single glance and no one else in the world could do that. He would let you though.

"I think you like me. I think that you don't want to share me, because no one has giving this kindness before so you don't want to share." You said it so casually as if it was your coffee order. "Am I right?"

Ghost remained silent, not wanting to confirm for you out loud that you were correct. "It's okay Simon. I don't let all my client have my personal number to text whenever they want. I really like you too, so it's fine that you don't want Gaz to flirt with what's already yours." Your focus then went back to the tattoo.

Ghost was taken aback. He had always been so afraid to be so vulnerable, but around you, it came so naturally. He wanted to show you every side of him. He reached up and slowly pealed the mask off his face.

"Can I kiss you?"

#simon riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost imagine #simon riley imagine #simone riley fluff

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sisi-halloway · 1 year

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Blind Date: Nanami x (Quirky) Reader

Reader is stuck in the elevator with Nanami!

"Hey! Can you hold the elevator?"

It was hard work not to let the whole world know you were out of breath. Luckily there was just one person in the hotel hallway with you. As you hurried into the glitzy elevator, you forced yourself to inhale slowly through your nose and exhale shakily out of your mouth. The silence was deafening... and your breathing was even louder than that.

The blond guy here in the elevator was gracious enough to hold his hand out so it wouldn't go on without you. That was good because you would've been 10 minutes later to work than your usual 5 minute tardiness... and 15 minutes just looked so bad on paper.

When you finally caught your breath, you thanked him.

"You're welcome," he replied. It was a quiet, unemotional response. It made you feel embarrassed.

It was a silent ride. You held your brief case in front of you, staring at your reflection in the wraparound mirror. He looked at his watch. Maybe he was late for something too.

When the lights flickered and the suspension got tricky, causing the elevator to screech to a halt, you winced.

If he wasn't late before, he was definitely going to be now. Join the fucking club.

"Perfect..." He grumbled under his breath. It made you laugh. You were never the shy type, always leaping at any chance for a conversation.

"I know right... I thought this only happened in shitty movies."

You decided to take his scoff as his own unique version of a laugh.

The silence carried on for a few more minutes, but the longer that you waited the smaller you and the stranger's hopes shrunk. You weren't going to be out of here any time soon.

You take off your dress shoes. They weren't very comfortable and frankly a size or two smaller thsn you wore. The stranger made something short of a scowl at your feet, but his face softened when he saw the bruises on the back of your heel and the tops of your feet.

"Sorry... I promise I'll put them back on if my feet smell bad..."

He shakes his head.

"It's fine."

The truth was, the stranger in the elevator was Nanami Kento. The truth was, he was not scowling at you. He was trying to think of something to say to make conversation. The truth was, he'd been trying to talk to you for a few days now. The truth was, he thought you were pretty.

You were a bit nervous to open your mouth to speak, the aura of the standoffish stranger threatening to dampen your spirits. Ah hell, when has thay ever stopped you?

"Are you going to be late for something?" You asked.

The man looked at his watch again.

"If this takes more than a half-hour, I will be."

You were impressed! He had enough spare time for a thirty minute elevator movie scene? This man had it together. He even looked punctual. His tan suit was ironed to perfection, complete with two creases down the front legs. His blue dress shirt had not a single fold, and his tie... you really loved that tie. It almost matched your polka dot outfit. Maybe it was meant to be.

"Well... I'm already late. I think this is a good enough excuse as any?"

You smiled when he looked up to meet your eyes. You decided to introduce yourself. What was the harm?

"I'm (y/n)."

Nanami remembered.

He was staying in this hotel for a work trip. He had been called to do some investigating into a serious matter of special grade proportions. Well... he was supposed to interview a few people here in the city to get information of a curse that's been acting as some type of Zodiac Killer. When he arrived, it was about 4 in the afternoon. He'd walked past you in the lobby on his way to the front desk to check in. You had been on the phone with your sister. She was supposed to be bringing some clothes for you. She had made a joke and your laugh, Nanami thought, was the prettiest thing in the room aside from your smile. It was also the loudest, but that's not why he noticed.

He had been having a shitty day and your laugh just made him feel a little better about it.

Every time he'd stepped out of his hotel room, to get breakfast or visit the hotel gym or pool, he'd hoped to see you. Even if he was too reserved to talk to you, he wanted to see you again. And every time, he'd seem to miss you. His 7:3 ratio was more like a 1 in a million. How had he been so unlucky? That's what he thought before getting stuck in this elevator with you.

"Nice to meet you," he replied evenly. "My name is Nanami."

He was handsome, especially when some warmth crept into his face. Maybe it was the lack of air conditioning in this fiberglass box you two were in... or maybe it was you.

"So, Nanami... what brings you to this hotel in specific?"

He clears his throat and shifts his weight so it was perfectly and evenly distributed between his two feet. He was nervous, but to you he just looked cool. He was good at hiding his nerves.

"Work... what about you?"

You would've loved to say the same, to have a great job that paid you well and took you places. That wasn't the case. You worked as a receptionist, getting paid barely any more than the minimum wage.

"A pipe in my house burst... and it flooded the place. So I have to stay here."

Nanami nodded. He was admiring the way your hips swayed as you stretched your popping back against the elevator mirror. You were smiling again. A smile that put him at risk for a knockout.

"I'm sorry to hear that, (y/n)..."

You noticed he sounded so professional. Was he such a career man even in his everyday life?

"That's okay! This is the nicest hotel my insurance would let me stay at... so I'm not complaining! The food is delicious and free and I get access to the amenities as well..."

Nanami relished your optimism. It was like he was looking into a polarized mirror at his complete opposite. And he might have been in love.

"Well... that's one way to look at it. The gym is actually rather nice here. All the amenities are."

You giggle.

"You're right, they are! Also... I didn't realize this hotel offered blind dating in the elevators..."

Nanami's body couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or blush or roll his eyes. So he did all three in a gesture that was the most expressive he'd been in months. He looked so human there, something that only a person like you could bring out of him.

That was an adorable thing to say, and quite quick on the draw. He was impressed.

"I... thought I saw something about it on the website... you didn't know?"

His decision to play along was a rare one. It made him glad he chose it when he saw your grin grow wider. You had the most gracious set of pearly whites and it made his stomach fluttered.

"No! I didn't see that part-"

And idea popped into your head. You already made it this far. Why not push it a bit more?

"Wait... I think I did... and right under that it said something like... if your blind elevator date made you laugh... you'd get a coffee with them?"

You gave Nanami your most convincing look, a perfect combination of sultry and sweet and silly with a bit of swagger. Maybe your quirky personality was finally going to win someone over.

Nanami was floored by your boldness. He had a thing or two to learn from you. He bit his lip, looking away from you. If he stared too long, his eyes would wander, and his face would be as red as that "Call for Fire" button that one of you should've pressed a long time ago.

"Then... I should've laughed sooner... because I'd like that."

Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. Maybe three. Or maybe you were still out of breath from running all the way to the elevator in uncomfortable shoes and too tight clothes. In any case, you and this handsome stranger had somehow hit it off.

You bat your lashes rather seductively as you calmed your voice and asked.

"Mh... So if we make it out of here alive, you would like a coffee with me?"

Nanami's eyes did a once over on your body. It was just as gorgeous as every other part of you. And it was tempting him a bit now. He was warm, but he liked it.

"I would love... a coffee with you, (y/n)."

#dialogue prompts #kento nanami x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #nanami fluff #nanami cute #nanami jujutsu kaisen #nanami fanfic

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 8 months

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Uhh could you write dad headcanons for gavriel?

Baby lion

We all know this man is a textbook example of a FATHER. period. I don't know why but I always kind of imagine him not only being Aedion's father. There's just something in me that is screaming that there's one more child out there of his, that he takes care of and is trying to be there as much as he can.

With you, I think the babe would be both a mix of surprise but also something that is almost self-explanatory. Like yeah duh, you thought I wasn't gonna give this man a baby. Cause go to war with me for it, but kids are something Gavriel would bring up on a first proper date. Like there is no sugar coating. He knows his responsibilities. Knows that babies happen even if they are rare. He isn't taking a tonic and honestly, you are free to not take one in his book but this man ain't pulling out. Here you go. I said it.

I doubt it would happen quickly. I think it would happen once everything settles. Once everyone is safe and sound. No threats. No need to be on high alert. You two already settled in your little cottage in the woods. Living a happy domestic life. Growing crops and tending to a flower garden. Gavriel trains younglings in town as his hobby. Loving the fact that he can be a part of shaping young people into great soldiers.

And if you think you are telling him that you are pregnant. Forget about it. Gavriel would notice even before you did. He wouldn't necessarily clock onto it straight away. There's just a slight difference in how you smell. And that slight change makes something perk up deep inside him. This sudden wave of protectiveness rushed through his bloodstream.

So he just keeps an eye out for you. Not wanting to overwhelm you. But in case this is a sickness of some sort he wants to make sure that he would notice it before it spread. Yet all Gavriel finds is you becoming breathless quicker. Getting more grouchy at your mate, over the smallest things. Snaking right before bed and just randomly reaching for a pot of cookies throughout the day. But the thing that finally makes everything click is when Gavriel returns home after one of his lessons. It's barely after midday but he finds you curled up on a little day bed in the garden fast asleep. A warm smile spreads over his face as he steps closer.

Finally, he thinks to himself as he kneels in front of you. "I was waiting for you", Gavriel mutters, pressing his palm on your tummy. A little heartbeat is finally much easier to distinguish. No longer hidden by your own. "Had a feeling you were, happily growing there", and it's so surreal. To know. To be able to have this moment for himself. To be able to just soak in the knowledge. "Gavriel...", you mutter tiredly and your mate's eyes slowly drift back to you. "I see you've been busy", he teases almost, you narrow your eyes at him, "Hey, that's mean. I've made you lunch", you grumble.

But Gavriel is shaking his head, "Didn't mean it like that, my heart", he gently moves your hand to your tummy. You frown at first, confused by his actions but then your senses pick up on it. You let out a gasp. Big eyes watching Gavriel but he's just smiling. Smiling so fondly it's making your heart swell. "You knew?", you whisper, "I had a feeling something was different for a while but...", he admits, moving to brush away strand of your hair away from your face. "I'm... there's a baby", you whisper shout before your eyes fill up with tears, Gavriel lets out a breath laugh, "You're growing our little lion".

Honestly, the rest of the pregnancy would be out of a fantasy book. Gavriel is super attentive but he also cared for his previous partners in their pregnancies. So he knows what your body needs for sure. Trust him to be bringing home a whole area of fruits and goods you two don't have in your garden but that are beneficial for you and the baby.

He doesn't baby you. Nor is he controlling. You want to do laundry? Do it. Want to dust the floor or weed out the garden? Go for it. He doesn't try to put you on bed rest and lock you in the house. His only rule is - tell him when you start feeling tired. That's all he's asking of you. Gavriel knows moving around is good at the end of the day.

Doubt you would get protective outbursts from him. This man has too much self-control to just burst out, start throwing daggers, or murder someone if they came too close to you. It's more like as long as you are okay with people being close to you so is he. He's watching and assessing. He's looking for threats and dangerous it's just in a much more tamed manner.

Talks to the baby from the moment he finds out. Gavriel has many stories up his belt so nighttime stories are never dull. He always falls asleep holding your bump. He was always cuddly but now it's in his blood. He just needs to have you close. Feel you both.

He cherishes this pregnancy so much because it's the first time he could watch his partner and baby grow. Without someone interfering. Without Maeve lurking to harm. To take away. To rip to shreds the happiness. And so those fears come out at night through the nightmares that sometimes plague his sleep but they are quickly chased away by the baby moving around in your tummy. And he's so thankful for the chance to do this again to experience the love. The beauty of having a family.

#gavriel x you #gavriel x reader #gavriel imagine #gavriel tog imagine #gavriel tog x reader #tog x reader #tog imagine #tog x you #throne of glass imsgine #throne of glass x reader

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isekai-crow · 5 months

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2024 Winter Anime Lineup (Master Post?)

First post for a new blog where I'm going to try and record my opinions, break downs, comparisons, and various degrees of squees about anime!

The lineup for this year's Winter isn't as packed as the 2023 Fall season was, but that's always the case. It sure is still causing my To Watch List to keep getting longer... but more importantly because it's so lacking in big name shows one of my most anticipated shows gets to shine...

SOLO LEVELING

俺だけレベルアップな件

LET'S GOOOOOOOO!!!

I'M SO EXCITED FOR MY SHADOW BOY TO FINALLY ARRIVE!!!

also, holy CRAP look at all this TRADITIONAL FANTASY!!! There is even a decent selection of non harem Isekai this round too! And a lot of awesome sequels/continuations!

Anyways, here's what's on my to watch list for this season! I'll be posting about them in their own or other threads as I figure out how I want to set this blog up. My reasons for WHY I'm watching what I'm watching

Definitely Will Watch!

Solo Leveling / 俺だけレベルアップな件

Apothecary Diaries /薬屋のひとりごと(Continued)

Delicious in Dungeon (Dungeon Meshi) / ダンジョン飯

The Villains Day Off / 休日のわるものさん

Undead Unluck / アンデッドアンラック(Continued)

Fire Hunter (Hikari no Ou) 2nd Season / 火狩りの王

High Hopes / Might Drop / Taking My Time

Sasaki and Peeps / 佐々木とぴーちゃん

The Witch and the Beast / 魔女と野獣

Doctor Elise / 外科医エリゼ

Cherry Magic (THIS ENGLISH TITLE LMAO) / 30歳まで童貞だと魔法使いになれるらしい (DEF WATCHING THIS ONE NOW)

Shangri-La Frontier / シャングリラフロンティア　(Continued)

Beyond Journey's End / 葬送のフリーレン (Continued)

Gonna Give Them A Few Episodes

Mashle Season 2

Fluffy Paradise / Isekai de Mofumofu Nadenade Suru Tame ni, Ganbattemasu (I'm doing my best in another world to pet fluffy creatures)

Ishura

The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic / 治癒魔法の間違った使い方

Blue Exorcist / Ao no Exorcist (OUT OF LEFT FIELD THIS ONE)

Delusional Monthly Magazine / Gekkan Mousou Kagaku

This is already insanely long, so the second half of this essay about what I think is below ↓↓↓↓

DEFINITE WATCH LIST

SOLO LEVELING - I've been waiting for the solo leveling anime since BEFORE the anime was ever announced, re-reading the webcomic/manhwa multiple times and just HOPING someone would animate these gorgeous shadows. It is a very well done power fantasy with only squints of romance, and while I'm sad it's been localized to Japan (and all the fuckery that comes with of Korean erasure), I got to see the first two episodes at the World Premiere and I. Am. So. Hype.

