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wardenparker · 10 months

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Vampire Waltz - ch 9

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 10.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Family drama (past), revelations, family estrangement, the truth will always come out. Summary: The revelation of your grandfather's identity is not the only secret that will unfurl itself into your life. Notes: This week has just been another shitshow of utter chaos, but it is LOVELY chaos, so I hope you enjoy the chapter my darlings! As always, sorry for any errors I miss. I’m just an exhausted little nerd doing my best 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8

"How are you here?" And, more over, how are you real? But one thing at a time. The fuzzy edges of the memory that washed up on the shores of your dreams are still nudging at your waking mind.

He sighs sadly, his eyes shuttering slightly as he reflects on what has brought him back to you. “It was only because of your abuela’s sacrifice, muñequita. It was the only way to lift the spell. She loved you more than anything else on this earth.”

"I don't understand." Whether it's the fog of waking up so suddenly or the confusion of memories and dreams and daydreams all slamming together in your mind, you can't quite tell.

“I am your grandfather.” He tells you with a charming grin. “Some call me ‘The Thief’, since it has been years since anyone but the people in this house have known my name. But you always called me ‘Yayo’.” He bows slightly as he tells you his real name.

“Holy shit.” Max hisses, his eyes wide as he stares at his sire. The pieces are clicking into place, but even he is shocked at how close you really are to the man who had created him, who had saved him when he had been destroyed. How was it possible? A vampire cannot have children, at least that’s what he’s been told.

"But...I made you up." That's the rational half of your brain. The part of you that knows dreams aren't real, that fantasies can't come true through manifestation alone, and that love is a feeling rather than a universal force. But the other half of you? The witch who was born of witches who once conjured fire with nothing more than a thought and bare hands? That part of you knows he's telling the truth. "Didn't I?"

Again, another sigh. A habit he had picked up from his late soulmate. The human-ifcation as she liked to call it. “No. When your mother took you away, banned us from seeing you, the only way I could visit was through your dreams. Apparently the spell she cast had also made you forget about myself and your grandmother.”

Max is tense beside you and you cover his hand with one of yours, squeezing it as if it might reassure him that everything is okay. You can feel that intrinsically even if the logic for how you know that escapes you. "I think..." Like a rapid-fire collage on the inside of your mind, flashing of visits with your grandparents burn to life as very real memories instead of gauzy wisps of dreams. "I—um—" Looking between the two men, realizing that you're in bed and in your pajamas, you look back to Yayo with wide eyes. "You're not a witch, are you?" You ask, needing confirmation more than you actually need to be told. The memories are there in your mind, but they aren't clear.

Chuckling quietly, he shakes his head. “No witch.” He promises, letting his razor-sharp fangs descend from his gums to show off his true nature. “A vampire who was soulmates with a witch, just as my protégé.” His eyes shift to Max. “Now you understand why you were brought back.”

The next puzzle piece clicks into place in your mind and you gasp, looking over to Max with wide eyes. "Are you— I mean— did he?—" You sputter inelegantly, running out of breath all at once as you try to stutter out a coherent question. " Your sire is my...grandfather?"

“I didn’t know.” Max shakes his head in awe, apparently nearly speechless considering he knows that this vampire is older than any other that he knows.

"There is much to say." Yayo's eyes move between you on the bed, coming back to you after a few seconds and holding your gaze. Not in an entrancing way, but with the soft eyes of a doting grandfather. "We can talk anywhere you like, muñequita. But when you were a little girl you were very grouchy before breakfast."

"I should at least get dressed, I guess." For the second morning in a row, you are starting out disoriented and with an unexpected visitor. But this time you're not afraid. Curious? Oh yes. But there is none of that deep, intrinsic fear that there was yesterday.

“Then I shall meet you in the dining room.” Yayo bows and turns to disappear through the door like a ghost, completely silent as he moves.

It's icy cold around you when he sweeps out of the room without a sound, and you turn to Max in wide-eyed confusion. "Um..." you huff, shaking your head. You want to ask how he had possibly gotten in the house, but that seems like a moot point by now. "Good morning?"

“It seems like there is a lot going on.” He snorts slightly, reaching out to you to stroke your arms lightly. “How are you feeling?”

"Weird." The sense of safety that you have with Max is absolute, and you nearly collapse into his side to beg silently for more of his comforting touch. "I dreamt about him again last night. And it was a dream. But it felt so real..."

“I don’t think it was a dream, Queenie.” Max murmurs softly. “I think your grandfather made you relive a memory. He was here, all night.”

"He was here?" When your head pops up again you want to harrumph about having two vampires sit around watching you sleep, but as soon as you think it you think again about how safe that is. And how no one else in the world would probably feel as safe around creatures who drink blood to survive as you do. "Max?" Your head tilts slightly and you find his eyes. "Have you ever known your sire to lie?"

“Never lie.” Max tells you. “Sometimes he doesn’t tell you everything. He’s…enigmatic, but not a liar.”

"I remember my parents fighting," you tell him quietly, pressing a kiss to the tip of Max's shoulder before you push back the blankets to crawl out of bed and find some clean clothes. You're doubly glad that you took a bath last night. It had helped you relax and be sleepy for bed, but now it takes away the need to wash this morning. "That's what I dreamt about. My parents fighting with my grandparents." Right before you disappear around the corner into your dressing room, you turn to look at him with sadness in your eyes. "About me."

“Families sometimes don’t agree.” Max can understand that you are hurt by that. Zipping over to you to wrap his arms around you. “But you can find out why now. And….” He bites his lip. “You have family still.”

"One person." Though you nod against his chest, knowing that he's right as you hug him back. "It was too much to let me know both of them, I guess."

“He said something about a sacrifice.” Max doesn’t want to cloud your opinion before you talk to his sire. “I know that it was Cookie’s choice to stop taking his blood. He did not agree, but he could not stop her.”

"Allison said Cookie...abuela was trying to break some kind of spell. They were working together trying to combine their magic to make it happen but they couldn't." Realizing that you were technically brought here under false pretenses is odd, but you can't find it in yourself to be upset about it. Apparently, this situation is far more complicated than you knew.

“Then we should hear the unfiltered story from his mouth.” Max encourages, giving you a small smile as he reels from the developments of the morning.

"I guess that is what breakfast will be for." Looking at your closet, you look back to Max with determination. "You said your sire was a big deal in the vampire world, right? I should...try to dress up? Dress respectfully?"

“Dress in whatever makes you feel good.” He arches a brow. “This is your grandfather, important vampire or not. Your imaginary friend isn’t so imaginary anymore.”

"What's your favourite color?" It seems like a silly question, but in the face of so much chaos you're looking for an anchor. Something solid to hold onto in the storm. And if that thing is as simple as wearing your soulmate's favorite color, then that's what you're going to do.

Max smirks slightly as he leans against the door frame. “Blood red.” He teases for a second before he shakes his head. “No— actually, yellow is my favorite color.”

"Okay." Yellow...you have a few yellow things somewhere...you can definitely find something, at least. For now you reach up to hug Max as tightly as you can and exhale an unsteady breath. "I'm just going to get dressed and then I'll meet you downstairs?

“Of course, sweetheart.” Max understands that you might need a few moments to yourself. He nods and then disappears out of the doorway to dress himself and go down to the dining room.

The photograph of you and your mother that stares back from your vanity mirror is a tantalizing route back to those memories that still escape you. You find yourself staring at it for longer than you should, tracing the curve of your mother's face and seeing the way that Yayo's curls somehow had ended up on her head. How had you never noticed? Or were those curls just something you found so comforting that it simply hadn't occurred to you not to give them to your imaginary friend? But he isn't imaginary at all. He's so very real. And he is your family.

Sighing, you dig into your dresser until you come out with an amber colored cable knit sweater and a pair of dark brown corduroy pants. The comfortable ones that Derek hated because he said they weren't putting your best foot forward. Fuck that. You've always loved these pants. If comfort is a way to take back power, you are absolutely here for it.

Max is dressed in a flash, downstairs and waiting for you. His eyes fixed on the stairs as he tries not to ask his sire any questions that you might wish to know the answer to while he waits.

As quickly as you can, you head downstairs, only to find both men standing at the bottom of the grand staircase instead of sitting in the dining room as you expected them. "Waiting for me?" You ask, knowing the answer but feeling unduly self-conscious about it all of a sudden.

"I would wait to eternity for you muñequita." He promises, soft affection glowing as he steps forward and offers you his arm. While he understands the modern customs and traditions, he still prefers his way of being. Set in his ways about some things, and the opportunity to touch you is still a delightful experience. "Your breakfast is nearly ready, and I believe the tea service is already on the table."

“Mrs. Taylor is wonderful.” And you’ll never downplay that, especially not now that you realize your housekeeper has been his housekeeper for a very long time. Taking his arm instead of Max’s feels strange only in that you aren’t used to Yayo being solid. In all the thoughts you have of him, he is a figment of your imagination and not much more. Realizing that there is more at stake here is a lot to process.

“She is.” He won’t deny that in the least. “She took care of your mother when she was a child as well.” Since she had been with them for so long, Mrs. Taylor had known the entire history of the family.

“Mom…grew up here?” It’s only a few steps into the dining room, and Yayo pulls out your chair for you before sitting down on your right. Max takes the seat on your left and you note quietly that there are only three places set. Allison and Eddie must have gone back to Allison’s house last night after their date.

Settling beside you, his eyes are focused on you. “This house was built in 1852.” He explains. “When I found out that your grandmother was pregnant with your mother. She gave birth to her in this house.”

“What?” The math doesn’t add up. Not at all. The woman you remember — the woman you have photos of — was maybe in her mid-30s at the oldest. “Mom was…over a hundred and fifty years old?”

“Yes.” He knows it’s nearly impossible to imagine, but it’s true. “Your mother was half vampire, half witch and like me, nearly did not age.”

“Will you…” you sigh softly, and pour yourself a cup of tea with shaky hands. “Will you start at the beginning, Yayo? Please?”

Again, there is a carafe of blood, and he pours himself and Max a cup before he pick up the elegant tea cup and smiles slightly, remembering how he had bought this set for his Cookie. “When I was a young man, I was a thief.” He tells you, wanting you to understand the background of your family line. “The best. I was never caught save for one time.” He flashes a grin. “When I stole from the Devil.”

The Devil. For the moment — and for as unbelievable as the rest of the story seems to already be — you suspend your disbelief and nod. “How long ago was this?” You ask, trying politely to get a handle on exactly how old Yayo is.

"201 B.C." He answers with a small smirk. "I am quite a bit older than most would guess." Even Max's eyes widen dramatically, unaware that his sire was such an ancient vampire. "As punishment for my sin, the Devil decided to make an example of me." He takes a sip of his blood and pauses dramatically. "I was the first of our kind. The undead. The first vampire to walk the earth."

When you glance at Max it’s very clear that your soulmate fully believes the story that is being told, and you would never take Max for easily misled. More over, he knows a hell of a lot more about vampires than you do. So you sip your tea in contemplative silence for a long moment before sitting back in your chair again. “And you met Ms. Brown—Cookie—that is…abuela…in the 18th century?” The timeline here is mind boggling, but you’re trying your best here. To understand it all. To believe it.

“Part of my punishment was that I would walk without my soulmate for over a thousand years.” He snorts elegantly. “Apparently a few hundred extra years is no matter to the Devil.”

“And abuela was born a witch?” The genetic differences between witches and humans had dwindled over time to become very subtle. The powers they manifested were less powerful, too, and you regret now that you never listened more deeply to your father when he tried to tell you about your ancestors. Your mother’s intense desire to live a human life had overruled that sort of talk as you got older.

“Yes.” The proud gleam to the ancient vampire’s eyes reappears and he caresses the edge of the teacup. “Cookie was formidable. A powerful witch. When we met, she had come to the colonies because her own coven had cast her out. Scared of the power she possessed.”

“She was remarkable.” Mrs. Taylor appears in the doorway from the pantry with a plate of fixed breakfast for you, as the only warm blooded person at the table, and a bowl each of fruit and raw nuts for the vampires to pick at with their blood. “Good morning, sir. I am glad to see you have decided to leave the tower.”

“So that’s where you’ve been camped out.” Max snorts, smirking at his sire. “Dramatic as always.”

“Is that why Renee looked like she’d seen a ghost when I asked her about the locked room?” You thank Mrs. Taylor softly, as always, and inhale the beautiful scent of the last pieces of quiche from yesterday — one of your favourite leftovers that you had begged her to save — alongside a fresh salad, a few slices of bacon, and a warm croissant. She has outdone herself, as always.

Your grandfather clicks his tongue at Max, slightly annoyed at making it sound dramatic, even though it is. "I had a room next to Cookie's spell room. It was so that I would not bother her, but I could rest easier closer to her." He frowns slightly, still getting used to talking about his beloved in the past tense.

“Max is going to help me turn the teahouse into a little spell cottage.” The urge to be excited and proud for something you’re sharing with your soulmate is overwhelming, simply because after yesterday morning — and so many years before — there was not much to be excited about. And certainly no family to share anything with.

He smiles, a flash of fang and white teeth. No longer hiding them now that he's not just in your subconscious. "That is wonderful, muñequita." He agrees. "Every witch would have her own space. Your mother preferred her room, no other would do, when she would work on her magic."

“Her room was the one with the silver wallpaper, wasn’t it?” Somehow there is no doubt of that in your mind. The powerful feeling of belonging and comfort you had gotten from it when you first walked through the house now makes perfect sense, and you’re glad that you didn’t choose it for yourself. From now on you can go and sit in your mother’s room when you miss her, and that almost brings happy tears to your eyes. Because gods above, you have missed her so much.

