#good morning! lets talk about giving birth as horror ^_^

[cemeterything]

when birth is depicted as body horror, as an act of violence

[0oolookitsme]

Better than the Dream

Type - One-Shoty Blurb

Verse - Artist!Harry x Housewife!Y/n

Word Count - 1.7k

Warnings - Talks of after-birth changes and affects (hair fall, weight change, persona change), insecurity about weight, curse words, and smut.

A/N - Second fic of Kinktober! It's a stinking sweet one y'all.

Kinks - Praise Kink, Face Sitting

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

Please rb to share!

Harry could feel the cold trapped in the room, yet the love he had bundled up in his arms made him warm. It felt too good to be wrapped around in a blanket this warm and have Y/n curled around him to leave the bed. 

Her hair still faintly smelled like the baby shampoo she had to use the previous morning because of Opal's excitement for showering. Y/n had warned her, yet she cackled loudly as Harry made faces at her while brushing his teeth, and knocked over the open bottle of shampoo. 

Y/n had cursed out loud and smacked her hand on her mouth before picking up the bottle out of which the liquid was rushing. Turning to look at Harry with a look that said 'I'm going to rip your hair off', she couldn't help but laugh at the horror on his face. 

Knowing that Gemma was on her way to take Opal for a weekend's getaway with Anne, she shook her head before washing the bubbles off of the little one's hair. "Look at you, all squeaky clean," she scrunched her nose, rubbing it against Opal's cheeks as she kissed each one. 

Walking over, Harry hooked his hands under her armpits. "If you don't get ready now, then aunt Gemma is going to eat your cheeks! Garhh!" He growled, lifting the girl and taking her out of the bathroom in a manner that made her look like an airplane. 

Y/n laughed inside, exhaling deeply before stripping herself rid of her clothes and using the shampoo from the floor to wash her hair. She didn't need much anyways, since giving birth has thinned her hair so much that she had to get it cut up till her very neck. 

By the time she had come out, Gemma was there already and Harry was seeming quite sad. "C'mon Harry, it's just for two days. Have some rest, you know she'll have fun with me," Gemma assured him, looking at Y/n for help. 

It wasn't the first time, yet it felt like so every time to Harry. He just didn't like her being away from him, but he knew that it was fine and he and Y/n needed this break. Handling a toddler was a very precious phase, but it was hard. Very hard. 

So, with lots of kisses and goodbyes, Y/n and Harry finally let the two go – looking from the main door as Gemma backed out of the street. They waved again, watching Opal's little hand wave back before Gemma rolled up the windows. 

Heaving out a breath, Y/n turned to Harry. "I'm so ready for a two day long nap." 

"I'll order the takeout," Harry said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. 

And so they had both ended up on the floor space between their bed and the TV, the kitchen just parallel to the room as their door remained open. Sharing food and stealing bites every once in a while, they ended up having a make out session after eating the cookies that Gemma had brought with her. Harry even leaned in to litter her neck in kisses, which led to Y/n shrieking, "how the fuck did you manage to cover me in so many hickies!?" when she saw her reflection in the mirror while wetting her toothbrush.

It didn't escalate to anything further though, as the both of them were tired out of their minds. 

Deciding to call it an early night, they had slipped under the sheets – Y/n sleeping on her stomach and Harry's leg swung over her hips, his arm wrapped around her waist as the snores left her mouth right away. 

Somehow though, throughout the night, Harry's thigh had slipped between her thighs and Y/n had started dreaming. Dreaming something that had her cheeks a little flushed, snores silenced but lips still parted as small puffs of breath passed her open mouth. 

Harry lied there silently as something cool rubbed against his thigh. Perhaps, something wet. He just knew that she was soaked. 

His arm slipped down from her back to her waist, giving her support as she continued to rub against him in her sleep. Turning to kiss her cheek, he chuckled when a small noise came from the back of her throat.

Stirring, she blinked her eyes open, breathing a little heavily and a little confused. She sat up and rubbed her face, and realized that she had sweat beads on her forehead.

"Had a nice dream?" Harry asked, his voice a little groggy due to the lack of its use in the past few hours. Hell, he didn't even know if it was about time that his alarm would go ringing, or the time that Y/n considered ghostly.

She turned to look back at him, a look of horror on her face. "Oh god, don't tell me I was doing some shit," she groaned, slapping her hands on her face. She heard him laugh and punched him in the side, an embarrassed smile on her face. 

"Go back to sleep, you perv," she said as she laid back down, facing away from him. 

"Not going to take care of that?" 

Y/n only grumbled something in response, her voice muffled. 

Harry turned just enough to lay on his back. "C'mon, I'll take care of it," he said, looking at the back of her head. 

"Don't be shy – I'm your husband!" He grinned, turning her towards himself. She wasn't like this before, but ever since she's given birth to their beautiful daughter, her personality has become more reserved and shy, and a bit insecure. 

"Come, sit on my face."

At that moment, Harry felt her body go a bit rigid. "W-what?" She asked, looking up at him with her big questioning eyes. 

Bringing his hand to her head, he ruffled her hair a bit. "You heard me -- come sit on my face, darling," Harry confirmed to her, feeling a little sad that she was shying away from him. 

Having a toddler around the house meant little time for them to just spend with each other. Sometimes they shagged in the bathroom, sometimes in the kitchen when the little one was out like light in her crib in the bedroom. It was mostly them making each other reach their highs -- rarely did they ever get to fuck properly, because there was never any time. 

So, muttering a few more encouragements to Y/n, he convinced her to crawl up on him. "I'm still losing weight, Harry. I won't actually sit on your face, you'd have trouble breathing," she muttered, looking down at him as she hovered on his neck, holding onto the headboard. 

"Baby, I have asked you to sit, not hover. You know I can handle you, have you forgotten?" 

"No! It's just-" 

"Sit, Y/n." Harry interrupted her, curving his arm around her thighs like ivy. He only hummed in response when she asked him to tell her if he had any problem, and pulled down over his face. 

She hadn't shaved, and it felt nice to Harry to know that she wasn't insecure about that with him. Sure, she was hesitant at first but over the time they dated, she'd realized that he really wasn't fazed by it at all, and might as well prefer it that way. 

Her body was still upright and rigid but Harry didn't want to tell her too much, knowing that she would herself relax once she's in the groves. 

His mouth met straight with her cunt, and immediately he started lapping at her wetness. She was, indeed, dripping wet. Her arousal had slipped out of her pussy, white strings stretching as Harry licked at her. 

Her head had fallen back, that much Harry could tell. The headboard was making slight sounds that told him she was gripping it hard already. "Fuck," she breathed out, and suddenly Harry felt like he wanted to be suffocated like this all night. 

Slowly but surely, she was sitting down lower and lower on him. Curse words spilling out of her mouth, as she felt the knot starting to form in her belly. 

"Harry, oh my- feels so good," she groaned in pleasure, feeling like she could cry from all of the electricity that was rolling through her body in waves. 

Harry continued licking her, playing with her swollen clit with his tongue that he knew was growing more sensitive by each lick. He felt so upset that he didn't get to eat her out as often anymore, everytime he did it. Her sweet arousal had coated his tongue by now.

Her thighs had tightened around him, and they were beginning to quiver a little. Without much thought, he shifted all of his focus on torturing the little bundle of nerves

"Harry- H, fuck I'm going to come," she whimpered, rolling her hips against his mouth as she felt the knot moving lower and lower inside her belly. 

Shaking and feeling overly sensitive, she began to move away from his mouth, but Harry held her down, and licked into her rapidly, again and again flicking her clit with his tongue. 

 "H, please! Oh- O-oh!" Y/n stuttered, shaking entirely as her thighs began to close around his head, despite her trials against it. But Harry didn't budge. Instead, he pushed himself further into her pussy, licking and nibbling her clit furiously.

"Oh, fucking hell – Harry!" She yelled as silently as she could, shaking and trying her best to get away from his mouth that was still licking at her, riding her through her orgasm.

"Fuck, fuck," she flinched when his tongue brushed her clit again by accident. 

He licked her clean, before finally releasing his hold on her. 

She got off of him the moment she felt his arms unwind around her thighs. Breathing heavily, she wiped some sweat away from her forehead. "Fuck," she whispered, finally turning back to look at Harry. 

He had a wide smile on his face that only turned into a dimpled-grin at her glance. He slapped her hand away when she protested that she wanted to return the favour, and instead, sat up with her. 

"Wanna go again? You look good like this."  

"Harry – I- you haven't changed one bit," she laughed, leaning in to kiss his lips. "Definitely better than the dream," she chuckled, and instantly knew that they wouldn't be going back to sleep the moment his mouth kissed her jaw.

[pyeonghongrie]

INFERNO

Summary: The witch trials are in full swing, the church ordered for all witches to be burned at the stake. From morning until the night, you pray for those who turned their back against God. But a knock at your door startled you, the church, in desparation, accused you of witchcraft. Only then did you realize that your God has long forsaken you. Now, you make a deal with the Devil.

Characters/Pairing(s): Demon!Hongjoong X F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Horror

AUs/Trope info: Demon!AU, Contract Relationship

Word Count: 1605

Warnings: References to witch trials, religious terminologies, oral (f receiving), slight overstim, taking virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally talking about giving birth to the anti-christ, killing everyone (im being serious)

Rating: 18+

A/N: This is my late first entry to @/wooyoungmybelovedhusband and @taehyungisminee's Arousal August event, tysm for reading! (Dedicated to my pyeongie brothers felix and jay, honorable mention to orion)

"Halt! You are being seized by the church. You will now confess all your transgressions to the light of the lord." The knights of the holy empire called out to you, the one day you leave the church to purchase food was the day you got accused of dark arts before your peers.

"Wretched witch, pay the price of your sins with blood and tears. Your crimes against our lord will not go unpunished. Come the break of dawn in a fortnight, you shall burn at the stake as you will in hell."

The metal of the constraints dig into your skin, you aren't sure if the metallic scent in the air was rust, or blood, you couldn't hear the screams of those being tortured over the ringing of your own ears.

You pray, this time for your own salvation; but seven days have passed and your god has not come to save you.

Whether it was desperation or disappointment, you couldn't tell. But something pulled you, so magnetic, the darkness that surrounded you was promising vengeance.

The sky grew dark as it was clouded in a tint of red, as if the heavens bled for you, but your back is against them now, no god is here to save you.

"A soul most pure, intriguing, very intriguing." A layered voice said, it whispered, screamed, groaned and moaned. You knew exactly who this was, the lord of darkness himself. "Tell me, after devoting your life to your God, why have you come to beg for my mercy?" The shadows started to condense, each word was also a step towards you, the shadow now vaguely resembling the figure of a man.

"I beg of you, lord of darkness, spare me mercy for my God has forsaken me, give me salvation, and I will then devote my every hour to you, waking or not." You beg as you fall onto your knees, your skin breaking against the cold stone floor as your nails drag across the dirty floor, the grime building as filth under your nails.

He chuckles, "Let me make one thing clear, you call yourself a devotee, but when you are on the stage that is life, you are first and foremost, an actor." The voice echoed in the chamber you were prisoner in, the click of his heeled shoes ticked like a clock, "good actors hone their craft, to captivate the audience; which is why I will offer you a contract. Give what is most pure of you to me, and I shall protect you, give you the power to burn this earth to the ground, return them to me, and I will promise you a life of bliss by my side."

He steps into the dim red light, you see him now, a man dressed in a black suite that was much too modern for your time, his glowing amber eyes pierced your very heart as the smirk on his plump lips bared his fangs to you. His hand is outstretched to you, black lacquered nails and a glowing purple glyph etched onto his skin.

"Come now, won't you shake a poor sinner's hand?"

You jump from your place on the floor, grasping his hand, and with a firm shake, you say, "I do, I promise to answer your every beck and call, I will serve you, my lord."

You feel the mark on his palm burn onto yours, the pain was insurmountable, like all the ends of your nerves were burning, pain that you could feel in the very core of your being, but then, bliss.

The contract has been signed, the seal now is to take your purity.

Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper virgini, beato Michaeli archangelo, sanctis apostolis omnibus sanctis, quia peccavi nimis.

The cathedral bells ring ominously, and a dark red tint paints the sky to warn the people below the heavens that the devil has taken hold of another poor, unfortunate soul.

The choir sang as the church bells rang, another soul lost to the dark hands of the devil. A path of sin paved with blood, sweat, and tears. Solemn was the tone of the town, a young maiden of the nobility embraced the devil himself, lost in his sweet kiss.

You embraced him, your body, mind, and soul now his. In every sense of the word, you gave your life to him. The people mourned and wept for you, their hearts heavy with the weight of this stain, this sin you left for them to bear as you will live forever in the dark bliss of the devil's tongue.

He kissed you passionately, his black heart almost beating for you, cold hands held you delicately, as if the slightest touch would break you, he laid you on the sheet that acted as your bed in this cell.

He trailed his hands slowly, starting from your knees to your thighs, the way his palms ghosted over your skin made goosebumps rise, he hooks his fingers to your draws, pulling the garment from under your skirt and discarding it to an unknown corner of the cell.

He stares down at your heat, golden eyes in a heated stare with your wet pussy, a flower yet to be plucked, dripping with golden honey as the lord of darkness blew the cold air into it.

He placed a delicate kiss to your knee, trailing equally soft kissed down the length of your thigh to the apex of them, your sex clenching in anticipation.

His forked, long tongue licked a stripe across your heat, collecting your sweet essence on his tongue, he groaned at the contact to your velvet flesh, reveling in the feeling of unbridled lust.

You throw your head back, a coil in your stomach was starting to form was the lord worked his tongue around your folds, stopping occasionally to suckle on your clit, you thread your fingers in his hair, pushing his head closer to your heat in a desperate attempt for more friction.

He continued this gentle but dizzying pace with one goal on his mind, to taste the first and last time this flower tasted so sweet.

The coil in your stomach was tightening almost painfully, the pleasure was insurmountable, pressure was building in a way that you never experienced before.

Then the coil snapped.

You throw your head back in a silent scream, your body shivering from the impact of such a powerful orgasm, he continues his ministrations on your heat, only this time avoiding your clit.

He licked your essence off his lips, he discarded his pants somewhere along the time he was between your legs, his firm hands took your legs and threw them over his shoulder, you catch his shoulder,

"Wait!" You plead, "my lord, your name, please give me your name." you say, the dark lord stared at you, but only for a moment.

"Hongjoong, Hongjoong would be more suitable for your human tongue." He said, as he finally entered you.

"Hongjoong-!" you gasp out, the stretch of his girth deliciously burned, his hard cock dragging into your heat with just friction that it didn't matter how wet you already were.

He rolls his hips in a slow and steady pace, taking in every new expression on your face and sound that you make. He bit his lip, holding back his own noises to savor the sweet sounds falling freely from your lips.

He picks his pace up after he notices you relax more, the force that his hips meet yours made your body rock upwards, shaking from the pressure that was rubbing against your walls.

"I'll breed you, your body, mind, and soul, all mine for the rest of time. I'll plant my seed into you, you'll bare the devil's children, mother of demons. My whore for all eternity." He breathed out, ragged from the force he was thrusting into you, you could only feel the rapid thumping of your heart over the ringing in your ears, your head was pleasantly empty, the only thoughts in your head was the delicious drag of his cock into you.

"Oh- Hongjoong-! It feels so good, oh- I feel it-!" You moan out, although you aren't sure if that's exactly what you said, for all you know, it could've just been babbling noises.

"Yes, cum around my cock, cream on it and milk it for it for all it's worth." he groans out, clearly also close to his release.

Another coil snaps in you, this time, much more powerful. You can fill a surge of dark power being absorbed into you at the same time Hongjoong spills his seed into you, this dark force was hot, it felt like you had the power of a god swirling inside of you.

Out of breathe, Hongjoong looks at you, "by the break of dusk, you will no longer be human. Let the sleep take you, my dear, for the next time you awaken, your final waking place will be all of the new world. I promise you that."

He said as he placed a searing kiss to your forehead.

By the time the sun rose again, all the strength you had lost from being imprisoned here had not only returned to you, but you are now stronger, the dark flame burning under your skin fueled your anger.

The cell, the dungeon, all the king's men, all the king's subjects, and the king himself, will not escape your inferno.

The only throne left standing is the one where Hongjoong sits, ruling over the sinners of the old world with you by his side.

Tags: @kwanisms, @yoonguurt, @lemonhongjoong, @shinestarhwaa, @stardragongalaxy, @wooyoungmybelovedhusband, @anyamaris, @dimpledsatan, @haosweater, @starlitmark, @seongwin, @midnxght-sky, @nebulousbookshelf, @piratequeen-queenofgames, @northerngalxy, @yourfatherlucifer, @twisted-tales-of-all

Network Tags: @cultofdionysusnet, @kflixnet

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Okay, so I've been surfing tumblr and seeing all these headcanons and various other little things about the Sullies as children and it got my brain going so thanks a lot to every last person who has aided in giving me Avatar brainrot. Anyways, I've built this whole thing up in my head that goes from the time Neytiri & Ronal get pregnant to who the fuck knows, so starting with the eldest lets begin (just the Sullys as babies, if you enjoy putting your own thoughts in this one then I'll get to Ronal and Tonowari's kids and more lol).

Neteyam

He was a total and complete accident 100%

Jake and Neytiri were a very quick-burn romantically and got married a little over a year after they officially began dating, they were only married for like 12 seconds when surprise! Positive pregnancy test, babe.

Jake spends a good thirty minutes fully committed to the idea that Neytiri is just fucking with him. She is not.

He spends another thirty minutes wrapping his head around the fact that he's going to be a dad.

He wants so badly to talk to Tommy about it but god damnit he can't.

He's for sure the more cautious one during the pregnancy, of that I have no doubt. Neytiri will want to do some random shit like go horseback riding with Tsu'tey (this man will always live on in my heart okay let me be happy) and Jake will practically faint at the thought alone.

Eventually Neytiri will start pretending to want to do #risky shit solely for the amusement Jake's reactions bring her with zero intentions of actually following through. Nobody is sure if Jake ever ended up catching on or not.

I'm 100% convinced that Neytiri would be into all of the traditional pregnancy milestones/events and fucking live for each and every one of them regardless of Jake's thoughts because it's their baby, Jake, and don't you want to see if a necklace will actually predict the gender of him/her? (It very much did not, Neteyam wound up being a boy. Stupid necklace.)

Grandma Mo'at is your trademark superstitious/nature-inclined grandparent and I have zero doubts that Neytiri has inherited some of that. I feel like it would flare up during her first pregnancy but only, like, low-key. Do with this information what you will.

Jake has no idea what to do or buy or anything but boy does he try. (When he fails he fails hard but when he gets it right he gets it right *that cute little dinosaur mobile is just so adorable!*)

Neteyam is by far Neytiri's easiest pregnancy. She doesn't really get any morning sickness and feels pretty fine in general throughout the whole thing.

