#do give it some Grave and Careful Consideration even before they die

[spoopy-action-at-distance]

Dealing with your dead parent's financial mess sure is An Experience. It's 50% stress, 50% complex collaborative problem-solving, and 50% feeling like you're in the audience of a convoluted and absurd comedy skit that keeps throwing up punchline after punchline.

In six months, I went from someone who had a reasonably well-to-do parent who I was estranged from for the sake of my wellbeing, and whose inheritance I was thinking of refusing to spare myself the family infighting, to being the one who has to juggle several debtors, thousands of euros' worth of someone else's debts, several institutions who don't communicate with each other half the time, and the additional surprise paperwork generated by everyone else involved having signed themselves the fuck out of this mess. I wasn't prepared for how complicated the bureaucratic aftermath of a death would be on a good day, and I certainly wasn't prepared for the bureaucratic bog that is the death of someone whose main response to financial problems had apparently been "I'm not paying for that" for several years.

Thank heavens that debt isn't automatically inheritable in my country, and thank fuck there was nothing substantial to inherit there. At the moment I'm basically an unpaid case manager who will not become personally responsible for his case's liabilities as long as he does everything by the book. Also the book was written by someone who didn't quite realise that a case like this could happen. The standard assumption within the public system seems to be that an estate will have some debt and some funds, and likely end up on the black side of the ledger. No one tells you that sometimes you will get a bit of a clown car parade instead.

Someone suggested that once I'm done, I ought to write How To Deal With The Indebted Estate You Inherited When You're Fucking Broke And Everyone Else Has Fucked Off: The Authoritative Blog Post. I said that I doubt I have a comprehensive understanding of the issue. "You think someone does?" they countered. They work within public bureaucracy, so I'm inclined to believe they know what they're on about.

If I do write that blog post, it's gonna come with a soundtrack of a techno Can Can version of Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld, the musical staple of Very Stupid Drama of the Week Explained in a Tumblr Video, with the following caption: "for full immersive experience, imagine that the manic bass beat is a hammer swinging wildly in the immediate vicinity of your head. You're entirely fine because it hasn't hit you. Yet."

[ladythot]

i so badly NEED mumon content in my life. if it’s possible, can you make a drabble or anything about him? NSFW is very welcome 👀

Mumon katsuragi x F!reader

☇ tw: childhood crushes(fufu), NSFW, fuck at first sight, clothed fingering, no proofread we die like men

☇ word count: 3.1k

☇ been awhile since I wrote an entire fic dedicated to some underrated anime boi. Here's a reddit post about mumon so you get to know how epic he is

Meeting you after a decade was the most crucial part of the day.

Ever since your body was still on the point of nurturing at the age of nine, his days of doubting you no matter what benefit a day would give you much time to nourish would remain solid. No matter the count of years on ages it would take you to burgeon—just your body to his very eyes was nothing more than a precarious shape. It never convinced him once that you're even capable of holding a pocket knife to your best defense, nor did it assure him you are very well capable of fetching a healthy body anytime soon. That's the elder mumon you knew from your early years of hankering eagerly after him and katsumi's knack for a natural talent in which you didn't understand.

You were persistent to your own self—where punching the wall and bruising your skin became your regular base on challenging his prudence about you. Katsumi was on the same page as his brother about your case but he was much much more careful with his words and actions. In your best consideration he was your favorite. Much like the people you hung out with the most, his older brother mumon wasn't one. He was always out of your sight until you try to look for him despite how much you hated his raw insults, you still consider him a good friend—he's as good as an inspiration to your ambition anyway.

"Don't try to look for me any longer." Were the words that held an empty hope to your heart. It didn't matter how young you were to realize he wasn't capering at your assumptions about him leaving literally but you had hoped he was. He stood high on top of an old rattletrap where two of you would prattle and share everything that had happened in your day. But right then, he was merely standing on top of a memory filled clunker that was enough to remind him everything you two had given each other. He looked down, his eyes glinting sincerity that also flickered with sorrow—his hands tucked at his hoodie pockets.

"I'm fleeing." He says with sole resolveness. Narrowing his eyes a bit when he saw you scrunch at your gritting teeth—"what..what about katsumi..?" Your timid voice breaks "Don't you care about him?" Furrowing your brows, you slowly balled your hands into tightening fists while you looked at him with the same fierce look you give him when he'd make fun of your weak physique.

He shakes his head, squatting carefully on top of the rattletrap. His eyes heaving into a soft gaze as he looks down at you with a faint smile.

"There's a man waiting to take him in. What's there for me to look after?" He says this with a soft chuckle followed by a wider smile. This didn't help with your temper and you knew better than what lies ahead of his excuse. You narrowed your eyes at him that's about close to tearing up from being upset—he notices this and hops down with ease, now standing before you.

"I figured…." He gently places his hand on your head "it's best if I leave." Your fierce gaze hefted into a softer look once you paid attention to how he handles this. Rubbing your head he continued while he played with your hair.

"I..made a grave mistake, never had I thought of running away from my own problems until now because of how heavy it was for me…" he eyes you with the softest look you've ever seen from him. The way he was behaving towards you made you open your eyes at his situation. "..Y/n" your eyes widen when he calls out to you.

"Do me a favor and don't tell a soul. Treat it as if I never existed nor am I worth being in anyone's memory about my flee."

His face had a hint of sorrow engraved in but his hand at the side of your cheek was tender and lively. He caresses it in a way you'll have to remember it as your last contact with him—you placed your hand on top of his, softening your look. He smiles at this, pinching your cheek suddenly.

"Well, I dunno if we'll meet again in the near future…" He chuckled silently, pulling your cheek just about an inch. He seems to be enjoying his contact with your skin since he never thought about how delicate your skin really was other than him taking it in a feeble way.

"But if we did, make sure you kept your promise to me." He says before pulling you into a tight hug then burying his face into your hair, whiffing it as if he'll be keeping it as a mere collection of you. This made him feel nothing like any of the times he felt desperate for something, the body that he had always considered weak was stronger than his need at the moment as you pressed up against him. He couldn't let go just yet, not until he's ready to live a day without seeing you again. If running away with you was an option he'll gladly do so but that was just a mere idea to him.

He stayed nestled against you until one of your playmates came to your concern as it was getting late. Mumon pulls away with a smile, kissing your forehead before he quickly elopes, one last bye-bye and he disappears. You could almost see tears beading in his eyes but you don't blame him, you came to understand the hidden fact he actually had no one else he considers a true 'friend' other than you.

A decade has passed since your last encounter—you both were all grown up to the point of glowing up. Your entire presence had changed into a well nourished one under Katsumi's care and you were more than the lady he deemed 'defenseless' once. He's quite proud of himself to be at your service if it wasn't for his adoptive father giving you a chance to shoot your shot and he wasn't wrong about your burgeoning. You agree to that when you look at the mirror with glee next to a baby picture of you. Whenever you look at it, it makes your doubts about reality And judgment back then subside, you did look awfully weak. And this drifts your mind back to one person that spoke the truth; mumon.

You wondered how he was and where he is, what does he look like now, has he forgotten about you? These were the first questions that would always pop at your slightest bit of recollection about him and you would always end up shrugging it all off.

Mumon had considered himself dead to all the places he flew from since the past years. He didn't care what anyone thought about him anymore as long as you kept your promise to him. He never considered showing up to you again out of pure hesitation—from the looks of his situation you'll probably think he became a bad guy and he's aware of it.

That was until he heard a certain voice in the midst of a festive herd, distinctive yet unclear, but just about enough to piece out an original part from his childhood. And even the name it was calling out to was someone he definitely knew.

"Katsumi!! Katsumi!!"

The tone-the melody and the pitch, seemed all too familiar. He was certain—no, he was right. His eyes finally had the opportunity to envelope your form into his thinking as soon as the crowd gave some space and he couldn't help but let his incredulity get the best out of it.

"Improbable…." He mutters to himself. Hunching his back a little until he was at the level of your height from afar then narrowing his eyes at your form. He gives himself some time to register your figure in a theory he made a mental image of, but more clearly he was just being pessimistic of all things he could possibly make of you. He straightens up, his lips curving into a smile before walking towards the crowd.

"Katsumi..where are you…" your eyes frantically moved from one place to another, you could feel heaps of anxiety shiver down your spine when the crowd tightens with more people at your dismay. You tried walking to a nearby free space when a hand suddenly taps at your shoulder and immediately you turn around.

"You look quite troubled, dear lady" his tone was nothing threatening but gentle. His hat blocking half his face that made it seem impossible to recognize who he is. "May I help..?" He smiles, offering his hand before chuckling a little. You looked at his figure up and down before completely turning to him with a puzzled expression. It seems unknown to you why someone in a tight crowd would help especially with the kind of attire he had.

"No..i-i'm good..thank you.." You bow your head to him before turning your back at him, you could hear him chuckling to himself as you started to walk towards the only free space. He pulls his hat back, his hair dropping to his shoulder length as he smiles. "Y/n L/n." You immediately stopped. Turning back once again only to be met with the one who ushered you to make a promise in favor. Your eyes widened at this, you could tell just how much he's changed since the past decade but he still kept the natural feminine touch.

"Did you keep your promise?"

He closes the gap between the two of you as you remain stilt in front of him. He was tall, and you fail to reckon the last time he walked this close. His body was more slim than katsumi but you could almost see his muscles, enough to tell you what he's all capable of. He scans you up and down, his smile never left when he finds how amusing you looked at him. He laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"It's getting pretty tight here, let's talk somewhere else." The way he looked at you was like the first time he gave you the softest look he could never let you see back then, and you could tell he's still the same person he used to be despite how much he did to change himself. "Katsumi can wait later." He assures you before walking away outside the crowd as you follow right after. Silence prevailed until the sound of people subside in peace as he takes you to a place where cherry trees are present, along with the moon shining down at the nearby river.

He had gathered as many questions he can when he meets you but right now, only one thing concerns him. An idea he's been thinking of since you both were away from each other and what possibility it had on his long journey.

"So…" You turn your head to him. He looks ahead, quite nervous yet curious. "You two…together..?" He smiles to mask the sheer brittle of anxiousness he has while he waits for an answer. The only girl he was really planning to hit on was you, nobody else and if this turns out to be a yes he isn't sure what to make of it.

"Huh..?" He looks down at the ground, appearing nervous but he keeps a cool facade.

"You and katsumi..I mean." His hat hid his expression and you couldn't really make out what he meant and why he'd even ask a question like this that's far to be concerned about.

"No..w-why?" Your eyes would lay on his face as soon as he threw his head back to stare up at the night sky in relief, smiling as he looked down at you. "That's great, thought I wouldn't have a chance with you after all these years without me by your side." "Wha-" before you could say anything else he'd pin you under a cherry tree with a thud from his hand. All you could really do is stay stiff against him as he kissed you, both of your hands pinned against the rough branch while he eagerly bit at your soft lip. Your eyes would flutter close as the kiss would gradually turn into a slow one, just enough to match your pace.

He pulls away with a faint smirk as he pants. You could see how long he's been yearning for something like this, by the way he acted, you couldn't deny how much he missed you even if he flew as a 'friend' and nothing else more than that. Despite this taking a turn on your expectations, you were not complaining.

"Did I scare you there?" His smile widened as he kept his hands on both of your wrists. His voice was light and gentle, hearing it made you melt. When he leans into your neck, you slowly look up at the moon behind him while he whiffs out your scent—his knees weaken. He closes his eyes, taking one more whiff at your scent before placing his thumb on your chin with a satiated look.

"Mumon.." You huffed out with your cheeks beating red as you stared up at him. The moon behind him illuminating everything he had caused you to make this expression out of him—he smiles at this, leaning in for another kiss. The way you said his name didn't help with his urges. His tongue would skillfully roll above and under yours in your mouth while you gasp between kisses, and at your most effort you couldn't really meet with his tongue's pace. All of this was sending you into a pleasurable daze, something you wish two of you had done sooner if that was possible.

He pulls away with a heavy gaze, as if he's lost himself between your moist lips. He gives you a faint smile before laughing quietly. "You look adorable right now, I can't believe it…." His eyes traveled down at your chest—down to your hips, then back to your bashful face. He takes the view all in as he burns the image in his head.

"I should teach you how to kiss.." He chuckled before diving in for another make out. This time, more tongue. You'd moan at this, quivering from the bump of his knee between your legs as he started rubbing it sensually against you—he makes sure he's kneeing rightfully at your clothed weak spot as you moan into the kiss, making him lap and suck at your tongue with a determined face to pleasure you and make you haunt for more once he leaves again for maybe another year. Once he gets bored with the padding of his knee, he would slide a hand down to your thigh as he hoists the hem of your dress over your waist—squeezing the side of your thigh before dragging it upwards your clothed wet clit. He pulls away only an inch to your face, his forehead resting against yours as he smirks. You could feel his hot breath fanning at your delicate skin when he spoke in a low husked voice.

He'd cruelly fondle two fingers at your clothed wet slit, watching every bit of your reaction intently while he holds both of your hands just above your head—making you completely meek and vulnerable at his touch. You look away, biting your lip with your cheeks completely red and wet with sweat. Your thighs would squish themselves together against the hand that was pleasuring you and it made him smile with glee.

"So delicate- like a cute damn doll…" he pinches your clit—making you cry out as you threw your head back against the tree with a thud along with a loud stifled moan. He grins, he doesn't let any of your reaction slip away out of his sight now that you came. He has to eat up all of this, he needs it.

"You came already? That's cute." He chuckles as he watches you pant before him. His hand still working on you to get down your high and once you're finished, he'll slowly take it out and hold two fingers close to your lips. You were still in a daze but you could clearly see how wet you were at the evidence before you—you let out a small moan when he gently slides it down your mouth as you tasted yourself at his fingers, soon followed by him sucking at your tongue once again before he pulls away with a trail that consists of your juice and saliva.

"Good girl…" The sound of his voice was enough to get you weak at the front of your knees. You stare at him, almost as if you didn't want him to leave anymore. You purse your lips that were still glossing from the previous act and he watches intently. Before you could even say anything you could hear katsumi shouting your name from the distance, the tree mumon picked hid you both very well so you took your time to recover quickly before katsumi finds you.

"Aww I'm disappointed" he laughed as he freed your wrists with care. Smiling down at you, "let's meet each other again, not for another decade though.." Your eyes lit up from this as you watched him rub the back of his head.

"Now don't let them see you like this-" He fixes your dress, tidying you up which made you widen your eyes along with a flustered touch at your expression. You could see him blushing a bit when he sees the handprints he left behind your supple skin and the trail of hickeys at your neck, it made him feel content even if he didn't really get to do more—the experience was enough to cover his yearning. Your body still quivered lightly and he noticed this and a feeling of pure joy washed over him. Maybe it was a bit too much pleasure but he was glad to serve you that much, maybe enough to crave for more.

"Mumon..come back..safe?" Your tone of voice was quiet and your breath was still shaky but he nodded at your question nonetheless.

"Yeah, I'll do. Far as I know we're gonna do more than this when we meet again and I can't pass up that opportunity" he joked. His smile curving into a wide one as he places his hands on your shoulders. "I'm sorry I rushed it..I just had to.." A faint blush grew on his face out of shame. He could've really talked you out to get you in the mood but he chose to rush. He sighs When he hears another round of katsumi shouting your name like you're a missing child—he then kissed your forehead just like back then when he was about to flee.

"See ya 'round, babs"

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Jesus And The Little Children

by J.C. Ryle

And they brought unto him also infants, that he would touch them: but when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them. But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no wise enter therein. - Luke 18:15-17

Let us observe, for one thing, in this passage, how ignorantly people are apt to treat children, in the matter of their souls. We read that there were some who "brought their little children to Jesus so he could touch them and bless them, but the disciples told them not to bother him." They thought most probably that it was mere waste of their Master's time, and that little children could derive no benefit from being brought to Christ. They drew from our Lord a solemn rebuke. We read that "Jesus called them unto Him, and said, Allow the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not."

The ignorance of the disciples does not stand alone. On few subjects, perhaps, shall we find such strange opinions in the churches, as on the subject of the souls of children. Some think that children ought to be baptized, as a matter of course, and that if they die unbaptized they cannot be saved. Others think that children ought not to be baptized, but can give no satisfactory reason why they think so. Some think that all children are regenerate by virtue of their baptism. Others seem to think that children are incapable of receiving any grace, and that they ought not to be enrolled in the Church until they are grown up. Some think that children are naturally innocent, and would do no wickedness unless they learned it from others. Others think that it is no use to expect them to be converted when young, and that they must be treated as unbelievers until they come to years of discretion. All these opinions appear to be errors, in one direction or another. All are to be deprecated, for all lead to many painful mistakes.

We shall do well to get hold of some settled scriptural principles about the spiritual condition of children. To do so may save us much perplexity, and preserve us from grave false doctrine.

The souls of young children are evidently precious in God's sight. Both here and elsewhere there is plain proof that Christ cares for them no less than for grown-up people. The souls of young children are capable of receiving grace. They are born in sin, and without grace cannot be saved. There is nothing, either in the Bible or experience, to make us think that they cannot receive the Holy Spirit, and be justified, even from their earliest infancy. The baptism of young children seems agreeable to the general tenor of Scripture, and the mind of Christ in the passage before us. If Jewish children were not too young to be circumcised in the Old Testament dispensation, it is exceedingly hard to understand why Christian children should be too young to be baptized under the Gospel. Thousands of children, no doubt, receive no benefit from baptism. But the duty of baptizing them remains the same. The minds of young children are not unequal to receiving religious impressions. The readiness with which their minds receive the doctrines of the Gospel, and their consciences respond to them, is matter of fact well known to all who have anything to do with teaching. Last, but not least, the souls of children are capable of salvation, however young they may die. To suppose that Christ will admit them into His glorified Church, and yet maintain that He would not have them in His professing Church on earth, is an inconsistency which can never be explained.