"It was." He smiles as he realizes you must have felt a connection to the room. A presence. Since his daughter had passed, he had hoped that the feeling of her spirit - her early spirit - would remain. It and you were all he had left of his beloved child. "The portait hanging above the bed is your mother, nieta. She was twenty when it was painted."

“Abuela kept it close.” It isn’t even a question. You understand completely that that is how it ended up in the bedroom that once belonged to your grandmother and is now yours. “Was it for when she came out? Or…did Mom ever have anyone? Before Dad, I mean?” It’s a delicate topic but an important one, and something pulling at the back of your mind pushes you to ask it now instead of waiting.

“Your mother had a soulmate that she was with.” The memory makes him frown, his brow furrowing slightly.

“She did?” That is startling news, considering she always told you that she didn’t have one. But apparently there are a great many things your mother didn’t tell you.

"It is probably my greatest regret." There is a dramatic sigh for show from the vampire and he sets his tea cup down. "I, like any parent, made mistakes, muñequita." He admits. "Like Cookie and I, we believed that your mother was destined to be mated with a vampire. By the time she had come - which was a miracle - there was a large coven of witches and vampires. Despite my best efforts, there had been tensions between the two groups." He bites his lip. "Our nature, our bloodlust, craves the blood of a witch more than anything else." He reveals. "It's nearly ambrosia to a vampire and because of that, there had been some hard feelings among the covens because of our...less than responsible vampires."

"You believed she was meant to be mated with a vampire even though there were objections to vampire and witches interacting?" It isn't a judgement call, you're just trying to understand. Apparently your little suburban family with typical holiday dinners (and atypical holidays) was far less typical than you thought. "And Mom...didn't want that?"

"Vampire and witches are stronger together." He tells you quietly. "Especially for us. My line. We were the only ones capable of having children. Of creating a lineage." He sighs again. "She was in love with him. Emanuel was a smart, talented young man. Her mother and I were proud when we discovered they had matching marks."

"So what happened, then? Did something happen to him?" It must have, otherwise your father would have been a very different man. And Yayo wouldn't look so terribly sad.

“I made the mistake of changing him.” He murmurs quietly. “I didn’t do it without his permission. He wanted to become a vampire.” It’s almost as if he was imploring you to believe him.

"But you didn't talk to Mom first?" Though it is only a guess, it is a solid one, and you put your fork down for a moment. "It was a long time ago, Yayo. A very long time ago. I'm not judging you. I just want to understand what happened to my family."

“No, I did not talk to your mother.” He had hoped it would be seen as a gesture on Emanuel’s part. His acceptance of the family he had joined. “Unfortunately, your mother’s blood called to him. He tried to drink from her and she—” he winces. “She destroyed her soulmate.”

“Gods.” If you had been holding anything you would have dropped it instantly. Your mother killed her soulmate over bloodlust. That makes you stammer for a moment before all you can do is reach for Max’s hand and try not to shudder at the idea. You know Max would never hurt you. He’s proved that. He’s your port in the storm. “I’m so sorry, Yayo.”

"She blamed me. As she should have." He watches as you reach for Max and it soothes him in a way that he would never be able to explain. Your soulmate is a vampire and yet you are still drawn to him, comforted by him. "I had not yet learned how to bring one of my protégé back, so he was lost to us."

“Thank you for learning.” Your hand tightens around Max’s subtly, fingers flexing and keeping his grip. “For…making sure Max was here for me when I needed him.”

"Of course, muñequita." He nods his head seriously. "You should have met him years before and I cannot fix the past, but I could make sure you would meet him."

“And you have no idea how much that means to me.” He has no idea of what you’ve been through. What has gone on in your life between childhood and now. But at least you can say to his face that you’re grateful.

“I spent many years trying to find the way to fix my mistakes.” He murmurs quietly. “I am afforded the luxury of time, so I decided to put it to good use.”

“They did raise me a witch.” It’s the most reassurance you can give him, since your parents did not give you even a hint of the reality of vampires in the world. They had taught you magic, yes, but you had never had a real talent for spell work. “I’m sorry to ask you all of these things all at once. I just…I guess I don’t understand why we haven’t been in contact since the accident?” Allison had told you something about helping Cookie break a powerful spell, and that that was why she chose to stop drinking Yayo’s blood. But you still don’t quite understand.

“Your mother, while she wished to be human,” he sighs again. “Was a powerful witch. Some of her own talents far surpassing even her mother’s.” He picks up a few of the nuts and rolls them around in his hand. “There is a spell, a protective barrier, that would keep anyone away until the blood price has been paid.” He stares at you solemnly. “Death.”

“She really didn’t want me involved in all of this…” Something which is both stunning and rather appalling to you, considering coming to Newport might truly have saved your life. Who knows what might have happened to you if you had had to live in your car in Tennessee. Knowing that your sweet, steadfast mother was angry enough with her parents to separate you for life is daunting.

“Your mother…” he doesn’t wish to speak ill of the dead, and especially of the daughter that he had loved for centuries and will continue to love until he is destroyed. “Was very much human in the fact that she was not infallible, none of us are.” He doesn’t wish for you to hold a grudge against her, even as he tries to explain things. “I pushed too hard and tried to see you again after that last memory I showed you. That was when she cast the spell.”

“A spell that kept you and abuela away…and made me think that I made you up?” That is a remarkably impressive spell, you will admit it freely. Your mother’s abilities must have been far greater than you could ever have dreamed.

“Yes.” He bites his lip. “It was one that took us a long time to even figure out what she had used and even longer to discover the key to breaking it.” He reaches out and touches your hand. “Your abuela left you a letter, in case these truths ever came to light.”

“I would like to read it. If it’s not too much trouble.” A few of Cookie’s own words might be wonderful, if you’re honest. Though you do already feel the fullness in your mind off memories beginning to resettle now that you realize they are memories and not only your imagination. “It…doesn’t have to do this moment. It will take some time to process all of this.”

“Whenever you feel like it.” He promises, smiling indulgently at you. “I will have them placed in your room for when you are ready.”

“I’m…” There isn’t technically any reason to feel this way, but you still squeeze his cold hand gently. “I’m sorry we were apart so long.”

“Muñequita, do not feel guilty.” He chides softly, aware of that expression on your face. “It is I who am the guilty one. You have suffered for so long because I could not find you. I could not reach you.”

“It isn’t your fault that I was in a bad situation. Or Max’s either.” Acutely aware that Max views himself as responsible for that entire situation because he had been expelled that night, you won’t hear of it for even a second. “It seems like this is a new beginning for all of us.” New, aside from the specter of your ex-boyfriend that now hangs over Newport.

“Though I hear you had a visitor yesterday.” Your grandfather’s youthfully middle aged face drops unhappily and his eyes darken fiercely.

“I—” Mistaking his displeasure for anger directed at you, your eyes stop to the table instantly. “He was not invited,” you defend immediately, not wanting anyone to get in trouble on your account.

He pauses when he realizes that you think he is upset at you. “Yes, this…Derek will be dealt with.” He promises you. “Although I do not understand why you will not let your soulmate kill him.”

“Because I don’t believe that murder is ever the answer. Regardless of the question.” Suffering, pain, death — none of it. You’ve lived several lifetimes of all that hurt and you would be happy to never have another second of it near you.

“Kind and empathetic.” He hums, not displeased with the idea at all. “I will promise you this—” he taps your hand gently. “If he harms you again, nothing on this earth or in hell will protect him from me.” It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. A pact to repay every hurt he has ever bestowed upon you tenfold.

“I will say if I am hurt or not.” That is the bargain you will make. To make your grandfather feel as though the door is open, though you need intend to go through it.

His eyes narrow for a moment in contemplation and he nods. “Agreeable.” He decides.

******

For the rest of your meal, he answers your questions, never shying away from the answers and it surprises Max. His sire has always been elusive at times, and yet, he is very succinct with you. Perhaps it is because of the want to keep you close.

After he leaves you, your grandfather goes back to the tower. The locked room beyond Cookie’s potion room now opened. The mahogany box retrieved from a shelf and his fingers brush over the inlaid gold. The letters are inside. Lovingly preserved for you. His soulmate had taken to writing you at least once a week since deciding that she would sacrifice herself to break what she viewed as a curse. Her thoughts, hopes, memories all immortalized in ink, her familiar script beautiful as he opens the box and lifts a letter to his nose, inhaling the scent of her perfume. “You would have loved her, Cookie.” He murmurs sadly. “She’s stronger than all of us.”

******

The cadence of his footsteps is unfamiliar, and nearly nonexistent, but you know it’s him coming into the library a few minutes after breakfast has ended without ever having to look up. Mrs. Taylor has left menus for you to approve and Max is outside at the teahouse with Mr. Taylor — and Renee is altogether too bright and sunshiny for such a quiet entrance. But when Yayo appears holding a beautifully and intricately carved box in his hands, the arrival is near-silent and solemn.

“I had considered leaving these in your rooms.” He admits quietly, his voice low and soothing like it always is. “But then, I did not know if you would want that.”

“Would you…” you push the tray of menus aside, knowing that Mrs. Taylor won’t object to getting them later today. Not when these letters are so important. “Want to sit with me? While I read some?”

“I would be delighted.” Silently and much faster than Max, he moves over to you with the box.

The letter box is lacquered mahogany, trimmed in gilded dragons done after the Chinese style in what you now know intimately as chinoiserie — a Gilded Age specialty. It’s yet one more thing in this house that someone else would sell for a fortune at auction and instead you cling to it desperately as a connection to your family’s past. The key that he has left resting on top fits neatly into the lock and you open the box with a small smile as you bite your lip in concentration. The box is very old, after all, and delicate. What’s inside, though? Dozens of letters. Some thick and some thin. All stamped with blood red wax and addressed to you. “There’s…so many of them…”

“My late soulmate was a woman who loved to write letters.” He admits, his smile wistful. “There is a trunk of letters she had written to your mother while we were…estranged.” He reveals. “At one point after learning of her death, she had thought to burn them all, but could not.”

“The accident wasn’t easy for anyone,” you admit, glad to see him pull up a chair beside the large library desk with you instead of pacing anxiously or giving you distance. There has been so much distance for so long — all you want now is to keep him close. “I almost withdrew my place in college and just stayed closed up in the house. But I knew they wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“No, they wouldn’t have.” As much as he regrets not being there for you, he admires your courage. You might not think so, but you have been extremely strong-willed through the last ten years.

“And these are…all for me?” It seems incredible to you, that anyone would have spent so much time and effort just thinking of you, but the reality of things has been so different than what you thought they were for your entire life that it bears a sort of…reinspection.

“Yes.” He smiles at the box. “She would sit at her writing desk and talk to me about you. Wondering what you were like, how you were doing.”

“What was your favorite thing to imagine?” There is no way they could have guessed the truth, and that is your comfort. That you hope they never feared for you.

“You used to love to dance.” Your grandfather hums. “We spent hours dancing in your living room when you were small. We used to imagine you dancing. Laughing as you were guided along the dance floor.”

“I stopped for a long time.” You admit, not ashamed of the fact although you’re ashamed of the reason. It’s just what happened. It was your life for many years. “But I’ve started again…because of Max.”

“That’s brilliant.” His eyes sparkle in delight and his lips quirk up in a pleased smile. “You were so happy to learn when you were just a baby.”

“I loved ballet.” The slipper blanket still in your room is proof enough of that, and you smile. “But I do love ballroom more. And Max did danced competitively in college. It’s…honestly so nice to be able to share that with him.”

“It was my rule for the school that all students must take an elective that was creative.” He tells you with a dramatic flip of his hand. “I think it appealed to him because I was teaching the class and your soulmate is a bit of a suck up.”

“So you teach, then?” Ignoring the comment about Max — because you used to be a little bit of a suck up in dance class, too — you leave the letter chest closed and focus on Yayo. “In Romania?”

“That is how I discovered your soulmate, Muñequita.” He hums. “When I saw the birthmark, a mark I would know anywhere, I knew. I knew I had to take him under my wing.”

“I’m so grateful that you did.” If not for Yayo, who knows who Max’s sire would have been? Who knows how you ever would have found him again?

“I made mistakes with him as well.” He can admit that, flashing a fangy smile. “I let him get too arrogant. But he has learned his lesson.”

“According to him, he was already arrogant,” you tell your grandfather. “But he says that his attitude has changed enormously since you brought him back.”

“It has.” He agrees with Max’s assessment of himself completely. “This house, his stay here has been good for him.”

“This house has been good for me, too.” Yesterday morning notwithstanding, of course.

“Of course it has.” To imagine anything else would be unbelievable. “Despite your mother’s ill feelings, I had this house built to be a refuge, a haven, if you will.”

“Mom didn’t like having her hand forced. I didn’t understand it then, but I do as I get older.” It makes you shrug, though, not wanting to start an argument with your grandfather. “But this house has certainly been a haven for me. So thank you.”

“If I could have done things differently, I would have.” He admits quietly. “I would have bitten my tongue and realized my daughter’s dreams for life weren’t mine for her.”

“Regretting and wishing can’t bring them back,” you murmur, voice finding the same tenor as his. “If it could, we would have had my parents back immediately.”

“You are right.” He reaches out and pats your hand. “You are as wise as you are beautiful.”

“I have had a lot of time to think it over. Not as much as you, of course, but…” A slight shrug of your shoulders comes as your hand runs over the box in front of you again. “There is so much I would say to my mother if I could see her again.”

His smile turned mysterious and he hums. “Think of what you would say to her, Muñequita. Never forget it.”