APOTHECARY DIARIES existed completely outside of my head space, and my initial response at the premise was, Raven of the Inner Palace? I wasn't actually expecting much from it and then the first few episodes BLEW ME OUT OF THE WATER and now I'm obsessed.

DUNGEON MESHI is one of those manga I've heard about, but tried reading and it was too slow paced for me (I say, currently slogging through The Boat Arc (TM) of Hunter x Hunter), but the anime gives it life and I think I'll enjoy this alot. I love cooking anime and fantasy, so this will be fun!

KYUJITSU NO WARUMONOSAN is just straight up Crow Bait. That curly bowl cut, the gap moe of a villain who loves cute things, and voiced by fricken Shintarou Asanuma!!! (I know him as Samatoki from HypMic, other's will know him from the "Fucking Bullshit" song from Carole and Tuesday, and a host of other roles) Also, all the pretty sentei / power ranger boys!!! I'm so hype, in the most relaxed chill way for this.

UNDEAD UNLUCK is so weird in that it involves a lot of random sexualization, but it doesn't make me uncomfortable like Seven Deadly Sin's random gropping did, maybe because there is actual implied consent involved. Fuuko and Andy are Poly and I love them for it. And the world building is TOP NOTCH.

FIRE HUNTER - If you haven't seen season one, you are missing out. A darkly beautiful post-post apocolyptic alternate Japan-esque world, from the POV of a young girl, and a young genius boy having to let himself be manipulated by capitalism to survive, and gods? a magic system? but so soft that it's barely there even while being a full on fantasy story.

High Hopes or Taking My Time

SASAKI AND PEEPS- What a weird little show that has the weirdest combination of isekai, the most "this is fine." salaryman, and a fricken' CHUNIBYO BIRB. I've already watched the first episode and it feels like there are two magic systems going on and its a bit confusing, so we will see how this plays out!

WITCH AND BEAST - I keep wanting to call this Beauty and the Beast, because the beast is a rad bad ass looking lady, and the witch is certainly one of the most beautiful undertakers I've ever seen. I think he carries his boyfriend around in his coffin backpack, so I'm hype to see WTF is up with that >o>

DOCTOR ELISE - Why do manhwa I read keep randomly popping up as anime??? This is a vilainess turned good story, and supposedly the market is full of these, but none of them are the good ones I've read, so I did a double take of happiness when I saw this. THIS ONE IS GOOD. An spoiled princess gets killed, is reborn in Korea and becomes a doctor, only to be killed by Airplane-kun, and winds up back in her old body where she decides to become a doctor again! The prince is even not your typical icy asshole! (although maybe he is a little at the beginning..)

CHERRY MAGIC - THIS FRICKEN ENGLISH TITLE GOOD LORDS ABOVE. I'm dying. I'm also excited to see this one play out and I'll be hiding behind a pillow giggling like a mad lad while I do. It's been a while since there's been a good BL that's not SAD (looking at YOU Given and Banana Fish, but avoids eye contact with Sasaki and Miyano) so hopefully it doesn't dip into that territory. Going into this one mostly blind as to the premise apart from the obvious Gap-Moe with the love interest.

SHANGRI-LA - I started watching this on a whim as the Fall season started to wind down, and found it to be a good potato chip to have on in the background. I'll probably continue watching it, but not weekly.

FRIEREN - This is what I watch when Jujutsu Kaisen hurts too much to keep going. I'm only a few episodes in, so it'll be slow going, but I think it's about to pick up it's pacing a little where I'm at, and it'll be good comfort food to have.

MAYBES

Mashle Season 2 - The pacing was SUPER WEIRD in the first season that despite all of it's shitting on the properties of she-who-shall-not-be-named, the end of the season kind of fell flat. I wanted to like it more, so I'm hoping Season 2 does that for me.

Fluffy Paradise - I love isekais with an adult in a child's body pretending to be just super smart, and this doesn't feel like it's going to do that, but still looks cute none the less. I'll give it a few episodes, but will quickly drop it if my watch list is too long.

Ishura - Is this what life is like for D&D Characters when they hit level 20? I HOPE SO. I LOVED the Legend of Vox Machina, and hope this has the same sort of vibes, but I'm going in blind!

The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic - Love me some fucked up healing magic. Please DO NOT let this be ANYTHING like Redo Healer. I refuse to watch that even those FUCKED UP HEALING MAGIC IS FUN. But this. This I want to see. Please let this also not be a harem. I'm fine with ~vibes~ but please no actual harem that's not actually Poly.

Blue Exorcist - THIS IS TOTALLY OUT OF NOWHERE. HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?????? I remember the last season feeling like a disappointment? But can't remember why? Gonna see if this is worth re-watching the seasons from like... a decade ago.

Delusional Monthly Magazine - I watched the PV and had no fucking clue what was happening. Therefore, I will be watching a few episodes to sate my curiosity about WTF OR possibly just get myself even more confused and rage quit. lmao

I've watched the first few episodes of a couple of these, and will be watching a few more tomorrow, so Next Goal: Post a write up or three about what I think!

#anime #anime winter 2024 #apothecary diaries #solo leveling #sousou no frieren #undead unluck #cherry magic #sasaki and peeps #dungeon meshi #mr. villain's day off #mashle #kusuriya no hitorigoto #frieren #beyond journey's end #ore dake level up na ken #delicious in dungeon #masterpost

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mysteriouslover1516 · 1 year

Text

IMAGINE:

I took care of it.

The young hacker sighed as he sent the message, he hoped it would give MC at least a small sense of comfort. He had already noticed that she was being somewhat cyber bullied by strangers. Oh god, Lilly. What did you do? What a mess you created.

That's great

MC was safe for now, at least as safe as he could manage. He himself; however, that was another story. He needed to start packing, time was of the essence, it was time to go on the run again.

But you didn't threaten her, did you?

Jake paused, packing had to wait. There was no way he was going to leave while that awful thought was being entertained inside MC's head. Why would she even think that? Didn't she trust him? Didn't she know him, know that he would never do something like that?

What? No, of course not. I talked to her.

No, of course she didn't know. It was like he was pulling her in just enough so that he could ultimately push her away once more. It was an utter mess of confusion, of hidden feelings, vulnerability, secrets, and self-preservation; and he was the cause of it.

Please don't lie to me

"I'm not lying, MC." He muttered, one hand finding refuge in his black, wavy hair; slightly tugging on the strands in frustration.

That was way too fast

He sighed, what would he have to say to make her believe him? Despite his mistakes, he was a man of integrity, or at least he thought so, hoped so, knew so.

I am telling the truth MC. I filled her in on something. One day I am going to tell you too, I promise you that.

Yes, Lilly was now in possession of somewhat slightly incriminating evidence against him. Something that would thoroughly involve him in Hannah's disappearance. Something that would finally state the connection he had to the missing Donfort girl.....

I've been hearing that since forever.....Jake, please.

Jake groaned, Ugh, she was right. MC deserved to know the truth, He didn't know what would become of himself, what his fate held, whether he would ever get the chance to tell her in the future...it had to be now. Yes, MC was right, once again undeniably right. Damn.

MC, I am wanted by the government.

Probably not the most tactful way to start this conversation, but at least it was now out in the open. He felt the sudden urge to close his eyes, hesitating to read MC's response. What would she say?

You are WHAT?

Jake's fingers flew across the keyboard. He needed to reassure her, he couldn't lose her trust, he couldn't lose her, not now, not ever.

Yes. But I am one of the good guys. If you can call it that. I meddled in some things that were never supposed to get out into the public.

Why haven't you ever told me?

The hacker stopped, was she really asking him that? Wasn't it obvious? If he had started it off as "Hey, I'm considered a criminal that is wanted by the government, I need you to trust me" she would have literally flipped out. Come on, MC. You're smarter than this, I know you are, don't play dumb with me.

Because I was afraid that you would stop trusting me.

Yes, understandably so

Jake sighed, he was getting off topic, he needed to focus. Time was waning, he had no doubt that the FBI was already hot on his trail.

In any case, Lilly has published some serious information about me now. And any piece of information about me, no matter how small of a detail it is, Could help the people that are after me find out where I am.

That sounds awful

It was awful.......but to be honest.....he found himself no longer caring.

To be honest....Ever since I met you....I actually have hope again. And I thank you for that, MC.

MC made him comfortable, made him forget his present circumstances, made the trauma of his past fade out of view as the time and the conversations with her increased. He found himself falling, falling for her. And just as he was finally coming to the realization of that fact, it was too late to tell her, not now at least. They had more pressing matters to attend to, such as.....

As much as I regret it, I will now have to make some arrangements to ensure my safety first. I have to assume that the people hunting for me are hot on my heels by now. They may even be close to finding me. You might be on for you own for some time.

What, you are leaving me hanging?!

A small, dark chuckle escaped his lips. It certainly did seem like it, but no, he would never, besides.....he physically and mentally couldn't. There was no way in heck he was going to let her go.

No, of course I won't do that. If you really need me, I am going to be there for you. From now on you are going to have to take the lead.

Another sigh filled his ears, he hated this. He hated having to leave her like this. A while back he had told her he found it hard to pick up on emotions over text, but right now, he could sense it perfectly. MC was upset, fearful, perhaps even angry at Lilly, maybe even angry at him himself; but deep down he could tell she cared, deeply.

I know that I can always count on you. You've shown it to me more than once.

He paused, then once realizing she wasn't going to reply, he immediately started to type. He hoped his next message would make her laugh, at least smile a little bit, ease her sadness. He didn't want to have to leave her with a heavy heart; even though he knew that was an impossible wish to have.

And something good comes out of this whole thing: I won't be able to read your private chats anymore.

No response, damn. She was taking this hard, wasn't she? Ugh. He wished he could take more time to comfort her, to ease her nerves; if only he had the time........as it was right now he needed to flee, and the time to rewind back to about ten minutes ago.

My time is running out.

MC needed to focus, she needed to continue on in their investigation during his absence. She was the key to the puzzle, he needed to be able to depend on her.

Do you still remember, what our last lead was?

Yeah, I remember. The mysterious "Jennifer"

A faint smile flitted across his lips, in spite of all the chaos, she still remembered. Further proving to him that she could indeed keep a level head, despite the circumstances.

Right. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to look into it any further. But I think you are just as capable of doing it as I am.

For real?

Ahh, there was her sense of humor. That emojie.....what even was that? A sweaty grin? Ohhhh, wait, a nervous laugh.....yes, that was it.

Yes. Of course. You have five friends from Duskwood. Thomas, Cleo, Jessy, Richy, and Dan. I want you to choose one of them and then ask them about our mysterious Jennifer.

And you don't care who I choose?

Jake bit his lip, of course he cared. He hoped MC would choose someone who had been a resident there for years, perhaps even their whole childhood, someone who had lived there when the "terrible incident" took place ten years ago. But who would she choose? MC was very close to Jessy, did that mean she would probably ask her? Or would she ask Cleo? Richy maybe? God, he hoped she would refrain from asking Dan, what an idiot, ugh. And Thomas, hmmmm, Jake wouldn't choose him for sure if it was up to him....But it wasn't up to him, it was up to MC, he had placed the responsibility into her hands. And he trusted her, he whole-heartedly trusted her.

Let's just say, I trust your judgement. Just like you have to trust the person that you are going to choose.

It was time to say goodbye, damn. Usually goodbyes didn't faze him, because he would never allow himself to once again get close to someone, letting him avoid the painful, bittersweet goodbye. But ever since meeting MC, his world had shifted, she had pulled the rug from right underneath his feet. What had she done to him?

I have to go now. But I am going to contact you again as soon as I can.

Fingers paused over the keyboard, when would he be able to text her again? He hoped it would be soon.......he would make it be soon.

Hey, Jake?

Yes?

A small panic swarmed inside his head, he could feel his cheeks flush red. Was she going to say I love you? What would he say????

Thank you....for confiding in me despite all this

Phew. A relieved but somewhat disappointed sigh escaped his lips, god he was hormonal. He had never experienced such fast mood swings as he had ever since he met MC. Damn, he had it bad.

Thank you for never making me regret confiding in you.

Forcing himself to log off, he quickly set to work tearing his computer and work station down. Would he ever be able to rest without having to look over his shoulder? Would his life always be laced with risk and uncertainty? Was there a happily ever after in store for him? God he hoped so, he really REALLY hoped so.

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gothicmama · 2 months

Text

Pirates of Erebor Chapter 8 (Rough Draft?)

I'm posting this here before I post it to AO3, not sure how much editing I'll do to it later but it's just in case there's anything I missed during proofreading, or I fiddle with it some more.

Waking up with a hangover wasn’t an unfamiliar occurrence for Thorin. He’d done it many times during his traveling, on nights when drinking was all he could do and the weight of missing his family and the responsibilities he took upon himself grew too heavy. But waking up with a splitting headache, a special kind of pain that only the strong alcohol provided at Ered Luin could cause, and finding himself staring up at the wooden ceiling of his bedroom, brought about a strange feeling. It was like confirming he really was home and for a moment he closed his eyes and let himself lay, boneless, on the thick rug that covered his floor. For just a little while he could pretend nothing had changed and everything was okay.

But the longer he lay there, the more awake he became, and the more reality began to disturb the peace he wanted. The responsibilities he’d burdened himself with wasted no time in pushing to the forefront of his mind, despite his best efforts to not think about them. Finally, after several minutes of failing to go back to sleep, he let out a heavy sigh, rolled sideways, and got up on his hands and knees. Immediately his head and stomach protested the movement, but he pulled himself the rest of the way up anyway. The time for relaxing and celebrating had passed last night, with dozens of bottles of Ered Luin’s best, a few good-natured fights between cousins and siblings, and story after story from both himself and his family to catch everyone up. Now, it was time for work.

Standing upright, he took a moment to stretch and work out the kinks he’d gained from awkwardly sleeping on the floor for hours. As he moved, he became aware of various bruises all over his body, unsurprisingly he only remembered getting some of them. The others were mysteries that he discovered, with groans and pained hisses, as he moved about. Dropping his arms, he turned around and saw why he’d ended up on the floor. Not that it was the worst place to sleep since his room was big enough for two, a silent message from his parents who he knew were hoping he wouldn’t be alone forever, and the rug was thick, soft, and warm against his body. But when given the choice, he still would’ve chosen his bed, if it had been unoccupied. It unfortunately wasn’t, because Dwalin was sprawled out on it. His large frame dwarfed Thorin’s bed, despite it’s larger than normal size. That probably explained some of the mysterious bruises on him, as he and Dwalin had a habit of fighting over the bed after drinking. Snorting, Thorin lightly kicked his cousin’s leg and barked out, “Dwalin!” Dwalin clumsily kicked back at him with a sleep muffled curse before he returned to snoring.