These points deserve calm consideration. The subject is unquestionably difficult, and one on which good men disagree. But in every perplexity about it we shall find it good to return again and again to the passage before us. It throws a strong light on the position of children before God. It shows us in general terms the mind of Christ.

Let us observe, for another thing, in this passage, the strong declaration which our Lord Jesus Christ makes about little children. He says, "Of such is the kingdom of God."

The meaning of these words no doubt is a matter of dispute. That they were not meant to teach that children are born sinless and innocent, is abundantly clear from other parts of Scripture. "That which is born of the flesh is flesh." (John 3:6.) A threefold lesson is probably contained in our Lord's words. To that threefold lesson we shall do well to take heed.

"Like such as little children," all saints of God should strive to live. Their simple faith and dependence on others--their unworldliness and indifference to earthy treasures--their comparative humility, harmlessness, and freedom from deceit--are points in which they furnish believers with an excellent example. Happy is he who can draw near to Christ and the Bible in the spirit of a little child!

"Out of such as little children," the Church of God on earth ought to be constantly recruited. We should not be afraid to bring them to baptism even in their earliest infancy, and to dedicate them to Christ from the beginning of their days. Useless and formal as baptism often is, it is an ordinance appointed by Christ Himself. Those who use it with prayer and faith may confidently look for a blessing.

"Of such as little children," the kingdom of God in glory will be largely composed. The salvation of all who die in infancy may confidently be expected. Though sin has abounded, grace has much more abounded. (Rom. 5:20.) The number of those in the world who die before they "know good from evil" is exceedingly great. It is surely not too much to believe that a very large proportion of the glorified inhabitants of heaven will be found at length to be little children.

Let us leave the whole passage with a deep sense of the value of children's souls, and with a settled resolution to "put on the mind of Christ" in all our dealings with them. Let us regard children as a most important part of Christ's professing Church, and a part which the great Head of the Church does not like to see neglected. Let us train them from their earliest infancy in godly ways, and sow the seed of Scripture truth in their minds, with strong confidence that it will one day bear fruit.

Let us believe that they think more, and feel more, and consider more, than at first sight appears; and that the Spirit is often working in them, as really and truly as in older people. Above all, let us often name them before Christ in prayer, and ask Him to take them under His special charge. He never changes. He is always the same. He cared for boys and girls when He was upon earth. Let us not doubt that He cares for them at the right hand of God in heaven.

[legendackerman]

As long as we share the same moon, you’ll never be far away from me

ft. levi ackerman

genre: angst

cw: death, mention of death, grief, spoilers of no regrets (levi’s backstory summarised)

now playing: take me to church

a/n: hi, i hope you all are doing fine! after a long time i finally made it to post something again. have fun <3

A missing piece in his life took it all to ruin him completely. How long was he able to bear that? How long could he bear that?

Four months, seven days.

At some point of life, it would always come to an end. There was no escape, no cheating, just the pure truth. Facing hell was never easy, not in this life. It was hard, almost unbearable. How much can a heart take until it breaks under the heavy weight of distress? How long does it take to lose strength and to finally capitulate? When every breath feels hard to take, when fear controls the mind. How long are you able to keep living?

He came out of hell and continued on the surface. Growing up in a dirty little room - a kid watching his mother losing the grip to life, trying to wake her up when it was already too late. Being saved by his uncle before he died of hunger, growing up with him until he was left alone again, at least knowing how to defend himself. Making two friends, living with them, learning how to survive in the underground. Getting a chance to join the Survey Corps, seeing for the first time in life the day light, feeling the fresh air and the warm sun on his skin. Going on the first battle, facing titans; kill, watching comrades die, finding his two dead friends, have been betrayed - hell continued. He was alone again. His life has never been easy. He stopped questioning himself what was the reason that he was even alive. Maybe there was no reason. Maybe it was his fate to be damned. But life continued, it doesn’t take any consideration. He continued watching his comrades die, he continued killing titans, he continued with shutting his emotions down. The longer it went, the harder it got. He never thought about happiness, he wouldn’t dare. Maybe it just should be like this and that’s what he had to accept, until this one day, that started to change his life completely.

You. A person, who was completely different than the others, walking through the hallway so confidently, giving a genuinely smile to everyone who crosses your way. A person, so beautiful in all ways, that it wasn’t even possible for a human being. And this was the moment, when everything felt different.

He never allowed himself to feel, he never allowed himself to love, to let his emotions free. But you showed him how it was possible to feel, how to perceive the different waves of emotions. With the one moment life suddenly felt as light as a feather. You let him see what life could actually be, what it could also feel like, bringing him the peace and comfort he ever needed.

It was dangerous, everyone of you had sat death right in front of you, but this didn’t seem important anymore. He knew this was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t be able to experience this luck and peace, but there was no way back anymore. You made his life better, you were the person who made him smile, you were the person who was there with him when his heavy emotions started to overflow him, when he completely broke down. He let you see him like this, he trusted you, he cared for you, his feelings for you started to grow more and more, with every second you both share together. You were his safe haven.

“Hey”, you whispered quietly, enjoying the feeling of being held by the person you love. “When this is all over..”. His eyes looked down, meeting yours and waiting for you to finish your sentence. “...I want a family with you”. You could see how his pupils started to grow wide, his mouth slowly opened, what made you smile. “I want to live with you for the rest of my life”. The words felt unreal, he never thought about life after the war, but with you it had to be the best life he could ever imagine. To look in your brightened eyes, knowing that the soft smile on your lips is just for him made his heart skip a beat. “I couldn’t imagine something better”. Maybe this time life was really fair. Maybe it was a mistake to believe in the good, but he wanted nothing more to be with you forever.

You both shared every second with each other and for the first time in his life he felt truly happy. Holding you in his arms, placing kisses all over your skin, worship your body, enjoying the time with you and feeling your warmth presence. But he knew it was just a matter of time, he knew that life wasn’t grateful to him, it never was. The realisation came fast.

His head hung down, carefully placing the flowers in front of the gravestone. “Here lies our beloved Y/N L/N”. He didn’t know how many times he read your name over and over again, but he did know that on some day it had come to this moment, because this is how life works. He wasn’t allowed to love, he wasn’t allowed to feel, he never was and he never will be. It was a mistake to think he had a chance of happiness. It was his fault, everything.

Your death was now four months ago and no day passed where he didn’t blame himself for everything. It was his fault that you died, because of him. Because he allowed himself to feel, because he loved and cared for you. That’s why you had to die. Because of him. It was everything because of him. And there he stands now, in front of your grave, staring at the bottom and let the silence overcome his thoughts, never forgetting the moment when he found you, holding your dead body in his arms and screaming your name to wake you up. Why did you have to die? You, his only hope, the only one who could light up his dark world. Everyone he cared, he loved was gone. Why was he so naive? He had to know better.

“I love you, Levi”. It was the last thing you said to him, before you both got separated. It was the last moment, when you glanced at him, with a confident smile. He couldn’t protect you. He failed, again. With you, he lost everything in his life. He was alone, again, as always.

A stoic gaze on his face, a heavy heart and a broken soul was all that was left. “I love you too”.

.

[secretsickysideblog]

putting it lightly

'“m’not drunk,” abbacchio groans, rolling over.

bucciarati laughs, a bitter sound, and shakes his head in pure exasperation. “yes. alright. i am so glad you did not decide to pursue a career in acting.”'

after a day spent searching for his awol teammate, bucciarati comes home to find that abbacchio had been peacefully asleep on his sofa all along.

(sicktember day 6, alternate prompt: asleep on the couch)

read under the cut!

Bucciarati is, put lightly, seething.

There’s this rage he hasn’t felt in a long time bubbling in the pit of his stomach, and although it’s the type that stems purely from concern, his blood is undeniably boiling. Because upon stepping into the front door of his apartment, Bucciarati is greeted with the sight of a familiar someone asleep on his couch--the same someone who has been AWOL all day, refusing to pick up the phone.

Bucciarati considers himself to be a rather patient man on the best of days and relatively tolerant even on those days that are not so great. And he is--he tries to be--as understanding as possible. So normally, if this were any other day, if he had gotten so much as a text confirming that Abbacchio was alive, Bucciarati would be fine with this. Mildly annoyed, but mostly in the sense of preferring to know when things were wrong with the people he holds dear before the problem rears its ugly head and less from the standpoint of work.

But Leone Abbacchio has been dead on air all day long. Bucciarati had gone through the other man’s apartment twice, and, accompanied by Fugo himself, they’d checked the youngest’s apartment all the same as if Abbacchio would have any reason at all to be there. Internally, Bucciarati slaps himself in the face for not considering that Abbacchio would have wandered here--but really, what reason would Abbacchio have to be here while vehemently ignoring any attempts to get into contact with him?

Bucciarati sucks a long inhale in through his teeth. It won’t do him any good to yell right now; for all he knows, the man passed out before him might be too far gone to comprehend a word he says, and Bucciarati would rather not strain his vocal chords for a reason so pointless as yelling to what may as well be a wall.

“Leone,” he calls, and the man doesn’t stir. He tries again with a little more fervor. No response.

A cold feeling manifests in Bucciarati’s veins as the consideration that, maybe, Abbacchio had trudged his way here to die pops up in his head. Maybe Abbacchio came all the way here because he knew it was the end, or because he had opted for the end, and maybe Bucciarati should be calling an ambulance right about now and he looks awfully similar to--

Bucciarati squeezes his eyes shut and shakes that train of thought away. The only way to know whether or not any of that was true would be to approach him, and if it were, Bucciarati would just have to deal with it. He’s come to be an expert at just dealing with things over the course of his eighteen years and change. With a tumultuous mix of rage and fear turning his stomach, Bucciarati approaches the couch, and he watches for a moment until he spots Abbacchio’s chest rise and fall once.

Good. He’s alive.

And with absolutely no sympathy, Bucciarati gives Abbacchio a firm shake by the shoulder to jostle him out of what Bucciarati assumes to be an alcohol-induced stupor--the flush across his defined cheekbones says all he needs to know. Except when Abbacchio blinks his eyes open with a groan, they’re glazed over and hazy in an unfamiliar way; when that golden gaze locks onto Bucciarati, it appears to lock onto something behind him. Within him, even. Through him.

“What in the hell are you doing here, Abbacchio?”

Abbacchio’s expression turns confused and quickly contorts into something that looks rather pained. Bucciarati keeps himself firm, even though something in him wants to ask ‘what hurts?’ Perhaps it’s a selfish act, to be angry, but Abbacchio has been sober for nearly a month now and Bucciarati sees no good reason to be ruining that. Abbacchio is guilty until proven innocent.

When he speaks, much to Bucciarati’s surprise, his breath smells like mint-- shockingly, mint and a hint of sleep and not at all alcohol. Not even coffee, which has served as Abbacchio’s replacement vice, in a sense. (It gives him something to refine taste in. Something to be picky about, a type of fill-in high.)

“Your door...it was unlocked,” is what Abbacchio says, and it’s slurred, but not in the way that he slurs when he’s wasted. It’s slurred in a manner that’s groggier than anything else.

“It’s always unlocked,” Bucciarati snaps. That was not the answer he was looking for, because that’s common sense. His door is always unlocked for the two subordinates he’s recruited that might need something at an ungodly hour, Abbacchio being a frequent visitor just after midnight.

Abbacchio hums, and his eyes close again as if he’s struggling to keep them open.

“Abbacchio,” Bucciarati gives him a quick pat on the cheek to get his attention back. “Don’t pass out on me again. I want an explanation.”

Dual-colored eyes reappear. Abbacchio says nothing more.

“Leone Abbacchio, why the hell did you decide to fuck up now? It’s been nearly a month and you haven’t come close to a relapse since three weeks ago! Not to mention, you have avoided me all day, only to end up here? What if you had been dying? I thought you had crawled your sorry ass over here to die on my couch,” Bucciarati growls, tone undoubtedly dripping with poison, and yet some aftertaste of it is sweet. Vaguely sweet. Because he isn’t really angry. He’s worried, as is often the case.

“M’not drunk,” Abbacchio groans, rolling over.

Bucciarati laughs, a bitter sound, and shakes his head in pure exasperation. “Yes. Alright. I am so glad you did not decide to pursue a career in acting.”

“I mean it,” Abbacchio’s voice comes out muffled by the navy throw pillow he has his face buried in, and yet there’s a distinctive whining quality to it. He doesn’t sound drunk--he sounds off. It’s disconcerting, because Bucciarati’s only assumption is that he’s more inebriated than he’s ever had the displeasure of seeing him before, and yet that wouldn’t make sense because the first night they met Abbacchio had a foot and a half well in the grave and a heel slipping downward.

Flushed cheeks, glazed-over eyes, and this slurring, whining tone. A clear dislike for the light in his eyes, as shown by the way he’s burying his face in a pillow, and he’d managed to get out of bed and brush his teeth but he’d opted against coffee. Bucciarati looks over his clues, looks over the sight before him, and tries to connect the pictures with a piece of logical twine. All at once, it comes together, and that burning rage within him is ignited by a cold wash of guilt.

He must be sick.

Bucciarati presses the back of his hand to Abbacchio’s cheek, and then to his forehead, and the heat radiating off of his pale face (paler than usual, somehow, and devoid of makeup) confirms it. For the second time in the past ten minutes, Bucciarati mentally slaps himself, and then again for good measure. As ample punishment, he decides to give himself an internal kick to the shin, too.

He exhales a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, the high-strung tension in his body melting into a puddle at his feet. Sick, he can handle. He can handle sickness just fine, actually. He crouches down beside the sofa and nudges Abbacchio’s shoulder with more care this time, gently prodding for his attention for just a moment longer. Bucciarati knows from experience that sleeping on this couch is comfortable, but not nearly as pleasant as a bed, especially not on lead-limbs and fever pains.

“Come on,” all of the venom has drained away from his voice, and so has a good half of the volume, “let’s get you to bed, alright? This couch is cheap. It won’t do any good for your back.”

Abbacchio takes a long while to respond to the suggestion, but eventually, he sits himself upright and manages to force himself up onto his feet. He sways a bit, and Bucciarati prepares himself to catch him if he goes down even if he has more muscle in his left bicep than Bucciarati has in his entire body. Maybe it’s the sentiment--if he goes down, at least he wouldn’t go down alone.

It takes a couple of pauses for Abbacchio to lean against the wall and take a breather (and there’s a moment where even more color drains from his face, and Bucciarati just about unzips a hole in the floor to avoid having to clean vomit off of the hardwood). Ultimately, though, they make it to the bedroom. Bucciarati makes sure Abbacchio is settled. He slips off the other’s shoes, which must have been unpleasant to fall asleep in, and sets them by the bedroom door.

“Do you need anything?” Bucciarati asks, and Abbacchio shakes his head. “Another blanket? I’m getting you water, and that isn’t up for debate.”

His answer comes in the form of complete stillness. Quiet. And Abbacchio, for someone that must have a rather high fever, seems to be at peace. Bucciarati sighs, looks over his form. Now that he’s certain the other is sleeping and not dead, he wonders if he should address the fear he felt at the notion of losing Abbacchio with himself, because it was a different kind of fear. As though losing him would leave not only a gap in his life, in his heart, but in his being entirely.

He slips off to fill a glass of water, sets it on the bedside table. And he settles into bed on the other side of Abbacchio’s sleeping form, carding fingers through his silky hair as though it’s the most natural gesture in the world. He’s gotten far too used to Abbacchio’s presence in the handful of months they’ve known each other. And maybe it could be chalked up to the closeness they’ve been forced into, or up to the reliance Abbacchio has on him and the feeling of being relied on. Maybe it’s the way Abbacchio looks at him when he’s wasted. Maybe it’s the grateful way he looks at him when he starts sobering up later in the night.

Or perhaps, Bucciarati muses, he might be, lightly put, falling in love.

[teawaffles]

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 3, Part 1

It was now the afternoon three days after that, for a total of seven days since the fish had arrived at the mansion.

“Oh, how’re the fish?”

Moran strolled jauntily into the hall.

Although he had left the matter of their names unfinished, since that day, Moran had gotten thoroughly hooked onto watching the fish, often stopping by the hall whenever he had spare time. Of course, it was the same for Fred: he frequently came to visit, and with Louis’s permission, had fun helping to feed them and so on.

As soon as Moran stepped into the room, he peered into the guppies’ tank near the entrance, and broke into a cheerful grin.

“Yo, ‘Fred’. Energetic as always, I see.”

The guppies were kept as a school rather than individually, and at this point, it was no longer clear which one had been named ‘Fred’. As such, that had become the name of the entire group.

After saying hello to ‘Fred’, Moran moved on to the tank with the pufferfish.

“I’m glad you’re doing fine too. Having the entire tank to yourself — it must feel pretty great.”

Perhaps it was because he’d given his own name to that fish, for Moran spoke to it in a remarkably familiar way.

“Compared to the rest of them, it might seem like you’re rather lonely, being alone like that. But I don’t mind that way of life.…… because, I also lived like that once.”

He lowered his eyes, his thoughts flitting back to the past.

“After I was deemed killed in action, I sought revenge on the bastards who put me through that, and lived in the underworld of London. All by myself, that is.”

At this sudden talk about his past, the little pufferfish looked somewhat puzzled.

But Moran ignored that, and continued in an impassioned voice.

“Back then, I’d been prepared to live alone for a long, long time. But then I met William. It feels cliché to say this, but I’ve truly found friends that I can trust.”

He pressed his face up against the tank.

“What I’m trying to say is…… Even though you’re living alone right now, one day, you’ll surely meet people whom you can trust from your heart. So even though you’re alone, that’s no reason to feel down. If you live on with determination, you’ll definitely——”

Moran stopped. In the glass of the aquaria, the figures of two men were reflected back at him.

