#depends on whose clocking

[sunsherbet]

Got Milk?

In which you ask your neighbor to borrow a glass of milk for a recipe.

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

CW: None

You wish you could say this was a first for you.

That deep down you were some uber-responsible twenty-something who made their grocery list and checked it twice, but you weren’t. This was the third time this week you’d forgotten something from the grocery store and only realized when it was that exact ingredient your recipe depended on.

It wasn’t even like you cooked often. You were a habitual air-fryer indulger whose culinary portfolio consisted of elevated cup ramen and just-add-water pancakes. 

But your sister was coming over, and you wanted to surprise her with her favorite chili oil pappardelle pasta. Hence, you needed a few more ingredients than your usual frozen dinners required, one of which was milk—an ingredient you realized, as you looked in your fridge, you were completely out of.

The minute hand ticked loudly, and your head snapped up to glance at the cupcake-shaped clock, which was slowly approaching 8:30—giving you less than an hour to finish your meal.

With time counting down, you had two choices for getting the milk: First, you could run down to the corner store and hope the creepy cashier wasn’t working tonight. That normally wouldn’t have been a massive concern, but it was winter, which meant it was dark outside already. And honestly, your sister's pasta just wasn’t worth the risk of dealing with someone who gave you the shivers. That left you with the second choice: flashing your best smile and begging your neighbors for a cup.

To the right of your apartment were Mrs. Hyde and her wife—two sweet old ladies who smelled like vintage perfume and flabby wine. Unfortunately, they went to bed at 7 p.m., so that was out. On the left were Mikael and his daughter Erin, but you two never quite got along, so that wasn’t an option either. Which left the one who lived across the hallway. He was supposedly a 'charming young chap' (according to the Hydes) and had lived there longer than you, but you’d never seen him.

Six months ago, when you first moved in, you’d baked some muffins and left them at his doorstep, but you’d forgotten to write a note and had been too embarrassed to try another introduction. So, this would be your first encounter with him. But it was an emergency, you swear! Otherwise, you wouldn't be bothering him with your trivial milk problems (even though they weren’t so trivial—after all, you'd already started the noodles and needed the cream base. Fast).

You grab a pair of neon Crocs, their bright contrast to your wine-red dress a jarring reminder of your frantic state, and rush out of your apartment, making sure to turn off the boiling water and secure the lid.

When you reach the door, you’re not sure why your heart is pounding in your chest or why your arms are covered in goosebumps. It’s probably just the nerves of meeting someone new, you decide, shaking yourself a little to readjust.

You curl your fingers to tap against the door, but just before your knuckles rap against the sturdy wood, it swings open. Standing in the frame is a tall guy with wire-frame glasses. He’s got a slimmer frame than his baggy plaid shirt can fill out, and a brown cardigan button-up rests just above his slacks. His bronze-like hair and matching doe eyes give you a not-so-subtle once-over, full of curiosity.

You jump in surprise, balancing yourself on the tacky wallpaper of the hallway. He quirks an eyebrow in a way that’s frankly adorable but you’re just a bit too stunned to fully appreciate just how attractive your neighbor happens to be.

“Can I help you?” 

“Uh, yeah, do you happen to have any milk?” 

He quirks his eyebrow again and this time you take note of the way his hair flops in front of it, “Yeah just not like grain or anything.”

You wave a hand in front of your face and shake your head, "Oh don't worry I'm not a hipster or lactose intolerant." The joke is rewarded with a small chuckle and you quickly decide it’s endearing. Dropping your hand from in front of him you stick it out, “Uh I’m your neighbor by the way. Not some random looking for milk handouts.” 

“I’m Spencer.” He provides, though he lets your hand hang between the two of you awkwardly, "Did you know the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering? It's actually safer to kiss."

Dropping your hand to your side you pucker your lips dramatically, and tease, “Are you asking for a kiss?” 

“W-What? No!” He leans back and you erupt into a giggle, shaking your head at his grimace.

“Well if you don’t want a kiss do you mind if I get that milk?”

“Yeah, of course, I can help you with your..?" He trails off, seemingly not knowing what to call your predicament.

But you certainly know what it should be called, and answer without hesitation, "My life or death dilemma? The reason for my current milk escapades."

Spencer seems to relax a bit more at your rambling, his posture less stiff and more calm, "Hm, seems like it's pretty important." He quirks an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame.

"Well, I did say life or death didn't I.” You look over at his watch and tap a foot impatiently, "Hey um I'm kinda in a rush, my sister is coming over and I'm not even half done with the stupid sauce. Though in my defense, I didn't know she was coming until like a week ago and I'm an avid cereal eater so the likelihood of me even having milk when she came over is slim to none - but I took the risk and now I'm milkless and totally screwed because cooking is hard and god I think I burnt the noodles for this stupid chili oil pappardelle pasta-which by the way I don’t even know how to make." 

Spencer is biting his cheek because he can’t laugh. He can’t laugh because it’s rude to laugh at someone he’s only just met, even if you’re blabbering and blushing and wearing adorable chartreuse platform Crocs. 

When you moved in across the hallway, Spencer Reid had admittedly looked into you. It wasn’t that he meant to be intrusive—it was just in his nature. He’d always been wary of new people, especially given his line of work. So when the long-vacant apartment finally filled and the scent of Yankee Candles began to waft through the hall, he might have asked Penelope to do a little digging.

Though her extensive report didn’t do justice to the person standing in front of him now. 

"Oh my god, you're laughing!" You exclaim, positively mortified at his audacity to laugh at you in this time of need.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He catches his breath after a moment and licks his lips with a flick of his tongue, "Maybe I can make it up to you?"

You smile but your foot is still tapping, "Do tell."

“While I’ve admittedly never made chili oil pappardelle pasta I’m quite quick to pick things up. If you need any help I could-?”

"Oh please thank you!" Letting out a sigh of relief you go to grab his hand, only pulling back when you remember his tangent about germs,  "She'll be here in thirty minutes so we have to hurry."

"Okay, let me go get the milk, and uh we can start."

"Thank you, Spencer.”

"Oh ... you're welcome."

You don’t notice the blush.

[meiyokbf]

accidentally deleted the ask but it was exactly like this lol: perhaps some thoughts on stuck between a love triangle with megan and sophia 🤞🤞like reader is so oblivious but ALL the viewers can see the tension between sophia and megan when it comes to you ykykykkyky

hope it finds the anon who requested!!

(y/n) always noticed when someone was about to cry, even if they didn’t say a word. they could feel tension like static in the air before a fight broke out, and they knew how to make the room laugh again without trying too hard. they weren’t oblivious, not really. just… selective.

katseye wasn’t just a pop group. they were the kind of group people tattooed lyrics for, the kind of group whose outfits trended before they even left the dressing room.

seven performers, matching in style but loud in personality, always synced on stage and always slightly chaotic off it.

(y/n) was the center in formation and often the calm one in energy, though that calmness had gravity to it. people hovered around them like they couldn’t help it. maybe that’s why it got complicated.

megan liked (y/n) the way a song gets stuck in your head; quietly at first, then all at once. sophia liked them like a secret she didn’t want to keep but didn’t know how to let go of.

and (y/n)? they liked sharing snacks, fixing necklaces and complimenting outfits, entirely unaware that every nice thing they did sent megan and sophia spiraling in opposite corners of the group.

— does this color suit me? — megan asked once, twirling a gloss tube between her fingers like it was just about makeup.

— it’s pretty. makes your eyes pop. — (y/n) said without hesitation.

megan smiled like it physically hurt her not to say something back. while sophia saw the whole thing from across the room and bit her lip hard enough to leave a mark.

lara noticed first. she was always half in the drama whether she wanted to be or not.

— y’all see the triangle happening over there? — she whispered to manon during soundcheck.

— uh-huh — manon said, barely glancing up from her phone. — poor little thing’s the clueless main character.

— like, fanfiction-level oblivious. — daniela added.

yoonchae didn’t say anything. she just laughed when she saw the live chat during a stream.

“sophia looking at (y/n) like she wrote the chorus of her favorite love song”

“megan in her jealous era again???”

“someone PLEASE tell (y/n) they are the problem and the solution”

“WHY IS NOBODY TALKING ABOUT THE TENSION”

the fans were clocking it faster than management.

on one live, megan brought (y/n) boba before they even asked for it.

— aw, thanks! — (y/n) said, already poking the straw in. — you always know what i like.

megan flushed, then looked straight into the camera like she regretted all her life decisions.

sophia, not missing a beat, leaned in with a soft voice. — (y/n)’s easy to read. if you pay attention.

(y/n) laughed, totally missing the pointed glance.

— i’m mysterious, actually.

daniela coughed “painful” under her breath. manon had to mute her mic from laughing.

backstage, it got worse. or better, depending on who was watching. (y/n) braided sophia’s hair while humming a song they were still rehearsing.

— you’re too good at this… — sophia murmured.

(y/n) shrugged. — i just like making people feel cared for.

and there it was. that one line. that one moment.

megan heard it from behind the curtain and genuinely considered screaming into a pillow. but still, (y/n) didn’t notice. or maybe they noticed everything except that.

they kept dancing beside both of them like they weren’t walking a tightrope between two girls who’d both rewrite their verses if they could just to get (y/n) to hear them differently.

and every time the fans clipped a moment, slowed it down, put a filter over it and set it to some sad bedroom pop song, (y/n) reposted it on tik tok with a little heart emoji.

none the wiser.

just orbiting, steady and warm, never realizing that the two girls were falling head over heels for them.

[yearninflowers]

Imagine…

Mydei, the warrior of Okhema, intimidating he is, yet for unknown reasons, also someone to hold you close in his embrace. His expression was unreadable, yet the erratic beat thumping inside his chest betrayed his facade. His hands, the way they hovered over your waist, held you close to him as if you two were beings never to be separated. His eyes, glaring at everyone who came even a meter close to you both, would scare anyone away.

His embrace, while it was hard, was warm. And it fully warmed up your heart, one whose beat was slow and close to a dying silence.

And so, for a while, you'd forget the one fact about him to spend a day more beside the man. Scary as he is, his attentive actions would always prove otherwise to you. Sometimes, even while looking at his presence, you'd forget that his hands were stained with blood. The same hands that hold you close to him; you would forget it all at the prospect of being close to such warmth.

Even as you close your eyes, resting your head to drown in the deep slumber, his call for your name echoed endlessly. In the night, the clock striking at twelve, you'd sober up, realising that the feelings inside your chest were nothing more than a sickness. His love—no, care—had you sick, even sicker than before. But was it really sickness if you felt safe? Loved even?

The vines of dependency held you tight with him. Mydei, one that draped you over the bond, was one you had loved dearly, yet his love, warm as ever, sucked you dry until you could never live without it. That much you noticed.

If to cut the vines is to kill yourself, no matter your love, vines could never hold you tight enough to stay. If one needs to be bound to love, then will it always be so restrictive? So pestering, until you grow fond of being scared? His embrace, while it fills you whole, made the surroundings go cold. Shivering through the relentless loss of warmth for long, wondering if Mydei will ever come back, scares you too much to let the vines stay. And cut shall you do.

…

Perhaps loosening it first should be better than cutting it all immediately. You didn't know the hands of someone in the battlefield could be this harsh and tight. Mydei, in contrast to you, tied himself with the vines on his own. Perhaps he knew what he felt was never pure love, but a mix of control laced with selfishness to mark someone as his. Yet what does he know about love? What even is love in the eyes of someone who fought in battles?

Days and nights, planning and executing, fighting and surviving, there was never love in those. Mydei couldn't possibly learn of such pure, innocent feeling in the heat of fighting for survivability. So, he wrapped you up in something he was most familiar with: control. Love was never his expertise, and while he would love to learn, love was never part of your expertise as well.

Both you and he lived similarly; love so scarce, you had to dig it up no matter the shape. But with even something sweet mixed in, once bitter will always be bitter—and you had enough of it. Mydei didn't, though; he could never. He had tasted something better than blood and pain. The thought of losing such a sweet taste would render him useless; his heart would restrict him from taking another step away as if he would die.

Truly, from the start, vines were never the ones tying you up. Have you noticed the slight tremble you'd experience once he was away? The terrified feeling and the dread once he was out of reach from your arms? Those things would always be the real ones binding you. Dependence was never it, was it? It was addiction and you never realised it.

You loved him, yet you felt so lost once he was away. There was never something you could do to prolong his stay, so you stopped, already tired of hoping for more—but what exactly more do you want? Perhaps true freedom? True love? Whatever you were thinking when you tried to run away, Mydei will do anything to make your wish come true. Longer stay, longer hugs, longer love? Mydei will do it all so long as you stay beside him once again. His embrace warmed and filled you whole, right? It will do its job once more and so on. Addiction is always so hard to get rid of, and it will be harder to erase if you never know the root of the problem.

What Mydei learnt after fighting in the field was that most people would let down their guards once victory was at the tip of their fingers. That would be an optimal choice to attack, rendering them to be at his mercy. And if he needs to do so to you, he shall do it, even if he has to bind you again with the same vines as before. After all, making you think you could escape the tight bond was easy for him; the illusion of vines trapping you felt more real than his warm embrace that truly trapped you with him, or to be more exact, the addiction that comes along with his love and loss.

It is all yours for the taking, bitter or not; Mydei will make sure you will take everything from him and he, too, from you.

[vintageunknown]

Of course Louis thinks Armand is boring when his entire personality is about their relationship.

As someone who derives his own sense of self from his relationship to other people, as Claudia clocked when she asked 'who are you outside of me and him?', Louis met his match in Armand whose own sense of self is almost non-existent. The understanding at the end of EP4 was that they would teach each other how to find meaning in one another, but 23 years down the line we see how that just morphed into toxic co-dependence. Louis hates that Armand reflects this empty self back to him. They mirror each other.

Then the greatest parallel is that we learn Daniel's sense of self (his unrelenting confidence in his ability as a journalist) was formed by Louis's words.

[eldizzle69]

“You were a wonderful experience, you were…you were everything..”

masterlist

including :: sho, Romeo, Haru, Haku, Jin, Lyca

Or…. In which, after your curse takes over you, the guys get asked about you(their lover)

—Shohei Haizono

•it purely depends on whose asking really

•if it’s some random person, he’s gonna be like when we first met him and get really defensive.

•but if it’s someone he knows pretty closely then he’ll just smile and say something vague.

•either way, thinking of you would be a fond time for him

•you were everything to him, so he’ll cherish your memory.

The tension was strong, it had been a Simple question, one with no malice. “Hey Sho, who was the honor student?” One of the new freshman ghouls had asked him. And despite it being a harmless question, it filled the room with a deep tension.

“What’s it matter to you?” His words were harsh, aggression evident in his tone. The question was most definitely NOT appreciated.

“W-well,” the ghoul sputtered, “I just— I’ve heard so much about them! All good things!” The freshmen seemed panicked, obviously scared by Sho’s aggressive response.

“Better be..” Sho muttered, turning and walking briskly away from his underclassmen. He didn’t answer the question he didn’t wanna talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about you.

Instead, he would keep your memories in his head, waiting for the day you could be together again

—Romeo Lucci

•immediate fit

•it becomes well known in Sinostra, and other houses, that your name is to not be mentioned near Romeo

•that is unless you want to feel the wrath of Romeo.

•god forbid someone say something bad about you. Bullets will be flying

•your memory just hurts so much he doesn’t know how to process his emotions, so he just gets pissed.

“Who pissed Fico off?,” the Sinostra student asked in a hushed whisper, only to be met his a harsh response. The other student sent him a glare, “Shhh, He’ll hear you! Do you wanna die and take me with you?”

“Sorry…. He just seemed angrier than usual,” was all the student could say as he rubbed the back of his neck. The other student only shook his head before giving a actual response, “some general admission students mention…. Them..”

Shock spread over the students face as he gaped at his coworker, “were they stupid?”

“Had to be, they even called them a gold digg—“

“What are you idiots talking about!” Came a booming voice as the door, Romeo’s door, was kicked open from the inside. The students cursed under their breath but said out a quick “nothing!”

Th irritation on Romeo’s face was evident in his glare, “if all your going to do it talk on the clock, get out of here!” He yelled, doing well to push down the bubbling emotions deep within him.