She does wind up craving a ton of different fruits though (blueberries and honeydew melon mainly, but also strawberries, watermelon, blackberries, and pretty much any other melon under the sun. Oh, there was also that one time she refused to eat anything but pomegranates for like one solid afternoon).

Neteyam is a summer baby and nobody can convince me otherwise. August, to be exact.

I imagine that, while her pregnancy was breezy, Neteyam's actual birth sucked ass.

Jake almost passes out but luckily war prepared him for the horrors he witnessed in that delivery room.

Neteyam was actually pretty quiet after his birth. Once they got him all wrapped up he was chill.

Jake was the first one to hold him since Neytiri was exhausted beyond understanding, but Jake sat really close to her and she pretty much demanded to hold their son after like 5 minutes and the nurses were all like: ma'am, you're about to pass out???

As long as one of six songs is playing everything is chill: Edith Whisker's Home, Stephan Sanchez's See the Light, Sea Wolf's The Violet Hour, The Family Crest's She Knows My Name, Mills' Born N' Raised, or Black Match's Nowhere. If one of these songs is playing, Neteyam is an angel. The moment the music stops, though? I'd hate to be anyone within a ten mile radius because that baby's got pipes.

I feel like Neteyam is actually a big daddy's boy during this time period. He's all giggly and happy around everyone, but it becomes clear around three months in that dad is indeed the favorite. And it makes sense. Jake is who he's around the majority of his day (I'm fully committed to stay-at-home dad Jake Sully). Neytiri likes to tease him, saying if she was at home more it would be no contest. Secretly, though, she's happy he's bonding so much with their baby. He needs some light in his life.

Jake is completely restless inside but at the same time has no idea what he can and cannot do with a baby (plus there's the whole "music needs to be playing" thing) so he resorts to long car rides regularly with Neteyam's coveted songs playing on repeat.

Neteyam isn't a picky eater per se, but he is very particular---oh who the fuck am I kidding this kid refuses to eat anything but banana baby food voluntarily good luck with that Jake. Eventually Jake manages to weasel in plum baby food too (sticking to the fruit theme I see) but that is it. (I just picture this man in tears trying to get Neteyam to try some peas or a chocolate bar or "something, Neteyam, anything".)

Spider

Spider enters the scene a little before Kiri is born, I like to think. He's already around a year and a half when he's plopped into Norm's lap as a temporary placement while they scramble to find him a more permanent home.

It starts out with Jake agreeing to watch the little guy while Norm does science-y stuff, but quickly Jake finds himself getting attached. Spider is just such a sweet, lively baby who's curious about everything around him, especially Neteyam.

Like seriously, baby Spider is full-on fascinated with his siblings, starting of course with Neteyam. Whenever he sees the boy, he'll squeal excitedly and make hand gestures as if to say "bring him closer!" and it's just the most adorable thing Jake has ever seen.

Wherever Neteyam is set down, Spider will make his way to him no matter what is in the way. He can't walk on his own completely yet, but he is very good at walking by holding on to furniture and other such things. As long has he can pull himself up, this dude is getting places.

Jake learns very quickly to either 1) watch Spider like a hawk at all times or 2) but Neteyam close by and let his charming baby work his magic in getting Spider's full attention.

Spider isn't picky (something that relieves Jake greatly) and will eat pretty much whatever Jake hands him, though Jake quickly learns that yogurt is his favorite.

Spider has a strange fascination with fairy lights, too. He gets a kick out of when they change color and it provides hours of entertainment as long as Neteyam is near as well, allowing Jake to get various things done with little concern. Spider especially likes it when the lights turn red and he always turns to babble nonsense at Jake when they do, most notably being "no no no!" but in, like, a happy way? Jake isn't sure if Spider understands the true meaning of the word yet, which actually concerns him for a little until Spider makes it very clear one day that he is not fond of baths with many no no no's.

Eventually Neytiri can't help but become fond of Spider as well. It starts when Norm needs someone to watch him on a Sunday but Jake can't because Sunday is the day he and Neytiri decided would be his break day, a time away from the kids and house to just relax, so he's at the beach. She reluctantly agrees to take Spider as a favor to Norm, seeing how desperate the man is and also not wanting to interrupt Jake's relaxing day out.

It doesn't get off to a great start. Spider seems perplexed when he realizes that Jake isn't at the house due to the fact that at this point he's been spending Monday through Friday with Jake and Neteyam (along with some Saturdays), and this is followed swiftly by agitation. He isn't a loud crier like Neteyam, but he might just be worse anyways because Jesus does that kid squirm. He spends the first hour whining and squirming and pushing at Neytiri as if to try and get her to put him down. Neteyam calms him considerably, but he's still fussy and babbling "no!" over and over again, along with the occasional break in pattern to sprinkle in some variety.

Neytiri cracks and texts Jake asking what to do, and when Jake asks if she's tried the fairy lights she realizes she hasn't and gives it a try. Spider's whining ceases instantly, replaced by giggles.

After that it's easier, and Neytiri puts on Cars and makes sure that they're both situated safely before going to the kitchen to grab a smoothie and then comes to sit on the couch. When a little hand comes to rest on her knee she looks down and sees Spider looking up at her curiously.

He then proceeds to reach out and ask "eat?" and how did Neytiri not notice how cute he is with his sunshine curls and cornflower eyes and chubby little cheeks and okay maybe she's beginning to understand why her husband is fond of this child.

(She lets Spider try the smoothie, btw.)

The day Norm has to take Spider to his more permanent foster placement, Jake and Neytiri come with and Jake has like a whole list of dos and don'ts and has brought all of the things Spider likes and is all like "and remember, he's super easy to give a bath to so long as you sing him the tiny turtle song while you put him in the tub. Oh, also he loves yogurt but especially the key-lime pie yogurt. And lemon, too! You know what, he likes citrus in general. Don't forget that his favorite color is red! I packed a pair of red pjs in there, they're his favorite, we got them for him when we went to the mall that one time. Also, so long as you feed him a good time before you put him to bed he should go down just fine, just make sure you don't---" and Neytiri's all like "ma Jake I think they get it," only then she begins her own lecture on how he likes it if you put ice in his apple juice and to never give him chocolate because it makes him hyper and don't bother with baby gates because that shit doesn't work and soon enough they realize that, hey, this might be our baby now.

Kiri

She's born a little before Lo'ak. Definitely a spring baby.

The quietest baby you will ever fucking know. When she was born she was so quiet that the doctors were genuinely worried for a moment that she'd been stillborn.

Spider loves her immediately, to absolutely nobody's surprise. A good portion of Kiri's early days are spent being babbled to by Spider endlessly.

Unlike Neteyam, Kiri is a total mama's girl and gets all grumpy when Neytiri leaves the room unless she's sleeping when Neytiri leaves, then for some reason it's all good like? Jake will never understand. Eventually, however, this becomes a Mo'at thing. Very quickly Mo'at and her become one another's favorites and Mo'at will often find the most absurd reason to come see her.

Neytiri sings to her and takes her out to the backyard to lay on the grass and I swear this baby loves grass more than she loves the warmth of her own home.

Kiri loves carrot and pea baby food, much to Jake's surprise. Sure, Spider isn't a picky eater, but the kid was by no means a lover of vegetables. He'd eat them, but never pick them. And Neteyam? Hell, getting that baby to eat something more than plums and bananas was something he considered a win. So a child who actively eats veggies? Fucking finally.

Very interested in all of the plants around their house. Nothing else to be said. She just sort of looks at them in that weird way that only babies can look at something.

She has this purple blanket that Neytiri made for her herself and she will. not. sleep without it. Ever. She won't cry or anything like that if she doesn't have it, but you best bet that she will not be doing much of anything else either.

Whenever she has it she's asleep like 90% of the time. Jake's kind of confused actually because neither Neteyam nor Spider slept as much as she does.

Over all, Kiri is probably the chillest of the Sullys as a baby. Not very demanding, not very easy to upset, and doesn't make things difficult most days.

Lo'ak

Neytiri's hardest pregnancy for sure. She was puking, sick, huge, and could hardly keep anything down at all. The only two things Neytiri managed to keep down throughout her whole pregnancy without puking it up at least once was orange juice (extra pulpy) and Domino's barbeque pizza, and you best bet that got old quick.

Thankfully, the birth went smoothly. He was for sure born in early, early summer---like the time when it's still cooler and sort of rainy but also sunny at the same time.

I don't want to go so far as to say that Lo'ak was a demon-baby, but this child definitely gave Jake a run for his money. One minute he likes something and wants it, the next minute how dare you even so much as think about trying to feed that poison to him. One minute he loves being held, the next minute he's screaming and tears are falling and he hates you. With Jake he was like this all of the time. With Neytiri he was better, but still fussy.

I'm convinced that him and Neteyam were, like, so close when they were little and the only person that Lo'ak was an absolute angel to was in fact little one-year-old Neteyam. Whenever Neteyam was around he would smile and giggle and try to get closer. I swear, even as a baby Neteyam's charm was unparalleled.

Lo'ak has this binky that he had with him almost 24/7. Without it he was even more. . . er, challenging, than usual. And teething hit him hard as well. The amount of teething toys and biscuits this poor family had to go through, I swear.

Lo'ak, unlike the others, did not take to solids very well at first. The struggle to get this child to eat something, anything, that wasn't breast milk was so real you don't even know. Jake just let Neytiri take care of this one, it was clear he wasn't going to get anywhere. How she managed to get him to eat, Jake will never know (it was cinnamon applesauce, she coerced him with cinnamon applesauce).

Lo'ak had this particularly fun phase where he liked pulling on pretty much anything within reach and this led to him almost getting himself killed multiple times.

Whenever Neteyam cried, Lo'ak cried. Whenever Neteyam laughed, Lo'ak laughed. Sometimes when he was particularly exhausted Jake would do his best to get Neteyam in a good mood because if Neteyam was in a good mood, so was Lo'ak.

Despite how difficult Lo'ak could be,  there were these times when he would just cry and cry until Jake picked him up, and then he would just fall asleep while Jake held him. As much as Jake hated to admit it, it felt nice to walk around the house with a sleeping Lo'ak tucked to his chest.

Neytiri would often cook with Lo'ak strapped to her. He was her "little taste-tester".

I'm sorry this got so long my brain knows no bounds I swear I go so overboard sometimes 😭 Tuk isn't in this one because in my head I'm going chronologically btw.

I don't even think there is anything to add, anon. Just know I am crying?? Thank you so much for this genuine gift you have given me.

I LOVEEEE stay at home wheelchair dad Jake Sully he means the entire world to me. Jake being convinced Neytiri was joking about being pregnant??? Obsessed. WANTING TO TALK TO TOMMY?? Dead. FOSTER DAD NORM?? You can't convince me Jake and Norm didn't become friends through the foster system they were both in okay okay. And Norm and Tommy connected over their science shit and Jake was always trying to keep them from getting bullied too hard lol. Norm is a foster parent because he believes in fixing the system through it, Jake is more disillusioned. He was all skeptical of the idea at first, but boy did he get attached to Spider quickly. Neytiri and Jake's Spider speech kills me I'll die real tears. They're like oh shit actually... you can't have him. And the days before they can petition the court about it? So sad. Neteyam is a mess without his buddy. Kiri's vibes are simply flawless, and I love Mo'at making shit up to be there lol. DEMON BABY LO'AK, iconic, please. He tries to die so often. They have to baby proof the baby proofing on the house.

Please anon, this made my week, definitely send more.

[sailorshadzter]

Could you please, please, please do an AU where Ned told Catelyn the truth about Jon and everything ending with Jonsa. Please 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

WHOOO BABY DID THIS SPIRAL INTO SOMETHING.

anon, thanks for this. long as it's been in my inbox, i really REALLY enjoyed writing it.

send me prompts

“Cat, we must speak.”

It’s the day he’s returned from war, battered and tired, but not from battle. His lady wife, young and beautiful, is tearful in her smile, their infant son asleep in his cradle across the room. It strikes him at that very moment that these two boys are but weeks apart in age, the one who sleeps in the room and the one who waits in the hall, cradled by a faithful maid. “You’ve just returned home, Ned,” she murmurs, shaking her head, hands outstretched. “There is more than enough time to talk.” She’s thinking of the morning after her wedding to this man, when he’d rode off into war, casting her but a single glance across his shoulder as he went through Winterfell’s gates. For the next nine months, she was burdened with the weight of pregnancy, carrying within her their son, their firstborn, Winterfell’s heir. “Come, you must meet your son.” 

Ned sighs, but knows he cannot argue that, so he follows her across the room, so he might lean over the cradle and inspect the child there. He’s of good size, with a shock of dark auburn hair, certainly a boy who favors her Tully looks, rather than his own Stark. “A handsome lad,” Ned says a moment later, reaching into the cradle so he might take the baby into his arms, carefully as he can so as to not disturb his sleep. Beside him, Catelyn smiles, overcome with emotion at the sight of her husband finally meeting his son. She has done her duty by him and on the wedding night, no less. “He will grow into a fine boy.” He turns to face his wife, knowing he  should feel something more, but he can think of little else than the other child he must bring to her. They are strangers, he and his wife, so he’s uncertain as to how she’ll take the news of another child, but he can only hope she’ll be delighted to take on the role of mother to a boy who has lost his. “Cat… Really, there is something I must tell you.” His wife, noting his tone, finally gives in with a single nod. 

And so, he plunges into the story only he knows, of the birth of Lyanna’s child and her untimely death in childbed. Catelyn feels the familiar sting of pity, of horror, at hearing of the younger woman’s demise- it was a fate any woman could face and one they all feared. “I promised her… As she lay dying, I promised I would care for the child and protect him.” Ned swallows, recalling the grip of her hand in his, the smell of bloodstains and roses still lingering in his nose. “I must protect him with my name, you see… Or else I fear…” He stops speaking, fearful to say anymore, even here in the privacy of their own chamber. Even if it was his greatest friend on the throne now, that same friend would not pause in slaying even an infant, if he thought him to be a threat to his newly obtained crown. “I don’t mean to dishonor you with this, but you understand… I must claim him as my bastard, to keep him safe from the world.” Cat is staring back at him with her wide, blue eyes, lips parting as if she means to speak but cannot find the words. “I am trusting only you with this truth, Cat.” 

She lets out the long breath she’s been holding and gives a single, solemn nod. “Then I shall accept him as your bastard, Ned. I will raise him along with our son as brothers.” If there’s one thing she knows about her husband, it’s his belief in what’s right and his love for his family. Lyanna was beloved by him in a way that no one else could ever compare to and the loss of her would be something he’d feel for a lifetime to come. This one thing she could do, simply to ease the burden of his grief.

So then, Ned opens the door and gestures for the maid to step inside, bringing with her the sleeping baby she carries. He takes the babe from her and bids her to go, turning to face his wife only when they are alone once more. “Lyanna wished to call him Aegon,” his wife wrinkles her nose at the name and he can’t help but to chuckle softly, the first laugh he’s felt in the weeks since Lyanna’s death. “I thought we might call him Jon, after Jonnel Stark, my ancestor.” Cat leans over his arm so she can peer down at the face of this baby he’s brought, surprised to see a face quite like she imagines her husband’s must have been at this very same age. He was a Stark, even at this young age.

“Jon. Jon Snow,” Cat tests the name upon her lips and she nods, finding it fits. 

Just like that, they’ve gone from one child to two.

[ x x x ]

“I don’t like where things are headed.” 

They are standing on the battlements, overlooking the courtyard where their six children play. Cat looks grim as she touches his arm, the gesture forcing her husband’s eyes back to her instead. “Is it that bad, Ned?” She asks quietly, fearful of the answer. 

To her horror, he nods. 

“Robert will die and the boy will inherit the throne,” Ned mutters with a shake of his head, letting out a sigh as he straightens his spine. “Sooner, rather than later I fear.” He thinks of his friend, the king, once a warrior of the mightest strength, now a fattened pig who drinks until he must be carried to his rooms more nights a week than seemly for any man, let alone the King of Westeros. “A bastard,” he continues, speaking the words he’s thought about for all these years, since he first laid eyes upon the child. “All of them.” Those golden haired children were certainly not Robert’s, but rather begotten from the twisted relationship between his queen Cersei and her own twin brother. 

“There is another…” Cat prompts, softly, so softly he scarcely hears her over the gentle breeze. 

Ned turns his dark gray eyes upon her, hand sliding over hers. “Let’s hope it doesn’t have to come to such a thing,” he says and she nods, casting her glance back out over the railing, focusing on the single dark-haired boy among the other auburn ones. A boy with Targaryen and Stark blood, a royal born boy that the world doesn’t even know exists. Her eyes move to the others, over Robb, who’s laughing heartily at something Jon has said, over Bran who’s dancing around his older brothers, to Rickon who’s clinging to his sister’s skirts. Sansa, her second born and oldest daughter, beautiful even now at just ten-years-old, is smiling as she puts her hand to Rickon’s curls, like a mother might do. And of course there’s Arya, her other daughter, her only Stark looking child among them. Cat feels sorrow tug at her heart, fearful for the world these precious children of her’s might have to grow up in. She can only hope it doesn’t come to what Ned thinks it might.

“I’ll keep them safe, Cat,” Ned speaks suddenly, drawing her out of her own thoughts and back to him. It’s as if he’s aged twenty years standing there, but she clings to his hand and nods, knowing he was a man of his word. Through and through, Ned Stark was a man who kept his promises. 

“I know,” she whispers and his arms come around her, the one place she feels at home. 

[ x x x ]

When Robert dies four years later, his sour tempered, violent natured son ascends the throne.

At first, everything seems to fall into place, as if somehow, things will work out. He’s a young man after all, perhaps he will be guided by his council to become a good king. But then, Ned is thrown out of his place as Hand to the King, replaced by his imp uncle Tyrion Lannister. The council of this young king is his grandfather Tywin and a gaggle of loyal Lannister men. Whatever hope Ned has of a young king coming into his own as a good, honorable man, are thrown out the window just several months into his reign. The people of King’s Landing revolt, starving and dying in the streets, while their king eats hearty in his golden palace. And what’s more, Ned has heard the rumors of his behavior… frightening rumors he knows, deep down, are far more than simple gossip. 

He sighs, sinking into his place beneath the heart tree, the silence of the godswood all he needs right now. There is so much to think of, so many possibilities, so many worries, so much going through his mind that he thinks he’ll go crazy before nightfall. But then, as he sits there, he hears the drifting laughter of his children, reminding him of all he has to protect. 

Then, deep within the recesses of his mind, a plan begins to formulate. 

[ x x x ]

“Jon, come, we must speak my boy.” 

The young man looks up, surprised, but swings his legs over the bench so he might rise up. His siblings all giggle at his expense, thinking him to be in trouble, giving Ned a moment of respite- this must mean Jon was responsible for the latest Stark children hijinks, which had resulted in mud all through the main hallway. Ned smiles in spite of himself and puts his arm around the boy’s shoulders, drawing him out of the great hall and into the corridor. “Father, I didn’t mean-” he begins, solidifying Ned’s thoughts, but he only shakes his head, as if it means little to him. “Please don’t be cross with me.” 