With a nasty sense of foreboding, he quietly turned around.

There, standing with poise, were Louis and Albert.

“……How long have you two been standing there?” he asked cautiously.

Looking uncomfortable, Louis cleared his throat before replying.

“Um…… Sorry, but — ever since you walked in front of that tank, Mr Moran……”

Beside him, Albert broke into a puzzled smile.

“How should I put this…… To be able to speak so candidly with a fish, Colonel: your communication skills are truly marvellous.”

“Really……?”

Hearing that, Moran held his head in his hands. He’d given a heartfelt speech to a fish — it was an utterly embarrassing sight, and his high spirits had come crashing down in an instant.

“That’s unfair, you know: not saying a word, so you could make a fool of me.”

“No, in this case, you really were digging your own grave……”

“I suppose you’re right…… It’s no wonder you pretty much spend all your time here, Louis. To be unbothered by such simple things: is this the magic of tropical fish?”

“No…… Well, yes — if you say so, Mr Moran, then I’m sure it is……”

In reality, to have made Moran commit a blunder that was so unlike him, it might not have been entirely wrong to call it “magic”. Taking his feelings into consideration, Louis conceded the point.

Then, Albert spoke up in a terribly gentle voice.

“Colonel. If you’re exhausted, I could put a word in with William to give you a break from your duties.”

“Please don’t actually take pity on me……”

Albert had not taken his usual teasing tone with him; instead, his kindness was genuine, and Moran responded in a thin voice.

“……Well, I can’t help it, now that you’ve seen that.”

In truth, Moran had suffered enough mental damage to make him want to sleep through an entire night. But somehow, he pulled himself together, and resumed watching the fish.

As he did so, the other two men whispered to one another with serious faces. Even as the tips of his ears turned red, Moran pretended not to notice.

Then, as he walked around the room, he realised something.

“On a closer look, isn’t there a big difference in the way they're being treated?”

Earlier, Louis had been concerned for Moran; but now he reacted in dismay.

“What’re you saying? I do my best to care for them equally.”

“Then, what’s this?”

Moran gestured to a tank with his chin.

It was the aquarium that housed the very last few fish to be given names the other day — in other words, the three angelfish named after the Moriarty brothers.

Louis tilted his head slightly.

“What about them?”

“No matter how you look at it, isn’t their tank somehow more luxurious than the rest?”

Moran narrowed his eyes. As he’d pointed out, the other tanks were furnished simply, containing only the bare essentials for their inhabitants’ upkeep. In contrast, the angelfishes’ tank had an elaborate layout: it contained a variety of aquatic plants, and the lighting had even been adjusted to maximise the attractiveness of the display.

“Oh, Louis told me about that bright red one before: isn’t it an Alternanthera reineckii?”

“Besides that, I’ve also planted some Echinodorus tenellus.”

“I told you to stop that, didn’t I?!” Moran snapped.

Albert and Louis’s jargon-filled discussion immediately ground to a halt.

“In any case, I don’t see those fancy plants being grown in the other tanks.”

“Aren’t you overthinking things? I obtained some new aquatic plants recently, so I just placed them in an appropriate tank.”

“I don’t know: maybe you got attached to them, since they’ve been named after the brothers you look up to so much. In fact, it has felt that way for a while now.”

Actually, it hadn’t just been this time: ever since the angelfishes were named after the three brothers, Moran had gotten the feeling that Louis had become strangely devoted to them.

However, Louis seemed irked by that suggestion.

“Even for you, Mr Moran, such remarks are inexcusable. To me, these fish are nothing more than a means for my brother’s plan to succeed — I hold no special affection for them.”

Louis’s tone was severe: a product of his devotion to the duty he’d been assigned. But Moran seemed unmoved.

“No matter how you try to spin it, the present state of things says it all. But I’m not trying to accuse you of playing favourites. So you treat them a little better, since they were given William and Albert’s names. That’s a normal feeling to have, innit?”

At that, Albert — who’d been worried about Moran up until earlier — agreed.

“The Colonel’s right. The plan is simply to bring the fish to Stapleton alive; as long as your methods of rearing them aren’t causing any harm, you’re free to act as you like, Louis.”

“…………”

Even though they were living things, Louis wanted to deny outright that he held any unnecessary affection for what were mere tools. But now that he’d been admonished by his older brother, he fell silent, and said nothing more.

“Anyway, we’re getting closer to the day William wants to make contact with the target. Keep up the good work, Louis; you’re doing great.”

Leaving those appreciative words behind, Albert left the room.

“Well, it’ll be fine as long as you don’t let all of them die. It’s alright to have fun in moderation, y’know.”

Then, after a brief look around the tanks, Moran left the hall as well. But as he stepped out the door, he glanced back at Louis.

Seeing the man’s earnest expression, all of a sudden, a slight unease fluttered in his chest.

T/N: Moran is actually quite a sentimental guy… And Albert -not- teasing him for once kinda warms my heart… :3

[ringmyheart]

Can I request Vin Jin boyfriend headcanons and some fluff? (You don't have to force yourself)

(This and the other vin jin rq were merged!)

Honestly the way I see it, it doesn’t matter if you’re a very calm person or outgoing person. No matter what this relationship is gonna end up being considerably chaotic

He ropes you into everything he does. Doesn’t matter if u r a design student or an architecture student or if ur on the opposite side of the school from him, u r practically in his class. Dating him is like signing a contract sealing away ur own life bc he makes it a point to be ALWAYS w u

In class he doesn’t gaf if the teacher has ur seat on the other end of class, he is somehow finding a way to sit next to u against ur will or not. And when the teacher moves u two away from eachother INTENTIONALLY bc of this, he is threatening whoever happened to sit next to u to trade seats w him. He will go as far as to dress up as them to make it look like they’re them to be next to u and he’s so dramatic ab it.... being away from u felt like u were star crossed lovers whom the world was fiercely against

And if UR against this cuz ur tired of getting in trouble in class, or if you reject any of his advances, he’s gonna be really, really, really offended. He will at first sputter and be kinda shy and embarrassed about it, before he goes “fine! Have fun on your own without me, the greatest thing in your fucking life!”

He move seats back and will glare at you periodically every five minutes to pavlov dog you so that every five minutes every day, even when he’s not there, you feel the burning stare of vin jin

If you’re his s/o, he’ll buy you a matching pair of sunglasses so ur the freshest looking couple around Seoul (they’re hideous and thick but he thinks u look fly)

The glasses don’t have nearly as many layers as his does for himself so u can see, and u wonder how he managed to make them just as bulky and if he did it on purpose to sabotage u. Like “did u make my glasses purposefully ugly so no one else will want me?”

U have to dodge a punch after saying anything like that ab his fashion decisions LMAOAO

He’s rlly proud of u two matching. With the glasses and anything in general. He’ll make you wear a jacket matching his, or the same shoes and he will stop people in the hall and be like “wait. Notice anything cool ab us today?? Cooler than normal??”

And when they don’t respond he boasts “that’s right!! Me and my other half r matching. Look at us and weep, losers.” He thinks u two look so good....... if ur enthusiastic ab wearing matching things too he is elated u have to pray that tomorrow he won’t show up w another “if lost return to Vin Jin” “I’m Vin Jin” pair of jackets or anything of the like bc it happens SO OFTEN

And on the topic of sharing when it’s cold he likes to share jackets and blankets w u. Ur desks r moved by eachother by vin jin himself and u two share one blanket over u and shiver bc he just likes it, sharing w u plus he’s slightly warmer. And yes if you guys had indivizual blankets you would be warmer, but u guys have to struggle together he doesn’t care what anyone says (yes even ur protests ur sharing that one blanket wether he has to wrap it around u himself and tear up the one u brought on ur own or what”

He is so blind in love that he cannot tell when u guys suck at stuff. Like if ur in the wrong he doesnt care ur RIGHT and he’s taking that to the grave. He can belittle u and call u out but if someone else says ur in the wrong it’s on sight

Will die protecting ur name even when ur the one who was genuinely wrong

He forces u to make a beat for him to rap to. He loves rapping and wants to enjoy it w u, so ur forcefed YouTube videos of how to beatbox so u can be his bgm and eventually u probably just start to enjoy it to

And u always start a beat and he starts busting out rhymes and it’s SO BAD. It doesn’t matter if ur good at beatboxing if vin Jin is on the track w u it’s gonna sound terrible he brings the quality down immensely but u two just cannot tell

Like after a two session ur like “omg... that was so good. We should go pro?” “Fuck yea we should we’re better than those posers” “we could rlly make it in the industry fr” no u absolutely could not

During the school festival, u sang with him and it was SO bad. Half the crowd is gonna have 2 be hospitalized but u two had FUN up on the stage

Like I said, he has absolute faith in u. All u do is right. If ur driving a car for the first time, he is going to be ur little hype man doesn’t matter if u suck. U hit a curb and he went “YES babe!! Ur killing it cant wait till u hit the road bby” Ur not allowed to touch a car for the next two years now bc he kept cheering u on when u we’re doing CLEARLY wrong things

On a plane u r looking for the bathroom like pensively and u see a handle and look back and r like “is this it???” And vin jin thinking u r all righteous will go “yea babe go for it” and u open it and u depressurizate the cabin immediately

Now both on like 5 no fly lists

He loves to do things with u, like I mentioned earlier, and things he wouldn’t do alone he’ll do w u. Like drawing alone?? Boring. Drawing w Y/N??!!! Who knows what could happen..... so much fun could ensue. Maybe he will draw u cutely. Maybe he will draw u so ugly u will be forced to engage in a fight.

He likes to play just dance w u and compete for the “greats/all star!” Little titles above, and it becomes like a Friday night ritual for u two to turn just dance on and just go at it. But sometimes he’ll get too intense and suddenly he’s actually fighting for the chance to beat u. Will trip u so u lose on purpose

He makes u listen to him sing and rap to u. And u try to leave and he hugs tightly and is like LISTEN IFS FOR U, DONT BE UNGRATEFUL and now u have to listen

He makes u a mixtape of songs he made himself and they are all considerably worse than “remember the times we had”. It’s uploaded on SoundCloud and all the comments r hate and u listen to it a lot bc u know he loves u sm he made u a mixtape ya ur gonna play that but everyone else hates it w a passion

Like the comments r like:

Daniel: well.... it’s definitely a song 😅 I’m glad you love (y/n) so much!

Duke: he’s not making it out the hood 😐

Zach: never let this man in a studio AGAIN

Mary: this should’ve stayed in the CD

(Y/N): love it! 😍

Zoe: kill your producer 💀

Mira: ...

He’s overprotective too

If someone looks at u for more than a second he’ll go “what?? U think she is hot, huh? I’ll kick ur ass fucking perv.... cmon babe let’s go”

Will throw his arm around u and streer u the opposite way of any potentially good looking ppl to keep ur eyes on him

Oh Daniel is coming?? What a coincidence u and vin Jin suddenly have to turn the corner to the other way of ur classroom for some reason

Eli is near?!!! Oh no u just got milk spilt in ur eye!! Oh no now he has to wipe ur eyes and u two have to leave the cafeteria whatever will he do

It’s not that he doesn’t have faith in u, he doesn’t have faith in other men. Like he thinks they r all competition, and doesn’t doubt ur loyalty rather doubts how good he can b for u

WILL beat someone up for u. If someone smokes while ur around suddenly his fists r swinging at them cuz even if u smoke or vape urself no one else can get that stuff in ur lungs but YOU or HIM!!

If ur crossing the street and a car almost hits u, it’s the cars fault and he’s kicking the license plate and cursing it out for almost touching u “stupid fucking piece of metal”

Is the type of boyfriend to call u when he knows ur in an Uber and be like “babe u got ur gun w u right?? Oh don’t forget ur BOMB and ur MACHETE!! Yeah just left the house I killed some ppl nbd haha anyways HRU what’s ur Uber driver like” so the driver of ur car won’t even think ab kidnapping u. He has got ur back even when u do not want it

He doesn’t want u to see his eyes, so he’ll tell you to look away so he can take his glasses off and look at u in full color in all ur glory but he never tells u WHY he’s telling u to look away u think it’s a weird thing of his, or he’s insecure ab his face which is partially true but really he’s taking his glasses off and just looking at u. Adoringly.....

He hates PDA. He loves PDA. Do u see his dilemma

Like he loves PDA but doesn’t want anyone seeing him vulnerable even u.... so he’ll hold ur hand and be like “EWWW WHAT R U DOING GET YR HAND OFF MINE”

If u take the lead THATS best bc he can blame it on u and it’s ur fault he HAS to lock fingers w u cuz u did it to him first and he has an excuse to touch u and v like u started this im just sending u ur own energy back 😤

The type to be just like blind, overwhelmed in love. Always thinks ab u, always wants to be w u, worries ab u a lot and frets over u without showing it.... he hates it and loves it to death. Despises it but wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world

Eats lunch w u in the cafeteria and if u sit w someone else u r the ultimate traitor and he will trash talk u to hide his hurt to Mary the entire lunchtime. Kinda possessive.... wants u to also only think about him

WOULDNT EVER fight u for real. Play fights occur VERY often, like pillow fights, tripping ur foot when u say a joke insulting him, grabbing ur collar but he would sooner die than lay a finger on u

Verbal fights happen a lot and if he ever like LOSES it he may lash out and almost hit u and follow thru. I don’t think he’d be able to catch himself that quickly, and if he ever did he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Literally until the day dies he will take it to his grave

He may not sputter out apologieswill just look at u incredulously and then at his hands because what had he done? What did he just do? To you???????? (Y/n))))?????? His (y/n)??? Light of his life?

Will apologize probably over text or through a note or call, and if u don’t respond he is consumed by regret and tries to find u instantly like runs back to ur place

If u forgive him he feels bad still, because does he deserve it? And he might just isolate himself for a bit bc he can’t face u and if it left a scar he is dead inside. It kills him, literally

I could go on w this but I’ll probably save it for another separate pair of hcs later 😭

If u guys ever break up he will fight for u again and won’t stop till ur back together like flowers in ur locker every day, chocolate give during lunch, etc. He wont ever give up hope that he can win u over again and be w u again. He would keep trying, when he wakes up his first thought is ur name in a cold panic bc he can’t rest easy till ur his again and he will try and show off and poorly serenade u and trash his price and be corny and cheesy to get u back

Will set up a performance w the school to let him rap w a mic during lunch for u and he’s saying bars like “(read in bad rapping voice w inconsistent beat) (y/n), love of my life, uh, without you I’d die, uh. Please won’t you take me back? Yuh, without you ima have a heart attack. (Wha!). (Y/n), love of my life, yeah, without you I’m in strife, yup! Please be mine again, (babe), I can never rest till then.”

If the embarrassment doesn’t make u take him back so he’ll pls stop, and when he stands up on the lunch tables to do a little performance doesn’t do it either, then the odd sincerity of his voice and pain in his look (even tho while rapping he sticks out his lower lip in a weird pout) definitely, hopefully will

U make everything worth it !! Truly the light of his life

I hope these were what u wanted, I just had fun w them and wrote stuff that came off the top of my head when I thought of VJ!! ❤️

[likeawildthing]

Not to be morbid on main, but everyone dies and people are rarely prepared for it. It’s so much easier when you know your loved one’s wishes. So even if you’re a teenager or twenty-three and healthy, I hope this helps you start thinking about end-of-life wishes, because it can happen to us all (both the dying and, rudely, being died upon).

Cremations are an affordable way to subvert the funeral industry, but going this route puts the burden of “the little things” on the family. I’ve learned a lot in the last 36 hours and wanted to pass those things that weren’t on any checklists, because the burden is on you to navigate the process.

Putting this under a cut because it’s so long (although not comprehensive). Obviously some of this is altered because COVID and some is meant to be applicable in some distant, theoretical future when we can go out to lunch again.

Before you die

Think about it, talk about it, write it down

Think about what kind of rememberance you want, if any. If it doesn’t matter, tell people that so they don’t fret about it and grieve in whatever way works best for them.

Communicate now to save your family and friends angst later.

Build an “in case of death” binder, zip drive, google doc with links, etc. Make sure your passwords are up to date so that’s not an administrative nightmare for your loved ones.

Advanced directives. Here’s a great article explaining the types of medical advanced directives and decisions to make before an accident or illness happens, including whether you want to donate your organs.

We lost grandma for about twenty minutes yesteday because we couldn’t find the paperwork and grandpa couldn’t remember where they signed up for services. Death. Binder. Have a death binder/folder/zip drive so no one loses grandma.

Insurance. 

You likely have insurance through work, so consider that. It will also expire if you leave your job.

You can usually get, with minimal fuss, a 10- or 20-year term policy with enough to cover your arrangements and debts for less than $20 a month. Death expenses are anywhere from $5-$20k, conservatively. 

Talk to your auto insurance agent and score a multi-line discount.

Body snatchers. 

If you want to be cremated, talk to a local crematory beforehand and give them your basic information. It can be paid out of your estate (i.e. by your family or a life insurance policy) when it happens. 

Most funeral homes (I believe) require pre-payment. It’s super morbid but there are TONS of heavily discounted grave sites for sale on Craigslist if that’s the route you want to go. 

Here’s a list of certified green burial sites in the US.

Donating your body to science 101.

Memorial service. 

The idea of a “proper” funeral is more or less out the window, especially in the time of COVID. Celebration of life? Religious ceremony (or not)? A picnic at your favorite park? Anything goes, so figure it out now. 

When my sister-in-law died, we had a celebration of life at a non-profit who donated the space and had a poker tournament with her ash tin (she lost). 

Whether you have strong or no preferences, write that down to guide decision-making. 

Memorials. 

Traditionally people would donate money in the event of a death to a charity, foundation, or family account, or flowers to a funeral home or church.