The turned back into his office with a click of the door. Suddenly, the room felt gloomier, felt lonelier. It had felt this way since you had left him, leaving nothing more than your memory and a strange looking anomaly in your place.

—Haku Kusanagi

•Probably someone who would be a little shocked when he’s asked about you by a randomly student

•I can see Haku giving a small really, nothing too detailed

•he might even ask the student to not ask again, or ask around about you. Kinda like he did when mc mentioned the clash in the Hotarubi episode

•he loves thinking about you, but he also knows your memory hurts him and many others so he doesn’t want people getting too comfortable with your name.

•he loved you more than anything, and it was clear to the other students by the looks in his eyes.

“That’s not the question I was expecting,” Haku did his best to laugh, the sound that came out was strained and semi uncomfortable. The other students seemed to stop and realize they shouldn’t have asked that

“Sorry Haku, i was just told if i wanted to know about who the ‘honor student’ was to ask you,” the student mumbled sheepishly.

Haku waved his hands dismissively, “it’s alright, but you probably shouldn’t go around asking about them,” he said with his usual expression. What was different was his eyes, they were soft and seemed almost far away in thought. Suddenly the student that asked was consumed with guilt, feeling as though they stepped on fragile glass.

“ Alright….i won’t,” came a mutter followed by a swift goodbye as they excused themselves.

Plopping down on the floor Haku couldn’t help but lean back with a groan, “even now, you’re still on everyone’s mind.”

—Haru Sagara

•hella shocked when someone asks about you

•he’s doing his best to pretend your curse taking over you doesn’t bother him, and he thinks he’s done a pretty good job

•maybe that made people a little too comfortable with your name around him

•I’m stuck between him giving a sweet, vague answer, and just changing the subject completely.

•either way, he can’t just keep working and pretending he’s okay forever.

Haru was a busy man, who else would take care of the park? He loved you, he really did, but if he started lacking now what would happen to Jabberwock? Sadly, he hasn’t got time to properly grieve.

So that’s how he found himself entertaining a group of Frostheim girls one evening. They had become regular patrons, ones that he was great full too.

“Hey Haru, I heard you were close with the former honor student,” one of them said. Quickly the other girl responded in his place, “ ahhh no way, if they were close wouldn’t he have taken time off to grieve.?”

He was quick to change the subject, offering them a look at his newest purchase. A new animal he had started taking care of. But their words stuck in his head and vaguely he wondered if maybe he wasn’t doing your memory justice.

Maybe Haru had let things build up, because his emotions took over him later that night as he looked at pictures of the two of you. Maybe a few days off would do him some good? He would,d have to talk to Towa…

—Jin Kamurai

•how tf did they even get close enough to ask him that?

•no matter who it is he’s going to be pissy about it

•either he’ll just silently glare at them or he’ll tell them to leave very roughly.

•of course the Frostheim students are going to gossip about you, but they better not do it near Jin

•he has a large amount of influence, so anything said about you won’t be taken lightly.

Frostheim students was know for their gossip. They spread everything by word of mouth, but there was one thing that everyone knew to keep their mouth shut about. And that was you.

No one remembers when it became an u spoken rule, but one family after another, anyone who mentioned you in a negative light seemed to meet ruin.

But this student really thought she was something. A few small conversations (business conversations Jin was forced to partake in) with Jin and suddenly she thought she was immune and could say whatever she wanted.

Busting into his room the girl sobbed loudly, a sound that gave him a headache. Jin couldn’t make any words out of her sob filled ramble. It seemed her words came to bite her back

“Get out,” he said coldly, not even bothering to get up from his couch. “B-but-“

“Go,” he barked and this time the girl flinched. Looked at Jin one last time she cried herself out the door, and Jin just laid there.

Looking back, he regretted treating you so coldly when you first came to his room, but it was too late for regrets. You weren’t here anymore, and he’d have to live with his actions.

—Lyca Colt

•I see him being kinda like Sho, it really just depends on who’s asking.

•he’s not close with a lot of people so you really only see his standoffish answer

•like he might growl at them and ask what’s it to them

•Lyca is the number one defender of you and he won’t let anyone use your name lightly

•you were a wonderful experience just as much as you were everything to him.

“The honor student?” Lyca said in a questioning manner, almost as if he hadn’t known what the new student was asking him. New students, and new friends, all things Lyca was unfamiliar with. But these were also things you had always wanted him to experience, you had told him as such. So these were things he tried to welcome with open arms.

So why did he feel so upset when he was asked about you? Why was he so upset when this new student asked who you had been? Lyca soon realized he was scared, scared of anyone saying bad things about you. That wasn’t something you deserved. That was something Lyca had done his best to protect you from, even when your not here.

“Right! I’ve heard so much about the honor student, but have no idea who they were!” And with these words all his fear and upset feelings went away. His grin became toothy as a smile spread across his face.

“There were my lover,” Lyca manger out with his grin spreading over his face ever more than it already had.

He used the words you had taught him, the world ‘lover’ now deeply engrained in his brain.

Okay so maybe I didn’t do that well with haru’s but I TRIED

[profundcherrylady]

LATE NIGHT TALK WITH ISAGI:

Even though your eyes are open, everything's black. You found yourself hyper-aware and awake, surprisingly, but instead of trying to fall back asleep you stayed there; staring at the ceiling. To your right, the digital clock on top of the sidetable signaling 2:51am; to your left, Isagi lays fast asleep, unlike you. You know maybe talking to him might help, but he's had a long day and you don't wanna bother him, so you sigh quietly to yourself and resign. Perhaps you should get up and get a glass of water, or see if you got any melatonin pills left, so you slowly shift to get out of bed.

Yoichi, however, has other plans.

"Where are you going...?" you barely managed to sit up when you heard him mumble the question, sleepy blue eyes half-open like expecting you to just get back next to him.

"I'm just going for a glass of water." you whispered, trying to not interrupt his sleep even more. "I'll be a awake for a little bit; you go back to sleep."

"Are you gonna get the pills again?" you froze. How the fuck did he even know that? Now you can't play dumb because you know he'll notice. He always does. So you shift uncomfortably and try to soften the truth.

"Just one."

"You don't need that to sleep, y'know?" he insisted, and you sighed with defeat. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah..."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You consider it, but you figure your boyfriend has enough going on for you to add your stupid recurrent nightmares to his list of worries. But still, something inside of you does want to talk about it; it always does. The little unhealed child whose nightmares were ignored and sent back to sleep afraid wanted some reassurance even after so many years, and yet it felt so wrong everytime. They're just nightmares, after all; you're well aware that they're not real. So why do they FEEL so real, even when they're so dumb?

"It's kinda stupid..."

"I don't mind." of course, he doesn't. But that doesn't take away the nagging guilt on the back of your mind.

"Just... stupid zombie apocalypse again. I don't know why I dream so much about it. So... agressive."

"Zombies aren't real, baby."

"You don't have to make fun of me..."

"I'm not." he sits up on the bed, setting the covers to the side. "What I'm saying is you don't have to worry about it. There is no zombie apocalypse coming."

"...Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. And if it did, I promise I'd protect you."

"What if I was a zombie?"

"I'll lock you up until I find a cure. Easy."

"You're supposed to say you'll let me bite you..." he laughs at your comment, and then you add: "Oh, that reminds me. You were there in my dream, but... you were the zombie, and you tried to bite me, and I was freaked out because... how could I kill you? Even when you were trying to, I couldn't..."

"Pause." he stopped you as soon as he saw the genuine fear in your eyes "Don't even think about it anymore."

"I can't... the imagines keep flashing on my mind like a nasty memory of something that actually happened. I can't fall asleep..."

"Honey."

"What?"

"You don't need those pills to sleep, I promise. Come here." he plopped himself back onto the pillow, arms open and inviting for a cuddle. And hell, how could you ignore that? No amount on dependance on those pills would ever be enough for you to reject a hug from him. So crawl back to his sigh and exhale deeply as you let him envelope you with his warmth.

He plays with your hair, steady heartbeat serving as a lullaby to slowly coax you to rest. You can feel his soft breathing on top of your head, followed by a soft kiss.

"Sorry for waking you up."

"Come on, it's nothing." he peppers kisses on your face, making you giggle. "You feel better?"

"Yes, thank you..."

"I get why those dreams can be freaky. I mean, the concept of zombies is terrifying, but realistically it's not gonna happen. Ever. So don't you worry about it. You're safe in my arms, okay? And if you have more nightmares I'd wake up a hundred times to soothe you back to sleep. Whatever you want, and then-"

He's interrupted by the sound of your soft snoring, indicating you were already fast asleep. He chuckled, adjusting the covers over both of you before closing his eyes himself. Maybe he couldn't solve all of your problems, but he could help you deal with them.

And maybe that was enough.

A/N: Am I projecting? Why yes I am. Idk I'm tired and I wanted to write something quick. Bye.

[redisthenewblue]

𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘—𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐱 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

—

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟏: 𝐀𝐂𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃

[Name] gradually opened their eyes, fighting to fully comprehend the unfamiliar environment surrounding them. As their awareness slowly returned, the weight of their situation began to sink in. They realized they were trapped in the underworld, far removed from both their mother and Evangeline—two figures who had provided unwavering support throughout their life. At this moment, they found themselves in a precarious position, reliant on a stranger whose intentions were yet to be determined.

“Good morning! Just a reminder that breakfast with my brother starts at 9:30!” The youthful voice from the previous day jolted [Name] from their thoughts. Breakfast with Idia… their fiancé.

“Alright!” [Name] retreated into the comforting embrace of their plush surroundings, running a hand through their hair in a gesture of mild frustration. Their gaze wandered around the room, which was shrouded in shadows and an air of melancholy. A solitary pot, once home to a vibrant pink rose, now stood wilted and partially dried, a testament to the decay that permeated the atmosphere.

“Nothing seems to survive in this place,” [Name] murmured, shaking their head in disappointment. Their attention shifted to the closet, where their clothing starkly contrasted with the rest of the dreary bedroom decor, appearing almost painfully out of place.

“What should I wear? Evangeline—” [Name] frowned, suddenly aware of Evangeline's absence from the scene.

“Alright then…” With a newfound determination, [Name] rolled out of bed, stretching their leg, which emitted a satisfying pop as they did so.

“I can surely find something, right?”

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Regrettably, that was not the case.

The clothes belonging to [Name] lay scattered across the carpet, creating a chaotic landscape of fabric that seemed to mock their efforts. 

“I can’t find anything!” [Name] exclaimed in frustration, tossing shirts onto the bed in exasperation. “Fine, I’ll just stay in this room all day; it’s not like I have any plans.” Their gaze drifted to the clock beside the bed, where bright red LEDs illuminated the time as 9:30.

“That’s odd?” [Name]’s stomach let out a rumbling growl, echoing their growing hunger. “Man, I’m starving…” Suddenly, they froze, a realization hitting them. “Shoot!” In a flurry of activity, [Name] hastily grabbed the nearest garments and rushed out of the room. As they hurriedly dressed, they stumbled over their own feet, struggling to maintain their balance.

“Here!” [Name] grasped the pillars for support, as if their very existence depended on it. Idia's attention was instantly drawn to the sight of [Name] entering.

“You came?” he whispered, a hint of disbelief coloring his voice.

“Of course,” [Name] replied, settling down across from him while awkwardly adjusting their clothes. “I apologize for being a bit late.”

“I don’t mind,” Idia said, placing his fork beside his plate and diverting his gaze to the side. A thick silence enveloped the dining hall. Suddenly, both Idia and [Name] spoke in unison.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“You hate me, don’t you?”

“Huh? I don’t hate you! How could I hate you when we’ve only just met?” [Name] tilted their head in confusion, prompting Idia to bury his face in his hands in sheer exasperation.

“Oh no! I really messed up…” Idia exclaimed, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape. “It’s just that…” His thoughts tumbled over one another, leaving [Name] scrambling to keep up with his frantic speech. Finally, when he paused to catch his breath, [Name] couldn’t help but giggle, resting their chin on the palm of their hand.

“Gosh, You’re kinda cute!” [Name] remarked, noticing the tips of Idia’s hair blush a soft pink. “If I were to touch your hair, would it burn me?”

The boy sitting across from them froze, wide-eyed in disbelief. “No! I mean, you definitely won’t get burned. Please, go ahead and touch it,” he replied, his voice slightly flustered. Trusting his assurance, [Name] extended their hand and grasped one of his blue, flame-like strands of hair.

“It’s warm!” [Name] exclaimed, turning to Idia and fluttering their soft eyelashes at him. “Does your hair ever get super hot?”

"Only when I'm angry," Idia replied, a hint of seriousness in his tone.

"Oh, I understand now!" [Name] nodded in comprehension, and a comfortable silence enveloped the room once more.

"Do you have any favorite music?" [Name] ventured, letting go of Idia's lock of hair in an attempt to spark a conversation that would engage him. Idia's expression brightened at the mention of music.

"There's this idol group called Premo! I've only had the chance to see them perform IRL twice, but I’m definitely going back!" Idia enthusiastically shared, diving deep into details about the group, from the members to their catchy songs.

"I don't think I've ever heard of them before," [Name] responded, humorously sweating at the sight of Idia's bewildered expression.

“BSFR?! Let me put you on real quick!” Idia grinned, revealing his sharp teeth as [Name] popped up from the chair and stumbled to Idia’s side. “Watch this,” he pressed a button on his watch, and a screen materialized in front of the two, ready to unveil the world of music that awaited them.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

[Name] found themselves captivated by the lively performance of the idol group, completely absorbed in the enthusiastic melodies that filled the air. Their gaze shifted to Idia, who was nodding his head in sync with the infectious rhythm. Suddenly, their eyes met; his striking yellow eyes locked onto [Name]’s sparkling gaze.

With a startled gasp, the boy appeared to break free from his moment of confidence, his cheeks flushing a vivid shade of red. The young boy swiftly leaped from his chair and hurried away, the sole thought occupying his mind being the desire to escape from his stunning fiancé.

“Idia?!” [Name] exclaimed, calling after the boy in bewilderment. “Did I say or do something that upset him? We were having such a good time together,” they pondered, feeling a pang of regret as their lips turned downward.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Idia let out a frustrated groan as he rested his head on his desk, inadvertently pushing an empty energy drink aside in the process. 

"I really messed up this time; I completely blew it," Idia lamented, wallowing in his error. "I was doing so well, Ortho. I just lost like a billion EXP points."

Ortho gently patted his brother on the back, contemplating the situation before speaking up. 

"Research indicates that giving your significant other a gift that brings them joy is a good way to apologize," Ortho suggested thoughtfully. 

"What do you think they would like?" Idia lifted his head to meet Ortho's gaze, curiosity flickering in his eyes. 

"I'm not entirely sure, but looking into it, data suggests that flowers are among the most popular gifts to give to a significant other," Ortho replied, his voice filled with a hint of optimism.

"Flowers?" Idia pondered for a moment, his mind drifting to [Name]’s radiant smile. "Yeah, I think I'll go with flowers," he said, a small, fond smile breaking through as it danced across his blue-tinted lips.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

[Name] gazed up at the ceiling, a pout forming on their lips. They extended their hand towards the book lying on the nightstand, flipping it over to delve into the synopsis.

"At just 18 years old, Annabelle Linkin finds herself ensnared in an arranged marriage with her best friend, Xavier Grave. As secrets unfold, friendships shatter, and deceit lurks in the shadows, how will these two lovers navigate the turbulent waters of their intertwined fates?"[Name] let out a frustrated groan. Had the universe conspired solely to tease them? With a heavy sigh, they placed the hefty book back onto the nightstand and began scanning the room for an alternative activity. Their gaze eventually landed on the wilting flower from earlier that morning, prompting them to roll out of bed.

“Let’s make a deal,” [Name] said as they knelt before the roses, their eyes filled with determination. “I have until the day your petals fall again to discover my feelings for Idia. If I find that I truly love Idia, I promise to ensure that you flourish for eternity, your petals forever vibrant. However, if I fail to develop that love, you will be assigned to a life of wilting, hidden away from the world.” Gently, they reached out and caressed the soft petals of the rose. “Spring’s blessings,” [Name] whispered, and, as if in response to their words, the rose began to rejuvenate, standing tall and proud once more, its vibrant colors dazzling in the light. The leaves gleamed with a rich green hue, and a faint, enchanting glow radiated from the flower.

