#in every instance she takes him very seriously

[russellsppttemplates]

We don't know anything about girls! (Oscar Piastri)

Lucas and Jack take the job of protecting their sister very seriously

Note: english is not my first language. Another Oscar piece, and this time it's dad!Oscar 🥹✨️🤍

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is pregnant, childbirth, postpartum

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3

"Daddy, we have a question for you", Lucas said as he and Jack sat at the table, ready to have lunch.

"Sure, what is it you want to ask me?", Oscar offered as he served up their plates with some broccoli, pasta and salmon.

"Mummy is the one that had us, right? We were both on her tummy - not at the same time though - and then she had us", Lucas wondered.

"Yes, mummy was the one that grew you in her tummy", Oscar smiled as he remembered both of your pregnancies. He knew it wasn't comfortable all the time, and there were many instances where you didn't feel so good, but he would spend the whole time in awe at you and what your body was doing for your family.

"Okay, so we have to talk to mummy", Jack reasoned with Lucas, who nodded back at him.

"Why do you need mummy, was my answer not enough?", Oscar wondered.

"It was enough, daddy, don't worry! But if we want a baby brother or sister, we have to talk to mummy first", Lucas stated as if he was saying they were going to ask you to change their bedroom curtains.

"You want a sibling?", Oscar questioned them both, wondering if they had been eavesdropping on you and him.

When one of Oscar's sisters had her baby a couple of months ago, you and Oscar both felt like adding another one to your flock, discussing it in bed that night. It wouldn't be so bad, especially now that both your and Oscar's careers were settled and your schedules were far more predictable. The boys seemed to think the same.

"Yes, do you think mummy will like the idea? She always said her feet hurt a little when it was towards the end", Lucas tsked, "and you, daddy? Would you like to have a another baby?", he wondered.

"Yes, I would - I'll tell you what, when mummy gets home from work, we can ask her about it, okay?", Oscar suggested, seeing the boys agree before eating the food in their plates, smiling to himself at the possibility of your growing family.

By the time you got home, you were just about to catch Oscar putting the boys down for the night, "night night, boys, I hope you have sweet dreams", you kissed both of their foreheads.

"We need to talk to you tomorrow, mummy, we have something to ask you", Lucas offered.

"Okay, it can wait until tomorrow, buddy - sleep tight!", you combed his hair with your fingers.

Closing the door behind you, you walked up to your bedroom, starting to get rid of your work clothes, "Osc? Can you help me with these buttons, please? I can't even lift my arms", you groaned, "I'm so tired".

Your heard your husband's feet pad out of the ensuite bathroom and approach you, his fingers undoing the buttons at the nape of your neck so you could take the shirt off.

"There you go, love", he offered, leaving a kiss in there.

"Thank you - both for this and for doing the nightime routine with the boys, I'm sorry I couldn't be home earlier, but the last lady had this nasty contracture that wouldn't go anywhere no matter how much I pulled and worked every trick of the book", you sighed as you grabbed your pyjamas from under your pillow so you could put them on.

"Don't worry - it was all fine", Oscar assured, "you did miss the quesion they wany to ask you tomorrow though".

"Is it something for school?", you wondered, getting up from the bed with only one leg of your pyjama pants on.

"No, it's not - you can't do anything about it, not now anyway", your husband chuckled as he watched you quirk your eyebrow.

"Do I want to know what it is about? You're scaring me a little", you mused.

"The boys want to ask you for a little brother or sister", Oscar stated, "they checked with me to know if you were the point person they should go to".

"Because I'm the only one?", you giggled, adjusting the sleeves on your shirt so you could wash your face and brush your teeth.

"You grew them in your tummy, and Lucas remembered how much your feet hurt so they want to know if you would be comfortable with having another one", Oscar offered, getting in the bed and pulling the comforter up to his waist.

"You're saying that as if it only takes me to make a baby", you spoke after spitting the toothpaste on the sink, wiping your mouth on the towell to get rid of the remnants.

"They said it like that, not me - but to be fair, they did ask if I would like to have another baby", he added.

Rubbing the cream on your cheeks, you walked back to the bedroom area, turning the light off with your elbow before you sat down next to Oscar, "it's cute, though, that they don't want to just go and ask for a sibling because they understand it's not like that", you said as you snapped your fingers.

"Would you? We talked about it a while ago, but then you had the check-ups and the doctor advised us to not go for it yet until we knew for sure you were all good", Oscar mused, grabbing your hand and playing with your fingers on his lap.

"Yes, I think I would. We know I'm all good and all my parts are working just fine, so I'm in if you are", you replied back.

"I'm in too, I miss having a little baby and the sight of you carrying our baby", he smirked, "and the process of making a baby is very fun".

"Oscar!", you swatted his chest.

"We're always telling the boys they should always tell the truth - was I supposed to lie?", he defended himself.

.

"Don't fall asleep, Jack, okay?", you said as you noticed your son nearly falling asleep on his car seat, "we're almost home, love!".

"I wasn't falling asleep", he admitted, blushing at having been caught with his eyes closed and his cheek on his shoulder.

"I know you weren't, but I just wanted to check anyway", you winked through the rearview mirror, playing along with him.

On the days Lucas had violin practice, Oscar was the one to take him there from school and then back home, which meant you only had to pick Jack up from pre-school before going home, which also allowed each of the boys to have one on one time with you.

Encouraging Jack to stick to his routine, you watched him hang his jacket and leave his shoes on the wardrobe by the door before he took hi backpack to the kitchen so he could empty the snack box.

"Are you not feeling better, mummy?", Jack asked you as he walked inside the kitchen, noticing the bag from the pharmacy on the counter, "did the doctor give you medicine to take?".

"I'm feeling so and so, but the doctor at the pharmacy told me something else", you crouched down so you could be at the same level as your son, "can you keep a secret?".

Jack nodded eagerly, showing you his ear so you could only tell him the secret before he realise you two were alone, "Oh, we don't need to whisper, and this way you won't tickle my ear", he admitted with a blush, "tell me, mummy!".

"Mummy hasn't been feeling well, and when I spoke to the doctor at the pharmacy, she seemed to think that maybe I have a baby in my tummy", you smiled, "I need to take a test to know for sure".

"A baby? The one me and Lucas asked you and daddy for?", he beamed.

"Yes, that one - should I take the tests now?", you grabbed the boxes from the bag.

"Yes, mummy, yes! How do you do it?", he wondered.

"Mummy needs to go to the bathroom", you tapped his nose, "I'll open the door as soon as I'm done, okay?", you offered before stepping inside the service bathroom by the stairs.

"Are you okay, mummy? Do you want help?", Jack asked as you could hear him walk along the corridor.

"I'm nearly done, Jack, just need to clean a little mess up I did here", you offered, doing what you needed to do and complying with all the instructions.

"It's okay, mummy, I also make a mess sometimes and you always tell me that as long as I clean up after myself, it's okay", he comforted you.

Giggling to yourself at his words, you washed your hands again before opening the door, revealing Jack waiting for you.

"When do we know?", your son asked as he looked at the plastic tests by the sink.

"In a few minutes", you answered.

"Will you be sad if it says you're just sick?", Jack muttered.

"Well, you and Lucas asked for a sibling some time ago and it would be nice if it was actually the case, right?", you tested the waters, now wondering if it was the right move to tell Jack what you were doing. You felt like you could deal with the negative result should it be the one to come up, but maybe your little boy wouldn't.

"I really want a baby brother or sister, and I know Lucas also wants one a lot, but we can wait", he offered, almost sounding like a grown up while he grabbed your hand.

Once the timer on your watch beeped, you turned the tests around checking for their validity before looking at the result.

"Are you pregnant or are you sick, mummy?", Jack questioned, looking at the tests on your hands, "what does it mean?".

"This means I'm pregnant, Jack", you smiled before setting the tests down once he jumped on your arms.

"I'm going to be a big brother!", he squealed, hugging you tightly.

"You are, buddy - are you excited?", you mused.

"I am! I can't wait to tell daddy and Lucas!", Jack smiled back at you.

Setting him back down on the floor, you grabbed the tests, "we could surprise them with something funny - what do you think?", you suggested, heading with him to the playroom so you could get started on it.

Oscar and Lucas arrived just as you were finishing the last touches of the surprise, calling your names.

"We're upstairs in the playroom!", you called back before turning to Jack, "you have to wait for Lucas or daddy to read your t-shirt, okay?".

Lucas was the first to get to the room, coming up to you to hug you and kiss your cheek, "and the teacher said I did really well!".

"That's amazing, buddy!", you congratulated after he told you all about his day.

"Hello, guys!", Oscar greeted, and judging by the bottle of water on his hands, he has stopped by the kitchen before he joined you, "how was your day?", kissing Jack's cheek.

"We didn't do anything special - it was like every day that mummy picked me up while Lucas was at his lessons", Jack told in a nonchalant way, earning a wondering expression on your husband's face as he looked you.

You shrugged your shoulders and kissed Oscar's lips, letting him press his lips on your forehead right after.

"Do you feel better? You don't look so bad anymore", he reasoned as he rubbed your cheeks with his thumbs.

"Geez, thank you, Oscar", you chuckled, "but I feel good now", you smiled.

Lucas looked intrigued as he looked at Jack, "why does his t-shirt say he has an expiring date? What's an expiring date, daddy?", he asked as he pointed.

"I'm no longer the little one!", Jack yelled excitedly, leaving Oscar and Lucas a little lost.

"We know you're grown up, buddy - It's when something is not good anymore or when it has an end date...", Oscar offered.

"No, daddy, you're not getting it! I'm no longer the little brother of the family because mummy has one inside her tummy!", he clarified.

Lucas gasped before he ran to you, hugging your legs and resting his cheek on your tummy, "is it true?".

"Yes, love - we're going to have another baby in the family!", you smiled, brushing his hair with your fingers before you felt Jack hug your side.

"I guess there's only me left then", Oscar gestured, hugging you from your back and resting his hands on your tummy, "we're having another baby, Y/N, I love you", he kissed your cheek, hugging you tightly.

Once Jack pulled away, Oscar finally got a proper glimpse of the t-shirt that stated the announcement, reading at the "Little brother: expiring date in some months!" t-shirt the little boy wore.

"Did you do this just now? Since when do you know?", Oscar mused, now finally getting ti hug you properly since the boys had let you go.

"Mummy took the tests when he got home, and then we came here to cut the print and iron letters", Jack offered.

"Yes, not long, I'm not sure it has settled in yet", you mumbled, "another little one, Osc, I love you", you kissed his lips.

.

"Boys, remember what we told you, okay? People are healing and resting, so we have to be quiet and be on our best behaviour, okay?", you checked with them as they got out of the car.

"We will, mummy", Lucas assured you while he held his hand with Jack's, keeping him close as he held Oscar's hand with the other one.

You registered yourself in and then were led to the right exam room, following the orders to lay on the bed and lift your top.

"The bump is bigger, isn't it?", Jack asked as his curious hands touched your skin, stroking it and taking the opportunity to leave a few kisses there.

"It is, little one is growing very well!", Oscar offered.

A knock on the door alerted you to it, seeing the technician step inside the room, "Good morning! How is everyone feeling today?", she asked.

"Hello! We're here to see if we're getting a baby sister or a baby brother!", Lucas offered as he swung his legs on the chair.

"That's right! Are you ready, Y/N?", she asked you with a rub on your shoulder before pulling the kart with the ultrasound machine and laptop with her and sitting on the stool next to your bed.

"Yes, very ready and very excited", you smiled.

"Which one do you think they are, baby brother or baby sister?", the technician asked your boys while squeezing the gel on your tummy.

"Come here, sit on daddy's leg instead of mummy's lap so we can see the baby on the screen there", Oscar explained to Jack.

"I don't know, we're both boys, what is that thing that nana always says? It's like there's always a third", Lucas tapped Oscar's arm as he sat next to them.

"Nana always says that there isn't a second without a third", Oscar clarified, "usually means that when there is a second one, there's always a third one".

"So you think it's a boy?", the technician hummed, moving the wand around, "well, your mummy will still be outnumbered by you guys, but she'll have a little friend to help her! You're having a babygirl!", she smiled, showing you the screen.

"A baby sister?", Jack looked at the screen, "wow, she's so tiny - is that her nose?", he pointed.

"Yes, that's her nose, then these are her legs - they look really strong!", she showed him while Oscar winked at you with a big smile on his face.

"Woah", Lucas mused as he looked at the screen, "how long until she comes out of mummy's belly?".

"That is still many weeks away, Lucas - she needs to stay inside to grow healthy and happy!", the technician explained as she wiped the gel from your belly, "I just sent the scans to the printer down the hall - if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to get them".

After she closed the door behind her, the boys jumped on the bed, hugging your sat up body.

"Can you believe we're having a little girl? A mini you?", Oscar stated as he followed your kids, standing up in front of you so he could kiss your lips.

"These two look like you - I deserve a mini me", you giggled, "Oh My Goodness, a little Piastri girl".

"Uh oh", Lucas said, making you look for any issue or trouble.

"What is it, Lucas?", you wondered.

"We don't know anything about girls!!", he said in a concerned tone.

"We're both boys!", Jack followed in agreement.

"You know Tilly and Lottie pretty well, it's not like you haven't been around girls", Oscar reasoned, not wanting them to feel dismissed as you tried your best to contain your laughter.

"We have to ask Fraser the next time we are all at a race - he definitely knows what to do!", Lucas pointed out.

.

"At least she's comfy - one of us is, anyway", you sighed as Oscar's hands helped you settle in a better position on the examination bed.

"I know we've discussed this with you before, so you probably know that this is the time we talked about. Little one is fully developed now, and she seems like a big girl from our calculations and scans, so I think that now, more than ever you should really think about inducing", your doctor stated.

With Lucas and Jack, the birth was pretty straight forward. The waters broke at home, you went to the hospital when the contractions were closer together and after some pushes, you were happily holding your baby boys.

Your baby girl seemed to have other ideas.

"We wanted to wait for her in her timing, but we understand that that option is no longer viable", Oscar nodded. The team had gone over your exams and they all agreed that induction was looking like the best option so both you and baby Piastri could be happy, safe and healthy.

Squeezing your hand in his, Oscar gave you a reassuring look before you spoke, "we've talked about it, but at the end of the day what matters is that we are both okay, so we'll do the induction. When can we do it?", you asked.

"Well, since it's early and you've only had breakfast, if you go up now, we can settle you in and start the process while your husband gets your things from home if you'd like - your baby is in a good position and we don't foresee any issues to a vaginal delivery", she smiled soflty as she signed a few papers, before handing them to you to sign too.

"Might as well get this show on the road, hm?", you looked at Oscar, "I'll call my parents to let them know".

"Okay, sweetheart", Oscar said before he kissed your forehead, "I'll meet you upstairs, okay? And you, little miss, don't show up before I'm back, okay?", he left a kiss on your baby bump.

"I think it's established that she isn't in any sort of rush", you chuckled, kissing his lips one last time before you parted ways.

While Oscar went home to grab the hospital bags you had prepared, you went up to the labour ward with your midwife Lisa, who happened to be on shift that day.

Checking you in your room, she helped you get comfortable before starting the induction process, "like we talked about, for some women this is a quick process and for some it is a long one. Any way this goes, though, we are all here to help you", she smiled soflty.

Someone knocked on the door, making Lisa look at all the supplies she had and checking if anything was missing until she noticed it was Oscar.

"Hi Lisa, how are you?", he greeted her with a hug before he came to check on you, leaving the bags in their designated area.

"Hello! I'm good, excited to help your little girl come into the world", Lisa smiled.

"And you, my love, are you doing okay?", he asked, looking at the monitor on your bump.

"I'm good, so far so good, and better now that you're here", you pointed a finger on his chest as he approached you.

Chuckling, Oscar kissed your forehead before sitting in the room you made for him, mindful of all the wires connected to you, "did everything get sorted out with your parents?".

"Yes, they'll pick the boys up and look after them - dad told me not to worry about anyone else but me and little princess", you smiled. In the last two births, the first person your father looked for when he stepped into the room was you, claiming that he looked for the person that was already there from before and that he needed to know his daughter was okay.

"I can't believe that this is happening soon, that we're going to have our baby girl in our arms", he said as he did his best to rub your bump despite the wires and monitors that were ensuring you were both doing well.

"Seems like it was yesterday that I was taking a test with Jack on the other side of the door asking me if I needed help", you giggled, "but I'm very excited to have our baby and see who she takes after - I may be too hopeful, but I have a feeling that she might look a little bit more like me", you snickered, "I did all the hard work for nine months and a bit - three times now! I think it's about time this baby comes out looking a little more Y/L/N-y and a little less Piastri-y".

"My genetics have proved to be quite strong, if we are being honest, but I'm also hoping for a little you", Oscar offered as he felt your tightening taut skin under his hand, "was that a contraction?", he said looking at you.

"I think this is the water breaking, do you remember that prickle feeling I told you about in Lucas'? It's like that - oh!", you gasped, "there it goes".

Oscar helped you get up from the bed so you could dry yourself before removing the disposable liner Lisa had laid down for that purpose.

Helping you change into the hospital gown, your husband called the midwife like she had asked you to do, "the waters have broken already? This is good news, means everything is going like it's supposed to, especially ", she said when she looked at the graphs for the CTG machine, checking your vitals too before she left the room again once everything was fine.

When contractions started picking up, Oscar was quick to tend to your every need, walking with you when you felt like movement would do you good before you settled in swaying your hips, your back against his chest while you almost danced around the room, "this is like that time Lando made us dance at the McLaren party", you muttered in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"We're much better now, I think - and you look even more beautiful", he mused, kissing the top of your head.

"Oh, there's another one", you said as you felt the tension on your bump, making you stop and somehow turn around before it got too bad, the new position allowing you to face Oscar as your arm stretched around his neck, your hands lacing at the nape of his neck so you could drop your hips to relieve the pressure from the intense feeling on your torso as you waited for it to pass, your husband's kisses and words of encouragement doing a good job at distracting you from it.

"Do you feel comfortable here or do you want to move to the bed, love? I don't want you to tire yourself more than you are", he expressed his concern as he held you.

"Can I stay here? I like being on your hold and standing up helps, I think", you looked for his approval as you felt his arms ease some of your weight on his neck.

Oscar nodded his head as he kept swaying you around, "Of course, I'm here for you, whatever you need I'll help", he prompted as your neck stretched slightly so you could kiss his jaw, mumbling an I love you to him before concentrating on your breathing again.

Knocking on the door, Lisa excused herself inside and asked how you were doing before checking your dilation, "You're doing really well, Y/N, you're 6 centimetres dilated already! This is going quite quickly I must say", she said and you smiled.

Oscar placed a proud kiss on your forehead while you heard Lisa tell you what to expect in the next few hours, "Do you want an epidural?", she asked.

"I think I'm doing fine without it, but I'll call if it gets too bad", you replied before she nodded and left to tend to the other birthing patients.

Hours later, Oscar had now turned to apply pressure on your lower back with his hands when it started getting a bit harder for you, your elbows on the mattress as you rocked your hips side to side, the interval between contractions now so short you barely had time to rest between them, "I feel like I need to push, my body is telling me to push", you said to Lisa and the nurse that were checking you.

"Why don't you sit on the bed so we can see how things are progressing?", one of them offered as your husband helped you lay down, his hand never leaving yours, "You're crowing, Y/N! It's time to meet your baby!", Lisa announced as she got in position.

"All good, Y/N? I know it hurts, but I also know you have got this", your husband whispered as he positioned himself so he could be right by your side.

"Y/N, when you feel the urge to push, do it okay?", the health professional urged you as you nodded, "your babygirl is ready to come out and everything looks good for her!".

Holding Oscar's hand and squeezing it, you cried and grunted slightly, hearing Lisa announce that the head was out and you needed to do a big push for the shoulders, "this could be a good sign for mini me - my mum always said I had a big head", you groaned.

"C'mon, Y/N, big push", the nurse encouraged as you felt Oscar's lips by your ear, "I know you can do this darling, just two more pushes and our baby girl is here", he said and you did what your body told you, pushing and breathing until your baby was out in the world.

Sitting back against the pillows, the nurses lifted the little girl and after a few taps on her pink cheek, she let out a high pitch scream both you and Oscar were sure to remember for the rest of your lives.

"She's here, Y/N, congratulations mummy and daddy", Lisa said as she placed the baby on your chest.

The baby girl your's and Oscar's love, along with the one from your family, produced was finally here. Pushing your gown to the side, you uncovered your chest as they placed her down, the skin to skin contact soothing her cries immediately, "Hello my love, I'm your mummy", you said as tears gathered in your eyes, your finger coming to stroke her pink chubby cheek as you admired her.

"She looks a lot like you, I think we've nailed the mini you, love", Oscar said between tears.

"That is daddy, I'm sure you recognise his voice too", you cooed, "we've been waiting for you for so long, and you're finally here".

Oscar kissed the top of your head before kissing the top of the little girl's head.

"Hi princess Isabella, we're so happy you're finally here", he said tearfully as he stretched his finger so your daughter could grab it between hee much smaller ones.

"Now we're gonna need to take little Isabella - such a beautiful name - to check everything while you deliver the rest, okay?", one of the nurses said and you extended your arms so she could grab her.

Oscar looked over to the nurses' station as they measured and weighed the baby before he looked down to you on the bed, "Thank you for making me a father again, I love you both so much, my love", he said with loving and still a bit teary eyes, grabbing your hand in his and kissing them before touching your forehead lovingly.

"I love you so much, Oscar", you whispered and you kissed his hand that was caressing your cheek, "there's no one else I'd be a parent with".

After delivering the placenta and having your baby girl back in your chest, Oscar couldn't stop the overwhelming surge of feelings in his chest. He was so happy and grateful for you and at the prospect of the life he had yet to fill with memories with your family.

.

When you were finally able to bring Isabella home, the boys were the best behaved you had ever seen them. They weren't troublemakers, and from what you heard the other parents share whenever you waited for the kids outside the school gate, they definitely were a breeze compared to the stories you heard, but this was new.

"I'll fill this up for you, mummy", Lucas stated, grabbing the water bottle you kept near you ti make sure you were drinking enough and helping your milk supply.

"Thank you, buddy", you smiled, adjusting Isabella's head so she could have a better latch.

"Here are the nappies for Isa", Jack offered as he carried the unopened packet he offered to get from the nursery so you could refill the caddy you kept in the living room.

"Thank you, Jack, that's very helpful", you smiled as Oscar sat next to you, "they're being so helpful, it's so cute", you mused.

"Before you came home, they helped me and your parents tidy up and they promise your dad they would be on their best behaviour", your husband mused, kissing your shoulder and looking at your daughter as she suckled on your nipple, never getting tired of watching her beautiful face.

"At what time did Lando say he was coming to visit?", you asked, squinting to look at the time on the TV.

"He said he'd be here in an hour or so, and then his wife and the kids would come later after she got them from school", Oscar mused, "here, let me burp her", he said.

Wiping the corners of Isabella's lips, you kissed her forehead before letting her go to Oscar's arms, watching his tap her back to get all the wind out before she looked ready to fall asleep.

"Mummy is going to have a shower, so you two be good, okay?", you told the boys before you headed up.

Oscar was resting his eyes when his phone alerted to who the car he heard outside belonged to, making him get up and open the door to find Lando.

"Well, hello there, Oscar, and little Isabella, hello darling", he cooed, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"Uncle Lando!", the boys cheered quietly, hugging his legs and letting him ruffle their hair.

"Where's your mummy?", Lando asked, "I brought this goodie bag with all things for postpartum fun! We got one of these from my sisters when we had Lottie and it helped a lot".

"She's upstairs, she said she was going to have a shower and my bet is that she's taking a nap", Oscar added, letting Lando sit before he could pass the little bundle of joy to his arms.

"Hello, little princess, aren't you a cutie", Lando said as he looked at the youngest Piastri.

"You have to support her head, like this", Lucas advised the father of three - soon to be four.

"I know, buddy, thank you for your help", Lando smiled at his protectiveness, letting the boys sit on either side of him.

"She doesn't like when her hands aren't covered - let me fix it", Jack offered before he pulled on the blanket around his sister's hands.

"They're both like this all the time?", Lando wondered as Oscar nodded.

"They don't let anyone else touch her without them being near - only me and Y/N get to keep her to ourselves", Oscar chuckled.

"Oh, she's fussing, daddy!", Jack alerted him.

As if on cue, you walked downstairs and into the living room as Lando was up, trying to soothe the little girl, "it's alright, uncle Lando is here, Isabella", you heard him tell her gently.

"Hello", you greeted as all eyes landed on you.

"Yeah, that's your mummy, babygirl", Lando assured, "and you want her, don't you? I can't compete with your mummy, can I?", he said as he walked closer to you, giving your daughter back so she could cuddle into your chest before he squeezed your arm.

"Thank you", you smiled, "you met uncle Lala, babygirl?", you mused, stroking her cheek and feeling her cries soothe down.