Thorin chuckled as he moved past his bed to the other side of the room where his bathroom was. It was only the size of a closet, but it had everything he needed. He quickly relieved his bladder and got to work cleaning himself up. He was relieved to see he had changed at some point last night. He’d made the mistake of getting drunk in his good clothes before and they had almost always ended up ruined, either by blood or drink. He pulled off the worn-out pants and undershirt, both of which were surprisingly only stained with sweat, and briskly washed himself off with cold water in the tub. He didn’t have the patience to wait for hot water and after drying himself off just as quickly, he hurried to his dresser. He pulled open the first drawer he touched and randomly pulled out clothes. Everything was the same color, so it was guaranteed to match. He dressed quickly and pulled his boots on, then returned to the bathroom.

He took a quick look in the mirror above the sink before he ran a brush through his hair in record time, wincing each time he caught a tangle. He tied his hair back with a piece of leather and kicked Dwalin’s leg again on his way to the bedroom door. He ignored his cousin’s sleepy grumble but made a point to slam the door on his way out. He heard a muffled shout from inside, right before someone else yelled his name. Flinching, he turned to find his mother glaring at him from the end of the hallway. She looked just as put together as she always did, with her hair done up in the same intricate braids she always wore and her colorful clothing neat and clean. She’d clearly been awake for a while and didn’t appear to be as affected by the previous night’s activities as he and Dwalin were. Which was astounding because Thorin knew for a fact she’d drank as much as, if not more than, they both had.

He ducked his head to avoid her glare and walked towards her, apologizing, “Sorry, mother. I was messing with Dwalin.” He stopped in front of her, head tilted up slightly to meet her gaze.

As the seconds passed, Fris’ gaze softened until finally she cracked a small smile. “It’s past time he woke up. Past time you woke up, as well, son.” She reached up and began fussing with his hair, brushing down the loose strands into some semblance of control. “Did you get into a fight with the hairbrush, Thorin? Goodness.”

Thorin smiled sheepishly and stood still as she cleaned him up to her liking. Or as much as she could when he was only wearing a shirt, pants, and boots. She straightened everything, tucked his shirt in, laced the front ties up, and with a sigh let his hair loose so she could redo his ponytail completely. Her hands were insistent but gentle as she combed through the unruly curls with her fingers, likely because she knew his head was pounding with his hangover. As much as he wanted to protest, remind her that he was an adult and he liked the way he looked just fine, he found himself leaning into her touch. It had been many months since he’d last felt it, since she’d last lovingly fussed over him. That was his own fault, of course, he was the one who ran off on his own. Guilt surged up in him and he couldn’t stop himself from suddenly wrapping his arms around her. She let out a surprised gasp before she returned the gesture, hugging him just as hard as he was squeezing her.

Neither spoke for a long moment, until finally he whispered, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she replied immediately. She gave him one extra tight squeeze then stepped back. He dropped his arms as she stared at his shirt, needlessly untying then retying the laces. He didn’t need to see her eyes to know they were filling with tears. “Enough of that now. We had enough last night.”

“Aye, you cried plenty for the both of us,” he teased. He gently grabbed her hands and pulled them away from his shirt. He gave them a careful squeeze which she returned.

“I’ll have you know, you cried more than me.” After reluctantly pulling her hands from his, she raised her head with a sniff and turned away from him. She started down the hallway towards the dining room and he fell into step next to her, loosely wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they walked.

“And Father cried more than both of us.” He chuckled, vividly remembering how many times his father had randomly started crying into his cup.

Fris rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hold back an affectionate smile. “He’s always been an emotional drunk. But I don’t think anyone can blame him this time.” Laughing softly, he nodded his agreement.

The conversation stopped for a moment when they reached the end of the hallway and the door they were looking for. He automatically stepped ahead of her to open the door, the action engrained in him from years of seeing his father and grandfather do the same for his mother and grandmother. She patted his cheek, pulling a soft smile from him, then she entered ahead of him. He followed in after her and wasn’t surprised to see the table was already occupied. His father was slumped over, head in his hands. He looked much like Thorin had when he'd first awoken, his hair and beard a frizzled mess and his clothes rumpled and stained. In contrast, his sister, who was sitting next to him and gently pushing a bowl towards him, looked almost as put together as Fris did. She'd left her hair down, save her important braids, and she wore an apron over her clean clothes. She looked up when they entered and smiled.

“Good morning, mother, Thorin. I fixed a little breakfast for us, would you like some?” Ignoring Thrain’s moan in response to her cheerful voice, she stood up and moved over to the counter. She didn’t wait for them to answer before she began fixing them both plates. The “little” breakfast wasn’t actually so little, there was a large platter piled high with various meats, two bowls full of soup, and a smaller platter stacked with bread. She picked up an empty plate and quickly filled it with meat and bread. Just as Thorin sat down, she set the plate in front of him. It was quickly followed by a bowlful of soup and a cup. He knew not to get his hopes up but he was still slightly disappointed when he lifted it up and smelled nothing but fresh water in it.

Despite the disappointing lack of alcohol, the first sip had him chugging it down. He hadn’t realized how much he missed fresh water after months at sea. All too soon his cup was empty and his face was wet with the drops that had missed his mouth in his frenzy. He set it down and, ignoring his mother’s glare, wiped his face dry with his sleeve. Dis refilled his cup without having to be asked and he managed not to gulp the second cupful down, too. Setting the cup down half empty, he pulled the bowl to him. The smell hit him immediately and sent a brief bit of nausea curling in his stomach, but it was squashed by the sudden hunger exploding through him. He’d had his fair share of food while he’d been drinking just hours ago, but months traveling and eating whatever he could scrounge up needed more than just one night of good food to be completely erased. He dug into the soup ravenously, earning a good-natured huff from his mother. She reached over and brushed some loose hair behind his ear before it could land in his bowl.

“Just a few months at sea and you’ve forgotten all the manners I taught you,” Fris huffed, though the affection in her voice made it clear she was only teasing. Dis set a plate, bowl, and cup in front of her before she sat back down by Thrain. The older man had yet to raise his head and hadn’t moved since Thorin and Fris had entered. Thorin wasn’t certain he was even awake until Dis patted his back and his father let out a loud, painfilled groan. Fris glanced at her husband disapprovingly before she began to eat, with much less hurry than her son had. She dipped the bread into the soup before taking her first bite. Mouthful, she closed her eyes and hummed approvingly, then after swallowing she said, “This is quite good, Dis, darling, thank you.”

Without looking at her husband, she added, “It’s too bad your father can’t appreciate it. But I suppose when you get to be his age, you just can’t handle your drink like you did when you were young.”

Her teasing worked and instantly Thrain picked his head up, grumbling, “At my age? I’m a perfectly respectable age and I can hold my drink just fine, thank you very much.” Still grumbling, he rubbed his eyes repeatedly to clear them, then blinked a few times before they focused on Fris. As if only just realizing she was there, he stopped grumbling and his face brightened immediately. He clumsily reached over the table and grabbed Fris’ free hand with both of his She hid her smile by taking another bite of bread, but she let him entwine their fingers. “Fris! My dear, Fris, my darling jewel, you look ever so lovely this morning!”

Ignoring Dis and Thorin’s snickers, Thrain scooted his chair around the table to Fris’ side. When he was close enough, he leaned towards her, lips puckered for a kiss. Instead of her lips however, he was met with a large chunk of bread. He leaned back, eyes growing wide with confusion, and the bread followed him. Fris rubbed the bread against his lips, and he followed the silent command and opened his mouth. Under her watchful gaze, he took a bite, chewed it up slowly, and swallowed it. Satisfied, Fris smiled at him and reached out to caress his cheek. He leaned into the touch until she was holding his head up. Still staring and smiling dopily at her, he let her feed him, opening his mouth each time she offered something.

With their parents focused on each other, Dis and Thorin looked away from them, an attempt to offer them some semblance of privacy. Huffing, she stood up from the table and picked up the bowl she’d been trying to give Thrain. Still eating, Thorin watched her pour the soup back into the bigger bowl and put the now empty bowl in the sink. After she rejoined him at the table, he swallowed his mouthful and asked, “Are you not going to eat?”

“I ate earlier, while I was cooking,” she explained. She glanced over at Thrain and Fris, rolling her eyes even as she smiled. “I’ve been trying to get him to eat something, or just drink some water, for almost an hour.”

Thorin followed her gaze and watched Fris literally spoon feed his father a bit of soup, being careful not to let any drip into his beard. Chuckling, he stuffed a bit of sausage into his mouth and said, “He’s always been a fool for mother, Dis. You know only she can get him to listen when he’s hungover.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Thorin, goodness,” Dis leaned away from him, fighting back a smile, and shooed her hand playfully at him. “How old are you, brother? It seems you’ve forgotten.”

“I’m old enough,” Thorin responded after swallowing his mouthful. He took a long drink of water to wash it down and pushed his plate away. Now that he’d stuffed himself, his hunger was appeased, at least for the moment. Wiping his mouth dry, he stood up. Neither of his parents reacted to his movement and he wasn’t about to disturb them, but he couldn’t sit there and watch them either. He set his empty bowl in the sink with the other dirty dishes, finished the rest of his water before adding it to the growing pile, and then set his plate that was still partially full on the counter, out of the way of the rest of the food.

With his mess cleaned up, he leaned over and kissed Dis’ hair. She caught his sleeve before he could walk away and asked, “What are you going to do now?”

Shrugging, he replied, “I’m going to find Bil- Master Baggins and get started with planning. We can at least get something started, and Father and everyone else can join us later when they’re ready.”

Something gleamed in Dis’ eyes in response to his answer. She smiled sweetly up at him and asked, “Could you wake the boys first, please? I want them to eat while the food is hot.” He was instantly suspicious of her smile and the sweetness in her voice, but there was nothing unusual in her request. So, staring at her with narrowed eyes, he hesitantly nodded. “Oh, thank you, brother!” She grinned and pushed him away from the table, causing him to stumble before he caught himself. He glanced back at her, still trying to figure out what she was planning, but when her smile didn’t budge, he had no choice but to let it go.

Sighing, he turned away from her and left the room. Whatever it was, he was confident it wasn’t as bad as anything else she’d done to him when they were younger. He could handle it. Holding onto that confidence, he leisurely walked through the hallways. As much as he wanted to rush and get the boys up as quickly as possible, so he could get started planning as fast as possible, being at home for the first time in months was enough to calm his impatience. He was surprised by the simple joy he found just being in the familiar halls, seeing the doors to his family’s various rooms. He passed a few people, a few cousins, but most people were still sleeping off their hangover or they’d already started their day’s work.

It took him a few minutes to finally reach the door to the room that his nephews shared with Gimli, but for once he didn’t mind the time it took. He was so calmed and relaxed by the walk that when he reached it, he’d forgotten all about Dis’ strange behavior. He stopped in front of the door and paused when he heard voices on the other side. He recognized his nephews, it was impossible not to with how loud they were, and he knew one of the other voices had to be Gimli. But the fourth eluded him, even when he leaned closer to the door he couldn’t place it. He wasn’t worried, as he trusted that no one could make it to the family side of the inn without permission, but his curiosity was piqued.

He really wanted to open the door and surprise them all, his nephews, Gimli, and the stranger, but he restrained himself. He raised his fist to knock, but before he could, the door suddenly opened. He looked down and suddenly found himself staring into Bilbo’s eyes. He froze, his hand stuck in the air. Bilbo was just as frozen, his mouth dropping open. They stared at each other, neither moving nor making a sound, for a long moment. Finally, they both snapped out of it. And then they, simultaneously, spoke.

“Thorin?!”

“Bilbo?!”

The Italics are Khuzdul and if I missed anything or something just doesn't seem right, please let me know!

#bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #rough draft

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perfectly-imperfect82 · 2 years

Text

I don’t like you- Kristie Mewis

Kristie and Jane were sitting in the stands of your rugby game.

"I don't know what else to do? The kid absolutely hates me" Kristie said

"The kid doesn't hate you" Jane said with a laugh

"Yes she does! She won't talk to me and avoids me!" Kristie exclaimed

"Maybe it's just a dislike for you. I mean you are dating her mom. It could just be her way of protecting her mom" Jane said patting Kristie knee

"This is going to be a long weekend" Kristie said wondering if she made the right choice in offering to watch you this weekend while your mom was away on a work trip

"She's eleven, just buy some pizza and put on a movie. Or just let her hang out in her room" Jane said causing Kristie sign

"I want her to like me" Kristie said

"She will" Jane said confidently causing Kristie to shake her hand as the both turned back to the field

Kristie had been dating your mom, Natalie for 8 months. Natalie didn't introduce you to Kristie until until they had dated for 6 months. From the beginning you had barely spoken to or even acknowledged Kristie. Natalie said it would take time but Kristie was worried that if it goes on for to much longer that it could end there relationship.

They both watched as you get passed the ball

Kristie jumped to her feet as soon as she saw you get tackled by two opposing players. She may not understand rugby that much but she knew that it was an illegal hit

"Shit shit shit" Kristie mumbled she as ran on to the field with Jane right behind her once they saw you not getting up and the coaches rushing to you.

Kristie could see your eyes were brimmed with tears that you were holding back once the coaches gently rolled you over

"What hurts?" The coach asked

"Head, chest, arm" you gritted out

"I'm going to lift you shirt okay" the coach said causing you to nod

Everyone's eyes widen at the bruising already appearing on your ribs

"I'm going to get the car" Jane said before taking off while Kristie nodded and focused on helping the coaches get you off the field

——-

Kristie had just gotten your into your house after your guys trip to the hospital. You had a broken arm and 3 fractured ribs, with the rest being bruised, and you some how managed to not get a concussion.

"Thanks for helping" Kristie said to Jane

"No need, just let me know if you guys need anything" Jane said patting Kristie on the back "take care of her" She continued before heading out the door

Kristie then turn to go find you already slowly making your way up the stairs

"What are you doing?" Kristie asked worriedly

"Going up stairs" you gasped out, as you tried to hide the pain you where in

"Just let me help you" Kristie said looking at you as you glared back

"I don't need your help"

"I would say otherwise" Kristie frustratedly countered as you turned away and painfully made your way up the rest of the stairs

"I don't like you, you know that right?" You said as you walked up causing Kristie bite her lip to keep from responding, your just a kid she kept repeating. Following your slow movements in case you needed help.