“I guess we a deal!” [Name] laughed uncontrollably, as if caught up in a fit of excitement. Had they completely lost their mind?

[NAME]’S UNIQUE MAGIC AND A BEAUTY AND THE BEAST REFERENCE🤫🤫 Hope you enjoyed day 1‼️‼️

Taglist: @glitterandgoldfinds@sherryclover@1abi@lizzzysimp@floathyblues@toxicm0cha@kazudare@boredselkie @strayharmony943 @fanlovedlt @lizatherobot @d1gital-data @gl00muraaii @savanaclaw1996 @namingcrisisagain

[cynthiav06]

The hot take of the pjo fandom that has been stated so often it's no longer a hot take. I have been avoiding making a post on this for a while, but now that it's been popping up in asks more, I needed to get my thoughts on it out. I know I have drawn it out long enough. Buckle up.

"Sally Jackson was a selfish mother." True. She is definitely a selfish mother. But I like the nuances that lead up to her behavior far more. And the way it shapes Percy, the subtle often overlooked cycle of abuse in the Jackson household that was present even without Gabe's influence. So, let's dive into that.

To begin at the beginning, Sally Jackson was an orphan with nothing but a small seaside cabin to her name at Montauk Beach when she met Poseidon. Imagine living like that for so many years with the gift of sight and no one to understand you. It's surprising she did not go at least a little crazy.

Her parents died when she was young, and she was taken in by her uncle Rich and "raised" by him. I say that in the loosest terms because she had to mostly do everything on her own and when Rich was diagnosed with cancer, Sally was the one who needed to drop everything and get out of high school to take care of Rich; not to mention the fact that she had to take up a job to pay for Rich's medical bills. Now if that sounds vaguely familiar, Percy used to take up jobs in his summertime to pay for Gabe's gambling addictions so that Gabe wouldn't beat him or Sally; to keep his mom safe. This was Sally's first failure. The fact that she could not protect her son from that same hardship despite having some power over the situation.

There's another facet to this that is whether Sally knew of this. Imagine Sally Jackson, doing everything she could to make ends meet, paying for Percy's schooling along with doing everything she could to not get on Gabe's bad side and keeping him happy, so he wouldn't turn his attention to Percy. Was her unawareness of the truth, her fault, or was Percy just that good at hiding it? Or should he have still known Gabe's true nature and looked out even more for Percy? Depends. But to Sally up until then, Percy had never lied to her; she is the only person Percy always tells the truth to from her pov. Sally could never fathom Percy keeping such a huge thing from her and not confiding in her. This is still tipping the scales against Sally because, in the end, it was HER responsibility.

Why no to Camp Half blood? This is the pivotal point. If you remember, Percy is unlike any other demigod. He is at that point, the only child of the elder gods to Sally's or even Poseidon's knowledge and, therefore, definitively the child of the prophecy. The way it was interpreted by Poseidon and then relayed to Sally, Percy had only 16 years of life set for him and no more. He was quite literally borne to die. Which meant Sally had a ticking clock hanging over her head in her time with Percy. To a mother nothing could have been more horrifying. So she defied Poseidon, defied the norm and kept Percy with her until she no longer could. Yes it was selfish, and even a touch idiotic but what mother wouldn't do it.

See this from Sally's lens. She had heard the Camp is a place for demigods. There's a chance she might not get to see Percy again when they find out about his parentage and not let him out of Camp. A chance, however, miniscule of them keeping Percy from her. At least the way she sees it, the Camp is full of virtual strangers with children of other gods who may or may not have it out for Percy. Even Poseidon had admitted he couldn't offer Percy too much protection lest he draw attention to Percy. Of course Sally who has had an awful life whose only highlight is her son, Percy, the only thing that motivates her to live and there's a death prophecy on his head, and no one not even a God can stop it . Why then would Sally leave her son in the hands of virtual strangers who she would never trust with her son's life especially when the alternative of keeping him close and watching over him herself is an option for her. After all, who could love Percy more than she loves him. Not even Poseidon, just Sally. To take all and every stolen moments she can, especially when fate is to leave her bereft of her greatest joy in mere 16 years? And the fact that she was so close. 12 years she made do. So close and yet nowhere near.

Who wouldn't make the choice she did? What mother wouldn't? But then again we will never know because no one else has gone through what Sally Jackson has gone through. Best we can do is speculate. I can only imagine how impossible the choice must have seemed. How inevitable it must have been in the end.

The crux of all this is not that Sally was right or that she wasn't selfish but the cost she paid for her selfishness.

Over 6 years of abuse, physical and mental humiliation under Gabe, all because she wanted to keep Percy with her. Keep in mind that Sally did everything she could to separate Percy and Gabe. Cue boarding schools. Sally suffered and chafed under Gabe's abuse alone, all for the sake of few stolen moments with Percy. To love something so much despite the alternative of dismissing the child considering Percy's fate was to die.

The uniqueness of the dynamics start when Percy, who despite his loathing for Gabe and the things he puts them through, despite the abuse he would face, resents Sally for sending him away to boarding school. The way he wants to stay with her, even with Gabe's presence as a caveat, because he loves Sally so much and doesn't want her to suffer and the dichotomy of Sally putting herself through most of the suffering so she could keep Percy by her side even if she had to keep him at arms length from home most of time so he wouldn't suffer is absolutely gut wrenching. No other way to put it.

The way she immediately makes sure to send him to Camp Half blood when things start getting absurd and dangerous for him; even taking the risk of driving him herself. Desperate to hold on to whatever last moments she might get with her only child that she loves so much, who she has no choice but to let go and then dying without hesitation for Percy's sake and with no regrets. Sally's love is selfish, but it is not conditional. Her love is selfish but so profound that she would put herself through any and all manner of miseries first to keep her son by her side. Nothing she would not do to keep him safe even if it costs her own life; anything but giving him up. Because she had nothing and no one to love her and then Percy came along and it was the greatest gift she had ever received and no pain on Earth would make Sally Jackson give up her son, ever.

The thing no one talks about is that even if Sally had made peace with sending Percy to Camp Half blood earlier, would Percy even go? Would he? Leaving his beloved mother with a monster like Gabe all alone? Percy Jackson's fatal flaw is loyalty and for all of Poseidon's infamous love for his own, Percy gets his fatal flaw from Sally Jackson; loyal to a fault, loyalty to the point of self destruction. To the end, always to the end.

Percy who would rather put himself through the cruelty of Gabe's abuse just to stay with Sally. Sally who would defy every norm and put herself through all manner of pain and suffering to keep her son by her side, to love him unconditionally even though he was borne to die. Sally dying for Percy without hesitation, Percy going to the Underworld to bring back his mother come what may without hesitation; Percy wanting to kill Gabe to keep Sally safe, Sally killing Gabe to secure her son's future. Something about the cycle of abuse in the Jackson household being an ouroborous, a snake eating its own tail. Mother and son sacrificing parts of themselves to keep each other safe, to stay by each other's side. The cycle of it being a conscious choice by both of them at least once. Not inherited, but accepted for what they ultimately desire. That's what gets me. Always.

Much has been said about Sally Jackson. Good bad, worse. But the idea that out of so many Big Three children, between Greeks and Romans and even the other pantheons. She is the only one who succeeded at keeping her child safe for so long and to be a good enough tether of warmth of family in his life despite all the hardships. Sally Jackson who loved her son enough to name him Perseus, to hope for a better ending for both of them despite the odds and the fates and even the gods all stacked against her and doing whatever she could to get there. In the end it does not matter, Percy is alive and that alone is proof that Sally Jackson has won against all odds. Everything else is a moot point.

[victoria-daydreams]

In Her Place, I Stand

Part I: Echoes of Her Shadow

AN: Woww guys I was not expecting this story to pop off like it did, but I'm glad everyone is enjoying it so far!!! I got so excited posting the first chapter I forgot to say I'll make a taglist if anyone is interested! Our sister Dorothea will be going through it in this chapter, but happy reading!

Trigger Warnings: none

Word Count: 7.5k (I went off apparently lol)

Part II: The Gilded Cage of Mourning

Each morning, Dorothea took her breakfast alone in the quiet solitude of the morning room. Afterward, she would spend her time, losing herself in the pages of a book, playing the pianoforte, or strolling the gardens with her botanical journal in hand, observing the flowers with Artemis at her side. This had become her routine since moving into the Harding residence. A monotonous existence, devoid of the vibrancy and purpose she once knew.

As the lady of the house, Dorothea managed the finances, oversaw the servants, and planned the meals, fulfilling her societal duties as a proper housewife. Yet, despite her best efforts, she remained merely a resident, not the mistress of this cold manor.

Dorothea was still not his wife.

She was little more than a household secretary in Friedrich's eyes. At least, according to his unspoken wishes, for he scarcely spoke to her to begin with. Countless times Dorothea attempted to engage him in conversation over the dinner table. Inquiries about his day, his business affairs, simple pleasantries, all met with only the briefest of responses, unintelligible murmurs, or, depending on his temperament, utter silence. Gradually, Dorothea learned to finish her supper with the barest of words exchanged between herself and her distant husband, or in complete, oppressive silence.

Last night's supper broke something within Dorothea.

In the brightly lit dining room, the only sounds that filled the air was the occasional clatter of cutlery and the ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall. Dorothea sat opposite of her husband whose face was etched with weariness.

"The chicken was quite flavorful this evening. Georg has outdid himself, hasn't he?" Dorothea commented, smiling brightly. A forced cheerfulness to her words.

Looking down at his plate, "It was…sufficient," Friedrich answered, his voice is low and flat.

Friedrich did not look up. A beat of silence passed and Dorothea's smile began to falter slightly, watching him with a mixture of concern and quiet desperation. Picking up her glass of wine, she drank deeply from it to summon the courage to continue the conversation.

"I was reading a rather curious account this afternoon, about the new railway line in the north," she began, trying to maintain her cheeriness from before. "There…" she trailed off, when Friedrich still does not meet her stare. Dorothea found herself nervously fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. "Or-or not about the railway. How was your day at the shipyard? Did Herr Franz have any further news regarding the new ships?" she inquired.

Without looking up, Friedrich let out a drawn-out sigh. The sound struck Dorothea like a dagger to the heart.

"The same, it's complicated,"

"Yes, well, these things often are, I suppose. Sometimes it helps to talk about them. To…to share the burden," she hinted, mouth curved into a small, hopeful smile.

This time he did look up. His gaze flitting to her face, almost noting the vulnerability in her expression, but then he quickly looked away. "Share the burden? You cannot…you do not understand," he dismissed.

The silence returned, heavier now. Dorothea's smile faltered before fading completely.

"I know I can never truly understand, Friedrich. But I can offer…I can offer an ear, a hand, a shoulder, perhaps," she suggested, her voice cracking slightly on the last word.

"Dorothea, must you?" he asked, his hand clenching around his fork, his knuckles turning white.

Dorothea inhaled sharply at the sound of her name, goosebumps prickling her arms. Friedrich so rarely addressed her directly.

"Must I what, Friedrich?" she asked, her voice thick with trepidation.

Finally, he lifted his gaze, his dark and tired eyes fixed intently upon her.

"Must you continue this charade? This incessant striving for companionship?" His words carried a tone of exasperation.

Dorothea's shoulders slumped, a lump forming in her throat before swallowing hard.

"I-I only wish to be your wife, Friedrich," she said, her voice trembling. "We are married. We should at least try to—"

With a sudden motion, Friedrich rose from his chair, the harsh scrape of wood against floor and the clatter of his plate against the table startling Dorothea and causing her to flinch.

"You are my wife!" he snapped, his fist coming down on the table, hard. "And that is precisely the problem, Dorothea!" he hissed, the coldness in his voice tearing her up on the inside. "You are provided for, housed, and respected. Is that not enough?" he argued.

Tears welled in her eyes, "I-I wish for more than that, for the both of us," Dorothea said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be a comfort to you. A partner. I want to share our lives, together," she wished, reaching out her hand halfway across the table, but then letting it drop back into her lap.

Friedrich turned from her, avoiding her eyes as he strode towards the door, his body rigid. Pausing at the threshold with his back still to her, the oil lamps cast long shadows that seemed to embody the heavy weight of his unyielding grief, which settled upon her like a shroud.

"Then, you wanted something impossible. I never asked for this. I asked for peace. For them," Friedrich said pointedly, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper. "We are married because it was the proper thing to do. Because, I needed a wife to run the household, and you were…suitable. Let's not give this grander attributes than it warrants," he stated, his voice hardening.

"Suitable?" Dorothea echoed, her voice wobbling. "Is that all I am, Friedrich?" she questioned, letting out a tearful exhale.

He didn't respond, exiting the room and leaving Dorothea sitting alone at the table. She stared at the doorway, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as the silence that followed was heavy and cold, punctuated only by the crackling of the fireplace.

Dorothea had always been adept at concealing her emotions, a necessary skill given her skin color in the world she inhabited. Beneath her well crafted mask, she harbored a wellspring of deeper feelings that she carefully guarded, revealing them to no one, lest she be seen to break or falter. But tonight, that carefully constructed facade threatened to crumble, as everything seemed to be unraveling for Dorothea.

The clock had long since struck midnight, perhaps nearing the early hours of the morning, when she first began to weep. She could not pinpoint the precise reason for her sudden anguish, try as she might. The fateful supper from hours earlier now but a distant memory. Yet now, sitting upright in the solitude of her dark bedchamber, the unbearable weight of her grief and longing had become a palpable presence, impossible to ignore.

The tears Dorothea had held back all evening now flowed freely, streaming down her face. Her breath came in quick, uncontrollable gasps, her chin quivering as she tried in vain to hold back the flood of despair that battered against her control like a rising tide. Clutching her chest desperately, she was unable to breathe, trying to muffle her anguished sobs with her blanket, but to no avail. A few small, mournful cries escaped into the quiet, moonlit night.

~~~x~~~

As the sun's first rays filtered through the curtains, Dorothea found herself once again in the morning room, the place where she spent most of her time. After finishing her coffee, which Georg thoughtfully had accompanied with an extra slice of rich, decadent cake; no doubt an attempt to lift her spirits after learning of the distressing events from the previous evening. Dorothea sat at the pianoforte. Her fingers moved listlessly across the keys, playing a piece by Mozart. Dorothea's puffy, tired eyes were fixed on the sheet music rather than the keys, the dark circles beneath them prominent

The soft, lilting notes of the piano drifted through the room as Dorothea's fingers danced across the keys. Sensing a presence at the door, she glanced up from the sheet music only to find Friedrich standing just inside the doorway, dressed in a crisp morning coat. Dorothea's breath caught, and she involuntarily struck a particularly discordant chord, as a small, almost silent breath escaped her lips.

He cleared his throat softly, "Dorothea," he said, his expression guarded.

Dorothea's fingers falter for a moment on the keys, but she doesn't turn toward him. She resumed playing, a fraction faster now, the notes harsher than before.

"Good morning, Friedrich," she greeted, her voice was flat, almost toneless.

"The servants seem to be in a flurry this morning," he observed, stepping further into the room.

His gaze bore into her from the periphery, his eyes drawn to the dark shadows and puffiness that marred the delicate skin beneath her own. Dorothea lifted her chin slightly, her posture issuing a silent challenge. She knew he could see the toll the restless night had taken.

"Oh, you noticed that did you?" she replied, a hint of sarcasm in her words. Without looking away from the piano, Dorothea saw Friedrich bristle at her tone. "Liese, my sister, arrives this afternoon to visit," she explained, her fingers gliding gracefully over the ivory keys. "My prayers have finally been answered," she muttered, under her breath.

"As it happens, I am expecting a guest of my own," Friedrich informed her, his voice carefully neutral. "Herr Hutter is planning to call on me," he added.

Dorothea's fingers stop abruptly, clenching on the keys, silencing the melody. A vein pulsed in her forehead.

"And, pray tell, why you did not inform me of this in advance?" she asked, turning on the piano stool and finally facing him. "I would have told the servants to prepare the house for more than one guest," she said. "Is it your intention to have Herr Hutter think I'm derelict in my duties as your wife?" she questioned, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"No, that is not my intention at all," he responded, his jaw hardening. "Though, I made mention of his upcoming visit to you, I am certain of it," he added tightly.

Dorothea scoffed quietly, "And when was this communicated to me, hmm?" she wondered. "Was it through your grunts and one word answers over supper every night?" she quipped.

The muscles in Friedrich's jaw tightened, and a flurry of emotions flickered across his brooding countenance. His dark brows furrowed, the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly, and a glimmer of what might have been fondness danced in his gaze. She was uncertain whether her tone amused or vexed him, he regarded her with a conflicted expression. She braced herself, anticipating his response to her brazen defiance, aware that her bold tongue would have earned the sting of a slap from any other man.

"Frau Harding,"

Dorothea and Friedrich's gazes snapped to Sofie as she suddenly materialized in the doorway. Sofie's eyes widened, slowly realizing she had intruded upon a heated moment between the two.

"What is it Sofie?" Dorothea asked, her voice tinged with a trace of annoyance at the interruption

"Your sister's coach is approaching," Sofie informed, her tone respectful yet nervous.

Dorothea's expression softened, "Lovely, thank you. I'll be outside to welcome her shortly," she replied.

"Frau Harding, Herr Harding," she acknowledged, with a deferential nod before quietly slipping away.

Dorothea rose from the bench, intent on slipping past Friedrich, when his hand shot out, his fingers curling around her bicep and halting her movement. She turned her head, locking eyes with his profile, her gaze darting between his hand and his impassive face. Dorothea held her breath, waiting for him to acknowledge the distress he had inflicted upon her the night before.

"Something else you wish to tell me?" Dorothea asked, a glimmer of hope flickering in her eyes, though she knew she shouldn't have allowed it.

For a moment, Friedrich seemed to look through her, his expression unreadable as he waged an internal battle, as if struggling to find the words - to apologize. But the vulnerability was fleeting, his demeanor quickly reverting to its usual cold disposition.

"What else is there to say?" he responded, his tone icy. "Just be on your best behavior while we have guests in our home," Friedrich said, a thinly veiled command.

Dorothea's lips curled in a scornful scoff, her eyes narrowing at her husband's words.

"You hardly know me well enough to know what my best behavior looks like," she retorted, the disdain in her tone evident.

With a defiant tug, Dorothea ripped her arm from his grasp and stormed past him, purposefully knocking into his arm as she left the room in a whirl of fury.