“I’m not cross, Jon, we simply must talk.” Ned says as they step out into the bright morning sunshine. “You remember once asking me about your mother…?” He asks when they’ve settled themselves into the godswood, beneath the very tree he often sits beneath himself. Jon’s gray eyes widen and he nods. “I have decided now is the time for me to tell you the truth, Jon. About your mother. And your father.” His confusion is palpable and Ned reaches out, hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Soon, all will make sense.” 

And then, he begins to talk, telling this boy the same story he’d told only his wife sixteen years before. 

[ x x x ]

That night, Jon is somber at dinner, perhaps far more than he usually might be. 

Of all of the children, Jon has always been the most solemn, most like Ned than any of his true born sons. And the only one who notices, truly notices, is the girl standing at his door now. 

Sansa raises her hand, knocking twice, rocking on the balls of her feet as she waits for his response. From behind the thick door, she hears the muffled sound of his footsteps, then comes the creak of the door as it swings open, revealing his face to her. “Sansa,” he greets, surprised, Stark colored eyes widening at the sight of her there. “Come in,” he says next, stepping back to allow her entry. 

It’s not often she comes to his rooms, as what sister comes so willingly to her brother? But, then he remembers and his heart sinks. She notices, of course, reaching for his hand without a word. For a long moment they stand there together, silent and still, her bright blue eyes staring back at him as if they understand everything he’s not even said yet. “Tell me, won’t you?” She asks, head tilting, red hair a cascading waterfall over a shoulder. 

Jon peers back at her, wondering if to her, only to her, he could divulge what their father- her father- had just told him that morning. He decides, if just for now, to keep things as they’ve always been. “It’s nothing,” he finally says, forcing a smile, hoping it pays off. She eyes him skeptically and he damns her for being so perceptive of his thoughts, his feelings. “Really Sansa, I’m fine,” he goes on, stronger now. He knows that Ned plans on revealing the truth to the rest of his siblings soon, when the time is right, so he chooses not to spill his guts. Besides, of all of them, Sansa’s never been able to keep a single secret.

“If you’re sure…” She says a moment later, sighing, not really believing him. But, she knows Jon well enough to know that he would speak of it when he was ready. “I’m here if you need, you know,” she reminds him, softer now, her smile reappearing. He’s struck by the sight of it, by the realization that of all his siblings, she was the one most worried, the only one who noticed there was even something slightly off with him. And for that, for her, he’s thankful. 

“I know,” he grins, feeling it for the first time all day. “Thank you, Sansa.” 

She nods, giving his hand one last tender squeeze, then she’s gone, slipping from his room, her scent lingering long after she’s gone. 

[ x x x ]

The day King’s Landing riots violently, Ned knows he must tell the North.

So, he calls his council, the most loyal heads of the Northern houses, back to Winterfell for a single meeting. There, in the great hall, he presents Jon Snow to them, not as his bastard born son, but as the true born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. It takes convincing of course, it takes many hours of conversation, of adamant reminders of what was happening in King’s Landing. It would soon overflow into their own space, if they were not careful. 

In the end, they accept their lord’s word as truth, as they always do. And in the end, Jon is proclaimed the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms, a prince with Targaryen and Stark blood, a prince they would support until their very last breath. He will be called King in the North, for now, until they can make their move, until they can do what they must to secure the peace and safety of Westeros. Then, one day soon, they will march South and he will take his rightful place as King of the Iron Throne.

[ x x x ]

“I imagine you’ll leave soon.” 

Sansa’s voice cuts into his thoughts, bringing him out of the silence he’s fallen into. “Aye,” he nods, glancing her way, only to find she’s already looking his way. Once siblings, then cousins, now betrothed. What a strange turn of events, he supposes. But, a marriage match with her would be the most advantageous of them all, all things considered. 

It’s been six months of fighting and they’ve suffered their greatest loss of them all- Robb. Jon cannot think of that day, of that moment, so he pushes it away, choosing instead to focus on anything and everything else. His new place as King in the North, as the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, has his thoughts quite occupied after all. “You’ll come back, won’t you?” She asks softly, so softly he wonders if he’s only just imagined her words. He turns his stormy eyes to her and takes her hand, nodding. 

“I promise,” he vows, a man of his word, like the one who raised him.

She smiles, nodding, trusting him because if she doesn’t, all that’s left for her is misery. 

[ x x x ]

It’s two long years of fighting. 

Battle after battle, neverending it seems, a war sometimes he thinks isn’t worth fighting. But, Jon knows it is his duty to do what he’s done, to fight a war for the crown that should have been his from the moment of his birth. They’ve come a long way in these last two years, losing good men to battle wounds and losing hope on their darkest of days.

But somehow, someway, they win their way into King’s Landing. 

As he walks into the throne room for the first time, battle worn and bleeding, he sucks in a breath; it’s far different than he imagined it to be, but it’s his all the same. The throne sits ahead of him, daunting and dark, the place his grandfather had once sat, the place his father would have sat. 

The sound of footsteps and he turns, sharply, thinking it to be Lannister men come, but instead it is Ned standing there, panting, a cut above his left eye bleeding fiercely. “Jon,” he speaks his name and Jon is reaching for the man he’s called father all of his life. “You’ve done it.” Ned says with a smile, thinking of all it’s cost them to get to where they were now, thinking of all they’ve lost, of all they’ve gained. 

“We’ve done it,” Jon amends softly, knowing that he’d not be standing there if it wasn’t for this man. For the man who raised him as his own, who protected him with his name, who has loved him all these years. “Thank you, father.” Ned looks up with tears in his eyes but he smiles, nodding. Ned Stark was his father, no matter what his blood might have said.

[ x x x ]

Sansa runs into his arms, holding onto him as she’s never done before. 

“I was so worried,” she whispers, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder, her traveling clothes telling him she’d come straight to him. Behind them, in the doorway hovers Catelyn Stark, but she swallows and ducks out of sight, the door closing behind her. They’re alone, if just for this one moment. “They said you were injured.” She draws back, inspecting him, taking in the sight of his few bandaged injuries, though he looks well enough. “And father…” That awkwardness returns, the between of who they were and who they are now, but she shakes her head. “He will recover, the maesters say.” Jon nods, for he’s heard such a thing himself, despite the Stark patriarch's wounds. “You swear you’re alright?” She asks next, softly now, blue eyes finding gray. 

“I swear,” Jon says quietly, drawing her into his embrace, something he’s not done before, something that quickens the pace of her heart. “I can’t believe you’ve come so soon…” He’s not expected her for weeks, months even. But when she draws back, she’s grinning, shaking her head as if she can’t believe what he’s just said.

“I couldn’t stay away,” she admits, thinking of the begging she had to do to get her mother to bring her here. She can’t explain it, but she knows this was where she was supposed to be- at his side. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he pulls her close once more, wondering when the feel of her in his arms had begun to feel so right.

 So like home.

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way (Dark Ending): Going Under, Part 2.5

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Raider!Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Spotify Playlist

Summery: After you give birth to Ellie in the cabin, Joel fins you and Tommy, besting Tommy in a fight. What happens to you? What happens to Ellie, Tommy, Lorenzo and the rest of the family Little One has acquired? How does Little One learn to cope with her new reality? Does she fall into the darkness that surrounds Joel and all he touches? Can Joel really change for you and your daughter?

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WARNING, graphic violence, murder, manipulation, the horrors, Joel being Joel, Tommy being kinda pathetic, Joel's weird sexual fantasies, breeding kink, abuse of power. Just.... all the bad.

Extra warnings: again on the suicide. Post partum depression heavyyyyyyyyyy feelings inadequecy, joel's mind games are getting to her... but shes smart and shes fighting for her life.

Last chapter before things start looking up. Im having a little trouble making the chapters mesh together right without being too long bc chapter 1 was supossed to end with the deaths, but gooooood it was getting too long so i had to totally readjust. so yeah, this one is short too. don't worry, I do have a cohesive plan and an arch, im not going into this blind.

*****************

You didn’t leave the room much anymore. You left to use the bathroom, but honestly sometimes Tommy nearly had to drag you. June had to beg you to eat, always trying to make your favorites and you felt bad knowing she was largely slipping into the position you had been last month and you didn’t want her to have to take on all that… but you didn’t have the energy to do anything. All your time was spent caring for Ellie: breastfeeding, diaper changing, holding her… all your energy went to raising her.

June and Joel were your only company. Tommy wasn’t allowed alone with you, understandable under the conditions, but you missed him terribly. You wanted to talk to him alone, talk about what happened, how he and you had sex, how you promised to love each other. You were going to run away together, Tommy raising Ellie as his… he was supposed to be her dad, not Joel.

You were just thankful Joel didn’t seem to have any doubts Ellie was his… if he thought she was Tommy’s baby, she’d be dead. Did Tommy miss his almost daughter? Joel, for his part, was enraptured with his daughter. He changed her, got out of bed when she cried, took her outside and made sure she got fresh air and sunshine… a doting father, the kind of man she would have happy with in another life; but this was not the Joel that raised Sarah. 

Joel always dressed Ellie the way always dressed you… he didn’t dress you anymore, because you rarely changed. You didn’t move from the bed hardly at all, so there was no real need. In the month since her birth, you had yet to go outside and had no desire to change that. As the sun began to shine on your face, waking you, you felt you jaw hurting from the blowjob you gave Joel last night… he’d remained away from your vagina and allowed it to heal which you were thankful for, but the sex options were depending on his mood. Good days he fucked your thighs or allowed you to jerk him off. Bad days he used your asshole, although he’d managed to find an old stash of vaseline he was using as lube which eased things. 

Last night had been medium, so he let you blow him, even letting you take control… you were thankful for the little things.

“Morn’n to my beautiful girls.” Joel yawned out as he stretched.

“Good morning.”

He side eyed you for a moment, and you tried your best to smile… you couldn’t let him know how badly your families death affected you, how much you missed them all… With a kiss, he set about his morning routine: Change Ellie, give her to you to feed, burp her, go for a walk with her, bring her back and get ready to ‘work’ as he called it. If he felt he had some time, he’d lay a blanket on the floor and let her have ‘tummy time’ or letting her feel different objects or encouraging her wiggling. He’d proudly told you last week he thinks she’ll be rolling over early.

‘She’s strong.’ Joel assured you. “Dolly’s gonna grow up to be strong young woman.” Since when did Joel like his women strong? You wondered if he’d change his tune when she actually became her own person, when she questioned Joel and the world around her as all children do. Ellie was small of course given being premature but had been growing healthy. With lack of medical technology it may be hard to tell if she had issues such as hearing, sight, or heart problems, but Joel seemed thrilled with her progress. In these moments, he seemed like a normal dad. 

So why didn’t you feel like a mom?

You loved you daughter. Of course you loved your daughter, it was almost impossible not to, not when there was a primal, biological tie… And it’s not like you didn’t like her either. Ellie was a good baby. Sometimes she had trouble sleeping, but so did you. No, the problem was with you. Always you. Joel had been right, Ellie deserved a good mom and no matter what, you couldn’t rise to that, you couldn’t match Joel’s parenting, you couldn’t be the mom she needed… When you looked at her… all you felt was guilt.

She liked Joel more, that was clear… Tommy tried to tell you that was normal, that kids go through phases and it didn’t mean she hated you… but you had your doubts. As you watched Joel change her, speaking to her so happily as you heard the household begin to wake up… you couldn’t help but feel their bond was stronger… Ellie liked her more… and that was only ever going to continue. By the time she’s a preteen she’d going to hate you, she’d going to realize you’re a bad mom, she’s going to realize you were weak and pathetic and a cheater and stupid just like Joel said you were.

“Oh little one…” Joel’s voice called you and you turn to see Joel finishing up dressing Ellie in a warm onesie for their walk. It was getting colder. “Honey, why are you crying?”

You were crying? Your hand lifted to feel the tears… yeah, you were. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize I was, I’m so sorry.” You tried to act like everything was fine, please don’t get made, please don’t hurt me…

But as Joel brought over a fussy Ellie for you to feed, he wrapped his arm around you, looking sympathetic. “You’re having a hard time, aren’t you?”

An understatement, but yes. “Maybe… maybe just a little.”

He sighed, massaging your neck and god, that felt nice. “How about you come with us on our morning walk, might make you feel better?”

That sounded exhausting. “No, I think I’ll just-”

“I think you should come.” He wasn’t asking. 

When Ellie was finished, burped her and put her in her swing before giving it a little push and walking to the wardrobe. “So many nice clothes…” It’s almost as if he was reminding you of what you had. Eventually he settles on a sweater dress with wool stocking… the dress was your favorite color.

“You always look so beautiful in this one.” He praised, off your shirt. “Fuck…” Joel groped at your breasts and for a moment you thought he wanted to fuck you… but he simply sighed. “I can’t wait to make love to you for real again, show you the love you deserve.”

Joel assisted you in dressing from sliding on the bra that didn’t quit fit right with the changes your body had made since breastfeeding, to rolling up the stockings, to kneeling before you and tying your shoes. It made you feel like before, made you feel taken care of… childish, but in the sense that you don’t have to worry about anything, that everything would be handled for you… you had missed this. 

He helped you get into a light jacket, dressed himself, then picked up Ellie and placed her in her pram that you kept in the room. Joel was very particular with Ellie’s things. They stayed in the room so no one could harm her by messing with them.

When he opened the door, the view to the kitchen surprised you. June was cooking breakfast and Tommy was standing nearby… very nearby. He was talking to her and she was laughing at whatever he said and you couldn’t help the jealousy inside you. He was supposed to be yours… Now June was his wife, and it appeared like neither were too upset about it. Could you blame him? She was beautiful, she was soft, she was funny and adventurous… all you did was lay in bed and mope. June was making the most of her situation, why couldn’t you do the same? Joel took care of you, provided, protected… all the things a man should do for his wife. You were a bad wife. Ungrateful, spoiled, useless. You were a bad mom.

June called your name, smiling nervously at you. She didn’t interact much with Joel from what you say, but she tended to mumble things under her breath which always caused Joel to double take… but she was always by Tommy’s side when she did. Would Tommy protect her? Still, your friend smiled brightly at you while Tommy looked caught. “You’re up!” She didn’t mean it like that, but it felt like a slap in the face. You hadn’t moved for a month.

Joel spoke for you when you merely nodded. “We’re going for a walk today.” He said with the arm that wasn’t on Ellie’s pram around your waste. “Would you like to join us?” You didn’t doubt the offer was genuine; Joel wanted the 5 of you to be a happy family together.

Tommy looked to June. “Would you like to go?”

You could see the back of June’s head nod towards their room. “We’re in the middle of breakfast.” She turned around to look at you. “Can we go tomorrow? We’ll plan the day a little better, this was just last minute idea of ours.” June smiled up at Tommy.

“Tomorrow it is then.” Joel confirmed, and ushered you outside, picking the pram up to carrying it down the porch stairs.

You thought of that day a whole year ago, even longer actually… the night after Joel branded you, violently and public raped you, leaving you to be devoured by a pack of wolves… he had taken you outside to watch the sunshine, bundled up in his arms… warm, somehow so safe… he’d been different, after that. With the exceptions of choking you and the incident with Tommy and the gun, he didn’t hurt you until the night he hung you. Were you really playing off choking you so hard you saw spots and putting a gun to your head a one off’s? What had happened to you? You supposed you never knew much better with your father… but you should have. Maybe Joel was right, maybe you were stupid after all. Just a stupid bimbo housewife that was only good for being his breeding bitch. 

“I have a… a meeting, today around noon but I’m gonna cancel everything else. Taking the rest of the day off to be with you and Dolly, okay?”

“Okay… yeah that sounds. Nice, actually.” And you were being genuine. It wasn’t Joel you were scared of… it was the crushing weight of being a failure as a mom, a wife, a sister, a friend, a daughter… Did your dad ever think of you? Because you sure think of him, especially when you wake up from the nightmares.

You can see Joel smiling from the corner of your eyes. “Maybe you can start joining us on these walks? Quality time as a family is so important.”

It’s also important for the child's mother to be able to take a piss without an escort… but that's neither here nor there.

Joel seemed to read your mind. “Maybe… maybe it’s time you have a little freedom… you’ve been good. Last month was just a lapse of judgment, right? We both made mistakes. There's no reason I should punish you forever.” Except you murdered my brother.

You wouldn’t know what do with that freedom. You didn’t want to go anywhere, do anything… You didn’t even really want to live… but you couldn’t leave Ellie. You’d failed her in every way but you could keep her fed… the nutrition from your body at least was enough to help her grow, so you weren’t completely fucking useless.

“Here” Joel stopped the pram and dug in his pocket, pulling out a jackknife… the one used to kill Nick, the one you stabbed him with… He pressed it into your palm. “Stay in the yard, keep this on you… but you can leave without me or Tommy, okay? When the wether warms I can build you that greenhouse you wanted…” Joel took your hands in his, touching foreheads. “I already started radio chains to trade for seeds you want… whatever you want to grow on the farm, the greenhouse, any livestock, pet… it’s yours.I want this to be your home, little one. I want us all to be a family. That’s why I spared Tommy, you know that, right? I know how much you care about him… and June, I bought her for you… everything had been for you, for Dolly… so we can all be happy together.”

Did he love you? He had to, right? He did it all for you… for your family… he loved you… Why did you run? Why did you mess up what you had? The home you made here…

No.

No, Joel hung you from a tree. He punched you repeatedly in the chest so hard you bruises for weeks. He raped you. That’s how this all started, Joel raped you. He called Ellie Sarah sometimes, he was delusional, cruel, a bully…

But then why was he so good sometimes?

Everything hurt, everything was foggy… but the walk did feel nice.

When Joel noticed you were tired, he ushered you back to the house, weak from birth and the lack of movement… but your heart rate had gone up, you felt the sun on your skin and fresh air… maybe this could be a new start? You had freedom now. June made the best of her situation, maybe you could too. You had her now, after all… 

Joel and you played with Ellie for a while, and for once you actually felt engaged in your daughter. She was strong… already wiggling and looking like she was trying to roll over. You notice how she tries to keep her eyes open, taking in the world around her… curious, beautiful little thing… 

You made that. She was half you… if she was half you and 100% perfect, there had to be some good in you, right?

Joel left for his “meeting” (probably murder, but he liked to talk like he was a businessman from before), June and Tommy entered to keep you company. You missed Tommy, you missed Tommy so fucking much… Tommy was supposed to be her dad, would he have been as attentive as Joel? Joel had said he was a good uncle, that him and Sarah were close. Did he think of Ellie as his daughter? Did he long for her? After promising to raise her, after loving you… fighting for you both, he had to feel some sort of personal connection, right?

You look at the man you thought, for a few brief hours would be your husband… your savior… “Tommy?” You say, hopeful. “Would you like to hold her?”

Tommy looked at Ellie for a long, long time. For a moment, half a second, he reached for her, then turned on his heel muttering something about having to insulate the chicken coop before the first big freeze.

You were gutted. 

June swooped in at that, quickly coming to grab Ellie and take her to her crib. 