“I wish she could meet Max.” The thought had already occurred to you more than once, and as much as it hurts you also have to believe that she’s watching over you with your father beside her. “I think they would enjoy teasing each other.”

“She had a robust sense of humor.” He chuckles. “Perhaps one day you will know what she thinks.”

“It would be too wonderful for words, I think.” Dwelling on it for too long threatens to drown you in a wave of sadness, and your expression flickers — faltering slightly. “But I can dream.”

Sensing that you might want some space, he pats your hand again and stands. “I think I will go have Mrs. Taylor bring you up a pot of tea while you go through your abuela’s letters.” He decides.

“Thank you, Yayo.” Your hand catches his, squeezing his fingers tight for a moment before letting it go again. “For everything.”

“It is my pleasure and my duty.” He nods and bows slightly before disappearing from sight.

The box in front of you is full to bursting, and when you open the lid it is clear that some letters consist of a single page while some are self-contained novelas. They seem to be stacked in order of writing, but not with any semblance of order in the time between each letter. Selecting the first — a single sheet neatly folded, waxed, and dated — you carefully slip the seal and open the paper.

My Darling Girl— It has been a month and a week since we visited you last, making today your ninth birthday. I hope it is joyful, sweetheart, and that you know how very dearly your grandfather and I love you. When we see you again we will bring your gift and heaps of books, and your grandfather will dance with you until you are too exhausted even to laugh. And it will do my heart so much good to see you both reunited. You are the magic of our hearts, darling, and always will be. But in case this letter is only the first of many you will not see until you are a grown woman, know that we are thinking of you and missing you every day. And that we are so proud of you, no matter what path you choose each day. Happy birthday, darling girl. We love you. Granny Cookie

The heavy vellum paper is quite old, the scrawling, looping handwriting a work of art. Cookie had whimsically decided that your letters would be written with a quill, like she would have before. Making it a labor of love.

There are so many that it seems daunting, and something tells you not to read them in order but that might just be a response to how many there are. You’re still toying with the box, though, when Mrs. Taylor appears in the doorway with a tea tray.

“Your grandfather said you might enjoy some tea while you read.” She smiles as she walks inside. “I took the liberty of making Cookie’s favorite tea for you.”

“You’ve known the entire time.” Far from being angry or accusatory, there is awe in your voice. Her loyalty and steadfastness to your grandparents is astonishing.

“I have.” She doesn’t apologize, her smile softening slightly. “It has been hard not to mention your mother, since you look so like her.”

The tea tray she sets down on the desk beside you is sparse, but Mrs. Taylor never brings * only* tea. There is a plate of scones today, with jam and butter. “Did you ever meet me before?” You ask cautiously, unsure if you had ever even been to this house as a child or if the housekeeper had ever traveled with your grandparents. “When I was young?”

“We have met before.” She answers vaguely, a curious twist to her lips. “There was a time we spend quite a bit of time together.”

“I wish I could remember.” It must have been when you were just a baby, considering that first letter from your abuela was at your ninth birthday. “I wish I could remember this house. Or visiting here.”

“A side effect of the spell.” She murmurs quietly. “It’s as if this house never existed to you before now.”

“I knew my mother was powerful, but I guess I never really knew how much.” There were always signs of it growing up, and of course your father has considerable magic as well, but this is a level far beyond what you knew was possible. “But…I never knew she was half-vampire, either. I suppose there was quite a lot they kept from me.”

“Your mother…” she sighs softly, a sound just for you. It had been amazing learning how to do those things again when you don’t need to breathe. It conveys so much. “Always looked at the other side of the field and admired the grass there. Even though her side was perfectly lush.”

“She wanted to explore.” Even as young as you were when she died, you know that. “Explore new experiences and meet new people. The more and the more different, the better.”

“She had been that way for her entire life.” Mrs. Taylor hums, happy that she had never lost her spark. “She was the first of her social circle to wear pants when it was so terribly taboo.”

“I can see her doing that. Being a rabble rouser.” In fact, from alternative choices at bake sales to extra adventures on field trips, your mother was always ready for anything. For a long time, you had wanted to grow up to be just like her. Fearless.

“Despite that, she broke many hearts when her soulmate was found.” She tells you. “She had quite the number of gentleman callers before.”

“Dad always joked that he had to treat Mom like a princess because there would always be another guy who would if he didn’t.” Mostly those jokes had been to encourage you to look for someone who would treat you the same, but you hadn’t really understood that at the time. Now, you think it might be a big part of why your father might have approved of Max. “So I can see that.”

“That is true.” She agrees. “I did not get to know your father well, but he seemed like he was a good man. He loved your mother, that was obvious.”

“He did.” You nod, agreeing with that statement easily. “He loved her more than anything else in the world.”

“Then that is all that matters.” While she’s sure that her soulmate would have been amazing, she’s not lived for as long as she had without knowing that you don’t have to be a soulmate to love someone completely.

“They were wonderful together.” It warns a small, almost wistful sigh from you and you smile. “Completely wonderful.”

******

Max had not meant to leave you alone all day. After breakfast with his sire, he had gone off with Mr. Taylor to look at the Tea House. Looking had turned into doing and half the afternoon was gone before he realized. Strolling into the morning room, he grins when he finds you still reading letters, happy to see you enjoying yourself. Carefully handling the folded and wax sealed paper as if it were precious, because it is to you. “How many secrets did the old bird spill?”

“You’re never going to believe some of the stuff she wrote out for me.” Having moved from the library after tea to the window seat in the morning room, you’ve been basking in the near-sunset while you read uninterrupted. But now that Max is back inside? You shift to one side of the seat and sit up, making room for him to join you. “She wrote down as much as she could stand to, I think. Sometimes just little notes and sometimes pages upon pages.”

Max plops down next to you in a graceless flop that would have looks undignified by anyone else. He makes it look almost elegant in its casualness. “So it’s like a journal….in letters?” He asks curiously, peeking at the script of the one you are holding.

“Kind of.” You nod and shift closer to him, inhaling the scent of his cologne when he puts one arm around you. Since vampires don’t sweat, the only underlying scent is the intensely powerful sunscreen he wears everyday to keep from being affected by the sun. Enchanted, according to him. “Some of these are stories about my mom. Others are talking about powers she suspects I might have had, or would be able to develop. Others are just memories. Sometimes she even wrote down stories about her and Yayo.”

“Really?” His eyes widen and he playfully waggles his brows. “Don’t know if you should be reading those.” He teases.

“They’re not intimate stories.” You pinch Max with two fingers and laugh, feeling lighter this afternoon than you thought you would be able to. “They’re my grandparents.”

“Uhhhh, hate to tell you, babe…” Max grins even wider, happy you are laughing and smiling. “Grandparents fuck.” He snorts. “Otherwise there would be no parents to have the grandkids and make them grandparents.”

“Yes, they do.” The way you roll your eyes is just for show, playing along with his teasing. “But they don’t typically tell those stories to their twelve-year-old granddaughters.” The letter you happen open to be holding is on the thicker side, dated the summer you were twelve. “Usually.”

He snickers and shrugs. “It would be a lot cooler if they did.” He jokes. “Let the g-kids know how hip they were at one time.”

“I think I would have been horrified to hear that when I was twelve,” you tell him honestly. “I was a very innocent kid.”

“Very innocent, huh?” He leans in and kisses your cheek. “We’ll change that, Queenie.”

“I was an innocent kid.” The last word gets emphasis, and you tilt your head to kiss his lips as of that proves some sort of point. “I don’t think what we did the other night counts as innocent in the least.”

“Just a little harmless grinding.” His grin turns positively wicked. “It’ll be less innocent when my ‘no need to breathe’ face is planted in your pussy for hours on end until you can’t take another orgasm.”

It should be abundantly obvious from the shock on your face that you hadn’t yet put that puzzle together, and the heat in your cheeks radiates off you in waves. “Yep…” you manage to swallow finally and half-nod. “That will be…not innocent at all.”

The chuckle he gives is filthy, accompanied by a wink. “So I was thinking about another date tonight.”

"You were?" the suggestion lights you up immediately, although it is tinged with that unfortunate but real paranoia. "Did you have something in mind?"

“I know you love to dance, but I don’t want to be a one trick pony.” Max hums, leaning in against you. “So I thought we could be disgustingly cliché. There’s a pumpkin patch, with a corn maze and a ‘haunted hayride’.” He puts air quotes around the last portion. “They do all the cutesy shit and sell hot chocolate. I thought you would love it.”

“Are you going to protect me from all the jump scares and fake vampires?” It’s your own small brand of teasing, because even though you love horror movies as an adult there is something about jump scares in real life that is less fun and more anxiety-inducing. The one thing you do know, though, deep in your heart? Is that Max will protect you no matter what.

“Absolutely.” Max practically giggles. “Gotta show off so your little pussy throbs at what a strong, manly vamp I am.” He winks to show that he’s teasing, but he would protect you from anything.

“And you can smell it, so I can’t even pretend like it doesn’t affect me.” Which, admittedly, could be slightly embarrassing. But for some reason Max being so in tune with your emotions is a wicked turn on.

“You can pretend it doesn’t affect you at any time.” He hums. “Just because you’re turned on, doesn’t mean you are in the mood, sweetheart.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Although he does have a point, and you appreciate him acknowledging it out loud. “I was thinking more like…it’s harder to play innocent. Since I kind of have an inkling that you might enjoy that sort of thing.”

“Hmmmmm but I like when someone plays hard to get.” He admits with a grin. “Knowing they want me but making me chase is just as thrilling.”

“So this works for you perfectly then, I guess?” It’s one less thing to have on your mind, if he’s telling the truth. And Max has never given you any reason to think he would lie. “You probably love those great big doe eyes some girl have. The innocence and purity of it all.”

“I like your eyes.” He flirts shamelessly. “They are the prettiest I’ve ever gotten lost in.”

“I’m already yours, ya know.” Despite the protest, you absolutely melt in his arms and become a puddle against his chest. “You don’t have to flirt.”

“I want to flirt.” He promises. “Flirting is good for the body, mind and soul.” He announces. “It makes you feel good, makes you feel wanted and it makes you easier to kiss.” He teases, turning his head and kissing your nose.

“In that case?” You could not be more putty-like in his arms if he had been literally kneading your shoulders. “What time do you want to go out tonight? Because hay rides and pumpkins and chilly fall things with you sounds like a dream.”

“Six? Six-thirty?” He asks. “That way we still have plenty of daylight to pick out pumpkins? I know you will want one or two.”

“That’s perfect.” You would probably put a pumpkin or two in every room of the house if you could, but that sounds like a mess waiting to happen. “Do you want to sit with me for a little bit or do you have something you want to do before then?” It’s about a hour and a half away, and there are so many more letters from your grandmother to read. The box seems never ending. It might even be enchanted to hold extra, you can’t tell.

“I’m right here until we change,” he promises. “I’m thinking this will be our casual date. Leggings, boots, for you of course.”

“Maybe we can alternate?” It’s just a small idea, but knowing that he loves to dress up and make a splash and you aren’t typically as well dressed as he is lets you both have moments of fun and moments of relaxation. “Something fancy and something casual?”

“That sounds good to me, Queenie.” He flashes you a grin. “Can’t hurt and it’ll keep you from getting bored.”

“I have a feeling I’ll never be bored with you.” It’s just a feeling, but it’s right in the back of your mind and hovering over your heart, so it’s undeniable.

“It’s because I’m incredible.” He boasts, but it’s all just an act. His thigh is pressed against yours and he looks over at the letters. “Want to read me one? Or is it something you’d rather keep to yourself for now?”

“I think it’s safe to say that my family is your family…since my grandfather is literally your sire and all.” It does sort of call the structure of vampire families into question in your mind, but that is a detail you will ask Yayo about later on. “You can read the next one. That sounds nice.”

“You want me to read it to you?” He asks, brow raised at the thought. “I will.”

“I like your voice,” you admit sheepishly, sinking down in his arms a little in a rush of embarrassment. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Oh no, you aren’t getting out of it now.” He teases, reaching into the box and selecting a letter. “Hmmmm, how does this one look?”

“Perfect.” Every time he shows such amusement or happiness at little compliments from you, you feel that same skip in your heart that you’re starting to think might become a permanent fixture in your life. Max never ceases to surprise you with his affection and it really is wonderful.

“Puuuuurrrrrfect.” He rolls his ‘r’ playfully as he slides a neatly manicured nail under the wax seal and breaks it. Stopping and shuddering before he looks over at you. “Did you feel that?”

“It’s just a little chilly in here.” You explain it away instinctively, not even realizing that a breeze would have no effect on Max whatsoever.

“Sppppooooooky.” He’s playing it up, but there had been a current to the air when he broke the seal on this letter. Clearing his through is purely perfunctory as he opens the stiff paper. “My darling Muñequita,” he begins and says the date.

This is a later letter, something from you were a teenager. Max must have gone deep into the box. You hum happily at that and snuggle into his side like a cat.

“You really are the cleverest witch I have seen in my time. And considering how old I truly am, that is saying something.” He tilts his head and glances up at you before looking back at the letter. “To think that the answer was right in front of us, just a few words difference is simply magical, pardon the pun.”

“Are you sure this one is addressed to me and not my mom?” Though the question is rhetorical, there is also a nugget of truth to it. You haven’t done any sort of remarkable magic in years.

“It says it’s to you.” He huffs, flipping it back over so you can see the way it’s addressed. “Hush.” He blows you a raspberry. “Take the compliments. Now where was I?” He scans the page again. “For centuries, we had just believed that it was a myth, as fanciful as that sounds. Time travel. Who would have believed H.G.Wells was a witch?”