 Family accounts (like for children) are traditionally done in care of the deceased’s bank but online fundraisers are a thing. 

If you have a particular charity you love, add this to your list of wishes.

Food. 

Before COVID it was pretty typical for there to be some kind of meal after a funeral. Will this be a restaurant? 

This is ultimately up to the family but if you have strong preferences (i.e. no church or Italian food), tell people now.

Obituary. 

Writing down the basic facts of your life, hobbies, and accomplishments you want included in your obituary means your family doesn’t have to do a guessing game. 

Plants, animals, stuff, etc.

Do you want your clothes to go to a specific charity? 

Do you NOT want your stuff to go to a specific charity? (Goodwill is terrible!)

Who will get your car (person, donate, sell)? Want to have your record collection to go one sister? Obviously family will divvy up stuff how they like, but write down any special considerations.

Have a plan for your pets (insurance, vet info, guardianship).

Please organize and digitize your photos if they aren’t already.

If you lose someone close:

Identify the primary griever

Support that person/those people by providing feedback when solicited, running errands as needed, and running interference so they aren’t inundated with all the little things.

Notifying people

Use the phone tree method. Great Aunt M will be happy to help by calling your cousins. Your boss, coworkers and HR. Your mom’s best friend/your adoptive aunt, your mom’s bunco group. 

Ask that family not put anything on social media until the principal people are informed. I found out my grandpa died on facebook!

Esp these days, set boundaries for visits (who, where, and in what capacity).

Designate one person to be the primary contact for extended family to keep the burden off the primary griever(s). 

Give this persons’ information when the first phone calls are made. It also makes sense for this person to be the travel coordinator. 

This person should have a good handle on family dynamics (i.e. my aunt is flying in and would drive my grandma nuts so she’s staying with Mom). 

This should be their only task because it’s time consuming.

Food

When people die, people gather, even in the time of COVID. Be responsible but expect a ton of drop by food. Clean out the primary griever’s fridge in anticipaton.

Organization

Start a shared family Google doc or sheet. Consolidate to do lists, anecdotes, important contact information, questions and inquiries, etc. 

Pay to have the houses of anyone hosting (gatherings, people coming in from out of town, etc.) cleaned. Or, delegate. This can be an act of service for someone who wants to help and doesn’t mind doing the work. 

Find the death binder (hopefully), legal documentation, etc. Get a folder or binder for papers if one doesn’t exist. And start a shared google doc for loved ones to track everything.

Delegate

I know I have said this three times, but it’s important. If you’re a primary decision maker do not be the primary do-er. My mom is the primary decision maker so my sisters and I are doing literally everything else. 

Say YES when people ask if they can help you. Look at your running list of to-dos and say yes.

Pay to have the houses of people who are hosting cleaned. It will seriously be such a life saver, or this can be an act of service for someone who wants to help.

Social media

You will need to decide what to do with a person’s social media. Do you start a tribute page? Turn their facebook (if they’re old) into a tribute page for a time? Indefinitely? Things to think about. 

Thank yous

Keep a running list of people to thank after via hand-written thank you notes. The link includes guidelines on 

who should receive a thank you note (gave flowers, brought food, made donations, helped with arrangements or the service(s), did readings, or went well out of their way to warm your heart or show up)

when to send them (ideally 2-3 weeks after the funeral)

here’s how to write them (it doesn’t matter if you buy fancy, ones or dollar store ones, make sure they’re hand written).

Receipts. 

Don’t be the petty biatch your cousins hate, but do save significant receipts to be reimbursed by the estate. (I.e. catering hundreds of dollars of food, paying $250 for programs and thank-you cards like I just did, etc.)

Service.

You will have a million decisions to make including

what kind of service to hold, if any

where to hold it

costs

hymns, readings, and anecdotes to share

who will be pall bearers, readers, vocalists, and give eulogies

Crematories handle cremation only, not the service details. 

you will need photo boards (Hobby Lobby has nice black foamcore ones) or a powerpoint (and a way to display it depending on the venue)

a guest or memorial book

a card basket,

memorial cards, possibly programs, and thank you cards 

Officiants, musicians, religious institutions, etc. all need to be paid (and tipped) for their time.

If we ever wrangle this pandemic, donating funeral flowers to a nursing homes is a fantastic way to brighten residents’ days. 

Obituary.

Obituaries are expected, but traditionally costly ($200-$800). As part of the publishing fee, most newspapers keep the obituary on legacy.com indefinitely.

A funeral home will assist you with this, but the burden will be on you and your loved ones if using other methods. 

These take hours to write and many hands does not make light work. Keep it to 2-4 key people. Having the facts laid out will help, and so will looking at other obituaries. I read a great tip which was to write about your loved one in present tense first, then change the tense before submission. 

Newspapers will update your spelling and grammar but that’s about it. Cheaper alternatives: 

Death notice which gives age, date and location of death, and who is handling funeral arrangements. Our crematory put in the death notice for us because they had her body, but the requirements on this likely vary state-to-state. 

Here is a place to put a free online obituary.

Plants, animals, stuff, etc. 

Save the plants and pets. 

Household misc. are usually not dictated by the will, except in special circumstances or contested items. Closest members will go through possessions first. Voice early if you want something in particular, but understand that you may not get it. That’s ok. 

Going through someone’s life is an overwhelming process. You may be repulsed and sad and overwhelmed and amused, all at the same time.  

In deciding what to keep, as I’ve now cleared out three houses, I’ve found that quality over quantity is the way to go. The sweet spot? 1-2 sentimental + useful things. My great grandmother’s thimble and juicer? Use them all the time, and I remember her lemonade. 

It’s okay to throw away some keepsakes and let things get thrown out or donated, depending on the thing. 

Don’t give into guilt if you don’t want the china your Aunt Karen is pressuring you into taking when she doesn’t want it either.

Legal stuff. 

If someone dies, there will be all kinds of legal things you will need to do (bank accounts, utilities, debtors, education, etc.), investments or 401k, etc. 

This varies too much by state and circumstance to talk about in depth but there are guides to specifically help you.

If someone you love has lost someone they love

Do not give platitudes or ask if they’re ok

Don’t expect a response from someone grieving

Do send a card! It’s so thoughtful. I keep a stack of blank condolence cards and a set of forever stamps in my closet. It doesn’t have to be a $20 card to be special.

Don’t judge someone by how they grieve

Offer specific, actionable help if you’re close enough to give it

I am going to come over and clean at 10, leave the house unlocked

I’m at the store and am going to buy cheap vodka unless you tell me what kind of wine you want

oops I got you an uber eats gift card in your gmail sorry/not sorry

Buy thank you cards with stamps as a condolence gift, depending on the person and situation

Send a plant instead of a bouquet of flowers

Make a donation in the loved one’s name if you have the funds

If the grieving person is someone super close (best friend, sister, etc.) add the date in your recurring calender so you can check up on them this day next year with a card and/or phone call

[honorable-wanderings]

Word of Honor - Episode 3 Part 2 - We’re getting INN to it now!

Meanwhile back with Scooby  and the Gang. B-characters realize that the Goldilocks is missing and it was only the 3 bears that were killed.

And we can hear them surprisingly well from this far away. Their voices must carry exceptionally well.

---------------

The spiderwebs of DEATH

Seriously though it’s been hours. How has no one either taken these wires down or run into them accidentally? You cannot tell me they have checked every bit of this place for ChengLing’s body if these are still up.

Someone has lied to you Mr. White ‘n’ Blue.

----------------------

No you fucking did not. If you were cleaning them up roughly you’d at least get the ones on the main doorways! goddamn.

-----------

Old ppl vs the Ghosts!

COME ON DOWN FOR THE FIGHT OF YOUR LIFE THE ALL DEAD VS THE MOSTLY DEAD THIS SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY BE THERE BE THERE BE THERE.

---------------

The Ghost Valley is a menace! It’s high time someone went in there and eradicated them all!

Huh... never thought of that before...

-----------------------

Eh. Old people chanting the children’s rhymes doesn’t have the same tension. It’s just not the right feel. It’s a no from me.

----------------

Yes. This is perfectly far enough away. No one could possibly overhear us from this distance! I am a genius!

-----------------

We are all very worried about ChengLing’s well being. Yes. That is all. Only his well being. Nothing else. No ulterior motives here. Nope. Purely just good will and worry. :DDDD

---------------------

Ah yes! Back to my boys! :D

------------------------

You big softie.

Seriously though. He is so considerate of not only Best Boy’s physical well being but really his emotional state and autonomy as well. He doesn’t expect ChengLing to act like a full grown adult but he doesn’t treat him like a little kid either. It’s great and I’m here for it.

---------------------------------

It’s not stalking if we got here first, right? Now you’re stalking me! :D :D :D :D :D

-------------

Some day soon I’ll get you to admit you like me ;)

-------------------

-------------------------------------------------------

Whaaaaaaaaaaaat you’re here to? At this random river?????? OMG what are the chancesssssss?!?!?

At this point I just wanna know fuckin how????

----------------------------------

A-Xiang deserves a fucking medal for putting up with this BS. For real.

----------------

A-Xu you make-a him sad D:

---------------

Zhou ZiShu! Look out! They’re stealing your boat!!

-------------------------

-Hey if the ghost valley peeps come up to wreck shit it’s gonna be our shit that gets wrecked too you know? -I don’t give a farting fly’s left ass cheek! I’m one foot in the grave already.

------------------

Glazed armor this glazed armor that give me a glazed donut and let’s call it a day. I don’t careeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

------------------------------------------

Are you inn or out?

----------------------

Sorry we’re out of space because for some reason we let ourselves rent out the entire establishment to a single person. Like I get he paid for the rooms but it’d still be bad for business?? Like no one wants to go to an inn if they won’t let you stay even though there are empty rooms. Like the fuck

------------

Look elsewhere? Shit you know this is the only inn in town (apparently)!! Where we supposed to go???

Um... why don’t you try looking at I don’t give a FUCK

----------------------------

Well well well. Who could have seen this coming?

-------------------

Zhou ZiShu is about read to add a few more nails

---------------------------

This old ragged beggar man is hot as fuck. Set him up in my room at once!

Just end my suffering. I beg you

-------------------------

ChengLing just gonna keep his mouth shut and stay out of it

------------------------------

-I gave you my own room! -My room now. Kindly GTFO -But I bought you clothes too! -Yeah no one asked you. GTFO!!

-How have my seduction techniques continued to fail??????????

-------------------------------

Love me pls D:

-----------------

If Oedipus invented a wire tap he’s gonna have to work harder to get past me!!

---------------

But he doesn’t look like he’s a bad person

Bad people rarely do.

--------------------

Take the bed? I couldn’t possibly!! No! You’re taking care of me and protecting me and you’re old! You take the bed! I’ll sleep on the chair! I’m the best boy!!!

Bitch did I fucking stutter?

--------------

You owe me no explanations. I’m sure you have your reasons and that they’re good ones. But don’t suffer needlessly. Treat your wounds and I won’t ask any more about it.

--------------

MY BOY DOESN’T DESERVE THIS. ALL THIS OVER A PIECE OF FUCKIN SEA GLASS??????????

---------------

Ain’t nobody dope as me I’m just so fresh, so clean (So fresh and so clean clean)

--------------------------

Daaate niiiiiight

----------

So I get that you’re like persistently stalking me and all that but like Why??

Because I know you cute as fuck. Why you hiding? Show me what your true face and I’ll tell you what I want. What I really really want.

You first bitch

-------------

Local man tries to pry secrets out of only human in a 10 mile radius who has no ulterior motives and is confused when it doesn’t work.

--------------

Das gay

HDU

----------------------

Clink Clink bitch

-------------------------

Master can you please keep it in your pants for 5 minutes? It’s all I ask. Just 5 minutes of peace! Please!

---------

Pop Quiz! Who is the second cutest person in the world?

I will settle for anyone who feeds me

Naw. Tsundere is where it’s at.

*Is unimpressed in tsundere*

---------------------

Then who is the mostest cutest?

A tsundere with long legs, slim waist, fat ass.

Heavens strike me down now. Please end my misery. Why did I sit here? Didn’t I know better?

Anyone have any more torture nails? Anyone? Please?

-----------------------------

*Insert Mii channel theme*

--------------------

We are the unwashed masses. Let’s go fuck some shit up

---------

Hey guys. Does this look like anime style to you? Someone said it looks like anime but I don’t see it.

I think it looks great! I can’t even draw a stick figure! hahahaha

--------------------------

Sleepy boi <3

----------------

How the fuck did I become the third wheel?

-----------

*mii channel theme continues*

----------------

Your honored uncle here wouldn’t let us eat anything until you woke up even though he sat at my table. D:

-------------------

-Stop acting like a little brat and start acting polite and demure like the other girls

-Uuuuuuuuuuuuuugh gross

-------------------------

We’re doing found family and we’re doing it now!

-------------------------

Why aren’t you eating?

Yeah! We had to wait all this time for you to get here and you’re not even eating anyway!!!!!!

Well my home and my entire family died, and so did that random boat man who protected me. And also there’s a hole in my stomach. So I don’t have much of an appetite atm.

Oh My God. can you not???

But that’s how I show affection!!!!!!!! D:<

---------------

Shoving food in your face to hide your tears. A time honored tradition.

Also D: Best boy is sad </3

--------------------

Oh no. More people I’m supposed to remember.

JESUS FUCK REALLY???

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? HOW MANY? You cannot tell me they are all important. Please tell me I’m not supposed to remember this many people. I can’t handle this.

aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG

THAT’S 11 PEOPLE AT ONCE! WHAT THE FUCK

---------------

Whenever this guy speaks it sounds like he’s trying really hard not to cough in front of the board meeting.

-------------

Okay so what I got from this is

There was a treaty between these peeps and the ghost peeps to say they’ll leave each other the fuck alone

The ghost peeps broke that promise by fucking with the mirror lake sect and so these peeps decided to retaliate

and they’re gonna retaliate by throwing a party? Like I guess they’re just gathering forces? But like it’s a weird way to do it.

-------------

Oh for the love of god.

--------------------------------

Pffffffffffffffff welcome to the circus

----------------------------

*sigh*

Okay y’all I can remember like 6 people. 7 Max. Y’all gonna have to be picky about who’s important here.

How many of these people do I actually have to know?

----------------------

Now what the fuck happened here and why are the twin jades here?

-------------------------

You two have a piece of the glazed ham. And even though no one is using it it’s really important that we keep it that way. No one must hold all pieces of the glazed ham. Or..... bad things?

--------------

Oh my. Pain o’clock already?

-----------------

SOMEONE GET THEIR ASS IN THERE AND GIVE MY BOY A HUG!

-----------------------

Hey! What do you see? Is he in there? I can’t see a goddamn thing.

-------------------

So I know that he’s like what, 15? And like grew up with a dad. But like you know they made him scream “A-Die” and then wake up to Zhou ZiShu’s comforting touch on purpose. You know that was planned.

Maybe not a father, but certainly a father figure.

(Also thanks, A-Xu for answering my request from earlier for someone to comfort the poor boy.)

--------------------------

What’s this? The sounds of a scuffle???

Whelp. Not anymore.

--------------------------

Couldn’t he have just ordered them to leave instead?

---------------------

The Ghost Valley seems to be following me rather closely.

Oh you have no idea. ;)

-------------------

Alcohol detected

-------------------

Let me call you a cute pet name and I’ll let you drink from my bottle of nectar. ;)

Oh my god this shit again?

----------------------

You know what?

Two can play at this game.

---------------------

You wanna see what lies underneath? Rip it off yourself.

Don’t worry! I’m patient! Sleep well! Dream of me! I know I’ll be dreaming of you! ;)

[n3rdybird]

Healing Touch

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​‘s Hamilton Lyric challenge!  This story went through so many re-writes and changes, god I hope this mangled mess is okay, haha.  My prompt was the line “My name’s been through a lot.  I can take it.”

Vikings

HeahmundxReader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Some blood, talk about Church, self-flagellation etc (referenced, not described in depth) suggestive language, oogling a man of the church (haha)

Gossip was always a funny thing in small villages.  Perhaps you had not been thinking clear when you established your home on the edge of the holy town of Sherborn. Nestled in the woods near a stream, you were both close enough to the town to visit for supplies but far enough away that your arrival stirred up a bit of mystery.

 As an unmarried woman with no known family, you already raised a few brows of the more prominent families.  But it was your talent for herbalism that set most of the tongues wagging.  The smallfolk were more pragmatic towards your skills.  They could overlook your marital status if it meant well-made salves and tonic for their aches and illnesses. With their payments, usually traded goods that you could not make yourself, and the bounty of the forest, you rarely had any need to visit the town marketplace.  Which only furthered the mystique around you.

 When you did grace the town with your presence, most of the townsfolk gave you a wide berth, allowing you to shop in peace.  Even the merchants seemed to deal in your favor, giving you more than was due for your wares.  You heard the rumors.  Half the town believed that you were a cunning woman and would bring misfortune to any who wronged you.  The other half sang your praises, that you were even more skilled than the clergy.

 So it was to your great surprise as you kneeled to rearrange your parcels in your basket that a shadow loomed over you. You glanced upward, schooling your features as you saw the Bishop of Sherborne himself, Heahmund, standing over you.

You nodded your head in greeting before standing, slinging your basket over your shoulder.  The bishop was a popular man, known for his devotion to God as well as to the sword.  And lesser-known, his propensity for women.  Mostly gossip, but living as you had, you knew there was at least a kernel of truth to any rumor.  His handsome face did not help, nor the way his stubble gave him a rakish air.  He was a far cry from the average holy man, fat and week from a sedentary lifestyle.

 “Your Grace,” you greeted and dipped into a shallow curtsey, giving the most powerful man in Sherborne due deference for his position.

 “You know who I am?” he asked.

 “Of course.  One could scarcely live in Sherborne without knowing of its Bishop,” you answered.