“Let’s take a nap, okay?”

“Y-yeah, okay.” You agreed shakily as you settled into bed… Tommy rejected Ellie. Tommy didn’t want Ellie. Tommy didn’t want you…

The whole time you thought Tommy was yours, he was seeing Maria and god knows who else on the side… then he ditched Maria for you and you thought that maybe, just maybe, he was yours… but Tommy didn’t want you anymore. Tommy didn’t want to be Ellie’s dad anymore. 

Tommy didn’t want to be a family anymore.

And with that realization, the tiny bit of self worth you’d gained was shattered.

“I missed you, you know.” June said as she wrapped her arms around you. You and her used to sleep like this sometimes at the farm she grew up on with you. Zach usually slept at the end of the bed… you all felt safer like that, even though when your dad wanted what he wanted from you and June, he usually got it. Sometimes, though, Zach was too much to deal with. Sometimes he put up enough of a fight Jaimie backed off. That fight got him killed. You got him killed. You got Lorenzo killed, Jack, Maura… and if you weren’t careful you’d get June killed too.

“I know, I missed you too.”

“I worried constantly… I wanted to do something but… it was like at the farm, you just get lost in the helplessness.”

“I know.” God, did you know. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to do anything, you would’ve gotten yourself killed. I’m not worth it.”

June sat up, saying your name with shock. “How can you say that? Sweetheart, look at me.” June coaxed your face to look at her. “You are worthy of protection, okay? You deserve to be safe.”

You didn’t know if you believed her, but you believed she believed it, and that was enough for the time being.

**********************

Tommy tommy tommy.... what are we going to do with you?

I swear, little one finds her voice the next chapter!

For the record, i stand by tommy in the alt ending being a loving father, husband, and friend. in this ending he's just... well we'll see. It's nothing crazy bad but yeah.

@pimosworld @rubyfruitjungle @moriartyyouwhore @k-ra @the-fox-den @jenna-ortega @alwaysmicado @lunar-ghoulie @ladynightingale @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @maura-honey @fandxmslxt69 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @miraclesabound

[sweeter-innocence-fics]

Surviving Sokovia - Chapter Ten

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Work Summary: 

You were a Sokovian orphan living on the streets of Novi Grad, until Strucker offered you a choice.

Now you are a part of his human experimentation programme, trying to survive an entirely different world of horrors. The kind boy with the beautiful eyes is the only thing that keeps you going.

This story contains dark themes. Please read the notes on chapter one for more details. Dialogue in {these brackets} is in Sokovian.

Chapter Summary: A reunion.

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1245

Read on AO3.

Masterlists.

Taglist: @mcximffs @noz4a2 @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @lanemarvels @marrigold-2002 @kathrinchek @ifilwtmfc @officiallykuute @mrs-kai-anderson @ang3l1te @missryerye

Taglist info.

Previous Chapter

Notes: This one's a little short but next week will be meaty, I promise. No particular warnings for this one aside from the usuals. Some yelling and arguing (not between Pietro and reader), I guess. A misunderstanding.

---

Pietro would take care of it. That was what he’d promised you. You didn’t talk about it – you couldn’t talk about it, not without putting everything at risk – so your only way of keeping track was watching Pietro’s frustration grow as the months went on.

By the time you were four months pregnant, the swell of your belly was starting to show signs of the life growing inside it, and you felt no closer to escape. You wanted to talk to Pietro, to ask him what his plan was, but you couldn’t risk jeopardising it.

So you kept quiet. You had faith in Pietro. He told you that he wouldn’t let you give birth in this place, and you trusted him.

You woke one morning the way you always did, with the father of your unborn child lying behind you, his arm thrown protectively over your stomach. The only sign that this wasn’t a normal morning was the sound of the door to your quarters opening and closing.

Hazily, you sat up, blinking the sleep out of your eyes. Nobody else ever came in here while you were in here. You knew that there were cleaning staff that came while you were at training, but they had always cleared out long before you got back.

As you vision cleared, you saw a familiar figure by the door, staring at you and Pietro.

“Wanda?”

Your name fell from her lips, and then she sprinted over to you, throwing her arms around you. “{Oh my god, it’s so good to see you},” she cried, cupping your face in her hands. Behind you, Pietro sat up.

“Wanda?” he said blearily.

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were fixed on the curve of your belly. “{You- You’re-}”

“{Pregnant},” you supplied. “{Yes}.”

Her eyes flickered from you to Pietro and back. “{Who is the father? Pietro?}”

You felt your cheeks heating up at the implication. “{Yes, Pietro is the father},” you said, not meeting her eyes.

She stared at you. Pietro was standing up now, but as he moved to give his sister a hug, she stopped him.

“{Pietro. Come with me. Now}.” She grabbed him by the pyjama shirt and pulled him along behind her. You watched the two of them retreating into the bathroom, confused and starting to feel anxious.

Although you knew this was supposed to be a private conversation, you couldn’t help but follow them. Wanda had closed the door behind them, so you stood there hesitantly, until you heard Wanda’s voice.

“{What the FUCK were you thinking?}” she yelled. “{Getting her pregnant?! Do you know how dangerous that is? But no, you couldn’t keep it in your pants for two seconds. Was I the only thing that was keeping you two from going at it like rabbits? You must’ve got it on as soon as I was gone-}”

You couldn’t listen any longer. You knocked on the door, and Wanda fell silent immediately. The door stayed closed, so you called through it.

“{Wanda? Please don’t be angry with Pietro. It’s not what you think}.” The door opened, revealing a very red-faced Wanda, and a stony looking Pietro. “{Come and sit down},” you implored. “{We’ll explain everything}.”

You took each of them by the hand, gently tugging them towards the sofa. You sat in the middle, as a buffer between the twins.

Pietro was tense, and Wanda’s eyes were wide as she looked at the two of you, some mixture of confusion and anger on her face.

“{We didn’t choose this},” you said. “{Strucker said we were a part of his… breeding programme}.”

Wanda’s eyebrows shot up. She didn’t lower them for the duration of your explanation. You spoke haltingly, leaving out the more sordid or personal details, but as you told her the whole story, you watched her frown deepen.

When you were finished, she stared at her brother. “… Pietro?” she said after a moment. He didn’t respond, so she stood up and walked over to him. “{I’m sorry for yelling. I was just worried about you. Both of you}.”

Silently, Pietro got to his feet and wrapped his arms around his twin sister. You looked away, feeling as though you were encroaching on a private moment.

“{I’ve missed you},” Pietro murmured.

“{I’ve missed you too, brother}.” After a moment, they separated, and Wanda turned to you. You let her pull you to your feet and hug you. “{And I’ve missed you, little sister. I suppose that nickname has more meaning now, hey? Now that I’m going to be an aunt}.”

You chuckled, blinking back tears. Pietro’s hand came to rest on your shoulder. “{Where have you been, Wanda?}”

“{They moved me to a different part of the compound},” she said. “{They told me that they wanted me to focus on my powers, with no distractions. I supposed I know the real reason now}.”

“{Did they…}” Pietro looked troubled, his lips twisted into a frown. Fortunately for him, his sister was a mind-reader, and knew what he was going to ask before he did.

“{No one hurt me. No one laid a finger on me. Do not worry about me, brother}.”  

“{Let’s watch a movie?}” Pietro suggested. You opened your mouth to argue – you were seeing Wanda for the first time in months and he wanted to waste it? – but he gave you a meaningful look.

He barely checked the cover of the DVD before putting it in the player. The TV, player and DVDs had been gifted to you as a reward for getting pregnant. You were grateful for them. Since you’d become pregnant, your training had been scaled back, but Pietro’s schedule was just as busy as ever, so you had spent a lot more time alone in your room.

As you settled down with Wanda in between you, you understood why Pietro had been so insistent on watching something.

‘Pietro wants me to tell you that he is still going to get you out of here,’ came Wanda’s voice in your head. ‘He was just waiting for the right opportunity. Now that I’m here, it will be easier.’

‘Thank you,’ you thought back to her, and she took your hand in hers.

‘I’m sorry for the pain that you’ve been through. If I’d have known, I would’ve torn down the walls to get back to you two.’

You stayed like that for a while, absentmindedly watching the movie that you’d seen a dozen times by this point, all while mentally conversing with Wanda. You could tell that her and Pietro were having a conversation too, by the long pauses that she sometimes took.

‘Why now?’ you asked her. ‘Why did they let you see us now?’

‘I think they were trying to keep us separated for as long as possible. But I was growing restless. So they decided to appease me. But now I know about the baby, there’s no way I’m going back there. I’m staying right here.’

You squeezed her hand. ‘What will you do?’

A half-smirk flickered across her face, although her eyes were glued to the TV screen. ‘I can be very persuasive. You’ll see.’

‘Thank you,’ you thought, and then, after a moment, ‘I really do love him, you know? It wasn’t just because of the… because of Strucker’s… because of what Strucker made us do. I think I’ve loved him for a long time.’

She interlaced her fingers with yours. ‘I know, sweet girl, I know.’

Next Chapter

[morvantmortuary]

Maximilian “Maxi” Vincent Morvant

(The Reaper)

(Rarae Aves’s slasher/necromancer OC)

“Let’s get acquainted, shall we?”

age: Early 40s (9/9/82) (virgo, if he believed in that sort of thing)

birthplace: somewhere in calcasieu parish, louisiana (his mother’s family can trace their lineage all the way back to the Spaniards; his father’s people are of cajun stock from way back in the bayou.)

height: 5′11′’

current location: wherever you are and just out of sight. Usually found in Greymoon, Louisiana.

favorite book: other voices, other rooms - truman capote

hobbies: while running the Mortuary tends to keep him pretty busy not to mention his odd hour night work, he does tend to enjoy a few different things in his spare time. Maxi’s a connoisseur of horror movies, good and bad, and will happily talk your ear off about the accuracy of the gore/wound sfx - though he’s also a sucker for romcoms when the mood strikes. He occasionally can be caught playing video games (mostly also horror-related), collects rare books when he comes across a desired volume, and has been known to play the piano semi-passably at two or three in the morning after a few drinks. He loves going to New Orleans for concerts, live theater, and museums, and he stays the hell away from Baton Rouge on game weekends. He’s also a cheerful walking encyclopedia of death and funerary practices throughout history, including various plagues and epidemics that swept through Louisiana over the centuries. He loves animals (once having dreamed of being a vet before Death ruled his world so completely), and can often be seen leaving appropriate snacks out for the graveyard critters when he’s restoring older tombstones and mausoleums in the cemetery next door.

occupation: current acting funeral director at the family business, Morvant Mortuary

“What can I say? It grew on me, after a while.” He smiles, and it’s sweet, unassuming (but there’s still something too dark about those eyes of his - a brown so deep, it teeters nearly into burgundy). “It might not be… what I had in mind for myself, originally,” he says, and his eyes fall to his perfectly shined shoes. “But it’s fulfillin’, gettin’ to help take care of people on their worst days. Give them the rest the deserve. We don’t talk about that nearly enough in this country, honestly, and we can trace that back to when we started phasin’ out home funerals; funnily enough–” He stops himself, and laughs - a peculiar half giggle, half snort. It’s a nice sound (though there’s something under it, something that feels like it could tip into a mad cackle under the right circumstances). “But look at me, goin’ on. I’m sorry, I tend to do that about my line of work.” His eyes flicker back to you behind his glasses (and the focus is a little too keen, too watchful to be only polite interest). “Now. Tell me about your ideal funeral.”

a history, of sorts:

Maxi was always the oldest son. Dutiful, anxious, with an impeccable attention to detail even at a young age (he had to be, given the Morvant family’s notorious inherited temper). It seemed only natural he would follow in his father Vincent’s footsteps to take over the business his family built when they immigrated here, serving the town of his birth for over a hundred years now. …Vincent forgot to ask Maxi how he felt about this, however. While he went through the motions from elementary to high school, smiling through perfectly posed family photos, making perfect grades, he was planning his escape. To somewhere. Anywhere. To see the world, he hoped. The town he grew up in was enough for people like his parents and his aunt and uncle, but he would not be one of the people who ended up trapped here, living and dying within a stone’s throw of the same graveyard where everyone he’d ever known was buried (or would come to be). He was taken with art and literature, wanting to see the great treasures of history his European-Creole forebears used to speak of in rapturous tones.

Then, of course, Maxi became his parents’ only child. But that’s a story for another time.

Maxi’s mother, Mathilde, didn’t handle grief well. A hothouse flower of a woman even before the death of her youngest, she withered away within the house Maxi grew up in. (rumor had it she never left the house again after the funeral that day.) It fell to Maxi to try to take care of her, making meals carried into her room that went wholly uneaten, bringing her vases of flowers from her formerly prized garden before they all died out, trying to keep the curtains open only to have her shriek at the tiniest speck of sunlight.

Maxi learned too quickly the futility of trying to keep things alive. Especially when they didn’t want to be.

Vincent, not a man for expressing his grief, turned further into the family business and the family night business, now more determined than ever to pass the mantle in multiple senses to his oldest child and only son -- to make sure he left behind some sort of tangible legacy. (Maxi learned too quickly that he was not enough.)

For Maxi, there would be no dreamed-of going away to university, there would just be the minimum associate’s degree at the Greymoon junior college. He would apprentice under his father, pass the state exam as soon as he turned twenty-one, and take over as funeral director when Vincent was good and ready to retire.

Maxi contemplated running - one night, he even made it so far as the abandoned house on the Knox family’s property on the edge of town, where he tried to hunker down.

He doesn’t talk about what he saw there, ever. But whatever it was, it convinced him to come back. Just for a little while. (Just long enough to see this through.) He enrolled in the junior college, he got the associate’s degree in record time, and he began his training. Just as a good son would.

Mathilde died the day before Maxi’s twentieth birthday. He helped embalm his mother as part of his apprenticeship. He chose the hymns, the flowers, the photo for the portrait at the front of the chapel. It was said by everyone who attended - the neighbors, Mathilde’s former sewing circle, the Junior League, the Greymoon Historical Society, and anyone else who couldn’t resist a good snoop - to be a beautiful service. People exclaimed to one another that poor, sainted Mathilde (who had been wasting away for two years, who had made it no secret that she’d been simply waiting for her body to give out) looked to be at rest at last. Peaceful, even, after such strife at the end.

The entire time, Vincent stood at the back of the church, arms folded with a constant scowl on his face.

There was… an altercation, at the Morvant house that night. No one knows for sure what they heard. Knock on any door in town, and they’ll all tell you the same thing: someone heard yelling between the last two Morvant men, the cracking of Mathilde’s wedding china hurled across the room, a guttural scream accompanied by what sounded like howling, manic laughter, though no one would dare admit that aloud, and the slamming of a door. Then… nothing. Crickets sang away into the late summer night, and everyone went about their business.

The next day, Vincent was found dead in his own prep room of a broken heart, and poor little Maxi was left all alone in the world.

What followed the next few weeks was the most awkward standoff in the world: this sweet, polite, soft-spoken young man with perfect manners, and the parish sheriff who knew damn well Vincent Morvant didn’t die of no broken heart. He came by the house almost daily for the week after the murder, and every time, Maxi would be waiting with a plate of his great-grandmother’s famous cookies (an old German recipe) and a full pitcher of homemade lemonade. When the coroner finally declared there was no trace of anything untoward in old Vincent’s guts, not even his favored whiskey, the Sheriff about threw a fit right there on Maxi’s front porch. Maxi smiled and waved as he shut the door, but before he did, he smilingly told the old man that if he wasn’t coming by the plan a funeral, he’d need to come back with a warrant.

Given that Maxi was the only qualified person in his part of the parish, and no one wanted to send their meemaw the next town over when it was her time to go on and receive her Eternal Reward, Maxi was fast-tracked through the state exam. He passed it on his twenty-first birthday, exactly.

The next day, however, this proved all for naught: the family hearse was out of the driveway, and that boy was gone for five whole years.

The House stood empty, sheets over the furniture, with a cleaning service being wired money every so often to go in and clear away any truly troublesome cobwebs or dust bunnies. Keen-eyed neighbors noticed that it was a different crew every time, however… apparently, whatever they were being paid, it wasn’t worth it for most people to go back into that house twice. You could watch the ones that took smoke breaks stand there on the wide front porch, or near the garage door, with an uneasy shifting and a nervous glance over their shoulder every few minutes or so. If you were brave enough to walk over and ask one about it, they’d smile and laugh, insist they were being silly… but something about the house just didn’t feel right. (And not just because it was the last place lots of folks had spent their last night above ground.)

For the longest time, on windy nights, people could swear you could hear groaning coming from the loading and unloading door from the “business” half of the house in the back. It was just the wind, though. Of course. Without warning, Maxi slipped back into town one day, and opened the family mortuary right back up like nothing happened. It’s been running steady ever since, and now people from other towns bring Maxi their meemaws and other assorted family dead, having heard for miles around how dignified and magnificent all his services are — no matter who the deceased was or if their family had money.

…The only odd thing, in all of this, is that sometimes - just sometimes, mind you - people who attend the funerals tend to go missing not long after. Usually adult male relatives of the deceased: a troublesome cousin, a cantankerous father, a boorish brother. (Not to mention the unfortunate spate of pretty girls that have up and disappeared across multiple parishes during what would come to be called his “Bad Spell”  - but no one can prove they’re connected, of course.) It’s become a bit of a rumor that the Morvant business, for all Maxi’s empathy and efficiency, might just be cursed.

If you ask Maxi about this, he’ll give you a smile - a slightly pained one - and suggest perhaps it’s the same curse that took his dear Père, saints rest him, all those years ago. And how could you argue with someone whose own family wasn’t immune to… whatever this was?

But he’s such a sweet man, everyone in the town will tell you so. He hosts every funeral and wake himself, and he takes such care of the grieving families, it’s like the deceased is one of his own. He’s not one for the church, and for being so handsome, he’s most usually found in the company of a book or a stray critter in the cemetery.

But there’s nothing to say that couldn’t change, though, if he met another lonely soul...