"What are you doing now?" Kristie asked once you both finally made it up the stairs

"I'm taking a shower" you said like it was obvious, you did smell from playing most of the game

"Okay, do you want help?" Kristie asked before you just glared and walked into the bathroom

Kristie waited outside but after a few minutes she still didn't hear the water running, "you okay" she nervously asked she knocked on the door

When she didn't get a response, Kristie slowly opened the door to see you sitting in the towel seat in pain as you tired to remove your shirt

"Please let me help you" Kristie pretty much begged at the point, struggling to watch you put your self through more pain then nesscarry

You looked at her, tears falling. Kristie hated seeing you this vulnerable and in pain

You finally nodded, willing to accept the help.

Kristie helped you slowly finish taking off your sports bra before you stepped into the shower.

Kristie left to get you clothes before quickly rushing back to the bathroom, worrying that you would need help.

Kristie walked into the bathroom, laying your clothes on the sink. "Just yell if you need anything, I'll be right outside the door" Kristie said before walking out and standing outside the door. Not really sure on what to do

When she hurt the shower turn off, Kristie heard her name through the door

"Can you help me" you asked looking defeated as you only had on your short

Kristie slowly moved her way toward you and helped you get the big t-shirt over you injured arm without causing to much pain to your ribs

Once your were dressed you slowly walked to your moms room, gently laying down on her bed. Pain, discomfort, and exhaustion taking over, you didn't even try to get under the covers

Kristie slowly made her way over to you. Gently adjusting a pillow under you arm before laying a blanket over you.

"I lied" you said catching Kristie attention as she went to leave the room

"I do like you. You treat my mom really good and make her happy" you said "this is the happiest I've seen her in a long time"

This caused Kristie to move to sit on the bed beside you, tryin to think of something to say but you continued talking

"One of my moms last girlfriends was around all the time. She was helping me with my homework and coming to my games. I guess I got used to her being around and then she wasn't around anymore and it hurt" you said

"I don't want to go through that again" you continued as you finally looked up a Kristie who was looking at you sadly, thinking carefully what to say next

"I don't want you to either. I can't even imagine what it would be like to not have your mom in my life anymore" Kristie said before taking a pause to make sure you heard the next part

"I'm hoping that we can also have a relationship that I couldn't imagine losing you also. I love you mom, a lot. I'm not planning on every losing her, which means I don't plan on every losing you either. I'm here for the long ride. And if on some off chance your mom and I's relationship end, which I won't let happen, I'll still be there for you if you want me too" Kristie said sincerely

"Promise?" You asked looking at her unsure

"Pinky promise" Kristie said holding up her pinky causing you to smile as you locked pinkies with her

"Now go to bed" Kristie said going to leave to sleep on the couch

"Will you stay?" You asked causing Kristie to freeze in shock

"It will get you brownie points with my mom" you continued, hoping she would stay

"Like I need brownie points with you mom" Kristie said, moving to lay on the other side of the bed causing you to smile

"I'm picking the movie though" Kristie grabbing the remote causing you to fake glare at her

"Deal if we can get dunkin in the morning" You said looking over at Kristie who laughed before sayin "you got your self a deal kid"

That's would be how your mom found you to in the morning, you resting your head on Kristie shoulder while you guys slept. Only making your mom fall more in love with Kristie

#uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #kristie mewis x reader #Kristie mewis imagind

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im-a-matt-girl · 11 months

Note

Omg can you do another fic but with matt and reader having to go to the hospital so she could give birth

sure ♡

"I can't wait to have this baby," I sigh as I lie down next to you in our bed for the night. I can barely get comfortable anymore; my belly is so big, and sleeping in certain positions hurts me.

You rub my arm comfortingly and give me a small kiss on my head. "I'm sorry you passed your due date, Honey," you tell me.

"It's okay, it's not your fault," I smile. "Boys take longer than girls to come out." I was supposed to give birth three days ago, but nothing happened. We have an overnight bag ready to go, just in case.

You hold my hand in yours and kiss it, looking into my eyes. "I love you," you say, slightly pouting your lips like you want a kiss.

"I love you, too," I reply, pressing my lips against yours. "Good night."

"Good night," you whisper, cocooning yourself in one of the blankets on our bed.

I rest my hand on my belly, feeling the baby squirming around inside of me. It's such a strange sensation, but it's wonderful beyond belief. I fall asleep dreaming about what he'll look like when he finally comes out.

Suddenly, a sharp pain rips through the entire lower half of my body, waking me up completely. I feel like I've been run over by a steam roller. It stops for a minute, but then it happens again, causing me to let out an involuntary wail in pain.

You sit straight up in bed, and you look at me with wide eyes. "Are you okay?" you ask me.

"The baby is coming," I gasp. The pain is almost unbearable. I can't focus on anything else.

You jump out of bed and grab your keys, putting them into the pocket of your pajama pants. You come over to my side of the bed and try to help me up. "Can you stand up?" you ask me earnestly.

I try, but I fall back down onto the bed in a sitting position. "No," I shake my head, holding back tears. Everything feels wet where I'm sitting. "I'm sorry, I think my water broke."

"Don't worry about that," you tell me, gently brushing my hair out of my face. "You don't have to apologize. Should I call an ambulance?"

I nod as another wave of pain washes over me. Everything is a blur as I wait for the ambulance to arrive. I wanted you to drive me, but there might not be enough time. I need help as soon as possible. I just hope that nothing goes wrong.

Everything in the hospital is a blur, too. All I can think about is the pain, and getting this baby out of me so that I can hold him in my arms. Unfamiliar faces come and go - doctors and nurses who want to see the miracle of birth - but you remain by my side, holding my hand. I am unspeakably grateful for you.

The doctor tells me to push, and I feel like I already am. She tells me to push harder, and I feel like I'm going to explode. She tells me to push as hard as I can, and I give it everything I've got. "Good job, mom," the doctor announces as my pain finally begins to subside.

"He's here!" you marvel quietly.

Only then do I hear the tiniest baby cry in the world. He kind of sounds like a kitten.

The doctor hands me our son, and it is only then that I begin to cry. He is the most beautiful baby I've ever seen in my whole life. "Hi, Cody!" I greet him.

He cries in response. That's all he can do for now.

"He's hungry," the doctor tells me. "He just did a lot of work. You did, too."

Your hand ever so delicately strokes Cody's tiny head. "He's so soft!" you whisper, a gasp escaping your mouth.

I look up at you, and I notice the tears in your eyes, but I say nothing about them. "I love you," I tell you, wiping my own tears away from my face with my wrist. I can't believe all of my dreams are coming true. I love being part of your family.

#matt sturniolo x reader #fic #op #ask #anonymous #pov: yours

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our-blood-is-our-ink · 1 year

Text

Journey

Ship: Agatha Harkness x Wanda Maximoff (minor)

Summary: Agatha always had a complex relationship with the idea of motherhood, given her relationship with her own mother. It takes quite a bit of time for her to figure it out.

Word Count: 9.3k

Rating: M

Disclaimer: This story contains themes that may be triggering for some. Please read accordingly.

Warnings: abuse, whipping, imprisonment, starvation, torture, scars, minor character death, somewhat graphic description of violence/gore, loss of childhood, angst, accidental parental figure, dark themes, dead dove do not eat - what it says on the tin, ambiguously happy ending

Agatha has always known she had wanted to be a mother.

Long before the fear of becoming like hers had settled deep into her bones, she had often been found following the women of Salem around, if they had little ones to care for.

Mother had allowed it, because it made them look good.

Made Agatha look good.

Caring. Nurturing. Future wife material.

Which, as she got older, would have been amusing, to look back on, given her orientation if it hadn't been for… Well.

Agatha was an only child. A lonely child.

Friends were hard to make, and Mother was far too careful of matters concerning the coven to be pleased that Agatha's closest friends were Caitlin and Elise.

It tied their families too close together for Mother's comfort.

So she had turned towards the children younger than she, the infants and the toddlers, who tended to have mothers all too relieved to have a responsible, quiet girl hold their baby for a while and take the break readily given to them.

Agatha was good with them too.

She could play and entertain them for hours if given the opportunity, and had no qualms about cleaning up their messes.

After all, if she wanted children of her own one day, she'll have to get used to it anyhow.

But she had only just been started to be allowed to watch the town's littles ones around the same time Mother had started to-

No.

No, she won't invite those memories back.

Her scars ache, and she rubs her wrists.

Not those scars.

She can't reach those scars.

She had had maybe two, three years before she had fully retreated away from the younger kids entirely, shutting herself out from the bubbles of joy and happiness they tended to form, when she had lost her patience with one of the toddlers and had caused them to cry after shouting at them.

Never mind they had somehow gotten a hold of their father's razor and she had been scared out of her mind.

She had shouted, and they had cried.

Because of her.

Because of something she had done.

And she won't be Mother.

She will not.

So she had retreated. Carefully built up her reasonings, excuses.

Mother needs me more now that I'm getting older. She'd explain. When I marry, my husband will inherit our business, but until then… Just in case, she wants me to know how to run it. It's very time consuming.

But those mothers usually were well versed in being able to sense when a child was lying to them, and they had rushed to assure her that they all lose their temper with their children at some point. That it was natural.

Especially if the child was doing something dangerous.

I don't want to be that sort of person. Agatha would firmly reply. I think it's best that I don't watch them anymore. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Mother had not been happy.

It was easy to avoid accusations and rumors when Agatha had been making herself invaluable to the wives of Salem.

She hadn't punished her for it though.

It almost would have been a relief if she hadn't spent the next few months waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It hadn't helped she no longer had babysitting to fill her time.

That she could no longer find what was a valid reason to Mother to be out of the house.

She supposes she got punished for it everytime she had messed something up in those months.

Mother had finally arranged for Agatha to be kept busy by helping out an elderly seamstress, one who was deeply old fashioned and did not have many kind words to offer.

Luckily, Agatha long since had learned how to hold her tongue and keep her hands working even as she fantasized of all the ways she could shut the spiteful old woman up.

And then she had said the wrong thing about the wrong child.

And Agatha had snapped.

She doesn't recall what she had said, or how she had ended up hiding behind a barn farther out towards the farms.

She had blacked out, in her anger.

Because while yes, Agatha had done her best to distance herself from the children of Salem, she still had a large soft spot for them, especially the ones she helped watch.

And hearing the old bat hiss poisoned words against one of the young girls, one who was a bit slower than the others, a bit more immature, a bit more naïve, lamenting her inability to accuse the child of witchcraft for the simple crime of being a bit simpler than her peers…

Well.

Is it any wonder that she had snapped?

Mother eventually found her, hours and hours later, hands still shaking violently as she focused on keeping her breaths even.

Mother was furious.

Agatha didn't bother to try and defend herself.

At fourteen she already well knew that keeping quiet and accepting whatever fate Mother deemed appropriate would be the best outcome she could hope for, to avoid making things worse for herself.

She doesn't find out for weeks, locked away, but apparently the seamstress had suffered some sort of heart attack shortly after she had chased Agatha out of her shop.

Mother clearly thought Agatha was the cause.

Otherwise, why would she have thrown Agatha into her room, locked in, with too tight bands of metal around her wrists, a constant, deep burning pain?

Agatha would never say anything, but she's sure she did cause the old woman to die.

But from the stress of what had happened.

Agatha would not have used magic, even blacked out in her anger.

Not since she had been nine.

Not since she had left a furiously burning handprint on Caitlin's face, one that Mother herself had to carefully construct a glamor anchored to a simple ring in order to cover.

Caitlin has yet to go anywhere without it, which tells Agatha all she needs to know.

Even at fourteen, she slowly is becoming aware that perhaps she can't be as good as she dreams of being.

Even at fourteen, it's a dream, and not a hope.

Mother doesn't bother to try and arrange for Agatha to be kept busy again.

Instead, she's to stay at home, keeping the house neat and tidy, and to cook all the meals.

She's only allowed out to buy household necessities, and for coven gatherings.

She notices somewhere around age sixteen that the mothers of Salem carefully guide their children away from the now deemed too quiet young woman, that if she even so much as looks at a child too long she'll get glared at.

Agatha isn't certain on the why.

Her best guess is that there's now suspicion that she is a witch, because the seamstress had passed not even an hour after Agatha had been seen running from her store.

It's dangerous.

Especially because Mother has decided that Agatha is irredeemable in the eyes of the town, and that no one would care if they noticed a bruise.

Not that Mother would ever allow her to get away with any of her wounds being exposed.

No, Mother's still carful that the only places Agatha ever sports an injury is her back or wrists.

Agatha doesn't think Mother is even aware of the scarring that her sleeves cover up.

It's not like those were being purposefully inflicted, they were just an unfortunate side effect of a far more painful punishment.

Agatha often loses her right to her magic these days, over the smallest infractions.

Though perhaps it's not that the townspeople suspect she's a witch, perhaps they presume she's ill, given the deep, dark circles she has underneath her eyes, the paleness of skin that rarely gets enough sun, the way it stretches across her bones, giving her a gaunt look.

Magic isn't the only thing Mother denies her.

Once, and only once, does Mother send her out too soon after a particularly harsh lashing, and the innocent cry that stems from a little boy’s lips brings attention to how one of the fresh wounds have been pulled back open, and caused blood to seep through her shirt.

Agatha has to lie on the spot, and says she had fallen onto a particularly sharp tree branch.

She can tell nobody believes her, but they still pretend to accept her excuse.

No one wants to get too involved with her in any capacity.

She's been outcasted.

Still, she finds herself quietly slipping the young boy a handful of blueberries from her groceries in her basket, putting a finger to her lips with a wink.

Children, she finds, are far kinder than adults.

It's why she generally stays far, far away from them.

She will never be the reason for a child to turn cruel if she can help it.

She's relieved to find that no one gossips about the incident, because she's certain if they had, Mother would not have cared that her back is still unhealed from the last lashing.

These scar particularly terribly, and she finds her range of movement vastly limited as she readjusts to the new ways her skin pulls at them, relearns how to live with the pain.

She supposes she should feel lucky that they hadn't infected.

It always was much, much worse when they did, often resulting in days of fevered hazes before Mother finally deemed Agatha ill enough that she required healing.

Every time, Agatha would have rather chosen to die than to experience the liquid fire that spread across her back and settled deep into the muscles there, aching and burning and causing her to black out from it all.

Mother says she should be grateful for it.

She is not.

For a good while, Agatha's days are filled with careful cooking, thorough cleaning, and weekly trips to the market, and her nights filled with practice in her witchcraft, and once a month, the coven gatherings.

And then Mother finally deems her old enough, mature enough, to handle basic dark magic spells, ones that are not forbidden from the coven due to their healing nature.

She can see the instant regret in her when, unlike with the neutral coven magic of witchcraft, Agatha takes to the dark spells like a fish to water.