~~~x~~~

Within an hour of her arrival, Liese all but demanded that her younger sister take her to the nearby beach, just a short coach ride from the Harding estate. Dorothea eagerly granted her wish, jumping at the chance to escape the confines of the manor. The sun beat down on the pale sand, warming Dorothea's face as she and Liese strolled along the shoreline, their long skirts billowing behind them. Arm in arm, the two young women's melodious laughter filled the air along with the rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore. After days of dreary weather, the sunny sky was a welcome reprieve and offered a fleeting sense of peace, but the turmoil in Dorothea's heart remained.

"I think you brought this beautiful weather along with you," Dorothea joked, turning to look at her half-sister.

The wind whipped at their bonnets, carrying the tang of salt and the cries of gulls.

"Happy to be of service," Liese replied with an illuminating grin. "You know, I do envy you sister," she confessed, with a sigh. "You live so close by to the beach and can visit it whenever you want to," she pointed out.

"I haven't had the opportunity to take advantage it until now," Dorothea explained, which Liese hummed at.

Glancing at her sister, Dorothea couldn't help but admire Liese's radiant appearance. It had been far too long since they last saw each other. Liese's rich, brown hair was elegantly styled into Apollo knots, and her cheeks retained the same rosy hue Dorothea remembered from their childhood. Perhaps Liese's complexion had even grown rosier since her marriage. And her sparkling gray eyes shone with evident contentment. Her heart swelled with a complex mix of admiration and resentment towards her sister's seemingly perfect life.

"Marriage continues to agree with you, I see," Dorothea remarked, a hint of wistfulness in her tone.

"It truly does," Liese answered, a pleased smile gracing her features. "Although, I would be remiss not to mention my Christoph and Anneke as the primary sources of my joy," she added proudly.

Dorothea's brows involuntarily furrowed as she looked ahead, "If only we were all so fortunate in marriage," she said, a trace of bitterness creeping into her voice.

Dorothea's mind drifted back to an hour prior, when Liese had made a similar observation about her, though in the opposite direction.

Standing outside the manor's grand entrance, Dorothea and Friedrich waited as Liese's coach rumbled up the driveway. Their servants stood at the ready, poised to assist their new guest. Dorothea's heart raced with desperate anticipation, her gaze fixed on the coach as it came to a stop. The chauffeur hurried to the door, opening it with an audible pop, and Liese emerged in all her elegant splendor, stepping down onto the gravel drive. With graceful strides, Liese glided over to Dorothea, her arms outstretched.

"Oh, my dear Dottie!" Liese cried delightedly, her arms enveloping Dorothea in a tight embrace. Dorothea grinned, her first true smile in months as she reveled in the warmth of her sister's affection. "How wonderful it is you again! I've missed you terribly, it's been far too long!" Liese exclaimed her voice slightly muffled by Dorothea's shawl.

"I missed you too, Liese!" Dorothea said cheerfully, not concerned what Friedrich or the servants thought of this particular display of affection.

Her heart was full, overjoyed to be reunited with the one person who understood her so completely. Liese pulled back from the embrace, cupping Dorothea's face tenderly with both hands. Her eyes swept over her sister's worn appearance. Liese let out a concerned tsk while shaking her head.

"Oh my poor Dottie," she whispered. "He's running you ragged, isn't he?" She asked, glancing pointedly over Dorothea's shoulder, where Friedrich no doubt stood watching them stoically.

"Has nothing truly changed between you and your husband after all the letters we exchanged?" Liese asked, her tone disbelieving.

At this, Dorothea scoffed and glanced over her shoulder. Friedrich and Thomas walked a distance behind Dorothea and Liese, giving them privacy for conversation while also being engaged in their own. Dorothea remembered meeting Thomas at her wedding. He had been the sole attendee sitting on Friedrich's side of the church pews.

"I hope this union brings you and Friedrich the joy and peace you both deserve," Thomas said, his words laced with genuine warmth.

"Thank you, Herr Hutter. That is very kind of you," Dorothea replied, equally sincere.

She knew Friedrich had mentioned, in one of his rare moments of real conversation, that Thomas was also a widower, losing his wife to fever as well. Yet, even in his grief, Thomas remained kind and gentle. Dorothea wondered how they were friends to begin with, Friedrich was unworthy of such a compassionate companion. Whenever Thomas' name was mentioned by Friedrich, it was always with warmth and respect. She wished Friedrich would afford her some of that warmth.

"I would hardly call us husband and wife, we are merely two strangers sharing living quarters," Dorothea corrected. "Since our wedding, he has not touched me, we do not shared a bed, we do not eat breakfast together, we barely speak to each other most days, and at supper I am forced to contend that I must eat in silence despite him sitting across from me," she listed, her frustration growing with every point.

Liese stopped walking, her brow furrowing, "That's intolerable, Dottie. This isn't the life I envisioned for you," she whispered, frowning softly.

"What did you envision?" Dorothea asked bitingly. "A grand estate and a handsome husband make for a happy marriage, right? That's the common wisdom, isn't it?" she asked sarcastically.

"Not if he treats you like a ghost," Liese retorted, her voice sharp. "I will speak to him," she decided, with a nod of her head. "He needs to be reminded of his obligations," she added, determination hardening her features.

Dorothea's gloved hand shot out, grasping Liese's arm. The thought of a confrontation, however well-intentioned, filled her with dread. The last thing she needed was something that would further solidify the ice between her and Friedrich.

"No, please don't! You'll only upset him further and put a greater strain on my marriage," she begged, her eyes pleading for understanding. "He is a proud man, interference would wound him deeply,"

"I will not be made to watch you suffer, Dottie! You're withering before my very eyes!" Liese argued, her tone firm, protective . "But, I will honor your wishes," she conceded, patting Dorothea's hand. "For now," she warned.

Dorothea's grip softened her grip on her sister's arm, "Let us talk about more pleasant matters, yes?" she encouraged, forcing a brittle smile. "How is Lukas?" she asked, resuming their walk.

"He is well. The bank keeps him busy now that he's been promoted, but we are happy," Liese answered, a warmth entering her voice whenever she talked about her husband. "He told me to send you his best wishes," she mentioned.

"Very kind of him," Dorothea murmured, her words hollow as she watched a seagull soar overhead.

"He also wanted to know if the rumors were true," Liese added, her voice dropping slightly.

A dry chuckle escaped Dorothea, a sound devoid of any mirth.

Dorothea lowered her eyes, "More like, you both want to know if what people say is true," she reckoned, rolling her eyes. Coming to a stop near a cluster of weathered rocks, she turned and faced the turbulent water; the wind whipping strands of hair across her face. "The truth is, I do not know and probably will never know," she answered, feeling her sister's keen gaze upon her.

The ocean mirrored the vast, unknowable depths of her husband's grief.

"Does that not bother you?" Liese questioned, her voice gentle but insistent. "To live with such uncertainty, such whispers?" she went on.

Dorothea turned back to her sister, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and resignation.

"Of course it does, but what am I to do?' Dorothea asked back, her voice rising slightly with a touch of desperation. "I'm his lawfully wedded wife now," she emphasized.

The words felt like a confining title, rather than a source of pride.

"You haven't managed to pry anything out of your servants? The people in the city?" Liese wondered, her eyes searching Dorothea's.

"The servants do not dare to repeat such rumors, at least not around me. Their loyalty, or perhaps their fear, keep them quiet. The city folk...." Dorothea trailed off, her gaze drifting toward the distant city. "I do not venture into the city often for a variety of reasons," she finished, leaving the unspoken reasons hanging heavy in the air.

Friedrich's preference for isolation. The gossip that followed her. Dorothea's own growing sense of isolation.

"How unfortunate," Liese remarked, her eyes narrowing in thought. "The question must constantly eat at you," she assumed. "Did he or did he not—"

"Ladies,"

The sound of Thomas' voice, smooth and polite, suddenly behind them startled both sisters. He and Friedrich had finally just about caught up. Dorothea spun around, her cheeks hot, though whether from the wind or embarrassment, she couldn't say. She only hoped they hadn't heard too much. Thomas, his face flushed from the sea air and long walk, approached them until he stood in front of them.

"It was not my intention to frighten you, my apologies," he said, a kind smile appeared on his lips. "If I may, might I ask what you two were discussing. You two were engaged in quite the deep conversation," Thomas noted humorously.

"You startled us, indeed, Herr Hutter," Dorothea said, forcing a smile, though her heart sank at the interruption. "We were merely discussing the weather and how wonderful it is to see the sun once more," she explained, watching Friedrich walk up behind Thomas.

"Yes, yes, the weather is lovely today, wouldn't you agree?" Liese added, trying to mask the undercurrent of tension in their conversation.

"Please, just Thomas. Remember?" Thomas reminded warmly.

"Of course, Thomas," Dorothea corrected, mirroring his expression.

Friedrich only tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing the sisters with a knowing look.

"I'm glad you persuaded me to come to the beach with you, Frau Werner," Thomas said, with a polite nod. "Just as you predicted, the sea air did me well," he admitted.

"I find it refreshing for the spirit. A walk by the beach always lifts it," Liese chirped. "And please, just Liese," she added, echoing Thomas from moments before.

At this, Thomas chuckled and turned his attention back to Dorothea.

"We were all so swept up in Liese's demand to visit the beach, I didn't get the chance to ask you how have you been?" he questioned. "I trust the newlywed life has been treating you well?" he presumed.

A tightness coiled in Dorothea's chest at the question.

"It has been...as one might expect," she replied, she couldn't banish the slight stiffness in her tone. "It is a role within which one must learn to find their footing, is it not?" she remarked, glancing at Friedrich, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.

Although composed, he seemed to catch the weight of her words. Friedrich paused, his usual stoicism momentarily cracking, before he stepped forward to join them. The sea's grey light seemed to leach the color from his face, leaving him looking older than his age.

"Indeed, Dorothea speaks truly," he said, his voice smooth as polished wood. "One must learn to adapt to the responsibilities expected of them. A wife must abide her husband's wishes," he paused, his words hanging heavy in the air. A cold implied reminder that he hadn't wanted this marriage, it was born of practicality. Affection was out of the question and he intended to keep it that way. "A marriage must be built on a solid foundation of respect," Friedrich retorted evenly, but with a faint edge.

Dorothea forced a smile, the barb finding its mark. The sea air, which once felt refreshing, now felt heavy on her skin.

"Respect, certainly," she agreed, faux sweetness dripping in her voice. She knelt down to pick up a shell, turning it over in her hand, examining its delicate swirls and ridges. "But also understanding. Both, of course, are a two-way road," she commented, her tone hardening slightly. "One cannot build a house upon a foundation of silence," she reasoned, before sending the shell skimming across the water.

It bounced twice before sinking. An apt metaphor of her fleeting hopes for a relationship quickly disappearing beneath the surface before her eyes.

"Aah! A pity it didn't go further. Handled with a strong, yet tender hand, can go a long way. I imagine," Liese commented pointedly, placing her hand gently on Dorothea's arm and squeezing.

Friedrich's gaze danced between Dorothea and Liese, irritation simmering beneath the surface. Thomas let out a chuckle, a strained sound that did little to lighten the mood.

"It is getting rather chilly. Perhaps we should return to the house for luncheon?" Thomas suggested abruptly, sensing the tension.

"An excellent suggestion, Thomas!" Dorothea exclaimed. "It's been ages since we've entertained guests at our home," she informed.

"Yes, a wonderful idea. Lead the way, friend," Friedrich urged, offered a small, strained smile. "Shall we, Dorothea?" he asked, offered her his arm.

The gesture felt more a strategic than a genuine expression of affection. Liese shot her sister a quick glance.

"Of course," she said, the smile a mirror image of Friedrich's.

Dorothea swallowed thickly, gently unwrapping her arm from Liese's before making her way to her husband. She hesitated only briefly before placing her hand on Friedrich's coat sleeve. Liese slipped past, pausing briefly to give Dorothea's bicep a warm squeeze before moving to walk beside Thomas. Within moments, Thomas had Liese laughing heartily. Dorothea was struck by the camaraderie and gentle compassion Thomas exuded toward her sister in such a short time. It was a glimpse of the connection she craved with Friedrich, if only he would let her in.

"Must we conduct our unhappiness for the benefit of our guests?" Friedrich questioned, his voice was low, almost a murmur. He refused to meet her gaze.

Dorothea flinched, the unexpected words like a cold wave crashing over her. She turned, her eyes blazing with a fury barely contained.

"Unhappiness?" she repeated, a short, bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I believe it is rather difficult to hide the state of our arrangement, wouldn't you agree?" she asked, a mirthless smile twisted her features.

A humorless chuckle escaped him, "An arrangement? Just yesterday you said we were married," he recalled mockingly.

"What else would you have me call it?" Dorothea retorted. "A partnership? It certainly is not a love affair," she went on. "You made your feelings abundantly clear last night about what we are," she pointed out, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep it steady.

Friedrich's jaw tightened, "You knew my circumstances when you agreed to this," he reminded.

Dorothea stopped abruptly, her hand clenching the skirt of her seaside gown.

"I did not agree to any of this!" she corrected sharply. "I did not agree to being expected to live in a perpetual shrine to your dead wife and children!" she snapped, her voice rising an octave.

"Do not speak of my home in such a manner!" Friedrich said, his voice hardening. The icy blue of his eyes seemed to reflect the unforgiving sea. "It was—is a place of memories," he said, correcting himself.

"And I am not amongst them, am I?" Dorothea challenged, stepping closer. The wind tore at her bonnet, threatening to pull it free. "I see the specter of Anna and your girls haunting every corner of the house. I feel it, Friedrich! I see the resentment in your eyes whenever you look at me, the woman who, what? Dared to replace them? Dared to breathe the same air they did?" she asked, a harsh, incredulous chuckle escaped her lips.

"Do not speak so carelessly. You know the depth of my loss!" he ground out, his voice was low, a dangerous growl.