[ohanny]

another friday, another cutie pie episode! so here are my thoughts while watching the second episode:

kuea is absolutely not me because i would never check my email first thing in the morning, notifs be damned

also even if i did get good news, i would not have the energy to throw a full "blackpink in your area" on top of my bed

kuea: oh yes, i am a bit... sore lian: ¬‿¬

ugh, why can't you just talk to this man who just happens to be a supportive, relatively mentally stable, functioning adult who dresses nice, cooks you food, pulls out your chair and YOU ACT LIKE THE RETURNING HIDE AND SEEK CHAMPION OF 2022

lian: if you need help, you can always tell me me: IF ONLY

nonetheless, i've had a boyfriend for a decade and i feel as single as the last crushed pringle at the bottom of the tube of doom when zee looks at nunew

kuea, a lying liar who lies: kon diao texted me lian: i love you me: KUEA DO YOU FEEL EVEN A LIL BAD???

i love the mission impossible theme tune

nong diao squared ready to cover up crimes

yi can smell bullshit a mile away but unfortunately for him, he's also a weak victorian bitch who gets flustered by a cheek touch from a twink he (alledgedly) fucked in his car just last week

JUST SHOW ME PERTH YOU COWARDS chapter 2

diao is a good friend with a good brain cell. we all need a diao.

kuea: i have a lot to think about. me: you also have a lo to TALK about goddammit

meanwhile poor lian is just trying to plan his barbie dream wedding, oh dear

yi is here to be the best man but also to watch the world burn.

kon diao loves lists. kon diao is me.

the world does not deserve diao. this show certainly doesnt. if he was running it, again, it would be 5 minutes long. well, maybe 15. he would keep all the spicy bits.

this beauty clinic is totally not the sponsor of this series.

the totally not sponsoring intensifies

"how do i look?" EXACTLY THE SAME AS YOU DID 30 SECONDS AGO YOU BABY SKINNED MOCHI OF PERFECTION

i will never not mishear this as "cosmic-exo entertainment" and i am not sorry

uh-oh, their barbie dream weddings are NOT the same

lsakjfkasljfafj a nuer x syn intermission! and nuer has a less questionable shirt on!

you two (ಥ﹏ಥ)

but props to syn never hiding his intentions and props to nuer respecting his choices even if they make him a sad boy. SOME PEOPLE could never

hia yi is eternal suffering personified even at a cake tasting and quickly becoming my favourite.

foei: oh is it too crowded? do we need more room? the gays: *offended*

salaldkjf i am catching vibes. pls tell me they will grey's anatomy this and diao and yi will end up getting married in the barbie dream wedding horror show while kuea and lian elope in korea

"you can make the final decision" says lian, not having any idea they like the polar opposite things.

he is a smooth bastard though. "ah yes, my favourite wedding singer will be too busy being my husband"

"oh no, how will our suits match if we cannot see them?" you dumbo, you have kon diao, the wedding planner extraordinaire. he has a list for that.

diao has been calling out bullshit since birth at this point.

yi: ah yes, they are so compatible. diao: dude, they can't agree on anything. yi: which is not my problem.

yi really be like "pfffft, let them talk it out between them" as if we have time to be here for the next ten years. he really couldn't give less fucks, lol

DIAO LEGIT IS LIKE IZZIE PLANNING MERDER'S WEDDING

how can he answer cosmic-exo in that suit. go change.

oh, the straights are at it again

lian: thank you yi: oh, you already picked a suit? lian: yes yi: wow, i am so helpful. you are blessed to have me tolerate you.

i love how nunew's voice gets so much deeper when he switches to english

IF ONLY YOU WERE THAT EXCITED ABOUT YOUR OWN WEDDING

kuea: what should i do? me screaming at my tv: TALK TO YOUR MAN

diao is seriously like baby yoda and syn doesn't need to become a monk. he just needs to hang out with diao more for some deep wisdom and then keep living in sin.

nuer is a sweet understanding angel and syn is a pouty baby and i could watch these two forever

"it's our wedding, not just mine." except you have NO IDEA you're not getting your wedding but an industrial scale keerati legacy production

yi: see? they're totally on the same page diao: ...

who is this random laxatives lady and why does she look like she's about to place a curse on kuea?

lian: you pick kuea: i am fine with everything narrator: he was not, in fact, fine with anything

diao turn of the tap for fucks sake, it is very obvious you are not paying your own bills in this economy

diao: my dog is so smart yi: your dog is literally an idiot

oh god here we have hia yi talk about marriage and kasdjflkafj they might kiss and i can't believe i am about to say this but at this point diao needs to worry about me cooking that cockblocking dog :D

WE HAVE A STAIRCASE WITH A HAND RAIL? IN A BL?!?!?!

lian: *trying* kuea: cosmic-exo is calling, byeee

look at his sad eyes, he KNOWS

"why am i talking to a doll?" BECAUSE IT IS MORE LIKELY TO HAVE AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION WITH YOU. you deserve better, boo.

lian: aren't you kirin already kuea: but i could be cosmic-exo kirin in korea. lian: okay. kuea: ... wait what?

OH FUCK SCREW THE WEDDING WAS THAT PERTH I JUST SAW?!?!?!?

[randooffthestreet99]

So, I do have a Cross child I would like to talk about, because I feel like he would be the greatest parent in the world lol

Her name is Salem! Cross adores her, even if she wasn't planned. He tells his brother XPapyrus first, and eventually everyone finds out. (This is during a good timeline where they are all safe....mostly) They make a nursery for her and XUndyne constantly talks about how great of an Aunt she will be.

Trigger warning for under the cut! Please do not read before reading the tags.

Well. Cross would have been the best parent ever. If Salem had survived. Salem was...not intended, and neither was her creation. XGaster would punish Cross in ways that a person never should, and Salem was the creation of that. Cross was terrified when he learned he was pregnant, but he decided that the baby was his more than XGaster's. Well, XGaster decided to ignore Cross for the next couple months, content to just avoid him and the child, but XPapyrus started pushing Cross to tell them who the father was. Cross insisted that he didn't know, that it was a one night stand, but XPapyrus accepted that if Salem got a paternity test done.

XGaster didn't like that.

XGaster pulled Cross away in the middle of the night and beat him until he was unconscious and bleeding, kicking and hitting him in the stomach repeatedly to ensure Salem's death. He was found in the morning by XUndyne.

Cross was in shock. They took him to a hospital kicking and screaming and sobbing to have a stillbirth.

It happened again...and again....almost every OVERWRITE. And then XFrisk restored his memories. He was shook to his core, nearly passing out.

Once he joined Nightmare’s gang, the others noticed very small habits of his that were almost unnoticeable. He would absent-mindedly place a hand where his stomach was or quietly hum lullabies, and would get this look on his face whenever it came to any kind of baby clothes or products, flinch whenever a baby cried, or even just look really depressed whenever he saw a pregnant person.

They had no idea why, and Killer only brought it up once, only to have him completely break down. Never again.

They did eventually learn about Salem. Cross was rip roaring drunk, alone and sobbing in his room, muttering about her. Eventually he accidentally let's spill that it was the day he had to give a still birth to his child the first time. He sobbed and said they had to clean her dust off his SOUL. Needless to say, they were horrified.

The next morning, Cross has one hell of a hangover and everyone was looking at him strangely, and he finally asked them what was up. He never regretted a question more than when Horror quietly whispered "We're sorry about Salem..."

He went stiff and asked how the hell they knew that name and was horrified when he learned the events of the night before. But... it felt good. That somebody finally knew what happened to him, that they knew and wouldn't judge him. The looks were gone soon, the others had just needed to process what had happened to their friend and teammate.

They were more understanding from then on, and would do little things on the days that hurt the most. Cooking special foods, cuddle piles, just being there for Cross, and it meant the world. Healing is a very slow and painful process, but they were getting there.

Cross was healing.

[milliedazzledust]

Somewhere Only We Know (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request: @the-craziestone story about Bucky x Reader, where Bucky is really obsessed with Reader - But not in a creepy way, more like he's really really in love with her and he can only see her, like she's his world Anon: can you do something with reader gifting Bucky Barnes the 3 Lord of the Rings books? They were published after WWII, and reader knows he liked The Hobbit so she thinks it's something he'd like

Words: 2943

A/N: this is pure fluff with no warning, also I changed a tiny bit the second request to fit the story - enjoy ;)

He couldn’t explain the sadness he constantly felt every time he was walking through the streets of the city he used to know by heart. A stranger in a strange land was the best way to describe him. More than seventy years had passed, and he hadn’t witnessed any changes. While he had been a puppet deprived of freewill and controlled with the sole purpose of killing, he had missed the birth of a whole new world. Now, as he strode around the streets, he could easily remember each of their names, but none of them were familiar. His mind remained in the 1940’s and in the middle of the noises, surrounded by the sound of first responders vehicles, the children running around and cars piling up on the road, he was a stranger in his own home. It was an unsettling feeling, a pining melancholy that reminded him in every step he made that his Brooklyn didn’t exist anymore. 

He was furious in a way, but mostly confused. Haunted by memories he had gotten back a second ago, and they didn’t fit this new reality. He wasn’t even nostalgic, but the loneliness was getting heavier every day. He could still picture the park he used to take his sister, the alley where Steve had gotten beaten up one day, the bakery his mother used to go to every morning. Treasure of souvenirs he would keep forever. And although the park, the alley and the streets names were still here, he was left alone walking down Brooklyn. 

“Hey, Y/N!” He heard a voice shouting. “Where do I put those ?” 

His head mechanically turned to a young boy carrying a heavy box of what looked like antics. Without thinking he crossed the road and when his eyes laid on the small shop, he gasped. There it was, one small piece of his past still here. It was an old bookstore he used to go to with his sister. The man, a friend, an immigrant from France with a thick accent, would let them stay for hours. Bucky loved reading to Rebecca. They would sit inside and she’d insist to hear The Hobbit. François, the man owning the store, would make coffee and stay with them, relating the stories he had heard around the world, telling them all about the France he had known. It was all still here. ‘Au Nom de la Rose’ was still here. 

He didn’t hesitate a second and rushed inside the place, an honest smile on his face. His eyes roamed over the room and he took a deep breath. It was just like he remembered, a place filled with murmurs and whispers floating above his head and through the roof, indistinct conversations between friends, huge windows bringing in a powerful light at this hour of the day, plants in almost every corner. Even the atmosphere was the same, this powerful smell of imagination coming from the laying books on the shelves, begging to be read, mixing with a distinct smell coming from the dust. The small couch and the old table he used to sit by with his sister were also there. The wooden pieces had many rough and sharp edges but looked just as smooth and clean as he remembered. Finally, his eyes landed on a woman there. He watched her rearranging a bouquet of daffodils, breathing in the perfume of the vibrant flowers as she tended to them meticulously. 

For some reason, he couldn’t look away. She felt familiar, like he had known her all his life, yet he had never seen her before. When she turned around he took an instinctive step toward her. She noticed, raised her head and that was the moment their eyes met. His breath caught in his throat when she smiled at him. He stood, frozen on the spot, staring at her. He couldn’t comprehend that instant connection. There was an inexplicable sense of excitement yet weird feeling that they had known each other forever, that they were meeting each other again after a long journey. He was transfixed, almost stuck by the confusing mixture of emotions but oddly comforted by them - all at the same time. 

“Can I help you ?” She asked him.

He surprised himself thinking there was something eerily calming about her voice, that he could listen to her for hours.

“Do I know you ?” He quickly wondered out loud, mentally facepalming himself for his lack of tact. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking that question ?”

“Why ?”

“You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes” She grinned.

“I’m … I’m sorry” He apologized profusely. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“Look weird ?” 

He could swear his heart skipped a beat when he heard her laugh.

“This place is beautiful”

“Thank you” 

“How long have you been working here ?”

“Forever” She smirked. “The store belongs to my family. Passed on from generation to generation” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“You’re related to François Y/L/N ?” He questioned.

She tilted her head, crossing her arms.

“Now I’m intrigued” She told him. “How do you know about my grandfather ?” 

“We’ve met,” He answered without thinking. He rapidly realized his mistake when she narrowed her eyes in utter curiosity. “I … I didn’t mean … I mean … It was … It was a long time ago”

He gulped, hoping she wouldn’t push it. She looked him up and down, assessing him. 

“What’s your name, weirdo ?” She inquired, giving him a skeptical glance.

“Bucky. M’am” 

She smirked.

“Let me guess, a soldier ?” 

“How … ?” 

“You all have the same manners, and the same eyes”

“What do you mean ?”

She was now standing in front of him, staring at his face with the most adorable smile he had ever seen.

“You carry the same sadness and the horror you’ve seen” She replied honestly. “My father was a lot like that too” 

Her answer had the effect of a punch in the gut he hadn’t been expecting. He felt naked under her gaze, a stranger with the power to see through his soul.

“I’m Y/N” She introduced herself, raising her hand to shake his.

It was rare for him to smile truthfully but the unexpected bliss slowly growing made his lips twitch before he could even acknowledge it.

“Hi, Y/N” He greeted her.

She chuckled, amused. 

“Hi, Bucky” She murmured. 

After that encounter, he made a point of coming back as much as he could. He stayed for hours sitting on the couch, reading the same book over and over again. They shared quick words but he didn’t dare to start up a conversation, too afraid he would say something he shouldn’t, something that would scare her away. He was content like this. There was no Winter Soldier, no war, no fight, no one else than Bucky. Being next to this girl was in itself a medication for him. It made no sense but she was so bright and radiant. Like a magnet, he was sucked into an invisible gravitational pull toward her.

By the second week of him coming into the store, she started to notice the small marks of attention. He would come so silently she wouldn’t hear a thing, bringing a fresh cup of coffee he would lay on her counter when she wasn’t looking, replacing the daffodils before they could fade, carrying the heavy boxes filled with new books. When she wasn’t working, she would grab something to read and sit next to him. They would exchange a smile but wouldn’t talk. The proximity was enough. Their presence was louder than any word. A quiet routine they were slowly creating. 

By the fourth month, nothing had changed and that day was no different. Rain was pouring outside and the store was empty, except for Y/N and Bucky. Just as usual, he was reading in a corner while she was working. New stacks of books had arrived and she was methodically putting them on the shelves. Standing on a ladder, on the tip of her toes, she was so focused on the task she had failed to notice the soldier walking up to her. 

“Do you need any help ?” He offered. 

Surprised to hear his voice so close to her, she lost her balance and slipped. She yelped as her ankle hit one side of the ladder and automatically closed her eyes, anticipating the fall. She tried to brace herself but before her body could touch the ground she felt something cold holding her waist. Suddenly, instead of laying on the floor, she was against his hard chest, in a protective embrace. She recognized his arms around her and shivered at the odd coldness. He  felt it immediately and was quick to put some distance between them, making sure his metal arm was no more on her body and only his human hand was steadying her. 

“Are you alright ?” He questioned. She pursed her lips, trying not to show that she was hurt when she heard how worried he sounded. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine”

He looked skeptic but didn’t say anything about it.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” He apologetically told her.

He took the books scattered on the ground, putting them away, and helped her walk to the couch.

“You know, if the goal was to literally make me fall for you, I’d say you did a pretty good job there” She flirted, making him chuckle. 

He sat on the table in front of her and grabbed her calve, gently laying her leg on his thigh to assess the damage. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her blushing. It made him insanely happy to know he wasn’t the only one affected by their closeness. They tried not to look at one another, too embarrassed by the situation. This was the closest they had ever been and the touch on his skin on hers was more than enough to make her heart ready to jump out of her chest. When he clasped her injured ankle, she cried and instinctively pushed him back. 

“Fine, huh ?” He repeated her own words with a smirk.

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“It’s not a big deal, Bucky” She reassured him. “I’ve got to get back to work”

“You’re not moving from this couch” He ordered.

“Is that an order, soldier ?” She ironically threw at him, crossing her arms in annoyance.

“You bet it is”

She watched him, intrigued, as he stood up and piled up some books on the table to put her ankle to rest on it. 

“No moving around, got it ?” He made sure she would follow his advice.

“Aye, aye, Captain”

He chuckled 

“Technically speaking, I’m not a Captain” He confessed as he continued what she had been doing earlier and started putting the books carefully on the right shelves. 

“Would you have preferred Sergeant ?” She replied, bitting her lips, unsure this was the wrong moment to admit she knew who he was.

He instantly stopped what he was doing and slowly turned around to stare at her.

“What did you say ?” He asked, more scared than ever.

Up until that moment, he had avoided telling her who he was. Becoming part of the Avengers meant his identity wasn’t a secret anymore, and although he had done a terrific job staying hidden among the mass of people, it wouldn’t have taken more than a little push to find who he really was. He stood in front of her, frozen, not having a clue how to react.

“Sergeant Barnes, isn’t it ?” She sounded nervous, almost frightened to say his name out loud.

“I… “ He tried to say anything, but as the rain kept pouring outside, slowly turning into a thunderstorm, he blankly stared back.

“Would you have told me ?” She whispered.

“Eventually”

She humorlessly snorted. 

“We’ve known each other for more than three months, Bucky. I see you practically every day. Be honest, eventually would’ve never come” 

“It’s not like that” He tried to explain.

“I’m not mad, don’t worry” She sadly smiled. “I just wish… I guess I wish you could’ve trust me” 

He rubbed his jaw in frustration and made a step toward her. Without breaking his gaze, he slowly took the glove off, revealing his metal hand. Still, he didn’t look at her, too afraid of her reaction. The cold metal had never felt so hot against his skin, a burning reminder of the stranger he had become.

“I didn’t want you to be scared,” He admitted in a broken voice. 

“Of you ?” She was surprised. “Why would I be ?”

“I’m not a good man, Y/N”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that ?” 

“You don’t understand…”

“The red box under the counter” She interrupted him. “Can you take it for me ? And turn the sign of the shop, we’re closed.”

He gave her a puzzled look, but did as she said anyway. He locked the front door and took the box she asked for before walking to her and putting it directly in her hands.

“Sit” She instructed him.

He didn’t dare to stay near her and chose to stay on an opposite chair.

“I found this a little after you and I met” She told him, motioning to the box. “It was in the basement, hidden under old junks my parents had kept over the years”

He let her speak, not understanding where this was going or why she was telling him about that. She slowly opened the mystery box and took a small envelope out of it. It looked old, so old the paper had turned into a deep shade of yellow.

“My grandfather wrote this” She confessed. “In 1957. It’s addressed to Bucky and Rebecca Barnes. I believe it belongs to you” 

She handed him the letter that he took with shaky hands.

“How did you… ?” He started to ask.

“It was a long shot,” She explained. “The first time you were here, you said my grandfather's name like it meant something to you. Like you really knew him. When I found the box, and the envelope, I didn’t make the connection with you right away. But your name was all I needed to start my research. My parents kept pretty much everything so it didn’t took me too long to find an old photo with you and him, back in the 1930′s” 

He wasn’t moving at all when she showed him a picture François had taken of them right before he was enlisted. 

“I wanted to wait for the right time to tell you, I guess. I mean, you have enough ghosts as it is”

“Still not scared ?” He inquired in a humorless chuckle.

“Not one bit” She didn’t hesitate to reply.

She softly smiled and motioned for him to come closer. When he sat next to her, she moved the box from her lap to his. 

“We were friends, François and I” He recalled, his eyes glued on the letter. “He was married to Eloise. This bookstore was their treasure. He kept repeating that I shouldn’t go to war when I could stay hidden under the pages of books that would take me around the world without risking my life”

She took his metal palm between her fingers when she heard his voice breaking. He almost tried to remove it but she tightly entwined their hands together.

“Maybe he was right” He muttered under his breath.

“Or maybe you and I were meant to meet almost a century later” She shrugged.

He snorted before turning around the envelope to open it. Y/N gently laid her head against his shoulder and let him read in silence. She didn’t move when she felt his body shaking with tears but only held his hand harder.

“They’re originals, from 1954 I think. He kept them for you” She told him as he slowly took what was in the red box. A set of three old books. “Why Lord of the Rings, though ?” 