"Just about, yes - your boys surely have the protective older brother thing down", the british driver giggled.

"They're already the best big brothers and she has only been with us for a couple of days", you smiled.

[stardustdiiving]

So my personal stance on Wanderer’s relationship with the Aranara is that when he’s first settling into Sumeru he has a habit of going off into the rainforest to brood, and this results in Nahida asking the Aranara to keep an eye on him and/or help her find him (which is how, for instance, she’s able to find him so easily in his 2023 birthday letter). For a while Wanderer genuinely has no idea how Nahida keeps tracking him down until he one day catches one of the Aranara peeking at him from the bushes and remembers Nahida has an entire army of little guys watching over the forest he’s trying to dramatically storm off in, which of course ruins the effect + his chances of being able to be cynical about the world in a canopy somewhere in undisturbed peace.

Whats additionally terrible about this is recently he told Nahida to stop making the Aranara supervise him, and she happily informed him she actually hasn’t asked them to do that in a while, so if it looks like the Aranara are still following him around, it’s probably because they’re “curious about” and have “taken a liking to” him. Nahida unfortunately also does not take Wanderer seriously when he insists that “such surveillance is cruel and unusual punishment for a prisoner” and that the “personal freedoms he is entitled to under Sumeru law are being violated”. She instead laughs in the face of his suffering (giggles at him) and suggests he should try to introduce himself to the Aranara because she thinks that he would quote “get along” with them.

Wanderer, frankly, finds this absurd and wholly unnecessary. He doesn’t even know why they’ve “taken a liking to him” or have burdened them with their silly, gourd shaped whimsical presences when apparently it’s predominately Only children and any adults who’ve “maintained their sense of childlike wonder” or whatever that can see them. Wanderer is possibly the furtherest thing from either category and concludes they probably “trust” him because he’s “friends” with their Archon or something. Its utterly baffling, but he can’t really do much about it, because what’s he supposed to do? Go out of his way to chase off a bunch of silly harmless little guys every time he goes wandering?? Definitely not. He has far more important things to worry about

I think one day, though, Wanderer ends up stumbling across an Aranara getting chased around by monsters and really has no choice but to intervene because a) the thing was so helpless it was kind of tragic and b) Nahida would probably be upset with him if he let one of her Aranara get terrorized by monsters. This is when everything truly starts going downhill, because the Aranara he saved was apparently VERY big on running its mouth, so now ALL of them are even More obsessed with him and encroach on him even More whenever he’s in the forest.

To make matters worse he also makes the mistake of offering one (1) Aranara a single small pastry (ONE time. As an experiment) and now they keep offering him bizarrely cooked food to return the favor and he really has no choice but to pack snacks for them everytime he enters their domain. Its completely out of control and he doesn’t know why Nahida finds such dire circumstances so amusing. They keep sitting on his hat and roping them into playing hide and seek with him. Unbelievable . (He finds them very cute and amusing to talk to due to the sheer intensity of their good natured whimsy. Its kind of cathartic) (he would never admit this)

[aviiarie]

THE MIST HASHIRA'S TSUGUKO — platonic muichiro & reader !

synopsis. what is the mist hashira like with a tsuguko? warnings. slight spoilers for muichiro's backstory. kny-typical warnings (violence, death, etc.) notes. STRICTLY PLATONIC. demon slayer!reader. reader uses mist breathing. gn!reader. they/them used. fluff. 1.2k words. wrote this impulsively instead of studying :3

kyojuro ver.

in all honesty, muichiro never planned on taking on a tsuguko. he didn't care too much about finding a successor, and even if he did, there wasn't a single demon slayer in the corps who had what it took to be the next mist hashira. they were all too cowardly, too brash, too loud, or too timid. mist breathing was an art form, and the demon slayers were messy toddlers playing with finger paints. none of them caught his eye.

well. except for one.

he was walking in step with shinobu, on their way to a hashira when the sound of fighting interrupted his cloud-watching. he glanced away for a moment to locate the source of the sound, seeing a lithe figure hacking and slashing across a training dummy with strikes of—was that mist breathing?

this was immediately followed by pestering a thoroughly uninterested shinobu with endless questions—who is that demon slayer? have i met them before? how long have they been here?—until he inevitably forgot all about them. shinobu, however remembered.

she was tending to one of their injuries when she casually mentioned muichiro's sudden interest in their mist breathing.

“tokito seemed impressed with your skills, when he saw you. truthfully, there aren’t many mist breathing users in the corps as of late, which is why we weren’t able to find you a teacher. it seems you’ve been learning plenty on your own, however. who knows, maybe you might end up as his tsuguko!”

the words were an off-handed joke, but they took them seriously nonetheless. all of the demon slayers knew that the mist hashira didn't have or want a tsuguko, but [name] needed a teacher and well... they might as well try, even if it's in vain.

when muichiro got the application, he was puzzled. for starters, he had no memory of who this random demon slayer was, or why they wanted him to be their mentor. a quick refresher from mitsuri—who had been told the entire story over tea with shinobu, and was reading over his shoulder when he got the letter—and he learnt that they were not only a mist breathing user, but one of the most talented demon slayers in the corps.

it didn't take him long to come to his conclusion. most of the demon slayer corps may be useless, but who was he to deny one of the few talented demon slayers the chance to improve upon their skills?

his fellow hashira were surprised by his choice, but he just shrugged away their questions.

“if they're useless, i'll just give up on them. simple as that.”

training with muichiro is... intense. he has very high expectations of his student, which is one of the reasons few demon slayers even consider him as a mentor. they need to be agile enough to dodge a flurry of his attacks, quick enough to land a hit on him, and strong enough to cut through stone.

but to his surprise, they were quick to meet his expectations. in addition, their control over mist breathing was remarkably powerful, even if it paled in comparison to his own. most of their lessons turned from standard swordsmanship—of which they had already underwent plenty of training—to teaching them different techniques to master their skills.

the first time they trained together, he used wooden training swords. every instance after that, he insisted they used their own weapons instead.

“why would we bother with training swords? do you plan on beheading demons with these flimsy things?”

for the first few weeks, he continuously forgot that he even had a tsuguko. he wouldn't show up to their scheduled practices, leaving them waiting for hours, and were met with a blank stare when they finally tracked him down.

once they started training regularly though, they slowly began to cement themself in his memory. he would even make a point to jot down notes in a small journal to keep track of what he thought was important enough to remember about them.

although, much of what he deemed 'important' was rather trivial. some of his notes include: [name] is my tsugoku. they are allergic to [food]. their favourite colour is [colour]. they don't like it when i am late, even if they don't get angry at me. bring them a paper airplane the next time we meet.

how he treats them overall would differ depending on their age. if they were about the same age as him, or even younger, he would have a deep desire to protect them stirring in his gut. he can't quite narrow down the part of him that aches to keep them safe, but when he looks at them he sees a mirror of himself, young and scared and needing someone to shelter them from harm.

god forbid anyone try to give them a hard time for any reason. human or demon, that is his tsuguko and he'll be damned if he let anything happen to them.

on the opposite side of the spectrum, if they happened to be older than him... he would find it endlessly amusing. they try to pull the 'i'm literally older than you' card? well too bad, he's got the 'and yet you're the only one of us who isn't a hashira' card.

he would honestly treat them like an older sibling, if unconsciously. even if he's technically their mentor, he holds a great deal of respect towards them for their strength and bravery, and would look up to them a lot. definitely would try to impress them with his mist breathing.

no matter their age, he is very proud of them. when they go on their first solo mission after becoming his tsuguko and return victorious, he brags to anyone that will listen. someone try to talk about their own mission? he's cutting in with-

“but did you hear about [name]? they actually defeated a demon twice the strength of that one.”

but after muichiro regains his memories... oh boy.

i think they would be the first person he seeks out after he returns from the swordsmith village. he would make a beeline for their room, ignoring everyone else in his path. they're sitting on their bed and startle as he enters, but he just collapses on top of their sheets beside them. no amount of questioning earns them anything more than a mumble as a response. it's clear he's upset, but without knowing why, there is little they can do.

eventually they settle with cautiously pulling him into a hug, and can feel the tension leak out of his body as he melts into the embrace. no words are spoken, but it doesn't take long for him to start to cry.

he mumbles the entire story with his face buried in the front of their clothes, recounting the memories of his past that had returned to him mid-battle. he describes his brother, his parents, his home that is long gone.

even through his tears, they don't let him go, listening while tracing soothing circles across his back.

it's then that he realizes it: he might have lost everyone he loved, but that doesn't mean he doesn't still have a family, of sorts.

even if he never planned on taking on a tsuguko, muichiro is happy with the one he ended up with. and though he isn't the most conventional mentor, they are more than happy with him too.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.

[redheadspark]

Can you write that Druig x Fem!eternal!reader have a fighting training moment, he tease her little bit during that so...😏 just fluff

A/N - Hey! Sorry for taking so long, I had to finish my prompt session! This was amazing to write, thanks for requesting this, anon!

Soft

Summary - Druig knows how to talk, but you know how to fight.

Warnings - Some teasing and some fluff :)

“Again.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, do it again,”

You eyed him as he was making fists at his sides, his icy blue eyes were watching you like a predator who was eyeing his game.  To him, he probably thought this was a game, which made sense since he was the one who wanted to spar with you and learn how to fight.  Properly fight, in his words.  

But for him to ask you?  That threw you off since you knew you weren’t the best fighter amongst all the Eternals.  That was left to Thena, she made fighting look so easy and almost like a dance.  Even Gilgamesh was better at fighting than you were, with his brute strength he would knock a boulder back as if it were a flower petal.

Druig was no fighter, being the mind reader of you all he stayed out of the physical fights against the Deviants.  He could control a crowd of humans instantly with a simple gaze, so there was no real need for him to get his hands dirty.  

But he was intrigued and wanted to learn, which is what brought him to you one afternoon on the Domo before you were going to go on patrol with Gilgamesh.

“You just wanna….learn?” You asked him, seeing him fold his hands behind his back and simply give you his signature smirk and a shrug.

“Better to prepare myself in case it’s needed,” He replied smoothly, you giving him a suspicious look.  Druig was always mysterious to those around him, whether he tried to be or not.  There was always something hidden within him that no one could pinpoint, and this was one of those instances.  You looked from him to Gilgamesh, who simply shrugged and chuckled as you looked back at Druig.

“Why me?” You asked, seeing him smirk at you as his eyes drilled into yours.

“I heard you’re an excellent teacher,” he smoothly replied.  Gilgamesh snickered behind you, and you felt the tips of your ears burning.  Something in your mind was telling you that he was playing games with you, wanting to get a rise out of you and make you sweat.  He was always like this with the others, with you, when it came to his own amusement.  Snide remarks, and jokes under the breath, but they were all harmless in a way.  Yet this time, just in the way he said it and in how he was observing you for your reaction, you didn’t feel like giving him the light of day.

“Fine,” You replied shortly, seeing him grin widely in return.  

“Fine,” he echoed.  But you were already thinking of a great way to teach him how to fight.

By breaking him.

“Druig, I’m not gonna keep going if you’re on the verge of breaking an arm,” you advised him as he was souring off again, his feet planted on the ground and the adrenaline still seeping through his skin.  You could see it, his energy draining him with every round you two were doing.  It was making you want to ease and pull back a bit, but the other times you tried he was pushing you to not hold back with him.  From the very start, he wanted you to be hard with him, which surprised you when you both met up together in one of the smaller rooms in the Domo that was turned into a makeshift training room.

“I don’t want easy, understand?”

“You sure you wanna request that?”

“Yes. Don’t hold back with me,”

“I can do It,” he said to you, but even his voice sounded out of breath with his hair plastered to his head.  You rolled your shoulders, feeling some of the strain yourself since you both were sparring rather hard this day.  It was getting hard for you to find a good spot to pin him down, he was a faster learner and was picking up on questions and punches quickly.  Compared to the very beginning, you would be throwing him over your shoulder within two moves or knocking him off his feet with a swipe of your leg.  He wasn’t quick or light on his feet, he mostly had lead feet and slow hands.  

But if there was one thing Druig would never do, was quit.  

He took every beating and every defeat, his skin would be covered in bruises and his muscles would scream out in strain as the days rolled by.  But he would always show up, you think that he would fold after the first week or two.  Not that you had no faith in him, you did to a certain point.  But Druig was never a fighter by nature, and for him to go against his nature didn’t seem like him at all.  

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying I won’t.” You changed your wording, though now he was giving you an inquisitive look while you placed your hands on your hips.

“Sounds like you’re going soft on me,” he teased to which you raised a brow.

“This coming from you who is about to collapse in exhaustion,” You countered back, though he cracked a big grin.  You knew this was part of his game, using his words as a weapon to try his opponent off.  He did it with Ikaris so many times, along with Sprite when those two would get in a spat.  But now he was trying it with you, and you were trying your best to not let it show.

“You would like to see that, wouldn’t you?” He hummed, maybe hoping that you would smile.  But it was only giving your more adrenaline, to wipe the smirk off his face and to make him eat his words.  He saw your fists at your sides getting tighter and tighter, your legs locking in, and your eyes training in on him.

“Fine, we’ll go one more round,” You replied shortly, Druig’s smirk getting a bit bigger.  Perhaps he thought he got the best rise out of you and was going to win this little game he liked to play. But then again, he must not have known the side of you that you rarely showed the others, only in the heat of battle.  

“You know, softness does look good on you,” He said lightly.  You felt the lick of adrenaline come back over you again from his words, which were trying to shoot you like darts and trying to penetrate you.  But all you wanted to do at this point was shut him up, to somewhat put him in his place with how he was treating you.  There was no doubt you two were friends, but he also knew how to use his words to make himself feel superior.  It worked on Ikaris, on Sprite, and now he was trying to work it on you.

No. Not gonna happen

You made it across the room in a few strides, dodging the first punch he threw out with ease, and threw one back.  The sparring was brutal now, both of you going swiftly and with ease as punches and kicks were being thrown left and right.  Neither one of you were holding back, some cheap shots to the jaw or to the ribs and you dodging everything he gave you.  You did the same with him, noticing how quick he was now and simply not just trying to avoid a punch. 

But he got you in a good enough hold with both of your arms, his own arms wrapped around yours tightly as he was pressed against your side.  You tried to shrug it off one or twice, but he had some strength against him now as he chuckled right against you, almost in your ear.  His body heat longing for yours, his sweat mingling with yours, and simply being this close was enough to make you almost forget the position you were in.  The kind of intimacy that you had with the others being on the ship for so long together, you all had a connection of family and of leaning on one another.  

But this, this was different, this felt like a different kind of intimacy that you never felt before. The kind to make your heart beat a bit faster, to make your head a bit lighter, and that sense of safety being close to him.  But it was odd since he was always there, from the moment you all came to Earth.  Yet now, it felt like a shift.

“I like seeing this side of you, you know,” he said against your ear, making you almost shiver as you were still trapped in his hold, “And to think I got you all soft too,”

You glared.  That did it.

Pivoting with your leg, you pushed it up to be parallel to your body, then pushed Druig a bit to have your foot hit him square in the head as a distract him.  It worked, his grip on your arms loosening slightly but enough to have you move.  Throwing your leg back down as he stumbled from being kicked between the eyes, you know him back with your body and turn to back him.  You knocked him off his feet with your leg within a millisecond, seeing him fall on his back and you perched over him.  Grabbing his arm to pin it down with one hand and the other hand on his neck, right on a pulse point where you knew was his weak spot.

It all happened so quickly, one minute he had you pinned against him and the next he was pinned beneath you on the ground.  But something inside of you snapped, something animalistic and that wanted to prove that you weren’t going to be swayed by him.  You knew your own strength, your own worth when it came to being in a fight, and your ability.  But the way Druig was looking up at you, pinned to the ground and having no way of getting out of it, you saw something in his eyes.  There wasn’t hate, nor was there rage that you won at his own game.

Shock?  Astonishment?  What was it?

“Am I soft now?” You asked, your hand on his neck still soft enough to let him breathe but there was still a grip to keep him in control.  He gulped, you feeling it along your fingers as his blue eyes were searching yours.  Now he was hard to read, which was bothering you now since you felt like you went too far in both kicking him in the head and slamming him to the ground.  But then again, he was keeping his eyes on you.  No longer was he looking at you like some prize, there was another way he was looking at you.  Yet you couldn’t pinpoint it.

“No,” He gasped, not in pain, but out of breath.  Slowly, you were moving your hand away from his neck, right where you were feeling his pulse dancing against his skin and along your fingers.  This was a new sense of intimacy neither of you ever experienced with one another before, and it was fresh and raw and new.  Something inside of you was frightened by this, but it also felt….right. 

You released his arm and his neck, moving quickly to go back up on your feet and holding your hand out for him to grasp.  He was still sprawled on the floor, frozen like he was stuck against the ground, and had his eyes still on you in amazement.  You surprised him plenty of times in sparring sessions, yet this didn’t look like a surprise.  It looked like he was….having an out-of-body movement.

“We’re done for the today, okay?” You asked gently, seeing him finally move his arm up to grasp your hand.  You hoisted him up, seeing him nod his head and still silent as you smiled.  The mood was still tense amongst the pair of you, but it was better than how it was a moment before when you two were tangled in each other’s arms.  

“Come on, let’s get some food,” You said to him, seeing him smile in return for the first time.  It made you feel better to see him smile, not to see him scowl or seem angry with how you handled him. But then again he did ask for you not to hold back, to not reserve your strength to him.  You walked on, thinking he was behind you as you were feeling rather flushed from what just occurred.

You didn’t realize that you left Druig there, speechless with one of his hands reaching up to touch his neck where your fingers were.  You didn’t realize that his mind was turning and wandering to new thoughts, and new feelings.  

You especially didn’t realize that he was suddenly enraptured with you.

The End.

Tagging - @a-lumos-in-the-nox @botanicalbarnes @virtueassassin @saradika @heartofwritiing @pemberlyy @heliosphere8 @reader6898

[ingravinoveritas]

Feeling really normal about Georgia calling Michael "the boyfriend of my husband"

Okay, so...wow. Definitely a lot to unpack today, but first let me wish our own Welsh seduction machine the happiest of birthdays. Happy Birthday, Michael! 🎉🎂

So, there have been a few posts since last night, and my thanks to @moriarty-sisters for including the above screenshots. Posting some larger ones so we can take a better look, starting with AL's post:

And then we have Georgia's from this morning:

(Standard disclaimer that what follows here is only my opinion/observations, and does not mean that I am completely right. As I've said before, if I am wrong, I am more than happy to acknowledge that.)

It appears that a party was held in Michael's honor last night, and David and Georgia were in attendance. There has been some confusion about the pictures because Michael's hair length/facial hair are different in the group photo vs. the party photos, so to your Ask @kime11e (which I did not include here just to keep this less cluttered), I think that the group photo is not actually from last night (which then makes me wonder why Georgia didn't post one from last night, but more on that in a minute).

So, of course the first thing that stands out about all of this is Georgia calling Michael David's "boyfriend." As I've mentioned previously, Georgia has been calling Michael David's "other wife" since the end of 2021. (David has also called Michael his wife in other contexts, which was confirmed by Rob Wilkins.) "Boyfriend," however, is new. And in this instance, "boyfriend" feels very deliberate. While I don't think it's possible to say that this confirms what the exact dynamic between them is, what I think is confirmed is that something about that dynamic has changed.

But let me go back for a moment and talk about AL and Georgia's posts and the differences between them. In Anna's post, I was particularly struck by the difference in Michael between the picture of him and AL vs. the picture of him with the cake. The disconnect to me is so strong that it's like looking at two different people--the real Michael (cake picture) vs. the version of himself Michael becomes in every picture with her, as if he is playing a role. There is no light in eyes, no trademark twinkle that we so often see--he's just muted, somehow. And Anna again is so wrapped up in showing him off and making sure that she looks good in the picture that she doesn't seem to care how Michael looks.

I do want to note that I would not even be saying this were it not for the fact that this is the...third?...picture he's taken with her in the last month and a half where he looks like this (and noticeably only in pictures with her):

I've mentioned this previously on my blog, but even if Michael is doing a "bit," he is choosing to look this way in pictures with Anna. Seeing the response to Georgia's post today, however, I almost wonder if it's because they know the fans will never take anything the four of them do seriously, to where AL could say (just as an example) "Michael and I hate each other," and the fans would eat it up and say how funny they are. So in that sense, I could see them deciding to stop pretending entirely and for Michael to let his true feelings out because it's easier to hide in plain sight. I don't know for certain that is the case, but I also don't know how else to explain AL seemingly having no problem with her partner looking like this in multiple pictures with her.

Going back to today's birthday posts, aside from the pictures, I was also perplexed by Anna's caption on her post. It's so over the top in some ways, but somehow not enough at the same time. Again, this would have been an opportunity to say what a great father Michael is, or how he's such a wonderful person, but instead, Anna's caption focuses on how great she is for being willing to throw confetti on the floor, and to celebrate Michael's birthday even though it's apparently an inconvenience. It comes across as self-involved and self-serving, which is further augmented by this tweet of Anna's from earlier bragging about how great she is for the birthday present she got for Michael. All of this taken together, I think what bothers me is how it feels more like Anna is promoting herself than Michael, and that she saw his birthday less as a special occasion and more as a PR opportunity.

Looking at Georgia's post, what stood out to me (apart from the caption, that is) is the picture. Something I have noticed is that Anna seems to always have that tight, pained smile on when anyone other than her is taking the picture. I think Georgia knows enough about "bits" and narratives to know how to set things up, and it's interesting to me that when she does, Anna sort of looks out of place, even unintentionally. Then we have Michael and David, who are beaming in this group picture, and Michael in particular has a huge smile on his face, as he often seems to whenever David is near. And again, for me it's the massive contrast between Michael's expression in that group picture vs. in pictures with AL, as well as the contrast between Georgia and AL's expressions vs. Michael's and David's. What also stood out is what wasn't posted: A picture of Michael and David together.

Which brings me back to my earlier point about the dynamic between the four of them, and to @phantomstars24's comments. I think what's most noticeable to me is that, contrary to what I have also seen some folks say today, this is not "Oops, we're all dating" or a continued joke about them being a polycule (at least not in the way that many fans are assuming). Because in all of this, not once has there ever been a comment or joke about David/Anna or Michael/Georgia. (Heck, Anna doesn't even post a word about David on social media unless it's a reshared post from Georgia or official promo/behind the scenes photos.) So the contrast between what is available for public consumption (group photos, Michael/AL photos) and what isn't (Michael/David candid photos) is very curious.

With that in mind, what this this feels like is a shifting of a preexisting narrative as a form of damage control. Because, as we remember, Georgia has been calling Michael David's "other wife" since 2021, so why didn't she start the "flirting" with Anna at that same time? Or even in 2020, when the first season of Staged happened? Why wait until four years later, especially when she had ample opportunity to do this well before now? Perhaps we will never know why, but if I had to guess, I would say Georgia didn't have a need or reason to do it until now. And as the saying goes, the best place to hide the truth is between two jokes. "Anna is my wife." / "Michael is David's boyfriend." / "Georgia is my wife." Hiding in plain sight, while also taking the heat off of Michael and David.

Again, I realize everyone has different interpretations of this, and I am not going to tell anyone that their interpretation is wrong, or that they have to agree with me. But for me (and I would guess for many others), shipping Michael and David did not start with Georgia calling Michael David's "boyfriend." There is no way that that statement alone would cause such a reaction, but rather the cumulative effect of everything that has happened since 2018, including Michael and David flirting and adoring and eyefucking each other in countless interviews and appearances and much more, long before Georgia ever said a word about it on social media. Now that she has, however, it would seem almost foolhardy to discount the possible reasons why, and in my opinion, I can't see why it wouldn't be as likely that it's because Michael and David are lovers as it is because they are good friends.

So yes, those are my thoughts on today's events. Glad as always to hear from my followers and see what you think of these latest developments. Thanks for writing in! x

[humanpurposes]

Thoughts about Aemond in episode 2 and the Greens as a dysfunctional family (spoilers).

Preemptive apologies because I feel like this is a very ranty post. At the end of the day, none of this is real, it's not that deep, but I have a lot of thoughts. I actually really liked this episode overall, it was a huge improvement from last week for me! :)

There’s something unnerving and uncomfortable about the childlike state Aemond reverts to in the brothel, the way he's curled up in the woman's lap, the way he's trying to brag that Daemon sees him as a threat. The addition of the warm milk was a bit too on the nose for me, yikes.

As we've seen with Aegon and Helaena, Aemond doesn’t get a lot of emotional support from Alicent, especially with the tensions between them after he killed Luke. She obviously cares about her children and wants to protect them. She's the only one who defended Aemond on Driftmark, she tries repeatedly to comfort Helaena, she put herself between Aegon and Meleys, but as we can clearly see, the Green faction fundamentally struggles to connect with each other. Alicent’s failure to offer emotional support to her children has trickled into their relationships with each other. That scene of her walking out on Aegon crying as a mirror of Aegon and Helaena hardly able to speak a word to each other on the staircase… pain.