She can't help it when her shoulders suddenly slump over in relief, not expecting to suddenly feel nearly pain free when she chants the incantation for an internal healing spell, one that should not have worked as well as it did for Agatha's very high levels of chronic pain.

But, more importantly, her wrists stop aching, which means her fingers and hand joints stop aching.

Which means they stop trembling, stop making it difficult to grasp objects and keep her hands steady.

It's like the dark magic is a balm.

Mother makes a motion to snatch the book away, and for the first time in years Agatha willingly touches her mother in order to still her hands.

Don't. She had said, the beg clear and plaintive. Please, Mother.

Perhaps it was the fact that her daughter's fingers were laid atop her own, or perhaps somewhere within Mother there was still a sense of love for her, but whatever it may have been, Evanora Harkness had closed her eyes and sighed, before retracting her hands.

Agatha was then heavily warned against making her regret this decision.

Dark magic… It's what killed your father.

Agatha had only vaguely known that, and the words often bounced around her head in her mother's weary voice.

Mother always sounded tired when speaking of Father.

Agatha doesn't think she had ever stopped mourning the long dead man.

Some days, rarely, when things got particularly bad, Agatha thinks it would've been better if the universe had decided to kill her instead.

Even then, she usually pushes the thought away.

She's always been a survivor.

It's what gets her through the cruelty she experiences at the hands of those around her.

So Agatha pushes on, and she dives deeper and deeper into dark magic, finding it soothing and a respite from the constant pain she's in, though she's disappointed to discover a spell will only do that for so long before she needs to sneak one of the books forbidden to her to find a more intense spell.

Logically, she's aware it's acting a bit like the addictive substances Mother sometimes prescribes to one of her patients, that her body becomes immune to the effects of the rapidly increasingly large doses of something that will eventually kill her.

But she isn't thinking logically, she can't, not when the dark magic not only feels good in a way Agatha has never experienced before, but when it numbs and soothes away the aches of her scars, specifically the ones left from the manacles she's so often forced to wear.

She hadn't even noticed how swollen the joints in her hands had become until now, with the dark magic keeping it down.

Cleaning and cooking and shopping, even practicing her magic, it all suddenly became easier.

Even neutral magic.

Agatha begins to suspect perhaps the manacles have done more than just suppress her magic.

That they have done some sort of irreparable damage to her.

And for that, for screwing with Agatha's ability for magic, however unknowingly, Agatha hates her mother for.

Magic has been her only reliable companion.

No one touches her magic like that and gets away with it.

She's determined to find a way to fix it, to reverse the damage.

Agatha begins to sneak books in earnest now.

She has plenty of free time during the day to do so.

The trick is to never be caught.

She dreads to even think about what Mother would do if she found Agatha delving further and further into the art of dark magic.

Her natural magic. Something whispers to her late at night, when the rest of the town is asleep.

Mother is trying to keep you from what is rightfully yours. Don't let her.

Agatha thinks nothing of it.

Her anger is justified.

As is her fear.

Mother still punishes her with great frequency.

Agatha continues to retreat into herself.

If she appears dull, broken, perhaps Mother will become satisfied with the woman she appears to have become.

Perhaps being so lonely will begin to hurt less.

Even Elise has stopped coming by.

From what Agatha can gather, she has a suitor now.

Her friendship with Caitlin had never quite recovered from when she had permanently disfigured the other woman by accident as a child.

Agatha could hardly blame her.

That does not mean she doesn't hold her loneliness against either of them, however unfair that may be.

Mother is the only other person she sees with certain regularity.

Mother makes for a poor friend.

She makes for a poor mother too.

Agatha turns to her magic in an attempt to combat how alone she feels.

At some point, she doesn't feel foolish for talking aloud to it.

Oddly enough, Mother doesn't punish her for it, when she finds Agatha talking to her magic one day, home unexpectedly early.

She doesn't address it either.

Agatha will take her victories where she can get them.

The years while living them felt as if they had been dragging on, but all too quickly, Agatha rapidly approaches her twentieth.

She's coming of proper age.

Mother grows more lenient with her as the date of her birthday grows closer, her excitement clear.

It makes Agatha nervous.

Agatha is right to be.

A few days before the special gathering Mother had arranged for her birthday, she discovers Agatha pouring over an especially dark tome.

Agatha hadn't even realized she had been caught before Mother's vice like grip was leaving an angry bruise on her arm, yanking her up to her feet and dragging her in silence to the basement.

Panic claws up Agatha's throat.

She knows what it means to be dragged to the basement.

But it's not the wall of Mother's office she's shoved against.

Mother doesn't even go near her office door.

Instead, she drags Agatha through a door she's only ever seen this side of.

Immediately she feels so violently ill, she worries she's going to vomit.

“Mama, what's behind this door? You never let me touch it.”

“You never want to know what's behind that door. It's where we keep witches until they can stand on trial for betrayal to the coven. Promise me, never will you break coven law.”

“Oh. Okay. I promise Mama.”

Agatha blinks away the vestiges of the memory.

She couldn't have been older than seven.

Not if she had been still calling Mother Mama.

Agatha stumbles as Mother shoves her through the door, letting it close behind her, and she shivers from how cold the small stone room is.

She doesn't bother to try a spell to warm herself up.

She doesn't have to look toward the ceiling to know there will be intricate runes preventing her from using her magic.

Agatha picks a corner and curls up.

Something wet slides down her cheek as she focuses on her breathing, on keeping her sudden nausea down.

She lets herself cry.

There isn't a risk of being seen.

Not that it matters.

I'm going to die.

Agatha wishes she could say she felt a sense of peace at the prospect. At least that way, the waiting won't feel so bad.

She only feels more panicked.

I don't want to die.

Her deep, shuddering breaths echo, taunting her.

Weak. It says. Weak.

She feels weak.

Agatha falls asleep.

When she wakes up, she pushes herself back into unconsciousness.

But she can only force her body to sleep for so long, and the cold makes her scars ache.

She doesn't know how long she's kept in the room when Mother returns, carrying a slice of bread and a cup of water.

A prisoner’s fare.

“I don't suppose there's anything I can say to fix the situation.” She rasps out as she accepts the food.

Mother doesn't respond, waiting around only long enough for Agatha to finish her drink so that she may take the cup back upstairs.

It's an answer all on its own.

Not that Agatha had asked it as a question anyhow.

Time quickly loses its measure, and her only way of telling a significant amount of it has passed is when Mother brings her meals.

Or rather, her slice of bread and cup of water.

It becomes a routine, though Agatha feels suffocated by the loneliness.

Unable to access her magic, it no longer sings back to her when she talks to it.

She very quickly stops trying to.

It only serves to exacerbate her loneliness.

And then Mother changes the routine, dangling the manacles Agatha has often experienced from her fingertips.

She knows better than to fight it, when Mother gestures for her to allow her to put them on her.

And then she utters a single word.

“Walk.”

Agatha hates herself for hoping that her trial has finally arrived.

She also hates herself for feeling relieved when Mother leads her to the kitchen, and points clearly to a chair.

Agatha sits.

Mother sits across from her.

And then she proceeds to tell her the most outrageous tale of queens and heirs and magical crowns.

If Agatha wasn't so dehydrated, she would have spat in her mother's face.

It hurts to talk, her voice rough from misuse, but that does not stop her from spitting a different sort of disgust.

After all, if she really was Mother's heir in the sense that the other woman has woven a story of, then Mother should not have mistreated her so grossly.

Agatha's survival instinct flees as she rejects her birthright.

I am no daughter of yours.

She's thrown back into the stone room, but not before she steals one last look at the sunlight through a window, and notes that some of the leaves have started to change colors.

She had been locked away for a while.

Three, maybe four months.

Her trial will be soon.

She had just turned down her one opportunity to escape it.

A part of her feels foolish.

Another feels vicious pleasure at knowing that Mother's legacy will die with her.

She's too old to have another child, even with magic's assistance, and she will never be given someone else's child to raise at this age either.

Oddly enough, that's what brings Agatha a sense of peace.

Mother will not be able to inflict her cruelty upon another innocent.

And Agatha used to be innocent.

Before Mother.

“Mama! Mama, look, I found a flower! I picked it for you.”

“Where did you find this? It's the dead of winter, Ata.”

“Behind the house. Look, it glows.”

“You must be very careful, little witch. You can only use your magic when we have the house to ourselves. But this flower is very pretty. Thank you for picking it for me.”

Her memories of Mama are far and few between, and they hurt worse than anything Mother has ever done.

Perhaps it's because they are the same woman, and Agatha had once known what it felt like to have Mother's love.

Her skin itches.

She finds herself longing for things she should not long for.

She hates herself for that.

Weak. The walls echo again. Weak.

She curls her hands into fists.

Her nails dig into the soft flesh of her palm.

She bleeds where crescent shaped cuts form.

Let it be a sacrifice to the Goddess. She thinks. Let the blood of my suffering appease Her for whatever my past life has done to anger Her so.

Mother doesn't wait long to send two of Agatha's sister witches to fetch her for her trial.

It must be deliberate that she sends Caitlin and Elise.

Suddenly, Agatha's dignity seems to flee, and she finds herself begging, shouting for mercy.

Her childhood friends pay no mind, and it's Caitlin who ties her to the stake.

Poetic, she supposes.

Agatha Harkness, are you a witch.

I am a witch.

It doesn't escape her notice that Mother does not join the coven in casting Agatha in magic that tears at her own, burning and burning and burning.

It always burns.

And then she feels her own magic, angrily pushing against her chest, and something snaps, and she groans with the sensation.

Bright, burning lines of blue turn purple, and Agatha isn't controlling it as it pulls.

She can feel her tears drying on her cheeks.

She pleads.

I can be good.

No, you cannot.

Mother condemns her.

Mother has condemned her the moment she went from Mama to Mother, and Agatha can only feel the rush of her magic as she wins the battle for her life, giving Mother's in exchange for her own.

She doesn't know what to feel, so she doesn't.

She descends the stairs on the raised platform, and makes her way over to her mother's body.

Her brooch catches her eye.

“Why do you always wear that pin, Mama? None of the other mothers wear one.”

“It was a gift from your father. It's one of the only things I have left of him.”

“You have me!”

“I do have you. Now run along, I need to finish this up, and I don't want you to distract me.”

Agatha takes the brooch.

She ends up back home.

For the first time in months, Agatha sleeps in her bed.

When she wakes up, she ransacks the house, using a liberal amount of dark magic to create a pocket space to store all of the things she wishes to keep.

Books, kitchenware, the rocking chair that Mother said Father had made.

The boxes full of love letters between her parents that she discovered underneath her mother's bed.

By the time she's done, the house looks empty.

Hollow.

It matches the feeling in her chest.

She flees Salem before the witch-hunt can make their way to her.

And there will be a witch-hunt, of that she is certain.

She takes Mother's horse, and doesn't bother with the cart.

It will only slow her down.

She makes her way to the city of New York, and spends the increasingly cold nights out in the wilderness for the week it takes to travel there.

She pulls out Mother's carefully kept business papers, and tracks down the man who she had everything handled through.

She sells the horse with his help, and he buys her the small house she wants with her money.

Agatha knows she'll have to replace him very soon, before the news of her being a witch can reach the rumor mills of New York, if she wants to keep hold on her newly inherited business.

It's a bit of a learning curve, but she manages.

Some time passes, and one day some mysterious person demands a meeting with her.

And refuses to accept her new right hand is the one in charge of the business.

They introduce themselves as the Sorcerer Supreme, and somehow manage to wrangle Agatha into a small building they call their Sanctum.

Agatha leaves.

Many times.

And every time, without fail, they fetch her back.

Insist that it's important that Agatha learns from them.

Sorcery is just wannabe witchcraft. Agatha would sneer. I have no use for such… Pale imitations.

And then she discovers a spell, one based in sorcery, that permanently takes away the chronic pain that she lives with from her scars.

Well, the ones on her back are soothed away.

Her wrists are another story, and dark magic continues to be the only remedy.

She's a more willing student after that.

She spends a few years studying under the Sorcerer Supreme, splitting her time between that and running her business.

They finally trust that she will return to the Sanctum willingly, and are content to allow Agatha to once more live in the small house she has now long since called home.

And then one day, while she is walking home from purchasing groceries, a small lad runs by and trips over his feet, panic evident on his face.

Agatha hears an angry bellow, and a man thunders around the corner, the stench of booze wafting from him.

For Goddess sake, it's only noon.

Agatha doesn't think as she scoops the young child up, quickly stepping towards a more crowded street.

“Will your mother protect you?” Agatha asks.

She has no intention of stealing this child.

The young boy shakes as he sways his head back and forth, blubbering.

“Dead?”

Perhaps it's cruel to ask it so callously, but Agatha has always known what it's like to be missing a parent.

The boy nods.

Ah.

“Will anyone look for you?”

The boy shakes his head again.

“Very well.”

She weaves her way expertly through the city, making her way back towards home.

She gently sets the little boy on her couch, and fetches a cloth and dampens it, her long buried material instinct returning.

She wipes his face down gently, the way she used to, years and years ago, when she had watched over the children of Salem.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” She asks as she goes about her task.

“My arm.”

The boy finally speaks, shy and hesitant.

Agatha does not blame him for sounding that way.

“Hold it out, let me see.”

She doesn't know how she missed that the bone was broken, but now that she's been shown it, she bites her lip, before sighing.

“I can heal it.”

The boy frowns, but doesn't say anything.

“What? Spit it out, speak your mind. I won't hurt you for that.”

Agatha regrets her inability to be anything but blunt, but it seems that the directness relaxes the child.

“He'll just rip the castings off.”

He as in the man that had been chasing him.

Agatha wonders if it was the boy's father.

She assumes so.

“I meant I can heal it with magic.”

In the great big city of New York, who will believe a tiny, beaten tyke of an accusation of witchcraft?

The boy’s eyes go wide, but he doesn't scream or try to run.

“Prove it.” Is what he says instead.

So Agatha proves it.

The boy is astonished, and demands she teaches him.

She brings him to the Sorcerer Supreme instead.

“A child, Agatha?” They sigh.

“I won't leave him to his abuser.” She insists. “If you won't take him…”

I will.

But she wouldn't.

She only trusts herself so far around children.

They take mercy on her and spare her a dilemma, finding a nearby family willing to take in another mouth to feed with promises of stipend for their troubles.

Agatha's more than happy to pay for it, and the boy is treated well, his foster family acutely aware of his private tutoring.

His name is Nicholas and he is the first of many.

Agatha's eyes have been open to the hungry children that roam the streets, the little humans who wear decent clothes but suffer from a constant plague of bruises and broken bones, and she has more money than she could ever spend on herself.