"And do you know mine?" Dorothea shot back, her words cut like a razor, sharp and biting. "I lost my life when I married you, Friedrich. I lost my future, my hopes for a loving marriage, for children of my own who would not be looked upon as a constant reminder of what you lost before!" she seethed, the ocean's roar seemed to mirror the tempest within her.

His nostrils flared, "I cannot believe I condemned myself to this union!" he sneered, the words like shards of ice.

Dorothea's eyes flashed, the pain momentarily eclipsed by a bitter triumph, "Then, perhaps you should have chosen a different wife, Friedrich!" she spat venomously. "Oh wait, you couldn't, because no man wanted to marry their daughter off to you for reasons unknown to me, only my father was desperate enough!" she remembered, a resentful almost mocking smile twisting her lips.

Friedrich flinched, nearly imperceptible, but Dorothea saw it. It was enough. For the first time since their wedding day, she felt a flicker of something akin to power. A rare victory amidst the overwhelming despair of their wretched marriage.

He swallowed hard, "They are watching us," he muttered, looking at the carriage waiting at the far end of the beach.

Dorothea stared at him, her chest heaving. He offered her his arm again, a gesture so lacking in warmth it was near insulting. She wanted to refuse, but the thought of Liese's knowing gaze stopped her. Gingerly, she placed her hand lightly on his sleeve, the stiff fabric a barrier as impenetrable as the man himself. As they resumed their trek towards the carriage, an oppressive silence descended, heavier and more stifling than before. Each step now felt like a chore, the journey back seeming to stretch on endlessly, weighted by the palpable unease that permeated the air.

~~~x~~~

Darkness had descended upon the Harding estate, yet the tension between Friedrich and Dorothea persisted, despite everyone's attempts to ignore it. For Dorothea, however, the evening meal was a rare moment of joy in the past bleak months. Thomas' and Liese's lively banter breathed life into the dining room. A welcome change from the monotonous silence that had blanketed her meals for months. Friedrich, true to form, remained largely silent or offered only sparse words, his brooding presence a stark contrast amidst the lively discourse surrounding him.

After supper, the party retired to the parlor, where the fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a cozy glow upon the richly appointed furniture. Dorothea perched on the edge of the velvet settee, her face alight with genuine delight as she engaged in animated storytelling of fond childhood memories. Across from her, Thomas leaned forward, his attention rapt, while beside her, Liese chuckled along, the sound as warm and inviting as the dancing flames. Friedrich sat in a shadowy corner, a glass of brandy swirling listlessly in his grasp. His gaze was transfixed by the flames within the fireplace, a distant look clouding his features. The laughter and chatter of the room seemed to drift past him untouched.

"And then, Liese, do you remember, when that goose somehow found its way into Mother's garden! It was a feathery whirlwind of chaos! She was absolutely beside herself, waving her fan and shouting, 'Out, you loathsome fowl!'" Dorothea quoted, mimicking her mother's voice.

Liese laughed warmly, "Oh, Dottie, how could I forget? You were convinced the goose was after your doll, Lilli. You chased it around with a tiny parasol!" she said, reenacting how Dorothea wildly swung to stave off the winged threat.

"A goose in the garden, you say?" Thomas asked, a chuckle leaving him. "Sounds like it was quite the spectacle. I imagine your mother wasn't the only one ruffled by the intrusion," he assumed.

"Oh, you have no idea! It took three of the gardeners to finally wrangle the winged beast," Dorothea remembered, laughing again. "Mother declared the garden off-limits to all feathered creatures for a month!"

"Though I suspect, the little rascal that she was," Liese began, squeezing Dorothea's hand. "Dottie probably sneaked out there anyway to attract more birds like robins and goldfinches that she was always fond of,"

Dorothea giggled, "Perhaps a time or two, but only when the coast was clear! And Liese, you always covered for me, didn't you?" she pointed out.

"But of course!" Liese answered in faux exasperation. "Someone had to keep you out of real trouble. Remember the time you tried to dye Father's dog blue with berry juice?" she reminded, shaking her head and smiling.

Dorothea's eyes widened, "Oh, please don't remind me! That was a disaster! Mats looked like a little blue monster for a week!" she remembered.

Thomas' hearty laughter echoed through the room as he reveled in the tale. Meanwhile, Friedrich's silence remained unbroken, his expression unreadable in the shadows. Dorothea stole a glance in his direction, a flicker of hope flickering in her eyes only to be extinguished just as swiftly.

"As you can imagine, Father wasn't too pleased, but he couldn't help but smile in the end. He always had a soft spot for my enthusiastic imagination," she noted.

"He did, still does. He absolutely adores you, Dottie. We all do. You brought so much life into the house. I can't imagine my life without you being my sister," Liese said, her eyes crinkling.

"This...it feels good to remember those times. It's been a long time since I've been able to talk like this," Dorothea's voice softened, her smile becoming wistful.

She stared pointedly at Friedrich, but he remained unmoved. The firelight danced on his somber face, highlighting the deep lines etched around his eyes. His posture was tense, his jaw tight. He seemed to shrink even further into the shadows. Thomas cleared his throat gently, forcing Dorothea's back to him.

"Well, it sounds as though you and your sister had quite the adventures growing up. I always longed for a sibling when I was a boy, and hearing such lively tales reminds me of what I missed out on," Thomas said, his eyes gleaming with a wistfulness of his own.

Liese's eyes twinkled mischievously, "Oh, Thomas, Dottie and I were quite the pair. Remember the time we tried to groom Frau Schmidt's poodle?" she asked.

Dorothea gasped theatrically. "Liese! Don't tell him everything! That was also a disaster. The dog ended up patchy, and Frau Schmidt didn't speak to us for a week!" she laughed, a rich sound that filled the room.

Friedrich rose abruptly, setting down his brandy glass with a sharp clink.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice low and strained. "I find myself needing some air," he announced.

He offered a curt nod to Thomas and Liese, and without a word to Dorothea, he walked from the room. The heavy oak door closing behind him with a subdued thud. A heavy silence descended on the parlor.

Dorothea swallowed hard, her smile faltering and she looked at her sister, a question and a plea in her eyes. The joy that had been bubbling inside her now replaced with a familiar ache. Liese's smile had also faded, a concerned frown taking its place.

"It's going to be okay, liebchen," she soothed, taking Dorothea's hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "I think I need some air as well. All the excitement—it's been a long day," she said, with a weary sigh. Leaning down, she planted a gentle kiss atop Dorothea's head. "If you'll excuse me," Liese murmured, before departing, her eyes taking on a determined glint that could only mean one thing to Dorothea, trouble.

"For now," Liese's warning from this afternoon echoed in her head.

"Friedrich, he's a good man, Dorothea, but grief…it's a heavy burden. I am all too familiar with it," Thomas paused, his voice slightly catching in his throat. "Perhaps fresh air is just what he needs," he suggested, a sad smile on his lips.

She let out a soft exhale, remembering Thomas' own circumstances. It was a shared pain between him and Friedrich, a bleak common ground she wouldn't wish on anyone. She didn't know him well, but she could see that the loss that had aged him beyond his years.

"It's good you were not wholly alone in your time of grief," Dorothea said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words felt inadequate, hollow even, in the face of his own loss.

She felt a strange kinship with him, not forged in shared joy, but of mutual understanding of loss. Perhaps, not the all-consuming kind that had swallowed Friedrich whole, or the heavy sorrow that weighed upon Thomas, still, she too was familiar with the specter of grief.

Thomas gave a gentle nod, "No. I was not. I had a companion," he replied.

She offered a small, hesitant smile. "You speak of your cat, I presume? "Friedrich mentioned you were quite attached to the creature," she remembered, recalling his dismissive wave of the animal.

"Indeed. Mathilde. A rather playful tabby, possessing the heart of a lion, so she thinks. She saw me through my darkest days, I can assure you," Thomas leaned back in his chair, a flicker of genuine warmth lighting his features. "She has a knack for knowing when one needs silent company, a warm lap, and the occasional well-aimed head-butt," he joked, the mention of his cat seeming to have eased the weight on his shoulders, if only momentarily.

Dorothea chuckled, a genuine sound that still felt foreign even after today's visit from her sister. "Artemis has much the same talent. I daresay, for a long while, she was the only creature in this house who seemed to truly notice my presence," she confessed.

A shadow crossed his face, the lightness of the moment fading abruptly.

"Losing Anna and the girls…it leaves a chasm," he began, his voice subdued.

"One that I cannot seem to bridge," Dorothea said, the words escaping before she could restrain herself. "I try, Thomas, truly I do. But it's as if he sees a ghost whenever he looks at me. A reminder of what he's lost. A disappointment in what he's gained," she finished in a whisper, fiddling with the lace on her sleeve, avoiding his gaze.

Thomas was silent for a moment, "Believe me when I say grief is a beast. It blinds, deafens. It makes men do and say things they'll later regret. Right now, Friedrich is trapped within its clutches. It doesn't diminish your own feelings, Dorothea, but knowing this will helpfully assist you in understanding his behavior," he explained gently.

"How long, Thomas?" Dorothea questioned, her voice still barely a whisper. "How long must I endure being a background figure in my own marriage? This house feels so empty, despite being so large. For so long, my cat has been my only true company," she pointed out, a sad chuckle escaping her.

Thomas sighed, "There is no timetable, Dorothea. It ebbs and flows," he answered, shaking his head. "You have to take it one day at a time," he advised. "And to allow yourself to grieve, too." he added softly.

Her eyes widened in surprise, it was as if Thomas heard her and Friedrich's spat earlier in the day.

"Grieve? Why would I grieve?" she asked, a faint tremor in her voice betraying her attempt at nonchalance.

There was a reluctance to admit the depth of her unhappiness to him.

"For the marriage you thought you were entering into, for the love you're not receiving," he explained, reaching down to grab his half-empty glass of brandy.

He had struck a nerve, a raw and painful truth she had been desperately trying to ignore.

"You're very perceptive, Thomas," Dorothea noted quietly, gratitude in her voice. "Not many people, let alone men, would be so understanding and caring to what I'm experiencing," she said softly.

She had expected judgment, even pity, but not this quiet empathy.

He nodded solemnly, swirling the amber liquid with his gaze fixed on its contents, "They wouldn't be," he acknowledged. "My caring nature is what my Ellen loved most about me," he reminisced, a watery smile on his lips. He pulled himself back, returning to the present and clearing his throat. "Perhaps," he added with a hopeful glint in his eyes, looking up from his glass. "A little feline companionship can be a balm for both of you," he joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

A scoffing laugh left her, "Friedrich detests Artemis, they are the very definition of mortal enemies,"

"I do recall him calling her a 'demon disguised in fur' in a letter," Thomas informed, prompting them both to break out into soft laughter. "Things will get better, Dorothea," he promised, a quiet sincerity in his voice.

Thomas reached across the small table and gently enclosed his hand around hers, offering a comforting squeeze. She smiled, a genuine, hopeful one that reached her eyes as she squeezed back, feeling a warmth spread through her.

"Perhaps, Thomas. Perhaps. And thank you. For seeing me, when Friedrich cannot. Or…when he chooses not to," she said softly, a hint of sadness creeping into her voice. "It means more than you know," she murmured.

She looked down at their joined hands. Thomas saw the loneliness, the isolation, that she had become so accustomed to. She wanted to hold onto this small connection, this fleeting moment of solace, for a little while longer.

~~~x~~~

A few days later

The heavy, lingering scent of ink and pressed flowers hung thick in the morning room. Dorothea sat at her desk, pen in hand, as the warm sunlight spilled through the windows illuminating the delicate sketches and pressed specimens adorning the pages of her botanical journal. With her brow knit, Dorothea captured the delicate veining of the primrose in front of her. Suddenly, a shadow fell across her desk. A hand, large and familiar yet still somewhat foreign, reached over her shoulder and gently placed a vibrant tulip on the open page. Its red petals contrasting starkly against the cream colored paper she had been working on. Dorothea gasped softly, startled, and turned around in her chair. Friedrich stood there, his expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of something softer than usual in his stare.

"I reckoned you didn't have this flower yet. Just bloomed this morning in the garden," he reasoned, his voice low and laced with a timbre she was unfamiliar with. It wasn't the curt, detached tone he usually reserved for her.

Dorothea looked at the tulip, then back at him, her expression a mix of surprise and the wariness that had become all too familiar in their young marriage. Yet, an almost dizzying flicker of hope danced within her.

"How did you know about my journal? Did you have Sofie tell you?" she asked, her words coming out sharper than she intended.

Her carefully constructed composure was wavering, it was a defensive shield against the sudden surge of hope within her.

Friedrich's lips quirked in a small, almost sad smile. It softened the harsh lines of his face, making him appear years younger.

"I'm more observant than you give me credit for, Dorothea," he answered,

Her breath caught. He'd used her name, truly, used it, without the frosty formality that she was used to.

"Is that so?" Dorothea wondered softly, the words barely audible.

Friedrich stepped closer, resting a hand against the edge of the desk, casually but deliberately close to her. Dorothea's gaze lingered on his hand, then rising to meet his eyes. They reminded her of a stormy sea, holding a glimmer she hadn't seen before. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. The gesture was disarmingly intimate. A crack in the wall he's built between them.

"I've noticed you always disappear in here mornings," Friedrich remarked, looking at the journal. "And along with the scent of ink. Hard to miss, really," he said, his gaze sweeping over the cluttered desk. "You have a talent for it. The details are...impressive," he complimented.

"Thank you, Friedrich," she said quietly, an undeniable fluttering in her chest.

Dorothea swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She stared at the tulip, its petals a perfect crimson, mirroring the warmth that was slowly blooming in her chest. His words, simple as they were, sent a thrill through her. He had noticed, noticed her passions. He had seen her. Friedrich hadn't been entirely lost in the fog of his past this whole time.

She risked a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He was still leaning against the desk, his gaze fixed on the tulip. He looked…less burdened.

The air crackled with a sudden, unexpected tension. The gesture, so small, so quietly offered. It was utterly romantic, in its own understated way. The urge to lean forward and cup his face in her hands, closing the distance between them, was almost unbearable. To feel his warmth against her own which she so desperately craved as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, telling him how much this small act meant. But they weren't there yet. They weren't that kind of couple. Not yet. They were barely acquaintances still, bound only by a legal contract and a shared roof.

As he moved to push himself off the desk, Dorothea acted on impulse, reaching out and gently wrapping her fingers around his hand, her touch light and hesitant.

"Thank you, Friedrich,"

He stilled, his gaze fixed on their joined hands for a moment. The pale contrast between his skin and hers was stark. Turning his hand over, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles, caressing her skin on the back of her hand for just a beat longer than necessary. The small intimacy sent a shiver down Dorothea's spine.

He straightened up, his eyes finally meeting hers. There was a depth there she hadn't seen before, a hint of vulnerability that tugged at her heart. Friedrich only nodded, the gesture stiff, awkward. Then, he pulled away, the connection broken as quickly as it was formed.

He turned and walked towards the door, "Good day, Dorothea," he wished, leaving the room.

Dorothea was left alone with the tulip and the ghost of his touch. She carefully lifted the tulip, bringing it right up underneath her nose its velvety petals cool against her skin. It was a gesture of reconciliation, a silent apology. And God, how she wanted to believe it was real. To believe that finally, finally, the shadow of his past was beginning to lift.

Liese. Dorothea was certain her sister had something to do with this shift. She had left the Harding residence two days ago and she refused to reveal what she had said to Friedrich that night they both stepped out for air. Whatever it was, she thanked god for it. Liese had always been a force to be reckoned with. Dorothea could only imagine the scolding her sister had delivered.

Bathed in the warmth of the morning sun, Dorothea held the flower out in front of her, a vibrant beacon in her otherwise muted world.

Part III: Little Things Mean A Lot

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Meeting at the snack machine

Simon Kalivoda x fem!reader (nurse)

warning : fluff, kiss, mutual feelings, implied past relationship

Summary : What was for them a normal night shift at the Shadyville hospital was for Simon and his friends a nightmare that had just begun. A nightmare that seemed to have arisen from the town's past and that, by pure chance, brought Simon to a person he hadn't seen in a long time, but the shared memory was all the stronger.

info : I knew I had to write for Fred again and the stories for Simon are far from over. I wish you lots of fun ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The evening began as usual with her alarm clock which seemed too shrill and too loud, a yawn and a tired look later she was standing in the bathroom under the shower trying to keep her eyes open.