“I’m sorry.” Sitting up ramrod straight in an instant, your eyes go wide. “Did you just say time travel?”

“Are you always this disruptive?” Max teases as he waves the letter at you. “It’s right here. Do you want to read it for yourself?”

“But time travel is impossible!” Managing to snatch the letter from his hand, you settle back in his arms with a furrowed brow and your two front teeth firmly biting down on your lower lip as you reread what he had just read out loud. “Who would have believed H.G. Wells was a witch? Of course, everyone know that magic, alchemy, and science are all the same thing. But not everyone knows how to harness it to emotion. But you are such a clever thing, we ought to have suspected that you would find a way.”

“Sounds like someone did something.” Max intones, his voice playful, but he’s impressed.

“I can’t imagine what. By the time this was written, they hadn’t been allowed to see me in more than six years.” Still, the pull of this particular letter is far too strong, and you turn back to it with curiosity. “It took us an embarrassingly long time to understand it fully, Muñequita, but once we did you cannot imagine how foolish we felt for not seeing it years before.”

“Wow...incredibly intriguing.” Max snorts, impatient as always. “Like- what did you do? I wanna know.”

"I'm disruptive and you're impatient," you tease, but you keep reading. "To know that you managed to visit us from your time is remarkable beyond words. And how clever you were not to let us know, to never have even given us a whiff. You have your Yayo's talent for keeping secrets, darling girl, and we are so proud of the power you have finally come to. We will keep the portrait you so graciously left with us in the house and I will display it proudly for all of my days, telling anyone who asks that my granddaughter has a warm and loving heart and a doting, charming husband."

“Husband?” His own eyes widen slightly and his lips curve into a slow grin. “Something I should know, Queenie?”

“At the moment you know exactly as much as I do.” Your hand is practically shaking with the letter in it, but the slightly smug, pleased grin on his face makes you huff out a laugh. “I have no idea!”

“Wellllllll, now we have a mystery to talk about.” Max chuckles. He knows that you don’t know, but it’s intriguing.

“If I had to guess?” Being the kind of little kid — and sometimes adult — that had dreamt yourself into every possible and impossible kind of situation, you avoid his eyes slightly when you shrug. “If this is true, then you must have been there, too. I wouldn’t call anybody else that, and depending on when we went to, dating doesn’t exist. It’s married or unmarried, and an unmarried woman has a hell of a lot more restrictions on how she can act than a married one.”

“That would be interesting.” He snorts and shrugs. “I promise I won’t demand my husbandly rights if you’re correct.”

“Maybe we’ll actually be married by the time it happens, who knows?” It’s such a ludicrous ides that you can’t really take it seriously in the first place, and you shrug. “Besides, it’s time travel, honey. It’s not true. It can’t be.”

“And vampires don’t exist.” Max reminds you with a grin. “It’s so unbelievable that you would go back in time to visit with your granny when your soulmate doesn’t have a pulse and drinks blood?”

He has, frustratingly, a very good point. So much so that it makes you pause with your mouth already half-open to a pithy reply and shut it again with a furrowed brow. “I guess…” you swallow a deep breath. “If I wear every going to visit anyone…”

“She would be the one to visit.” Max finishes for you. “I wonder when you visit her. Obviously you haven’t yet.”

“After Mom was born.” You can answer that easily, even if your voice is quiet. “Any time when Mom was young. I always wondered what she was like as a young woman…and she never liked to tell stories. I get why, now. How could she rephrase a story about the 1870s to make it sound like modern life?” The idea of seeing your mother again is painful it’s so sweet, and you sniffle quietly, burying your face in your free hand. “I miss her so much.”

“I know you do.” Max hums thoughtfully after a moment. “You can’t have gone to the past when she would remember it, would you? Otherwise, she might have done things differently in life, right?”

“I guess…it would have to have been long enough ago that she wouldn’t have a strong memory of me. Or at least that she would never make the connection.” It feels like such a weird thing to contemplate, but Max is looking down at you so intently that you find yourself just spinning in the idea. Trying to follow the thought all the way through. “And I certainly wouldn’t use my real name. It would be Dolly. Or Queenie.”

“When we time travel, don’t use your real name, got it.” He gives you a thumbs up and snorts playfully. “Can I have a code name too?”

“Sure.” If you do roll your eyes at him it’s all in good fun and teasing. “What do you want your code name to be? James Bond?”

“Bond.” He imitates with an English accent. “James Bond.” He laughs and shakes his head.

He is laughing, which has you giggling, and you shake your head at him in pure amusement. “I genuinely can’t tell if that’s a yes or no,” you tease.

“I would need something way cooler.” He huffs and smirks at you. “Something that is subtly acknowledging my sexual magmatism.”

“Bruno?” Just about anything would be silly, and you can’t resist his smirk anyway. “Should we call you Jean-Claude van Damme?”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Romania, not Austria, babe.”

“What would you like to be called?” What he wants is more important than anything, after all. At least, it is to you.

“I was just teasing, sweetheart.” He promises. “Call me Max, I promise it’ll be alright with me.”

"We won't ever need to worry about it." You're certain of that, somehow. Even with the evidence sitting right there in your hand.

“With this discovery, do you still want to go out?” He asks quietly. If you’d rather read more letters, he wouldn’t blame you.

“I think I need some time to adjust to the idea,” you admit, putting the letter down without finishing it. It’s taking up so much space in your mind that you feel as if you might explode. “Maybe I’ll shower before we go out? I know we said tonight is going to be casual but I still want to look nice for you.”

“Go shower, sweetheart.” He encourages you. “Or better yet, go soak in that claw foot tub.”

“Yeah?” It’s a very soothing idea, and you have to agree that it might do you a world of good. All the same, though, you don’t want to be too far from Max. “Are you going to go back out to the tea house?”

“No.” He can sense your unease, and he quickly decides that he will stay nearby. “I’m going to go see if my jeans still fit.” He jokes with a grin. “Haven’t worn them in a long time. No need to, until now.”

“I know you’ll be very handsome in whatever you choose.” It is touching, though, that he is dressing down for you. Because you know that his suits are his suits of armor.

“I know the leather jacket is what you’ll focus on.” He jokes, winking at you.

If you could stop yourself from blurting it out you would have, but your immediate reaction is an unapologetic: “You have a leather jacket?”

His eyes light up when you give yourself away and he nods. “Yep.” He hums, leaning in to you, crowding you slightly. “Black leather.”

“That…” When you swallow it’s slightly embarrassed but interested all the same. “That sounds nice.”

“Does it?” He rubs his hand down your arm. “That’s good. Maybe we’ll see how you look in it tonight when you get cold.”

The thought of being marked as his in any way makes you burn in the most unexpectedly lustful way, and you clear your throat before standing up. “I going to go take a cold bath.”

“You do that, sweetheart.” Max reaches out and pats your hip. “I’ll be here when you get out.” He pauses. “Better yet, I’ll be at your door when you’re ready.”

______

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youremyheaven · 5 months

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Is it true mercury nakshatra girls steal men ?

tbh in my experience they have but i won't say every or most Mercurial girlies are like that

its interesting to me bc Mercury is a eunuch planet and the only one that is androgynous by nature (equal parts man and woman) which again ties to Mercury and intelligence because our minds are supposed to be left and right brained, one side more creative and another is more logical/rational but both come together to form the full experience. this essentially sets them apart from others. but another thing about mercury is that its the smallest planet and mercurials feel easily threatened. jyeshta has rabbit yoni, ashlesha has cat yoni both of which are domesticated animals by and large, revati has elephant yoni and although elephants are much larger than these two animals and not domesticated, elephants are also extremely vulnerable as they're poached etc basically mercurials feel vv vulnerable and exposed and easily threatened. they take offence easily and always feel the need to "prove themselves", they know that they have things to offer that others dont but at the same time, they feel inferior to or insecure by the very people they look down on?? theyre insanely competitive, not just about grades or work or whatever but just random stuff, they want to be "picked", they want to be everybody's fav (imo mercurials are the OG pick me girls), theyre also HIGHLY critical of others and themselves, the insane standards they impose is just 😤 i have heard many people say that Mercurial girls will steal your man but tbh they dont give a shit about your man, they just want to have what you have because they think they deserve it as much as if not more than, you do,,, they just love the experience they see others have and want it for themselves. one time i was out with a mercurial girl and im "better off" than her financially but that day i didnt have much money on me and she actually laughed?? she took care of everything and was super nice but she realllyyy enjoyed being able to "one-up" me like it was some "gotcha" moment lmao, it left me feeling bitter

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it-happened-one-fic · 10 months

Text

Only Love - Alhaitham

Author Notes: This fic has been sitting in google docs for quite some time now, but what with Christmas coming up fast, I'm running into trouble finding time to write and/or edit anything so I'm going through my backlog. This fic was written while I listened to "Only Love Can Hurt Like This" by Paloma Faith. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy.

Type: Gender-neutral/ pining/ romantic

Word Count 595

Alhaitham let out a sigh as he lay back on his bed. The door was safely shut in the hopes of dulling the racket Kaveh was currently causing as he banged away at his latest project.

Alhaitham was alone yet again, though, in the solace of his room. Usually one of his favorite places to be.

Alone, unbothered, and actually able to concentrate on whatever he pleased without fear of being interrupted. And yet, Alhaitham could not focus.

Instead, his brain kept clinging to you. Bringing up images of your face during previous experiences and posing random, inconsequential questions about you and your goings-on.

Such was the source of his current mood. Not depressed or solemn, but also not one of comfort or pleasure. If he had to name the feeling, he would say confusion came closest, or perhaps frustration.

Alhaitham had a feeling that he knew why you lingered in his mind for such a length of time after any meeting the two of you shared. And it never failed.

You would interact with him for only a short time, smiling all the while like he was a dear companion as the two of you chatted before you both, inevitably, parted ways.

You strolling away to continue your day while he…. He was trapped with thoughts of you that almost seemed to be a source of his current frustrations.

Alhaitham did not dislike you. In fact, it was far from it. He’d found that he quite enjoyed your presence.

When you left, he longed for your return. And when he saw you, there was a certain pleasure that seemed to be unmatched by other sensations.

Logically, you shouldn’t have such an effect on him, and, logically, he knew he did not require your presence to exist in a perfectly healthy state. But Alhaitham also recognized that this was a perfectly human reaction to have, just like he knew exactly what feeling it was that consumed him when it came to you.

If Kaveh could peer into Alhaitham’s head at this moment, the architect would be squealing with delight. Either at the suffering the Akademiya’s Scribe was currently going through or at the fact that it all seemed like something out of a cheesy romance movie.

Alhaitham huffed out a bitter laugh. To think that he’d decided early on he would never become consumed by such folly that turned rational men into fools. And yet here he was, stretched across his bed and staring up at the ceiling with only one thing on his hopelessly addicted mind. You.

You and your bright smiles. You and your clever wit. You and your consistently charming ways. You and the way you seemed like something built specifically to drag the Akademiya’s great and much disliked scribe, who till now had seemed unshakeable, to his knees.

Yes, Alhaitham knew exactly what this feeling was that you inspired within him. Because only love could hurt, consume, and distract like this.

But Alhaitham had also learned his lesson well already. He was, after all, a fast learner.

Bittersweet. That was the flavor that this love had taught him, and he was ready to move on to simpler days. And for that, there was only one solution.

So Alhaitham sat up, having made up his mind about what he knew must be done.

If you were going to plague him with thoughts of you, then he would do the same to you. After all, there was only one cure for the fascinating affliction that was you. So he would achieve that cure.

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versegm · 1 year

Text

There are few things in this world that can genuinely surprise Morgan. It comes with living for so long, she supposes; when you’ve seen so many things, it’s hard not to feel a deja vue about everything. Even her own death, while unfortunate, had not been surprising. Morgan had always known that passing away peacefully was not an option for her.

Still, it seems that she has not grown fully immune to bafflement. “Come again?”

Sir Kyrielight swallows hard. She’s beet-red, wringing her hands nervously. Still, she does not break eye contact. “I said I love you.”

The sentence does not make any more sense the second time around. Morgan rotates it in her brain, tears it apart. I. This one is easy; it refers to Mash, the speaker. Love. An action and an emotion all at once- the thing Mash is presumably doing, or feeling. You. Morgan is the only one in the room. It can only refer to her.

I love you. Three words that do not fit together. One of them has to be wrong, surely. Misheard or misunderstood. If Mash loves someone, it certainly cannot be Morgan- cannot be this wretched witch willing to burn the world down for her goals. If Morgan is loved, it certainly cannot be by Mash- this knight of virtue and courage who stands by the human order. And if Mash and Morgan have anything between the two of them, it certainly cannot be love. Hate, perhaps. Comfort, if one is generous. But love? Love. Love. L, o, v, e. Barely even a word. Just four letters stacked together. A simple sound with no meaning.

“As a… friend?” While still odd, this would make more sense than what Morgan initially interpreted. Yes, this must be what Sir Kyrielight had meant; that she held fondness for Morgan, and wanted to make it known.

Except, no. The knight shakes her head. “No. Romantically.”

And now Morgan is back to square one. “... Sir Kyrielight, are you certain you are not mistaken? Emotions can be hard to tell apart. You could not be blamed for mixing them up.”

She meant for her words to be comforting, but Sir Kyrielight’s gaze turns into a glare. While Morgan is not unaccustomed to the knight’s anger, she doesn’t recall ever seeing it directed towards her.

“ Queen of Winter, ” Morgan always takes care to use proper titles when addressing others. It’s only polite. Yet, somehow, having Mash refer to her by her title feels… uncomfortable. “You can reject me. You can ignore me. You can pretend I never said anything. But I will not allow you to deny my feelings.”