Just as Otto used Alicent as a pawn for his own political advancement, Alicent's children take on their own roles, Aegon as the heir (now the King), Helaena as his Queen, Aemond as the second son, the fighter.

There's a lack of connection with his family, even with Criston Cole, the only other person Aemond seems close with, he can't fully let go of this facade, which is actually why I love his insane little smile when he talks about Alicent usurping the throne, it's like he slips into saying what he truly thinks but he's still holding back.

What we're seeing in the brothel scene is Aemond seeking intimacy in the only way he thinks he can. It's not sexual, he doesn't seem to desire this woman. He wants to voice his inner thoughts to someone who won't hold it against him.

I do question why the showrunners chose to portray Aemond's vulnerability in such an... awkward way. There are plenty of viewers who already sympathise with Aemond having seen his trauma as a child, just as there are plenty of viewers who despise him for the things he does, so what purpose does this scene really serve?

I wonder if this is an attempt on the part of the showrunners to expose the Greens as hypocrites. Aemond has his "decent men for no taste for depravity" line in 1.9, then PLOT TWIST he likes to be babied by his favourite prostitute. Aemond is my favourite fictional boy, I support him being an edgelord, twink, war criminal, but I can't take this character seriously when his nephew has just been murdered, his sister is traumatised and he's like "omg Daemon wanted to slay me in my beddd 🥰 he's so scared of me ���😈" Actually, I find it interesting that Aemond doesn't have many moments with his family, even when Jaehaerys has just died, it makes me think that Aemond fundamentally sees himself as an outsider. Maybe he's never brought himself to trust Aegon for bullying him, he has to be protective of himself.

I think I feel a similar way to this scene as I do about every scene with Alicent and Cole. It's not unexpected per se, it seems like a logical progression in their characters and I like the idea in principle, but the execution in both instances hasn't hit the mark for me. Alicent and Cole's sex scenes have cheapened the connection that was clearly there between them in season 1, and the brothel scene to me feels unnecessary.

[eponastory]

I know you most likely already realized this, but I was just thinking about Aang as a father in LOK, and realized something. If Katara ended up with Zuko and eventually had children together, Zuko would likely end up being a better father than Aang. Aang never even met his parents, and only had instructors as parental figures. They're like parents but mostly just in the way that a school teacher would be. But Zuko understands what good parents and what bad parents look like because he knows what his own parents are like. His memories of Ursa and Iroh would be his guide to what you SHOULD do for a child, and Ozai is an example of what you should NOT do. Zuko doesn't have the pressure of repopulating firebenders because firebenders aren't virtually extinct, so there wouldn't be as much (if any) pressure to pay unfairly extra attention to one child over the other. Zuko knows what it's like to be neglected by a parent that's supposed to love because of something you can't control. Aang clearly doesn't, hence why he neglected Bumi and Kya II in the first place. Zuko also has experience with Azula, and would know to recognize any bad signs of sibling jealousy and/or hatred, and put an end to it because he knows what bad sibling dynamics look like.

I feel like he would also be a better husband to Katara. He's not as naive as Aang when it comes to marriage; Zuko has the experience of growing up with two married parents, and would know what not to do. Katara would relax better because the distribution over who watches the kids would be more fair, as Zuko would give them ALL attention. While Aang made Katara jealous from always being around the Air Acolytes (in the comics), I feel like Zuko would not give polite attention to women who are rude to Katara/flirting with him because in the show, Zuko knows exactly how hurtful it feels for a romantic partner to flirt with/give polite attention to people who are obviously pursuers. Imagine being in an alternate dimension where Zutara was the main endgame couple, and we get to see their parental dynamics in LoK. There would probably be a flashback of Katara getting worked up about one of their children, and Zuko would ease her into calming down because he sees a solution that she didn't.

Aang's issues are more than he doesn't know. He is selfish by nature. Selfish parents aren't good parents. I know this for a fact. It's an endless cycle of 'It's your fault' or 'what about how I feel' every time you try to say something. It's not fun, and it's damaging. I can totally see Aang using this behavior as a way to get what he wants. As far as him being naive... yes. He is very naive and doesn't take anything seriously.

Like the war, for instance. He was only there for the last year of it. He wasn't born into the war like Zuko, Katara, Sokka, Toph, and Suki. They aren't naive. They know what war is like. Toph is the same age as Aang, and she is much more mature than he is. He's got this idea that killing anyone is bad, but he is responsible for a lot of deaths. Honestly, he has a kill count from the Fire Nation attack on the NWT, and a lot of people overlook that for some reason. Actually, the show overlooks it because Aang is the Hero, and it's okay if he killed people. So, when all is said and done, all of the things that he does afterward is overlooked too. It's a huge writing flaw with the show. So how does this translate to him as a parent?

It makes him a hypocrite.

Plain and simple.

He's so focused on reviving the Air Nomads that he has little knowledge on what they actually believed. What we are given is a few Taoist, Hindu, and Buddhist proverbs to go off of. Then, it's completely disregarded (disrespected as well) for 'Love'. This 'Love' is actually deep infatuation fueled by jealousy and possessive behavior. Which is actually frowned upon by the three religions mentioned above. It is a 'poison' to the spirit. And disconnects you from being enlightened (I think that is what the proverbs/scriptures are eluding too, if I'm wrong, please do not hesitate to explain, I'm super interested in cultures and eastern religions) or granted a place in Heaven (or their version of it). Letting go of all earthly possessions is common place in most religions. Aang does not do this. But I digress.

So, while there is the Nature vs Nurture aspect of parenting... where Katara does most of the Nurturing because that is how her character is written post-war and LoK. Notice how is said Written. Written by two misogynistic men who stripped her of a lot of her characteristics from the original run of the show. This is the problem. And it's the same with Aang. I can't take him seriously because he doesn't take any of it seriously. Especially with his children. He's not a serious character. He acts like he's serious, but he never really left the 12 year old boy behind to mature. Probably because in his fictional relationship with Katara, she enables him to keep doing what he always does. Which is to not grow. Relationships grow sour when the two people in them do not grow. It's not really about who grew up with parents at that point because it's the current parents that are the ones that should be to blame.

Now on to Headcanon space...

Zutara is a Headcanon ship. Did it almost happen? Oh yes I believe it did because the writing supports it heavily and Bryke's actions post show also scream 'lairs'. Sorry, but I have a pretty good Bullshit metor and Bryke set it off big time by their immature behavior.

But I digress.

Zuko grew up with a Narcissistic Sociopath as a Father and a Mother who was caught in the middle of a choice she was essentially forced to make. Ursa was also forced to forget her own parents never existed after she married Ozai. This is all canon, by the way. Her life before her marriage was great, but then it was taken away so she had nothing left but her morals and beliefs. However, while she loved both of her children, her influence on Zuko is essentially what made him who he is. Ursa didn't get to influence Azula like she did Zuko. Why? Because of Ozai.

Ozai pit his children against each other. This was apparently a Fire Nation Royal Family tradition because it sounds like Azulon did this with Iroh and Ozai as well. This kind of parenting style is abusive to its core. What Ozai did to Zuko isn't neglect... it's straightforward abuse and control. How do you make a child do what you want? You hurt them, or you take something away from them. Ozai both hurt Zuko and took away his home by banishing him. If Zuko wants to go back home, he has to find and capture the Avatar. It's that simple, but at the same time, it's also near impossible.

Flash forward to Canon Zuko and we see he has one child and he is a very loving father. Actually, he's the best father in the show. His experiences with growing up as the not so favorite child has made his choice to have one child easy. Probably because he and his spouse had a less than perfect relationship. This also may have influenced him to be protective of Izumi (as we can see he's still protective over her even at 90 years old) because of the loveless relationship his parents had. It was enough to damage him deeply when it came to relationships. This is likely also why he had trouble with Mai as well.

Headcanon space now...

Zuko loving Katara is what makes the difference here. Love is giving your partner the freedom to make their own choices and support them. As long as there is good communication, trust, and honesty. Something Maiko does not have, by the way. So it stands to reason that even with Nature Vs Nurture in the way of parenting, both win here. I'll tell you why Zuko's relationship with his parents here have no effect on why he would choose to have more children with Katara.

Because if written well, it's a very good relationship between them. We already know they work well as a team. The show gives us this. We know that Zuko absolutely cares about Katara. The show also gives us that. We also know they become lifelong friends. So why do they make great parents?

Because they rely on each other.

It has nothing to do with how they were raised individually, but everything to do with how they support each other narritively. They trust each other to make good decisions together. They rely on being honest with each other. They also communicate with each other. This by itself is the building blocks for a healthy and stable relationship. With that in mind, parenting is easier. There is no need to be afraid of becoming a bad parent because they hold each other accountable. It's a deep relationship. Having multiple children is easier because it is a loving relationship. There's no conflict besides the silly little arguments over simple things that happen all the time. It's just an overall healthy dynamic.

And that is what appeals to Zutarians.

While it was almost canon, I'm glad it isn't because Bryke would definitely not get it right. They tried to make Korra and Mako happen out of spite because they believe Zutara is toxic. It's not. Their children would turn out absolutely fine because Zuko would not change a thing about Katara. It's in the show. He doesn't try to change her because that's not his job. His job in TSR is to let her find closure. He offers it to her because he cares about her. Bottom line.

Anyway, I probably forgot what you said at this point because I just tend to go on and on, but I tried my best to stay on topic... ADHD is both a blessing and a curse.

[simpforboys]

Avatar Request

Hi can I request lo’ak, where he tries to impress reader but he’s just keeps embarrassing himself. He goes to his dad for advice and just makes a fool out of himself till Neytiri comes to his rescue.

mother knows best

lo’ak sully x fem!metkayina!reader

summary: lo’ak tries so hard to gain your attention, little does he know all he needs is his mother’s advice

warnings: fluff, lo’ak pinning, maybe slight angst if you squint? lo’ak has no game

this wasn’t specific so i made reader metkayina bc i feel like it fits since yk, also probably ooc lo’ak but it’s fine

lo’ak just couldn’t help himself but be attracted to you.

your curly hair, gorgeous aqua eyes, and bright smile caused him to blush and beam.

but when tonowari asked you to help teach the sully children the metkayina ways, lo’ak was sure he was going to be with you.

it might just take awhile.

“y/n!” lo’ak calls after you. carrying a pile of fishnets to drop off to the fishermen, your ears perked up from your name.

“good morning, lo’ak.” you nodded to the boy.

“do you need any help carrying all those nets?” he asked you, a hopeful look on his face.

“why, do you believe i am not strong enough?” you teased.

“no! no that’s not what i was implying-“

lo’ak’s face blushed red as his ears fell, tail swaying behind his legs.

“relax, skxawng (idiot). i’m only joking. but if you’re offering, you can grab those buckets.” you nodded your head towards the pile of wood.

lo’ak nodded, grabbing the boxes as he began to walk with you.

“let me show you how us omatikaya hold things…” lo’ak joked, grabbing the crate with one arm and holding it over his shoulder.

“impressive. metkayinas can do that when they are three.” you winked, seeing as lo’ak tripped over a rock and dropped the crate on the floor.

lo’ak’s ears fell as you laughed, hiding your smile behind your hand. his face grew hot as some surrounding metkayinas snickered.

there were multiple instances where lo’ak would try to show off, the deed going wrong and causing lo’ak to embarrass himself.

“dad,” lo’ak approached where his father was sharpening some knives.

“what’s up?” jake asked, pausing the action to pay attention to his son. lo’ak appreciated it- the one time his father might give him real advice.

“there is this… uh… girl. and i want to impress her, but every time i do- i just make it awkward or embarrass myself.”

jake smiled at his youngest son.

“what i did with your mother was try to learn her ways. make her laugh, take what she does seriously, and just be around her. maybe ask her help you with the sign language. compliment her, make her feel special.”

lo’ak nodded at his father, a smile on his face. “thank you.”

little did the duo know, neytiri stood away with perked up ears listening to what her mate was telling her son.

the next day she watched lo’ak approach you while you were resting on the sand.

he sat across from you, accidentally splashing water into your eyes.

she swore to eywa, believing how much her son was like jake.

“i’m so sorry-“

“lo’ak, it is alright. we have two eyelids for that reason.” you sat up, blinking to show him your second eyelid and the late reaction it had.

“it’s like an alligator- an animal my father would tell stories about. how they attack sky people and other animals for venturing too close to their territory.”

you looked at the boy, confused. neytiri rolled her eyes, face palming herself.

“sorry.”

lo’ak was mentally cursing himself. a deep blush made your teal cheeks have hints of pink, and lo'ak swore he wanted to crawl into the sand and die at that very moment.

➽─────────────────❥

a few days later, lo'ak sat across from you as you taught him sign language.

"dive, swim, follow," you demonstrated every word with a hand motion, the teen following intently.

lo'ak copied your movement, his eyes watching you like a hawk as you continued to teach.

"now, you try." you nodded towards lo'ak to begin.

he was nervous, taking his hands and trying to remember the ten words you just taught him within a minute. with you, it was learn fast or get left behind, and it intimidated lo'ak.

"dive, swim, follow..." lo'ak had messed up. his ears fell flat in embarrassment, your eyes glowing with a glimmer of something he couldn't quite tell.

"well... you are learning something, at least." you shrugged, pushing your hair off of your shoulder and behind your back. lo'ak hated that you made him so nervous, made him feel like a fool.

he could tell you were slightly annoyed.

"i have to go tend to my siblings. we will catch up later, yeah?" you excused yourself from the boy. lo'ak watched with sad eyes as you left, his head hung low as he sat on the sand alone.

"get up, maitan (my son)." neytiri grabbed her son's forearm from the side, nearly frightening the poor boy.

her tone was harsh as she looked at her son with wide eyes.

"it shocks me that you did not pick up flirtatious banter from your father."

lo'ak furrowed his brows as he stared up at his mother.

"mama-"

"let me help you. while i love your father, he is like a baby sometimes."

neytiri began walking away while lo'ak stood in the same spot on the sand, dumbfounded at his mother.

"come." she barked.

"while girls like being complimented, having boys to spend time with, and whatever else your father told you, it is the average. that is not going to stand out to y/n. you need to do something special, something that shows her that you care."

it was almost as if a lightbulb went off in lo'ak's head.

"thank you, mama." lo'ak bowed to his mother, a beaming smile on his face as he ran off to begin organizing.

➽─────────────────❥

later that night, you woke to lo'ak shaking you awake gently.

"come, i have to show you something."

you wiped the sleep away from your eyes, your mind too hazy to realize what he said until you were outside of your pod.

you looked to where a woven blanket was placed on the sand, a breakfast meal arranged gently in the middle. the sun was about to rise, the moon beginning to move past it on eclipse.

"what is this?" you asked curiously, a yawn escaping your lips.

lo'ak would be lying if he were to say he wasn't terrified.

"i figured we could watch the sunrise." lo'ak was absentmindedly playing with his hands. you noticed his nervously, a small grin tugging on the end of your lips.

you sat down, beckoning him to join you. lo'ak let out a sigh of relief as he sat next to you, picking up a berry and eating it. you followed suit, the juice of the fruit exploding into your mouth.

pink, orange, yellow, and red erupted over awa'atlu as eclipse began to undo. you watched the sight intently, never purposefully watching the sight.

but eywa, it was beautiful.

the animals went back to life, the clear reef showcasing each one and their uniqueness. you were in awe, a subtly glow on your face.

"this is beautiful, lo'ak." your big grin made lo'ak's heart flutter. he ducked his head down, almost scared to meet your gaze.

you unknowingly put your hand on top of his, too lost in the scene to notice or care. but lo'ak noticed, and he very much cared.

you looked absolutely stunning under the lighting. it was refreshing to see you so happy, normally being so overwhelmed with clan business.

still tired, you put your head on lo'ak's shoulder. his heartbeat was beating rapidly. and before he knew it, you had begun to gently doze off onto him.

lo'ak grinned, rubbing your bicep gently as he laid back on the sand. your head moved to rest on his chest as you curled into him.

"i see you, y/n," lo'ak whispered. even if you didn't hear it, he just needed you to know.

however, you did hear it. the adjusting had woken you up to barely any consciousness.

"i see you too, lo'ak."

lo'ak pressed a kiss to your head, his heart doing leaps in his chest as he began to doze off with a smile on his face.

neytiri had woken up that morning to the sight of you sleeping on her son, beaming proudly at her son.

-------

tags: @mayhemories @useryourbut

sorry if this was bad or too short, i still think it's cute tho :)

[othervee]

Portrait of a royal family

I love that Young Royals is the kind of show you can re-re-rewatch and discover new stuff every time, because of the care and attention that's gone into it.

For instance - what we learn about the royal family and Wilhelm's place in it, including the unspoken things.

First vision of the royal family, and we see that their space is not theirs. There are thirteen people in this room; courtiers and staff outnumber the family more than 2:1. The family is also divided, with Erik and the Queen (the current and future rulers) standing together attending to business, while Wilhelm and his father are seated and talking. Wilhelm is also separated from his father by the staffer standing between them while she covers up Wilhelm's bruises. There's an array of cosmetic products in front of them; this is something they take seriously, not just a bit of concealer. So not only is Wilhelm unable to lick his wounds in privacy, but the family wants to conceal his injuries; they can't show that he's hurting.  

The Queen's first interaction with her youngest son is all about the visuals. She grabs his face to check the makeup job; we don't know whether she actually checked the visible injuries before Wille sat down. It's as if he's a little kid. No boundaries. You could almost see it as an extension of their relationship in general; Wilhelm is at the age where teenagers test boundaries, and his mother is angry and maybe a little scared because of the dangers he's exposing himself to. In a non-royal house, this perhaps wouldn't be quite such a big deal.

Kristina's next act is to slap Wilhelm's hand out of his mouth when he's biting his nails, with an exasperated snap that tells us she's done this a lot and is tired of it. The end result is that everyone in the room witnesses Wilhelm being scolded. Even his "private" humiliation is not private.

What else does this scene tell us? It is not a comfortable, or comforting, environment. The chairs are straight-backed and gilded. The table is covered in the detritus of a working day - laptops, coffee - but it does not look like a convenient place to work. Everyone's quite formally dressed; staff in uniforms or office attire, Erik in his military uniform, Wilhelm and his father in suits, and the Queen in royal blue. Her jewellery is conservative-coded with its tiny pearls and cameo. Dignified, stately, not flashy; stiff; made for show, not comfort; old-fashioned. This is the world Wilhelm uneasily inhabits and has tried to escape.

The scene on the couch is excruciating for Wilhelm and clearly uncomfortable for everyone else. The family are not in harmony; there's not a moment when they all look in the same direction. Ludvig looks like he's thinking about his stamp collection or his stock options or what he wants for dinner. Erik is keeping an excellent neutral expression but his eyes keep moving to Wille, checking out his face and his nervous hands, monitoring how he's feeling. The Queen is also looking at Wilhelm, but it's a pointed look, expectant and also silently saying Get on with it, and don't stuff it up.

We learn more about the family when Erik and Wille arrive at Hillerska. Note that Erik is the one who drives him there, probably taking time away from his Crown Prince duties. Did he offer, knowing it would be easier for Wilhelm? Although he clearly cares about his brother, he's also trusted to do the right thing and deliver him safely. He's part of the apparatus that's setting Wilhelm back into place. (Erik, I think, is not nearly as much on Wille's side as much of the fandom believes; he's just the closest thing Wille has to someone on his side).

August, like the Queen, is all about the image - and grabbing Wille's face without invitation. He's also all about Erik. And I'm sure he's also very aware of all the faces watching them from the window behind them, and the press in front of them, but he sees it as an advantage. He doesn't care about the reality as long as the image is right.

Does Wille find it disconcerting that August and Erik are so closely bonded? Erik clearly intends Wille to think of August as another big brother, an Erik-substitute, but Wille's seeing that there's another 'little brother' in Erik's life and that Erik is leaning in to seeing August again at the moment when Wille needs him most.

August is letting down his guard here. I think this is the most natural, uncalculated reaction we get out of him all season.

Wilhelm is being almost squashed between August and Erik as they talk across him. Again, Erik barely pays Wille any attention while August is around. This would further alienate Wille from him.

And here we really begin to see that, as much as he loves his brother and his brother adores him, Erik is part of the machinery that grinds Wille down. Let's look at his lines in this scene:

He's lived through his own adolescence and his time at Hillerska, and he came around to the establishment way of thinking. Surely Wille will too. So he'll be understanding and kind, but like his parents, he expects Wille to knuckle down. He's not going to encourage Wille to dream of a life beyond the gilded cage.

[farashibutjustfoolingaorund]

So cool how characters in RE contrast each other capabilities-wise.

Chris is an expert marksman and vehicle handler (ex airforce) who mainly relies on grappling and punching for his melee attacks being the tank of a guy that he is.

Leon has crashed almost every vehicle he's driven, mains kicks, and is built more for agility and mobility than tanking hits. This is especially visible in his fight with Chris in RE6 and his fight with Arias in Vendetta. In RE6, Chris is always trying to close the distance to take control over his opponent, but the reason their fight ends in a draw is because Chris throws Leon, which gives Leon the space to react. Kicks also just naturally require more space or are meant to get distance from an opponent. (Not to say they can't ever be used in closer quarters, like popping a low roundhouse, for instance). And Leon's just schmoovin in Vendetta.

In contrast to both, Jill seems to prefer knives and melee over firearms and has an acrobatic/aerial agility flow as opposed to Leon's ground flow, and also mains kicks/distance melee in contrast to Chris' more extreme close quarters style. (this is prevalent in RE5 and Death Island especially). Canonically Jill has bested both Chris and Leon in melee combat. Her win against Chris was probably affected by the alterations made to her by Wesker and also Chris not wanting to hurt her, but nonetheless. Chris is capable enough that he should be able to restrain someone without seriously hurting them. I think this is solid ground to say Jill is the most skilled hand to hand combatant in RE.

Like Chris, she can seriously take a hit. Most RE characters can, given their line of work, but these two especially.

Ada's style is geared toward stealth and efficiency, which lends itself to her more graceful and poised movement style. A lot of her RE4R melees rely on momentum and really putting her whole body into an attack. I don't just mean her spin kicks and hookshot melees, she puts her whole torso into her sidekick to the point that she actually looks away from the opponent because of the torque.

I've not looked as closely at Wesker, but his fighting style is this interesting mix of theatrics and brutal efficiency, which is enhanced by his speed. It all depends on how much he is toying with his opponent. He moves very quickly and hits precisely, but makes a show of it sometimes. See Code Veronica.

Though not really a trained agent or military personnel, Claire's gun handling is second to none. Chris may have been the best marksman in STARS, but I honestly believe that if it's her against him in a shooting contest, she would win. See Code Veronica, Degeneration, Rev2, etc.

A note on pain tolerance, Death Island gives us an interesting insight into that.

I got the sense that the initial viral injection from the drone hurts immensely. Claire is immediately brought to her hands and knees by the pain. This makes sense, as she's not a trained agent of any kind.

Chris lasts a little longer than her, but is soon brought to his hands and knees as well. That's how you know it has to hurt bad, because Chris Redfield, whose whole thing is being a tough guy who can take a hit, is on the ground. However, despite the pain, he still has the presence of mind to try and comfort his sister, which is also a very Chris thing to do.

I was actually quite surprised by Leon's pain tolerance. He toughs it out way longer than Chris did before going to the ground. Even then, he's present enough to aim his gun and throw a flash grenade, demonstrating he can work through more pain that Chris can. Even so, he's still unable to block any kind of attack from Maria or recover correctly after being hit, which makes sense.

[torchstelechos]

just saw you saying you want to talk about The Characters (isat) what are some thoughts you got bip bap boppin around in the noggin about the Them

Ooooooooohhhh Anon,,,, Ooooooh, You have unlocked deep thoughts and long monologues.... have this piece of bullshit that I spat out in excitement

Isabeau: 

Ah yes, dear Isabeau, my most beloathed <3 (self recognition in other /derogatory). He’s one of the characters I’ve written the most meta for that's actually about his character in the game. I love him and hate him in equal measures but that's not what I want to talk about today! I want to discuss his morbid humor and fascination, I suppose. Also his rather interesting character type and how that's displayed in the game, specifically through his morbid thoughts and discussion choices. 

In the game we see plenty of times that Isabeau uses morbid word choices (killed them so that I could live friendquest quote) and brings up morbid discussion topics (what do we do if you die? What do we do if Bonnie dies?) that the others find disquieting. He also laughs at Siffrin’s time traveler joke, finds scary Siffrin attractive, and finds being paid attention too enough that they can harm you attractive. This brings me to my main point, which is that Isabeau is the cold scientist archetype character that tries to be the himbo fighter character. Of course we know that hes trying to hide himself behind the himbo character type, but the fact that he's analytic to a fault, morbid in almost every way, finds scary things attractive, and calls Changing killing his past self… this man is very much a scientist that was about to turn evil but decided friendship was the answer whose character was subverted into himbo fighter because those who are dumb are more liked than those who know things. It's interesting, and I think it’s one of the reasons I despise Isabeau POV fanfics. Most fanfics feel almost like his facade is him, and thats just not true and it bugs me so very much to read fanfics with his POV now. But! This isnt to say those fanfics aren’t well done! They are, I just find them lacking in canon Isabeau’s almost neutral analytical personality that was then filtered through therapy and self help books esque vibe. Fascinating character, hate him dearly for it though. 