 He nodded in agreement, before gesturing for you to walk with him.

 “Please allow me to escort you home if you are finished for the day,” he offered. 

 You had no intention of spending any considerable time with the church official, but you erred on the side of caution and walked in step next to him.

 “I apologize for not making my acquaintance sooner, I meet most of my parishioners on Sundays for mass,” he said, keeping his eyes forward. 

 You hummed noncommittally, but inside, you blanched. Heahmund's statement seemed polite on the surface, but you knew he was angling for an answer to why you had yet to make an appearance in church.  In all honesty, it wasn’t that you weren’t Christian.  You were, in your own way.  It was the idea that one had to go to church to be considered religious that you didn’t agree with.  So you had to pick your words carefully.

 “Well then I am pleased that I’ve had the chance to meet you today,” you said, avoiding the point about the church, focusing on his former words rather than the latter.  Heahmund cut his eyes towards you, clearly noting your evasion.

 “Quite.”  His tone was sharp and you felt as if you failed an unknown test.

 The conversation dwindled to Heahmund telling bits of history about the town or gesturing to points of interest as the two of you left town.  You were glad when you walked past the boundary of Sherborne. You were used to the curious stares when you were alone, but with the Bishop as company, it seemed the gazes were amplified.  The gossip mill would soon be in a frenzy.  The path home took you past the open fields and into the shaded forest along a winding path.

 “Living alone, so far from town, must worry you,” he noted.

 “Why would I be worried?”

 “Well a woman such as yourself, living alone.  You would be far better protected living in town.  Roaming bandits, animals, or even the occasional Viking incursion.”

 “I worry as much as the next, I suppose, but living in town has never appealed to me.  Not to mention it is easier to collect wild plants,” you explained.

 “Yes, I’ve heard of your skills.  Where did you learn?”

 You paused your walk, noticing a crop of comfrey sprouting from the ground.  You knelt in the dirt, brushing the purple buds with your fingertips.  Too young.  You’d have to wait a few more days to harvest.  You stood up, wiping the dirt off your skirt.  You glanced back at Heahmund who had stopped several paces away.  He was watching you closely but looked away as soon as your gaze met his.

 “Family mostly, I’ve never learned formally.  I’ve found that there is much in nature that can help or hurt.  It only takes a practiced hand to know the difference.”

 Heahmund stiffened, his hand resting on his sword.  His gaze turned to stone as he eyed you critically. 

 “And do you only heal?  Or do you hurt?  I admit this meeting was no coincidence.  There have been rumors that reached my ears.  Half the town believes you to be a cunning woman, a witch, and I do not suffer pagans under my watch.”

 You swallowed.  You shouldn’t have disregarded the gut feeling you had the moment he began speaking to you. If the Bishop found any fault in your words, he could kill you now and be firm in his belief that he was in the right in his duty as a man of God.  There was no one around who could come to your aid, not that any would stand against the warrior.

 “Do you deny it?”

 “Perhaps you could tell me which rumors have graced your ears, so I may better defend myself.”  The words you spoke were calm and confident, the complete opposite of how you were feeling. The sounds of the forest melted away and all you could hear was your rapid heartbeat as you tried to control your fear.

 Heahmund tilted his head as if trying to suss out your guilt or innocence.

 “‘Which’ rumors?  You are aware of what people say about you?”

 “My name’s been through a lot.  I can take it.  Women are always subjected to gossip, especially unmarried ones.  I would be a fool to believe otherwise.  I hardly see the point in trying to change someone’s opinion of me.  People do not like to be wrong.”

 “Lord Oswald has claimed that you hold dark influence over his daughter, causing her to act out and defy her father.  And that you placed a curse upon him, causing illness.”

 At the mention of the man, you clenched your fist.  You had first met his daughter when she visited you, draped in a cloak to hide her face. The purple bruise that spread across her cheekbone like a wine stain caused your immediate hatred towards the man she called father.  You may have let out a few choice curse words as you treated the abrasion and consoled the young woman.

 “That man is a pig.  I couldn't care less what he thought of me.  As for his illness, perhaps he should be blaming his poor diet.”

 “Lord Oswald is an upstanding and-”

 “Upstanding?  That man would sell his daughter to the vilest devil on earth if it meant he’d get more power!” You blurted the words out, angry that that man would be considered upstanding.

 “His daughter is his by rights, and as such may marry her to a man of his choosing. That is the duty of daughters,” the Bishop intoned, repeating the words drilled into him by years of church teachings.

 You scoffed at his words, biting back harsh curses.  Duty, you’ve never cared for that word.

 “Duty, what a hollow promise.  Is it not a father’s duty to protect his daughter? And not to lay a hand on her in anger?”

 Heahmund’s face softened at that particular bit of information.

 “Did you place a curse on Oswald?” he asked again, his voice low and stern.

 “I wouldn’t have to.  That man will drink himself into an early grave,” you spat.  You nodded to where his hand was still resting on the pommel of his sword.

 “So what is your judgment?  Is thinking a man worth less than a pile of shit enough to die? Or not congregating with hypocrites on Sunday who profess their goodness only to hit their wives or cheat on their husbands or sleep with clergymen?  Are those my crimes?”

 The last bit of course was aimed at the Bishop.  He was taken aback by your words.  He too knew the hypocrisy of humans, he had seen it firsthand in others and himself.

 “Regardless of any sin committed, man can repent and ask forgiveness.”  It was what he told himself every time he failed in his duty to God.

 “But I am judged by the words of one man, and that’s enough to condemn me?  And what of all the kind words said in my favor? Because they are from the smallfolk they aren’t as important? But as soon as someone with ‘prestige’ speaks horrible lies, you must come running to investigate.  Like a trained hound set out by its masters.”

 Dismissing the warrior bishop, you shook your head.  Rigid, sanctimonious, and arrogant.

 “If you are going to kill me, kill me.  I do not wish to suffer your presence any longer.”

 When Heahmund did not speak but removed his hand from his sword you gave him a terse nod.

 “Enjoy the rest of your day, your Grace.”

 Heahmund watched as you walked away, your skirts swishing behind you.  You had spoken the truth.  He had no interest in you until the upper echelon started their complaints.  He was all but demanded to get to the bottom of it.  As much as your words stung, you were correct. He could have denounced the hearsay as soon as they were spoken, owing to the fact that smallfolk all but revered you.  So he bowed under the demands to keep his place secure.

 You, however, were not what he expected.  Young, unmarried, and striking.  He thought you might be an older widow, with the talk of your skills.  Instead he got you, a fiery, educated young woman, who wasn't afraid of speaking her mind.  It was almost refreshing to have someone not fawn over him.  Yes, you treated him with respect but did not trip over yourself to please him.  You had no problem criticizing him.

 He rubbed the pommel of his sword, worrying the raised designs with his thumb.  You were interesting indeed.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 After you left the bishop to mull over your words, you had hurried home, half expecting him to come after you and take you in for your supposed crimes. When he did not follow, your steps became shaky and you found yourself stumbling into the small cottage you called home.  You flung the latch closed and leaned against the door, trying to regain your wits.

 You had been accused of crimes, as untrue as they were.  The Bishop himself was sent to investigate.  And you had thrown a tantrum, insulting him and his life.  The next few days you did not venture far from your home, fearing retribution.  You debated leaving your home, going to another area.  But you tired of running away.  As the days passed, you breathed a little easier.  No one had come to take you away, and the smallfolk continued to do business with you.

 After a particularly grueling morning over a cookfire, and setting a poor child’s broken arm, you were exhausted.  With the hot sun overhead, you plucked at your tunic as it stuck to your skin.  A dip in the water would do nicely.

 Gathering your satchel and clad in a lightweight chemise, you began your trek to your preferred bathing spot.  A small bend in the river where the water calmed and you could bathe in relative peace.

 Placing your bag within reach of the water, you glance around before unlacing your chemise, letting it fall to your feet.  The water was cool, refreshing on your overheated skin.  You ducked under the water, brushing your wet locks away from your face.  You wiped the water from your eyes before reaching for your soap to wash away the grime of the morning.

 “Perhaps you are not a witch, but a water nymph from Greek stories,” a familiar voice called out.  You spun and stared gobsmacked at the bishop sitting near the edge of the water.  You bristled at the nerve of him openly staring as you bathed.

 “Shouldn’t a man of the cloth look away when a woman is bathing?” you retorted, wishing for the first time that the water was not so clear.

 “Ah, but you have already judged me a hypocrite, would that not be proving you wrong?” he replied but turned his head away from you.

 You grumbled, a bit irritated that he had thrown your own words back in your face. Making your way to the shore, you all but snatched your chemise with outstretched fingertips, and dressed with haste.

 “Is there something you need, your Grace?” you huffed out, irritated that he had spoiled your bath. You grabbed your satchel, swinging it wildly over your shoulder, hitting his chest with the soft leather.  You immediately dropped your pack in alarm when he hissed in pain.

 “I came to apologize,” he said between clenched teeth.  “Would that be amiable, or would you prefer to hit me with your bag again?”

 The weight of your bag should not have caused him any pain, especially if it caused him to grit his teeth.  You peeled back his tunic and gasped at the sight of several scratches adorning his chest.  Though most were superficial, a few deep welts drug across the expanse of his skin.

 “What on earth happened?”

 Heahmund jerked away from your grip.

 “It’s nothing to worry about," he said, brushing off your concern.

 “I’d ask you not to lie to me.  Take off your shirt.”

 When he didn’t follow your command you rolled your eyes.

 “Lord save me from bullheaded men,” you muttered, reaching for his shirt.

 “You can either take off your shirt, or I will cut it off.  It matters not to me what you choose.”

 Heahmund raised a brow at your demands and pulled his tunic over his head with a grunt of pain.  Kneeling in front of him, you tried to not ogle the Bishop as you took in his wounds.  Most were already scabbed over, others dark with crusted blood.  You curled your lip in dismay.  You traced your fingers over his skin, the newer cuts crossing over old scars.  Some of the deeper gashes were warm to the touch, a sign of infection.  You looked up, his eyes watching your hand as it moved across his chest before looking at you.

 You pulled your hand away, clucking in a scolding manner.  Rifling through your pouch, you pulled out a strip of cloth and some salve.  You dipped the cloth into the cool water, wringing out the excess before blotting at the wounds.

 “You would think someone with your knowledge would know to treat cuts, no matter how trivial,” you said, as you washed the crusted blood away.  “You look like you got in a fight with a cat,” you joked.

 “Thorns actually,” he amended.  When you looked at him confused, he clarified.

 “My self-penance, along with asking for your forgiveness.”

 You paused in your ministrations, horrified at the thought.

 “You believe God would want you to harm yourself to seek forgiveness?”

 “It brings me clarity, to better understand what path God wishes me to take.”

 You shook your head before reaching for the salve.

 “What is there to understand?  God gave us free will, for us to make the choices in our lives.  Maybe making mistakes is part of his plan?” you said softly, applying the paste with deft fingers.

 “I fear I make too many mistakes, stumble too often in my path,” Heahmund confessed.

 “You were right.  About Oswald and the rumors.  His daughter confirmed it in confession.  She was quite worried about you when she heard I came to visit you.”

 You shook your head, sighing.  The last thing you wanted was to cause more trouble for the young girl.

 “I hope you told her she was not at fault.  I can take care of myself.  Please tell her not to worry.”

 He took your hand in his, his calloused fingertips running along yours.  Your hand was calloused, but not from holding a sword.  You had burn scars from hot pots, tiny cuts from mishaps with knives. Your hand that he had accused of witchcraft and misdeeds was the hand that wiped away his blood and applied medicine, something he did not deserve.  A healing hand.

 “Choices and mistakes shape our lives, make us who we are.  My life brought me here, to Sherborne.  As your choices brought you to me.  It was your choice to let, rather than kill or imprison me, something I am grateful for,” you said matter of fact.

 Heahmund laughed.

 “We shall see if that works in my favor.  Provided you didn’t poison me,” he said, nodding towards his chest.

 You rolled your eyes and licked your fingertip, still coated in salve.  Heahmund’s eyebrows jumped in surprise at your action.

 “Well if it were poison, now I would die as well.  So fear not your Grace, you should be on the mend quickly,” you jested with a smile.  Heahmund returned your smile with one of his own.  You felt your stomach flutter at the expression on his face, and the threat of a blush warmed your neck.

 He brought your hand up to his lips and planted a warm slow kiss on the back of your knuckles.  The rough brush of his stubble sent a zip of desire down your spine.  This was dangerous.  This was a mistake in the making.  But you found yourself caring little as you stared into his eyes.

 “Please, allow me to repay you.”

[roll-da-credits]

Lycoris Radiata Pt. 2 -Deku x Reader-

Inspired by the piano piece, "Lycoris Radiata," Written by Spikes, played by MusicalBasics.

Highly recommend listening to it whilst reading.

[1] [2] [3]

Word Count: 1.7k

When a childhood love shows up after being lost to time, it's unnerving to be presented by something so familiar yet different. Deku lost to his own love and presented with the stresses of life and unrequited love, it isn't easy to see the world with an unbiased gaze.

!WARNING!

(This is for the entire series and not just this part)

BIG TW for death, suicide, abuse,

Minor TW for death imagery, toxic relationship, toxic friendship, toxic shit all around

A/n: I hope all of my little details are noticed by you guys because it did take a long time to take into consideration all of the details, I hope you enjoy this.

After reuniting with you in that park, Deku found himself longing to hang out with you even more. Longing to hear your stories and longing to tell you his adventure as a pro. So, that’s exactly what he did.

Every time he had an off-day or a patrol near where you worked or resided. He would always stop by, say hello, catch up, talk about your day.

On not so rare occasions he’d also meet your boyfriend at the same place. When questioned about it he realized your boyfriend worked at the same place you did. It wasn’t very odd to him so he simply laughed it off and considered how lucky you were to be in the same place as your loved one very often.

“There was also this one time where they tripped and spilled the coffee on another barista! It was hilarious!!!” Your boyfriend laughed out loud behind the display of pastries, chatting with Deku.

You looked away rather quickly after he talked about that moment, “Are you ok Y/n?” Deku queried. “Ah they’re fine, they’re just embarrassed. I mean who wouldn’t be, it was their first day.”

Deku grinned and shook his head slightly, reminiscing about all the times he’s embarrassed himself with you in front of people or embarrassed himself in front of you. He smiled at it, without realizing his gaze slowly becoming pinker. Pinker with adoration and love for you.

After all these years, you still held the same grace in his eyes. Of course, you changed a little bit, people change over time. But to him, the best parts of you still remained. You were still the perfect person he would’ve loved to spend his entire life with.

He quickly darted his eyes away from your form making another cup of coffee for a customer, realizing the fact that your boyfriend had gone quiet. Most likely because of the fact Deku was staring at his lover.

“I’m sorry I blanked out,” Deku tried his best to apologize, “What were you saying again?”

For a split second Deku could feel rage beneath your boyfriend’s eyes, it was expected of course. No one would want their significant other to be stared at.

But just as quickly as that rage rose, your boyfriend switched the topics and went back to his chipper move. Though from his already pink-tinted eyes, Deku missed the way his hand gripped the metal prongs used to get the pastries, a little bit tighter.

The next day he came over to the café you worked at, and unlike usual you didn’t greet him from behind the counter. You stayed focus on your work.

Deku couldn’t help but stare once again at your adorable focusing form. Every time he looked at you, though he has yet to come to terms with it, everything else in the room disappears. His eyes, mind, soul, body, and heart all focus on you.

“You must really like our stuff huh?” Your boyfriend interrupted his train of thought and Deku had to mentally scold himself for staring once again.

You also seemed to snap out of your trance and locked eyes with him, you offered him a small smile before rushing back to take the orders of other customers.

Deku, like he would always every other day, ordered his usual. Talked a little bit with your boyfriend, liking him more and more by the day. Then leaving after he had finished his favorite red velvet cupcake you made and morning coffee, oddly enough without talking to you the entire day.

It wasn’t until the next week would he be able to come to your café again, exhausted, tired, and drained.

The week on his last trip to your café swamped him with terribly mentally draining missions and failures. He had failed to rescue the final person from being trapped underneath rubble, after saving her entire family, before he could run in the rubble fell. Instantly killing the person.

A sprout of red blood spilled from her body as her family surrounded it and cried. Deku knelt down and faced the family, his hands stained red from the blood on the floor. He cried and apologized over and over again.

The family stopped his apologies and reassured him it was not his fault.

After clearing out the rubble, the family went over to Deku and invited him to a burial ceremony that exact night. Since their Islamic tradition pushed them to bury the body as soon as possible.

Deku obviously accepted, realizing this could be a way to get through with his own feelings. As if reminding him that people die and that he couldn’t save everyone.

The ceremony was held in a gravesite extremely close to your café, a graveyard he didn’t even notice when visiting your café. To him, the entire thing ended in a flash and after once again apologizing to the entire large family gathered there. He decided to stay and apologize to the girl he couldn’t save.

He felt a foreboding sense of fear of this ever happening again. She was in the wrong situation and no one could’ve saved her if they wanted to save the entire family as well. From the corner of his eye, he saw a beautiful red flower blooming and immediately thought of you.

To him, it was extremely odd to find a flower blooming in a graveyard but he thought it was fitting. The flower had long red petals that curved downwards, red strings of stigma protruding out holding pollen on its tips. He didn’t know what the plant was, nor did he care honestly, he thought it was an incredibly beautiful gem to grow wildly in a graveyard.

Deku stood and plucked a few of them, putting some on the girl’s grave and leaving with a few to bring to you.

Though he found himself unable to go to your café since once more he was swamped with work. He placed the flowers in water, but they seemed to die rather quickly. So, he threw it out before he got the chance to give it to you.