She walks up to Morgan. Sir Kyrielight is a full head shorter than her; but right now, back straight, fury in her eyes, that does not make her any less imposing. “I love you. Deal with it however you want, but that, that’s a fact.”

*****

“You told her what?! ”

Slowly, Morgan sets down her teacup. “It seemed like a logical conclusion at the time.”

“You and your logic.” Habetrot rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “Morgan, listen to me. Love is an emotion. By definition, it is not rational. If Mash loves you, it’s not for something as simple as the sum of your parts. It’s because you’re you.”

Nonsense. Emotions may not be rational, but they’re still somewhat grounded in reality. What could there possibly be in Morgan that could inspire love? “I know not what to do with her love.”

“You don’t have to do anything with it.”Habetrot sighs. “It’s easy. If you love her back, tell her so, and the two of you can become merry brides together. If you don’t, tell her so, and she will nurse her broken heart on her own. You only really got two options here.”

Fair enough. “How do I know if I love her, then?”

Slowly, very slowly, Habetrot blinks.

“... Love,” she articulates carefully, as if talking to a child, “is an emotion. It’s something close to joy. When a bride gets close to her chosen groom, she gets so happy there are stars in her eyes. It’s a fire inside the soul, fluttering like birds inside one’s belly.”

… That seems a bit dramatic. Can emotions truly be so intense? Morgan has her doubts.

“So. Do you love her?”

Morgan thinks. She thinks hard. “... She makes me very happy.” She doesn’t know if this is love- but if nothing else, that part, she’s sure of.

Habetrot pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay, this isn’t working. Let’s try something else.”

*****

“- and she sent me to you.”

Sir Barghest pauses, midway through stirring her stew. “To… explain love to you?”

Morgan nods. “Indeed. You are the most knowledgeable on that subject.”

“Your faith in me flatters me, your majesty.” The knight turns back to her stew. “Love is… a want. A hunger, of sorts. When you love someone, you want to be with them. The want can be more specific- wanting to kiss them, or make love to them- but generally speaking you just… want them.”

She reaches out to grab some spices. She does not look at Morgan. “It can be a terrible thing. Sometimes you want someone so badly you want to devour them. Sometimes love reduces you to something lower than an animal.”

She sprinkles some ginger in the broth. “But sometimes… love is what prompts you to become a better person. You want to be worthy of the person you love. You want to be good enough for them. And that part is wonderful, I believe.”

Hm. An interesting perspective. “Is it worth it? To love someone when you know you can very well be their doom?”

“Yes.” Sir Barghest does not hesitate even a second. “It is worth it. It has to be worth it. What would be, otherwise?”

If Sir Gawain of Many Lovers is saying it- then there must be some wisdom in that statement, even if Morgan doubts it.

Sir Barghest pauses once more, for a couple seconds. Then she turns to look at Morgan. “Your majesty,” she asks carefully, “what do you want?”

What does she want? She wants to spend more time with Sir Kyrielight, that much is undeniable. If she thinks more about it- she would be amenable to physical affection, even. Sir Kyrielight had hugged her a couple times, it had left her skin tingly all over for hours. Morgan can’t imagine what a kiss would do to her.

But… for all the things Morgan can and will do, she does not believe she is capable of change. She’d tried, she really did- tried to be a savior, tried to be the kind one, tried to be the helpful one. She couldn’t. Her role is that of a witch, and nothing, no one- not herself, not Totrot, not (Ma-) (Fairy knight Ga-) (her frien-) Uther could change that. Morgan’s desires weigh little in the matter. Sir Kyrielight can not make Morgan better than she is. Remains the question of whether Morgan is capable of becoming worse.

*****

“So, Mash is in love with you, and you’re in love with her, but you’re worried about dragging her down?”

Morgan quirks up an eyebrow. “I did not say that. I am unsure as to whether I love her or not.”

Her spouse makes a strange face. Whatever emotion this is meant to convey, she cannot figure it out. “... Anyways. I don’t really see why you worry so much. Mash wouldn’t have confessed to you if she didn’t think she could handle you.”

“Sir Kyrielight is a virtuous person. She would offer a second chance to anyone claiming to want one. It is possible she has not yet realized that I am not a person who can be saved.”

Fujimaru frowns. “You think her naive.”

“I did not say that.”

“Kind of the vibe you’re giving off here though.”

“ I did not say that. ” Ah, now is a feeling Morgan recognizes- she’s irritated. “I, more than anyone else,know the things Sir Kyrielight has endured. I am well aware that she’s witnessed humane horrors the likes of which can never be put into words. I am merely worried that she might not realize these awful things can apply to me as well.”

Her spouse doesn’t reply immediately. For a few seconds, they only stare, before folding their hands under their chin. “What is love to you?”

Morgan has no idea. Her love for Britain overpowered everything else. She does not know what it means to love a person- if that’s something she has ever experienced in the first place. “I am told it’s a feeling, or a desire.”

Fujimaru makes a noncommittal noise. “That is true. However, I would like to offer you another point of view: love is an action.”

That is a widely different definition indeed. “Elaborate.”

“ Love is a verb, first and foremost. It’s the act of looking at someone. I don’t mean with your eyes. I mean truly looking at someone. Seeing them for everything they are- the good and the bad, the flaws and the virtues, the beautiful bits and the ugly ones. It’s the act of acknowledging someone’s whole self, including the parts that are inconvenient to you, and refusing to flinch.”

“You believe love to be the act of unconditional acceptance?”

“Essentially.” Huh. How very in character of them. “When Mash says she loves you, I don’t think she believes you to be pristine clean. I think she believes you worthy of staining her hands.”

“This seems mildly worrying.”

“And who are you to dictate her choices? You’re not her queen.” That statement hurts more than Morgan thought it would, though she would be incapable to spell out why it does. “She made her choice. She chose you. You can’t deny her that. All you can do is make your own choice: do you want to take her hand?”

“There is little risk in doing so.” If Morgan is everything that is evil in this world, then Sir Kyrielight is easily all that is good in this world. If such a thing as a savior can truly exist, then this is what Sir Kyrielight is.

“You think so? She makes mistakes too, you know. She’s quite soft-hearted. She hates fighting. That makes some decisions very difficult for her. Can you accept that? And if you do: can you accept that you will see her getting hurt over this, and you will not be able to help her?”

“Obviously.” The words tumble out of Morgan’s mouth by themselves. “None of these are flaws. Why wouldn’t I be willing to smear her blood on my hands?”

Her spouse smiles. “And you say you’re unsure if you love her back.”

… Ah.

“Apologies.” Morgan gets up suddenly, straightening her dress. “It seems like I need to have a conversation with Sir Kyrielight, and it cannot wait.”

The last thing she hears as she crosses the doorstep is “sweep her off her feet!”

*****

Morgan finds Sir Kyrielight inside her room. Rather predictably, in fact- and it’s a wonder that it took Morgan so long to realize that most people do not have her schedule memorized.

“Sir Kyrielight.” She says, standing in the doorway. “Mash. We need to talk.”

She startles when Morgan uses her first name. How cute. Still, Morgan cannot let herself be distracted now. She walks through the room to sit next to Mash. “I have done a lot of thinking.”

“Ah.” Sir Ky- Mash casts her gaze down. “Come to reject me, then?”

Morgan allows herself a huff of irritation. “Do not put words inside my mouth. When I am done, you may take back your confession, you may chase me out of your room, but I will not allow you to misinterpret my words.”

She extends a hand to set it on top of Mash’s. The knight jolts, but does not take her hand away. Hopefully, this is a good sign.

“I am somewhat… disconnected, from my emotions.” She brings Mash’s hand to her chest. “My heart is that of a witch. It curses panhuman history. It is cold as the winters of my long-gone Britain.”

Her free hand reaches out to cup Mash’s face. “But it’s yours, shall you accept it.”

There is a single second of silence following her statement, Mash staring at her with wide eyes- and then the knight suddenly collides with her chest, wrapping both arms around her. “Of course I’ll take it. I’ll take everything you are willing to give me.”

Warmth spreads under Morgan’s skin. Softly, she returns the embrace. “It is most unwise of you… but most welcome, nonetheless.”

“I don’t care. I’ve been wise for too long. This is me being selfish. I want you, all of you. I don’t care if it’s rotten in here. I want you down to the marrow.”

With that phrasing, it almost sounds like cannibalism. Is this what Sir Barghest meant? When she said love could turn one into an animal? (Did her lovers feel as flattered as Morgan is? To know that there is someone out there who would rather cram her inside their ribcage than letting her go?)

“There is much I am willing to give.” With no Britain left to protect, no duty to uphold- Morgan now belongs to the stranger that is herself. She can afford to give things away. “But for now… perhaps your hand in mine?”

Mash tilts her head up, staring straight at Morgan. She’s crying, Morgan realizes. She’s smiling too, though. “Yes… yes, that would be nice.”

#my writing #fate #mashmorgan

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ryuichirou · 8 months

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Have you watched the show yet? If so, what do you think of Yandere Todd?

Just finished it the other day! I can’t believe I was so sure that we won’t be watching it for quite some time, but I guess we did manage to find a balance between rewatching the Scott Pilgrim movie/watching the anime series and rewatching Twst main story. I can still feel the weight of a clown hat on my head, but ultimately I’m very happy that we watched it now. I won’t go into details about the show itself, but it was very fun and we enjoyed it a lot. And believe it or not, Wallace and Todd weren’t the only characters that we had fun watching. I personally really liked all the girls lol

I also love how you’re bringing up the most important thing in the world: Yandere Todd. The short answer to your question would be Yes. I think I mentioned it before, but still: it’s stupid how right up our alley this whole thing is lol What surprises me isn’t just the fact that the production figured that the most logical and fun character arc (mini-arc I guess) for Todd would be to develop an obsessive gay crush (and honestly that makes perfect sense when you think about his character), but also the fact that by the end of this story this development wasn’t “undone”. The boy is still deeply in love and deeply not okay, he is basically 1 second away from becoming a yandere, considering how dangerous he actually is. But also stupid and desperate enough to make dumb yandere decisions.

So yeah, we’ve been enjoying these two a lot (there are more sketches than what we post…), and thinking about them a lot. So you know, Anon, I’ll do something that you didn’t ask for: write a couple of yandere!Todd headcanons, because why not, this is what we do in this blog.

This is more of a general consensus than a headcanon, but still: Todd won’t get over this crush. He’ll live his entire life either trying to win over Wallace or watching him from the sidelines, so it’s almost like they’ll always have been together… even if Wallace wouldn’t always be aware of that. Todd became completely delusional very quickly, so his relationship with Wallace would almost become parasocial overtime.

Todd is a stalker, duh. He would actually consider watching over (or just watching) Wallace his mission in life. It’s one of the reasons for him to get back his vegan edge: if he becomes stronger as a vegan, he’ll learn how to manipulate his brain to be able to see whatever his most beloved person is doing at any given moment. The day he actually manages to learn this is going to be the second happiest day of his life (the first one is the day he met Wallace). Roxie thinks it’s creepy, and rightfully so.

Another thing that Roxie finds creepy (who keeps asking for her opinion, wtf?) is the fact that Todd teleports himself into Wallace’s apartment/house to steal his clothes or to watch him sleep quite regularly. Sometimes he even gets into Wallace’s bed and sleeps next to him, and a couple of times he got so lucky that he even managed to touch Wallace without waking him up. He is sure that Wallace’s reactions that day are a solid proof that they are meant to be together. In actuality, Wallace was just super drunk, tired and horny…

Todd isn’t very happy about the fact that Wallace sleeps around, but he calms himself down by rationalizing this with the thought that Wallace doesn’t get any sparks with these people, he just knows he doesn’t. And sure, he didn’t get them with Todd either, but what they had was still special, and Wallace just doesn’t want to admit it for some reason. Naturally, he got very jealous when Mobile became a permanent part of Wallace’s life. And we’re all lucky that Mobile is a medium of sorts himself, so it’s not that easy for Todd to just beat the crap out of him, even though sometimes he really wants to do that… but for now he just watches Wallace being genuinely happy with someone else. And tries to get stronger to maybe erase Wallace’s memories of Mobile or something among the lines… He would just challenged Mobile to a duel and murder him, but for some reason even Todd has enough brains to realise that Wallace probably won’t ever love him if he does that. Poor Mobile...

Speaking of memories. Todd uses his perfect vegan memory to relive the entire movie shooting experience over and over again. All the aspects of his memory: visual, audial, sensual, he remembers everything. Whenever he isn’t watching Wallace, he just sits in his bed and mumbles everything he said to Wallace back then again and again, while stroking that tattoo he got.

#replies #headcanons #toddallace

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soaringwide · 3 months

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Hey :p

Another post of the dive deeper series, where i try to explore techniques you can use to improve the way you read tarot cards.

The big issue when you start reading tarot, is that you're going to have a tendency to read each card separately, which makes the reading clunky and prevents you from gaining insights from the card's interactions.

And I really think that tarot, with its characters, symbols, colors and correspondences, is perfectly suited to this method.

Putting the meanings together is the tricky part, and I really like using my story-telling brain in order to solve the problem. It helps me take a step back from the pressure of getting the message right, and adds a bit of fun, which again makes me more relaxed and thus allows me to read more accurately. I read with my logic mostly, but my intuition does play some part, and I find that it needs space to roam, which is hard when my brain is overheating trying to decipher the imagery of the cards.

So here are some points I keep in mind when reading for myself or for others:

Personify the Cards

Think of each tarot card as characters. What are they experiencing? Are they thriving or struggling? What vibe do they give off? At ease of tense? Can you think of a situation you’ve lived that triggered that reaction and what did it make you think or feel?