Misc thoughts: 

I generally have a hard time nailing down everything I feel about him for a variety of reasons but I do want to say that I think he finds Siffrin’s big melt down appearance attractive after the whole thing blows over. I also think he doesn't have the best track record for what is okay to say or not? So he falls back on “I am dumb therefore I can say things that others find disturbing and frame it as something I just don't understand or misunderstood :)” which kind of backfires on him constantly because now no one really takes him seriously? I don’t know, I just find most smart characters have a hard time figuring out the social situation of certain things so they tend to either not care at all for tact or overthink everything and over compensate by not allowing themself to go for certain things. In this instance its him not being able to confess because he thinks he's bad for liking someone in a certain way and doesn't want to pressure them which backfires because he's otherwise a good communicator but failed hard with Siffrin. Speaking of, I don’t think hes ever gotten with anyone other than Siffrin. It took the world literally almost ending and a time looping induced trauma attack for him to confess he liked Siffrin, this man does NOT have game. So, lol, that kiss? Probably his first <3, RIP my man did not deserve that

Odile:

Strangely enough I don’t believe I have ever written a meta post for Odile? Or anything about her other than tags? So yeah, let's focus on her. She's a very honesty based character in a game literally about someone not being able to speak the truth, which is why I appreciate the sus route so much. She noticed something was wrong and went for it, leading her down rabbit holes best left untouched. Odile is a character that I truly think would have accidentally unleashed an eldritch horror on the quest if not for Isabeau stopping her. Mainly because she is smart but not academic smart, she's learned from her travels plenty of things that lend to real life experience but she's not much of an academic when it comes to how to get answers she wants (taking until the very last town to get a familytale while Siffrin took maybe three loops to do is. Certainly something!). Its fascinating, because if I were to actually describe her personality and how that lends to a character archetype I would say that she's a brawler character. Effectively, she and Isabeau are reflections of each other in a very specific way and I think about this often in her relation to the group. Its almost laughable how shes been put into this responsibility role of the group while Isabeau is off goofing around (and secretly plotting how to best respect his friends remains), shes not very good at knowing what is the best course of action and acts out in impulsive ways that harms others (Looking at you, hitting Trauma Big Siffrin moment) and that doesn’t… make her a good leader per say? I just find it funny, how others write her as someone who would go out of her way to research Siffrin’s home country and succeed when she barely succeeded in her own knowledge hunt. If anything, it would be Isabeau who would find the information and inform Odile rather than the other way round. I dunno, I just don’t think anyone is really considering the fact that she probably hasn’t set foot into a higher academic institution just based on her research skills. 

Misc thoughts: 

I’ve only seen one fanfic acknowledge the fact that Odile hit Siffrin? And did so in such a way that it hurt badly. I wouldn’t be surprised if it left a scar (which that little freak probably adores because he knows that it means he wont forget Odile ever again), alongside the others they gave themself. Speaking of said hurting, I don’t think it's really acknowledged how much Odile puts down Siffrin? Yes it's usually just a teasing moment here or there, but have yall thought of the fact that she compared Siffrin to an animal and has hit him? I think about this so much. I think about it when I'm trying to fall asleep sometimes. She did that to him, and he *remembers it,* he acknowledges it during act 5, he has that ingrained into his *soul.* I think people should write about it more, or at least acknowledge that Siffrin probably… doesn’t want to talk to Odile about feelings or be touched by her for a while? Honestly, if I was Siffrin’s position during the failed friendquest moments? I would have said worse. I would have done worse. Because can you imagine? Imagine with me, you just remembered that your country is gone, everyone you love either doesnt remember you or is dead, the only person who could possibly tell you anything is the man you must kill, and your family member is talking about how hard it is to be in the country her mother is from and not feel a connection to it. That you are both more than your heritage. I would start biting, kicking, fighting, hell I would probably find out what she looks like without her bun! I would be pissed. But yaknow, Siffrin is a nice fella and kind of only waited to go off the deep end when they were sure they wouldn’t be able to escape. Anyway, I think of Odile sometimes and get violently ill by the knowledge she no longer holds that would explain some of Siffrin’s reactions and word choices to her cause no matter what? She can’t take it back. She never even said it. It’s not even real anymore. God I love this game, it makes me feel sick.

Mirabelle: 

Big ol’ sigh, yeah the-bitter-ocean if your out there I think about your tags on my Mira post a lot. The fandom doesn’t really get her do they? Most of the time I see people write her off as not very understanding or oblivious to other people’s feelings, which fair for romance (she didnt notice the very glowing sign of what I believe to be a ginger blushing but yaknow I understand as aro) but shes very good at knowing when someone isn’t feeling well? She has several unique dialogue options after Siffrin gets up from the field after looping which Odile does not have (despite EVERYONE ACKNOWLEDGING THEY’RE NOT OKAY), and asks after their wellbeing despite being in a constant anxiety attack and morality stress issues induced panic attack in the house. The only real big character flaw is a very typical shonen main character flaw which is that she is too trusting to a degree that it let Siffrin get away with almost destroying the world, Bonnie dying, and the others stepping all over her own feelings (not that any of these are her fault, but she did contribute to the lack of communication which lead to the loops. I love her, I do, but EVERYONE had a hand in Siffrin getting stuck in the loops). Her trust is also what led to the big fallout and slap she gives Siffrin during act 5, she was already giving her heart to him and the others and was constantly checking in during the adventure to make sure everyone was happy and okay with what was happening so the sudden switch from her POV is a huge betrayal of her trust in them. This is basically someone you were already on edge about hating you suddenly deciding that yes, they do hate you and everything you stand for because *they know.* No matter what you think about the situation, Mirabelle’s trust (her biggest character flaw) was thrown back into her face after she thought they were okay with her (not even a few weeks ago they said that this was the happiest they have ever been and she *remembers this fully and utterly*) and broke her heart with all her insecurities. It’s a very hopeless situation when you don’t have context, which means I don’t really blame her for slapping Siffrin, I just wish that it didn’t happen because as a Player I know the full context. Betrayal of trust… its a funny thing in this game, because it wasn’t a betrayal specifically from one POV but from the other it was. Fascinating! I despise it, I love it, it makes me sick. 

Misc Thoughts: 

Oooooh Mira we are in it now, This endgame of yours has left you with insecurities and trauma you didn’t think possible. I love her, I do, which is why I also have a great idea for a fanfic that involves her getting some VERY bad coping mechanisms <3 teehee. Careful what you wish for darling! Things go bad if you don’t take care of what you love. Anyway, I don’t think it’s weird to have Mira in outfits that are contrasting too heavily from her personality in the game? I dont know how to say this, but I think it’s a tad strange that I’ve seen roleswap aus/personality swap aus where Mirabelle is different via aesthetic? Because thats her whole religion? Sure she doesnt want to change but I don’t think she minds much clothing or aesthetic wise? In fact i think she considers that the safest option? So I dunno, I think people should dress her in goth and emo outfits more. Also I do think its a tad silly people don’t focus too much on her journey trauma and rather focus on her romance trauma, yall know that was just a distraction and not her main issues, right? Like yall know this game isnt romance the simulator, right???? RIGHT???? God Mira, you would hate that the fandom boils you down to your AceAroness, I just fucking know it. 

Bonnie: 

Who let this sassy small child into this story???? God, dearest Bonnie, the literal best party member Imo. I love them dearly, they are one of the meanest fucking assholes in the game I adore them. Yall think about the longstanding issues Siffrin has with touch and reaching out and how the rotten adults route fucking annihilates them into smithereens lol. I think about the fact that Bonnie has harmed Siffrin soooo much in the loops, it leaves me breathless because this small child has killed Siffrin twice, slapped their hands away when they tried to help them (for the first time in Bonnies POV!! Thats huge!!), and yelled at them multiple times about how awful they are. I do wonder what would have happened if the rotten adults route continued without looping? Who would have spoken up and who would have had to realize that something is WRONG with Siffrin in that moment? Would Bonnie backpedal when they realize? What was Siffrin’s facial expression right then? What happened? I just. God. Fuck. No one talks about this AT ALL in the fandom and it drives me insane. Despite everything, despite what was erased, what was unmade, the effects stayed and will continue to harm Siffrin. Do yall think about the idea that Siffrin probably doesnt reach out until Bonnie does post loops? I think about this so much, Bonnie has harmed Siffrin so many times it would kill them if they ever found out, and I desperately need them to find out. I also kind of,, just assumed that Bonnie would be keeping a keen eye on Siffrin’s eating and remind them to eat and drink water (even if I dont think Siffrin needs that) after the loops because its an easy way to help and have some control over situations? I dunno, I think Bonnie is a very complicated kid who has harmed and been harmed and no one will ever know just how much has been done and undone. 

Misc Thoughts: 

I still think Bonnie should be able to make and throw bombs post bomb memory. I just NEED Bonnie to throw a molotov at the King, fuck, it would be so funny. Also as a side note, I do think growing up Bonnie has to deal with a lot of untreated Trauma and probably reacts very similar to Siffrin before someone comments on the fact that they are just like him and suddenly they start going to a therapist about it, I do not think they would take it as a compliment for even one instance. They would get sick so fast and go, me and them? Similar? No. I have to go to get a doctor. I cannot be a Frin Jr. the world could not handle it. And suddenly they have the second best mental health of the group (first goes to Isabeau because Isabeau was already in therapy before the game, I just fucking know it <3) which makes everyone fucking jealous as hell because seriously? The Kid??? Damnit. But yeah I do think the fastest way anyone could get Bonnie to accept help is to compare them to Siffrin because they do have a Recognition of Self in the Other (derogatory) thing going on with Siffrin in the game, which is probably worse by the fact that they grew up with him as a role model. Everyone that knows them is like, oh my change your so lucky! The saviors are your family that must be so cool <3, and Bonnie is like. They make me to go to bed on time and force me to eat veggies what the fuck are you saying. Anyway yeah I love Bonnie so much, the meanest fucking kid in the game <3. 

Siffrin: 

Aaauuuggghhhhh, the one everyone is waiting for, the Siff of the Frin. Love this fucking idiot, but yeah lets talk touch and how the family has hurt them over the loops <3. Okay so straight out the gate, Bad touch! Isabeau pushing them away after they kiss him, which is very understandable because yaknow Isabeau could tell that was a desperation kiss and is not okay for either of them but! Holy shit! Siffrin, my dear friend that was probably the worst thing you could have done, but yeah that did leave its marks deeply in them so I will mark that down as harmed. Then we get the bad friendquests, which yeah Isabeau hitting them with the “I thought you were also trying” hurts more than I can physically say, but we’ll mark that down as two. Then Odile hits them, grabs their collar, sus quest bullshit, and general disdain for Siffrin lying about the stars we’ll mark down as four more which leads to six. Mirabelle slapping Siffrin and letting him get away with lying about his health we’ll put at 8. Bonnie pushing him into a tear, pineapple, slapping hands away, and yelling at them multiple times we’ll put at 12. Then there's the “like taming a wild animal” teasing which Ill put at 13, all of which is just off the top of my brain and I know there's more moments that hurt Siffrin deeply. Yaknow, looking at this, typing this, it seems a tad silly but. How else could I describe the never ending pain at knowing that most of these wont be acknowledged as bad for Siffrin as it was bad for the others? I dunno, I think about Siffrin giving everything up for the party and no one knowing exactly what they did because how could they? It’s gone. It’s not real anymore, not until Siffrin says it. I just. I dont know where I’m going with this but Siffrin as a character hurts me deeply, and I think it’s because no matter what happens Siffrin refuses to acknowledge when the others hurt him back. Just. Keeping the cycle going because they dont know how to break it, and they never have until they break first. I just think of this a lot. Him being stuck, in circles over and over. 

Misc Thoughts: 

I wanna chew him up and spit him out like a dog toy. No further comments (see my blog for further comments). ((I need to see a Self inflicted Achromatic animatic, pls, fuck plsssss))

LOOP: 

Loop time!! Loop time! I am physically ill because of this beast. You all know that one fanart where it says “You Won!” and Loop is dry heaving? Thats me at literally any moment when I think about Loop. 

I am a little shy to admit though that I didn’t catch their facade at first, mainly because I’m not very good at catching things like that at first? If a person acts a certain way, thats how they act! So Yeah, ya boy was confused by two hats lol. But afterwards I did do a bit of thinking and as I mentioned in a previous post i do think Loop is pretending/acting like how they remembered Siffrin acted like before the loops. Mira mentions that Siffrin is mean in teasing, enough so that it might have hurt if she didnt know that it was friendly teasing. Isabeau has a great monologue about his feelings on Siffrin before the loops, and Siffrin themself acknowledges some of their less than savory traits before the loops during the loops as well. This is to say, Loop is a fucking prick that tries to be floating and teasing in their comments while hitting where it hurts in just the right way that they can pretend that they mean something else. I genuinely think thats how Loop remembers themself before they were Loop, even if they got some things VERY WRONG. Of course, by the time they realize this it’s too late and that’s their personality now, which is kind of fucked up when you realize how much of their personality is them acting out a half remembered person who died many many many loops ago. But alas, such is the way of Loop. 

Also if we think about Loop in comparison to Siffrin. Well. We get an interesting picture. But the thought makes me too ill to continue. But I will say loving someone so much you destroy yourself for them… I don't think anyone in the family would be happy about that really. Theres a difference between destroying yourself and destroying the world… I wonder why that is for them, what made the difference between self and the world. A fool, and the world. Hmm. Interesting. Anyway, Loop’s facade gets me everytime and I want to use them as a stuffed animal. 

Misc Thoughts: 

Yeah that STAR CAN NOT EAT OR DRINK, lol get rekted they cant even fucking get drunk. Now for some HCs, I do think that Loop would wear a promise ring, even if no one in this Vaugarde understands what that means. I just. Think that Loop wouldn’t be able to let go of Their Fighter. Hahaha! I don’t really wanna go further into detail about this rn but I AM THINKING… Loop is one of the saddest characters I have ever fucking had the audacity to love. No I will not take comments on this further lol. (Me loving Loop and Siffrin while disliking Isabeau? Call me an Isabeau Kinnie at the rate lol)

[alice-after-dark]

okay wait ive got 2:

1) when people portray vox as a cringefail loserboy whos whipped to heaven and back for either al or val

2) when people act like r*dioapple has more foundation in canon than any other alastor ship

Hello friend!!!

Okay, hard agree on both fronts.

(putting under a cut cause this got long oops)

On the first one, fucking THIS. Vox is flamboyant and theatrical and he definitely has a temper, but everyone seems to forget that he is LITERALLY introduced to us as a manipulator of the masses. Like I adore the press conference scene. This is who Vox is to the rest of Hell. People take him very seriously. When the accelerated extermination is announced, people rush to get his opinion. Fuck, they don't even do that to Charlie, the literal Princess of Hell! Vox has his moments sure, but defining him by the occasional cringe is like defining Charlie by that one instance where she was having her conspiracy board red string moment and losing her damned mind trying to figure out what to do to get her plan to work. That's not who the character is at their core. And Vox is most certainly not whipped. There may have been a time in his life where he was for Alastor, but even if that was the case, that time is long dead. Literally the moment he finds out Alastor is back, he launches an attack. That's not whipped and I don't think he really ever could be. Whatever happened between them clearly caused him a good amount of pain and even if things get better between them, I don't think they'll ever have what they once did. At least not right away. As for Valentino, it's called damage control, not being whipped.

On the second one, not gonna lie, I don't pay all that much attention to R*dioApple (censoring out of courtesy because that's how the ask was sent) so I've never seen this claim, but I totally get why that would be frustrating and kinda bs. I may be a ship-what-you-want-to-ship kind of person, but uh...yeah it's made pretty clear at every opportunity that Alastor and Lucifer don't like each other, so to claim they have the strongest foundation in canon as a ship is a little...yeah, no. Like, I get it, I'm a RadioStatic shipper and there is definitely problems between Vox and Alastor, but we know that they have some kind of history and that they, at minimum, were friends (referencing the photo and Alastor's "old pal" comment"). We know canonically that Lucifer and Alastor met for the first time canonically in episode 5 and Alastor instantly felt threatened and went on the attack. That's not a solid foundation for canon.

Again, if you like R*dioApple , THAT'S TOTALLY FINE! YOU DO YOU! It's not my cup of tea, but that doesn't matter! If you like it, go forth and enjoy! But be realistic. There is nothing wrong with liking something that doesn't have a strong canon basis and you don't need to force one to ship something. Fuck, I do it all the time! My favorite ship in this fandom also currently hate each other! And I love me some good ol' they've-never-even-met-but-fuck-they-would-be-so-interesting. Shipping something purely because you enjoy the potential dynamic is totally legit!

[bonkbobl]

distraction

ROOSE BOLTON X READER

gif not mine

a/n: so this was the story i wrote like several weeks ago that got deleted by tumblr. i finally got the motivation to rewrite it (bc like i think everything but the last bit got deleted)

summary: roose bolton indulges his urges with lower born northern girls — by no means is this a very well kept secret. he stole your first night from you and your husband, just as he has done with many others in the past, but this time you remain cemented in his mind months after. that is out of the ordinary.

warning: mentions of previous dubious consent situations, no huge smut scenes but smutty descriptions of past memories, unplanned pregnancy, some bits of self hate and shame, take that trigger warning seriously!! reader was a victim of SA from roose and theres a lot of conflicting feelings, cheating depending on your pov but i dont think it counts bc she had no choice, roose is very much not the good guy here please be aware, a lot of victim blaming

Roose doesnt know when he began to care for you. It certainly wasnt that first time he saw you, bathing naked in the river. And it definitely wasn’t when you and your husband showed up at the Dreadfort asking your liege lords blessing for marriage.

Of course, he knew in both instances, he craved you.

A craving that should have been satisfied when he exercised the first night rights. No, somehow between the your first night and now, he had begun to yearn for you again. That night far from expelled you from his mind.

Only a couple times, Roose saw himself riding out of the Dreadfort and he’d see you outside, hanging clothes on a line or tending to some animals.

You’d always spot him, then quickly pretend as if you didn’t, probably praying to each and every God that he wouldn't come by to see you.

In truth, it didn’t matter much whether he stopped by or not. The damage had already been done and there was little his visit could do to worsen things. Your wedding night had ruined your marriage. It was something you had been coming to terms with over the past couple of months.

At first, you had tried your best to console your husband. The experience took a toll on both of you — he had refused your bed for almost a month afterward and after weeks of patience, you were finally able to have a real wedding night.

He was gentle and slow and kind, a noticeable contrast to how roughly Roose took you. You felt ashamed even comparing in the privacy of your own mind, but you thought it before you could even realize how much you hated the idea.

You loved and cared for your husband. He loved and cared for you. He treated you delicately and respectfully, as a husband should. It just wasn't quite as exciting as the passion, the rough kisses, the biting. He almost seemed afraid to touch you.

He’d asked you after you made love, how it was. You braved a smile and nodded, telling him it was wonderful.

Then he pressed, “Better than…”

And inside, your heart shattered, wondering if thats really all he cared about in that moment. With a faltered smile, you nodded again, though it was a lie and in his eyes, you could tell he knew.

When days later you had a more heated argument about the same topic, he revealed he’d been sat outside the door the entire time you laid with Lord Bolton.

That shut your mouth and you stared at the ground wordlessly as he continued to shout at you. Why would he? You thought but you knew your indignation was misplaced. It doesn't make sense why he'd willingly submit himself to the that experience of listening to your lord claim you, but it also didn't make sense why you sounded the way you did while it was happening.

Why did you?

He made a cot in your kitchens and you whimpered, tears spilling into the sheets that you were supposed to share as husband and wife. He didn't share your bed ever again. Granted, it's only been a couple of weeks since you consummated your marriage — you could understand if things just take time.

You were wracked by guilt. But you also had a great deal or resentment and anger building by the time Robb Starks war came about. You spent the length of your marriage comforting your husband over your assault. How is that right?

But the guilt… the guilt never stopped. You close your eyes and you can feel him if you try hard enough — Roose. Feel him kissing, feel him rubbing you down there, and when he made you get on top...

It was shameful.

When the North began to rally for the King in the North, any help was appreciated, even from an untrained soldier such as your husband, even from a simple farmers wife such as yourself. Anyone can do the least bit to help.

You did what little you were permitted to do — cooking for the soldiers, cleaning, dressing wounds. Having things to do with your hands took your mind off of your messy personal life. For a little bit.

It was only a matter of time before you started to feel his gaze on you. Everywhere you went.

Of course, you had expected to see him. But you had also expected him to ignore you.

You expected that if you were to ever approach him, it would cause a huge upset. Everyone knew he almost had his bastard's mother flogged when she brought her baby boy to the Dreadfort and you had no intention of meeting that fate. You thought, all the better for you. He wont seek you out and you would never put yourself through having to look in his face again. Every time you closed your eyes, you could already imagine him on top of you, and how he felt inside you.

It was especially difficult to keep those images off your mind because still, your husband refused your bed, keeping two separate cots in your shared tent.

You're a shameful little thing. Letting your mind wander from your marriage. To the man who ruined it no less...

No such luck met you, however and your expectations to be left alone were subverted.

Roose noticed his bad habit of turning up whereever you seemed to be as well and no matter how he tried to cull it, he'd still find himself wandering a little too close to your tent and the medical wing of camp where he was scarcely needed.

A few times, he'd spoken to you and you always kept your head down, ignoring the heat that would tease at your cunt or the way your stomach would twist at the sound of his deep voice. Only "Yes, milord," "Straight away, milord," "Of course, milord." One time he had even went as far as to compliment you on a job well done, serving the Northern Cause, and you still didn't budge to look up at him, gritting out a particularly bitter, "Thank you, my lord."

You truly were getting more and more bitter by the day. You felt quicker to anger — fed up by your husband, and seemingly unable to escape the watchful eye of your liege lord. You wondered why at first. Now you think, he must get some kind of high from it — from knowing that he was in many ways a part of you now, ingrained in your mind, a constant presence in your marriage. You wondered if he'd ever get tired of this petty humiliation.

You would snap. You were sure of it. One day, you'll say unpretty words, unbecoming of a farmer's wife. You could feel it even when you were alone, trying to unwind. You'd find yourself thinking of a scenario in which you'd be allowed to give him a piece of your mind, and sometimes you'd mutter curses to nothing but the wind as you knitted. You were wound up unbelievably so. You could hardly conceive of a time you felt more anger in you this frequently.

It nearly came to a head when your husband stumbled into your shared tent one afternoon and started clawing at your body. You had been laying on the bed, reading, grateful for a moment of solitude.

It was mid day and he already stunk of ale.

He took the book out of your hands and began kissing up your neck and you shoved him right off, storming out into the open air, furious at his lack of disrespect. Tears already pricking at your eyes.

Of course, you had been hoping he'd warm up to you and come to you one night. You'd talk it through — talk about both your individual feelings. You'd apologize for the cruel words you'd spoken to each other and start making love, start looking forward to the future you'd promised each other. You'd start trying to build a family. You'd begin making love regularly.

All these fantasies in your head — and he just stumbles in one day wanting to stick his dick somewhere.

You had only made it a few meters outside, the loud hustle of the war encampment, driving you even further up the wall. Your mind is too loud. Each day is feeling more and more like a dream rather than your life. Its all too overwhelming.

Your husbands grasp on your wrist halted you and you turned. He brought you in close, his stench absolutely putrid and you could hardly even recognize the boy you agreed to marry — the boy who was so gentle with the little pigs and sheep, who always wanted to feed them when he came to the farm to see you. All in a couple months, spoiled rotten.

"Aye, where d 'ya think you're goin, little lady?"

You snatched your wrist away forcefully, though you didn't need to be so aggressive. His movements were as slurred as his voice and a gentle pull would have loosened his grasp enough.

"I'm not in the mood," You hissed. "You don't talk to me most days now, you haven't shared my bed in weeks, and now you think you can climb on top of me stinking of ale..."

Anger flared behind your husbands eyes, "C'mon. You'll just end up enjoy'en it anyway."

Nothing but hurt stabbed at your heart as you moved away from him, "You act like this all happened to you. That you were hurt, that someone took something from you. You never showed any care for my wellbeing once.” You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes and you moved to storm off from him. “I'll talk to you later. When you're sober."

“Come back here you slut—” Was the last you heard and the last you saw was his hand raising. You turned and ducked.

When you turned, you ran into a firm chest, the hands attached to the man steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. Your husband flinched back when he saw the figure behind you, lowering his hand, but not without a bitter laugh. And you looked up, only needing a microsecond to realize who it was. You promptly, pushed yourself off him, nearly tripping over yourself doing so.