At long last, he was able to visit you. He was rather ecstatic when he saw that your boyfriend was absent from his work. Meaning during your break, he got to have you for himself.

Obviously, he was exhausted and drained, though that would never stop him from babbling nonsense to you. Which he noticed you were enjoying yourself, but you seemed a bit more fidgety than usual. He asked you what was wrong, only to have you brush it off.

He found it slightly frustrating that despite how close you were together, you didn’t trust him enough yet to tell him how you felt. Then the topic of what he did the last week came up.

Deku told you all about the girl he couldn’t save and the flower he found. He asked if you knew the flower and if you could make it bloom right in front of both of you with your quirk. You laughed at his rather childish request but obliged.

“Of course I can silly.” You concentrated your mind to the middle of the table and slowly the same red flower erupted from the middle of the table.

Deku grinned ear to ear and complimented you on your quirk. “You’re incredible as always. I’ve always wanted to ask you so many questions about your quirk but I don’t really think I have the time right now since I have to patrol very soon. But OH do you know what flower this is by the way? I know you love red flowers and I just like the way it looks and how it’s so pretty growing in a place where dead things are you know like in a gra-”

Your sweet laughed cut his rambling short. “Izuku, breathe, I see you still ramble a lot. No, I don’t really know what flower it is, I've just seen it from animes.”

Before Deku could prod you further about the anatomy of the plant or if you could find the flower’s name for him. You quickly turned the subject to a different thing. Letting the spider-like flower in the middle of the table die out rather slowly.

“Hey Izuku, I’ve been wanting to ask.” Deku hummed in reply, “What do you think of my boy-”

But a shriek of pain suddenly filled the café. Deku’s hero instincts caused him to stand up and run immediately to the source. Everything in his eyes went in slow motion.

A woman froze in her spot as a truck rammed against her, just mere inches from Deku’s grasps. The woman immediately got run over just as the driver pressed the breaks.

Deku knelt down on her bleeding body, warm pools of red staining his clothes. Yet another life he couldn’t save. He looked around half expecting to see the looks of disappointment in people’s eyes, and yet all he saw was a pity.

After all, he was a hero, he had to be ready to be able to deal with these situations. Even if it meant forcing himself to get used to the red tint on him from all the blood.

~

“Y/n look!” A middle-school Deku urged you to look at his hand, a tiny little spider crawled on it. He found the little critter rather adorable.

Yet you found it a little bit more terrifying than him. “How could you hold it so calmly Izuku!!!” You almost shrieked in horror as he tried to pass the spider over to you.

He laughed and continued observing the spider. “Where did you find it anyways??? There are barely any spiders here.” You questioned him further.

Deku merely shrugged, “I found it on that tree, it had pretty red flowers I want to give you…” Realizing what he just said his face turned red and quickly backtracked, “Because you got that perfect score in that final test!!! I just wanted to give you a gift and I know how much you liked red flowers and I’m going to go to a separate school very soon. I don’t know where you’re going, but you know I’m going to UA and going to be the number one hero after I graduate. But I wanted to give you a gift and red flowers seem really cute and if I picked them myself it would be even cuter and I know it's weird and I hope you don’t think I’m we-”

His rambling stopped when he felt something warm on his cheek. “It isn’t weird at all Izuku. I think it’s really cute. Also don’t think so much about that kiss. You seemed too lost in thought so I wanted to snap you back to reality.”

Your funny and mischievous ways of toying with him made his heart ache a tiny bit more. He knew you didn’t realize what you were doing to him was making him fall deeper and deeper to the depths of love.

“Anyways put that spider back on the tree, I want to tell you about this guy that I met the other day.”

He closely listened to your rambles about a boy you seemed head over heels for. He just smiled and agreed to everything. He tuned out every time you gushed about him, the ache in his chest growing heavier and heavier.

He had to be selfless.

After all, if he was going to be a hero, he had to be able to control his emotions. Even if that meant pushing down the urge to tell you to be with him instead, deep inside.

[rose-sunlight]

Hot Chocolate (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral! Reader, Platonic! BAU x Reader

Warnings: Outing, Crying, but it gets better I promise, Fluff. I feature the BAU with my different LGBTQIA Head cannons, as well.

Summary: An unsub sends an email revealing the darkest secrets of everyone on the team. Y/n shows up on Spencer’s doorstep in tears after the email reveals their sexuality.

A/n: This is my first fanfic after coming out; it’s great to be back to writing. I wrote this after something similar happened to me a few days ago! I hope you guys enjoy!

Spencer wasn’t expecting them to just…arrive on his doorstep. He knew, realistically, when he told them his door was always open, that they were bound to show up one day; he just wasn’t anticipating it to be in the pouring rain, with tears streaming down their face.

He opened the door, and the atmosphere they’d brought was overpowering sadness. The rain made their skin glisten under his porch light, and he would’ve taken into consideration how…magnificently picturesque Y/n looked in the rain, if they weren’t crying and shivering.

“Did you read it?”

Spencer furrowed his brows and shook his head dazedly, “Read what-are you okay?”

Y/n let out a sigh of relief, wiping tears and rain off their cheeks in one fluid motion. This, they had determined, was a safe place, and Reid didn’t know yet, so they finally had the choice to choose who knew. “Can I come in?” They weakly asked. Spencer nodded his head vigorously.

“Yeah, of course, do you want…I dunno, coffee, or something?”

“Um…do you…” Y/n paused to catch their breath. Their voice came out small and fragile as they glanced down at the phone screen that suddenly seemed to bright and loud. It was blowing up with messages-worried messages, from their team at the BAU. “Do you have any hot chocolate?”

Spencer let out a fond smile “You think I wouldn’t stock up when you’re always here? I always have, like, three tubs just for you.”

He hoped that one gesture showed them that he was someone who thought about them. Someone who was caring, and would do anything to show their devotion to them. Reid wanted a jar of hot chocolate powder to prove that he was worth loving.

“Thank you.” Y/n’s voice was barely a whisper as they collapsed onto Spencer’s couch, wrapping themselves up tightly in one of his extensive blankets, letting out one sigh of relief.

“No problem.”

Y/n could see him reaching for his phone, and suddenly shot up off the couch, blanket discarded in what could only be described as blind panic. “Don’t open your emails.” They ominously said, and Spencer put his phone down, waiting for the hot water to boil.

He raised one eyebrow, looking into Y/n’s eyes, hoping to analyse something, anything, that could help him understand what was going on “Are you on the run?”

Y/n snorted at the very thought “Me? Are you kidding me? No!”

“You’re just acting like…I dunno, like…you’re running from something,” Y/n went to yell at him for analysing them, and he raised his hands in surrender, stirring the freshly made hot chocolate “I’m not analysing, I’m just being observant! You want marshmallows?”

“Yes please. And I’m…maybe I am running.”

Spencer paused what he was doing, mid-plopping in the fluffy marshmallows he knew Y/n preferred over any other brand. He asked Garcia to look into their shopping history once to make sure he had the perfect type. She had teased him relentlessly with cheesy nicknames, but had relented and told him. And he had almost bought out the whole store “From the team? That’s why you’re telling me not to look at emails, right?”

Y/n sighed. What the hell, he was going to find out when they turned up for work the next day, anyway. This way, they could decide how he was told. “You know that case we’re working on? We theorized the unsub got off on revealing his victims secrets?”

Spencer handed her the hot chocolate “There you go.”

“Thanks”

“Didn’t we also theorise that he couldn’t have revealed their secrets because he didn’t have the skills to do so?” Spencer asked, more nervous about what could have possibly happened. It was a local case, one they didn’t have to travel for, but it was by far one of the most puzzling they’d encountered

Y/n paused as they sipped their hot chocolate. It was steaming; it almost took the skin off their tongue; it was so hot. But they bared it, swallowing harshly. “We were wrong. He does, or he has someone doing it for him. Anyway, he must’ve been there at that second crime scene, because he found out…information. On all of us.”

Now Reid understood why they were so upset. Y/n had something personal shared “I’m sure we all know everyone’s secrets. We tell each other everything.”

Y/n winced. Spencer placed a comforting hand over theirs. “Right?”

Truthfully, Y/n knew how Spencer would react when they told him. It would be a relief once he had congratulated them, hugged them, and continued a different conversation. Y/n knew all this, but saying the words felt unsavoury in their mouth, like sandpaper and cotton. They looked Spencer in the eyes, and felt fear. “Spencer…” they had to pause, wiping their eyes again.

Spencer was distracting. He was running a comforting hand over theirs, and they worried once they told him, the gesture would stop. “it’s ok. Take your time.”

“He…he…” Y/n wanted to scream it: he outed me, and it sucks so much. Instead, they were stuck gaping like a fish out of water. “I’m [y/sexuality].” They managed to blurt out all at once. Spencer looked sad. He nodded in understanding.

“The unsub outed you?” Spencer said, sighing as Y/n nodded tearfully “Y/n, that’s awful, I’m so sorry.”

Y/n cried. They cried as if their life depended on it, and Spencer accepted them, holding them as they did so, waiting for the sobs to die down. “They had pictures of me and some of my partners…and that damn secret blog I made when I was sixteen and still working it out. And…now everyone knows Spencer…” the cries started up again.

Spencer rubbed their back. “It’s ok. The choice was taken from you, and that sucks. But you have to think about who you have around you. The BAU isn’t exactly the straightest group out there.”

Y/n looked up at him, confused and overwhelmed. As far as they knew, the only person there who was LGBT was them, and that was something they were willing to take to the grave if it meant that their team would treat them differently “What?”

Spencer looked back, almost in disbelief, “You mean, you don’t know? Everyone’s open about it.”

“I don’t understand.”

This was when Spencer began to laugh “Oh my god! Emily; Lesbian, Me; Bisexual Gray-Ace, Derek; Pansexual, and Garcia!”

“Garcia is too?!” Y/n’s mouth was hung open in pure dumbfounded shock “That’s statistically, like, so many gays in one workplace.”

Spencer laughed “Nah, Garcia is just a really enthusiastic supporter. How did you not know—we all have our flags on our desks!”

Y/n let out a shocked gasp even more “That’s what those are? I thought they were for, like, a secret society you guys had formed without me!”

“No, are you kidding!” He let out another loud guffaw

Y/n blushed, rubbing a hand to their neck in sheer embarrassment “I guess I was just too wrapped up in myself” They admitted, prompting Spencer to shuffle closer, until he could wrap a big, lanky arm around them.

“Sorry you didn’t get to come out on your terms.” He smiled, placing a kiss to their forehead. It was well meaning, but Y/n’s felt electric when his lips were against their skin. They outwardly sighed, relaxing for the first time since the email had been sent. “Were you the only one it happened to?”

Y/n thought back to the contents of the email reflectively, “No, I think everyone got something revealed. Even you, but it was just…”

Spencer nodded as his eyes widened “Was it about Dilaudid?” Y/n let out a sad nod as Spencer scoffed loudly at the thought of this Unsub tracking them all down. “Of course, the unsub probably saw me going to one of my meetings.”

Y/n nodded, realising it was their turn to comfort “Most people knew about it, though, which means he made a mistake, one we could analyse with the team.”

“You’re ready to go and see them?” He asked. Y/n gave out a slow and steady nod “You sure.”

“It’s either now or later,” They sighed, before slapping their knees and raising to stand “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Spencer rose with them, smiling, extending a hand for Y/n to take, which they did, graciously “Together?”

Y/n wiped some of the left over tears from their face before giving his hand a firm squeeze, downing the final mouthful of hot chocolate as if it were liquid courage, “Yeah. Together.”

Masterlist | Submit a request here

[ibijau]

Xue Yang’s master pt 3 / on AO3

Xue Yang and his master leave the forest

They stayed a few more days in that little house, until Wen Chao’s wounds were healed enough he could think of travelling… and until their food supply became too low to stay any longer.

Wen Chao wasn’t a very good teacher, Xue Yang quickly figured out, but he wasn’t a very bad one either. He was really trying hard to explain things in a simple manner, rightly guessing that Xue Yang didn’t have the level of education he might have normally expected from a new disciple, but it was clear he struggled with some of those concepts himself.

It couldn’t be blamed on his amnesia, as that appeared to only affect personal matters, like his name, or his family, or his close ones. When it came to things that didn’t touch his emotions in any way, Wen Chao had a great memory… unless he deemed the topic boring, as seemed to be the case with cultivation.

He still was good enough to perform every necessary ritual to purify the house they had used, and to check that the soul of its previous owner hadn’t lingered on in spite of never getting a proper burial. Wen Chao even made Xue Yang dig a grave for the man, as if that really made any difference for someone who had been dead so long.

“You’d be surprised,” Wen Chao said, lazily fanning himself as he watched Xue Yang work. “Some people will linger on for years and years, if they feel they’ve got reason enough. Once you’ve learned the basics, I’ll show you how to get in touch with spirits and see what they want.”

“Can’t we just blow them apart or something?” Xue Yang asked, angrily planting his shovel in the ground. It was an old, rusty thing that did very little when going against the hard ground of the forest. “I thought cultivation was about fighting.”

Wen Chao rolled his eyes. “It’s not just that, even if some sects have gotten excessively martial in the last century. Mine more than most, I guess. But because we can get in contact with ghosts, we have a duty to attempt it. There’s a right way to do things, we have to… to…”

He grimaced and closed his eyes tightly, the way he did whenever he came a little too close to personal memories. At least, so Xue Yang assumed. 

“There’s a way to do things,” Wen Chao repeated. “Liberate, suppress, and only if that fails, eliminate. You have to do things in the right order.”

“Sounds inefficient,” Xue Yang retorted.

“It’s about respecting others,” Wen Chao said. “If you died an unjust death, wouldn’t you want to have a chance to let others know, so they might try to right the wrongs done onto you?”

Xue Yang leaned on his shovel, giving the question some consideration. He’d very nearly been in that situation, after that encounter with Chang Ci’an and his hand had gotten infected for a while, so it was remarkably easy to make up his mind.

“I’d rather just destroy those who killed me,” Xue Yang said. “And then if I have to be destroyed I don’t care, as long as I get my revenge first.”

Wen Chao’s fan stilled, his eyes round as cherries, as if he'd never heard anything so horrifying in his life. “Oh. Well. We’re going to work on this too, I guess. The cultivation path I can teach you demands righteousness, and help given to the weak.”

“Sounds stupid,” Xue Yang grumbled, but he resumed digging that damn grave, so they could burry that damn man who’d been stupid enough to die all alone like that.

He wasn’t sure what that man had done to even deserve an actual grave, when most people Xue Yang knew had been lucky to get a mass grave, or had been incinerated because nobody gave a damn about preserving their body, and many damns about not wasting resourced on some teenage criminals nobody cared about. But he supposed he would consider it nice if someone had taken the time to dig a grave for him, and so maybe Wen Chao had a point.

They left the little house the next morning, and headed out of the forest. Xue Yang had feared it would be difficult to find their way back to the road, especially since it was a cloudy day, but Wen Chao appeared quite at ease. He looked at trees, at what little of the sky was visible, at the ground, and got them back to the road before noon. Xue Yang had to admit he was impressed.

Well, he privately admitted it. He wasn’t about to start complimenting his weird teacher until he could be sure this hadn’t just been a random stroke of luck.

Having rejoined the road, Xue Yang and Wen Chao picked one direction at random and started walking that way. They urgently needed some fresh food, now that they’d more or less gone through all of Xue Yang’s provisions, and figured that they would decide on a direction once they had taken care of that. 

After walking the better part of the day, they reached a village, only to find that there was an unexpected problem to consider. Wen Chao, however exhausted he was by this long day of effort when he was still in recovery, absolutely refused to step into the village, terrified he might be recognised and denounced to the victors of the Sunshot Campaign. Irritating as that was, Xue Yang had to admit it wasn’t a stupid concern. He had to go into the village alone to trade one of Wen Chao’s gold rings for an immense quantity of food, which he then stored into a magic little pouch that his teacher had given him. Feeling magnanimous, and conscious that he wasn’t spending his own money, he also negotiated for another item to be thrown into the deal, one that he hoped would make things easier in the future.

“A mask?” Wen Chao remarked when Xue Yang returned to him with provisions and his present. “Isn’t that just going to make me more suspicious?”

“Everyone knows cultivators are weird,” Xue Yang countered. “Especially the ones that don’t even have a sect. They’re always saying they got to hide who they are, but they also need everyone to know they’re special. So they’ve got masks, or veils, or they wear make-up… it’s good for business to show you’re so powerful you can get away with being weird.”

Wen Chao looked unconvinced, but still put on the crude wooden mask that Xue Yang had bought for him. It only covered the top half of his face, the way rogue cultivators seemed to prefer in Xue Yang’s experience. But since it wasn’t very good quality, it really failed to give Wen Chao any sort of mysterious allure, and instead made him look a little stupid.

It made it even more efficient as a disguise, Xue Yang decided. After all the Wen sect were a bunch of proud assholes, so nobody would suspect one of their young masters would go around looking like this.

Speaking of young masters… as he handed a warm bun to his teacher, an idea hit Xue Yang.

“Hey, Shizun, your dad’s dead, right?”

Wen Chao, who had been about to bite into their dinner, froze.

“I think I’ve heard that. Someone… someone murdered him, right? Not even someone from a big sect even, right?”

“Yeah, some son of a whore who betrayed him to protect Nie Mingjue,” Xue Yang confirmed. “And your brother’s dead too, right?”

Wen Chao nodded grimly and shivered. “Wen Xu was killed by… by him. By Nie zongzhu.”

“Yeah, exactly. So wouldn’t that make you the new leader of the Wen sect, by default?”

Even with the mask, Wen Chao’s shock was obvious.

“I’m too young to be a sect leader!” he gasped, nearly dropping his bun. “And I’m not good enough at… at anything!” he complained. “There’s got to be someone else… can you imagine me, trying to avenge my family?”