A quick breakfast in the evening and less than two hours later she was in her blue uniform in the nurse's room, stowing her things in her locker before setting off for her shift.

It was the same every day, every week and every month, getting up, eating breakfast and trying not to fall asleep on the way to the hospital before she started her shift, taking turns with her tired colleagues who were glad to get home.

,,Have a good shift!” she heard the goodbyes of her colleagues before she took the clipboards and went through the individual complaints and requests of the patients.

Whether it was refilling water, emptying a bag or washing hair after there was food inside, there was always variety and even though she had vowed to get out of the city, this feeling of helping and doing something good for others was somehow addictive, especially here.

Addiction was a word that meant a lot in her job and her freedom, gone were the weekends and weeks when she had gotten a little too drunk, taken a few pills and worried about nothing in the world.

Now here the only dependency was the money she got from this job, ,,And only for another forty years,” she muttered as she stepped out of the hallway and decided to just check the medicine cabinet.

Although her tiredness was gone, the toast with jam and the few pieces of fruit made themselves heard a few hours into her shift, a growl that was audible to others but was unmistakable to her.

Especially in Shadyside the later it seemed to get the less interesting the town seemed to become, especially from the other side you could hear the partying and the loud music of festivals something the inhabitants here could only dream of.

Festivals and concerts here in the city would probably lead to a fire and a storm, which is why people were rather glad that everything was quiet and still and that there were no accidents and murders, which were not only bad enough but also turned the otherwise uneventful hospital into a crowd of onlookers.

Sighing to herself, she just said, ,,Maybe there's a banana in the hall” and decided to go to the front of the floor where the reception area was located and she found one of her colleagues and coworkers looking just as bored and tired as she was.

The night shift was the shift where no one called in despite the little extra pay, it was like being a ghost in Shadyside it was so dead quiet.

The morning and midday shifts were busier, more people came in and there was even a sense of hope, which was helped by seeing the sun instead of the moon whenever you looked outside.

The same brief smile was exchanged between them and a ,,Thank you lifesaver” came from her as she was handed the yellow fruit and opened it, so it seemed like it was going to be another uneventful shift...what she didn't know though was as she disappeared back to her floor, footsteps and more importantly screams approached the hospital.

A small group in the middle of which was someone who had the same hunger as her and whose circumstances were slightly different from hers, but both would meet again sooner than they thought.

The papers and folders had priority but when the phone rang at her station she picked it up, ,,Emergency room on the line, what's up?” she asked and heard her colleague on the other end, ,,A couple of kids just showed up, could you pick up some bandages but could also be a Halloween prank” and hung up again.

A sigh came over her lips as she walked a step faster and rummaged through the cupboards and drawers for the utensils, there had been many times in the last few years and especially weeks and months since the incident in the mall the teenagers seemed to be particularly amused and play such false alarms.

If not she could at least do her job and get some variety, mostly it was just small cuts from broken bottles anyway, rarely anything bigger.

With the bandages and the necessary extra to make her way to the lobby, she didn't see the gang tampering with something down the hall, ,,I hope you're not taking the piss, do you need anything else?” she said to the group, spotting a few familiar faces from parties and especially fights with the sunny, happy bastards.

But the nervousness and the blood, which looked a little too dark to be artificial, made her a little uneasy - what had happened?

She was just about to exchange a few words with Kate when Deena asked her for some tape to fix the whole thing, which she acknowledged with a ,,Sure, wait a minute” and headed back to her room where more equipment was stored.

But first of all, she passed a certain snack machine where she saw someone who made her pause, ,,Simon? What on earth are you doing here?” she asked even though it was obvious and the blonde looked up from the vending machine.

A familiar broad smile appeared on his face and he leaned against the machine, ,,My nurse, it's been a long time,” he said, yet he seemed happy to see his former companion and perhaps more since she had left school early to start here at the hospital.

A chain of unfavorable events, as they often were in Shadyside, had brought them apart and also brought them together again, ,,Still the broadly grinning, troublemaking Simon,” she replied, not quite knowing whether she should shake his hand, wave, talk or embrace, a decision he took from her and she got into a brief, intimate embrace.

Hands clasped briefly and yet not unfamiliar, a verne memory something that made her heart beat, ,,You know me, Doc,” he winked and she rolled her eyes at the nickname they had really thought she was going to be a doctor and now she was a nurse almost the same.

He hadn't changed in the past month still had the slightly curly hair, a hopeful slightly silly smile and a cute demeanor, ,,Are you assigned to pick up snacks?” she asked, pointing to the glowing vending machine from which he leaned away and pointed to some of the merchandise.

Apparently Simon and his friends had had more than one successful night with the odd creepy incident, ,,I'd love to but no change” he replied and she pushed him aside only slightly not seeing him look away embarrassed as her hand settled on his chest.

How gentle and yet guiding she was, something that had been reflected not only in the bedroom but also in the consumption of pills.

A consumption that had often led them both to each other, from taking them together, smoking, drinking and perhaps the first kiss and more.

With a few deft grabs and a final tap on the drink symbol, the machine gave a rustle and jerk before all the snacks fell down one by one, ,,Who needs change when you've got me?” she replied, pressing the snack bags into his hands, hands resting on top of each other for perhaps a moment longer than necessary.

Maybe she should have walked away, let Simon and the past they had experienced together be a thing of the past and maybe she shouldn't have looked into those blue, engaging blue eyes.

,,Does this work?” Simon's question took her out and she followed his gaze to her chest where the stethoscope lay in her hand, ,,Sure here" she replied and held it out to him, at first he seemed to want to give it back to her but when he realized what he could do with it he took it.

Putting the earpiece of the stethoscope in her ear, she moved a little closer to him, ,,Don't be frightened, my patient,” he grinned and pressed the surface of her breast lightly, wishing her body wouldn't betray her, her heart seemed to jump out of her chest as much as his.

It was like when they used to lie on the couch, cuddling and foggy-headed from a little too much grass, hearts united and just enjoying each other's company. ,,I-I think you're fine,” he stammered, handing her back the stethoscope, which she put back on and silence fell between them.

Their eyes met again and again, hands brushed past each other and only when they heard the shouts and voices of the others did they both flinch, ,,I think we should go back,” she cleared her throat and pointed into the corridor when she suddenly felt his hand on hers.

Turning around, she felt his lips on hers the next moment, finally feeling the kiss again that she had hoped for so long, ,,I still had to thank my nurse,” he had found his mood again and with a wink pulled her after him to the others...maybe they should meet at the snack machine more often than just every few months.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@tori111777 , @simonsrealwife , @bel0ved-heretic , @amecchii , @xxxibgdrgons , @lordbelzeebub , @cowgyaru

[yayasvalveplay]

i’m still thinking about that ask from a few days ago about frames meant for speed perform well in the berth but overload extremely quickly vs warframes who could go for hours and that’s not metaphorical. “longarm” (or even shockwave depending on the context/au) wrapping blurr up in his arms til he can hardly move and goes to town on his valve that way… not that blurr can really move after the fifth or sixth overload, but it still sends a thrill down his struts that he’s completely at the mercy of his mate whose only just getting started with him

FUCKING. Longarm.

Blurr asking his boss back to his hub for some fragging, and after like the first 3 overloads, Blurr is a whining mess, asking if Longarm needed to take a break after y know three overloads in a row(cuming with Blurr mind you). But Longarm, vents opened, fans running hot, droll leaving his mouth as he pushes into Blurr again.

"I do not need one unless you do as well."

Blurr shakes his helm, face flushed because frag Longarm look sexy all overheated.

they can both meet eachothers freak so well. Overloads quickly, but also recovers faster, while the other can keep going despite having already came.

Acually you think it would be well into the morning before Longarm pulls out satisfied, his tanks dry, neather got any sleep.

"Wow, S-sir. I did not think you- you were capable of keeping up with me."

"There is much you do not know about me agent."

And then when Blurr finds out about Longarm being Shockwave it clocks. War frames can go very long while fragging, it was the only way Shockwave was able to keep up with him that night, and many others after that. He is slightly aroused and pissed.

[opal-owl-flight]

can I ask about the poster "agent 3" kids story?

Yes you can and here it all is!! Presenting…

tldr: She comes from a family of big name actors in the industry, and shes been raised from hatching to continue their legacy. Its…a lot of pressure to put on a kid, especially one who just wants to make her (impossible to satisfy) family proud. Despite being surrounded by impossible standards, the fakest friends chosen for her, being given everything she can ever want (except what she really needs), and putting on a hundred masks for everyone in her life for survival’s sake in a cutthroat industry, she chooses to be kind.

more details under the cut!!

Her name is Sariwa, which means “fresh” . Named for her spring green tentacles and as a blessing from her parents that shed stay youthful, beautiful. a hope that she would be seen and be adored (as freshness implies coolness/popularity in sploonworld).

Shes hatched into the acting industry, with both parents being big in the industry. From hatching she was expected, trained to be an actor like her mother is. The media adores them, this “sweet little family”, but no one knows how nefarious everything is when the cameras are off.

The dad is neglectful, disappearing into meetings most of the time. The mom is a helicopter parent to make up for it. Pointing out every flaw that Sariwa apparently has in either performance or appearance. Never giving praise. Except when she performs “well enough” on stage. This instills in the child this need to make them proud. to…to make everyone happy. She becomes someone whose dependent on other peoples’ praise to function.

Shes given everything else, dont get me wrong. Every material thing she’ll ever need. all the big popular “friends” chosen for her. But…shes not allowed to turf. yknow. biggest event in an inkling’s life here in Inkopolis. and shes not allowed to go to school either. shes too busy memorizing lines for adverts or-

The second she turned 14, she was chosen as the lead role for Cuttlegear’s brand new show abt Agent 3. She looked exactly like the legendary hero, according to the sources. All her time went into this project. Thankfully, unlike at home…her co-actors were very kind. Her parents didnt choose for her this time. She was meeting actual people who dont put on masks beyond their job. the actor they got for Cuttlefish, in particular, is a very kind soul, defending her when the directors get too pissy with her performance. (Those are the only people she fears, tbh shes fearful of most authority figures.)

*Cuttlefish is also depicted as kind and supportive in the show. and in most games. Unlike the real Cuttlefish, which is kind of a loony old man who pushes ideas on young inklings. He still gives more support and kindness that 3s dad ever gave, but thats only RELATIVE to how little he gave in the first place. One can only imagine the longing this inspires in the real 3.

Sariwa…since shes hatched shes had to put on an act. Be the perfect little doll for her parents. For the world. But her friends here, they inspired her to…have fun with what shes doing again. To take off the mask (mostly beyond the clock). Breathe life in the character when she can. (But lets be real…shes getting 3 spot on with how many parallels they have with each others lives.)

But what is she beyond the mask, her role? She wasnt allowed to do anything beyond this. She was forced to depend on her abusive parents and their associates. She cant live alone beyond them. Not allowed to turf bc shes “a prim and proper young lady; above such violent drivel that only delinquents participate in”. They gesture to 3, whos one of the faces Squidforce uses in their promotions, and say (ironically.) that she must not become that. Face ripped to shreds and eye mangled.

No one knows they got that from the real war that Sariwa is pretending to show.

The show does its best to be an accurate telling. Child friendly, to a point. Horrifying things still get kept in somewhat. Things that will horrify a child on stage.

If Sariwa is terrified of the props, can you imagine how it was for 3?

————————

And once she realizes all of this. Once she gets out of this situation thanks to Callie, Marie, and 3 themself. Does she feel guilt? Guilt for depicting the horrors in a way that glorifies it instead? A part of a project that aims to make people complacent to the real horrors that churned below?

There is one thing Sariwa feels about 3, that I am aware of rn.

“Im glad, that out of every story I couldve told, Im glad it was yours.”

Just like 8, she sung this tale in her hearts. Just like 8, she used this to break out of this terrible situation, answering the call of the ones who promised her safety. A better life. Like the way she stage broke through that prop in the choreographed Octavio fight, she broke through the influence of those around her.

*She actually went off-script a bit in that scene. After she beat down Octavio, she held out her hand. Mostly to help the actor up. But then, without realizing, she spoke, she spoke of making things better between the nations. That maybe he doesnt have to steal the zapfish anymore.

Her time with the octoling actors, and hearing the stories from the ex-octarians, made her aware and know the fact that theyre people too. The directors kept it in. They knew that if they released this as they have planned it, there will be fuckign riots from the ex-octarians or the Inkling “sympathizers”.

She saw the value this story held, despite the subliminal messaging that she wished wasnt implemented. That she wished she wasnt a part of. She saw that its a tale of hope. A tale that inspires one to become the hero of their own life. A tale that inspires one to make the world a better place.

————————

So she was hatched and raised to make people smile, singing her songs and dancing their dances. Much like the clan singer that was 4, except the tradition is much more healthy compared to industry standard. And she didnt become as mean as the people around her, at least not internally. She put on a mean mask but she felt the void within. When she was given kindness for a long enough time, she put her walls down.

And just like the real 3, she underwent through the horrors of expectations she had to hold up, and trying to make uninterested parents proud. They dont see her as their daughter, shes just a means to an end. She had to wear a hundred masks to survive and it made her lose her sense of identity. She had to be mature, she had to take the shitty behavior of adults who expect her to be like one too. It made her lose grip of who she is beyond this role. Hell, they made her so dependent on their handouts that shes not sure she can exist beyond this hell. Much like how 3 struggles to know a life beyond their duty.

And much like 8, she used the story she was telling to break out and get herself in a better situation. She met with the real Agents 1 and 2 (without her knowledge) and asked. Begged. for help, after her show ended. (3 also kind of pointed the two in her direction. Bc cod knows how horrifying this industry is. Shes lucky she didnt get any of the grosser horrors ~~its bc I didnt feel comfortable writing such topics~~)

And then shes faced with the same problem all the real legends faced. What comes after the end? When the dust clears, what happens next? She wasnt given a damn choice, she wasnt allowed to try to learn things beyond this role. to be beyond an imagined agent 3. a soldier for the screen. who is she now, that shes out of that battlefield?

little does she realize that the real 3s asking the same question for themself.

[twstfanblog]

Would you say in your universe people hiring NRC graduates actually put stock in what dorm they were sorted into?

It's not legal to do so. But if you can get them talking and talk about which dorm they were in, then YES, they start eyeing you depending on your answer.

Heartslabyul graduates are very hard working but they are also taking every rule to the extreme. Like malcious compliance levels.

Savanaclaw graduates are loyal if you treat them well. If you don't...you might now have a building the next day.

Octavinelle graduates can either be a god send to businesses or they can walk into your business and already be embezzling funds.

Scarabia graduates come fully loaded with connections. They also have a habit of playing hot potato with their own employment.

Pomefiore graduates are another hard working bunch. They are also the ones who clock out on the dot. You pay them 9-5, so thats what they work.

Ignihyde tech field geniuses. They are such fucking wild cards on if theyre actually working or not though.

Diasomnia, another loyal bunch. Except they are too loyal. They are staging attacks on competitors whose new slogan claims theyre better than them.

Like OBVIOUSLY, you can't not hire someone from NRC based purely on what dorm they were in. But if they DO hire an NRC graduate, everyone in senior management is desperately trying to find out what dorm they were in. For their own peace of mind.

[g00seg1rl]

Meet Broccoli

Pairing: Azriel x Eris Vanserra

Summary: High Lord of Autumn, Eris Vanserra, was late for a dick appointment. The scoundrel that was one of his hounds needed to bounce around some walls that weren’t inside his home.

Aka Eris regrets not letting his dog ruin his living room because now Azriel was looking up at him, come on his face, taunting eyes and asking him who Broccoli was.

A/N: Hey azris babes, small snack for yall, 2.8k words below this cute lil hound or over on ao3! 😘

He was going to meet Azriel in their preferred Autumnal clearing. He was going to go alone, he thought pointedly as he sent a frustrated sideways glance to the overly-hyper Broccoli.

The stable hand informed him that the soon-to-be papa was practically jumping off the walls as he and Bourbon waited for her to deliver their litter.

And so Eris, oh-so-benevolently, had brought his pet to run around the Forest as he met Azriel for a dick appointment — a very scheduled and longed-for dick appointment.