His deep voice rang out before you could start back on your feet, "Is there a problem, my lady?"

"Everything is fine," You held your gaze on the ground, begging that he'd just stay out of this so you can go and leave without creating a scene.

But he didn't see your urgency to leave. He saw your tears. He showed very little visible reaction to this very awkward and unfortunate situation, but you could sense that he was taking this far too seriously for your liking. As you moved to disengage, your husband had to get a last word in.

"It's alright, Lord Bolton. The whore is yours if you'd still like," Your husband, Mister Kent, yelled. Kent, you could hardly stand to share his name anymore.

Your face grew hot, suddenly aware of the eyes on you and you slipped away quickly, feet moving you swiftly to the tree line behind the camp. Roose had little awareness of those watching, simply scoffing at your husbands theatrics before turning to attend to what mattered more in the moment. You.

He called your name once and you kept speeding off, wiping your nose, your face. You refuse to cry.

He called your name a second time, sounding more irritated at your attitude — to think you were making him run after you — and this time, you gave him an answer. You turned and with all the hatred you could muster in you, you uttered a firm, "Don't."

Roose's hard eyes softened, only slightly, but the determination to catch up to you had faded away. With a simple nod, he watched as you finally ran off, seeking your much needed solitude.

Even long after you were already gone, he still thought about you. It was the first time he'd seen real resistance in you and to be truthful, it puzzled him far more than he'd care to admit out loud. He had stepped in, as your legal protector, as any good lord would have and instead of showing gratitude, you were angry at him.

Anyone else wouldn't have dared to speak to him in the ways that you have.

This created conflict — for one thing, he was understanding more and more what a liability to you were. A distraction at first, but the more he permitted himself to see you, the more troublesome you become.

Roose isn't a man to concern himself with peacocking and flitting about pretentiously drunk on power. But he was feared and respected. And he didn't get to be feared and respected by associating himself with beautiful young peasant girls. He didn't make grown me tremble in their boots at the sound of his name by letting little peasant girls talk back to him freely.

This distraction...

You could prove to be more trouble than you're worth. Of the few times he's seen you, he attempted to pay you no mind but sometimes, his eyes wander. Sometimes he's thinking about something more important and he realizes he's looking at you.

Your hair is always done up with a dirty little scarf. Sometimes it wouldn't be done up very securely — locks of hair falling in front of your face as you worked. In those moments it was difficult to look away.

Sometimes you'd wear these milkmaid dresses that you'd usually save for the warmer summer days when you'd work on your farm. And your straps might loosen over your shoulder, falling. You'd have to adjust it back in the right place after completing your task. Those dresses surely complimented your figure in ways that Roose imagined would make even a maester blush.

Your perfect little body looked even better, bare, in the dim firelight. His roaming hands were the best accessory — the best clothing — to compliment and accentuate your curves. The marks he left on you were better than any precious metals or gemstones you could adorn yourself with.

Just remembering what you looked like after he was done with you — chest heaving, warm, sweating and worn out, lips and cunt both so puffy and swollen, and doing nothing as his cum started to threaten to spill out of you. Your mind was wracked with the confusion of actually having had enjoyed it. And when you watched him push his spend back into the hole from where it was trying to escape, that action almost made you want more. He could see it in your beautiful flushed face.

Those memories are enough to make him completely forget himself and lose his train of thought when he sees you.

He'll be noticing you from afar and before he knows it, he's only a few paces from you, looking down at you with nothing to say but some arbitrary order that he'd come up with on the spot — fetch water, bring milk of the poppy for one of the generals, help the women prepare dinner.

You're one hell of a distraction.

Roose considered having you and your husband sent home from the war effort. It would have been the most practical solution. If the king is already flitting about with the Volantis Princess, the North cannot afford so many side tracked leaders.

And yet, he cant help but feel some vague sense of responsibility to you.

Perhaps if it were any other man, this was to be expected, but Roose has bedded many women under the old first night tradition and never paid a second thought to any of them. They were all just his subjects. He'd protect them, he'd do his duty, he'd take what was rightfully his, and he'd punish them if they refused him, but he had more important matters to concern himself with.

Definitely more important than a petty dispute between wife and husband. Though it left a distinctly bad taste in his mouth to think that your husband might be mistreating you in any way, calling you debasing names. Gods forbid, he's been misusing you — Roose knows there isn't a scarcity of husbands that subject their wife to all their most debased urges. Especially when there isn't a good amount of respect between them and it doesn't seem to him that your husband particularly carries much respect for you.

For that man to raise a hand to you.

Roose scoffed at Mister Kent's behavior. He supposes it's partially his fault, perhaps mostly. Or entirely. Not that he'd usually particularly care.

It's just that Mister Kent had an especially blatant disregard for your honor. That the man could even think he had the right to treat you as if you were below him when you were more valuable to the northern cause than he could ever hope to be — it baffled Roose.

Because thats what this was about. The North. Your husband is one foot soldier. You keep the army fed and medicated.

He reasoned with himself, that it's a part of his oaths to protect those small folk that reside in his lands. That includes farmers wives when their husbands aren't honoring the oaths they took at the altar. It wasn't personal. It was something he had overlooked in the past that he'll aim to rectify.

—————

You wiped some sweat from your brow, nodding kindly to the lady next to you, who brought you a fresh tray of bowls to fill. Then on your other side, another woman scurried up to you, tapping your shoulder.

She looked younger, slightly nervous.

“What is it?” You asked, turning with concern.

She spoke quickly, “Lord Bolton ordered me to pass a message,” her mousy accented voice barely audible as the other ladies rushed to get food to the hungry mouths of the men.

You flinched backward, confusion all over your face, but you leaned in anyway. You’d let the poor frightened girl complete her task. Your distaste for Lord Bolton doesn’t have to translate to her.

“Milord said to tell you that your belongings have been moved to a new tent, apart from your husbands, and that from now on, when we are to move camp, you should maintain this change.”

You stared at her, open mouthed, with brows knitted together in frustration, “Where?”

“Next to Milord’s, I believe. N-next to Lord Bolton’s own tent.”

Taking in a deep breath, you moved to turn back to your task. You'd worry about it later... But the offense had already set into your mind and your jaw clenched tightly. Opening your mouth, your original intent was to sternly thank her for delivering the message to you. She’s simply the messenger. You refuse to react and push the negativity of your reaction onto her.

But a surge of anger rose to your throat and you stifled your movements and words, taking a moment to collect yourself and think about it. Yes, this girl is simply the messenger. You should take your grievances to the man.

You nodded politely at the girl, “Thank you. Could you...” You gestured at the cauldron that you had been manning and nodded toward it pointedly, “Just for a moment. I need to speak find Lord Bolton and speak to him about why such changes have been made.”

“Of course, my lady,” She curtsied and rushed to take over your job for you.

You stopped in your tracks just as you were about to leave. “I’m not— Theres no need for formalities. I’m not a lady. We are neighbors if I am not mistaken. Your tavern is not far from my husbands farm.”

She nodded, hesitant, but conceded, “Of course… Its just… Lord Bolton—”

“Has overstepped greatly,” You finished.

She refused to respond, simply nodding in acknowledgment of your opinion. You’re brave to speak against your liege lord in such a manner.

You took your leave quickly, trying to find your way to the Lords and Ladies table as swiftly as possible. Perhaps there was still a way to reverse this change before anyone else takes notice and rumors begin to swirl.

Right next to his tent. What was he thinking? Did he simply aim to humiliate you— Humiliate your husband more? Was what damage has already been done not satisfactory— that he must shame you not only in the eyes of your husband but the entire North?

You were never meant to garner attention. A simple farmers wife was the life you thought you’d be destined for. And that was happy.

He’s spoiling it all.

You stepped up to the table, heart beating loudly in your chest, the fear feeling more like rushing adrenaline due to the fury underlying. “My Lord,” You greeted, trying to stay as respectful as possible.

Roose turned to you, as did your king, Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Rodrick Cassel, Rickard Karstark, and Greatjon Umber. Just as they did, Most of them had turned back to their previous conversations, passing you off as a servant girl with no doubt a simple question regarding something logistic. A fair assumption. And you were grateful for their dismissal. It made it less nerve-wracking.

Roose raised his brows at you. The only one of his companions that maintained an interest in you was Lady Stark, who looked to him for his reaction, and back at you.

“May I speak with you? Alone?” You pressed.

Roose looked you up and down, slightly amused by how ticked off you appeared to be. Pursing his lips and continuing to chew on the veal you and your ladies had prepared, he shrugged, “Whatever you have to say, surely, can be said now. You have no secrets to keep from the mother of the King, I’d hope?”

You glanced at Catelyn who still watched you curiously, then back at Roose. Taking a deep breath, and sighing it out, you kept your glaring eyes trained on him. “You had no right,” You held your ground firmly. The boldness of your words attracting the interest of the others once again, and despite the building pressure of those eyes watching you, you steeled yourself, holding to your purpose, “No right, My Lord," And through your words, you decided to add, "R-respectfully,” to soften your tone. Though it was only out of fear, not because you actually respected the man.

“No right to do what?” He challenged, icy blue eyes not budging a single bit.

You were taken aback, shaking your head and recoiling into yourself as if you were disgusted by him — which you were. You kept reminding yourself to be disgusted with him. He’s a disgusting man. Stubborn, always needs to get his way, arrogant, assertive, pragmatic, effective, dominant.

Though you couldn't help the bit of desire for him that you felt. It rose like bile in your throat just like every other time, but unlike every other time, the disgust that you'd usually feel toward yourself turned to anger, directed at the man in front of you.

“You—” But your next words died on your lips and you took in another deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were already bold for talking to him in an accusatory manner. You cant afford to curse at him or say all the things you want to say. Not with all these eyes on you. “I wish to share my tent with my husband. You had me moved. Without my consent.”

He gave you a look of faux consideration, as if he were truly listening to you and considering a change in his actions but you knew he wasn’t. He was condescending, “I seem to remember this is the same husband who stumbles around, a drunken fool, and raises his hand to his wife in front of not only his fellow soldiers but his liege lord.”

“Convenient picture, you paint,” You seethed, articulating each word with venom, no longer trying to hide any disrespect.

“Was there a lie in my words? Does he not hurt you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Dont pretend you care. Not now. Don't you fucking dare. “Well—" Yes, but would have been your next words but you bit your tongue. The point of this wasn't to debate your husbands behavior toward you. You, yourself found it distasteful. You should focus on the matter at hand which is that you don't want to be so close to this man. "I’ll have my own tent then. If it pleases you, My Lord,” Your words still full of spite, “But you’ll have my belongings moved again so that I’m not right next to you.”

Catelyn’s mouth parted and she stared at the man beside her. You kept your eyes stubbornly trained on Roose, looking at him with great offense and sass in your eyes, as if to ask him with just a simple movement of your head, what the fuck were you thinking?

Roose smiled, mostly to himself. Strangely your boldness did nothing to anger him. He expected some more gratitude, maybe. But you’re spirited. For some reason that excites him.

“No,” He said simply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, “That won’t happen.”

You scoffed, shaking your head, entire face stiff with anger. “I don’t know what you expect,” You asked, “A thank you?”

“It would be appreciated. When your liege grants a favor—“

“A favor, ” You laughed, growing more audacious by the second, but your tone became mocking “A favor out of the goodness of your own hear—”

“Yes, it was a favor,” Roose said, more stern than he had been for the rest of the conversation.

Your expression settled into a hard frown, realizing yourself and your lack of power in this situation. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“And you’d do well to remember not to interrupt a Lord whilst he is speaking.”

You stared stubbornly for a moment, eyes narrowing in on him, challengingly. Then a few moments passed without a word between either of you.

Finally, you surrendered, valuing your head above your pride, “As you wish, My Lord. Thank you.” But the submissiveness of your words could not hide the unmistakeable snark in your tone.

Without granted leave, you turned on your heel and stormed right back off from where you came.

Roose sat back in his chair, ignoring the few lingering gazes of his peers. Though Karstark and Umber quickly busied themselves with their previous interrupted conversation with the younger Greyjoy, the King spared him one last curious look before joining their round of jibes against each other.

It was Lady Starks stare that bore uncomfortably into Roose’s profile.

But he paid it as little attention as possible. He took to his neglected meal and cut another slice of that veal. Stone faced, but thinking about your angry little face. The bite and the snark behind your voice. How badly, did he want to stand and take you right back to his tent and make you understand just how passionate he really was about your protection and safety. Just how capable he is of providing it, unlike that pitiful husband of yours.

As he chewed, the dreadful little realization started to tease at his mind. That perhaps this distraction was spiraling a little far beyond his control.

But the image of your angry, eyes softening as you lay beneath him… the fury dissipating into pleasure, it was more than enough to convince him that control over himself was not what was at the forefront of his mind, nor did he want it be. His desire was beginning to win over his will.

He’ll have you. And you’ll welcome it.

—————

Your days were spent mostly to yourself. Regretfully, you were actually quite thankful for the change in living arrangements. You no longer had to interact with your husband, who had become a near constant anxiety before. And Roose kept his distance for you — perhaps he's gotten the hint...

You could only hope that was the case.

One morning ripped you from your idyllic independence when you found yourself running and wretching into the nearest empty vessel nearly the moment you stood from your bed. You threw up two more times that morning before you gave in and asked a nurse to give you something for the sickness.

That inevitably led to the conversation you had been dreading since the moment you woke up.

"When did you last bleed?"

"I..." You paused to think on it but it couldn't come to you. Two cycles must have passed you by without you even realizing because three moons ago was as recent as you could think of.

Then a new anxiety began to build in you. Because you distinctly remember your husband never consummated your marriage until a mere couple weeks ago — more than a month after your wedding night.

"I'm not sure."

"The sickness means you've had it for probably a bit less than two months now," She informed you, counting on her fingers, "half a month for the babe to take hold, and then the mother gets sick after another month. Half a month for those with a more fragile countenance."

"Is there any way it could have started within two or three weeks?"

Her brows furrowed confusedly for a moment before the gears began to turn in the woman's head and her expression soured to vague pity, though she stepped back from you, almost as if your shame could be contagious. She shook her head lightly, and full of judgement, "There is always moon tea."

Moon tea was exactly what your husband suggested when you told him later. Though you shocked yourself when the a creeping reluctance rose to the front of your mind.

Mister Kent detected your hesitation almost immediately. Before you could fully process your own thoughts and feelings on the matter, he was invigorated by his personal mission to kill the mere idea of you possibly keeping the child.

"You can't mean to say you actually want to keep it?"

All you did was glare, unsure of yourself. "I don't know."

"How can't you know?"

"I don't know," You repeated, stepping back from the man that you once loved. "I don't know if I want to."

"What could possibly make you want to keep it?"

You scoffed at him, "It's still my child," you tried to reason, anything that would get him to empathize, even a little bit, with you. But it was to no avail, you were quickly realizing. He hardly ever really cares to see things from your view.

"It's not mine."

"That fact doesn't negate what I just said," You shot back, brows furrowing frustratedly at his selfishness.

"You'd have me raise another man's bastard?"

"We are married."

"We won't be if you have that bastard."

And there, you let out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. You smiled humorlessly to yourself, scoffing once again at the situation.

"You can't possibly have thought that I would be amenable to this,” he filled the silence

You simply shook your head because no, you didn't think he would be happy. Of course he wouldn't be happy. But this was the point of no return. If you were to keep the child, there'd be no mending your relationship with him.

Overcome with some bout of sentiment, you took a good look at his face, trying to remember any reason you should pick him over your unborn child — nothing but a bundle of cells right now but probably more capable of truly loving you than this man ever would have been. For a moment you even felt the creeping feeling that you were grateful the child wasn't your husbands.

"I need time to think about it," You spoke carefully, so as not to antagonize him but also not to give him hope.

He rolled his eyes.

For you, that had done it. You still weren't entirely sure if you'd keep the child but next time you spoke to your husband, you'd bring up the question of an annulment. You didn't wait for whatever response he might have before leaving.

—————

Roose caught you just in the corner of his eye. He'd watched you enough to recognize you by the way you walked — or paced, was more accurate to describe it. You were always pacing from place to place, anxiously. He diverted his gaze away from Catelyn Stark who was speaking to him about something mundane, something to do with the Kingslayer, their most recent and most valuable bargaining chip.

You escaped his view as quickly as you came in, disappearing angrily into your tent. You're always upset. At least this time it has little to do with him. He's been giving you some much needed space for a little while.

He knew he stared just a little bit too much when he turned back to Catelyn in front of him and saw her looking to their side, at the little slit of fabric through which you disappeared. Then she looked back at him, curiously.

Roose smiled politely, silently urging her to go on, and hoping the damned woman wouldn't nose around.

"She's pretty, that one."

"Yes," Roose hummed, mentally cursing himself for being a little too careless, "The wife of a farmer. They live about a quarter hour ride south of the Dreadfort."

Catelyn hummed too, eyebrows moving upward awkwardly. "A-and how did you come to be acquainted... with this farmers wife?"

Roose stalled for less than a second before coming up with some farce. It wasn't difficult to think up a simple lie. Although it was barely a lie, simply an omission of most of the truth, "Her father was the Dreadfort's main supplier of milk. And eggs."

"Ah..." Catelyn nodded, and Roose knew she only accepted that answer as a courtesy, clearly aware that there was more to the story. "And her husband..."

Roose rolled his eyes at the mere mention of Mister Kent, "A drunk."

Catelyn smiled a bit at that, eyes narrowing with skepticism, "Unfortunate." She then cautiously pushed, "You seem rather attached to—"

Roose took a deep impatient inhale, causing Lady Stark to quickly drop the subject.

"I take it you were good friends with this girls father. And the only reason you seem to be so protective is because of that friendship..."

The impatient Dreadlord spared Lady Stark a look of incredulity. He wondered why she’d try to come up with a cover story for him when they both know she believes something else — when they both know the reality is something else.

"I would hope that is why, Lord Bolton," She addressed his disbelief, "This girl... She seems to have a kind heart, a strength and resilience, if you will."

For a moment, Roose's irritation blended into pure amusement at why Catelyn Stark would even begin to lecture him on what kind of person you were but she left no room for Roose to speak in protest.

"She is firey."

Roose chuckled, "Yes."

Yes, you are. Even the night he took you, you tried to hold your chin up high and face him. And you did, you glared at him as he entered you, your hardened, angry eyes wavering with each thrust until your furrowed brows knitted together with pleasure replacing your stubborn resistance.

"Don't dishonor her," Catelyn stated her point, finally.

For a moment, Roose scarcely knew what to say. It was a long moment, longer than it would usually take for him to generate a response.

Don't dishonor her.

He's afraid it might be too late. All those things Catelyn had said about you, after only bearing witness to a single heated interaction between the two of you, were all true. They were all things he came to learn about you slowly, all things that made it even harder to forget you or cast you aside.

It was in that moment that Roose came to the realization that while your husband wasn't a very good man, he might objectively be much worse. Well this wasn't the moment he realized that, of course the head of the house with the flayed man on their banners would be a slightly more rough around the edges than a simple cattle farmer.

But he committed a grave crime against your honor. Your husband has also sullied your honor in different ways, but he could hardly claim that he has treated you the way you really deserved to be treated.

"I'll try not to," Roose responded with a nod, and walked toward your tent.

Hopefully there was still time enough to rectify his mistake. He really shouldn't have let his desires get the better of him so easily. The moment he saw you, he knew he had to have you. It always goes like this. Its never ended with some strange sort of sentiment developing — that just wasn't the type of man Roose was. Not until now.

"My lady," Roose said once, trying to alert you of his presence outside your tent.

Upon hearing his familiar, deep voice, you looked up from your spot on your cot. You wiped your face of the few tears you'd allowed yourself to shed and scooted off the bed, but you hesitated for a moment.

Do you really wish to speak to him? All this pain caused by him. You should tell him to fuck off right back from where he came.

"My lady," The voice said, more firmly this time and with that signature tint of irritation that you'd come to know so well.

You sighed. You should speak to him about these matters. It concerns him. You're not going to get rid of the child, you couldn't bring yourself to. Inexplicably so, the thought of having a child to take care of, running around you, carefree and smiling, outweighed any hatred you may hold for that child’s father.

If your lord is kind, he'd give you an allowance like he did his bastard's mother, perhaps even allow you to reside in the Dreadfort. You could raise your child to be better than the men you've known in your life.

You went and opened the flaps of the tent, cocking your head to signal him in. He stopped as the tent closed behind him and you stood there with your eyes trained to his chest, waiting for him to take more steps inside. It remained as such for a second, then two, and you stood, confused as to why he was just standing in front of you instead of moving inside to the table set up in the center.

He took off his glove and you watched his hand come up to touch your chin. He tilted your face up, your eyes met his, observing as he inspected you. He looked down to consider something, and then met your eyes again promptly, a strange hesitance in them.

It fascinated and scared you at the same time. To see Roose in a somber mood. Skepticism remained on your face, waiting for some punchline.

"What do you want?"

His lips parted for a slow inhale, the closest thing he’d permit himself to a sigh. A sudden rush of heat felt as if it struck him in the chest. You were all he could want. If you caught on to his reaction to your words, you didn't say anything.

"I... wanted to apologize," and it was the first time you ever felt really shocked by anything Lord Bolton said or did.

Everyone to the east of Winterfell heard tale of the cruelty of the leech lord, not even his insistence on taking your first night managed to surprise you. But this... You suddenly wanted to listen.

"I fear I've behaved unseemly toward you, disregarded your honor. For this, I ask your forgiveness."

You realized he was finished and closed your open mouth, searching for an answer. You felt that he expected you to forgive him. But in truth you didn't really want to. "I don't think it's really that simple, my lord. I appreciate the sentiment but... I..." You huffed, looking down, frustrated at your ineloquence today. But he caught you off guard with this and you hadn't rehearsed an angry response to an apology ever.

His gaze was still fixed on you as he readjusted the weight he was placing on his feet, the first ever signs of desperation obvious in his body language and you couldn't say you ever thought him capable of this range of emotions — that in it self was impressive. For the first time, he was squirming, awaiting your words instead of you hiding away from his.

"I cant forgive you so easily. Not for this."

"Well what can I do?"

"What?"

"Is there something I could do to earn your forgiveness, I find that to be a fair question," Roose said quickly and clearly irate.

You looked up at him and laughed nervously because he was glaring down at you and to be honest, this was also a first. You wouldn't think it to be the case with him. And even in that moment, you wracked your brain for any moment in which you'd seen Roose truly angry, not just slightly iritated or mildly annoyed, but frustrated and emotionally driven to anger.

He huffed and pulled himself from you, walking further into your tent. You stayed at the entrance for a moment, staring at nothing, then you looked at him, still failing to find the correct words.

Another nervous laugh escaped you as you said, "Again, I don't think it's that simple. You cant just... do a favor and expect everything to be forgiven."

Roose stood, facing away from you, clearly thinking to himself. He looked all broody and upset and you couldn't help but laugh again. The men around here are all so wrapped up in themselves and their unprocessed emotions and you're always the one to carry their weight.

"Why do you care?"

He didn't answer for a moment. And you wondered if he even really heard you, but as you were about to repeat yourself, he responded, "I don't."

You scoffed, "Then you overstep again. If you don't care why do I have to forgive you. Why can't I just hate you for the rest of our miserable lives?"

He turned to you, eyes narrowed, taking you in, "Do you?"

"I don't know," You answered completely honestly, "You... ruined my marriage."

He responded quickly, firmly, and frankly, "I admit my part. I admit the dishonor I've brought you. I admit that I overstepped my bounds. These things I will admit, but I was not the demise of your marriage. Many have survived worse and continued to foster a deep love. I know, because..."

"Because we weren't the only ones," You finished, nodding. You knew. "But I'm the only one of those women who you continued to... pester afterward. You claimed your right. What right did you have stepping into my marital quarrels?"

"You'd be a fool to stay with that man after the way he treated you."

"And what's my alternative?" You asked, your voice full of humor, "Will you marry me, Lord Bolton? Is that your proposal?" You shook your head as he didn't respond, not even visually. You both knew he'd never take you to wife. If he wanted to, he would have already. But a man like Roose Bolton would never marry for love with a girl with nothing to her name but a couple of cows.

"I am sorry," he said, pausing to find the words, "That your husband has chosen to place blame on you for what I had forced you into. However, given that, surely you must see he is no man at all."

Of course, you agreed, but you didn't really see what his point was. So you said nothing, trying to come up with something. In the mean time, he continued.

"I can't marry you. But I can protect you. I'll send you to the Dreadfort. You'd be given a job, a room..." You'd be close by. "Your husband too, if you truly insist on dragging him along."

"For what in return, a bed warmer?"

"For nothing in return," He corrected, face twisting with indignation, "What kind of apology would that be if those were my terms?"