Some of the children try calling her mama, before she establishes herself as Aunt Agatha.

She would have preferred sister, but when she ran it by Nicholas he had scrunched his young face up and shook his head.

You're too old for me to just call you by your name, Miss Agatha. He had politely said. How about Aunty Agatha instead?

She had taken his advice, though she had knocked off the “y” at the end of “Aunty”, and ever since she has not once had another panic attack due to a little voice trying to call her mama.

The Sorcerer Supreme teases her about the little army of children that look up to her, and Agatha quietly takes it, never once mentioning why she so infrequently speaks with them properly, or why they are all left craving more of her time.

She'd rather they feel she is a busy, yet kind woman, than a present, menacing keeper.

I will not be Mother.

I will not.

The year Nicholas turns thirteen, she leaves New York for a couple of weeks and travels back to Salem.

It's been ten years since she had killed her coven and mother, and she feels the need to torture herself for it.

The Sorcerer Supreme doesn't say anything when Agatha informs them of her travel plans, they simply hand her a key that opens nothing and tells her it's symbolic when she asks what it was for.

She will always have a home within the Sanctum, with the now growing ranks of sorcerers she has helped cultivate.

Raise. The other would argue.

Whatever helps you sleep at night. She would deflect.

Salem is like a punch to the gut, and memories threaten to break her under its pressure.

It doesn't help the first thing she had done was go back to where she had stood trial, to find her magic had somehow mummified the bodies of her long dead coven.

It's been cordoned off, warnings of proof of witchcraft carved into the wooden fence.

Agatha returns them all to the magic they had been born into, even Mother, and their bodies slowly fade, dissolve.

She thinks she hears them all breathe a sigh of relief at finally being given permission to rest.

She mourns properly then, falling to her knees when her sobs overtake everything else, every ounce of her strength leaving her as she cries for her loss.

Loss of a father before she had even been born, loss of a childhood, loss of a mother, loss of a family, a teacher, a community, her ability to see goodness within herself.

There's plenty more.

She stays in the forest for a long while.

When she's all cried out, red-faced and head aching, she makes her way to her childhood home that has been abandoned.

It's clear there was not one soul brave enough to lay claim to a witch’s house, and Agatha slips inside, careful not to leave signs someone has returned home, and sleeps.

Her nightmares are usually bad.

The dream she has instead is worse.

She dreams of a world where her father had lived, where she had been given a proper childhood, her mother a warm, smiling figure.

She calls them Mama and Papa even at the age of thirty.

She has kids of her own, two of them, with a little one on the way, and she knows in that instant it's an impossible dream her subconscious has concocted because her wife slips her arms around Agatha's round belly and gently kisses her cheek as their children play with the grandparents.

Grandmama and Grandpapa.

That's what the children call them, and her parent’s joy at having grandchildren to spoil is evident.

Agatha doesn't know what sort of man her father truly had been, but the dream is very telling as she watches Mother Mama Mother allow herself to be led in a silly little dance by small hands and big smiles.

It's a dream, with everything she has ever wanted, and it only serves to make her feel more alone than she has in years.

She wakes up silently, and is not surprised to discover that she had been crying in her sleep.

Agatha only stays in Salem for one more day, slipping through the marketplace with well practiced ease.

A bit risky, perhaps. It wouldn't be too hard for the wrong person to recognize her.

But she can't resist returning to the one old haunt she had been granted as a child.

And then she senses a flicker of magic, pitifully small, but overbearingly strong.

Impulsively, she follows it.

There should be no more witches in Salem.

It leads her to an old agemate, the daughter of one of the richer folk in Salem.

Agatha struggles to remember her name, but the instant her hand grasps the other woman’s shoulder, a spark of her magic flares, and it leaves both women breathless.

The woman spins around, eyes wide with fear and recognition.

Agatha Harkness? Are you a witch?

I am a witch.

She leaves with a companion.

Wanda has been struggling with her magic for years now, and she requires a teacher.

She wants to be rid of it, and Agatha does not tell her that through seeking proper control, Wanda will learn to love what is so intricate to her very being.

She suspects it would only hinder, not help.

No one comes after them.

Wanda says she left a letter saying she has ran off to be with some penniless boy, one who held her heart, as an excuse.

Agatha is neither penniless nor a boy, and she certainly does not hold the red head’s heart in her palms.

Still, she cracks a joke about being the other woman’s lover, and Wanda blushes with guilt at the thought.

That's a sin.

Our magic is a sin, if you subscribe to their beliefs.

You don't believe in God?

I believe in the Goddess, and I believe in my magic.

She doesn't say she believes in herself because she doesn't.

That would require trust.

Wanda mulls over Agatha's response in silence.

When they arrive in New York, Agatha is forced to introduce Wanda to the near two dozen children she helped keep off the streets and out of harsh hands, Nicholas having waited for her return every day at her home, and dragged them to the Sanctum to say hello to his sorcerer siblings.

The Sorcerer Supreme smiles warmly in welcome to Wanda, and when the other witch gets distracted by an army of children all vying for her attention, they approach Agatha properly, squeezing her hands in theirs and whispers in her ear I'm glad you found her.

Agatha doesn't know how to feel about that.

The kids draft Wanda into their on going war to convince Agatha to become a bigger presence in their life.

It's a struggle, because Wanda will barter her success in learning witchcraft for Agatha to spend time with the little ones.

Agatha holds her tongue, though she finds it's often a close thing to keep herself from bursting out yelling about all the reasons why this will only end in disaster.

Somehow, it doesn't.

Not for years and years.

The city of New York continues to grow and become a sprawling network of humanity, as does the Sanctum.

No longer does it accept every child into the arms of sorcery, but it does help place them in better homes.

The Sorcerer Supreme has long since passed that task off to people Agatha had hired at their behest, and only the children who have a spark of something more in them ever make it to the Sanctum’s doors these days.

Nicholas comes of age, and requests Agatha fund an orphanage.

Wanda is all for the idea, and she leaves it in their hands to plan out.

When she had said as much, Wanda had excitedly given her a kiss on the cheek, before turning as red as her hair, excusing herself and rushing out of the room, as Nicholas laughed into the shocked silence.

You're good for each other, Ma.

Since when did you call me Ma?

Nicholas had shrugged and given her an easy grin.

You've been the first mother figure in my life. But I promise to keep it just to teasing.

He has the nerve to wink, and Agatha wonders if it's a normal reaction to feel a violent urge in response.

I will not become Mother.

She shoves it away, and offers a pained smile.

I'd rather you didn't at all. She says instead. I'm nobody's mother.

Nicholas just gives her a look, before he too, leaves.

He hadn't been wrong about Wanda being good for her, and she realizes one day that they've been dating for a long time.

She doesn't feel the need to define the relationship, but Wanda does, though it's months and months after Agatha had come to her conclusion.

Wanda brings her a crown made of dandelions and baby's breath, and asks her if she'd like to make it official.

Girlfriends or wives?

Does it look like I have a ring, Harkness?

And then one day Wanda says the wrong thing completely by accident and sends Agatha spiraling into a flashback in front of some of the kids from the orphanage that has been up and running for a few years now, and in her distress, her magic lashes out.

She was never one for a weak stomach, but the sight of seven small bodies is enough to send her running for the nearest trash can.

Visions of tiny child graves dance in front of her, and she's so overwhelmed by it all that she doesn't notice that Wanda has confirmed the little ones are not dead, merely knocked unconscious.

Agatha refuses to go anywhere near kids after that.

I won't turn into Mother, Wanda. I'd rather die.

Her partner drops the subject after that, but there's a noticeable increase of sad looks thrown her way.

Both Nicholas and the Sorcerer Supreme try to talk her around, but she won't hear anything of it.

She chooses, instead, to ask Wanda if she'd be willing to move somewhere quiet with her.

Away from the city.

They're nearing their forty-sixth birthdays, though they don't look a day over twenty-five, and they're been in each other's lives for close to two decades now.

Somehow Wanda can tell Agatha won't stay, with or or without her girlfriend, and so she agrees.

They pack up, and Agatha lets her magic guide her to somewhere that will be healing for her.

She's tired of ignoring how broken she feels.

Wanda pops the question around their little campfire one night, weeks into their travels.

The band is simple, made of strong silver, and matches none of the gold jewelry that Agatha prefers.

My color. Wanda had explained. Because a part of me will always belong to you. But I also bought a gold one. I'll be happy to have either.

Agatha accepts the silver one.

She likes the idea of it standing out in its simplicity.

And she equally likes the idea of Wanda wearing a marital ring in her color.

There's no need for witnesses when they have magic, and when Wanda shows Agatha how much she had delved into the history of witches' marriage rites, she can't help but kiss her, laying her flat on the ground.

But Wanda won't let Agatha show her proof of her love for the red headed witch, instead, insisting on continuing to wait to tie the knot.

The consummation of our vows may not be affected by our purity. She had murmured. But I always thought it was sweet, to save yourself. It's like a gift you give to your love, unique entirely because it's your first.

Agatha would not deny Wanda of her desire.

They marry the next day, calling down on the Goddess as their witness, and She must have been paying more attention than they could have anticipated, because when they perform the magic of the ritual, an unseen, yet unbreakable bond forms, and they realize that they have found their soulmate within one another.

Wanda's magic swirls joyfully, always more powerful with her emotions, and Agatha tilts her head back and moans as Wanda kisses her way down her neck.

There is only one person Agatha will be truly vulnerable to.

They find themselves settling in what will one day be known as Colorado, and they slowly begin to build a life with just the two of them.

Magic pushes at Agatha to build more than the cozy little home she and Wanda so painstakingly created, and they find their days filled with farming and construction, until it feels like they live in a ghost village.

It clicks, one day, when the peaceful quiet is broken by the sounds of travelers.

Agatha feels a rush of panic.

She recognizes them, though they are all much older since she's last seen them, and there are many new, young faces.

Their leader is surprised.

Agatha Harkness?

Cheryl Winston.

Agatha greets the elderly witch mother in a flat tone.

And then Wanda steps forward, her hand protectively laying against Agatha's waist and asks why there appears to be a whole coven misplaced.

Their tale is a long one.

Magic had guided them here.

Agatha welcomes them to what she on the spot calls New Salem and helps them settle into the empty homes she and Wanda have spent months building.

Cheryl, someone who Agatha had picked up had a great deal of animosity towards her mother while Evanora Harkness had been living, requests to talk to Agatha privately.

Agatha is astounded to discover Mother had not been exaggerating all those years ago when she had told Agatha of Atlantis, and of the blood that flows through her veins.

She's outright shocked when Cheryl bows her head and clasps a fist over her heart and swears Agatha as her queen.

She finds magic speaking for her.

She accepts, and somehow, she becomes leader of a safe haven for witchkind overnight.

Cheryl suggests she changes the name of the village to New Atlantis.

One day, it will once more be a thriving queendom. Pay homage to our past.

Agatha doesn't fully trust the elderly witch, but she takes her advice.

Agatha unofficially appoints her as her advisor as well.

Mother. She confesses to Cheryl the next day. Only once ever told me of my birthright.

She does not go into the details, but Agatha is certain it must be well known within the coven circles by now that she had single handedly killed hers.

Wanda is the one who holds Agatha together during the adjustment period.

Agatha finds that she despises being treated the way Cheryl's coven seems to think a queen should be, and she equally despises that the only way to get them to stop is to quite literally lay down the law.

She begins to suffer from routine anxiety attacks.

I don't want this, Wans. I'm scared.

And Goddess bless her wife, Wanda simply holds her through it all, kisses her gently, and reassures her.

Leadership will not be the thing to turn you cruel. She whispers. As long as you remember that your power was given to you by your people, and that it lies in their happiness and well-being.

More covens follow the first, as does the odd lone witch, and both Cheryl and Wanda insist they swear a basic oath of peace to the queen.

To Agatha.

Most eventually swear an oath deeper than that, after living in New Atlantis for some time, and Agatha never stops hating the words of obedience to the crown that fall from their lips.

And then Nicholas arrives, throwing the now bustling town into panic when he steps through the sling ring portal.

Agatha makes a note that New Atlantis will need a place for unconventional travelers to arrive and depart from, even as she hugs the man she had once saved when he was just a small child.

The Sorcerer Supreme has asked that I extend an invitation on their behalf to write up a treaty between New Atlantis and the Sanctums.

Cheryl had started to say something unkind about sorcery and Agatha immediately shut it down.

I have used sorcery every day for decades now, and the Supreme is a long time friend. I would be very pleased to have a treaty between our people.

It's a simple thing, and quickly written up and signed.

New Atlantis gains its first ally.

Cheryl's initial prediction comes to pass as the years move along, and by the time Agatha speaks a eulogy for her at a state funeral, New Atlantis is a vibrant queendom.

New Salem, the original village that had started it all, is its capital city, with sprawling towns that had grown around it.

Agatha and Wanda still live in their cozy home, but several families willingly relocated in order to create a big enough plot of land for a proper palace.

It had not been a Agatha Approved plan, but it had been a state one.

Agatha is very firm about it being a place of work only.

I have no want of such a large, empty home. I have enough ghosts, and there is no need to give them the space to roam. She vents to Wanda.

And then there's an assassination attempt, and the people will not be ignored any longer.

They want to feel that their queen is safe.

She is forced to move into the palace.

She feels spiteful over it, and informs only Wanda that she'll be gone for a week.

She goes to stay at the New York Sanctum.

Nicholas is over the moon to have her nearby for that time.

I miss seeing you in person, Ma.

I am no one's mother, Nick.

She doesn't mention how it's slowly becoming a point of contention between her and Wanda.

Wanda, she is discovering, desperately would like a child, and seems to think Agatha will make for a great parent.

Mother's ghost haunts her, and she rolls her shoulders in an attempt to dispel the phantom pain that pulls at her back.

It doesn't make it worse so Agatha will count it as a victory.

When the week is up, she returns to her new home, and feels significantly more prepared to overcome the change.

Which is to say, she's no longer feeling spiteful enough to abuse her position or power.

It scares her, that it was even a remote possibility, but Wanda soothes away her fears, reminds Agatha that she had done the healthy thing and taken the space and time she had needed.

Reminds her that the people may have raised her above as their queen, but that she is still very human, and is allowed the flaws of her humanity.

Her wife deserves the world, and she tells her as such, and gets a laugh in response.

Her wife is also a manipulative little shit, and Agatha one day finds a young child running around their private quarters.

I told Nicholas we'd foster a kid.

I won't use a child as a test run, Wanda.

Of course not. There are no test runs. You either do, or you don't.