He let Broccoli loose to run a mile from the clearing, hoping to give the two of them some space from the hound and vice versa, doubting the sight of his vicious hound shredding squirrels would set the mood all that well.

He would’ve walked the distance to calm his racing heart and unwelcome nerves but his loafers were hardly proper footwear to traverse the twiggy path; he supposed he should’ve known to wear more substantial shoes – hm, maybe he should’ve worn those new boots he’d gotten from Rask – but no, they wouldn’t have matched his blouse or trousers as well as the velvet flats did.

And over the nearest person’s dead body would he have changed that blouse; he'd been wanting to wear the navy silk shirt for Azriel since he saw it through an ateliers storefront in Rhoades. He wore deep charcoal slacks, an array of gold studs in his pointed ears and rings on his long fingers. His copper hair flowed down his back in loose curls.

As he magically emerged in the center of the clearing that they’d defiled or blessed, depends who you ask, countless times over the centuries, he instantly clocked the musky smell of mist and cedar. He inhaled deeply through his nose and heard a deep, rumbling chuckle behind him.

He swiveled to see the Shadowsinger, decked out in his typical leathers, leaning against a thick oak tree, biceps bulging as he crossed his arms over his chest, a smug grin painting his pretty face.

“Do I smell that good?” he asked, with a minxy tilt of his head.

“You smell horny,” Eris noted, a tad proud.

A dark glint flickered over his bright hazel eyes. “You have been keeping me waiting,” he reasoned.

“Is testing your patience arousing, Spymaster?” Eris asked, supposing it would explain the career path.

“Standing in this memorable forest, waiting for you to come, thinking of making you come – all very horny inducing.” Azriel’s voice grew hoarser as he went on, pushing off the tree and striding towards the High Lord. “Now if you’ll do me the honor, I would appreciate showing you just how wanton I am with more than scent.”

Eris’s breath caught. Azriel chuckled and those voyeuristic shadows of his delivered the Singer abruptly in front of him, wings wide and crowding.

Eris felt his face flood with heat, and he might have made some sort of squeaking sound. Azriel was so close now, emanating desire and looking at him so, so intently.

“I have always been a visual learner,” he replied, fighting the nervous edge in his voice.

“Then pay close attention, Autumn,” Azriel ordered as he sank to his knees – as if Eris could ever look away.

The Shadowsinger on his knees was a sight that would never lose its novelty, that dizzying downward rush of blood, the heady fluttering of his anticipatory heart. It all made his head spin, in a delectable, delirious sort of way.

Eris swallowed the influx of saliva in mouth. His dick was already rock hard and they hadn’t even kissed, yet. Whose horrible planning was that?

Azriel’s right hand reached to give him some release. Eris wished he could kiss him, but fucking his face would have to do.

He buried his fingers in Azriel’s raven curls, running deft nails up and down, pulling a rumbling purr from the Spymaster.

Like a large hound, Eris snickered to himself.

He stopped snickering to groan, loudly, when Azriel first laid a hand on him, a tight, clenching fist, spat in unceremoniously. Not that there was a hand-spitting ceremony he knew of, for the record.

His other hand raked up Eris’s porcelain abs, shadows sneakily unclasping the ivory buttons as they passed with Azriel’s hand. Marred fingers tweaked his left nipple, the scars of his skin created an overwhelming friction that had Eris’s toes curling in his loafers. His shirt silently fell to the ground.

Eris knew intimately how hot Azriel’s tongue was, and when it ran over the male’s lower lip he was rabidly jealous. Azriel looked up to Eris with darkened hazel eyes.

“Would you hurry up?” Eris keened, jerking his hips urgently into Azriel’s fist, and waiting not very patiently for the Illyrian to open his mouth. He halted the scalp massage to tug the smirking male forward.

“So needy today, High Lord. You should’ve called me here sooner.” Azriel taunted. His fingers brushed sideways to roll Eris’s other nipple between them. It felt delicious; he felt ungrateful for not appreciating being touched by Az, he just craved for more.

“Mmhm, yes, shoulda coulda woulda, can you please open your mouth now?” Eris whined, bucking his hips again.

“Aw saying please already,” Azriel cooed but fucking finally lapped at the bead of precome that was probably about to drip onto his leathers.

“Hhnnm,” Eris shuddered as Azriel, the tease, placed a light kiss on the slit of his tip. His tongue chased for more, and Eris’s knees felt weak.

He threaded his fingers down, opening Azriel’s mouth because apparently the Illyrian had forgotten how to. Azriel parted his lips, their corners pulling into an amused smirk Eris was so very happy he’d get to fuck away.

“Ohh fuuuck,” Eris groaned as Azriel pushed his tongue out to rest teasingly over his bottom lip. Eris would have none of it; he canted his hips forward as he pulled Azriel sharply closer. He feared he was going to come the instant Azriel’s hot, wet tongue made contact with the flushed, sensitive skin of his cock. Thankfully he didn’t, or he might have set the forest aflame in shame for wasting this precious mouth.

Eris moaned loud enough to scare the birds from their branches, as the menace that was his unofficial malefriend hummed whorishly as he took him deeper and deeper into the slick and watering velvety channel that was his heavenly throat. No matter how many times he’d gotten Azriel’s mouth, the overwhelming pleasure always caught him off guard.

Azriel grabbed handfuls of Eris’s ass as soon as Eris’s dick was far enough past his lips that it no longer required a leveling hand. Kneading and needy, Azriel made his way up to slip into and lower Eris’s pants, sliding them down to his knees.

“Azriel!” Eris nearly howled when Azriel swallowed around his length, then broke off into ragged moans as he began thrusted shallowly, sliding his cock languidly back and forth over Azriel’s tongue. Azriel, the perfect slut that he was, was having none of Eris’s slow, trying-not-to-come bullshit, though the only warning of his rabidity was a sinful glint in his watering eyes.

Azriel bobbed his head forward insistently, his lips wrapping tight as he salaciously sucked his way to forcefully shoving Eris off pleasure’s tantalizing precipice. His tongue, the wicked thing, swished across the underside of Eris’s cock. Eris’s back arched and his head fell back; a puff of smoke escaped his slack jaw, expelling none of the volcanic heat he felt building inside himself.

“AaaHHH, SWEET MOTHER ABOVE!” Eris cried. His chest heaved and his fingers tightened in Azriel’s hair; he felt like he was slipping out of reality, nothing could possibly feel this good.

Azriel grazed his teeth against the vein on the underside of his cock in reprimand, principally opposed to the Mother's name being used in vain. Azriel was in no position to flex religion but Eris groaned passively.

Some of Azriel’s shadows tickled Eris’s thighs, others – the kinkier ones – wound up his body to pull and rub coolly against his nipples. “Mmnhhn.” Eris shuddered. Then not so demurely, bleated as the most daring of the bunch fondled his taut balls.

Eris looked down as he ground his hips forward, inserting the last inch or two of his cock past Azriel’s reddening, working lips. He took it beautifully; tears formed at the edge of his eyes and his jaw was doubtlessly aching, but he took it like he needed it. Eris wanted to wipe them away and make him spring more.

He was not Autumnal, yet Azriel seemed to have a special way with Eris’s molten body that not even his own fae could handle. Azriel swallowed again, and having most of Eris’s cock down his throat felt heavenly. No, more than that – it felt like what a saint’s reward might be if all the sycophants and gluttons around him claimed upcoming heaven. Azriel was an ethereal pleasure Eris never deserved but always savored.

Azriel moaned, letting his eyes fall shut and the tears escaped as he bottomed out, his nose tickling copper hairs. He didn’t stay, didn’t allow Eris to relish his mouth before he withdrew to the tip and made his slick way down to Eris’s base again, and then again, and then hypnotizingly again.

Azriel’s hands ran down the cleft of Eris’s ass, spreading the fat of his cheeks to expose his hole to the crisp Autumn air. A somehow oiled finger – those shadows were earning their keep – circled his rim gently – okay, not so gently. Azriel pushed his thick finger past the tight ring of muscle Eris was trying to relax.

The thoughtful devil took Eris’s vacant mind off the stinging stretch of his finger with a clenching gag and an especially deep stroke. He curved his finger at the knuckle and dragged slowly back out till the tip of his finger, thrusting two back in as he swallowed and his slick throat constricted around Eris.

Eris perked his ass back, trying to chase Azriel’s fingers. Azriel’s pretty eyes opened, glossy and darkened, a prideful tinge to their hazel. The Illyrian‘s ever-confident shades sneaked inside Eris along with Azriel’s fingers.

“AHHH WHATTHE –!” Eris jolted, and Azriel’s shoulders shook with laughter.

The shadows bore down on Eris’s prostate, brushing back and forth with varying, randomly increased pressure, never allowing Eris to accommodate their presence. Azriel scissored his fingers, stretching him wide for his doubtlessly desperate dick.

It wasn’t the shadows or the fingers that finished him off, it was a sloppy gag that had Eris yanking Azriel back by his hair and coming all over his bronze cheekbones.

“Warning would’ve been appreciated.”

“Hahng,” Eris sort of replied.

His vision was still swimming but the blurred image of Azriel with white ropes painting his face was still gorgeous. Unfortunately the half-sight robbed his attention so entirely that he didn’t see his hound darting through the clearing until Broccoli was already chasing his prey, a pitiful fox, through the trees on their right.

Azriel’s back went ramrod straight at the loud growling and thunder of heavy claws raced behind them. Azriel pulled his fingers out, but the shadows spread and filled Eris’s hole, keeping him fuckable. If this dog cost him any more of Azriel’s attention, he would gift him to Tamlin.

“Broccoli! Rush!” Eris ordered, goading him to hunt beyond the treeline.

The fox and the hound disappeared from eyesight, taking Eris’s blissful dissociative state along with them.

“Broccoli?” Azriel queried, his voice laced with laughter and far too much judgment for Eris’s liking.

Eris snorted, and lifted his knee. He pressed his toes hard against Azriel’s leather-covered cock, and taunted, “Would you really like to discuss vegetables at the moment?”

Azriel, who’s a menace in case he hadn’t mentioned, barked out a laugh (the second proof of his dog-like demeanor) and ground his hips into Eris’s shoe.

“You underestimate my ability to interrogate?” Azriel husked.

Eris whined, “Ugh, can we talk about this later?” He truly didn’t want to waste another moment.

“We will most definitely be talking about this later.” Azriel smirked.

Eris chuckled and lifted his foot to hover above Azriel’s bulging leathers. He sniggered at how needily Azriel chased after it.

Az growled (evidential item number three), and pulled Eris down by his knees, still bound by the taut fabric of his pants that had only partly been removed.

“Omph.” He landed with a huff. Before he could complain, Azriel grabbed his waist and smoothly flipped him onto all fours.

“Didn’t you just complain about the lack of warnings?” Eris breathed... and also arched his back.

“You did just step on my dick – I don't recall a ‘watch out,’” Azriel unfortunately recalled correctly.

“Was the hasty manhandling for show or do you plan on fucking me any day now?” Eris goaded.

The cool spread of shades leaving his fluttering hole and the shuffling of leather answered for the Shadowsinger.

Eris felt his very soul shudder as Azriel circled his malleable rim with his thick, slick tip; It didn’t take much pressure for Azriel to thrust inside.

“Oh – AAAHH!” Eris shouted as Azriel rammed in. His elbows buckled and he braced himself on his forearms to avoid burying his face in soil.

“Mmn, s’fuckin’ tight,” Azriel bit out as he fucked his endless and girthy length deep inside Eris.

“Hnnmnhng,” Eris groaned, digging his elbows in the ground and sending his hips back.

“Oh fuck Eris,” Azriel husked and grabbed hold of his trim waist, aiding the High Lord’s momentum.

“HmNG – hnmMN – MMN,” They moaned over one another, each meeting of their pelvises threatened to knock Eris off the edge he’d barely just climbed back up onto.

Azriel’s thrusts got sharper, stilling Eris’s efforts to keep up. He fucked Eris into the ground, offering his body no mercy as he bore down on his hole. The messy sound of oiled, slapping skin brought a deeper blush to Eris’s already flushed face.

“Fuck fuck fuck Azriel Azriel Azriel – AZRIEL!” Eris chanted as all his nerves lit up with overwhelming pleasure and he came once more.

“Ohh Eris!” Azriel roared as he finished, pulling Eris flush against him as he ground his hips deep. His heavy cock pulsed and he filled Eris to the brim and then some.

Hot come dripped down his thighs, making him shiver.

The hefty Illyrian collapsed on top of him with all the grace of an elephant trying ballet. Eris grumbled but didn’t do anything to move, the weight felt nice.

The cottony sound in his ears lessened slowly as he recouped his senses. The comforting weight of Azriel was offering a stability not even his Autumnal ground could.

Az eventually groaned and lifted himself up, his softened length slipping slickly out of Eris. A strong arm wrapped around Eris’s middle and hoisted him up. He melted against Azriel’s chest, the cool leather soothing his flush skin. Shadows aided the effort.

He focused on breathing in cedar and mist, the calming feeling of Azriel’s skin against his and the chittering of the woods around them as he regained lucidity.

“When can I see you again?” Azriel murmured against the shell of his ear.

Eris smiled to himself. “Why don’t you try and surprise me?”

“What happened to wanting warnings?” Az teased, his voice a bit ginger.

“Turns out you’re favorable unconditionally.”

“Not to tempt fate, but can I ask why the fuck your hound’s name is Broccoli?”

Eris snorted, “It was Lucien, I swear.”

“Aha,” Az chuckled. ”Broccoli, a beast of legends –”

“Okay, beast feels a bit derogatory,” Eris objected, doing his best to prolong the preamble and avoiding Azriel’s teasing.

“Oh since when? You’ve said you love me beastly.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken, perhaps you misheard me saying ‘I love you, beast’.”

“Deny it all you’d like, my dear, but if it’s good enough for me then it’s good enough for Broccoli.”

“I’m not sure where the confidence came from, my hounds far outrank you Shadowsinger,” Eris deadpanned, fighting the grin threatening his composure.

“Oh come on, there are twelve of them in Prythian and only one of me,” Azriel complained egotistically.

“Hmm, sounds to me like you’re getting awfully jealous of my dogs, Azriel. Perhaps I can offer you some of their… treatments?”

He would not be opposed to walking the Shadowsinger around, or making him hunt for their dinner. And he would quite like to see his tan neck collared.

Azriel snorted and turned his come-covered face away, fighting a blush or grin Eris refused to miss. He clasped Azriel’s jaw between his forefingers and brought their lips close to one another.

“No need for envy, dear, I’m all yours.”

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! 💗

Thank you so much @the-darkestminds for helping me come up with this when I wanted to write some Azris and none of my wips were flowing 😘 thank you @makinglongwordsslutty for beta reading on short notice, mwah mwah mwah 💗

My Azris boo thangs (affectionate nd respectful): @nus4y @astro-h0e-4azris @jules-writes-stories @mistandmemories @pippsmcgee @mudandmire @iftheshoef1tz @icey--stars @ninthcircleofprythian @molcat07 @missblackstar @irithiadourden @fourteentrout @3xolara @brunetterebel010 @sunstar-drabbles @chunkypossum @neciebee please do lmk if you’d like on/off my tag list 💗

For more of my silly hound lore, the dinner conversation of Civil Shitshow explains it a bit lol

[christinebloodwrittings]

Die in your arms #7

Alastor x Fem!Reader

Taglist open: @littlebluefishtail @maxlynn17 @vxllys @modifiedmonster @sirens-and-moonflowers @qardasngan @polytheatrix

Warnings: Implied SA, imprisonment, trauma, blood, food deprivation.

Masterlist

Proofing made by: @littlebluefishtail

June 1914. New Orleans, Louisiana.

Alastor had his lunch routine. He would take the bag you packed for him every morning, sit on a bench in front of the ferry landing, and try to guess how many tourists would trip over the slightly raised board halfway up the ferry.

It never failed to make him laugh, and it was always better accompanied with your lunches. Getting married was a good investment, he had three meals a day that were no longer cold oatmeal, half-cooked meat, or leftover jambalaya from two nights ago. Or when he had given up on life before meeting you, ham and cheese sandwiches.

So far, 26 people have tripped, and two have fallen face first against the old wood of the harbor. Alastor nearly choked on his bottle of water while chuckling like a scholar. 