It’s also useful to let the cards interact with each other by looking at their placement and at what direction they point or gaze. Two characters facing each other don't signify the same thing than if they are facing away. Just like in real life, people act in ways that convey meaning, even without words.

Read Symbols

Symbols are like condensed little pockets of meaning. Use the historical or traditional definitions, but don’t shy away from intuitively coming up with your own, and connect that with the context of the card. Symbols are tied to culture and time period and they change over time.

When you think about it, tarot was created at a time where technology was vastly different. So you're going to have to get creative with symbols to translate that to our modern life.

Spot Repetitions

Having multiple cards of the same suit (cups, swords, wands and pentacles), of a few cards talking about a similar theme is called a pattern and indicates the importance of that topic in your reading. Is your reading packed with Kings, or full of 3's? It can signify as focal point and can be useful to research that if you are not sure what that might mean, but you can, again, also use your own logic or intuition and get a little crazy.

The absence of something can also be very telling, for example, a lack of wands when it comes to looking for a job which might indicate a lack of actions or initiatives from the querent.

Scan your Emotions

Emotions are a powerful way your intuition can speaks to you. Scan your body and/or the way you feel and analyze it. Do you feel giddy, lighthearted, or on the contrary constricted or confused? This is a sign you’re tapping into the answer and you shouldn’t discard it.

It's quite hard for me to do because I have a more rational way to interpret the cards, but I'm slowly integrating that way of welcoming messages as well. For example, I might feel very sluggish during a reading when it talks about someone struggling to do something, or on the contrary really speedy when someone is eager to say something to someone.

This adds a color to the story your trying to tell.

Connect the dots

The hardest part is to connect the dots, but it’s also what will bring your reading together and stop you from reading cards separately. When I read the cards, there is always a corner of my mind that is daydreaming the querent's life, like a little movie.

It helps me generate messages that pops up in my mind in addition to what I see in the cards. Get creative and remember that there is no right or wrong way to do it, if you’re seeing something it’s probably meaningful, so learn to trust your judgement and know that it will get better over time with practice.

Ko-fi ★ book a reading ★ pinned post ★ instagram ★ website

#tarot reading #tarot tips #how to read tarot #tarot cards #tarot #tarot community #tarotblr

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sophieinwonderland · 11 months

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Hi, I'm a system and have mutliple other disorders. All "cis" if you will. I'm not here to shame anyone but I would genuinely like to know how this makes sense to you? I want to know your persepctive because I don't understand and maybe I can get some more insight from someone else. I feel invalidated when people talk about endogenic and "transsystems" because my disorder is not an aesthetic and I had to go through so much trauma that turned me into who I am today and not in a good way. It's painful and it hurts when I see people making fun of my experience by saying they've acquired their system "naturally" even though that's not how the disorder works (By "making fun of" I mean that's how it feels). It also feels transphobic to hijack trans wording such as "cis" and "trans" even though disorders are different to gender. Gender is a social construct and disorders are just not. They can't go away, they can't change. I can never get my childhood back and I struggle to be able to be myself with my Autism and ADHD, I find it hard to keep relationships from the immense anxiety I've gotten from my CPTSD symptoms and the chronic mistrust I've had to develop to survive. I guess I just want to ask why? Why you believe in these things? It's not that I hate you, I don't, I genuinely want to understand because currently I feel hurt, and upset, and made fun of in a way I've never felt before and I just want to know the logic and reasoning behind this kind of stuff before I make a judgement.

This is an old post, so it's entirely possible you've already made up your mind on these issue now. But either way, I decided I might as well answer now

Personally, I feel these are different subjects.

First...

Disorders Are a Social Construct

Not in the same way as gender or race, mind you.

Rather, disorders are bureaucratic labels tacked onto symptoms. These symptoms may or may not actually be related.

We live in a universe with DID and OSDD-1 are considered separate disorders. But it doesn't have to be like that. Maybe in another universe, they would be the same disorder.

Or, maybe in one universe, DID wouldn't exist and OSDD-1a and 1b would be two separate disorders, with DID just being the comorbidity between these two things.

Maybe your ADHD would actually be branded as a type of autism, or autism could still be considered a classification of Schizophrenia. Many psychiatrists actually dislike the disorder model, and would prefer focusing on individual symptoms instead.

Also, some disorders can go away, and some disorders can change. Well, the diagnosis will still remain, but that's more another matter of the bureaucracy. If you're depressed for two weeks, you get a diagnosis. Then the symptoms can go away for 30 years, but you'll retain that diagnosis forever.

I Think You Can Experience Dysphoria For Anything

The reason I feel how I do on transX identities is because I've seen people in the plural community with memories of living completely different lives. People who feel uncomfortable with every aspect of the body they inhabit.

I've personally felt inadequate for lacking the intelligence and education of my source.

I know some who feel phantom limb-like experiences relating to parts they never had like wings and tails.

And psychologists have acknowledged and researched BIID, where people will feel like they should have a certain physical condition.

And so I totally believe it's possible to have dysphoria for anything, including mental conditions you don't have. It doesn't make rational sense why someone would want certain conditions, but the brain rarely makes rational sense and it would be a mistake to assume it needs to.

Endogenic Systems Are Different

I don't believe endogenic systems are a result of or related to dysphoria at all, outside of transplurals.

I believe endogenic plurality is a naturally occurring condition. We can see this in the ease of which people are able to divide themselves into parts in Internal Family Systems. The autonomy of imaginary friends as children. And the fact that many unrelated cultures around the world have reported nonpathological spiritual possession through history.

Most endogenic plurality isn't people who feel like they need to be plural or feel dysphoric for being a singlet. It's just a different experience that's been largely ignored by psychology until the past decade.

I've been collecting studies on these various phenomena here:

Personally, I find the imaginary friend studies most interesting. In the past, it was assumed that imaginary friends were purely controlled by the child hosts, but more evidence keeps stacking up showing that this isn't the case and that these are natural fully autonomous agents.

These experiences have been ignored by psychiatry for a long time because they just weren't pathological, and they were hidden enough that psychiatry could dismiss them as just pretend or fake.

#syscourse #pro endo #pro endogenic #transx #transid #transabled #sysblr #rad inclus #multiplicity

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riah-yorke-lex · 1 year

Text

Spoilers for Sonic Prime, like all of it.

^^^^^^^^^^

Sonic has ADHD and Nine has autism.

I mean I know the regular headcanons for Sonic and Tails are already there, but hear me out.

Neurodivergent people have trouble communicating a lot of times and miscommunicate.

Btw I have both, so I’m just speaking from my own experience.

Both characters are flawed. Sonic has lost his entire home and friends. Nine never really had friends and prefers to be alone.

Anyone who wants to say Nine is a villain can leave my page.

It’s a kid’s show, and Nine is the second most important character. The writers won’t kill him off or make him pure evil. Sonic will make up with everyone and find ways to save everyone in the end. Sorry to ruin suspense, but it is a kids show. I’m not saying that means it can’t have awesome character arcs. (ATLA has awesome character arcs, betrayal and redemption + lots of dark elements, but none of the main characters DIED)

Nine will probably cause something bad to happen in his rage, constructing something dangerous with the shards or he’ll cause the entire council to come after him, or both. Nine might cause something bad to happen and then feel guilty and help Sonic. If sonic can find a solution that doesn’t destroy those living in the shatter spaces, then Nine would probably come around. I don’t think Sonic realizes the consequences of his actions.

And that’s just the thing. Sonic jumps into every situation without thinking it through, something which irritates everyone around him. Meanwhile, Nine is incredibly methodical and thoughtful in his approach. Nine is driven by LOGIC while Sonic is driven by EMOTIONS. Not to say Nine doesn’t have emotions and can’t lose control, as we will likely see in S3. However, it’s generally how their brains work.

Sonic is gullible and falls into lots of traps. He isn’t all that smart. He’s good at thinking on his feet, but he often doesn’t think before he leaps into something. Shadow did mention about how the people in the shatterspaces aren’t real or whatever. He means that if they just put the prism back together, all those variants will cease to exist since they are all just different parts of the originals. Sonic sees them as real people though, and wants to help them, but he also desperately wants his reality back. He doesn’t realize that Nine would likely cease to exist if he simply put the prisms together. This would devastate sonic if he found out.

Nine is very rational in his actions. He doesn’t feel he can trust anyone as he has been traumatized by the world he grew up on. He longs for a place of solitude, a place he can go to whenever he needs to be away from everyone. He’s rather sit in his own head with his inventions. He wants Sonic to join him here because Sonic is the first friend he ever had. He intentionally doesn’t tell Sonic everything, because he has thought this through. He hopes Sonic will see his side and see him as a real person and not just another version of Tails. Sonic has an issue of projecting his vision of Tails onto Nine. He does it because he misses Tails. I know Sonic, DOES respect Nine as his own person, but Nine does not understand that, and Sonic, not thinking before he speaks, says something hurtful. Nine can come across as selfish, but all he wants is a safe place. As a neurodivergent person, that is so relatable. Sonic’s safe place is Green Hill, and he wants its back. From what we know (although I’m sure they’ll find a solution where everyone can live, again, it’s a kids show), those two things cannot coexist. If Sonic realizes this, he’ll realize he has to sacrifice his shatterapace friends to get Green Hill back, and is that a good thing after all? Nine is scared for his life basically, as he might not exist anymore. It’s a very valid fear.

They didn’t communicate their needs to each other because they were in the middle of fighting the council and didn’t have time to think it through, plus Sonic is impatient and also bad at communicating.

Nine is NOT a villain. He’s a traumatized autistic kid who has trouble thinking with other people’s needs in mind. Sonic wants to help EVERYONE, even people he doesn’t like much like Dread and Shadow, but he doesn’t consider the wider consequences of his actions.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic prime #sonic #tails nine #nine #nine the fox #neurodiversity #autism #adhd #headcanon #theories #spoilers

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septembermonologues · 2 years

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ONE DAY..... one day we will get an exasperated tired and sad orym who pulls out the sending stone and practically begs with tears in his voice for dorian to come back to them, even if it's not logical or safe or part of the plan. one day we will get an orym who is so worn down by what's happening to him that he looks past tactical plan making rational brain and listen to what his heart wants instead for once ONE DAY!!!!

i feel like he's definitely getting closer to it. i feel like it's really starting to sink in for everyone that they have just under two weeks, he saw fearne go down in combat again, AND he got that update from keyleth that seemed to shake him. and i think that level exhaustion was an excellent mechanical bit of flavor to add to the narrative. like this is just So Much and it's getting harder for him to shoulder through it and i think the "its not goodbye its see you later" is going to start weighing on orym the closer the solstice gets

and btw my big brain logistics solution w ryn... out of commission and keyleth busy elsewhere is if dorian is close enough to one of his stores, gilmore 100% liked him enough to do him a solid and get him where the hells need him

#they did also mention needing to put together a list of everyone they can/should talk to at the end of the ep so 🤞🤞🤞🤞#also i feel SO bad i didn't mean to let this sit 😭 u sent it right as i was falling asleep thursday night #and i wanted to have a coherent thought to respond with. and now it's saturday night. sorru #critical role #cr spoilers #k watches cr3 #orym of the air ashari #dorian storm #dorym #Bell's Hells

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smolweeblets · 2 years

Text

Drunk confessions

A/n: can you guys tell idk how to name my stories? Anyways Yelena is so ooc here but shes drunk so I'll use that excuse.

"Y-yn? Can you uh, pick me up please?" Sniffles could be heard as you listened to your friend. You panicked, thoughts racing through your head about what happened to her.

"please hurry up... Im at the bar we go to sometimes." A bar? Oh god this isnt good. Hurried shuffling to get into your clothes ensued. You tried to not panic and think about this rationally. Although failing for the most part.

Why is she crying? Is she in danger-? Oh god I have to get there faster.

You mentally slapped yourself, gathering your thoughts. You did need to move faster but she wouldn't be in danger, if she was she wouldn't be calling you. She was always a logical person and no matter how close you two were she would still be calling 911 if it was really serious. You wracked your brain for possible answers, then it dawned on you.