He laughed,sniffing, before brushing the tears off his face and staring down at the woman. At that very moment, he felt like the journey was done. His soul had stopped the search it had been on for a time that felt like forever. Like a century. 

“My sister and I, we used to come here often,” He said in a melancholic grin. Sorrow was finally starting to be replace by something much better, happiness. “We would sit on this very couch and she would make me read the Hobbit. She used to love that story so much.”

“How many times has she make you read it ?” The woman smirked.

“Enough to remember every single word” He exaggerated, making her giggle. “When I told François I was leaving, he said he would send me books to help me travel away from the war, even just for a moment. I guess he kept them, hoping I would come back. Even after I was declared dead” 

“Maybe deep down he knew you weren’t”

“And he planned this whole meeting with his granddaughter ?” He ironically added.

“Oh no, that was beyond him. That was fate, Barnes”

“I was meant to find you” He agreed, a deep feeling of love and utter contentment forming in his heart. He bent his head down and let all he needed to say be spoken through the kiss they shared. 

“Will you read it to me ?” She playfully requested.

Overflowed with joy, he smirked and kissed her forehead before opening the old book on his lap. There it was, the only choice he needed to make. The only home he had yearn to create. Her. 

[aetherarf]

How would Zhongli, Kaeya, Diluc and Childe react to their teen daughter telling them she’s pregnant? (I don’t mean this in a weird way, teen pregnancy is a serious issue and I’m curious to how these Genshin guys would react to it)

I would have taken it the serious route since... nature of this blog. I may also lean into using some gender neutral terms for the kid cuz... nature of this blog.

I will say these are written very seriously but... healthily. Like, I can't see any of them kicking their kid out when they already fucked up. It goes without saying none of them know if they're doing the right thing but they're mostly doing what they would want done for them.

[Except Zhongli but you'll see why.]

WARNING: A few mentions of ABORTION. Nothing graphic or extreme just vague mentions or implications of it being offered as an option, but not enforced in any way. also PREGNANCY dont read if you dont wanna see pregnancy content.

Anyway, below the cut nonny.

Zhongli

He is... well... a little odd about the situation, with all he's seen through his very long life. Initially, when he sees his child shaking like a leaf in the wind, he assumes much, much worse. Did something happen? Did they do something vile? Oh, oh dear... He's half expecting them to admit to the most gruesome, vile things, and hearing that they're pregnant.

He breathes a sigh of relief for a moment, no fear of them taking adeptus drugs or having killed innocent souls... But then, as the gears in his head turn, he looks at them, then his gaze trails down to their stomach... Pregnant. As in, a child.

He's worried, now, and instantly begins going on some sort of ramble about medicines, the danger of having children with adeptus [whether or not the child was only half or full adeptus, there was still enough of that adeptus blood-- Prime Adeptus blood, that may cause issues.] He's immediately calling in a favor from Baizhu, medicines are in order, to fortify his child's body, because carrying an adeptus is no joke, even if the blood is diluted.

As time goes on... it sets in further. He realizes his child is having a child... who's the other parent? He has a hard time keeping himself away from his little one because... they're just a child themself... did he fail to keep them safe? Doesn't matter, he needs to protect them now, as feral as he feels about it, all he wants is for them to be safe.

If the pregnancy was a mistake, Zhongli... would consider offering medicine that would minimize the child's natural adeptus energy and it would effectively be... an abortion. Of course, it's not that simple, but it's an option. Sometimes, it's the safest, many humans had died giving birth to a partially adepti child.

If they decline, he understands, and he's going to be there for them. There's no guilt or anger, honestly, more fear than anything... Zhongli, out of the four, he's the one who doesn't seem to notice that the age itself is a large issue. The age was a concern, but in the grand span of centuries upon centuries, it wasn't everything. He was more fearful that they would die for this child, without having time to make a choice.

Kaeya

His heart sinks into his belly when he hears...pregnant... they're pregnant?

Instantly, he wants answers. Who was the father? Who put a baby in his baby? Did they consent? Did they plan this ahead of time? Why didn't they tell him before? Are they looking for 'Plan B'? Do they want to keep the child or to put it up for adoption?

After he has his answers, whether or not he likes them or not, there's an eerie silence.

And suddenly, he hugs them. He holds them tight.

"It's okay, little bird, it's okay... I'm right here for you."

He's not sure how to feel, honestly. A part of him just wants to lose it, to murder the bastard who got them pregnant, but he knows better. He knows that a pregnant teen with fear in their eyes and a new, terrifying life ahead of them needs comfort. And he's going to be there for them.

He will openly discuss every possible option, from the worst to the fluffiest, and when they're tired of talking, he's already changed the topic.

Were he to be completely honest, he's not happy about this. He was... well, he had learned who he was before he had a child, but they were... just that. a child. They were young and foolish, he does not think this out of anger, but... Kids are stupid! Teens are absolutely stupid! He was, too!! But... this was going to stop them from being able to fully grow up. Maybe he could take his grandchild, basically raise them alongside them, that would be the best option if he had that option, and while he would recommend/offer it, he won't make demands.

He's not happy, but... there's a lot he's not happy about in life, so, just like everything else, he can find his way to turn a bad thing into a good thing.

Diluc

As soon as he hears... he's quiet for a moment.

He feels... sickened. Sex as a whole is an uncomfortable topic for him, and... well, pregnancy isn't exactly great either. There's horror flashing in his eyes as he's told... But he doesn't say much. In fact, he's probably the calmest out of all of them.

He grabs his child's hand, "What do you want to do about it?"

He lets them talk, maybe they just cry out I don't know!, or maybe they say they want to keep the child. He nods and listens, no smiling, but he does seem calm enough to not rouse fear.

Hell, when Diluc became a father, whether it be from adoption or a partner giving birth, he... didn't know what to do. He didn't. Even if it was planned, or if it was a complete accident, he felt lost. But... holding them was... for a little bit, nothing felt wrong.

He figured, with their even younger age than his own, they must be even more confused. They will figure out what they want, and he will offer to do anything to help them, as long as he believes it won't harm his little phoenix...

Childe

Oh boy.

He's five seconds from murder depending on how they tell him.

If they tell him it was an accident, or them didn't want it, he's about to murder some poor idiot them knocked them up.

If they tell him it was planned and he didn't want him to stop them, he's more heartbroken than anything. Did... they not trust him?

No matter what, after the initial shock or horror or rage subsides... it depends on one last thing before he reacts.

If they don't want to keep it... he tells them he'll make everything better, he'll fix it for them, and goes to find out anything he can.

If they want to keep and raise the child... he's all smiles and happiness. Sure, they're young, and honestly... they fucked up, he'd say that, too... but if they want to keep the kid, then who's he to say no? He's already calling himself a grandpa.

He's sure that they already know they fucked up, and that they really screwed themselves over. If they didn't know now, they would when it was three in the morning and the screams of an infant would wake them over and over.

While, in one way, he feels like he should punish his child... life itself was more than enough punishment. He doesn't want them to run away and deal with that punishment alone, he wants to keep them safe, even if it's from the consequences of their own actions.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

[127-mile]

Lay low.

Pairing: Jaehyun x female reader.

Genre: The purge, gang!au, established relationship | Angst, fluff, suggestive.

Warnings: Brief mention of mature content, but it stops as soon as it starts (nothing more than a few kisses happen), strong language, home invasion, weapons, blood, injuries, minor characters’ deaths.

Plot: Being Jaehyun’s girlfriend is nice, until purge night where it becomes more dangerous to be around all because Jaehyun refused to lay low.

Word count: +5k.

A/N: This is part of @kpopscape​‘s 21st purge event.

EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and medical emergency services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning 7 am when the Purge concludes. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all."

Jaehyun watches with amusement as you repeat the words scrolling on the blue screen of the television, but he winces when he hears the siren that has grown more and more annoying as the years went by.

"Are the doors and windows locked?" you ask, standing up from the couch. Jaehyun cackles when he sees you trying to open the nearest window, and he clears his throat. "Baby, if you keep trying to open it, it'll set the alarm off." you stop right in front of yet another window, and you turn on your heels. "Couldn't you tell me before I tried?"

"I did not think it was useful, as I told you Johnny would take care of everything an hour before it starts." Jaehyun stands up, and he stops once he is behind you. "Did something go wrong last year?" he asks, pressing his chest against your back, and you shake your head. "And the year before that?" his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, and you feel a shiver running down your spine. "Nothing."

"Then, there is no reason for something to happen tonight." he whispers, and he is wrong because there are a lot of reasons for something to happen tonight, you know it, and you are sure that he knows it too. "Do you promise?" he grabs your caist, and he forces your to face him, the shadow of a smirk on his face. "I promise."

You open your mouth, but instead of letting you speak, he leans in to kiss you. "What are you doing?" you ask in a laugh without kissing him back, which only makes Jaehyun growl softly. "We have twelve hours to kill, so I'm finding us an occupation." of course he would propose something like that.

"You don't want to watch a movie? Read a book?" you ask in a whisper when his lips slide down your neck. "I would rather watch you." you roll your eyes but when he bites on the skin, a rather loud moan escapes your lips. "Bedroom, bedroom right now." the noise Jaehyun lets out is way too funny for the current situation.

He takes your hand and walks to the bedroom, he closes the door behind you but before you can make a move towards the bed, he presses you against said door. "I love you." he whispers before diving back for a kiss. Jaehyun is such a good kisser, you could spend hours doing nothing but kill him. There is nothing soft or sweet in the way he kisses, but you would not change any of it.

You know he does this to change your mind, he knows you are not the biggest fan of the purge, who is? And you are not going to say no. He licks your lower lip, and you open your mouth to grant him access, be before he can do anything, a hard knock against the door startle you. "What the fuck?"

Jaehyun does not move, but he is annoyed. "What?" he asks, and you know whoever is behind that door is going to spend a really bad night. "Jaehyun, you need to come and see this." he growls, and you push yourself off of the door so Jaehyun can open it. "See what? I'm busy here, can't it wait tomorrow?"

Johnny shakes his head, and Jaehyun makes a sound low in his throat. "You really need to see this, it's important!" he curses, and he leaves the bedroom, not without grabbing your hand on his way out. "Hey, Y/n." Johnny says with a stupid grin on his face, and you roll your eyes. "Hey, idiot."

Johnny leads them to the security room where all the surveillance camera screens are installed. Taeyong and Doyoung look worried, and you wonder what is happening for them to bother Jaehyun when he clearly stated that he did not want anyone near his quarter until the of the purge.

"So, what is so urgent?" he mumbles, sitting down on the office chair, making you sit on his lap, arms wrapped around your waist. "This. This is urgent." Taeyong says, showing one of the screens. It shows the front of the house, and you frown when you see at least 6 people. "Oh, come on."

This is what you were talking about Jaehyun said there was no reason for something to happen tonight. This year was not the quietest for the Neos, so it was expected. "They have a lot of weapons, but everything is locked, right?" you ask in a small voice.

"Yes, of course, I checked at least thrice." Mark answers from his side of the room, and you turn your head towards him, he is so discreet that you did not even notice him when you entered. "Then we don't have to worry about anything, right? Right?" you nibble on your lower lip when none of the men answer. You hate this.

"Johnny, get everyone in the meeting room in five minutes. Mark, stay here and call us if anything happens." both men nod, and you stand up when Jaehyun pats your thigh. "What do I do?" you ask, following Jaehyun out of the room, and he turns on his heels. "Go find the kids, stay with them and try to pretend nothing is happening, we don't need them to find out and to freak out."

"Alright, alright." before leaving, he pecks your lips one last time and he disappears in another room. "Mark, let me know too." Mark nods and you leave the security room. You find most of the kids in the common living room, sitted on the sofas and on the ground, watching an horror movie. Of course they would watch an horror movie during the scariest night of the year.

"What are we watching?" you ask, sitting down beside Kun around the dining table. "I have no idea. There is way too much blood, and way too many girls screaming bloody murder." you giggle, but it must sound fake, because Kun looks at you, eyes narrowed. "Why are you here? I thought you would spend the night with Jaehyun, like you do every year."

"Everything is fine, Jaehyun had something urgent to take care of." yes, you do not feel like saying that Jaehyun has to take care of a bunch of armed people, ready to make them pay for whatever they did during this year. "What are you hiding? You are acting weird." he asks, head tilted to the side, and you hate the way he is looking at you, the intensity of his gaze, because you know you are going to cave-in and tell him everything.

But you do not have to say anything when a loud thud is heard in front of the door. One of the boys payse the movie, and all of their eyes turn towards the door. "Tell me." you stand up, and trying to stop the boys to check by themselves is harder than you thought it would be. "Go to the basement. All of you, lock yourself in and stay quiet, I have something to ask to Mark."

"Don't play the superhero, Y/n, and come with us." Kun says, grabbing your hand but you free yourself from his grip right away. "I have something to do. Now, go!" Kun gathers all of the kids, and you see the basement's door close behind them just when another thud is heard, louder this time and you are pretty sure you saw the door shake.

This can't be fucking happening.

You run to the security room, and you can't even begin to explain what emotions are on Mark's face when you push the door. He looks absolutely frightened and his eyes are shining with tears. "What is going on?" you ask, approaching the screens. Now, the men can be seen on multiple of the screens, which mean, they are surrounding the house.

"I have no idea. I told Jaehyun and he said he is taking care of it." he says in a voice so small that your heart breaks a little bit. "I told Kun and the boys to lock themselves in the basement, you should go and join them." Mark shakes his head. "I can't. Jaehyun asked me to be here."

"I do not ware what Jaehyun said, you are too young to be in the house. You have to be in safety with the others. So go, I'll take care of the cameras." Mark seems to think about it, but he stands up. "Give me the phone." he does just that, and he leaves the room at a rapid pace.

You dial Jaehyun's number, and the man answers right away. "Mark, what do you see?" you bite your lower lip, because you know you are in for a big argument, but it is what it is. "It's not Mark, it's me. Mark went to the basement with the others."

"What? Why? You should be in the basement too, Y/n!" he says, his voice as sharm as the knife you see a man raise in front of a camera. "Ten and Jungwoo are still in their rooms, I have to go and get them. You take care of whatever mess you brought in this house, and I'm taking care of putting everyone to safety."

"Please, for the love of God, stay safe too. I don't know how long we'll be able to keep the doors close, so take a gun with you, there is one in one of the drawers of my desk." you nod even though he can't see you. "I will. Please, be careful too." he hums and you hang up. Maybe you should have told him that you loved him, in case you do not have the chance to tell him after tonight.

You head for Jaehyun's office, and like he said, you find a gun in the bottom drawer of his desk. Opening the padlock was easy, as it is your birth day. You stop moving to listen, but no sound come to your ears. There are two options: either the men decided to stop. Either you are too far away from the entrance to hear anything.

Or the third option, they are comploting to open the doors and the windows. But you do not want to think about this option, it is way too scary. You take Mark's phone, and you dial Ten's number, but he doesn't answer, nor does Jungwoo. "Fucking hell." you muster, you are going to teach them a lesson. They need to learn to answer their fucking phones, especially on purge night.

You are in the middle of the staircase when you hear the sound of broken glass. They found a way in, but it did not sound close, so you should be safe once upstairs. At least you hope you will, because if you die, or end up being injured, Jaehyun is going to kill whoever decided to not force you into the basement.

When you find Ten's room, you open the door. You do not have the time to knock, and you do not want to attract anyone's attention. Ten is on his bed, headphones in his ears and you can hear his music from the door. He is in for a big surprise, you think as you hit his arm.

"Stay quiet." you say as soon as he takes his headphones off. "What is going on?" he asks, already on his feet. "The house is surrounded, and a window was broken on my way here." his eyes widen, and you grab his hand. "We have to find the others, and you have to join Kun and the boys in the basement."

"Do you have anything that could work as a weapon?" you ask, and he looks around before grabbing a baseball bat. I will not hurt as much as a bullet, but it is better than nothing. "Let's go find Jungwoo." he nods, and you leave the bedroom. Now, the noises are way clearer.

You hear hushed conversation, but unfortunately, you do not know if it belongs to the Neos or the men trying to break in. "Jungwoo is not in his room." Ten finally says and you turn on your heels to face him. "What? Where is he?"

"The gaming room, with Taeil." oh for god's sake.

The gamine room is far enough from the front door that they probably will not think about checking it, but it is downstairs, which mean you have to get close to the front door to join them. "What happened to everyone stays in their bedrooms or in the living room."

"I know, I told him, but because Jaehyun said nothing would happen, they thought it was safe to go there." well, they thought wrong, and you hope you'll live long enough to give them a piece of your mind. "Listen to me, Ten. I am going to get them, you are going to the basement."

"No, I'm not leaving you alone." Ten is too stubborn for his own good, so you know you won't have the last word. "Let's go then. Walk on the right side of the steps, they don't creak."

Getting down the stairs is quick, but also complicated. You have to stop every time you hear a noise, and you hear a lot of these. "Did you check upstairs?" someone asks, and you stop abruptly. "Not yet." another person answers and you are ready to go back up, but you lock eyes with a stranger at the same moment.

"Wha-" you grab Ten's baseball bat, and before the man can alerts someone else, you hit him square in the head with the bat. Shooting him would have been more efficient, but also too loud ro remain unnoticed. "Let's go before he wakes up."

You look on your left, and on your right and when you see nothing, you start to run towards the gaming room. At least, the idiots who entered the Neo's house decided to keep the light on. It makes the whole ordeal easier, and also more dangerous.

When you try to turn the door handle, nothing happens. The door is locked. You knock softly, putting your ear against it but you hear nothing. "Taeil, Jungwoo, it's me, open the door." you repeat a few times, and when the door finally opens, it is on a scared Jungwoo, cheeks glistening with tears.

"Ten, Ten!" the man looks frozen on the spot, and you have to grab his arm to push him inside of the room, just in time as a bullet ends against the wall where his head was. "Fuck!" he yells, locking the door. "There! There are people in this room!" the shooter says.

"Both of you. If we survive, I'm going to murder you myself, I promise." you say through gritted teeth to the two men. "Hide behind the couch." you oder and they obey. So, it's not all bad to be Jaehyun's girlfriend, you think. You have a little bit of authority over them.

You try to call Jaehyun, but he does not answer, so you choose to send him a text instead.

To Jaehyun - We are in the gaming room, they saw us and they have guns. Are you okay?

From Jaehyun - Don't move, we are coming.

To Jaehyun - Make them leave, we don't need help right now.

Well, they do need help but having them out of the house is way more important than being savec. Even if they only have a gun and a baseball bat, they can protect themselves. If the men find the door to the basement, they won't be able to protect each other, so they are not the more important right now.

From Jaehyun - We'll come and get you when it is safe.

You walk back when voices are heard on the other side of the door. "Little bird, would you please open the door?" the stranger asks, and you want to scoff. Jaehyun would kill him if he heard him give you a petname without his accord. "Because if you do not open yourself, I will have to open it myself, and I won't be as nice."