“It’d be something,” snickered Xue Yang, who could imagine it indeed, and guessed it would end very, very badly for his teacher.

“Yes, yes, I wouldn't, I don't know how to... it really not come to that,” Wen Chao whined, before pitifully biting into his dinner.

This, as far as Xue Yang cared, was the end of that conversation. No Wen with any talent for cultivation would have been allowed to live, meaning anyone left around would be weak and useless, so reuniting Wen Chao with his people held no benefit for Xue Yang. And Wen Chao was obviously a selfish, talentless little coward who didn't give a damn about anything except himself, quite possibly the only trait the two of them had in common.

Wen Chao was Xue Yang’s now, his master, and he had no interest in sharing him with others.

[hellsbellschime]

1I feel for Jamie so much. Right now he resents himself, what he has become. It is not how others see him, I disagree. It is how he sees himself. He tried to kill Bran, but he saved a million people. His reckoning with what he did to Bran has not come yet; for all he knows so far Bran is dead, and not by his own hand. Meeting him again will be a great moment for him (arghhhh, the show took that away from us!) He has come to the realization that what he has become was because of Cersei. Therefore

2 he chose to leave her and not return yet in search of himself. He is going through an identity crisis, not exactly a redemption arc, because his crimes are frankly, at least as I see them, not that great (apart from what he did to Bran and his reasons for it that are seriously messed up). In this he is very similar to Jon, not Theon. I also do not see how Theon can redeem himself by saving Jeyne. Jamie did not actually kill Bran, but Theon killed those boys. What Theon did is hugely evil.

3 He destroyed WF and created a power vacuum in the North that allowed for the Bolton coup. Had Theon not attacked WF there would actually be no RW. Indirectly, Theon is responsible for the murder of the Northmen at the Twins, of Robb and Catelyn. So no matter if he regrets it or not, no matter if he feels remorse, his crimes are much more heinous than Jamie's. He might redeem himself by sacrificing for the Starks but it won't undo anything. So in my opinion there's a stark contrast here.

4 Jon and Jamie save lives; they are not perfect and have made mistakes, sometimes grave ones, and there's a lack of morality in Jamie highlighted by having sex with Cersei in the Sept. But is his lack of morality inherent in him, or is it acquired after so many years of addiction to his toxic sister? Theon by contrast chose to kill when time came to decide. He chose to do harm, unlike Jamie. Sorry for the rant, I just had to put this opinion out there and give another twist to the dialog.

I mean, I don’t think it’s fair to blame Cersei for who Jaime is. She is definitely a nightmare, but even she thought that Jaime’s reaction to Bran catching them was inappropriate and too much. So how can she be to blame for what Jaime did to him? And Jaime didn’t have sex with Cersei in the Sept, he raped her in the Sept. Not to mention, if Theon is indirectly responsible for everything that happened at the RW then Jaime is indirectly responsible for literally everything horrible that has happened in the series. He may not have successfully killed Bran, but that was his intention, and if indirect responsibility is in consideration then he’s responsible for the murders of thousands of innocent children and smallfolk in general now. 

For me Theon has done hugely evil things, but the potential for his redemption is different because he has actually lost his sense of entitlement whereas Jaime has not. Theon’s only hope for redemption now is that people won’t see him solely as the man who did all of those terrible things, and that even though he’s done so many terrible things he can still do something good for someone. And that’s why his narrative arc means something for me. He’s saving Jeyne Poole who is essentially a nobody. She’s not anyone important to him, he has no emotional ties to her, and he’s not going to go down in the history books for coming to the rescue of Lady Jeyne Poole. She’s expendable and no one really cares about her for her, which is why the fact that Theon is risking his life to save her is actually so meaningful. There’s no glory in it but it’s the right thing to do, and it will mean literally everything to her. Theon began his journey in a similar state of mind to Jaime, he was arrogant and believed that he deserved a lot more than he got in general, and especially when it came to the respect of other highborn people. Now Theon has suffered enormously but has also genuinely changed. He’s not the person he was before because he doesn’t want to be that person, and he’s doing the right thing because he actually wants to do the right thing. He may be beyond the point of redemption, but that doesn’t mean that all of the choices he makes don’t matter anymore, and for me I think it’s more meaningful to have a character who is making choices that aren’t being made in exchange for something else, but are just simply their own choices. And it’s especially meaningful for Theon’s character arc that he’s making the much harder choice because it’s the right choice, even though there is a very strong possibility that he’ll just suffer horribly and die and ignominious death as a reviled asshole instead of gaining any favor with anyone else besides Jeyne. 

Jaime on the other hand is still in the glory and respect phase of his emotional development. Contrast the fact that Theon is saving Jeyne with the fact that Jaime is trying to save Sansa. Saving Sansa WILL bring whoever does it glory, whoever does that likely will go down in the history books as saving the lost princess of Winterfell, and it will be especially memorable and attention getting if it’s a Lannister who does it. There are thousands of people he could save now, but he’s not saving them, likely because there’s nothing in it for him. Jaime wants to keep his promise to Catelyn but it’s because he wants to be known as someone who does keep promises, it’s not because he actually cares about keeping promises. Even now he’s broken his promises to people a hundred times, but because people don’t know that he’s made those promises and because it’s not something that will actually make him look better and he doesn’t care that much about something that won’t change his image in the eyes of others. Theon’s perspective on what matters and how people see him has evolved, but Jaime’s hasn’t yet. 

That’s not to say that it’s impossible for Jaime to evolve in the future, but the problem is that all of his motivation to change is external. Even when it comes to his dream about his mother, he’s not doing that because it’s what he himself wants, he’s driven by the idea of other people seeing him in a different way than he wants to be seen. He’s still extremely invested in the perception of others but he’s not actually putting in the groundwork of just being a decent person to everyone and earning his reputation through that. And that is truly how all of the best characters have earned their reputations for being good people in Westeros. He and Theon are different because they’ve both done evil things, but Theon has an understanding that the things he’s done are evil while Jaime still excuses himself. Theon murdered two innocent children, but the brutal reality is that the world won’t care or even really remember them. But what’s different now is that Theon cares and remembers them, and it haunts him even though the smallfolk are seen as mostly dispensable by highborn people. Jaime tried to murder Bran and threatened the life of Edmure’s baby, but in his mind it’s still the ends justifying the means and these are things that he rationalizes and excuses by saying that he was somehow forced into these choices. That’s not to say that Jaime is incapable of change or finding some measure of decency, but his motivation for his own behaviors and decisions is entirely different than Theon’s, and he’s much further away from becoming a truly decent person than Theon is.

[orsuliya]

Dear General, just talk to your wife!

Let it be said: any male hero who interferes in his partner’s reproductive ability without her permission and/or knowledge is usually immediately cancelled in my eyes. That is certainly the case for any piece of media set in modern times. Fantasy/historical heroes get a bit of leeway depending on the cultural context, although not always. But the thing is, just as there are no blanket excuses, there are also no blanket condemnations. And you know what?

I do have to give Xiao Qi a get-out-of-immediate-cancellation card in this case! But not before examining his motivations and all mitigating circumstances. To be clear, I’m up to episode 37 at the moment.

So prepare yourself for Five Reasons Xiao Qi Is Very Much Not Cancelled (But He Certainly Deserves A Very Stern Talking To And Then Maybe A Hug).

To recap: Xiao Qi was told that Awu’s health is fragile and while she is able to get pregnant, any pregnancy is very risky and a considerable danger to her life. Upon hearing this he is visibly moved; three months later, when Awu comes back from the temple, there is a re-do wedding at the Yuzhang Manor, during which Xiao Qi announces that Wang Xuan is going to be the only woman in his life. At some point – either at the temple or after the wedding – Awu starts taking medicine prescribed by the Imperial Physician. The medicine, as Auntie Xu later discovers, is actually a tonic, which can be used to prevent conception. Eventually, though, after a year or two of continuous use, it will render a woman infertile for life. As of episode 37 (41 if I choose to trust the raws) Awu does not know what is going on.

And now onto the list!

1. The man is probably the most panicked he has ever been in his life and his mental state is not that great at the moment.

The first thing to remember is that this whole ‘let’s make Awu infertile’ decision is not taken in a void. It is not a case of an isolated event; the choice comes at an end of a veritable Trauma Conga Line. The exact timeline is very muddled, but in the last few months (up to a year) Awu has been: kidnapped, rescued, attacked by assasins, forced to deal with a rebelling city and then a siege, sent straight into a murderous conspiracy and then recruited to deal with a coup… and only then she was put in the very centre of a second coup courtesy of Daddy Wang. Which caused her to lose her child and her mother on the same day. And let’s not forget all the broken illusions about her family and her first love. That’s a lot to deal with and she is pure steel with a spine of titanium, there is no doubt as to that. But she is not the only one who’s had a really hard year.

From the kidnapping onwards Xiao Qi has been with Awu on this road; more often that not away from her physically, true, but from the moment he declared her his wife who will share his life and death…? He’s been in 100%. And being the strong, dependable, ride or die guy has taken its toll, one way or another.

It is quite noticeable that with every Big Damn Heroes moment he pulls off he gets more and more affected. The bridge rescue and its aftermath? Cool as a cucumber; the guilt and responsibility is certainly there, no fear though. Breaking of Huizhou siege? He’s proud as hell of her accomplishments, but he really came at the very last moment – she was getting ready to be killed rather than taken hostage. And there is this noticeable undertone of relief there. The Red Wedding? By then he is panicking. Hard. Which he readily admits, so it’s not pure conjecture. This man, who has never been afraid of attacking armies and not really afraid of death either, is scared as f***. Mind you, it’s not like he’s ever had anyone to be really scared for before; his soldiers are a different case altogether. And this time he was late, which makes for a really fertile soil for various ‘what-ifs’ during those two days when Awu is unconscious. He was late despite basically pulling off a miracle and risking entering the capital with only 10 000 troops.

And then and only then Daddy Wang pulls out all the stops. Two days of watching his unconscious wife is nothing compared to what happens then. First she runs into the middle of opposing forces, completely disregarding any danger to herself. For him (and her father, but that is beside the point)! I am sure that Song Huaien relayed her words to Xiao Qi once the dust settled. Then... Princess Jinmin dies and Awu starts bleeding.

After… After he claims responsibility for Princess Jinmin’s death. There is no doubt he is feeling doubly, triply responsible for the miscarriage. He can’t really help his wife. And he is grieving for their child. Not only for Awu’s sake, but for his own too.

It all culminates with the Imperial Physician telling Xiao Qi that there is another battle to be fought, one which Awu will probably enter with minimal hesitation and in which he is not going to be able to pull a Big Damn Heroes rescue. So in that moment he clutches at his heart… And – at least I think that’s the moment - takes a split-second decision: NOT AGAIN. Everything after that? He’s only holding to a chosen course.

2. He is feeling guilty as all hell and is overcompensating hard.

Xiao Qi is the epitome of a hyper-responsible hero. And not in the ‘Woe is me, everything is my fault!’ way that brooding heroes tend to veer to. No empty anguish or dramatic self-flagellation there! He is very matter of fact about both his responsibility and perceived guilt. Soldiers die under his command? He will honour their memory and take care of their families. Awu gets kidnapped by his personal enemy? He will admit his guilt without any excuses and offer recompense. Princess Jinmin becomes a victim of a stand-off that he did not even provoke? He will take the blame and then redeem himself by swearing an oath that he will not fail to protect Awu. And he takes his oaths very, very seriously, otherwise the Ma family would have a Really Big Problem.

All that responsibility comes from both his own character and the force of habit. Nobody ever worries about me, he says. To his soldiers he is the strong, infallible one and so he keeps this facade intact despite knowing it’s a load of bull.

So this hyper-responsible man has unwittingly sent his wife into danger, into battle (!) three times already (kidnapping, rebellion in Huizhou, Zilu’s coup) and was part of the reason she entered the fourth one. And while she has acquitted herself brilliantly every time, she paid a very steep price for saving him/the Empire. In his mind, he owes it to her and to Princess Jinmin for it to never ever happen again. And so he is not going to send her into the battle of childbirth for anything under the sun! The thing is, Awu is brave as hell and would enter it willingly in a blink of an eye. So he is arranging things so that she can never do that in the first place.

3. Xiao Qi is trying to spare Awu from mental and emotional anguish. It’s a pattern and one wildly spiraling out of control.

It’s really, really starting to show that Xiao Qi is used to being regarded as the infallible one, the one who must always find a solution and save as many people as he can. And while it is not a problem in Ningshuo, when he needs to tell Awu the truth about her father (and still he hesitates!), it tends to come through quite strongly in moments of stress and/or danger. Which is understandable, I think. In Ningshuo the stakes are not as high, everybody is safe and they are in the middle of Xiao Qi’s fortress, the very centre of his power. If there is any place he feels safe and at home, it’s right there. The capital is a wholly different kettle of fish; even on his first visit Xiao Qi is – quite reasonably – wary and on guard. For him the capital is behind enemy lines. So he reverts to his Infallible General mindset more and more: he keeps telling Awu things, but not all of them (money) and not always immediately (Hulans asking for a bride). Which is really stupid of him since Awu is in many areas just as smart - if not smarter - than him.

It’s not only the Infallible General mindset, though. In fact, that is the least of the problems there. By this point the panic is really setting in and so is the guilt. There is one more thing, though. Xiao Qi has this tendency towards self-deprecation. He does not wallow in it, but the undercurrent of his perceived social inferiority emerges from time to time, moreso in the capital. And it does factor in his behaviour; I sense that he has this need to keep deserving her. Coupled with devotion, it pushes him into a very touching, but also potentially dangerous single-mindedness.

Saving Daddy Wang by kneeling all night long clearly shows that Xiao Qi will stop at nothing to spare Awu’s heart, life and health. Personal pride? Enmity towards Daddy Wang? Political expedience? Disregarded completely. So what’s a year or two of lying if it means Awu lives? He’s set himself a Goal: protect Awu, just as he promised before Princess Jinmin’s grave. And it’s really been blinding him since.

Notice that he did not tell her about saving Daddy Wang either. She had to find out from His Imperial Spudness! True, it all worked out fine then, but whatever his reasons, he still did not tell her. And yes, I get that his reasons were really noble, but! But it is still a pattern, one that I hope she will break him out of rather sooner than later.

4. He is making a great sacrifice too; hear me out! And he does not leave himself an out.

This is the kind of argument that launches a flaming discussion, so please, be gentle. Anyway, we are not going to speak of whether any man has the right to make unilateral decisions about his wife’s body, that’s neither here nor there in this case, since it does not really enter into consideration in the drama itself.

What is clearly very important in the drama is the idea of family lines. The Wang and Xie families are all about this idea of legacy and bloodlines. Bloodlines are Important: propagating the bloodline is Wang Su’s main duty and both families fight over whose blood will sit on the throne. This clan mentality is clearly a Very Serious Business. Admittedly, Xiao Qi is an outsider to the clan-based society of upper classes. But even though his primary social group consists of his brothers-in-arms, he is very acutely attuned to the idea of family being the most important thing. It shows in many aspects of his life: in the care he gives to his soldiers’ families, in the consideration he gives Awu when she encounters another heartbreaking truth about her relatives and in the way he seems to take for granted that she will not stop caring for Daddy Wang no matter what. Also, he clearly likes kids, the mysterious shadow child gave us this much.

So it is not out of the realm of possibility that he would really like to have a child of his own. And why wouldn’t he? Awu may have trouble bearing him children, but there is nothing stopping him from taking a concubine or a dozen for this very purpose. Any other man in this drama would have (maybe except Zilu…?). And the society would not judge him, especially if the truth about Awu’s condition came out. It really is not a monogamistic society. Moreover, since Daddy Wang is not in the picture any more, nobody can even try to force Xiao Qi to keep to one bed (or poison his concubine…), not with his current position and power.

And what is the very first thing he does after Awu comes home? He declares – in public and with great pomp! - that Awu will be his only woman, thus staking his honor and reputation on all his children being hers. Which with the tonic in play means that there will be no children. It is a decision he takes very deliberately and in direct response to the previous events and the Wangs’ fall from grace. In fact, I wager this whole monogamy clause is a way not only to quell the rumours and stop any scheming families in their tracks, but also to keep things fair as much as it is even possible. Awu will not have children, well, neither will he.  

5. He is setting himself up and preemptively hogging all the guilt and blame.

The short yet very poignant exchange with Pang Gui in episode 37 makes it clear that Xiao Qi knows quite well he is going to be found out sooner or later. Sure, he would rather that Pang Gui kept mum about everything, but in reality he leaves it wholly up to his judgment. Which tells me that Xiao Qi is not willing to ‘kill’ for this secret. In fact, it might suit his plans if it were to come out… though not at the moment. Maybe after the requisite year or two, once Awu is no longer in any danger. Relying on what we know about his character, I think he is wholly prepared for the truth to eventually come out and then to take all the blame. And I mean ALL the blame. As in: Awu will have no reason to blame herself for her fragile health and thus inability to bear children, if it’s actually Xiao Qi’s fault. He will have gotten her infertile, so her actual ability to give birth safely will be immaterial. She will put all her anger on him and not on herself, and anger he can take, it’s her getting quiet that he can’t cope with. And to hell with what it does to their marriage, she will be alive. Is it stupid, stupid thinking? Sure. But quite probable when you’re dealing with a man this hyper-responsible and clearly unused to family dynamics.

And that’s that. Do I think he is being a single-minded fool? Sure. The man is not perfect after all! Does he need to talk to Awu? Of course, but I get where his unwillingness to do just that comes from. Is it going to bite him in the ass really, really hard? Oooooh, is it! But Xiao Qi is not cancelled and if Awu forgives him, then so should we all.

[octalove]

V: Letting Lie

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: There’s a breakthrough in the case, and Reader takes things into her own hands. Part one, two, three, and four.