She was probably really drunk, otherwise she wouldn't be crying on a call like this with you and asking you to pick her up. Although the fact that she is drunk is also weird, since she never usually drank that much alcohol, if any at all. And she wasn't particularly a lightweight. Something must have come up in her life for her to get drunk like this. Well that doesn't matter right now, what matters is you getting her as quickly as you can.

~~~

Small sniffles and hiccups could be heard as you approached the hunched figure sitting on the steps of the bar. She looked absolutely miserable.

"Hey, Yelena? Are you okay?" You gently put your hand on her shoulder, alerting her more of your presence.

She wipes her face with her arm before looking at you and slowly nodding.

"Okay that's good, how about we get to my car now alright?" You go in front of her and gesture for her to take your hand, which she does to help herself up.

She stumbles as she stands, having to lean on to you just to not fall flat on the floor. The sight was almost funny, her large looming figure being supported by your much smaller frame.

You two got to your car and you made sure she leaned back properly and buckled up, in the process, you get a glimpse of just how bad of a state she's in.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was flushed red. You could almost feel the horrible hangover she would have to endure tomorrow. Bringing her to your house instead of hers would probably be better for the both of you. So she's sure to be taken care of, and so you dont stay up all night worried she isn't. There really was no way you'd let her be by herself in this state.

You start driving and theres a long silence between the two of you. It wasn't confortable, nor was it awkward. It was just that, nothing but silence and your thoughts.

Eventually Yelena notices that you werent taking her home, even in her drunk state she could tell the scenery was different from her usual route.

"Hey... where are you taking me- *hic* " Yelena slurred her words, sounding very disoriented.

"I'm taking you to my place, its safer and i wouldnt have to worry too much about you." Your calm voice normally would have been soothing but it looked like Yelena thought the opposite right now.

"N-no- I can take care of myself just take me home please.." Yelena sounded like she was about to cry. You felt bad but you knew what was best.

"Sorry, no can do. You say that but you dont look like you can even stand by yourself." As soon as you finished your sentence, It looks like a dam broke in Yelena and she broke into small sobs.

"I dont want to be in your house right now okay... or even with you for that matter" She cried. It broke your heart seeing Yelena look so sad and hearing that it could be because of you.

"Why? Is there something I did? If so, I'm sorry but I just can't leave you alone like this." You reasoned. You placed your hand on her shoulder as a very small way of giving comfort.

"Yes you can," She whined while sloppily removing your hand. "ill be fine by myself... like i always am." The last part was barely a whisper, if you weren't so tuned in with her you would have missed it.

You grip the steering wheel hard as you think about your next move.

"Yelena, it might be personal but please tell me what's wrong, if it's been something I did or what. I can't bear to see you in this state."

"It's nothing- just let me be." Some of the sobbing had subsided, but she was still sniffling a lot. You handed her a tissue to wipe some snot off her face, which she thankfully accepted.

"Yelena, I can't just leave a friend alone like this. Just tell me what's wrong so I can help." You glanced at her worriedly.

"God! Just stop asking, it's not like you'd be able to help." Hostility was now laced in her voice, it sounded strained and painful.

"I just want to help a friend- but if you dont want to talk about it then fine."

"Dont fucking call me YOUR FRIEND!" Tears were running down Yelena's face as she screamed.

"I FUCKING HATE BEING YOUR FRIEND SO STOP CALLING ME THAT!" You could only look in hurt as you watched her say all this. You thought you two were close but hearing her scream about this felt like a stab through the heart. She may be drunk but they do say drunk words are sober thoughts and it pained you to know this was what shes been thinking of you.

"I'm sorry then... but I am still taking you home. I care about you Yelena, and you're drunk." You worriedly asserted.

"God this is why i fucking hate you- youre too... nice." Yelena spat out. She hesitated saying the last word, and faltered throughout saying it.

"Wait- come again?"

"It's nothing. Ignore me, I'm drunk." Yelena said in almost a whisper. The tears had subsided, leaving only the traces of crying.

"No. Yelena, what did you say earlier."

"Youre too fucking nice and perfect. That's why I fell in love with you and why I hate you because you'd never reciprocate my feelings. There, happy now?"

"Oh..."

"Yeah, well that you know, you can go ahead and drop me off wherever. I can manage." It seems almost as if all the alcohol got knocked out of her. From how she was acting you wouldn't be able to tell she was bawling just a few minutes ago.

You slowed down, stopping by the side of the road. Yelena wasn't shocked at all that you actually were dropping her off. She deserved it.

She was getting ready to get off, unclasping her seatbelt and reaching to unlock the door.

"Yelena wait." You grabbed her bicep, wanting her attention back to you.

Yelena looked back to you, confused. Your seatbelt was also unclasped, though she didn't notice and just wanted to know what else you wanted to say before she left.

You suddenly leaned towards Yelena and you reached out to gently hold her cheek to hopefully not make her move too suddenly and to angle her face properly. To say she was shocked is an understatement. She fully thought she'd never have a chance with you, not in a million years.

You pull back and lean back into your seat, sighing in relief.

"God, you have no clue how long I've wanted to do that." You chuckle a little.

Yelena could do nothing but gape at you with large gray eyes looking at you as if what happened was just an illusion from the alcohol. Her hand ghosted over where you kissed her, still damp from her crying earlier.

"So? Do you still want to go back to your home?" You joke, hoping to clear away the uncertainty Yelena still seemed to have.

She shook her head, too flustered to even respond properly. She was already red earlier but now, she looks like a literal tomato. A cute one, but a tomato nonetheless.

You reached over to buckle Yelena's seatbelt again and you felt her flinch under your touch. She stared at you again and you just smiled back.

"Gotta take precautions." You giggled while reaching to buckle your own seatbelt.

The ride back home was quiet, but the comfortable kind. You caught Yelena staring at you a lot, but you didn't mind, she deserves it after pining for you that hard.

You led her staggering form into your home and into your bedroom, you instructed her to sit while you picked out some clothes that could maybe fit her. It was quite a task, considering just how much bigger she was than you.

Eventually, you did find something that she could wear and handed them over. You told her you'd be sleeping on the couch tonight, since you didn't want her to be uncomfy. You were about to leave to let her get changed when she called out for you.

"I'm drunk... help me dress please?" You almost would've thought she was serious with how sincere she looked. If only she wasn't wearing her stupidly coy smirk. She really is herself, even when drunk.

"Wow, where'd my flustered little 'lena from earlier go?" You laughed lightheartedly.

"Right here, please do help me." She pleaded. Her mouth was downturned, pretending to be sad.

"Hmm... okay but no funny business, you're drunk." You chided.

"Thank you babe." Yelena jokes, having an adorable close eyed smile.

"Stop that. Dont act like you weren't just crying over me a few minutes ago." You playfully scolded.

"Whatever you say babe." She teased.

You decided to stop the banter and actually help her out of her clothes. It was a surprisingly time consuming task because she constantly kept trying to make you laugh through various actions. You appreciate the effort, but not the action. You had to basically wrangle the clothes off of her because she wouldnt stop moving and causing a fuss.

After a few minutes of wrestling to finally get her dressed you finally succeeded. You also tired yourself out, so you made your way to the light and flicked it off. Then right back on again when you heard Yelena request something.

"Hey... you can sleep here you know-" Yelena suggested.

"No thanks, i can manage being on the couch." You point you thumb behind you, gesturing to the living room.

"But since im like drunk it gives you a good chance to take care of me." She reasoned out. Admittedly a pretty smart one considering she is, in fact, drunk.

"I think you're using that excuse too much, just go to sleep." You scoffed lightheartedly

"Pleaseeee-" She whined, using her most convincing puppy eyes. God how she had so much power over you was crazy.

"If you puke on me or my bed tomorrow i will kick you out." You sighed. You relented to her wishes way too quickly for you liking.

Yelena excitedly gasped, and smiled widely. "No! Of course i wont,, now come here please." She patted the area beside her, beckoning you to get in. You flicked the light back off and made your way ro the mattress.

Yelena snuggled up beside you and practically melted in your arms. Oh how she has craved for this for so, so long. She slept soundly that night, smiling in her sleep.

#yelena x reader aot #yelena x reader #yelena #yelena x you aot

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dyed-red · 1 year

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okay very short mini rant time but -

not having emotions isn’t a thing. or at the very very least, it’s not a thing for soulless!sam. the writers hand-waved “soulless doesn’t feel” but that makes no sense and they’re wrong and it falls apart if we so much as poke it with a twig, let alone a proper stick.

emotions are information that act as input into decision-making. the very limited cases of human beings lacking the ability to feel fear or any other particular emotion, or lacking emotional input into their decisions? yeah, it’s not good. either wander into danger they can’t handle because there is no input into the decision-making process that says No, Don’t Do That, or at the extreme end, they can’t make decisions because they have no insight into what they might prefer or want or desire, or even not prefer or not want or not desire, so each minor choice is paralyzing because the part of the brain dedicated to do the choosing doesn’t exist.

if soulless really didn’t have emotions, he wouldn’t be doing much at all.

you can say “he’s making choices based on physiological stimulus” and that desire (like a desire for sex, or a desire to get a hunt completed and kill the monster) isn’t a feeling, but i promise you that it is, and that we can’t fully or truly disentangle physiology from emotion either.

in fact soulless!sam seems to have no issue whatsoever experiencing positive emotions like desire, enjoyment, contentment, satisfaction, pride, etc. He seems capable of vexation and irritation too. We don’t really see him angry in the same way sam would be, but he does sort of go into a violent rage and beat someone with his bare fists in a flashback, right? i promise that without emotion, exerting that kind of energy on a task just... wouldn’t happen. because you’re incapable of caring about the outcome of the task, no matter how ‘rational’ or ‘logical’ that outcome may seem (because what’s rational and logical depend on what we care about and what goals we have selected, which again, occurs in the context of having emotions to guide us toward what those desired end states might look like).

soulless!sam seems, as far as i can tell, to lack two things: 1) the ability to experience bonds with others, and 2) the ability to intuit or experience conscious insight into his own emotions.

on the first, his lack of connection to dean despite understanding he prefers to have him around, his willingness to kill bobby, his complete and utter lack of care for lisa and ben despite knowing on some level that he should care about them, or would if he were his usual self, even if only as an extension of who and what dean cares about. soulless just... doesn’t experience that deeply human need for social connection nor the automatic way it manifests nor any bonding toward others. some failure of oxytocin going on there (the soul is stored in the oxytocin receptor site?).

on the second, sam doesn’t know what he’s feeling when he hasn’t got a soul. he equates that with not really feeling anything, or at least that what we’re told as shorthand pretty quickly, because what he actually says when asked what he’s feeling is “i don’t know”. because - he doesn’t. but that doesn’t mean he’s not actually feeling anything, it means he has no conscious insight into it.

his feelings are just feelings to him, just information. they are understood in terms of how they impact his end state aims (i want to finish this hunt, i want to have sex with this hippie chick, i don’t want to put up with this fairy lady, i don’t want to suffer by having my soul put back in) but are not understood in and of themselves (i don’t know if i feel angry or sad or happy in response to setbacks or steps forward toward these desired ends. at most i know i experience a sense of satisfaction when my aims are accomplished, but this is understood mostly through checking that aim off the list and being able to direct my attention and resources toward new goals. i don’t know why i do this, i just do).

the lack of bonding means he doesn’t feel interpersonal guilt or remorse for hurt and harm he has caused, nor a sense of loss or grief based on his connections (or lack thereof) with others, nor an anticipatory sense of guilt, remorse, grief, or regret at pursuing interpersonal harm, so long as the harm is deemed as needed or even just helpful in furthering one of his desired end goals. this increases our perception that he doesn’t have feelings at all, when what he’s really missing are mostly a subset of social emotions, and that’s not even unique to soulless people! (and look, i don’t want to go down the rabbit hole of how fucked up i think it is that the writers, intentionally or not (but i suspect intentionally) more or less equated sam’s soullessness with some clinical features of psychopathy.)

anyway that’s more or less my rant. the concept of soullessness and how it manifests bothers the shit out of me, the explanations for it in-universe are misleading (though understandable in-universe even if i’d expect cas to provide a clearer explanation tbh), soulless!sam feels a lot, and i still haven’t managed to do a proper/full s6 rewatch as a result of my vexation.

#canon critical #wank for ts #phyn rants #negativity for ts #sorry my ted talk is a ted rant #i both adore soulless!sam an cannot stand the soulless!sam storyline #the duality of the gamble era for me in a nutshell

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riahlynn101 · 9 months

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Dad December - Day Fifteen & Sixteen: "Vault." + "Why Didn't You Tell Me?"

Combining two days, because they related to each other. Last two parts of "Prison Visit."

Trigger warnings: Kidnapping, implied/referenced childhood trauma, and All for One being himself.

word count: 3,161

@daddecember

Pt. 3 ~

All for One is led back to his cell, but he can’t bring himself to be mad about it. He smiles widely as the door is slammed in his face. This tiny space can’t hold him forever, and now that he has the confirmation that he wants, being here is simply a formality.

He sighs deeply, whirling around to his bed. It looks like it’s time to call in those favors.

-x-x-x-

Izuku pokes at his rations. The results of the paternity test sit at the forefront of his brain - taunting him. And the hardest part wasn’t even getting the test results or All for One trying to hug him to death, it was telling All Might.

All Might-the hero that he is, retired or not-hadn’t looked at him any different. He simply wrapped his arms around Izuku and said it was going to be alright, that he didn’t think differently of him. It was enough to send Izuku to tears.

But sitting here now, with his mother across from him, the apprehension he felt earlier returns with a vengeance.

“You need to eat,” his mom gently urges, taking another bite of whatever rice dish the kitchen staff threw together for the hundreds of civilians and heroes seeking shelter here. It’s unlike anything Izuku has ever seen before, and he has no energy to guess what it is.