"If you are ready to get your head blow up, then come on in, be my guest, I'm waiting." being Jaehyun's girlfriend is bad sometimes, because of your self-confidence. A self-confidence that could get them killed, yes.

You would be lying if you said you were expecting the man to stop trying to break in, but he does. And the door does not hold on for more than a couple of hits with a heavy object against it. "Hello little bird."

You get the gun from your back pocket, but of course, of fucking course, it is nowhere to be found. You probably lost it in the stairs when you grabbed Ten's baseball bat. "Oh, did you lose something little bird?" he asks, taking a few steps forwards, and you take a step back each time he does.

He stops moving when you are backed up against the window, you have nowhere to go, nowhere to run. You lock eyes with Jungwoo, and the man stands up as silently as he can and you see what he does. He grabs the pocket knife he still has in his jacket, just in case. And if you complained about said knife before, you take back everything you said.

"Maybe I should keep you, you pretty bird." you tilt your head to the side, and you try to ignore the putric breath hitting against your face. "I do not think you could handle me." you shrug and the man starts to lose his temper, and that's what you love so much about men, they can't stand being belittled.

"You bitch." he hisses and it's at that moment that Jungwoo slides the knife in your direction. Now, you need to distract him, or he will never let you get down to grab it. So you do what you do best, you hit him right in the balls with your knee. "You fucking bitch!" he yells, taking a step back, hands cupping his crotch.

You crouch down and you grab the knife and before he can make a move, you stick the blade of the knife in his throat. He opens his mouth to scream, but you hear nothing but a gurgling noise, blood running down the wound and onto his white shirt. And the carpet, which is going to be a mess to clean. "What were you going to say, you bitch?" you ask.

"Let's go."

Ten, Taeil and Jungwoo stand up, and they leave the room together, closing the door as best as they can behind them. You can't lock it unfortunately but it should be fine. It'll take some time for him to bleed out, but he will die.

You find the door to the basement without any problem, and you knock, you know Kun must be behind, waiting to be told it is safe to get out. "Kun, open!" you say and he does right away. "Go on, get down." when Ten, Taeil and Jungwoo are getting down the stairs, you close the door in front of Kun's face.

You should be going downstairs with them, but you are too far down to stop. You have to find Jaehyun, that's all that mattesr for you. Jaehyun, and nothing else, especially now that everyone is safe downstairs.

You quickly stop in the safety room, you have to check the screens to see if more people are outside, but no, the screens are empty. And if only they had cameras inside of the house, it would be easier to track the people down, but no, you have to go blind on a deadly mission you forced upon yourself.

Jaehyun is so going to kill you.

You should have thought twice before deciding to stay in the house, because as soon as you step out of the room, someone grabs you by the neck. "Oh, would you look at that, the boss's girlfriend."

He pushes you against the closest wall, hard enough for your head to hit the wall and you wince. You see stars dancing behind your eyelids, and a pitiful whine leaves your lips. "Oh, did it hurt? That's too bad." the pressure on your airflow decrease and you grab his wrist. "If your boyfriend had decided to lay low like we told him to, we would not be here today." he explains in a low voice.

"At least now, I have a reason for him to come out. Come on, follow me." he lets go of your throat, and before you have time to take a deep breath, he blocks both of your arms behind your back to make it easier for him to walk with you, and more difficult for you to leave. It is useless, so you do not even try to run away, it would cause nothing but harm on you, and on the others.

"Jung Jaehyun, where are you hiding?" the man asks in a loud voice. "I have your girl, so you have no choice but to come out." he ends his sentence with a laugh that brings shills down your spine, that was an unpleasant sound you wish you'll never have to hear again.

"If you don't come out, I'll have no choice than to kill her." he forces you to the ground, a hand on the back of your neck and the next thing your hear is the sound of footsteps. "Let her go." and Jaehyun's angry voice.

"And why would I do that? Did you let go of my brother when I asked you not to kill him, to spare his life?" the man spits and Jaehyun heaves a long sigh. "Your brother hurt one of my boys, he had to pay. Aren't you the one who said an eye for an eye?"

"That's why I'm here. An eye for an eye, your girl has to die, and you'll have to watch her die." you feel the cold of the gun's barrel on the back of your head, and you close your eyes. So that's how it ends, you think. But are you surprised? Not really, your parents told you it would happen when they learned who your boyfriend was.

You could have listened to them, but sometimes, love is so strong that your heart is the first think you listen when you should obviously be listening to your brain.

"Any last word, pretty?" he asks, and you look up at Jaehyun. You saw him mad before, but this is another level. The anger in his eyes is strong, you can feel it burns through your skin, because you know you are part of the reason behind the anger.

"I love you." you say with a soft smile, and the man shakes his head. "I'm a nice man, Jaehyun, so I am giving you the opportunity to tell her something before I kill her." Jaehyun scoffs, fists squeezed so tight that you can see how white and bloody his knuckles are.

"Do you remember our second anniversary," he starts and you frown, this is not the time to talk about the good old day. "this guy tried to flirt with you while we were eating in the park." he does not need to finish, you know what he means, so you nod. "I do remember. I remember everything."

"You remember what I taught you that day?" once again, you nod. This is a memory you will never forget. "I really wish we could do this again." he moves his lips, and you know he is counting.

One.

Two.

"Three." he says out loud, and you throw your head back, knocking the man on the nose. He growls loudly as he falls on his ass from the impact, but at least, it gives enough time for Jaehyun to grab his gun and shoot him in the head. The noise is so loud that you have to cover your ears, eyes closed tight.

Jaehyun talks to you, but you can't hear anything, but you can feel him force you back on your feet and you follow him without saying a word."

"Eh eh, open your eyes." you look up when you feel Jaehyun's hands on your cheeks. He is still angry, but you can also read relief in his eyes, the relief to be reunited with you. "Basement. Now."

He doesn't give you the choice, the door open, and Kun takes your arm to force you down the stairs. Your ears hurt, everything hurt but you know it is nothing but exhaustion.

"Are you okay, are you hurt?" someone asks, and you shake your head when the buzzing finally stops. The boys are all on one side of the basement, pilled against each other. "That's not my blood." it's enough for Kun to stop asking questions.

You ignore how long you spend in the basement, but at some point, you can't hear a thing coming from upstairs. You remember that you still have Mark's phone and when you check, you notice that it is almost 7 am. You must have fallen asleep, because you did not see the hours pass.

When 7 o'clock strikes, the door to the basement opens and the place is suddenly bathed in yellow light. "You can come up now, it's safe."

Johnny.

They all stand up, groggy and sore after so many hours crowded in one spot. You let the boys go up first, and when it's your turn, you brace yourself for the worst.

A few windows are broken, the front door is in three pieces and on the ground, there is blood everywhere and you have to hold onto Jisung's hand when he starts to slip on a pool of someone's blood. "Easy kid, don't hurt yourself." he thanks you in a small voice and you nod.

"Kids, go to your bedrooms. Take a shower, take a nap if you want, Kun and I will call you when breakfast is ready." a few of them refuse, but Taeil does not give them the choice, he leads them upstairs. They do not need to see more of the mess that is the house they were supposed to be safe in.

"Johnny?" you ask, and the man peaks his head from the kitchen's doorframe and he looks terrible. He has a black eye, and bleed is coming out of his forehead. "How are the others?" he shrugs, and a weight falls on your stomach. "Fine. Injured but fine. Jaehyun too."

You heave a long sigh you didn't know you were holding, and you walk past Johnny to join your boyfriend. The man is sitting on a stool, an ice pack against his severly bruised jaw. He is coreved in blood, but it does not look like his blood, which is a real relief.

"Baby." he says when he sees you, and you smile. "Let me do it." you hold the ice pack for him, and he closes his eyes, finally letting his arm rest on the kitchen island. "How are you feeling? Do you need to go to the hospital?" he shakes his head. "No, it's fine. A few cuts and bruises."

"Any of the other boys need to go to the hospital?" Johnny clears his throat, and you turn to face him. "Doyoung. One of the men broke his arm." oh, this must hurt like a bitch, you think. "Do you want me to drive him?" Johnny shakes his head, keys already in his hand. "I'm going, don't worry."

Kun starts to clear up the dining table, before joining them in the kitchen. They all deserve a good breakfast.

"I'm glad you are okay." Jaehyun says and you look at him. "It's only because of you. I should have listened, but I had to find you, I had to make sure you were okay." you put a hand on his cheek and he shrugs. "I was not expecting you to obey, I know you better than anyone else, but it was worth the try."

He is right, he does know you better than anyone in this house. Better than anyone in the world even, parents included. "I love you Y/n." he whispers and you kiss him softly, trying not to hurt him, tasting blood. "I love you even more."

Now comes the worst part of the purge. It is time to clean the blood, to get the bodies out of the house, to put everything in order and to buy whatever was broken during the night. It is also time to help the boys, to apologize for causing so much fear and pain when they promised to protect them no matter what when they first moved in.

It will be hard, and it will take a few days, or weeks but they'll succeed, you know it. Everyone is strong on their own, and even stronger when they are together.

Until next year.

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 2)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: The First Meeting

Next Chapter: What's Your Ideal Type?

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj, @rizzo-nero, @whoreuc

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty.

CHAPTER 2: The Rebirth

You had a hard time falling asleep that night. Your mind is trying to remember the vision, but the images remain blurry. There was a faint heat lingering from the man's body pressed against yours.

‘Could we possibly be…. It’s not impossible but….’, your mind was working 10,000 miles an hour trying to think of the possibilities. There was only one thought that came to mind and it made you blush. You pulled up the covers and snuggled against your stuffed plushies and pillows. You had to pass by the library and get permission tomorrow.

At least the weaponry was amazing. Noritoshi senpai even showed you inside and pointed you to the crossbows he often practices with. ‘He must be a capable sorcerer. The way he holds himself up with such dignity was already a dead giveaway. A natural born leader huh.’ you wondered.

You fell asleep that night dreaming about a lovely Phoenix, being reborn from ashes.

◇◇◇

Noritoshi was pacing around in his room. He had passed by the library on the way back from dinner, and grabbed several books. “The Secrets of Foreseeing the Future, Vol. 1”, “Alternate and Parallel Worlds”, “Past Lives: A Study”, and “The Life and Works of Abe no Seimei".

He paced around his dorm room, looking over the book that was bothering him the most. “The Tales and True Records of Soulmates”.

He scanned through the main parts of the book. It spoke about bonding. There apparently were 2 types of bonding, emotional and physical.

When 2 halves of a whole reach a certain degree of understanding of each other, they establish what's called a half-bond or a phantom bond.

This begins to link their emotions. Intense anger, fear, joy, disgust, sorrow, and love can be felt from the very first stage. As their bond strengthens, they begin to share more emotions, as well as short strong intentions.

Intentions are used to depict a state of being. If they have a goal or a state of feeling over a particular matter, their partner can pick up on it.

The near final stage of a full bond is when they start to share physical sensations. When one gets injured, it will resound with the other.

The strongest bond is known to share special abilities and thoughts via telepathy between a fated pair.

Noritoshi's mind was definitely in overdrive. There was SO MUCH information on soulmates. But the one thing that wasn't explicitly stated was how a soulmate pair found each other.

How do soulmates confirm that they are indeed soulmates? Most of the information was based on soulmates who simply claimed to be. Then what about how they came to be?

So now he knows that soulmates are supposedly able to share emotions and feelings to a certain degree. But there was a lack of information in the book. What about visions? The vision he shared with y/n was one of a kind.

It kept discussing how the known most popular existence were the parents of Sugawara no Michizane. One of the three great vengeful spirits that is the ancestor of the Gojo clan.

He made up his mind. Taking out his phone, he dialed up his father.

Beep. “Noritoshi? It’s so late, why are you calling at this time? It best be an urgent matter.” his father gruffly answered.

“I am sorry to disturb you father. It’s just, there is a new student here in school. A First year called Tsuchimikado y/n from the Tsuchimikado clan.”

“Ahhh, them huh? Powerful group even though there are only a few of them. They don’t really talk about their techniques that much. They are descendants of Abe no Seimei and yet they kept to themselves as a minor clan of jujutsushi… So what about her?”

“She might possibly be my soulmate, but I am still confirming. Do you have any books or records on soulmates at all?”

At this, his father sat up straight in his study. “Are you serious? And what can you say to prove such claims? Do you know how rare a soulmate bond is?”

"I am aware. And I know we may not be soulmates. But I have some suspicions. If you have any info about soulmates, The Abe clan, or the Tsuchimikado clans, I would appreciate it." Noritoshi replied.

"Okay. I'll have a look and get back to you. Feel free to come by the main house this weekend. Look over the main study. There are also some records on Soulmates there."

"Thank you father. Have a good evening."

Beep.

Noritoshi sighed. He undid his hair bindings and combed out his hair. And opened the book again. He read through the table of contents in case he missed out on any major pointers.

He couldn't read the book in one sitting, because he is still reviewing for the TOEIC and improving his English.

He yawned and was about to retire to bed, remembering his promise to bring you around tomorrow, when one particular word jumped at him.

The binding process of soulmates. He quickly flipped through to the page and found out with horror that some of the pages had been torn out.

It wasn't him who did it. (Obviously). But now he has to go and tell Utahime sensei about it.

He took a closer look at the remaining few pages.

"The Binding of Soulmates. It is known to vary per pair. Some pairs found themselves to be born with a matching symbol in the inside of their arms or on their necks from birth. While others form it upon passing the first stage of -" and the page ends with a violent diagonal tear from the upper right corner to the lower left.

That's pretty much all that he can take away from the book so far. Frustrated, he decided to go to sleep. Nothing about sharing visions was mentioned so far. Maybe they weren't a fated pair after all.

But deep in his gut, Noritoshi knew that you were an important person to him. That was for sure. As he fell asleep, he shared the same dream with you. A lone Phoenix, being reborn from its ashes.

◇◇◇

The following morning, you didn't know where to meet up with Noritoshi senpai so you simply went to the same place he left you last night. On your way there, you passed by a tall robot kind of thing which spooked you. You stared at it, wondering if it was a kind of automation that serves the technical school.

To your surprise, it turned towards you and bowed while greeting, "Hello. I'm a 1st year student here at Kyoto Jujutsu Technical College. You can call me Mechamaru. Kokichi Muta is my real name, but I use robots to fight."

Your eyes widened in surprise and curiosity. "My name is Tsuchimikado Y/n, also starting here as a first year student. Pleased to meet you!" You bowed back.

“So… is your body inside that robot?” you asked him.

“No, as a result of heavenly restriction, which if you haven’t heard of yet is a means of exchange/ a binding contract, my body is elsewhere. I am controlling this robot from afar.”

Your eyes bugged, “That’s incredible! To have that much cursed energy, plus it is over such a long distance.” You were jealous as long-ranged techniques are something you try to work hard and specialise on.

“It’s not that fun being physically stuck in a basement.” Mechamaru didn’t sound too amused.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that… “ you floundered as you mentally hit yourself for being so inconsiderate.

“No need to apologize. I am used to it.” He waved it off coolly.

"You're the first other 1st year I've met Mechamaru. I wonder when the others will come. I've heard of 2 others." You wondered.

"I've already met one of them. Miwa is her name. You won't miss her with her bright blue hair." He replied. His voice was so stiff and robotic, a strange feature.

"Ohhhh I see. I'll keep that in mind!" You smiled. "I'm afraid I have somewhere to be right now, but I'll catch you around for sure! Please take care of me."

"Don't let me keep you waiting. Please also take care of me and see you around." Mechamaru waved as you ran off.

More students to meet huh. Your heart pounded in nervousness and excitement. So it was Miwa and Mechamaru so far. ‘Ugh, I’m so bad with names. I’ll surely get used to it.’ you thought to yourself.

You rounded the corner and nearly plowed through Noritoshi senpai in your haste. “Whoa there, careful,” he held his hands out in case you slipped, but you were fine. You caught yourself just before you hit his personal space.

You were surprised to see him already there, in the same clothes he was in yesterday (was that his uniform? You had yet to get yours, which had custom arrangements).

"Good morning Noritoshi-senpai!" you beamed up at him. He looked down at you amusedly, liking your bright energy. “Good morning y/n.”

Your smile grew wider upon hearing your name fall from his lips for the very first time. For a moment the both of you just stood there smiling. Then Noritoshi beckoned you to his side as you walked around the campus.

"Did you sleep well last night?" He asked.

"Ah yes, though it might take some time getting used to the dorm rooms here. But everything is pretty much convenient. Especially the kitchenettes in our rooms." You were still excited about starting classes.

“Did you have your uniform tailored to your liking?” You asked him.

“Ah yes, I requested a looser fit. I am used to wearing a kimono and wooden sandals at home. I simply requested for them to be made in a similar fashion for comfort. And it gives me enough space to hide all of my weapons.” He smiled gently down at you.

“Ahhh I see. I have also put in a request for my uniform, but I don’t have it yet.” you said.

“Well, it shouldn’t be too long now, classes start in 2 days after all.”

He brought you around the main gardens. “It’s so big,” you gaped, excited to train here. There was so much open space, it would be good for flying practice. “The other buildings are offices for the staff, and warehouses for special tools and materials.” He explained.

Then Noritoshi led you to a corridor with tons of doors. “These are the 3rd year classrooms. First and second year classrooms are upstairs. We can have a look if you’d like?” He asked.

You agreed. And on your way to the staircase, you came face to face with a man going down the stairs. He was incredibly tall and ripped. With his hair tied up, a scar racing down on his left eye, he grunted at Noritoshi in greeting.

He came down and faced you both, before addressing Noritoshi. “You ready for class? Is this a new student?”

“Of course I am. And she is a first year. Tsuchimikado Y/n.” Noritoshi introduced you and you quickly bowed in greeting. “You can call me Tsuchi san or just Tsuchi as I know my last name is long. It is very nice to meet you!”

Noritoshi noted that you didn’t offer to be addressed by your first name this time and felt weirdly happy.

“Todo Aoi, 2nd year. So… what man or woman is your ideal type?” He asked as he loomed over you menacingly. You barely came up to this man's chest.

….. What in the world are you getting into?

Fun fact: The Tsuchimikado Clan are indeed a real clan descended from the Abe Clan and Abe no Seimei the Onmyouji himself. I chose Abe no Seimei as a parallel to the three great vengeful spirits from whom the big 3 Jujutsu families are descendants of. As Abe no Seimei was also a major figure during the Heian period. But of course my story is a work of fiction so other than the onmyouji himself, everyone else is not real^^.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[reinvent-and-believe]

saying your names

Prompt: hallucination Relationships:  Geralt & Visenna  Rating: T Content Warnings: unintentional but constant misgendering by a parent; depiction of gender dysphoria in a small child; reference to child self-injury (scratching); abandonment issues; minor book spoilers Summary: Visenna's child is claimed by a witcher through the Law of Surprise. When she bears a daughter instead of the promised son, she thinks she's cheated Destiny. But Destiny rarely accepts such defeat. (Or - the trans Geralt mommy issues fic)

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

-

i. The Brave Knight

There’s an old fairy tale from far-away Toussaint, one Visenna remembers her grandmother telling her when she was little more than a babe, of a cohort of the bravest knights who gathered at the behest of the first duke to slay monsters and defeat villains and protect the land from all manner of evil. They were five in total, but none rivalled the gallant Sir Geralt, who defended the innocent and the weak, who perfectly embodied the Virtues, who fearlessly and faithfully loved the beautiful maiden Liliana. It’s a story like no other, full of heroics and chivalry, grand quests and epic romance. Visenna remembers sighing as a little girl, of braiding flowers into her shining copper hair and pretending to be Lady Liliana, rescued by that most puissant and most chivalrous of knights.