The hospital was white. All white. Like a dream. White walls, white floors, white curtains, white stretchers, white papers fluttering around on clipboards, doctors in white coats. Mr. Wayne’s suit was black, so I focused on him. Black suit, blue tie. Black hair, blue eyes. He was filling out whatever paper the nurse had given him. Something about seeing it all play out, despite the face he had put on for me, made my eyes well up with tears. He was afraid, so I was afraid.

“Mr. Wayne?” His eyes shot up as he looked desperately at the nurse. He was so helplessly at the mercy of whatever news they brought us. We both were. “Will you come with us? We’ll have a nurse stay with the girl.” The nurse looked down at me with a warm smile. White teeth.

“We need to borrow Mr. Wayne for just a second. That okay, baby?” I just nodded, not really considering it something I could say no to. No, please, I want him to stay. I’m scared and I want him to stay. A male nurse came and sat by me. He talked to me about school, my favorite subjects- science, math. He asked me what I wanted to be, and I shrugged.

“People who like science and math make good doctors.” He said. I shrugged again, but then considered it more.

“Is it hard?” I asked.

“It’s very hard. Not a lot of people can do it.”

“…”

“But it’s worth it. You help people, you know?”

Mr. Wayne appeared from around the corridor. The look on his face made all the papers stop fluttering. Made all the doctors stop rushing. Made the world stop where it was. Somewhere, maybe, in retrospect, I knew before he said it. I kept my eyes trained on his face, even though I wanted to look away.

“Y/N…” He said, taking a seat beside me. “Listen to me, sweetpea. Your parents-” His voice was cautious, considerate as he tried again. “Your moms got hurt really badly tonight… They- they’re both…“ A tear landed on my hand as the memory grew into a reality, which was bigger than I was. White sheets, red blood. He took my hand, and wiped it away.

“They’re gone now.”

*

They didn’t talk about Jason Todd.

And since they were the only people in his life at the time he died, nobody talked about Jason Todd. We met a couple of times, before Bruce took me in. I hated my expensive gowns, and he hated his expensive obligations, and we hid together at parties, all the while Dick insisted we’d get married. He lived, albeit briefly, as a smart, capable boy, and died as a smart, capable Robin. I had trouble looking at his face- pictures and old year books. When I did, I was looking into the face of a boy who died an untimely, tragic death. That was it. That was his story. Jason Todd died alone, afraid, and probably in a lot of pain. I went to his funeral.

If at all he came up (I could only think of one or two occasions), Bruce would tense, his eyes falling away, and Alfred’s gaze would cloud with memory. Dick, at least, could share a story or two, coveting the fondness and pride he had for his brother without dismissing the whole subject. Tim and Damian didn’t ask. They just tried not to die with the uniform on.

So walking into the cave and seeing Jason Todd’s face plastered on the central monitor seemed like the single most unlikely thing to occur in the Wayne household. I would’ve placed Bruce adopting another child before digging up and displaying dead ones.

Tim, Dick, and Babs were huddled close, faces wound and tight, while Bruce looked distracted, fascinated with his W.E. ballpoint pen. I dragged my feet a little to alert them all of my entry, but only Babs looked up.

“Y/N.” She said.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

Everyone just sort of concluded that someone else would explain, or take the lead, but no one made any attempt to do so. Finally, Bruce sighed.

“Come here. Sit down.” Okay. If there was anything in the world that could make your intestines feel like they were getting turned to ramen noodles by a paper shredder, it was Bruce Wayne telling you to come here, sit down. I searched the others’ faces as I did so.

“What happened?” I asked quietly, trying to fill the chasmic silence.

“I’m going to go over everything. Do you remember…” He trailed off- just for a second. It wasn’t often I saw him battle with something like that. His face was tired, and his eyes revealed a struggle as he fought whatever emotion he was grappling with. “Do you remember Jason?”

I nodded. “Sort of.” An echoing memory passed. Lacy table cloth curtains and chocolate covered strawberries as we camped under gala snack tables, whispering and laughing. Bruce watching me when my parents went out of town, and Jason giving me a tour of the library. The red roses on his burial. Sure, sort of. His blurry picture was on the monitor, anyway.

“Okay. Very good.” Bruce began again, perhaps relieved he would have to go into detail to refresh my memory.

“We’ve been putting a lot of information together regarding the Red Hood. We’ve been able to deduce his origins were The Viper House, but before that, Arkham. He began working out of the Asylum, and contacts there had a lot of information about him.”

That, I didn’t know. I supposed I wasn’t the only one slinking around in shadows. He was addressing everyone now, going through visuals on the monitor.

“He began to placate what was left of Joker’s operations in Coventry before he started on general crime. Oracle was even able to get some information from Harley Quinn.” I looked at Babs with some surprise, and she just nodded along.

“The very first sighting of him- in Coventry- was April 27th, seven months ago. The fifth anniversary of…”

I nodded. I knew what April 27th was. A vapid, despairing day in the manor that Bruce spent in his office and Dick didn’t call. I didn’t follow, but if Bruce had linked Jason’s death to Red Hood, I knew he must have something big.

“All of the information we gathered, on top of his intimate knowledge of us, vigilante or otherwise, has lead us to a clear conclusion. The encounter in Crime Alley on the 21st was just another confirmation.”

I almost flinched as my eyes flew to Tim, but no one seemed particularly interested in me. I texted him quickly, careful to avoid Bruce’s eye.

You told him?

- I told him I was the one who saw it. It was important information.

Shit, Tim. Was he mad?

He didn’t answer, looking back up to the briefing. I slid my phone into my pocket, guilt weighing in my chest alongside the other myriad of emotions building.

“He’s been around longer than seven months. Much longer. And it began with Jason’s death.”

I furrowed my brow, putting together a puzzle with with bent, broken edges, like trying to fit a triangle into a square-shaped hole- just one angle missing.

“Are you saying… Joker didn’t kill Jason? That this guy did?” My body felt cold.

Bruce looked at Dick, who didn’t return his gaze. Then, he turned back to me.

“I’m saying... that Jason is Red Hood.”

I let confusion twist on my face. “What? How? That’s not possible. You think he lived? We- I mean, we had a funeral.”

Dick shook his head, answering on Bruce’s behalf. “He did die, but… are you familiar with the Lazarus Pit?”

I went over my tangling thoughts. The crime scenes. The anger. The vigilante justice packaged in a case of blood and bullets, shipped right to Gotham’s largest looming criminals. The warehouse, the alley. The button. The leather on his gloves as he ran his fingers along my face and pressed it, leaving me all alone.

Tell Batman,

It was all falling in line; bubbling up and searing together like hot, melding flesh pulled together in the burning waters of the Lazarus.

I’m getting impatient.

“So… what are you going to do?” I asked.

Dick’s face was pained. Solemn. “I… we want to try to talk to him. There’s a reason he’s doing all this, and there’s a reason he chose now. If we want to figure it out, we have to find him.”

I swallowed. “I can help.”

“No.” Bruce declared swiftly. “Absolutely not. The only thing we know about him is that he’s dangerous. Red Hood may have Jason’s DNA, but we need to work under the assumption that he isn’t the same person.”

I could answer that. He wasn’t.

“Do not look for him. Do not engage him. Is that clear?” He was talking to me, Tim, and Damian. We all nodded.

“Any unapproved interaction could jeopardize the case, and give him more insight into our movements. We want to try and remain one step ahead. That is all.” The explanation was for Damian, who operated on bargains, not orders. Again, we all nodded. After a moment, I sighed.

“Well… I have school in the morning. Will you tell me if you learn anything else?” I asked. The three of them nodded, and Dick muttered a ‘goodnight’. I turned, mind working against the grain of what I should do and what I wanted to do.

Just go to bed, I willed myself.

Just go.

*

Night fell, black and smoggy. The sea was hissing and writhing, unsettled with the gale of a promised storm. I wasn’t entirely certain what would catch Red Hood’s attention. It seemed that our history comprised of him finding us, and not the other way around. Gotham Docks seemed like a good place to start. Ever since Kuznetsov was found in his watery grave, his men belonged to Hood. They moved drug imports that came to Port Adams- actual drugs- pharmaceuticals, over-the-counters, hydrocodone, acetaminophen; all legal things. But Gotham City taxed the living hell out of medicine imports, so people like Kuznetsov (may he rest in peace) smuggled them in fishing vessels for cheap, and got them into the hands of big pharma and medicare companies for a lot of money.

I’d picked a cozy spot on the roof of a bait shop that made me feel safely invisible as my eyes swept over the docks. Batman didn’t typically prioritize crime of this caliber; over the counter meds weren’t going to blow anyone’s heads off the way crazy clowns and mafia bosses were. It made the busy henchmen on the boardwalks nice and blatant. It wasn’t hard to find tonight’s operation.

I needed to make a scene. Make some noise, throw out some names- one name in particular. Wherever he was, I hoped it’d be enough to make it worth dropping in. I was used to making quick, efficient work of criminals, not stalling. Making a scene meant no disappearing in shadows, or quieting the sound of my breath.

There were a couple of men dollying crates in and out of a packaging plant. Disguised as fishermen, naturally. As they approached the building, several feet from the propped-open door, I dropped. Embracing the momentum, my weight striking the old wood made a salient sound, and sent the startled men gasping and staggering backward.

“Holy shit!”

“B-Batma-

“B-B-Batgirl?” I clipped. “Were you gonna say Batgirl?” It didn’t really matter which bat they thought it was. The fear all worked to the necessary effect.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” The man muttered, scooting backward along the wood as I let my step fall heavy against it.

“Where is he?” I asked, drumming up my vicious, raspy voice, like smoke on the sea.

“Where-where’s who?” He stuttered. The other man was taking advantage of my focus and scrambling to his feet. Any second, he would bolt into the building. Perfect.

“Red. Hood.” I said, loud enough that the fleeing man would hear.

“I don’t know! Hand to god, I don’t know!” The man on the ground pleaded. I looked down at him, letting the fear and shadow distort my face.

“I don’t believe you.” I kicked him in the chest, sufficiently knocking the wind out of him, but left him there, turning my attention to the packaging plant.

Adrenaline was in my limbs, pushing and pulling with the running blood under my skin. When was the last time I had a good fight? Carjackings and bank robberies felt so small, and predictable. Everything was always stable. Batman always had it under control, watching dutifully from rooftops, appearing in split second if I needed help.

Tonight, Batman wasn’t here. I felt no eyes on my back, no voices in my ear. It was under control, but it was my control.

The men inside had already sufficiently scattered. I didn’t bother to hush my footsteps as I entered. The icy breeze from the open door made my cape flutter, despite its weight- and that was the only sound.

Suddenly, boots on concrete, and a man let out a defiant cry as he shot toward me, with a rusted tire iron raised above his head. I moved on practiced instinct, side stepping and leaving him stumbling, before delivering a hard, well-aimed kick that he wasn’t getting up from. Two other men concluded (incorrectly) if they went together, they could take me.

It was a blur of fists and make-shift weapons comprised of packaging tools, but they were easy to parry and subdue. I kicked the second one back with enough force to send him through a thin wooden partition, which cracked and splintered under his weight. I swung my eyes around the scene.

“Anyone else?” I knew they were there. Tucked behind conveyor belts and crouched low, using fish barrels for cover. No one answered the call of duty.

“I’ll ask again,” I called. “Where. Is. Red. Hood?”

Suddenly, a flash of color, and I went backward and downward, catching myself enough that my arm slid across the concrete instead of my face. I let out a sharp breath just in time to dodge another blow.

“All this,” The computerized tilt of his voice couldn’t smother the anger in it. “For little old me?”

I kept my eyes trained on his hands, because I could entertain close combat, but knew I’d need to bolt if he drew his guns. That didn’t appear to be his intention. I dipped away from one of his swings, but he swiped at the fabric of my cape, grip closing, and used it to heave me into a barrel. I gasped at the force of it as I reckoned with shattered wood. Barely recovering, I rolled out of the way as he swung low. I went for the door, figuring I could use a little more space, since he had a hundred pounds and a few feet on me.

Outside, a frigid wind was cascading across the docks, biting my skin and casting droplets of salt water all around. Red Hood moved imposingly slow-paced, attending the cuff of his jacket sleeve, while I put a hand on the railing and tried to find my footing again.

“There are easier ways to get my attention, sweet thing.” Drawing to a halt, he didn’t look like he was going to attack me again, so I wiped the blood from my lip and straightened.

“Sorry. You forgot..” I was still breathing heavily. “To give me.. your number… last time.”

He laughed; a terrible, beautiful thing. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

I fought to remember why I was here, and consequently, tried to pull together Jason Todd with the faceless man before me. They seemed to foil one another- a triangle through a square-shaped hole.

“So what do you want?” He asked, more serious this time. Though a reasonable question, it almost sounded rhetorical for the sheer lack of curiosity in it. I swallowed.

“Show me your face.” I said. It was so quiet, so hushed by the jeering sea that I was surprised when he tilted his head in response.

“Liked our little game that much? Had to crack a few skulls just to play it again?” I was frustrated, wishing he would come close, like he had in the alley, and let me touch him. Let me push away the helmet and know.

I tried to convey my seriousness with a look, but he just rolled his shoulders.

“Is that all, little bird?” He seemed annoyed; like I’d dragged him here only to concern myself with the small matter of his secret identity. The secret identity of Gotham’s most prolific crimelord. I wanted to make him understand, but I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t say anything else, either. He didn’t say “no” or “whatever” or “goodbye”. He just started walking away.

Jason.

Suddenly, I stopped myself. What if he wasn’t? What if Bruce was wrong? I’d throw out a name- an accusation- at a monstrous stranger who had no connection to me or my family. He’d laugh his terrible laugh and know that the world’s greatest detectives weren’t so great after all. Nervousness consumed me, tightening around my throat, placating me while I watched his form get smaller as he walked away, the darkness threatening to swallow him up.

“Jason!”

He stopped. His boots dragged to a jarring halt on the wood. Slowly, then, he turned around. The shadows were long and cast over him, turning his helm the color of old blood.

“Come back.” I said. “Please.”

His body language was unreadable, a mix between relaxed and hesitant that left him standing there, looming, and left me unsure as to whether he was going to leave, or pull a glock on me. Then, he lifted his hands. His thumbs dragged beneath his jaw methodically, until there came a hiss from his helmet, and he pulled it off.

“Jason.” I repeated. My voice was tight. It shook. His gaze followed me in the dark before he approached, gate slow and heavy, and sat down on a fishing crate.

“What? Do I look different? Put on a little weight?” Maybe he was joking- I couldn’t tell. The soft rasping of his voice startlingly contrasted the voice scrambler, and blended with the bubbling waters below our feet. But something eerie laced it. It was still foreign to me. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

I had previously thought I might be able to do this; face him. After all- I should be happy to see him again, alive after five years of Bruce’s grief and wretched hollowness. Years of operating in the long, dark shadow cast by his headstone. But somehow, the man before me was instead a confirmation. A walking death certificate. Jason Todd- the other Jason Todd- was still gone. Bronze skin, of which small, light colored scars adorned. Midnight hair mussed from his helmet, leaving a couple strands to fall over his dark eyes; eyes that used to hold warmth, and now held a malefic coldness. When I drank in the features of his face, I found my chalice empty. He didn’t approach me this time- didn’t draw near enough to feel his heat. Just sat there, elbows resting on his thighs, leaning forward and looking at me. I had trouble holding his gaze, but I did. Then, he gave me a chilling grin.

“Did you miss me?”

His voice knocked something loose, as my mind placed him as a memory. Someone I’d actually known. I had a million burning questions. “How? What happened?”

He pulled out a cigarette, shrugging. “I’ve been busy. Dying’s a lotta work.”

“Why- why are doing this?” This being spending seven months as the most prolific crimelord in Gotham. There was a spark of his lighter. Using his hand to shield the flame from the winds and misting water, it nurtured an orange glow on his face, bathing his skin in auburn light for just a moment. I blinked, and it was extinguished, replaced, again, by the blue darkness. He took a deep drag.

“Know how I died, dollface?” He asked. I did, so I nodded.

“Remember what happened to the bastard who killed me? After.” I studied him, still reeling a bit from accepting the man before me as the boy he’d been. I remembered there was another attack after Jason’s death. Joker took forty pounds of C4 to a shopping center in Fashion district at the beginning of May. Amidst the rubble were Robin: Missing posters. Bruce didn’t make them. Joker kept up his streak thereafter. He didn’t stop until his death, last year.

“Nothin’.” Jason supplied the answer. A hard, bitter, sorrowful nothing. It burned cold, like an inverse flame.

“Batman doesn’t kill. He doesn’t kill, and killers do. So they walk, and keep killing, and he calls it justice.”

I let it all sink in. Batman was the only thing standing between Gotham and complete corruption. I saw, in my memory, all the people I’d helped. All the victims who’d ever clung to me or thanked me through tears. All the pride I’d ever felt carrying the mantle. Batman didn’t kill because you can’t go back from killing. If he did, it wouldn’t be vigilantes against criminals- it’d be dogs eating dogs. Domestic war. Jason had been Robin. Surely he understood the philosophy of it?

But, then, what did it get him? He took those philosophies to the grave. When he finally crawled back out, he did what anyone with a vendetta might do. He overcorrected.

“Tell me somethin’, little bird.” His eyes leveled steadily on mine as I looked back up. “You call that justice?” I swayed under the intensity of it. I was afraid to disagree with him, but I didn’t even know if I wanted to. There were a lot of times I watched Joker slip through Batman’s hands, free to blow up another shopping center, when he could’ve stopped him if he just-

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

He got up, cigarette hanging from his lips, gaunt eyes burning through the blue dark.

“I think you do.”

The sea hissed, and the wind writhed, and I watched as the night swallowed him up.