Between his socio-political thoughts and the lines of his next segment, instead of reading the name of the interviewee of the day, he began to read your name out loud. After that night he spent with you, he couldn’t stop gravitating in your space, like a satellite attracted by your magnetic field.

The worst thing for him was that you pretended that nothing had happened. He wanted to blame it on the alcohol you had drunk before seeing him, but when he saw how you looked at him out of the corner of your eye from time to time, he realized that it was on purpose.

It was frustrating, just as he noticed that you left the door to your room ajar, however, without an out-loud invitation, his mother's upbringing prohibited him from crossing the threshold. He might be a cannibal, but after reading what you went through he wasn’t going to slip under your sheets without your consent, he wasn’t a monster. 

On his way back to the station he saw the perfumery across the street. The hospital smell of your skin was in his brain, and he thought, maybe he could break the ice with something that smells better than bandages. At worst he would use the perfume as a bathroom freshener, in case you throw it at his head.

He would have gotten less evil eye and hostility at a police station. The cashier watched him like a hawk, as if he were going to steal something, one of the ladies behind the counter began to remove the products with greater reach as a precaution. As if it were a necessity for him to go so far as to steal from them.

"Good afternoon, sorry to bother you, my wife's birthday is in a few days and I would like to check out some options for perfumes and creams," he faked his best smile despite the saleswoman's obvious displeasure. "It depends on what your wife likes, the most popular are flower scents," she didn't try to help him or hide her repulsion, Alastor was going to make a comment about it until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Ignore her, she's rude to everyone," a young lady, whose face he wasn't going to bother remembering, laughed and instructed the saleswoman to show Alastor three different perfumes.

One smelled like a botanical garden, another like a beach, and the last one like a lemon tree. He decided on the first and last one, along with their counterparts in body creams and soaps. The young lady also recommended a non-scented scrub, which Alastor liked because of the consistency.

He paid, then clocked back in to continue working. 

When the night had come, he expected to come home, have dinner, and surprise you with what he had bought. However, from a distance he saw that the door to his house was slightly open.

His blood froze, his heart began to beat a thousand times a second, creating adrenaline in case he had to do something improper. He looked around, noticing that the usual police car was not there, the lock on the door did not seem forced, and the light in your room was on.

He closed the door behind him, slowly put the gift bag on the kitchen counter then headed upstairs, knowing how to step on each tile so as not to make it creak.  

As he climbed up, he noticed that there were bloody drag marks on the wall and new dents in the wooden banister. The decorative pictures in the hallway were torn and the larger pieces had been used as daggers, judging only by the bloody tip.

The door to your room was open, the hinges dislodged and the lock smashed. There were signs of violence everywhere, and it got worse the closer he got. Under your bed skirt he could see the large body of a man, pants down and genitals severed.

He opened the closet door, nothing. The bathroom, nothing. 

As his heart began to race, he felt a chilling breeze. The back door. 

He nearly tripped as he went down the stairs, sprinted through the kitchen, then froze when he saw a large black man in front of you. He made you look so small, and yet, he had a tender look on his face that put an ease on Alastor’s gut feeling. 

“How…How did you find me in time?” Your voice broke, air caught in your throat. Alastor took a step back, he was used to seeing you high in your stance, fierce, not broken like a child being scolded for breaking a vase. 

“I’ve been looking for you since you left, I’m so glad you’re alive” the man kneeled and pulled you against him. You just embraced him, no hesitation, no restraint…that somehow pissed Alastor off. He wondered, who was this man?

“I lost your track since you entered the military, then saw your face in the paper, that led me here” he brushed your hair off your face, caressing over your scar. He saw no flinch, you trusted him that much. “Just like last time, oddly on time” You buried your body in his embrace, tenderly, comfortably. 

The man then caught Alastor’s stare out of the corner of his eye. The smile and particular glint in his eye gave Alastor an uncomfortable prey feeling. “I don’t want to alarm you, but your husband is here” he was waiting to see if you would jump out of his embrace like you were doing something wrong, instead, you looked like you regretted leaving the man’s embrace, then took some distance, avoiding Alastor’s eyes. 

“There’s a dead man in my wife’s room” he spoke, ever so matter-of-fact. The man pushed himself up from the ground, clapped his hands and cracked his knuckles, “I’ll get it for you” every step he made thudded against the ground. He felt like a deer facing a lion. 

“You don’t have to” you took his arm, the man recoiled back slightly, then laughed tenderly. “Dahlia, It’s the least I can do” he caressed your face then squeezed past Alastor to head upstairs. 

“What happened?” Alastor took off his coat and let it fall around your shoulders.“You’re smart, you probably already figured it out” he did, he had the answer already upon seeing the mess, but did not appreciate your dismissive tone. But there was one variable that was still unknown, “And him?” one you apparently wouldn't help him figure out entirely.

“He helped me” you thought that was enough information, judging by the frown he made, it wasn’t. He started rubbing his fingers together. You had seen that before, but never so hard that he started tearing layers of skin. He was staring at the entrance leading to the kitchen, a very intense and angry stare.

With a little courage you took his index finger that was tearing his thumb, with your hand, to slowly intertwine his hand with yours completely.

The thumping steps were back and so you took distance from Alastor, clutching his coat around yourself. “I’ll get rid of it for you and lead the gang to a dead end” Axl winked and threw the body over the fence, like it weighed nothing. “You sure you don’t want to eat something first?” you offered, to which he laughed wholeheartedly,  “I’d love to, but I sense your man here will kill me if I don’t leave the premises, won’t you butcher?”.

His blood ran cold. How? When? Then Alastor connected the dots. The matching profile, the small shiny axe strapped to his waist, “The axeman” he whispered, a mixture of amazement and fear.  “Keep it to yourself and I shall do the same” a half threat laced with a smile, can’t say he wasn’t impressed. 

He limited himself to nodding, “I suppose I owe now” for saving his wife while he was at work. “Not at all, brother, little Dahlia over here helped me when I needed it the most, several times” The axeman patted Alastor’s shoulder, a little too roughly, “It was nothing, and a pleasure. You know which number to dial if you need help” he looked over to you and ruffled your hair. “Stay safe” you muttered, watching him jump over the fence and disappear in the dark. 

The sound of running water led Alastor to the bathroom after finishing cleaning downstairs. He hoped to talk about what had happened, although the slight sound of whimpering and grunting led him to knock on the bathroom door, step in and watch the scene. There you were, knees drawn up to your chest, aggressively scrubbing your skin with a dish sponge.

He didn't dare say anything, he just walked a little to take the sponge from your hands. He put out the cold water, then wrapped you up in a soft towel, “Come here” he softly guided you out of the tub to sit at a stool. “Wait for me here” he instructed, firm but gentle.

He got the gift bag, some cleaning supplies and went back upstairs.

He prepared the water, leaving it at a temperature warm enough to prevent you from getting a cold, but not enough to make any wounds irritate on contact.

“Smell this” he held one of the scented soaps close to your nose, there was curiosity, but not the reaction he was looking for, he went for the garden scented one and he got you to take it from his hand.  

“You think I stink?” It took him some effort not to laugh, but then he just smiled at you, “No, but smelling of bandages and rubbing alcohol is a bit depressing isn't it?” He helped you back inside the tub once there was enough water. 

Since he had already seen your body, what were a few newer bruises going to change? you thought as you took his hand and allowed him to scrub your arm with a softer sponge. “I haven’t given it much thought” you admitted, turning your face from his. 

“Have you eaten?” you shook your head, you were about to when the gangster showed up. “Would you like to?” a nod, it was a good sign that you were willing to eat, after everything that must’ve happened in his absence that is. “There’s stew and tomato salad” you remembered, the pot must still be on the counter.

“May I ask-?” you knew what he was going to ask, “Did you have a good day today?” so instead you cut him off. “Y/n-” he gave you a serious tone and stare, you could feel it on your skin as he massaged a bruise on the side of your neck,  “I listened to half of your segment, then the music turned boring”.

His ego grew exponentially bigger with the confession you made, but he maintained the seriousness of the moment. He sighed and uttered your name again, this time brushing your hair with some shampoo. 

By the time you decided to tell him, you parted your lips, leaving a soreness from biting the inside. You took a deep breath that felt like swallowing water into your lungs. 

“He entered through the back, I tried to push him out the front door without going out, he grabbed me and pushed me against the railing, forced me up the stairs, then tried to force himself inside me” you rushed the recap of the events all in one breath, leaving out just how many times he managed to pin you down.

He was able to tell anyways, just by how many grab marks you had on your skin. He could almost see him on you, how the sound of your body hitting the floor must’ve been. It pissed him off, to say the least.

“Was he able to…” he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words, lucky for him you answered just as fast. “No, Axl came in just in time to pull him off of me, then I cut his genitals and flushed them down the drain” Alastor rinsed the second coat of shampoo before adding conditioner, while you finished up scrubbing your body.  

The man had just removed his briefs when Axl pushed the door open, nearly ripping it off the hinges. He had already touched, licked and bitten your skin, but there was no major injury, no thanks to Axl who punched the man to his death. 

“We went outside after I felt a quick rush, my heart…I just needed fresh air, he helped me out” Your vision had clouded, your body was shaking and your breathing, you couldn't decide whether to inhale or exhale, everything was a mess. You had experienced panic attacks before, so you knew how to ground yourself, but in the haze you could barely look for four objects in the room that you could touch. 

Once outside, Axl waited while you rode out your anxiety and anger.

And then Alastor showed up.

Now that he was all caught up he continued to massage some bruises and tender spots.

“We met in a cell, I got a bit of food while he got nothing” you decided to let him in on a fact so he wouldn’t make up wrong ideas in his head. “I split my rations and give him the biggest part” memories flooded your brain, both horrible, and others not so bad. 

“He got out before me, then came back to help me escape” in the dead of night, when there was nothing but your ragged breath and the smell of blood and gunpowder, the door busted open. You jumped from a corpse to attack whoever had arrived, when Axl blocked your attack. ‘Dahlia, breathe’ he ordered, so fiercely it gave you a chill. He guided you out, using his arm as a support.

“We parted ways when I recovered and then I entered the military” you uttered, remembering the cabin covered in snow.

‘Dahlia, please’ he pleaded, arms around your shoulders. ‘I can’t stay’ he wanted you to be his, to leave the revenge behind, to dedicate to a life of peace without retaliation. But you couldn’t sleep, thinking of just how many had died before you, and for what? Only a few had died compared to the numbers you released, but there were more trapped, more waiting for someone to deliver them. 

‘I’m sorry’ you used his knife to draw a large fast cut from his chest to his lips. As soon as he let you go, you ran, hearing him yell your name, the one he gave you as well as your own.

The splash of water to rinse the soap on your back brought you to the moment.

“And Dahlia?” he asked, “It’s a pet name, we don’t use real names” for a reason you no longer remember. You let go of a deep sigh, “Satisfied?” you uttered as he watched you tense your shoulders again. The whole path of scars following the movement. 

He rested his chin on your shoulder, humming a tune, unknown. His face against your neck was warm, slightly rough from his barely growing beard. “Scratchy,” you commented. “Oh yeah? Should I shave?” Alastor pressed closer to your face, rubbing his cheek against yours. “You’d look pretty interesting with a beard, but I like you better with just the mustache” you pressed back.

“As you wish” one kiss, one slight, gentle, tiny kiss to your cheek. How could that trigger such a violent chill, a rush of blood up your cheeks. A smile ever so sweetly, and so dangerous.  

“How about you finish here while I clean up your room?” you hummed a yes in response as you watched him shake the bottle of chemicals he uses to clean the basement.

Why the hell did you let him in? Why did it matter? it? When did he begin to matter?

And most importantly… The more he knows, the more danger he'll be in if you leave, or would it be worse if you stay?

“Fuck” you hugged yourself. The water was now cold.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Hi! I feel bad for having messaged twice in kinda quick succession, but I have a Bleach AU idea and don’t really have anyone to tell about it, but i hope you’d like to hear about it!

So I’ve only recently been trying to finish reading Bleach (I’ve read earlier chapters multiple times, but never managed to read past the Xcution arc). I’ve still got about 100 odd chapters to go, but I’m in the thousand year war arc finally, (and I’ve read the last few chapters, so I know how it ends, just not all of the details in between).

Anyway, I’ve recently read the bit where Kyoraku (is that his name? Shunsui, the head captain guy) actually goes to the land of the living and visits Ichigo’s friends to warn them that depending on how powerful he is once he’s sorted his issues with his Zanpakuto, he might not be able to come back home and it’s just GOT ME THINKING, because so far it’s not been mentioned again, and it isn’t in the last few chapters either, I don’t think. BUT!! What if it is that Ichigo is so powerful now that going back to the human world on a permanent basis would completely mess with the human world, so he’s forced to stay in the soul society.

So much potential for angst, with him missing his sisters and friends (and Kisuke), BUT also so much potential for absolute highjinks in the SS.

I think this could potentially be a little similar to your Turn Back the Clock AU, but I’m just imagining all of the remaining captains/lieutenants all absolutely beside themselves trying to convince Ichigo to join their teams, Shunsui is already eyeing him up for a captain position in the near future, Kenpachi (who’s still a little lost without his little sidekick (whose name I’ve forgotten, god I feel so bad because I love her)) just itching to get Ichigo to join his squad so that he can have daily fights without the trouble of having to go looking for the guy. Shinji (who without a shadow of a doubt has a soft spot for Ichigo, no matter how much he might enjoy irritating him) who wants to have him in his squad as some kind of “visords-stick-together” kinda deal (and because he knows it’d piss all the others off). Rukia laying claim because HELLO, she’s the one that stabbed him and gave him the powers in the first place, she calls dibs! Hell, I think even Byakuya would want him in his squad, because as much as he might deny it if asked, he’s actually rather fond of the guy, so long as he learns to call him Captain rather than his first name.

And as things are want to do in the SS, where the more power the shinigami, the more insane they seem to be, things get a little out of hand. During one heated discussion, where they’re all giving their updates on how well each of them think they’re doing in convincing Ichigo to join them, someone (I’m thinking a shit-stirrer like Yumichika maybe) gives the idea that hey, this competition seems almost as if you’re trying to court the guy! And so it turns into this weird ass Shinigami-courting situation, with a “whoever manages to (woo) CONVINCE Ichigo to join their squad is OBVIOUSLY the one that Ichigo likes best, so that means that he’s OBVIOUSLY also open to (after)life long commitment in the form of marriage to whichever captain wins” kinda thing going on.

Cue Ichigo not getting a single moments peace, when all he really wants is to be left alone to just PROCESS the fact that he 1) has had to leave everyone and everything he’s ever known in the human world to live with these absolutely crazy people, and 2) just fought in a very big battle and helped kill a thousands-year old crazy Quincy guy.

He’s more than happy spending his time helping clean up and rebuild the SS for now, and he’s happy to worry about what comes next once the SS is back on its feet. (And he’s more than a little oblivious to the weird fighting/flirting/coercing that seems to happen whenever he comes across any familiar face whenever he’s out and about).

It all comes to a head when his friends from home come for a visit to the soul society with those handy dandy tokens that Shunsui gave them, and instantly see what’s happening and have to sit Ichigo down and explain to him that he may or may not (but definitely does) have twenty or so extremely powerful shinigami captains and lieutenants all after his ass(ets), which, know that Ichigo thinks about it, definitely explains a few things that’ve been happening to him lately.

And shortly after his friends go back home, all three realms feel a shift in reiatsu and hear a distant screech from Kisuke, who’s suddenly realised that hey, maybe the human world sucks actually and he should relocate back to the soul society for no reason in particular! None at all! Definitely not jealousy because that would be ridiculous.

If I had the time or energy (and a better track record of finishing fics that I start 😬) I’d love to write this, but I fear it’ll be stuck in my notes forever, lol, so thought I’d share!

No I love this so much!! Especially if it's endgame UraIchi and like all this courting, all this drama, all the shenanigans from all these different high-powered shinigami all trying to get Ichigo's attention and Kisuke just rocks up and gets him within a solid 10 minutes and 5 of those were spent with Ichigo purposefully ignoring him while Kisuke apologized for some dumb petty shit he did before Ichigo ended up in SS