You kept your distrustful eyes trained on him, not wanting to give him any kind of small victory. But you couldn't deny the offer sounded tempting, especially with the most recent development — you were going to ask for an annulment to your marriage the next day, you were going to keep the baby. You had the same thought — living at the Dreadfort, under his protection. It just felt more rotten leaving his mouth than it did in your head.

He took a few cautious steps toward you and gently took your hands in his, “You’re a good woman. You do your duties, often even without receiving thanks. You’re a loyal woman, strong, passionate…”

You inhaled deeply, still trying to keep some emotional distance but he looked earnest, forehead creased by the way his eyebrows pushed against them. His eyes were the widest and most inviting you’d ever seen them, no jokes or hidden arrogance in them.

“I… care. I feel as if I’ve committed a great crime against your honor, and you are the most honorable woman I’ve come to know in all my years,” he confessed.

It was something that struck you in the heart — something you couldn’t push out. You had been questioning your own honor. You wanted to live an honorable life but recent events had made you feel like a failure in that respect.

Especially… you ripped your eyes away from his, sighing to yourself. Especially the way he looks at you and the way you cant help but look at him with the same longing. It was hard to hate him before when he was nothing but a prick who happened to know how to fuck the shit out of you. Now, as the father of your child, standing in front of you and whispering reassurance and praise, it was damn near impossible.

He finished his small declaration simply, “Don’t resign yourself to a miserable life. Let me make it better for you. We don’t have to speak to each other once you’ve moved into the fort.”

Decisively, you figured without a husband and with your father long gone years ago, you could do with an ally and protector. Of course, Roose Bolton wasn't ideal but he had the most reason out of anyone else to want to protect you — truly protect you

Never mind your night of passion. You tried not to think about it, especially not with him in front of you. It just clouds your judgement unnecessarily to think about his lips on your skin and his hands gripping roughly at your body, pulling you mercilessly against him. His fingers tangling in your hair, or moving your hips as you sat over him.

You cursed yourself. You hadn't meant to curse it out loud though and Roose tilted his head, brows coming together in a mix of confusion and anticipation as he was still waiting for an answer.

Unsure of yourself and your decisions in this moment, you started where you thought may be the most important, which was to explain your reasonings for everything, "Mister Kent and I will be seeking an annulment."

Roose didn't say anything, contrary to your expectation that he'd have some distasteful quip about how it was a long time coming. He just watched you respectfully. It was promising.

"I trust you will grant this annulment?"

"As your liege, I would, but I'd require a reason. A reason that would be considered valid to the Gods."

You took a deep breath and braced yourself, taking a few steps toward him. You pursed your lips in a tight, awkward smile and looked up at him. You felt like you couldn't stall this enough. This is as good a time as any.

"A reason valid for the Gods," You nodded, offering a sardonic chuvkled, "I've a damn good reason. I'm carrying a child that's not my husbands."

You watched closely for his reaction, but it was as if he froze in time, staring. He did nothing but stare. You wondered if he thought you were joking. Then he blinked and you decided he must just be thinking really hard.

"He refused to bed me for a time... the first, and only time, was about a fortnight ago now."

He continued to say nothing, but his eyes went off to the side, seemingly doing math. You nearly laughed at the sight of him doing the calculations. But you saved him the trouble.

"For reference, my wedding was about six weeks ago," you filled in the blanks for him, and tilted your head as his gaze met you again. You looked down at his lips for just a moment but quickly corrected yourself, "So... It's highly unlikely — well impossible that it would be his. A wet nurse I saw this morning said that sickness doesn't start until at least a month of having the babe."

"And it's started?" He finally asked.

You nodded, daring yourself to hold his gaze, "This morning," his eyes boring into you caused you to take in and let out a heavy breath, your lids growing heavier the more he searched your soul for answers — signs of deception. Though both of you knew there'd be no reason for you to deceive.

It was only when your lip twitched that you realized how close you'd gotten to him. You promptly blinked your head clear and looked down. He tilted your face up to find your gaze again, eyes raking your face. His own eyelids were just as hooded with desire.

"So It's mine," He stated, it wasn't a question. "You carry my child?"

His words shouldn't have excited you. It's the last thing it should do. But the reminder that you have Roose Bolton's baby in you, that the seed he shot into you on that one night had managed to take root in you by chance — that you carried the product of your shared passion that night... It made your stomach twist familiarly. It was only that this time, you didn't feel guilty thinking your husband never made your stomach twist that way.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately to keep your mind grounded and stubborn. "Unfortunately. Well, maybe Fortunately. I'm not sure the alternative is kinder. I'm only telling you as a courtesy, because you'd find out eventually if I'm to be living at the Dreadfort."

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. He truly hopes that no matter what, you never lose that bite to you. His fingers loosened around your chin but you held his gaze, understanding that this is what he preferred.

It just made you nervous. Neither of you spoke for a few moments, just looked at each others faces — really looked, and tried to know each other for the first time. You pushed away the feeling of wanting to kiss him, weakly this time, but you really cant. You haven’t even annulled your marriage yet and just because Roose says some pretty words to you doesnt make everything okay.

"He wanted me to take moon tea," you said, unsure of why you did. Just to keep talking, probably. Because you could see him looking at your lips with intent.

His eyes narrowed, still endlessly scanning your face, every so often landing on your lips. You tried to create a little bit of distance, and continued to talk, hoping it wouldn't escalate any further than this current tension. But even as you tried to pull back, you couldn't help but feel slightly drawn toward him. Especially with the way he was looking at you, it was hard not to have flashbacks to your old passion.

You continued, "I knew I wouldn't," Again you weren't sure why you felt the need to say it. You meant to reassure him that you wouldn’t have done such a thing without informing him first — that you were his loyal subject. It read more like a confession than anything else. It fanned the fire burning behind Roose's ice cold eyes. As you said it, you couldn't help but mirror his response.

How had you come to be so loyal to this man and he to you?

You still find reason to dislike him... but the thought of getting rid of his child had never truly been a realistic option to you. Even if you had the moon tea in your hands, even if you started to drink it, you'd remember the way he looked deep into your eyes as he took you — well it wasn't much different from the way he was looking at you right now.

The only real differences between now and then was that you’d been more naked that day, he was inside you, and after taking in your flustered state with those ever intense eyes of his, he captured your lips in his hungrily.

His face drew closer to yours. Then your lips brushed.

You pulled back slightly.

His hands came up to cup the back of your neck and cradle the under side of your skull as his face chased yours.

No… even if you had the tea in your hands and sipped a mouthful of the poison, you'd have remembered this exact energy and you would have spit out that tea before you could swallow it down.

One last attempt to pull away, feeble, and barely helping in any way, "I couldn't," left your lips, the words spoken more or less into his mouth, and you closed your lips onto his.

[2nd2ndalto]

what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

__

(chapter 3 here)

Chapter 4

Nico is Nico, and he’s doing the best he can with that. *warning for minor character death (off-camera)

February 1999

Will unlocks his apartment door, still pleased with their work today. Not only were he and Nico easily able to solve a case that had stymied local PD as well as several other agents at the Bureau, but they managed to keep the important parts of their investigation above-board, no complaints from the AD’s office. Will hangs his coat and drops his bag to the floor.

“Yeah, he just walked in. Hold on,” he hears Kayla say as she rounds the corner. Kayla rolls her eyes as she hands Will the cordless phone. Will raises his eyebrows in a wordless query and Kayla mouths, “your boyfriend.”

Will scowls, batting at her, and Kayla grins, dancing out of reach. Nico and Kayla haven’t actually met face to face yet, but Kayla’s begun teasing her brother that she talks to Nico more than she talks to Will.

“Hey,” Will says into the phone. Five months into working together and it isn’t unusual for Nico to call him at home. The first time, he’d simply been bursting to share information about a case, and Will got the impression he couldn’t quite help himself. But since then, they talk off-hours several times a week, when one or the other has had some sort of epiphany, or seen an interesting article. Sometimes, more recently, just to check in.

“How much do you know about vampires?” Nico asks, straight into it.

Will scoffs, grinning. He tucks the phone against his shoulder and heads to his bedroom. “You mean besides the fact that they don’t exist?”

Nico huffs. “Stories of vampires are found in cultures all over the world, Solace.”

Will drapes his jacket over a chair in the corner of the room. It’s probably good for one more wear. “Okay, so you’re saying that just because similar myths about similar creatures emerged in different locales, they must be real?”

“Ye of little faith,” Nico says loftily, and Will laughs. It’s hard to deny the appeal when Nico gets like this. They may not always agree on the basics, but Will thinks he could (okay, he has) spend hours just listening to the rise and fall of Nico’s voice as he tumbles out facts and stories about every little thing that catches his interest.

“There’s a case just outside of Columbia,” Nico’s saying. “Little town called St. Ambrose. Farming community. Multiple dead cows found over the last six weeks with dual puncture marks in their necks. Completely exsanguinated.”

“Huh,” Will considers, grabbing sweats out of his drawer and dropping to the bed. “Sounds weird, all right. There could be any number of explanations, though. Puncture wounds could be syringe marks, meant to give the appearance of fangs, for instance. You think the Bureau wants to pay for us to drive down to South Carolina to look at dead cows?”

“Not just cows,” Nico says, “One dead human, similar puncture marks.”

“Exsanguinated?”

“Yeah. Mostly.”

“Huh.”

“And four sheep. Why am I getting the feeling that you’re not taking this seriously?” Nico asks, and Will laughs.

“I’m taking it very seriously. I swear. Nico, I literally just walked in the door and I’m hungry enough to eat an exsanguinated sheep. Can I call you back?”

Nico snorts. “Fine, fine. We’ll talk more tomorrow. I gotta go pick up my dry cleaning before they close anyway.”

Will hears the phone ring again just as he’s about to step in the shower and he rolls his eyes, smiling. Kayla can take a message.

When he emerges fifteen minutes later, cleaner but now even hungrier, he finds Kayla sitting on the couch staring into the middle distance. There’s something telling on her face.

Will’s footsteps stutter to a stop. “What’s up?”

She sighs, turning to face him. “Dad’s dead, Will.”

::

A massive coronary, Will’s mom told him when he called her, the funeral already set for two days later.

Will can’t decide how he feels. He and his father haven’t had an easy relationship. They haven’t had much of a relationship at all in the last decade, honestly. But there’s no changing the fact that it’s his dad.

He and Kayla make it through airport security with time to spare, and they sit side by side at their gate in silence.

“Thanks,” Will says, reaching over to squeeze Kayla’s knee. “I know you didn’t - you wouldn’t have…” he shrugs, his throat tight. Kayla puts her hand over his, squeezes.

Kayla’s relationship with their father has been decidedly less complicated than Will’s – aided, probably, by the fact that it’s been largely non-existent. Will doesn’t think Kayla’s harboring any regrets about that fact.

They’re both well aware that Kayla’s only coming along for Will’s benefit, and he loves her for it more than he can say. Austin won’t be showing up at all, and that’s completely fine too. Will would never hold it against his younger brother. If someone had asked Will a week ago how he’d feel about his dad’s passing, he never would have expected to feel as broken as he does.

The next 48 hours are a bit of a blur, alternately dragging unbearably and zipping by so quickly that Will keeps losing track of which day it is. He gets to see all the cousins, which is nice, he supposes. Will’s always been close to his mom, and as adults he, Kayla, and Austin had grown much closer than they were as children. But Will’s never felt he fit in properly in his extended family. Every time he returns, he thinks that maybe adulthood will have softened the edges of those relationships, but it hasn’t happened yet. The nice thing about adulthood though, he thinks wryly, is he can simply leave.

The night before he and Kayla are scheduled to fly back to DC, Will finds himself seated on the porch swing outside his mother’s rambling farmhouse. Kayla’s disappeared for the evening to visit some high school friends, and most of the out-of-town visitors have gone back where they came from. The night air is much warmer than DC at this time of year, and Will closes his eyes to the sound of crickets chirping in the yard, the far-away hum of cars on the highway.

Will’s bone-tired, spent. It’s always good to see his mom, but with a twinge of guilt, he finds himself wishing he was spending this evening settled into his apartment in DC, readying himself for whatever mystery tomorrow might bring.

The screen door creaks and slams, and Will glances up to see his mom making her way across the porch carrying two glasses of iced tea. She hands one to Will and he scoots over, making room on the swing. Neither of them speaks for a long moment, just the clink of ice in glasses and the soft squeak of the swing.

“You’re looking good, kiddo,” Naomi Solace says softly, setting down her glass and reaching over to squeeze Will’s hand.

Will laughs, short. “I haven’t slept properly in three days. I can’t remember if I showered this morning.”

“I know. But besides that,” Naomi says. “You seem… more settled. Than last time I saw you.”

Will considers this. “Yeah. Maybe.” He’s feeling so scattered right now that it’s hard to remember his normal state. But he thinks it might be true. “Work is good,” he says slowly. “I feel like… I think I’m helping people. Trying, anyway.”

Naomi nods. “You’re a good kid, Will. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Will laughs weakly. “Do I?”

“Yes,” his mother says, certain. “You do. Maybe you’re a little like me, that way,” she muses, shifting to tuck her legs up under her. “We don’t always get it right on the first try, but we get there in the end. Sometimes you just have to take a more meandering path. Take in the scenery along the way.”

Will nods slowly. “Are you talking about you and dad?”

Naomi sighs, taking a sip of her tea and gazing out at the darkened yard. “I wasn’t. But I suppose I could have been. Your dad and I were just never meant to be married. That was my mistake. I think I’ll always be sorry for the effect it had on all of you kids.”

“Mom. Don’t do that. We’re fine. You can’t…” Will shakes his head, lost for words. “My relationship with Dad was between me and him.” He pauses as his voice goes weak again. Surely he should be cried out by now? “I’ve never blamed you for any of that,” he says, his voice stronger. “I don’t want you to, either.”

Naomi gives him a half-smile, squeezing his hand. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

Will gazes out into the night. He feels a prickle behind his eyes, the promise of yet more tears. But he can’t not ask.

“I – I know Dad and I hadn’t talked much these last few years,” Will begins. He stops, swallows. “But do you think – do you think he was proud of me?” Will’s voice breaks.

“Oh baby,” Naomi says immediately, leaning over to pull Will into her arms. “Yes. Of course he was proud of you. He was your dad.”

::

Kayla’s already left for work when Will wakes on Thursday morning to the sunlight creeping in through the blinds in his bedroom. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, finally falling into an uneasy sleep just before dawn.

He showers and dresses. Stares into the fridge for a moment before closing it again. There’s a light pounding in his temples and a twist to his gut, and he can’t quite stomach the idea of eating anything. He forces down a glass of water and makes coffee.

By late morning, Will finds himself at a loss. In their rush to book plane tickets and leave town earlier this week, Will had only managed to leave a quick voicemail for Nico and make a hurried call to the AD. She’d sounded uncharacteristically sympathetic, assuring Will she’d let Nico know of his pending absence and telling him not to worry about returning to work until at least next week.

And that sounds nice, in theory. But after two hours awake and alone in the apartment, Will finds himself almost subconsciously dressing for the office – pulling on his coat, locking the door behind him and walking to the metro.

Everything feels out of sorts. It’s no longer rush hour, so there’s plenty of room to sit. The people traveling at this time of day aren’t dressed for nine-to-five – moms with small children, old ladies headed out to appointments and shopping. Will’s felt out of place all this week, and it’s going to continue, it seems.

He passes through security and makes a beeline to the stairwell, hoping to avoid running into any co-workers who might have questions, or condolences.

::

Nico makes a quick scan of the office, a double-check to make sure he’s remembered everything. He’s gotten so used to having Will there whenever he turns around, the now-familiar routine of each of them reassuring the other they haven’t forgotten anything important before leaving on a road trip. Nico feels a little lost without it.

Nico turns in surprise to the basement office door squeaking open. “Will – hey. I didn’t expect to see you at all this week.” He takes a step closer to the taller man, then stops.

Will offers a half-smile. “Here I am.” He looks exhausted – his eyes shadowed, posture wilted. “I tried staying home this morning…” Will trails off, then shrugs, shaking his head. He turns to hang his coat.

“You were in Fort Worth?”

“Yup.”

“When did you get back?”

“Last night.” Will drops into his chair, turning to face Nico. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Nico frowns. “Will. You don’t – you don’t have to be here.”

“I’m here.” Will says firmly. “I want to be here. Come on, di Angelo. Get me up to speed. Vampires, right? Or did I miss the vampires?”

Nico shakes his head, unsure. “No, you didn’t. You’re just in time, actually.” They gaze at each other for a moment. ‘I’m sorry about your dad,” Nico says softly.

Will sighs. “Thanks. Me too.”

Nico had wanted to call immediately when he got Will’s voicemail earlier this week, had been halfway through dialing Will’s number before faltering, then hanging up. He’s repeated the process half a dozen more times in the intervening days, too worried that he’d be intruding.

Now, there’s a long pause in which Nico tries to summon the courage to offer a hug, or at least a pat on the back. But he can’t quite convince himself to take the few steps into Will’s space that it would require. Will would do it, he thinks, no qualms at all if their positions were reversed.

But Nico is Nico, and he’s doing the best he can with that.

“So,” Will says, clearly trying for an upbeat tone. “Vampires?”

::

An hour later they’re on the highway, heading south. Nico begins a recap of the information they know so far – exsanguinated livestock with apparent bite marks, similar puncture marks and cause of death on one deceased tourist from New Jersey, male, age 53, and, as of last night, a second one as well – female, age 62, visiting from Florida.

Everything in his head seems to settle, somehow, as Nico begins talking. The buzz of disjointed thoughts, his plans for the investigation, even the route he’s plotted out for their drive. He’s been fine without Will here this week, really. It’s been quiet. Maybe a little dragging. Fine, though.

But god, this is so much better.

Nico’s gaze flicks over to his partner as they leave DC in the rearview. Will still looks tired, but there’s a ease to his posture, his head tilted toward Nico, listening. His lips twitch up when Nico’s hand rises from the gearshift to emphasize a point, an expansive gesture in the little car.

They’re just passing the last exits for Fairfax when Nico glances over again to see Will fast asleep, head tilted back against the seat. He feels a rush of sympathy. He bumps down the volume on the stereo. He drives.

::

Will blinks his eyes open to a motel parking lot, streetlights casting the interior of the sedan in dim orange light. It’s fully dark outside. He turns to see Nico next to him, the driver’s seat pushed back and a pile of papers in his lap. He’s managed to park in such a way that the streetlight illuminates the papers he’s holding.

���Jesus. How long did I sleep?” Will asks, his voice raspy. His mouth is dry, cottony, his eyes itchy.

Nico glances over, then dog-ears a page in the file he’s been reading before closing it. “Almost five hours.”

“Shit. Sorry.” Will pushes himself upright, scrubbing at his eyes.

Nico shrugs. “You looked like you needed it.” He begins gathering the papers he’s spread out across the front seat and the dashboard. “Thought you’d wake up when I stopped for gas, or when I went in to book the motel rooms, but you were out like a light.” He gives Will a small smile.

Will shakes his head. “Yeah. I haven’t slept well in… well. I haven’t been sleeping.”

Nico just nods.

“Starlight Galaxy?” Will asks, squinting out the window at the sign above the motel. “Sounds classy.”

“You know it.”

Files collected and stowed back in his bag, Nico opens his car door. Will follows suit, standing and stretching from toes to fingertips. There’s a stubborn kink in his neck, his legs stiff. He tilts his head from side to side, taking in the slope of the freeway exit, just a few blocks down the road, the humidity in the air.

“Where are we?” Will asks. He knows Nico hadn’t planned to drive all the way to South Carolina today. He’s feeling completely disoriented, having missed most of the journey. It’s not like him to fall asleep in cars.

“Ah. Just outside of Fayetteville,” Nico says, glancing over his shoulder just as Will stumbles on a curb. Nico reaches out to grab his arm, brow furrowed.

“I’m okay,” Will assures him. “Still waking up.”

::

There’s a little diner nearby, and Will finds himself hungrier than he’s been in days, making his way through an enormous burger and a heap of fries.

“I fell asleep in the middle of your vampire lecture,” Will realizes suddenly, as the waitress finally clears their plates.

Nico’s lips quirk. He’s cast his coat and jacket aside, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair is just a little overlong, a soft curl of it falling into his face. Will wants to brush the hair off his forehead, trace a finger down his exposed forearm. The whole tableau is incredibly distracting, and Will glances away. As he’s told himself repeatedly over the last five months, there’s no need to have this reaction to Nico simply because he’s the only man Will’s spent any significant amount of time with lately.

“It’s fine,” Nico teases. “You only hurt my feelings a little.”

Will breathes out a laugh. “I promise it wasn’t personal. Wanna pick up where you left off? I’m all ears.”

Nico watches him for a moment, his gaze warm. Will tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. God, he’s being ridiculous. He’ll blame it on the stress of the week he’s just had.

“Vampires can wait. We should get you to bed,” Nico says, and at least this time it’s him who goes red, quickly dropping Will’s gaze.

“Well, if you’re offering,” Will manages, light as he can.

Nico snorts, pushing himself up from the table. “You know what I meant,” he mutters, and Will grins.

::

Despite his hours-long nap, Will’s still exhausted when he falls into bed. But sleep won’t come and the quiet in the motel room sounds louder and louder until Will finally gets up to find the TV remote, settling on an old episode of This Old House. After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, he eventually wakes to sunlight, static on the TV and Nico knocking at the door.

“Give me ten minutes?” Will yells. The knocking stops, apparently in agreement. When Nico returns, he’s grabbed them both coffee. They pilfer muffins, doughnuts and an apple apiece from the motel’s continental breakfast before they’re back on the road.

“How’d you sleep?” Nico asks, glancing over as he nudges the car up to speed. Will just shakes his head, enough of an answer.

Will thinks he manages about forty-five minutes of Nico’s vampire briefing this time before passing out against the passenger side window. He wakes to a gentle shake of his shoulder and the golden arches beckoning welcomingly above the windshield.

Will blinks up at Nico, bleary. “Fuck. I did it again.”

Nico’s eyes are dancing with humor. “You did. Now I’m starting to get a little offended.”

Will groans. “I’m so sorry, I swear I never even fall asleep in cars –”

But Nico’s shaking his head, grinning. “Seriously Solace, it’s fine. Sleep when you need to sleep.”

“Maybe I’m developing narcolepsy,” Will mutters, reaching for his styrofoam cup of now-cold coffee and draining it before following Nico into the restaurant. Normally, he finds he’s never able to trust anyone or their driving enough to sleep, but with Nico… well. That’s certainly not something Will’s planning to spend any more time thinking about.

::

They arrive in St. Ambrose late in the afternoon, heading straight to the tiny police station.

“Should have brought my cowboy hat,” Nico mutters under his breath as they cross the parking lot.

Will hums in agreement. He feels safe enough in most situations when he’s protected by his suit, badge and gun. But taking in their surroundings… well. This doesn’t particularly feel like a welcoming space for anyone who doesn’t fit the mold. Will hasn’t had any confirmation of his partner’s sexuality, but he has his suspicions. And he can’t help but wonder if Nico feels the same way, assesses new situations with a similar paradigm.

The police station is the smallest Will’s ever seen, tacked on like an afterthought to a small funeral parlor and a makeshift morgue space. He checks in to get on with the autopsy on the most recent victim while Nico follows the sheriff to a nearby cemetery. They agree to meet afterwards in front of the Budget Host Inn – easy enough to find as it’s the tallest building in town.

Will falls into his work. The autopsy is soothing, somehow, almost meditative – the familiar procedure coming to Will’s hands without much thought. He assesses, records, observes. And it’s just as Nico described - two small puncture wounds in the victim’s neck, the body mostly drained of blood. The victim’s last meal included mushrooms and some kind of sausage, Will notes idly. Interesting. Will’s pretty sure the previous victim’s stomach contents were the same.

::

The police station is a mere two blocks from the Budget Host, and Will’s happy enough to stretch his legs and take in the last of the sunset as he makes his way to the motel. He’s hungry, legs aching from standing over a body for hours.

Nico’s waiting for him in the parking lot.

“So, they only had one room left,” Nico says, apologetic, as soon as Will’s close enough to hear him. “Guy at the front desk says there’s a convention and everything’s booked up. So you can stay here.” Nico presses a key into Will’s hand. “There’s another hotel up the road. I’ll go see if they have a vacancy.”

Nico turns back to the car, and Will grabs his arm. “Hey, wait.”

Nico turns back, his eyes just a bit wide. Will immediately drops his arm. “There are two beds, right? In the room here?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m fine with sharing a room if you are. It’s been a long day, we’re both tired.” Will shrugs. “Makes more sense than you driving all over the county trying to find another hotel.”

Nico looks hesitant, studying Will’s face as if he’s going to find some argument there to contradict what Will’s just said. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Growing up, we’d have six of us sharing a hotel room. The hotels only allowed four and we had to sneak the other two kids in. Two to a room is luxury.”

Nico still looks unconvinced. “You sure you don’t want more privacy than that? I know it’s been a rough week for you.”