She hopes that her own daughter will love the tales as much as she did, so she recounts them while Greta lies in bed, wide dark eyes barely blinking as she soaks in every detail. She’s two now and obsessed with stories, any silly rambling thing Visenna remembers from childhood or improvises about the forest creatures near the village, but none have captivated her quite like this tale.

The next day, Visenna hears her daughter whacking at the swaying cattails at the bank of the river with a stick. “I defeat you!” comes the tremulous cry. “I Sir Geralt! I brave knight!”

It’s a small thing, and silly, yet Visenna goes cold.

ii. The Babe

When she realizes she’s with child, Visenna knows it will be a boy, feels it as sure as she feels the wind on her face, the blood pounding in her veins. She’s happy for a time. She knows the horrors women face, has seen, has felt firsthand the cruelties the world inflicts on beautiful little girls. Better a boy, then. Better a boy with a chance at a good life, a boy she can teach and train, a boy who won’t beat or violate or torment.

A mere month before the babe is due, the man returns, and finds her with child, and tells her what he’s done. He blames Destiny and the Law of Surprise and Tradition as Visenna learns a new type of cruelty men can inflict.

And so she hardens herself, tells herself that she will not become attached to what’s growing within her, this life promised to pay a life debt. “Don’t be absurd,” her friends tell her, through nervous glances. “You always assume the worst. It may well be a girl. The witcher won’t have need of a girl.”

But Visenna knows it, feels it with every spark of chaos within her and every pulse she sends out. The babe will be a boy, and she will have to give him up to the witchers, to be trained and transmuted into something other, something more and something less than the child she’ll birth.

And so Visenna grows cold.

When the midwife puts the squalling red girl with dark hair and wide dark eyes in Visenna’s arms, she sobs for days, sobs until she has no tears left and her eyes are raw and swollen. She won’t let the tiny thing out of her sight, barely lets others hold the babe, even in her utter exhaustion. Destiny may have promised her child to the witchers, but Destiny made the folly of giving her a daughter instead of the promised son.

iii. Greta

Greta will not wear her clothes.

At first, it’s almost a game. Visenna dresses her in a frock while the three-year-old protests then glares in turn when she’s overridden. She moves stiffly in the garment, pulling at the sleeves and tugging at the skirt, but she complies. But the minute she’s out of her mother’s sight, the dress comes off, and Visenna finds her naked, regardless of the weather. And the process repeats.

The struggle over clothing is only the beginning. Generally obedient, respectful, intelligent, Greta is nonetheless not an easy child, prone to inconsolable fits of panic and distress, prone to disappearing if not constantly monitored. It’s as though Visenna has birthed two different children. There’s the sullen, timid girl who hates wearing clothing, who barely speaks, who flinches at the sound of her own name, who stiffens in panic sometimes when she’s called, who cries at the slightest provocation, who goes missing only to be found after a frantic hour of searching lying on the floor in the narrow space between her bed and the wall, staring blankly, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. Then there’s the other child, the one who cuts dark curls short with the pruning shears from the shed, who runs fearlessly through the woods, slaying invisible monsters all around, yelling and laughing and breathless.

When a young couple with a son not much older than Greta moves into a nearby cottage, Visenna hopes that companionship will stabilize her daughter’s volatile, inexplicable moods. Instead, it leads to an immediate altercation: on the first day Greta and the boy Marek play together, the boy’s father shows up on Visenna’s doorstep, furious, with a wide, bleeding gash in his hand. He’d found them wearing each other’s clothes, he tells her. Greta had refused to surrender Marek’s clothes, and when he moved to force her out of them, she’d bitten his hand. “Like a rabid beast,” he spits out as Visenna runs past him to the small shack where Greta makes herself as small as possible, shaking all over.

Visenna shoves a few coins at the man with a glare. “Buy your son another outfit,” she snaps, and when she kneels down to Greta’s level the terrified child’s arms wrap immediately around her neck. She takes her child home in the roughspun tunic and trousers.

(Maybe she should punish the child for biting, but Visenna knows the ways men can be cruel, had seen the terror in her child’s huge brown eyes. Even if he meant no harm in trying to retrieve his son’s clothes, she can’t help being glad the child bit him rather than permit his touch.)

Visenna has never listened to Greta’s thoughts before, rarely listens to anyone’s on purpose, hates the uneasy sense of violation the act stirs up in her. But as she carries the silent, shaking child home, the thoughts ring so loudly she can’t keep them out.

Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl.

Then:

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

iv. The Child

The morning after the incident with the neighbor, Visenna lays two outfits side by side on the bed: the tunic and trousers nicked from the neighbor boy, or the dress most frequently tolerated, a plain shift of soft linen, comfortable and loose.

"Which would you rather wear today?" Visenna asks, making the beds as usual. She hears the sharp intake of breath, sees out of the corner of her eye the hesitation, and then the child grabs the boy's clothes and cradles them in trembling arms.

Visenna visits a tailor and trades in little frocks for breeches and shirts. She watches her child’s face light up when she presents them, watches the child run reverent fingers over each garment, little hands doing their best to neatly fold each piece.

She stops calling the child Greta; stops calling the child anything but child. The child doesn’t seem to mind this namelessness; on the contrary, the child thrives. The too-thin frame rounds out with healthy, nearly chubby development as the child begins to eat more than a few bites at each meal; weak, skinny arms and legs grow strong with constant running and playing in the woods near the house. Banished is the pale, terrified little girl; only the rambunctious, talkative, joyful child remains.

"When I'm a knight," the child tells her one day, coming in from the yard wearing a bucket as a helmet, "I'm going to ride a big horse."

"Oh, a big horse," Visenna echoes, ladling the soup into a wooden bowl and blowing gently to cool it. "What will you name the horse?"

The child considers this. "Does it have to have a name?"

"All creatures need a name."

The child doesn't speak for a long while. Then that piping, gentle voice rings out. "What if the horse hates its name? It won’t be able to tell me."

Visenna sets the bowl down on the table. She doesn't ask any of the questions pounding through her head as she looks at her nameless child, lost in thought. She doesn’t think about Destiny, how a witcher may well show up at her door at any moment looking for their payment, doesn’t think about taking the child there herself. "Helmet off," she says instead, running a hand through dark curls when the child obeys. "Come, eat your soup."

v. The Butcher

She first hears whispers of the Butcher of Blaviken when she’s traveling through Poviss, brought north by an outbreak of smallpox needing healers. She hears of the vile, deranged, white-haired witcher who slaughtered nearly an entire village unprovoked, even women and children. She thinks little of it. The child she left with the witchers over half a century ago had brown hair, and the years would not have turned it so quickly, not on a witcher.

If he’s even still alive.

She puts the thought away, carefully, as she has for decades.

She thinks of it a little more in Kovir. “You’re one of them!” shrieks a woman in the tavern, pointing at a bulky man sitting in the corner. “One of them witchers like that Butcher! I seen your wolf necklace!”

All eyes train onto this disfigured witcher who is not Visenna’s child. (Does her child bear scars like this? Do his shoulders stoop in such defeat?) He scrubs a square hand over his face, looking almost pained, before he shoves away from the table in silence and leaves.

School of the Wolf, then, just like the witcher she’d surrendered her child to with naught but a letter left at the inn where he was staying. Your Child Surprise will be at the crossroads by the river at midday. A few brief, stilted sentences explaining that the child was different from other boys but Destiny had chosen him nonetheless. A terse plea that the witcher treat the child with kindness, to protect him if he could. A postscript, written in a shakier hand than the rest of the letter. My son’s name is Geralt.

Vesemir. The child’s father had called him old, grey-haired even then. Is Vesemir this Butcher, the ruthless, barbarous old witcher who leaves a trail of fresh corpses in his wake? Had she entrusted the helpless child to a merciless brute all these years ago?

It’s not until the notice board outside of Tridam that she understands. It’s a fairly standard notice concerning some vague, nondescript monster that’s caused disappearances, pleading for help from any witcher, excepting the butcher Geralt. Show your face in Tridam and we’ll finish you off like they should have done in Blaviken.

Her child, the Butcher of Blaviken.

She doesn’t know what happened in Blaviken, can’t find a clear telling. Killed a woman, some say, killed an army, killed all but three people, killed everyone down to the dogs and cows and sheep in his rage. Tales grow in the telling, she knows, but she can’t dispute it. Perhaps he is evil incarnate, perhaps by sending him to the witchers she doomed the continent to bloodshed, perhaps he is the monster in these furious whispers.

But she can’t help remembering the tiny, terrified body, rocking in the corner of a shack, those wide eyes staring up at her in panic. “Like a rabid beast,” the man had said, but Visenna found only a petrified child shaking in the corner.

vi. The White Wolf

The young man swaggers towards Visenna. Between the bright turquoise doublet, the enormous feather swooping dramatically through the air on his jauntily tilted hat, and the self-assurance of his stride, he looks like a veritable peacock.

It’s her own fault. She knows she’d been staring, but the sound of that name on his lips…

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” His smile is bright and surprisingly genuine, reaching all the way up to his eager blue eyes. He’s younger up close than she’d imagined from across the tavern, barely more than a boy. “Though not half so lovely as you, I daresay. Might I interest you in a drink?”

She nods, silent. Watches him charm a passing barmaid who blushes and quickly returns with the desired ale. He slips into the chair across from Visenna, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his long fingers together beneath his chin, fixing her with a wide-eyed, adoring smile.

Before he can speak, she asks, “Your song. About the witcher.” She pauses, unsure what she means to ask. “Did you write it?”

Somehow the boy looks even more delighted. “Indeed I did! By the gods, it’s wonderful to chat with a fan. It’s one of my most recent compositions. How did you like it?”

“Hmm.” The boy’s song had been so jarringly different from any reference to the child she bore than she’s ever heard. In the bard’s honeyed voice, he sounded almost heroic. She hesitates. “Do you know him?”

“Only a little,” he admits, but there’s a slight flush on his childish face that he attempts to cover with bravado. “The song is the true telling of our grand adventure. I accompanied the White Wolf on his quest to defeat the Devil of Posada, the most terrifying monster to ever...well, terrorize the good people of the Valley of the Flowers.”

“And he’s...he’s not what people say?” Those huge brown eyes staring up at her, tiny body trembling. “Not a butcher?”

“Oh my good lady, not at all!” The bard’s expression of dismay is guileless, earnest. “He saved me, put himself between me and harm’s way when we were captured by the elves, offered his own life for mine.”

A life debt. Just as the child’s father had promised the Law of Surprise to the old witcher, the vow that had set the course of Geralt’s life before he was even born. And now this strange boy owes Geralt a life debt of his own.

“So that’s why,” she confirms cautiously. “Why you write songs for him. Make him the hero when men would be more than happy to remember him as a monster.”

The boy hesitates, his charismatic blustering slipping as he bites at his bottom lip. He reaches distractedly into his pocket, finding some trinket he rolls about in his palm to occupy his busy, nervous hand before he slowly answers. “Even if he hadn’t saved my life I would have written about him. Well, not if I hadn’t survived that particular encounter, of course. But if I’d gotten away myself, or if I hadn’t followed him into the wild in the first place, I would still have written about him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I…I don’t think he’s known very much kindness.” The bard doesn’t look at her, quite, as he speaks, slower and softer than before. “You ought to see the way he responds to a simple compliment, you’d think his head might explode, he twitches and looks bewildered and grunts angrily. It’d be amusing if it weren’t so very sad.” He’s quiet for a moment, tracing the wood grain in the table with his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. “But he’s kind, even if the world isn’t. He gave his reward for the contract to the…well, to someone who needed it more. And before that, he…” He glances down at the dull gold coin between his fingers, rubbing absently at worn, beveled edges, his face flushing prettily. “He liked my singing.”

She watches the bard, lost in thought and fiddling with a lone coin, for a long while.

vii. Geralt

A slip of a thing running through the woods. Frightened. Alone.

A fight. Gruesome, brutal, fast.

The stench of decay.

“And me? What did I do? I bandaged a wounded man who’d fainted away and put him on my cart and didn’t leave him to expire. It’s an ordinary matter.”

“It’s not so ordinary. I’ve been left...in similar situations...like a dog.”

Blood. Not running, red and healthy and clean; slow. Thick. Dark. Foul.

Infection.

Youths dancing in lusty delight on a warm spring night. A woman with raven curls, naked and wistful in his arms, the warmth of a bonfire lighting her face a beautiful gold. Children screaming, playing in a dried moat. A queen, formidable and sneering, full of contempt.

Hideous wounds, threatening the leg. Amputation may be necessary, without immediate intervention.

Resin in the air.

Ashen hair matted over the clumped, drying cake of blood deforming half of a pale face.

Black potion with a green seal. And then darkness.

Visenna awakes with a start.

The druids’ campsite is still, the last embers of the fire the only light in the darkness of the forest. She pulls the woolen cloak around her thin shoulders, grabs her medical bag, and goes to find the witcher that was once her child.

She finds him a pale and bloody mess on the back of a cart, eyes open and unseeing. He’s racked with feverish chills as his body desperately attempts to fight the infection poisoning him.

She helps the merchant move Geralt carefully onto blankets on the ground. She tends to him, as she’s tended to thousands of others. She cleans his wounds, scraping destroyed, decaying flesh away from healthy tissue, pulling the gentle pulses of chaos from the earth to purify his blood, draining infection and necrosis and narcotic alike from him.

She’d cleaned blood and dirt and debris from scraped knees, once, the too-fast beating of a little, huge heart pounding so loudly she could feel it. The wounds of childhood.

His pulse is slow, the drumbeat of a dirge.

She’s warm all over, suddenly, then cold. Her vision swims before her eyes.

A little more. The pulsing wanes, wavers as she begins to join him in the dark void beyond consciousness.

No.

She breathes, her eyes closed, then returns to her work.

She feels him stirring before he makes a movement, senses him swimming to the surface, coming to. He’s quiet, still, blank. When his eyes open, he’s staring at the treetops above them. His face is impassive. Lifeless.

The way she would find him, sometimes, after he went missing as a child. Staring at nothing. Trying not to be.

She can hear it in his voice. He knows.

His leg will heal, now. She’s done all she can.

She moves on to the bedsores, massaging ointment carefully into the open wounds. His body is stiff and unyielding beneath her touch.

She gives him what she can. “It’s my profession,” she says. Her voice is steady, cool. It’s no excuse, no answer, but it’s what she has. “The only thing I’ve ever been good at.” This much at least is true. This much she can give him.

She’s always known she would meet him again. She never sought him out, never avoided him. “People linked by destiny will always find each other.” She hears it, as though it’s someone else’s voice.

“I want you to look at me.” It’s a snarl. Not a sound she’s heard from those lips before. “How do you like my eyes? Do you know, Visenna, what they do to a witcher to improve his eyes?”

She knows enough. She meets his gaze.

Those eyes, the greatest marker of his difference, his inhumanity. They’re golden, now, instead of brown. His pupils are wide, round, black, pained. They aren’t so different. So monstrous.

Just the eyes of a terrified child lashing out in desperation.

“Do you know it doesn’t always work?” he demands.

“Stop it, Geralt.”

And something breaks.

“You don’t get to use that name!” There’s a frantic rage dripping off every syllable, hatred and agony, like a festering wound ripped open and left to bleed. He glares at her with a wild fury. “Vesemir gave me that name.”

And he’s a child, he’s three years old and screaming like he’s being tortured when she calls his given name. He’s five and distraught over the thought of a horse who hates its name and can’t tell anyone. He’s four and he’s a trembling mess with blood beneath his fingernails, shaking and unable to stop ripping at his own flesh.

“You trusted Destiny rather than trying to find me yourself,” he begs.

A child with nothing in the world running through the forest and into the arms of a witcher.

There’s a tear running down her face. It’s the only thing she can feel. “Don’t ask me any more questions,” Visenna says softly.

“Why?”

She’d known since before he was born that she wasn’t to keep him. That Destiny had other plans.

When she thought she had a daughter, there was hope.

“The answers will only hurt us both.” Carefully, Visenna presses him back into the makeshift sickbed.

“Yen was right.” His voice is low, barely audible, a broken murmur. “It’s not enough to be destined for each other.”

A child runs through the woods and finds a witcher waiting.

Brown curls become ashen locks. Eyes swirling brown and gold and green.

“Something more is needed.” He’s not speaking to her anymore. He’s staring up, at the treetops and through them to the stars above, his eyes losing and regaining focus. “I...I want…”

“No.” Her voice is soft, and she sees him relax into the smooth cadence in spite of himself. “Go to sleep, Geralt.” She hesitates as his eyes grow heavy, begin to drift shut, and she can’t help leaning toward him to gently whisper, “And just between us, Vesemir didn’t give you that name.” She lets herself reach out, carefully brushing white hair off his sweating brow. “It doesn’t change anything, but I’d like you to know that.”

“Visenna…”

“Sleep. I was just a dream.” She hesitates, watching silently as he fights the exhaustion, like a child fighting to stay awake past his bedtime, begging for one more story. “Sleep, Sir Geralt.”

He does.

viii. Sir Geralt

She does not see him again.

She travels to Sodden and heals the injured, soldier and mage alike.

She hears tales, as she has for years.

Geralt’s kidnapped a young Cintran princess for unspeakable, nefarious purposes.

Geralt died on Thanedd, caught up by chance in the mages’ bloody revolt.

Geralt led the forces of Lyria and Rivia against Nilfgaard, earning himself a knighthood and a position in Queen Meve’s army.

(She doesn’t believe any of them, doesn’t let herself care either way, but she hopes the latter is true. Hopes he lives out the rest of his days a brave knight, as he always dreamed of becoming.)

Visenna works. Cleans and stitches and bandages wounds, wanders from battleground to battleground. There’s no shortage of work for a healer.

So many tales of Geralt the witcher, Geralt the traitor, Geralt the butcher, the knight, the outlaw, the hero, the father. Of his victories and defeats, his loves and enemies, his transcendence, his demise.

Visenna listens to them all. Collects the stories, the lies, the praises, the calumnies. She draws them carefully within her. Carries them with her as she continues on the path.

For all the rumors and speculation and ballads, of all things, for all the different Geralts, there’s one that’s hers and hers alone. A skinny, adventurous child with brown curls and a bucket-helmet falling into his eyes who swings a gnarled oak stick as a sword. He’s ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the weak against the unrelenting onslaught of monsters only he can see.