Agatha hates how easily she gets pulled into the kid’s orbit, and she hates how Aunt Agatha sounds the same way coming from them as Mama would.

Their name is Gial and they're four.

By the time they're eighteen, Agatha has allowed them to use her surname, and she has given up trying to insist that they are not her child.

Nicholas is very smug about the whole thing, because he finally won his right to call himself her son as well.

It didn't seem very fair to Agatha to let Gial call themselves her child and not Nicholas.

Not when he had been the first.

And so in the space of a decade Agatha gained two children of her own, though neither of them call her Mama or are of her bloodline.

Agatha finally agrees to try for a baby and Wanda is over the moon.

I have not become Mother. She tells herself. And I will not become her in the future. I won't allow it.

The fear is still bone deep, and she hides her growing panic.

And then she tests positive.

The night she does, she dreams.

Had you meant it?

Even after all these years, something instinctive in Agatha shrinks back from the sound of her mother's voice.

Had you meant it when you said you were no daughter of mine?

Yes. She had.

Really? Because I see a strong daughter of House Harkness, leading as is her natural birthright and legacy.

Agatha may be older now, but she finds herself scrambling for a response like she's a child all over again.

Father was a Harkness before he married you.

Mother frowns, and Agatha flinches back.

Mother frowning was never a good thing, though she had done it constantly.

The Harkness line, as all bloodlines of witchcraft, is matriarchal.

I don't care!

Agatha shouts, long buried fear and anger rushing through her.

I am not your daughter. Let New Atlantis have a new bloodline. I've yet to bear a child and it's not too late for me to take Wanda's name. You think I won't do anything to have your legacy die with you? You were cruel, and vicious, and you don't deserve to be remembered.

The dream swirls around her and it makes her head spin.

She's yanked through warped memories.

Agatha wakes up screaming.

Wanda won't let her discard the Harkness name.

Like it or not, it has too much meaning now. She says. Create a new legacy instead. A brighter, happier one. You're already doing that, even if you haven't realized it yet.

When Agatha goes into labor and gives birth, she does not name her daughter after anyone.

She and Wanda had poured over lists of names and had settled on Claire Elizabeth.

Claire, Wanda had come up with, had said it could mean bright or shining, and they had agreed that it was fitting to name their daughter after their shared joy.

Elizabeth had just… Naturally attached itself to the first name.

Wanda had been happy to inform Agatha that it had roots in her own heritage, that it was derived from the name Elisheva, and Agatha wouldn't trade the beaming smile Wanda had given her in that moment for the world.

Agatha refuses to allow New Atlantis to even catch an official glimpse of her daughter, wishing to protect all of their privacy, until two years later, marking another decade’s pass since she had been crowned queen.

The celebrations start an hour before the little princess’s bedtime, and the cheerful goodnight wishes sound out through the cool night air as both Agatha and Wanda slip inside to tuck their daughter in.

Gial had kindly offered to stay overnight so that Agatha and Wanda could both stay and partake in the celebrations, and once they're sure everything is fine and settled, they return to resounding cheers.

Nearly two and a half years later, Wanda gives birth to their second daughter, and this one is named after those who have passed.

Evalyn, for a part of Agatha still loves her mother, and for the grandmother Wanda has only heard stories of, and Grace, for a father she had never met.

What's a sibling name? Wanda had asked.

Fuck if I know. Agatha had replied. But I like it.

Wanda had startledly laughed at her wife's use of crude language and agreed the name was suiting.

Claire Elizabeth modeled her Big Sister role to Evalyn Grace after how Gial and Nicholas treated her, but she also took cues from her Mama and Ima.

We're raising a good kid. Agatha realizes.

We sure are. Wanda gives her cheek a kiss, and Agatha wraps her arms tighter around her wife.

There's a bit of a fight between Agatha and her people as her girls grow older and they start throwing around the phrase an heir and a spare because neither of her daughters will be seen as lesser than the other, and neither of them will have a crown forced upon their heads should they not want it.

Agatha hadn't wanted it.

She greatly looks forward to retirement.

And then Wanda, half unplanned, half planned, gets Agatha pregnant again, nearly ten years after Evalyn Grace was born, and they welcome Celeste Camille into their family.

Gial brings their husband with them to meet the little infant, and Nicholas pops in for the day.

The Sorcerer Supreme is absent, and Agatha misses her oldest friend dearly, but today is a day of joy and celebration, and not one of mourning.

Agatha has done enough mourning in her long life, and today she is surrounded by her family.

Hey, Ma. Nicholas grins easily as he reaches for his new baby sister.

I just spent a day and a half in labor and you choose to bully me?

Gial’s marriage is still fresh, and their husband looks a bit out of his depth, so Agatha gestures that Celeste Camille should be passed to him.

You're family now, hon. She tells him, and he nervously grins as he immediately starts gently bouncing in order to rock the small infant in his arms.

Gial beams at her, and Agatha can sense a bone crushing hug in her near future.

And then Wanda decides it's okay for her to co-opt the hospital bed Agatha is in for her recovery, and she finds herself distracted trying to shove her wife off.

Children. Claire Elizabeth shakes her head disapprovingly, turning towards Evalyn Grace. Our parents are children.

Evalyn Grace giggles and agrees, and an emotion Agatha can't place settles on top of her chest.

Wanda pulls her close, tucking her underneath her head and pressing a kiss to the top of her skull.

Lucky. Agatha decides. I feel lucky.

She's surrounded by her family, her children and she has not become her mother.

She is now confident she won't ever become like her.

And she feels lucky that Wanda hadn't given up on her, that Nicholas had pushed and pushed, that Gial had come into their lives, and that between the three of them, Agatha had found within herself the bravery to have her own children, to make it a conscious decision instead of something that just happened through circumstance.

She smiles against Wanda's chest.

She has five wonderful, caring children.

She feels warmth spread through her at the thought.

Agatha has always known she had wanted to be a mother.

And here she is.

#sky writes #sky's fics #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x wanda maximoff #c: agatha #evanora harkness #c: evanora #kathryn hahn #angst #dark themes

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saiyansimp · 2 years

Note

Maybe some kinda angst/hurt/comfort with KakaVege or something?

Out of Commission

Vegeta can't help but feel guilty when Goku lands in the hospital .

I hope this is alright !! I wanted to switch it up and make Goku the one getting hurt rather than Vegeta. Additionally, I'm still very new to writing these two, so lmk if there's anything I can improve on!

The battle against Team Universe 6 was still a day and a half away, which meant that Goku and Vegeta still had the equivalent of a year and a half to train within the hyperbolic time chamber. Desperate to be in the best shape possible, Goku and Vegeta had been pushing themselves to the limit ever since they found out about the tournament.

Despite initially being the more eager one to train, Goku seemed to be a bit slower than he usually was. He’d make up excuses such as needing to use the bathroom, getting hungry, or even admitting he needed more rest, but Vegeta could see how pale Goku got during their fights, how he would be left wheezing afterwards. Of course, Vegeta didn’t mind this - he was actually relieved that this all-powerful saiyan also was getting winded and needing breaks.

Goku must have really been pushing himself to the limit, Vegeta figured, considering they were barely four hours into their training when Goku sank to the ground, clutching his chest.

“Hey, is it alright if I go get a snack?” Goku’s usual happy demeanor seemed forced, though Vegeta once again figured that he was finally getting stronger than his rival.

“Go ahead. Whatever you think will help you gain an upper-hand on me,” he sneered. Goku rushed inside, his hand still lingering on his chest. Vegeta sat down and gazed out into the ever-extending whiteness. The longer he stared, the more he felt the doubt creep in. No matter how hard he assured himself that everything was fine, Vegeta just couldn’t shake the fact that something was going on with Goku. It was unlike him to quit, even for a snack break. Usually he was able to hold out until they both conceded. This was the man who beat Frieza: could Vegeta really have surpassed him in such a short amount of time?

I wish that were the case. Vegeta’s expression turned sour. He couldn’t deny the truth: Goku wasn’t himself. He debated whether or not to end the training early - while it would be a complete waste of a day, which Vegeta resented, it would be better than possibly causing permanent injury to one of the strongest fighters in the universe.

“Kakarot, how about we -” Vegeta’s words were cut off by a loud thud, and a muffled groan from inside. “Kakarot?” He called inside, but he received no response.

Vegeta rushed inside, finding Goku inside of the bedroom, collapsed and unconscious. Vegeta was frozen for a moment: what happened? Goku couldn’t have collapsed from exhaustion, could he? They hadn’t been training that hard. If he had, then it would be best to let him sleep it off. But what if it was something more? Begrudgingly, Vegeta approached Goku, placing a hand hesitantly on his clammy chest. Goku’s heart was pounding so quickly that Vegeta couldn’t count the beats.

He was stunned. What had happened to Goku? He had been fine before training, acting nonchalant while getting ready for training. It wasn’t until they began fighting that he started to physically deteriorate. Vegeta had never seen him get this way during any real battle: what had been different this time around?

It didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was getting him somewhere where he could recover. Vegeta lifted Goku up and exited the bedroom, trying to ignore how Goku’s rapid heart rate was growing less and less pronounced.

“Leave it to my idiot husband to almost kill himself like this. I swear - he never knows when to quit!” Chichi complained to Vegeta and Bulma, all of whom were sitting in the hospital waiting room. Goku had been admitted as quick as possible, but that didn’t stop Vegeta from worrying that it hadn’t been quick enough. Maybe, he thought, if he had interfered quicker, Goku could have received help sooner…

Don’t be an idiot, Vegeta scolded himself while tuning out Chi-Chi’s ranting, I brought him back to earth as quickly as possible. In fact, if it weren’t for me, he could be dead.

“Vegeta, are you alright? You’re looking a little pale. Don’t tell me you need to be admitted too,” Bulma joked, a crooked smile quickly forming and fading upon seeing his expression. “Hey, relax, Goku will be fine. He always ends up alright.”

“He won’t be fine when I’m done with him,” Chi-Chi grumbled. “If you two weren’t so reckless, maybe we wouldn’t be here right now!”

“That’s not fair, Goku’s been fine up until this point. They weren’t being reckless, they were just doing what they always do!” Bulma pointed out before turning to Vegeta. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? You couldn’t have known.” “I am not beating myself up. I know Kakarot will be just fine.” Vegeta insisted hotly. However, his gaze remained glazed-over and weary until a doctor finally approached them.

“Miss, your husband suffered a moderate heart attack,” the doctor had his full attention on Chi-Chi, who just grew angrier with every word. “He should be fine, so long as he stops the strenuous activity for a few months, at least. He’s not conscious yet, but if you’d like to visit -”

“No thank you, doctor. My husband got himself into this mess, he can get himself out of it. I swear, it’s like he has a death wish!” Chi-Chi stood up suddenly. “Thank you for all of your help, Doctor, but you clearly don’t know Goku. If you think he’ll stop training for even a moment then you’re crazy.” With that, she stormed out of the hospital, leaving the doctor speechless. He finally turned his attention to Vegeta and Bulma, as though noticing them for the first time.

A heart attack? Vegeta didn’t even realize that saiyans could suffer from those. They were naturally more physically fit than humans, though he supposed they had the same anatomy. Perhaps Goku had been training a bit too hard…

“Would either of you like to visit him?” Vegeta was jolted back to the present at the doctor’s words.

“I would! Vegeta?” Vegeta responded with a curt nod and silently stood up, stalking towards the double doors behind the check-in counter.

“Ah, you’re finally awake! You have some visitors here to see you.” The doctor led Vegeta and Bulma into Goku’s room. “I’ll give you all some time alone.”

Once the doctor left, Goku let out a raspy chuckle. “Sorry about all this, guys. I don’t know what happened.”

“What happened is you’ve been training too much, you idiot.” Despite her harsh words, Bulma had a smile on her face as she spoke. “Whatever. I’m just glad you’re alright!” She leaned against the wall while Vegeta just stood, staring wordlessly at him.

“Yeah, I guess I’m lucky. Man, I wish I wasn’t stuck in here though. We need to get back to training! The tournament’s in a day.”

“You’re not competing,” Vegeta stated, crossing his arms, turning his gaze to the only window in the room. “The doctors want you to rest for at least two months.”

“What? But I have to! Beerus will be pissed…” Goku thought for a moment before his face lit up. “Hey, what if I healed in that recuperation tank at Capsule Corp headquarters? That thing can heal anything!”

“That’s not a bad idea!” Bulma lifted her brows in surprise. “I’ll go call my dad and see if he can get it ready for us. When do you think you’ll be released?”

“I’m not sure. Do you think if you mentioned to the doctors that we’ve got this machine we can use, they’ll let me out earlier? Maybe then I’ll have time to train a bit before the tournament!”

Vegeta’s jaw tightened. Was he the only one who understood the severity of the situation? This was the first time Goku had overworked himself. He could have died from this, and if he had, he probably couldn’t have been revived. The dragon balls can do a lot of things, but they can’t revive someone who died of natural causes.

“It couldn’t hurt! I’ll see what I can do.” Bulma strode out of the room, searching for her cellphone. Vegeta stiffly remained in place, his gaze still glued to the window.

“Hey, I’m sorry for ruining our training session today. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, I promise! I’ll fight at full power in the tour -”

“You could have died.” His voice was quiet, but it was enough to stop Goku short. “Is nobody going to acknowledge the fact that you almost died?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.” “You imbecile! A heart attack is a natural cause of death, and we’ve already revived you twice! Where in this universe could we find another set of dragon balls, nevermind a set that revives those who die naturally?” Vegeta couldn’t stop himself from seething. “I never thought you to be this selfish, Kakarot. Even if we can heal you in time, that won’t stop you from overworking yourself in the future.”

Goku was silent for a moment, seemingly thinking. Finally, he said, “I guess I should’ve rested after fighting Beerus. That’s when I started to feel funny, but I didn’t think anything of it, since the pain in my chest would come and go, y’know?” “You’ve been feeling this way for a while, and you didn’t tell anyone?” Vegeta’s tone was icy as he finally glared down at Goku. “You don’t get the privilege of being reckless with your life. You’re too important to this planet.”

“Well, I would have told someone if it got worse!” “It did get worse. Look around, Kakarot. You’re in the hospital. You’ve got everybody worried.” You’ve got me worried.

“I know, I know, I guess I just thought I was invincible…are you mad at me?” Vegeta scoffed at Goku’s childish tone.

“No, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.” He shook his head. “If I had waited any longer to help you, you may not have made it to the hospital.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Goku winced, trying to sit up. “I’m the screw-up here. You had no way of knowing!”