Will shrugs, glancing away. It has, but – “I actually wouldn’t mind the company. If you’re okay with it.”

With that, they drop their things in the room and head to the bar at the end of the street.

“Autopsy didn’t yield any additional information, by the way,” Will says as they walk. “I sent off for a tox screen, but we won’t get the results back until at least tomorrow. How was the cemetery?”

Nico shakes his head. “Nothing to write home about. No evidence of vampiric activity that I could see.”

Will restrains himself from scoffing, but he’s pretty sure that Nico can tell. There’s no offense on his face, amused.

“What’s your theory, then?” Nico asks, lips quirking.

“Well,” Will considers it for a brief moment. “Ritualistic bloodletting could point to cultists of some sort.”

Nico huffs. “Your cultists have some sharp little teeth.”

Will nods solemnly. “You’re right. It’s probably that Mexican goatsucker.”

“El Chupacabra?” Nico asks. “Not in this case. They have four fangs, not two. Besides, they suck goats, not cows or sheep. All the evidence so far points to classic vampirism, Solace.”

“If you say so,” Will says. “We can stock up on garlic on our way back to the motel.”

They turn into the bar’s parking lot, a weaving path between pickup trucks. There are several motorcycles parked in the glow of the neon lights in front of the building.

Looking around, Will realizes they’re ridiculously out of place in the bar, both of them in suits and ties surrounded by a sea of cowboy hats and the occasional biker jacket. They’re certainly attracting some curious looks.

But Nico’s there. It’s odd how that seems to make so many things easier to take, lately. It softens edges, blurs lines. The persistent feeling Will’s always had of not quite fitting in, the blanket of grief and loss that’s trailed him around all week.

The hostess seats them in a booth near the small dance floor, and they both idly watch a lone couple two-stepping as they wait for their menus. There’s country music playing – at a reasonable volume at least – but Will’s pretty sure he can hear Nico’s thoughts as clearly as if he’s spoken them aloud – it’s not even real country music, Will. Pop-country is a travesty. It’s an insult to the history of the genre.

Will smiles to himself. He glances to his partner. There’s a muscle jumping in Nico’s jaw that Will’s pretty sure has nothing to do with exsanguinated sheep. Maybe telepathy does exist after all.

Nico turns, catches his eye. “What?” he asks, pained.

Will shakes his head, still smiling. “Nothing. It’s just good to be back at work.”

Nico huffs, but his lips twitch into a smile, too. The dance floor lights play over his pale face and the errant wave of hair falling over his forehead. “Yeah?” he says. “You were missing this sort of ambiance?” Nico gestures around them.

“Yeah,” Will grins. “You wanna dance?”

Nico’s eyes go wide, his expression caught adorably somewhere between horrified and embarrassed. “To this? Not in your wildest dreams,” he mutters as the waitress approaches with their menus.

::

Back at the motel, Will showers, trying to talk himself out of the awkwardness he feels as he emerges from the bathroom in sweats and an old Stanford t-shirt. He’s perfectly presentable, nothing he wouldn’t leave the house in on a weekend. Nico’s sitting on his bed similarly dressed, and they exchange a somewhat shy glance as Will settles himself down.

Nico’s looking inconveniently soft in gray flannel pants and bare feet, a worn Ramones t-shirt snug against his torso, the curve of his biceps. Will’s stomach lurches and he quickly directs his gaze to the TV. Way to be completely inappropriate, Solace.

Nico’s already flipping through the limited cable options and, at Will’s urging, settles on an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Nico hasn’t seen it before, but the show is a comfort watch for Will; he feels himself relax into the familiar characters and dialogue.

They’re both quiet until the commercial break, and then Will shifts, stretching out stiff muscles and pulling the thin hotel blanket over his lap. “Marina Sirtis?” he says, gesturing to the screen, “the lady with the long, dark hair? She was my first crush. I had a poster of her on my wall when I was ten.”

Nico laughs, a bit louder than usual after two beers. He’s fully stretched out on the bed now, head propped up on both pillows against the headboard. Will watches the other man, feeling a little louder himself. Warm. Nico’s shirt has ridden up just a little, a hint of pale skin at his waist, and Will drags his gaze away slower than he should.

“Mine was Judd Nelson,” Nico says after a rather loaded pause. He’s chewing on his thumbnail, gaze fixed on the TV. “First crush, that is. I saw Breakfast Club with my sister when it came out.”

Will feels his heart pick up speed, nerves and anticipation.

“Yeah, he was cute,” Will says, light as he can. He reaches for his own beer, takes a sip. “I – I kind of had a thing for Emilio Estevez. After I saw Breakfast Club.”

Nico glances over, his gaze lingering. “Yeah? You were into jocks?”

Will can feel his face warming. “He had nice arms. I appreciate a good bicep.” He flexes his in demonstration.

Nico huffs out a laugh, his gaze flicking to Will’s arms, then back to the TV. His posture relaxes a bit, Will thinks.

Will falls asleep to the sound of the TV in the background, waking some hours later to the rhythm of Nico’s soft breathing across the room. Will drifts off to sleep again almost immediately, sleeping better than he has in days.

::

“Got the tox screen back,” Will announces as he steps back into their motel room the next afternoon. There isn’t enough room for them to work at the police station, so they’ve set up shop in here, Nico’s papers spread over the rickety little table next to the window.

Nico turns in his chair. “Anything good?”

“Chloral hydrate.” Will hands the printout to Nico, then kicks off his shoes, dropping onto the bed. “More commonly known as knockout drops. They were found in abundance in the victim’s body. I’m willing to bet we’d find the same in the cows and sheep. And the first human victim, if anyone had thought to check. Your vampire must have drugged them before he drained their blood.”

“Huh.” There’s silence in the little room as Nico scans over the rest of the results. “What kind of vampire would do that?”

“Probably someone who’s watched too many Bela Lugosi movies,” Will offers. “They believe they’re a vampire – or they want to – therefore they act like one. So maybe not so spooky after all.”

Nico’s brow furrows. “What about the bite marks, though?”

“Well, someone so obsessed might file down their incisors to look the part. A moulage casting might help us identify the perpetrator. I wonder if there’s a dentist in town,” Will muses.

Nico looks disappointed. Will swings out a leg to kick him gently in the shin. It’s not a far reach, in the small room. “Sorry. I know you were hoping for something more supernatural.”

Nico attempts to kick Will back, not quite managing to reach. “I see what you’re saying. But I’m not fully convinced.”

“Okay,” Will says easily, “do tell.”

Nico grabs for a gray folder and flips through it. “Your autopsy report said the victim’s shoelaces were untied.”

Will settles himself more fully on the bed, rolling to his side and propping his head up. “Yeah. So?”

“Remember I said that we don’t know what sort of vampire we’re looking for?”

Will blinks. He has no doubt that Nico mentioned this fact, but he has zero memory of it. Quite possibly because he’d fallen asleep. “Yeah?” he says anyway.

“Well, oddly enough, there seems to be one obscure fact that remains the same, over all the vampire stories told across various cultures. Vampires are notoriously obsessive-compulsive. If you toss a handful of seeds at a vampire, no matter what he’s doing, he has to stop and pick them up.”

Will frowns, now completely lost. “Seeds?”

“Historically, certain seeds were thought to fascinate vampires,” Nico continues, now at the point in his storytelling where his hand gestures get bigger and he leans forward in his seat, his gaze intense.

Will can’t help but smile. “I was going to run to the grocery store for snacks. You want me to pick up some bird seed?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Nico nods, looking serious. “Can’t be too careful. Historically, oats and millet were most interesting to them. Get those if you can.”

Will nods, absently wondering where one would find millet.

“Anyway,” Nico continues, jabbing a pen in Will’s direction. “If a vampire sees a knotted rope, they’ve got to untie it. It’s in their nature. I’m guessing that’s the reason for the untied shoelaces.”

“Maybe our wannabe vampire is just as familiar with the stories and myths as you are,” Will points out. “Or maybe our victim hadn’t gotten around to tying his shoes before he was attacked.”

“Both valid points,” Nico nods, tapping his pen absently against the desk. “You know, I think I wanna go back to the cemetery.”

Will shrugs. “Sure. Right now?”

Nico shakes his head. “No. We should wait until nightfall. I just have this feeling the killer is going to be drawn back there at some point. That it’ll hold some kind of fascination for him.” He quirks an eyebrow. “You up for a spooky cemetery stakeout?”

Will laughs. “I thought you’d never ask.”

::

Eleven pm finds both men seated in their fleet car at the edge of the cemetery in a copse of trees. It’s fully dark – the site is about a mile from the small town, untouched by any artificial light. The car is turned off, windows half-rolled down to let in the cooler air.

“So remind me what we’re looking for?” Will asks, quiet. He taps the gun at his belt. He’s not planning on needing it, but it’s good to know it’s there.

Nico gazes out over the dark expanse in front of them. The half-moon provides a little light, shading the crests of the trees in silver.

“Anything unusual,” Nico murmurs. “Broken or shifted tombstones. A faint groaning sound coming from under the earth.”

Will suppresses a shiver.

“The sound of manducation,” Nico continues. “The creature eating its own death shroud.”

Will makes a face, withdrawing his hand from the Bugles in his lap and tossing the bag into the back seat. “Suddenly I’m not feeling so much like snacking.”

Nico snorts. They sit in silence for another long while until Nico speaks up again. “I think I want to go out there, take a look around.”

Will sighs. He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Well, you’re not leaving me here by myself.”

“Why, feeling spooked?” Nico asks, light.

“Maybe a little,” Will admits. “Plus, someone’s got to have your back. The AD won’t be impressed if you get exsanguinated on my watch.”

Will’s never had a problem with cemeteries. Death is simply a part of life. But he also hasn’t spent a lot of time skulking around cemeteries in the dead of night, and this one is undeniably creepy. He can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching them as they lurk behind trees, skirt quietly around tombstones.

Nico’s quiet and alert, just a step ahead. Will quashes the impulse to reach out and take a hold of the other man’s jacket, to make absolutely sure they don’t get separated. He’s seized by the ridiculous thought that if Nico gets more than a few yards ahead, he’ll sink right into the shadows, never to be seen again. Idly, Will wonders why he ever thought he’d be a good FBI agent.

Then Nico comes to such an abrupt stop that Will stumbles into him. Nico grabs hold of his arm, his grip almost bruising, gaze never wavering from where he’s staring straight ahead at the empty space between the end of the cemetery and a small grove of spindly trees.

“You see that?” Nico whispers, barely a breath.

“Where?” Will’s hand fumbles to his gun.

Nico moves a step closer, the side of his body pressed to Will’s, tense and warm. Will can’t tell if the embarrassingly immediate increase in his heart rate is due to their sudden proximity or the possibility of imminent threat to his life. He quickly decides now is not the time to worry about that.

Will blinks, trying to force his eyes to see the shapes and borders of objects ahead, everything blurred and obscured in the darkness.

Then, there’s movement in the trees. Someone emerges, walking quickly in the direction of the road. Will can just make out the general shape of a male body, curly hair, rather round in the middle. Beside him, Nico pulls his gun from its holster.

“FBI, stop where you are,” Nico commands, stepping forward.

The man turns to face them. As their eyes meet, there’s sudden a flash of what looks like green light – and the man is gone, disappeared in a second.

“Stop right there!” Nico pelts into the darkness. Will takes off after him, trying not to trip on the uneven ground, his gaze darting left and right to see where the man could possibly have disappeared to.

They reach the stand of trees, but there’s nothing. Darkness and silence except for their ragged breathing. Nico’s gaze scans the country road next to the cemetery, catching his breath. Nothing but farmers’ fields and open road.

“Fuck. Where the fuck did he go?”

Will shakes his head, panting. “No idea. I know it’s dark, but it just seemed like he…” he trails off.

“Disappeared?”

They begin a more thorough search then, a close inspection of the area where they saw the man, then a careful grid search through the little cemetery. Will keeps an eye on his partner, Nico’s flashlight beam tracking back and forth just a few yards from Will’s. It’s odd, though – the cemetery doesn’t feel nearly as spooky now. Almost as if Will knows in his heart that there’s no longer any threat. And that feels eerie in itself.

“I don’t think we’re going to find anything,” Nico sighs, shoving a hand through his hair as they reach the fence at the far end of the cemetery.

“Could have been nothing,” Will considers as they walk back towards the car. “Just someone out for a walk?” It feels like a stab in the dark.

Nico shoots him a sideways glance, skeptical.

Will shrugs. “Yeah, I know.”

They spend another hour sitting in the car at the cemetery’s edge before heading back to the motel, Nico teasingly complaining that Will’s yawning is going to disturb the undead.

::

Will wakes the next morning to heavy cloud crowding the sky outside and a tangible humidity that’s seeped right into the room with him, sweat on the back of his neck.

Nico’s bed is empty, the blankets pulled up neatly. A glance towards the dark bathroom tells Will he’s alone in the room.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, dropping his elbows to his knees and his head into his hands. He feels blurry, his head fogged. He’s close to dozing again, fingers pressed into his forehead, when the door opens.

Will sits up, blinking. Blessedly, it’s Nico, with muffins and coffee, a careful balancing act with two styrofoam cups tucked under his chin, a banana under his arm. His brow creases when his gaze catches on Will.

“What?” Will croaks.

Nico turns away, nudging papers aside with his elbow and settling the food on the table by the window. “Did you sleep?” he asks Will.

Will sighs, deep. “I think so. Some.” He dreamed of his dad last night, nothing significant, just glimpses of the older man in the periphery. He woke afterwards feeling heavy, aching. It had been a while before he was able to sleep again.

Nico eyes him for a moment, then comes to sit on the other bed. “I don’t think you want to hear this, but I just need to say it once to make sure.”

Will looks up, stomach lurching.

“You don’t have to be here,” Nico says, just a little too intense. “If you decide you want to go back home at any time, it’s fine. No one will think any less of you. And I can handle things on my own. Or if you just wanna hang out in the hotel, that’s cool too. Just tell me.”

Ridiculously, Will feels his eyes burn with tears. He focuses on accepting the coffee Nico passes into his hand. “I’m good,” he says. “But thanks. I promise I’ll tell you if anything changes.”

Nico nods, silent.

Will shifts, too aware of his sleep-rumpled clothes, a stark contrast to Nico’s neat polo shirt and leather jacket. God, his leather jacket. Will runs a hand over his head, a fruitless attempt to tame what’s surely an appalling bedhead. “I made it through my whole residency on less sleep than this,” Will says.

Nico watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I know you’ll bow out if you think you’re a danger to me, or to yourself,” he says. “I just want to make sure that you know you don’t need to get to that point before you tap out.”

Will nods, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

::

The day passes, quiet and uneventful. The nearest dentist is an hour away through back roads and farmland, and they make their way that way after lunch, hoping to gain some insight on anyone with abnormal dentition in the area. The trip yields no additional information, but the drive is pleasant enough, the sky thick and dark with clouds, no rain falling yet.

They talk idly about the case and Will makes a concerted effort to stay awake, now hyper-aware of Nico’s concern for his state of mind.

He glances to his partner, who’s looking particularly breezy and cool in his short-sleeved polo, his leather jacket an unfortunate casualty of the humidity. Nico’s right hand rests on the gear shift, left arm extended, a relaxed grip on the wheel. Nico’s slim, his features almost delicate, but he has muscle in his arms that isn’t immediately obvious in the looser dress shirts he wears to work most days. Will finds his attention drifting repeatedly to Nico’s arms every time they’re available to his gaze. The bulge of his bicep as it flexes, the defined lines of his forearms. He forces his gaze away for the third time in as many minutes.

Even a few weeks ago, Will realizes, he would have made a joke, teased Nico about working out. They’ve developed a sort of light, comfortable teasing over the last five months, even flirting, low stakes. But something feels as if it’s shifting lately, and Will finds he can’t get the words out. It doesn’t help that he’s thought of Nico’s arms far too often over the last three days. Will searches for another topic of conversation, anything.

“Hey,” Will says, wrenching his gaze determinedly to Nico’s face. “You’ve never told me where you grew up.”

“Um.” Nico clears his throat and Will’s surprised to see the other man looking uncomfortable. He knows Nico well enough now to recognize the way he retreats at the threat of personal questions, but really. They’ve known each other for months now. It’s not as if Will’s asked if he can borrow Nico’s Social Security number.

“Just – Massachusetts,” Nico says, eyes on the road.

“Nice,” Will nods. “Whereabouts? One of my aunts lives up there.”

There’s a pause. “Martha’s Vineyard,” Nico mumbles.

Will laughs in surprise. “Oh, you’re a rich kid!”

Nico snorts, clearly embarrassed. “My dad’s the rich one. I was just… a little weirdo.”

Will watches the other man out of the corner of his eye, intrigued. “Do you see your dad much?”

“No,” Nico says, in a way that indicates that his participation on this topic is clearly over. Will blinks, startled at his tone.

Then, a moment later – “sorry,” Nico says, softer. “I didn’t mean to snap. My dad and I… well. There’s no love lost there. He’s – we never–”

“I’m sorry,” Will cuts in. “I wasn’t trying to pry.”

Nico nods, falling silent. “I know you weren’t,” he says a moment later. “And I –” he reaches over, his fingers brushing over Will’s wrist, there and gone. “I know you just lost your dad. And that sucks. I can’t help thinking… well, I can’t help but think that I wouldn’t miss mine if – you know.”

Will nods, his gaze on the farmland passing outside the window. “My dad and I – we weren’t exactly close.”

Nico doesn’t respond with more than a flicker of his gaze, but there’s a tilt to his posture that tells Will he’s listening.

Will sighs. “We hadn’t talked much for the last few years. Things hadn’t been… well. Things weren’t easy between us, maybe not ever, but especially since my two older brothers died. He kind of checked out after that. I always thought we’d find a way to be close, someday, maybe as I got older. I guess that’s off the table now.” Will swallows, wipes at his eyes. “Sorry.”

Nico shakes his head. “No need to apologize,” he says, soft.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe I’m mourning the loss of what I wanted us to have. You know, more than the loss of what there actually was.” Will digs in the pocket of the passenger door for a fast food napkin he knows he stuffed there earlier this week. Finding one, he dabs at his cheeks.

“What was your dad like?” Nico asks.

Will lets out a breath, leaning back in his seat. “He was… larger than life. Maybe just because I was a kid, I don’t know. But I have these memories of him – loud, exuberant. Charming. He got along with everyone he met. I wanted to be just like him. He was a doctor, too. That’s why I went into medical school.”

The landscape flashes by outside, greens and browns and yellows, then shades of smoky gray above the horizon. Nico stays quiet, waiting.

“He was good at everything,” Will continues. “Or at least that’s how I remember it. And Michael and Lee – my older brothers – they were the same. The three of them played baseball and football together, they were… you know.” Will shrugs. “Tough. Loud. Boys’ boys. Even as a little kid, I felt like I was too soft. Too different. And not just because I was younger. I felt like they knew it too.”

Will can’t remember thee last time he talked this much. The words seem to keep pouring out, though. And somehow it doesn’t feel so bad to just… let it happen. Here, cradled in this small space on this country road under these dark clouds and with this man – his friend, he realizes rather suddenly – this feels safe.

“And then when I was ten, my dad and my older brothers were in a car accident. Lee and Michael were dead before the ambulance got there.” Will pauses for a few deep breaths, his vision blurring with tears. “My dad was driving.”

“I’m sorry,” Nico says quietly.

“My dad left not too long after that,” Will says. “He’s been overseas ever since. Or he had been. Doctors Without Borders. From what I hear, he was a really good doctor. He wasn’t such a great dad, unfortunately. He never really said he was leaving my mom, or leaving us…” Will shrugs. “But that’s what happened. He called less and less. The last time I talked to him was in September, when they transferred me out of Quantico. We talked for maybe two minutes and then he was rushing off.” Will sniffs, dabbing at his cheeks again. “Sorry. You’re probably wishing you’d left me back in DC when you had the chance.”

Nico shakes his head slowly. “If I was going to leave you anywhere, it would have been in Fayetteville, after you fell asleep in the middle of my best vampire lore.”

Will chokes out a laugh, surprised, and Nico shoots him a smile.

“Dad and I talked a few times when the FBI first recruited me,” Will adds, remembering. Now that he’s started talking, somehow it feels easier just to keep going, like running downhill. “I was so keen on med school at the beginning – everything was new and exciting, I couldn’t wait to learn more. Then halfway through my residency it just stopped feeling right. I felt like I was dragging myself out of bed every day. And I remember thinking – god, how am I going to keep doing this for another forty years? So when the FBI came calling, I jumped at the chance to try something else.”

“What did your dad think?” Nico asks.

“It was hard to tell,” Will sighs. “I think I read into him too much. I don’t know if he really understood. I wanted so badly for him to be proud of me, but I’m still not sure if he was. I guess now I won’t ever know for sure.” Will falls silent, his throat tight.

“Anyway.” Will clears his throat. “That’s my childhood trauma. How were your formative years?”

Nico shifts a bit in his seat, takes a breath and lets it out, like he’s working his way up to something. “My mom died when I was seven,” he says.

“Oh, Nico –” Will begins.

“It’s okay.” Nico’s voice is wobbly. “Bianca – my sister – I think I’ve mentioned her. She was five years older than me. She looked after me a lot, after that. We were really close. And then she died when I was seventeen. The end.”

Something aches in Will’s chest. “That’s a very… brief summary,” he says gently. “Succinct.”

Nico laughs, short. “That’s more than most people get.” He glances at Will, quick, a half-smile. He sniffs, turning back to the road.

“Then I’m honored,” Will says, offering Nico a McDonalds napkin, stiff and scratchy.

Nico accepts it, wiping at his face. “You should be.”

There’s silence for a few moments. Nico sniffs a few more times.

“You have another sister too, right?” Will asks.

“Yeah. Half-sister, technically. Hazel. We didn’t actually… know about each other until after Bianca died. My dad had an affair. Apparently.” Nico grimaces. “But Hazel’s amazing. We’re really close. Learning my dad was even more of a dick than I thought – that sucked. But Hazel made up for it.”

They’re quiet for a few miles after that, just the hum of the engine and the crack and pop of gravel under their tires. Will feels drained, wrung out. But somehow he's also more relaxed than he's been in days, boneless in his seat, his gaze fuzzy around the edges as hills and fields blur past. He wonders if Nico's feeling the same. There's a softness to his posture, to the line of his mouth and the drape of delicate fingers over the gearshift.

As they near St. Ambrose, the conversation picks up again bit by bit; plans for the remainder of the day, a query from the AD as to how much longer the investigation is going to take, Nico wondering aloud if it's worth staking out the cemetery again. Nico pulls smoothly into the motel lot, parking the car in front of their door and pulling the key from the ignition.

"Hey," says Will, pausing as he unbuckles his seatbelt. "Thanks for listening."

Nico gazes at him for a moment, something unreadable there. "Any time." He looks away, reaching for his own seatbelt. "What are FBI partners for?"

Will breathes out a laugh. "What indeed."

::

Several hours later, Will's putting the finishing touches on his report of their interview with the dentist when Nico's phone rings. Will's just about to reach for it when Nico emerges from the bathroom, scrubbing a towel through damp hair. He darts past, leaving a fresh scent of soap and shampoo in his wake.

"Di Angelo," he says into the phone. Will's only half-listening, mulling over word choices and paragraph spacing. It only takes a minute before Nico ends the call, flopping down on his bed.

Nico’s voice comes out frustrated. "Another dead tourist."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Fuck."

"Puncture wounds?”

"Yeah. Seems to be missing all his blood."

Will clicks his laptop closed and pushes back from the table. "Where's the body?"

"At the morgue,” Nico shoots him a knowing look. “It's almost nine. You can do the autopsy tomorrow, Solace. Besides, the pizza will be here soon."

Will stands, stretching. “I think I’d rather get it done now. Might give us some direction as to where to investigate tomorrow.”

Nico gives him a considering look. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Will glances around, finally locating his jacket draped over his overnight bag in the corner. “Save me some pizza.”

::

It’s a quick walk back to the morgue and Will’s quickly immersed in the examination. The man looks to be about the same age as the last dead tourist, same puncture wounds on the same side of his neck. Will makes a y-incision and begins his inspection of the chest cavity, assessing and measuring the internal organs and dictating his results. The police station is nearly empty at this hour, and Will wishes he’d brought some music along. He’s just thinking of doffing his gloves and looking around for a radio as he reaches for a scalpel to open the stomach cavity.

“Stomach contents include…” Will peers closer. “Mushrooms, sausage…” Weird, same as the last two victims. It looks like…. pizza. Will pauses, scalpel hovering in the air.

Fuck. The pizza.

::

Nico reaches for the TV remote, pizza boxes stacked on the bed next to him. To his surprise, he’s been enjoying sharing a room with Will. But he also can’t deny that it’s kind of nice to have an evening to himself; no worries about what anyone else might want to watch on TV, no Will with his distractingly brilliant smiles and appealingly broad shoulders. Nico gives his head a sharp shake, determinedly moving his focus to the TV. It’s Sunday night. He’s pretty sure he can find an episode of M*A*S*H.