“I know,” he mutters but continues poking at it anyway.

“Izuku, is something wrong? First, you wouldn’t hug me earlier, and now you won’t eat.” She grabs his hand from across the table. “Please, talk to me, baby.”

He puts his chopsticks down, hanging his head. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Izuku asks, voice quiet - barely above a whisper.

“Izuku, what-”

He picks his head up, staring daggers at his mom. Logically, he knows that being mad at her solves nothing. But he’s angry and hurt and all this could have been avoided if she didn’t keep it to herself. “Why didn’t you tell me about my father?”

His mom goes silent, face turning pale. She stares off into space, as if remembering something old but not entirely forgotten.

“Mom?”

She regards Izuku with a somber expression. “I assume you met him?” Her face reads as sad, but her eyes look highly concerned.

“More than once,” Izuku says. “Both on and off the battlefield. And weirdly, in my dreams.”

“In your dreams….?” His mom asks, thoroughly confused. Unfortunately, Izuku doesn’t feel like dwelling on the complexities of his quirk.

“All for One. How do you know him?”

“Shigaraki Hisashi,” his mom corrects, “and he was my boss. I mean, at least at first he was.”

Izuku’s stomach twists.

“But we grew to care about each other. I truly thought that he was the one. Told all my friends about it, but….” his mom trails off, looking and sounding heart-wrenchingly sad. Despite his anger, Izuku gives her hand a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what we felt for one another, because after I found out about his villainy, I packed my life up and started over somewhere new. And then, some months later, you came along and made me the happiest person on the planet.” His mom pinches his cheek, the sadness receding from her eyes. In its place, a warm, tender fondness.

“Mom,” he says, voice strained. It would have been so easy for his mom to stay, but she chose to risk her safety and financial stability for a better future without All for One in their lives.

Izuku rounds the makeshift table to embrace his mom, wanting and needing her to hold him. Even if it’s for just a second. He needs her strength and courage, because his own is failing him right now.

He snuggles into her warmth, breathing in her floral perfume. She seems just as content, even though their (slight) height difference makes snuggling up together a little harder.

“Mom?” He asks, voice muffled.

She hums in response.

“How did you end up working for All for One? Did you know what he was or-”

His mom cuts him off. “I was his assistant, but all of my jobs were office related. I met him through a previous boss I had. And no, I didn’t know who he was. I was in love with him. If things turned out differently….if I didn’t decide to snoop through the files on his desk, I can confidently say that I would still be with him.”

“But you did leave,” Izuku murmurs, still leaning against her. “You’re brave.”

His mom softly laughs. “Thank you, baby. But I think the braver thing would have been turning the information I had over to the police.” She sighs. “Sometimes I worry that my inaction and cowardice helped enable him to do worse.”

He pulls away, staring into his mom’s watery eyes. “I can’t tell you that not turning over whatever information you had wouldn’t have mattered, because I don’t know. But what I do know is that you did the best thing for us, and if I didn’t take that test I could have lived the rest of my life in arrogant bliss.”

“Oh, Izuku,” she warbles, pulling him in for another hug.

-x-x-x-

“What do you mean, All for One has escaped!?” The warden for the side of the prison that All for for One, resides in looks at his subordinates, the ones directly responsible for keeping the supervillain in check. “Well!?”

None of them dare speak, either in a state of perpetual shock or terrified about what consequences All for One’s second unauthorized departure might have on a still reeling Japan.

He scoffs, angrily. “Useless! All of you! Get out of my sight!” He watches them leave, heads hung. Clearly disappointed in themselves. “Wait!” He calls out, and they all pause in the doorway. “Tell no one about this. The last thing we need is for people to freak out.”

They nod, shuffling out the door. Once the last of them leave, shutting the door behind them, he relaxes in his chair.

The warden pulls out a burner phone from his desk. He texts only two words, before throwing it to the ground and stomping on it.

It’s done.

Pt. 4 - Final Part:

Tenko eyes his little brother (he knows that Izuku isn’t actually his little brother, but after everything they went through, it’s hard not to think of the kid as such. It also doesn’t help that the kid seems bound and determined to keep in touch with him.) The kid is awfully silent for no good reason. Well, he supposes the war and the aftermath would render anybody speechless, but this is Izuku Midoriya. Not some random NPC ( civilian , his mind corrects) cowers in the face of something terrible.

“What’s wrong?”

Izuku has the audacity to look surprised. “What? What do you mean?”

Tenko feels his left eye twitch. “I mean that you’ve hardly said a word the last two visits. Is everything okay? Is someone hurting you?” He feels his blood pressure rise at the thought of someone hurting Izuku. Which is ironic given their shared history.

“I’m-”

“Don’t you dare say ‘fine’.”

Izuku takes a second longer to finish his sentence. “Good. I’m good.”

“Liar.”

“Am Not!” Izuku proclaims, clenching his fists. “I’m just a little tired is all.”

“Yeah? And I’m tired of your shit,” Tenko shoots back. He calms down a little, no need to get Izuku all riled up. “All I’m saying is that, whatever is bothering you, you can tell me.”

“You have enough to worry about.”

“And ninety-nine percent of what I worry about is you.” It’s true, too, he often lies awake at night, thinking and worrying about his surrogate brother’s safety. He’s always the first to rush into danger, and Tenko wouldn’t be able to live with himself if one day Izuku bites off more than he can chew and dies alone and afraid. All his progress over the last month or so has been in large part due to Tenko wanting to make his brother proud. One day, probably five or more years down the road, he hopes to interact with Izuku outside these walls.

Izuku swallows before answering. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to think differently of me.”

A thousand possibilities run through Tenko’s head. “Nothing could make me think badly of you.”

His brother gives a nervous laugh, reminding Tenko of their first chat in the mall.

“I…well I visited All for One in prison.”

The air is knocked from his lungs. Tenko slumps over a little, dumbfounded. “You did what?”

“I know, I know, but I didn’t do it for no reason. The First One for All user told me that All for One is my father, so I-”

“What?” Tenko interrupts, focusing solely on Izuku. “Why would he say such an awful thing?” All for One, while not exactly a father to him, he was the closest thing Tenko had to a father figure for the longest time (unless he counts Kurogiri, which he only does when he’s feeling sentimental). All for One’s parenting leaves much to be desired, and he wouldn’t wish what he endured on anyone - let alone someone as good as Izuku.

“He didn’t do it to be cruel, but I got curious.”

“And you visited him.”

“I visited him,” Izuku confirms. “But he got all excited, said if I didn’t take a DNA test he would put a hit out on All Might.”

“Jesus. Where were the guards?”

Izuku doesn’t speak, shrugging his shoulders.

“Izuku?” Tenko asks, growing more and more concerned. “Where were the guards?”

“They weren’t in the room with us.”

“But they were observing you, right? Keeping you safe, right?” His blood pressure rises again - it seems to do that a lot when Izuku Midoriya’s around.

“I assume so…” His little brother stares at his hands, which are clasped in his lap.

“You assume so?”

“Well, I mean, they weren’t in the room with us and I didn’t see a camera so-”

“They left you in a room alone with All for One.” His eyes narrow. “I’m going to kill them.”

A squeak escapes Izuku, and he frantically waves his arms around. “Please, don’t. I’m fine, I promise. All for One was surprisingly decent to me.”

Tenko forces himself to settle down. “Okay. And then what happened?”

“I took the test, and had to wait a week for the results.”

“When you got pulled from our visit earlier than normal last week, that was-”

“The test results coming in, yes.”

Tenko’s mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, as his brother’s behavior suddenly makes sense. “They came back positive, didn’t they?”

Izuku fidgets with his fingers, face turning red. “Yeah…”

“How did All for One take it?”

“Great,” Izuku says, but he doesn’t sound the least bit happy. Knowing All for One, Tenko can sympathize. “He hugged me, but I felt like I was getting choked out.”

Tenko chuckles.

“It’s not funny!”

“Mhm, yeah, no, you’re right. Totally not funny. But you have to admit that being hugged by the very supervillain that wanted you dead not two weeks ago, is a little funny.”

Izuku pouts. “No.”

Tenko stiffles his laughter, ruffling his brother’s hair. “Anyway, what happened next?”

“I untangled myself from him, bolted for the door, and haven’t gone back since.”

“Smart.” He hums, flicking Izukus’ forehead.

“Ow!” Izuku looks at him, rubbing his forehead. “What was that for?”

“For not using your brain. That could have ended very badly. What if All for One decided he wanted you dead? Huh?”

“Sorry,” Izuku murmurs. “I just…I’ve never had a dad before. I mean, I have All Might, and he's wonderful and patient and all the things I hope to be when I’m older. But The First told me that All for One could be my father, and it’s like nothing else mattered. I had an opportunity to finally put a face to the other person who helped bring me into this world. To finally feel complete. I shouldn’t have done what I did, but I needed closure.”

Tenko should feel betrayed. He should feel rage and resentment, because after everything All for One did to him, Izuku went to see him anyway. But he doesn’t.

He places a hand on Izuku’s head, one finger poised (he no longer has to worry about his quirk, or quirks, but Tenko is so used to being mindful of the placement of his fingers that it’s become second nature). “You….you don’t have to explain yourself.”

Izuku looks at him - eyes shimmering even in the muted fluorescent lights.

“I won’t say I understand. I had a father, and he was….” Tenko searches for the correct word to describe how dysfunctional his dad was. How childhood trauma shaped his dad just like it shaped him. “Traumatized and cruel, but he was there. Even if I sometimes wished he wasn’t.”

“Tenko…”

He sighs, ruffling the boy’s hair. Tenko drops his hand. “You did what you had to do. Just promise me one thing.”

“Yeah?”

Tenko fixes his brother with a stern glare. “Don’t you ever do something that stupid again. Okay?”

“Okay,” Izuku murmurs. “I promise.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku lays down to sleep that night, exhausted but restless. He tosses and turns. The blanket’s scratchy and makes him too hot, but when he pulls it off he’s way too cold.

He huffs, glaring at the water-stained ceiling. One of the (many) downsides of being a part of the recovery team is the accommodations. Due to most of the shelters and bunkers going to civilians and other officials, they’re stuck with the bare minimum of essentials. A shack with a bare mattress, scratchy blanket, and no pillow isn’t the worst place Izuku’s laid down to sleep in the last week. Not that it makes it anymore bearable.

Unable to find sleep, he slides out of bed. Maybe a walk will clear his mind, or at the very least tire him out.

Outside is a mess of half-cleared rubble and piles of dust that Izuku chooses to believe is from the buildings themselves and not ...well, he would rather not think of the alternative.

The night air is cool, a breeze keeps the summer heat at bay. The moon is out tonight, shining down on Japan in all its glory. A fact that Izuku is thankful for, because all the streetlights and storefronts are gone, leaving the street desolate and dark.

Izuku hesitates for a moment. Walking alone at night isn’t a smart move, and he did promise Tenko he would make better decisions. But….

It’s not like he can’t defend himself.

It’s eerily quiet out - something he still hasn’t gotten used to, even all these weeks later. And he has to steel his nerves to keep moving forward.

Izuku hears First before he sees him. “Izuku Midoriya!”

He keeps walking, arms crossed and eyes focused straight ahead. “Hi, First.”

The First floats beside him, ghostly in appearance in the real world. “Don’t, ‘Hi, First,” me.”

“Okay.”

“Go to sleep.” A cold hand grips his shoulder, yanking on his shirt. “You need to get some rest.”

“No.”

“Izuku, it’s not safe out here.”

Maybe it’s due to the lack of sleep or the stress he’s constantly under, but Izuku rolls his eyes. “As if I haven’t been in more dangerous situations.”

The First stares at him - silent. He disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving Izuku alone. And despite his attitude, Izuku isn’t sure if he’s grateful for that or not.

And then, The Second decides to make himself known, and Izuku suddenly wishes to be alone again.

“Oi, boy, what are you doing acting reckless?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Izuku mumbles, looking at the ground. He hates when Second starts mother-henning him. At least when First or Seventh does it, they’re kinder.

“Oh? So, that gives you permission to run amok in the streets.”

“I’m not running amok. I’m just taking a stroll. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? No big deal ?”

Izuku grumbles something under his breath. “I’m fine.”

“You’ll be fine, eventually, once you go to sleep.”

Stubbornly, Izuku keeps moving forward, over debris. Now, he has to stay awake. It’s not smart, and logically he understands the vestiges' urgency. But he would rather eat glass than admit Second might be right.

“Please, kid,” Second pleads, hovering in front of him. “If not for me, then for First. He cares about you. We all do.”

Before Izuku can respond, there’s a loud thud to his right. Danger sense hadn’t activated, so it’s probably not a villain. Still…

“Kid, I think it’s time to go- boy!”

Izuku ignores Second, venturing closer to where he heard the sound.

A half-melted trash can on its side greets him. Its lid lays a few feet away, which is likely the cause of the noise. “False alarm,” he says, over his shoulder. “See? There’s nothing to worry Hmpf!” A hand clamps over his mouth. He struggles, kicking his legs wildly. The hand tightens, and Izuku is pulled to someone’s chest. He throws out blackwhip, trying to strangle the person just enough to free himself.

“Hello, again, Izuku.”

Izuku’s blood runs cold. His eyes widened, and he freezes up, letting blackwhip fizzle out. In his brief moment of terror-struck shock, All for One removes his hand from Izuku’s mouth and places it over his forehead.

He never stood a chance, falling limp in the villain’s awaiting arms.

-x-x-x-

All for One hums, combing his fingers through Izuku’s hair. This feels like a dream. A fantasy come to life. What has he done to deserve such good fortune? He’s been nothing short of terrible since the day he was born - something that usually brings him pride. But this….this is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

If Inko had come to him, instead of running away, he would have considered giving up villany. Maybe not forever, but long enough to see their son grow up. They could have compromised.

But no, she ran away, taking the most precious thing he’s ever had. Taking away his right to be a father. Taking his child away.

The hand combing his son’s hair, suddenly grips the curls. Izuku groans in his sleep, turning his head away. All for One relaxes his hold, chuckling. “Sorry, little one.” He presses a kiss to Izuku’s forehead. “I’m just happy I finally got ahold of you. We can be a family.”

He gives his son one last kiss on the head, standing up.

All for One made sure that Izuku’s bedroom was nicely furnished, before retrieving his son. There’s plenty to do, too. Enough at least that, should he be away for a while, his son won’t grow bored.

He smiles, watching Izuku sleep. His face is angelic, and vaguely reminds All for One both of Inko and Yoichi.

“You’ll be happy here, Izuku. I’m going to take great care of you.”

All for One leaves, closing and locking the vault’s door behind him.

#daddecember2023 #daddecember #sfw #dfo au #cross posted on ao3 #mha fanfiction #izuku and all for one #vault time #no.15 #why didn't you tell me #no.16 #vault #originally no.13 #changed prompts around #queue

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