“I heard you collapse. I heard you collapse and just sat there, calling to you as if you hadn’t. I knew something was off from the moment we arrived at the chamber yet I still pushed forward, assuming - I really had the audacity to think that I was finally getting stronger than you.” Vegeta turned towards the door and began to pace. He couldn’t let Goku see his face, the way he closed his eyes to stop them from stinging. “You’re my biggest rival, yes, but you can’t die before I beat you. You can’t die and leave everyone on earth vulnerable.”

“Vegeta…” For once, Goku was speechless. He sat there, watching Vegeta pace the hospital room floor, until he continued.

“You need to tell me when you’re ill. I can’t - you can’t rely on me to take care of you, because I won’t.” Despite his biting tone, his voice was thick with emotion.

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who brought me here. If it weren’t for you, I probably would be dead. You need to give yourself a little bit of credit.”

Vegeta didn’t respond, instead opting to sit in the padded chair next to Goku’s hospital bed. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of the wall clock ticking.

After about fifteen minutes of silence, Bulma finally burst into the room, waving her cellphone around.

“Guys! I managed to convince - okay, bribe - one of the doctors into letting you leave tonight! It wasn’t easy, but -”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna stay here tonight. Maybe getting some rest for once isn’t such a bad idea. Besides,” Goku chuckled, “I doubt Beerus will have a hard time finding a replacement for me for the tournament.”

“Well, it may be harder for him to find two replacements.” “What do you mean?”

Vegeta sniffed. “It would be unfair and unhonorable to continue training while you’re in the hospital. If I’m going to beat you, I shouldn’t be taking any cheap routes to success. If you’re out of commission, so am I.”

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nightrestrp · 10 months

Text

With that, we conclude season 2! We’re currently working on season 3 and we understand that the recent (multiple hehe) self-paras, plot drops and the big reveal can be a lot to deal with so we encourage everyone to take all the time they need. Your mental and emotional health is important to us so if you’re in need of a hiatus, we completely understand! Just please let us know.

I can honestly say this has been our best season so far and I want to take this moment to applaud my fellow admin, Jasmine, for all the hard work she did with her character, and not only for sticking to the storyline, but also for moving it along. This season wouldn't have been as great a success without her dedication and talent. Additionally, I'd like to thank Jasmine and Idalis for all the help with the main this season. Thank you both for your continued dedication to this group and I appreciate you both so much ❤️

Fair warning, this post will be a little long because all updates to end this season will be stated here!

Moving forward, we understand that it can be a big change for a lot of characters so if anyone would like to drop characters or switch one for another or edit anything about your current ones, you’re more than welcome to do so! Just shoot the main a message since we’ll be updating the pages today and tomorrow, and will be going back to our regular schedule of acceptances (Mondays, Wednesdays & Fridays). As of right now, you may apply for up to TWO ADDITIONAL MUSES, but this will be on a case by case basis, depending on your activity. The only thing we’re asking is for you to only take on the number of characters you’re sure you can handle. You're more than welcome to send in the apps now!

Like at the start of Season 2, we’ll be having a FACE CLAIM RESET, which means that all face claims of all characters who have died prior to the season finale will be reopened. This means that all the face claims of all characters who died during the Season 1 finale will also be reopened. You may check our TAKEN PAGE to see the updated list of everyone currently taken!

We've added a couple of rules to our RULES PAGE so please go over them!

We’re also asking everyone to UNFOLLOW ALL ACCOUNTS AND ONLY REFOLLOW THE ONES THE MAIN CONTINUES TO FOLLOW, because the main will no longer follow dead/retired/killer characters’ blogs moving forward, though all self-paras will still be linked in the timeline page!

Also, this is over a week late but HAPPY SIX MONTHS of Nightrest being open! I can't believe we've been open for over half a year, and this is another cause for celebration. I'm genuinely so, so, so grateful for everyone here, for the dedication to this group and the plot and all your characters and I can't wait to see what the next season will bring!

When it comes to IN CHARACTER INFORMATION, here a few things to take note of:

We are now in real time. The engagement party happened on July 22nd, and it’s been a week since then. You're free to write threads that happened any time between the end of the event until now, or continue your event threads, or start new for the new season. It's all up to you!

People still don’t know who owns the nightrestanonymous Instagram account that tagged Azra and it hasn’t been active since.

It’s now common and accepted knowledge that Adee was the killer and holds responsibility for all deaths and injuries since Enzo was locked up and Kennedy & Peter were killed. You may have your characters wonder if Jake's involvement was greater than just Adee's death, but there will be no proof of that. You may also have your characters wonder if there were more people secretly involved (there weren’t, but you know, curious minds).

Jacob is currently locked up, but won’t be facing that long a sentence. You may check the SEASON 2 TIMELINE page to see which killer was responsible for which death/injury!

I truly hope everybody’s having a great day/night and I’ll be around for the rest of the day if anyone has any questions!

#nightrest:admin

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sparklingpax · 11 months

Note

"Would this make you feel better?" and of course Masterforce for the ask game if you'd like 😄

From this prompt list; yes, requests are still open :3

HII!! I hope this works :D

///

Quick A/n:

-SORRY theres probably typos/mistakes here and there, this was 100% written on my phone; I finally had a good idea for this after two different tries at a story and then being busy with this sudden art project I've taken upon myself to complete hehe (ok unrelated but worth mentioning maybe?? idk--) anyway so. then I tagged along a trip to the park and had like an hour so...here it is ^^''

-set in canon! (insert my usual disclaimer abt what I mean by that ig)

-also, if anyone reading hasn't watched masterforce/did but might have forgotten, it's eluded to the fact that Cab can understand animals in the actual series! Even in a character song!! So...I slipped that in here briefly...just an fyi. I'm not making it up 👍💫

-Writing Hawk being like a kind parental figure is my favorite thing. Dad Hawk Supremacy™ (actually canon)

-Im gonna just put a slight tw for mentions of animal death. Nothing horrible, but it's part of the premise here so...yeah.

-uhhhhhhh.....thats all! Enjoy, I hope...

///

It was all a blur, honestly.

And when Cab had finally returned to the cavern again…it was too late.

A shrill wail of horror went up into the air.

…

"Now, that won't account for irregularities with the alloy when put in contact with the new engine itself."

"It hasn't been tested to that level of heat yet?"

"Not quite. So to that, I'd actually like to suggest placing—"

A loud crash sounded from down the hall, causing Hawk, Ranger, and Diver all to snap upright. Startled, they hesitated to carry on, exchanging looks instead.

The silence hung for a moment longer before there was another loud noise.

This time, worry had immediately seemed to light Hawk's gaze, and he swiveled sharply in the direction of the door. Something tugged at him to leave the room and see what was up.

Perhaps he couldn't call it "parental" instinct, but it was somewhere in that ballpark.

It had struck him, suddenly, that he hadn't seen Cab at all today.

Though perhaps...this time-sensitive discussion should be concluded properly first...?

But the cloud of worry had already formed, beginning to rain immediately. Hawk was now unable to refocus on the discussion at hand, or the idea of it up again.

Was he maybe...jumping to conclusions?

As if to ask their permission, Hawk glanced at the other two, at the papers, then the door again.

Picking up on this, Diver and Ranger looked to one another and gave a short nod of agreement.

"We can pick this up later," Diver prompted as he reached over and started to fold the blueprints back up. Ranger rounded the table, tapping a stiffened Hawk on the shoulder gently.

"This isn't so urgent," he agreed quietly. "Let's go see what's up."

Hawk nodded firmly, gratefully, and took that as a cue to leave the room. He tried to walk out quickly, but found himself almost jogging instead. He figured the others would simply follow, so he didn't think to wait.

Emerging to the hall, he was met with the sight of Shuta's head peeking out from one of the rec rooms. He seemed to be debating stepping out or remaining in place, lip pursed in thought. Catching sight of Hawk and the others, however, seemed to shift his mind to decision, and he scampered up to the three.

"You heard it too?" He asked, blinking up at Hawk as they headed down the corridor. In response, Hawk gave a sharp nod.

They rounded the bend, seeing up ahead a shaft of yellowish light spilling from the crack in the door to the kitchen. Since it was usually the case that doors remained closed when rooms were in use, Hawk deduced that must be where the noise had originated from.

So far, there hadn't been any other noises, except—

Drawing nearer to the door, Hawk held out an arm and motioned the others to stay back. He leaned forward a bit, listening intently.

At first it was hard to make out, but the sound registered immediately after a couple seconds.

It was a small, wavering voice….

….crying?

Hawk felt a twinge in his stomach at the realization.

He immediately darted forward and to the threshold of the open door.

And immediately, felt his heart drop to his feet.

Before him was Cab, knelt on the floor, body wracked with each wordless sob that escaped him. His head was bowed, curled over something he was holding. He seemed unaware of Hawk as stood there, or of the others as they slowly shuffled in, gathering behind him.

Hawk took another step forward, peering closer to see what Cab was holding. He felt himself stiffen upon realizing.

Oh, Cab...

There was a small puppy in his arms, lying haggard....and limp.

Hawk eyes shut for a moment, turning his head downward. He knew without even having to ask or check...its little soul was no more.

No one dared utter a word.

A weighted air hung about the room, as the depressing sight took away whatever any of them could have mustered to say for the moment.

Hawk then listed his eyes and looked over his shoulder at the others, giving a sharp shake of his head. They seemed to get the message.

"I'll...get the simulation prep started, Hawk," Diver murmured quietly, ducking out of the room.

Meanwhile, Ranger had put a gentle hand on Shuta's shoulder.

"Hey, why don't we go finish that program you were trying to show me the other day…"

He ushered the boy in the other direction with a forced, light chuckle. Shuta didn't say a word back, eyes cast to the ground as he went along and out of the room.

Hawk watched them go for a moment, then turned back to Cab, his heart wrenching the more he regarded the sight. Weighing whether it would be more helpful to ask about what happened or simply remain as a presence, he drew closer until he stood right over Cab.

I could never presume to understand how much this hurts for him...

Finally opting for the latter, he knelt carefully and slowly, until they were eye-level, and then said nothing for a couple beats.

Hawk shifted his gaze to regard the animal, its fur matted slightly and its frame thin. Something didn't look right with its body, its bone structure…Hawk looked away again. It hurt too much.

It was their mission on this Earth to protect those who could not defend themselves.

To respect and preserve all life.

To save it.

And yet…we must still witness death.

Then, finally, Cab slowly began to raise his head, revealing a tear-streaked face, and an expression of such raw anguish that it made Hawk's breath catch in his throat. There was a look in the boy's eyes that he'd not yet seen.

For a moment, he almost panicked, not knowing what he should say or do...

Calm down. You just need to be someone there for him.

Hawk stared back at Cab, his own eyes shining with grief. Having known the animal or not, Hawk did regret its passing.

Wait for Cab to tell you what he needs, if he needs anything.

And finally, he did.

"I-I…um…" he reached up to rub at his eyes, trying to wipe away the tears. He took in another shuddering breath before turning his gaze back to Hawk.

"...I f-found her on the w-way back from, uhm…t-the...store…."

Every word wavered with the emotion he seemed to be fighting to hold back. It was like mere sticks holding back a flood.

Hawk simply nodded slowly, patiently. He gave such a calm and gentle expression, Cab felt his breathing begin to even out.

It was alright, the boy remembered.

In this place, it would be alright.

He took another breath and continued.

"S-she was probably a stray, cause...she was just there...starving on that sidewalk, w-walking under people's feet, so…I took her to a…s-safer place..."

Cab squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his head again. His shoulders began to shake with the beginnings of another wave of sobs.

"I should've never left her alone!" He exclaimed, voicing rising. "I-I was just…trying to get her something to eat, cause...cause I didn't have anything w-with me…"

Hawk reached out, gently placing a hand on Cab's shoulder.

"It's my fault she's gone," he whispered, brokenly. The choked noise he made, in an effort to hold back his cries, hurt to hear. But Hawk knew it was necessary for Cab to take his time, let it out as he needed, uninterrupted.

"I-I heard her saying she was hungry so I left...I never shoulda left…" he repeated himself, seeming to clutch the animal closer.

It was with a heavy heart that Hawk realized the first thing to help Cab would be...distancing him from the animal. But for the moment, he simply continued to pat Cab's shoulder, a calming and rhythmic motion that...seemed to be helping.

And finally, Hawk decided to speak.

"Cab," he murmured gently. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But—"

"..."

"Cab," his tone was still as gentle, yet with more firmness. The boy quieted, as if focusing on Hawk's words before he could start to panic again.

"I know you might...feel that you were too slow in getting this animal what it needed."

"I'm...so sorry, Cab. I'm so sorry you went through this….it hurts and you feel at fault…but don't forget that you were trying to help. That's the most important part of all this."

He spoke softly and evenly, holding Cab's gaze.

"All those people in the street, who didn't even think to get someone who could help, that was their choice. You are not at fault for the omission of others."

One should not be made to feel guilty over what's beyond their control.

Cab shifted a bit, his breathing having evened out. He seemed in consideration of those words, as if the thought had never once crossed his mind.

Considering the present state of the animal, Hawk surmised it had been beyond saving when Cab had found it. He only hoped he could get Cab to understand...he shouldn't hold himself personally responsible for the unfortunate inevitable.

But Hawk didn't exactly…know how to say that without it sounding insensitive in one capacity or another. Or at least, he was sure of that much.

Hawk considered saying more, but abandoned the thought as quickly as he'd had it. He ultimately figured that, for the moment, letting the words sink in was a better idea.

And that was the last thing Cab needed at this moment.

What he needed, was quiet. Gentleness. Patience.

So they sat with the silence for a little bit, listening to distant sounds from outside the room, and out the window.

Hawk found his gaze drifting to the objects that had fallen to the floor, accounting for the crash earlier. Judging by their positions, it was likely the result of Cab having stumbled into the room without looking.

Honestly, how could he with what he was preoccupied with? Hawk nodded to himself. Of course, he'd get to cleaning it up later.

As for—

"Uhm…Hawk?"

Hawk jolted a little at his name. He'd gotten lost in his thoughts, he realized. He centered his gaze back on Cab.

"Yes?"

"Can…we…bury her?"

With something of a sad smile, Hawk felt his heart wrench. It was a sight so bittersweet that Hawk felt tears well up in his own eyes.

"Would...this make you feel better, Cab?"

He nodded firmly. He reached up and rubbed at his tears again, now probably dried a bit. He then looked back up.

The smile he gave Hawk was as sad as his own.

"Then...let's do it."

"I think..it'd make her feel better, too."

Hawk gave the boy's shoulder another pat before they both stood up.

Cab smiled, his eyes shimmering with something complex. Somewhere in there, though, they shone with peace.

A single tear slid down his cheek, as he looked at the puppy again, then back at Hawk.

And Cab nodded.

///

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