There are commercial breaks on every channel, so Nico turns his attention to the pizza instead, extracting a warm, cheesy slice from the box on top and sliding it onto a styrofoam plate. Generous portions, he notes, the end of the piece overhanging the edge of the plate. He bites it off.

Nico’s halfway through his pizza and ten minutes into M*A*S*H when he gets up to grab something to drink. He sets his plate aside, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Whoa.

Nico sometimes gets light-headed when he stands up too fast, but this feels… extreme. He grips the edge of the bed, waiting for the wave of dizziness to subside. It doesn’t.

Maybe he just needs some water. He tries and fails to remember the last time he had anything to drink. Okay, sure. He’s a little dehydrated. That makes sense.

He makes an attempt to stand and immediately finds himself flat on his back on the floor. Ow. Fuck. Okay, this is definitely not normal. Maybe if he can just reach his phone… but his arms won’t move. What the fuck. This almost feels like the reaction he had to the drugs when he had his wisdom teeth pulled.

Wait. Drugs.

Fuck.

The motel room door opens and Nico prays to any gods that might exist that it’s Will. It’s only been about half an hour though, and the autopsy earlier this week took Will over two hours. Fuck. Fuck. On some level, Nico registers that this is a very weird feeling, panicking and feeling so… floaty and content at the same time.

A face looms over him that is not Will’s. It’s a stout young man, curly hair – tighter curls than Will’s, darker hair – the man they saw running through the cemetery, Nico realizes with a chill. The man looks Nico over, appraising, as if Nico is a particularly appealing steak dinner. He sinks to the floor, smiling weirdly. As Nico gazes at him, paralyzed, the man’s eyes begin to glow with a greenish light.

Nico’s heart is running marathons in his chest. He puts every ounce of thought he has into willing his hand to reach for his gun, but there’s nothing, nothing. Fuck.

Everything’s getting so fuzzy.

The door flies open, slamming into the wall.

“Nico?” Will’s voice is panicked, as panicked as Nico felt a moment ago. He can’t quite find it in himself to panic right now.

The man with the glowing eyes is standing now, but he’s gone blurrier. Then there’s a gunshot, and another.

There’s a cool breeze coming from the open door. That’s nice. Nico lets his eyes fall shut, no real choice in the matter. But then there are hands, warm hands, on his face and at his neck, and he blinks heavy eyes open to see Will, wide blue eyes standing out in a pale face.

That’s nice. He likes Will. Will feels safe. Will probably won’t drink his blood. And Nico thinks he might let him if Will wanted to. He thinks Will’s talking to him. He sounds worried. But Nico’s just so tired.

::

When Nico comes to again, there are voices, several of them. He keeps his eyes shut, listening. He’s not actually sure if he can open his eyes. Oh, but there’s Will’s voice. It cuts through the others, calm and sure. If the sound of Will’s voice is anything to go by, Nico doesn’t have to open his eyes just yet. It sounds as if Will’s got things under control.

Time passes, or maybe it doesn’t, but Will’s voice seems closer, suddenly. There’s a warm hand on Nico’s shoulder.

“Nico. Hey, sleepyhead.”

Nico’s eyelids aren’t quite as heavy now. He opens his eyes to Will leaning over him, his gaze tired, but fond. Nico finds that he can move his arms again and reaches out to grasp Will’s arm. He sighs, content. Behind him, Nico sees two double doors open to the night, medical gear all around.

“How’re you feeling?” Will asks. “Do you remember what happened?”

Oh. Right. Nico’s not usually here in… the back of an ambulance? How did that happen? His brain feels as if it’s booting up sluggishly, skipping merrily over details that are probably important.

“Fuck,” Nico croaks. Then his eyes go wide. “The pizza. It was drugged.”

Will nods. “It sure was.”

“And the delivery guy –” Nico says, trying to sit up. Will helps him with an arm firm around his back. Nico’s head doesn’t spin the way it did last time he sat up. That’s probably a good thing. Will’s the doctor, though. He should ask Will. Wait.

“The delivery guy,” Nico says again.

Will nods, a smile pulling at his lips as he watches Nico struggle to process. “Yes, the delivery guy. He lunged at me when I came back into the room, I shot at him. I thought I hit him, actually, but then he took off. Pretty fast for a guy who’d just been shot.” Will’s talking a little slower than he normally does, which honestly feels a little patronizing. But Nico doesn’t actually want him to stop, because it still feels like the words are coming at him too fast.

Nico rubs at his eyes, clumsy. “Did – did you go after him?”

“Well, no, because I needed to make sure you were okay.”

Nico beams and sways. Will laughs, tightening the arm around him. Nico likes making Will laugh. Will is warm. And he smells good. Nico nestles his head into Will’s shoulder. It’s right there after all. And Will has really nice shoulders.

Will laughs again, a shake of his body against Nico’s. “You’re adorable,” Will says.

Nico thinks Will’s probably right. He feels a little bit adorable right now.

“Do you think you can walk?” Will asks. “The EMTs want to take you to the hospital, but they’ll let me monitor you in the motel as long as you can move under your own steam.”

Nico nods. “I can definitely walk. Don’t wanna go to the hospital.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Will agrees, helping Nico to stand.

Will has a quick exchange with the EMTs while Nico maintains a firm grip on Will’s arm, trying his best to look like someone who Does Not Need To Go To The Hospital. It must work, because a moment later, they’re making their slow way across the motel parking lot. Nico stumbles a few yards from the building and Will’s grip on him tightens.

“Try to stay upright for a few more minutes or they’ll make you get back in the ambulance,” Will mutters, low.

Nico thinks he giggles, and Will snorts. Will’s quick to unlock the door and usher Nico inside. He flicks on the light.

“This… isn’t our room,” Nico says slowly. He’s pretty sure of that, anyway. The furniture seems to be in different spots. And there’s a single, king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

Will lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping as he glances over the room. “Fuck. No, they moved us. The other room is a crime scene now. Local PD is processing it and we can’t go back in there. I uh… I didn’t realize there was only one bed, though. I can – I’ll go to the main office and –”

“No, no,” Nico argues immediately. “It’s fine, Solace. I just wanna go to bed and – it’s fine. There’s plenty of room for both of us. ‘S a big bed.”

Will holds his gaze for a moment and Nico does his best to look as certain as he can. It’s a little hard to focus on Will’s face, but he thinks he manages it.

“Are you sure?” Will asks. “That’s not just the chloral hydrate talking? Because I really don’t mind moving us.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Nico says. He wonders if he should say it one more time. He carefully closes his mouth instead.

Will shrugs. He really does look tired. “Okay.”

Nico manages the few steps over to the bed without any assistance. He’s honestly pretty proud of himself. He sits down heavily. After a few unsuccessful attempts to kick off his shoes, Will suddenly appears, kneeling in front of him and taking over.

Will looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but Nico decides not to take it personally. Nico flops back onto the bed, legs still hanging off the side.

“Are you ready to sleep?” Will asks.

“Mm hm,” Nico responds, closing his eyes. “‘M a bit hungry, though. Is there any pizza left?”

There’s silence, and after a moment he opens his eyes to Will, looking pained.

“Kidding. I was kidding,” Nico says. “Haha.”

Will huffs. “It’s not funny yet,” he says. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Nico mumbles, trying to shift himself fully onto the bed. After a moment Will appears to help. Wow. He’s really strong.

Will snorts.

Huh. Did Nico just say that out loud?

“I am going to tease you about this so much tomorrow,” Will mutters.

“Mean,” Nico mumbles, turning his face into the pillow.

::

Nico wakes to find himself alone in bed, sunlight seeping in around the blackout curtains and a throbbing behind his eyes. He lifts his head, squinting against the light.

“Hey.” The bed dips and Will’s there. “Good morning.”

Nico groans, dropping his head back to the bed.

“Headache?” Will asks. Nico nods.

“I’m just going to check your vitals again, okay?” Nico feels Will’s fingers close around his wrist, then a warm hand on his forehead.

“Wait,” Nico croaks. “Again?”

“Yeah. I had to wake you a couple of times during the night to check on you. You don’t remember?” A smile pulls at Will’s lips.

Nico feels mildly terrified. “No, I - don’t. I don’t remember,” he says, slowly pushing himself to sit.

“That’s okay, that’s normal. You were very… sweet about it,” Will grins.

Nico covers his face with his hands. “Oh god.”

Will laughs. “I’m going to go grab you some aspirin.” He disappears into the bathroom and Nico wracks his brain, trying to piece together, well… anything.

By the time Will returns, Nico is brimming with questions.

“So, the delivery guy –”

Will shakes his head. “They haven’t found him yet. Here.” He presses the glass of water into Nico’s hand and Nico takes a sip. His mouth feels disgusting.

“Were his eyes,” Nico says, trying to make sense of his memories of the night before. “Were they… glowing?”

Will rubs the back of his neck. “You saw that too? I thought I must have imagined it. It all happened so fast. Maybe colored contacts?”

“Maybe,” Nico says doubtfully, staring into the middle distance. His brain is slowly fitting the pieces of last night into place and as it does, he begins to feel some of the terror that felt so distant under the dulling of the drugs. He’d been on the floor, helpless. Awake, but paralyzed. The curly-haired man loomed over him, hunger in his eyes.

“Fuck,” Nico suppresses a shudder. “That was close.”

“Yeah,” Will says softly. He opens the aspirin bottle and presses two into Nico’s palm when he holds out his hand. “I’m awfully glad I got there in time.”

“Me too.” Nico swallows the aspirin and drains the glass of water. Will gets up to refill it. Nico can feel the fog in his head slowly clearing. His eyes are itchy, his brain fuzzy.

Will crosses to the window and twitches the curtains just a smidge wider. Nico is vaguely grateful not to have his tired eyes immediately blasted by sunlight. Will walks back to the bed, all long and lean, sleeves cuffed below his elbows, the thin beam of sunlight catching in his curls.

Will sets the glass of water on the nightstand. “Hold on, one more thing,” he says. He leans around Nico, grabbing something from his bag, then straightens. Warm fingers come up to gently cup Nico’s chin. Nico’s stomach nearly leaps up through his throat, then settles somewhere around his lungs as Will clicks on a penlight.

“Bright light,” Will murmurs in warning, his face close. “Look straight ahead?”

Nico does, realization slowly trickling in as he cooperates. Will is quick and efficient, checking one eye, then the other. He smiles, a gentle pat to Nico’s cheek as he clicks off the light. “All good.”

“How did you know?” Nico asks, trying to distract himself from his suddenly racing heart. He’s exceedingly grateful Will’s already checked his pulse. Will passes him the refilled glass of water.

“That you were in immediate danger of exsanguination?” Will asks, wry. “Well, I was in the middle of the autopsy when I noticed that yesterday’s victim’s stomach contents were the same as the first two.”

“Pizza,” Nico realizes.

“Yup.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast in my life,” Will says. He breathes out a laugh, his jaw tight.

“Thanks for that,” Nico says, stupidly grateful.

Will gives him a small smile. “What are FBI partners for?”

::

An hour later, showered and changed, Nico’s feeling much more like himself. The door opens and Will enters, dropping himself onto the chair across from Nico.

“So? What did you find out?” Nico asks immediately.

Will sighs. “Well, the alleged pizza poisoner is nowhere to be found. His name’s Ronnie Strickland. Police found traces of chloral hydrate in his locker at the pizza place and at his home, but all his stuff is gone. He’d been renting a house in town, but it’s completely cleared out. His landlord lives in the place across the street – says he was home all night but never saw Ronnie coming or going.”

Nico lets out a breath. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Will grimaces. “They put out an APB for Ronnie and his car, but that’s about it. The case is in the local PD’s hands now.”

With that, the two pack up the car and gas up. Nico gets back into the driver’s seat at the gas station and pauses, gazing out at the dusty road.

Will, who’d been flipping through CDs, pauses. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Um. Would you mind driving?” Nico asks, hesitant. He always drives. He’s a bit of a control freak that way, he’s well aware. He’s pretty sure Will knows this too.

A smile breaks over Will’s face like a fucking sunrise. “Really? You’re going to trust me to drive? Are you feeling okay?” Will leans over with his sunrise smile to press a warm hand to Nico’s forehead and Nico jerks out of his reach.

Nico can feel his face flooding with warmth and he scowls. “Whatever, never mind, it’s fine.” He turns the key in the ignition.

Will laughs, loud and bright. “Nico, I’m kidding. Come on, let me drive. You’re probably still feeling a little dopey after your drug trip last night.”

Will’s out of the car and around to the driver’s side before Nico’s fully unbuckled. Nico opens the driver’s door and squeezes past the taller man.

Will snorts. “You don’t have to look so grouchy about it. I promise I know how to drive.”

“Stick?” Nico says, pained.

“Yes, stick.” Will rolls his eyes. They settle into their seats. “Now buckle up,” Will grins. “I wanna see what this Neon can do on the open road.”

“Oh god,” Nico mutters. He brings the passenger seat forward a couple of inches before reaching for his seatbelt. Stupid Will with his stupidly long legs.

Will’s a perfectly adequate driver, as it turns out, though he keeps glancing over at Nico with a teasing smile tugging at his lips. Finally he pats Nico’s hand where it’s clutching the seat. “Relax,” he laughs. “If I wanted to kill you I could have let the vampire do it last night.”

Nico snorts, pulling his hand away. It tingles, where Will touched it with his stupid warm fingers. Probably just the lingering effects of last night’s doped pizza. Or Hazel, putting dumb ideas in his head.

Will looks entirely relaxed at the wheel, though the car’s a bit small for his tall frame. He glances over and tosses Nico a brilliant smile. Nico rolls his eyes.

In sudden need of a distraction, Nico grabs his wallet of CDs off the dash.

“Oh, I have music, actually!” Will exclaims.

“Great,” Nico says, deadpan. “I didn’t get my quota of Disney tunes on our last road trip.”

“Come on, you know you loved The Little Mermaid,” Will teases.

Okay, maybe Nico liked that one. A little. That secret’s between him and the amazing acoustics in the basement hallway. “Fine, let’s see what you’ve got,” he says, trying for harassed.

“Blue bag in the back,” Will directs. “In the side pocket.”

A moment later Nico’s flipping through CDs, and okay, it’s not all bad. Disney and boy bands, as expected, but there are some more folky, indie-type selections as well. Mostly nothing Nico would really choose for his own listening. But good music, objectively speaking.

“You’ve got some decent stuff in here, Solace,” he says grudgingly.

“Wow, thanks. Do I get the di Angelo musical seal of approval?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Nico mutters. He pauses on one CD in particular. “Huh. Naomi Solace. Any relation?”

Will glances over. “Yeah, I forgot that was in there. That’s my mom.”

“Seriously? Your mom?”

Will smiles. “Seriously. You can’t see the resemblance?”

And Nico can, actually, studying the picture of the blonde woman printed on the CD. The photo is grainy, but he realizes he recognizes those bright eyes, that teasing smile.

“She’s prettier than you,” Nico says, “but yeah, I can see it.”

Will laughs.

“And I guess you can carry a tune.”

“Oh, high praise,” Will teases.

Nico bites down a smile, sliding the CD into the player. There’s warm acoustic guitar, then a mellow alto voice followed by light, tinkling mandolin. A song about love, and loss. Nico breathes.

Two tracks in and neither of them has spoken, lulled by the quiet, cozy soundtrack and the hum of the road.

Will glances over. “It’s good, right? This is her newest one. I think she gets better with every album. And not just because she’s my mom.”

Nico nods, finding his throat a little too tight for speech.

Will’s gaze flicks over to him again, then back to the road. “You should come with me to see her play. Next time she’s in town,” Will says, softer.

Something flutters to life in Nico’s chest. “Yeah,” he manages. “That would be cool.”

A soft instrumental track shifts to something poppier, light. Nico finds he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open. Surely that’s acceptable, though. He was drugged last night, after all. He clears his throat.

“Um. Would you – do you mind if I take a nap?” He knows there’s really no need to ask, especially considering that Will slept most of the way here. But it still feels weird. Too intimate, somehow.

Will glances over, his gaze soft, and Nico can tell he feels it too. “Of course not,” he says, no teasing this time. “Sleep when you need to sleep.”

Nico’s throat is tight again. It must be some side effect of the drugs making him more emotional than usual. Maybe the near-death experience helped too. He reclines his seat, just a little, closing his eyes against the late morning sunshine. He lets his mind drift over the last five days, the case, his partner. Little parts of himself doled out sparingly, things he almost always keeps buried. He thinks of Will at his side through all of it. Will, heart on his sleeve. Solid, dependable. Soft.

Nico turns his head towards his partner. Will’s mouthing the words to his mother’s song. He looks a bit melancholy maybe, but settled. Steady.

“Hey,” Nico begins, then immediately regrets speaking before he’s plotted out what he needs to say. Will glances over. “I was just thinking about what you said before. About your dad.”

Will smiles, tired. “Which part?”

“Just – for what it’s worth.” Nico swallows, gaze flicking back to the windshield. “He’d be an idiot. Not to be proud of you.” Nico’s voice goes a bit rough and he swallows against the lump in his throat.

There’s no response from the other man for a moment, then, “thank you,” Will murmurs. Warm fingers brush over Nico’s hand where it’s resting in his lap. Nico closes his eyes.

(chapter 5 here)

Notes:

1. Another chapter! A million thanks for the lovely comments on the last one. It makes me so happy that people are enjoying this. Comments keep me going and get me writing faster :) 2. Thanks as always to @rosyredlipstick for the beta! 3. This chapter is loosely based on two episodes of the X-Files - Bad Blood and Beyond the Sea 4. I loved writing this chapter. I hope you like it too. 5. If you read this within the first 12 hours of me posting it, there was only one previous human victim at the beginning of the case - now edited for two! In all my meticulous editing I somehow missed a somewhat important plot point :)

[strangerscallmegray]

Are we the same? Pt. 2

Link to Pt. 1

Soo I hope you like this, this is from your PoV where you think Joel hates you basically but in reality he does not.

____ x _____

You did not know where you had gone wrong. You had been training for the past two years and you were now as good as anybody else who patrolled and maybe even better. No doubt your father’s training had a lot to do with it but you knew he didn’t particularly like it. You were on your way to go to Tess. She understood you like nobody else, you supposed that you should have people your own age as friends but that was not a privilege you enjoyed.

“Hey Tess.” You said as soon as you saw her.

“Aw Kid, what happened this time around?” she asked turning around to see you and one look at your face told her what had happened.

“I just wish he’d stop hating me so much.” You said sulkily looking up at the skies.

“Kid, that’s the last thing he does. As much as I love disagreeing with your father, there ain’t a drop of blood in his body that hates you.” She said eyeing him but continuing to do her job.

“Yeah well” you said and followed her movements, “It sure as hell looks like he does.”

“His methods are different, I agree but he loves you, never stopped loving you. He just wants you to live through this.” She said seriously.

You swallowed tearily and looked towards the floor, sitting on a chair nearby. You knew that he did not hate you but sometimes the things he said and did made you think otherwise. You believed that he sometimes blamed you for Sarah’s death and wished you were dead instead of her. You were not far from that thought, you yourself wished that it had been you that night and not Sarah who had died just so that she could live. She was you little sister whom you loved deeply, so, you didn’t blame dad if he thought that sometimes. Sarah would have been utilising and living her life had she been here instead of throwing it away like you were.

That was the very reason why you had been so steadfast and stubborn to join the patrolling. So that you could prevent such an event again if it was in your capacity and that included protecting Joel, he was the only family you had left and you were going to protect him. Dad never understood you. You were too reckless sometimes, you know it. This was the very reason why your Dad got so incensed whenever something happened on patrol.

Another reason you thought he didn’t exactly like you was that when Ellie came, his whole demeanour changed. You had never treated Ellie differently despite seeing Sarah in her. But you thought that was what your Dad needed, a daughter, not a son. So, the distance that already existed, you started extending it. If Ellie could make Dad happy then so be it. But sometimes he just wished for that kind of love and affection from his Dad, after Sarah died Joel had gone down a spiral forgetting to do a lot of things for you but then his eyes had opened nut not how much you wanted.

In the meantime, you had been proving every day to everyone that your age was not something that would be of hinderance. When Sarah died, you knew that the normal life was not meant for you anymore. You had to take a different path. You just wish your path could one day be understood by your Dad. You remembered certain instances.

“Why am I not going on patrol today? Why did you decide that?” you said angrily storming into your house after Tess had told you that you were not going today.

“Because I said so.” Joel had said continuing to prepare and pack his essentials.

“Why!? Why do you not trust me after all this while?” you said, tears of anger in your eyes.

“I don’t want to be the one scraping pieces of your brain from the roads if this goes sideways, it is a very risky business today.” Joel had said and honestly, you were shocked because it was the first time Joel had spoken so much to you about this and given you a reasoning. You simply stared at him. His words were not said in anger just in casual acceptance. That day you felt his care towards you.

“All the more reasons why you need me there Dad! I can help you.” You resorted to pleading because the way he was speaking made it sound like he’d lock you in a room to keep you away and have no guilt about it.

Joel had calmly looked at you, it was unnerving really and said, “Not today kid, just listen to me please.” And surprisingly, you had. You were a bundle of nerves that day and when Joel returned, he had bruises all over him.

“Dad!” you rushed to him, “Are you okay, what the hell happened? See this is why I should have come with you Dad.” You continued rambling looking at his state. The anxious thought that he could have died coming to your mind. He just stared at you for long and pulled you in for a long crushing hug. You didn’t remember him hugging you properly since after Sarah’s death. You had hugged him back and made him coffee that day. Whatever he had seen that day, you never asked.

You hoped one day the opportunity would present itself where you could mend your relationship with your Dad.

The next chapter will give them a chance to reconcile their differences and misunderstandings.

[blazinghotfoggynights]

I know Buddie fans prior to season 7 were not delusional, misinterpreting scenes, or making it all up. There were too many instances that were blatantly hinting at attraction, even if the two involved were oblivious.

(Also, platonic friends don't act like that. You may be able to gaslight those with very little life experience, but some of us have circled the sun more than a few times.)

With all that being said, I am at a point where I can see the writing on the wall. Buck and Eddie? I would say there is an infinitesimal chance it ever happens and that guy in power is laying the foundation for a BuckTommy endgame and Eddie Diaz is being confirmed as completely het. I wouldn't even be surprised if this is leading to an Eddie Diaz exit.

Buddie never happening is okay. I've been in fandom long enough to know there are authors who will give us excellent alternatives.

My issue lies with the character currently dating Buck and how he is being portrayed and embraced. (If you can't deal with even a bit of Tommy criticism, don't go past this point. This isn't about the ship wars or the actor. This is about accountability and the portrayal of women, LGBTQ, and POC in fiction.)

Before BuckTommy fans accuse me of being a Buddie shipper who is delusional or jealous, please. They are fictional characters. There are fanfic writers who are doing the lord's work, so I am completely fine.

What I don't like is the obviously slanted take on the situation of the character Buck has been paired with.

I haven't been extremely vocal about my feelings for the Tommy Kinard character and how his return has been handled, but I am going to touch upon it now.

I think the manner of that character's return is tone deaf and disrespectful to people of color, LGBTQ people, and women. Tommy now being an out gay man does not suddenly absolve him of his past actions. Racist, misogynist, homophobic taunting, insults, and humiliation have no excuse. Okay, there is one, but this blog is not ready to get into all that. (IYKYK)

Tommy Kinard returning to a universe where his deplorable actions are explained as merely giving in to peer pressure AND, what is even more unnerving, his victims forgiving him and becoming his friends is a slap in the face to every single POC, woman, or LGBTQ person who has been tortured for just being who they are. So no, I don't support or like the character and how his return has been handled. If he is called out and held accountable, that may change.

Before any problematic fans take that and run with it, I am going to say my issue is with the CHARACTER. I don't know a damn thing about the actor who portrays him. As a woman who spent time in a male dominated field, I know what it is like to be surrounded by those who feel that as het white males, they own the space and heaven help anyone who doesn't fit the same description.

Would I love to see Buddie happen? It's obvious I would. But, as with any work, the author has the right to take the story in any direction he or she wants to. They aren't obligated to give the fans what they want. That is what fandom works are for.

As someone who has witnessed the type of behavior Tommy engaged in under the prior Captain's tenure more often than I care to think about, erasing his past with a mere stroke of a key and acting as if it didn't happen or didn't matter makes me feel some type of way. Those who have experienced that treatment know what I am talking about. The people who are on the receiving end of the hatred are always expected to accept apologies, regardless of how self-serving or disingenuous they are, with appreciation, grace, and forgiveness. That is seriously problematic.

I don't mind if Buck and Eddie end up with other people. I just don't want those other people to be Tommy and Marisol. Give Buck a good guy or girl and give Eddie, well, right now, daily therapy and later, a good person.

For balance, I am not a Marisol fan either. Hiding important facts about yourself because you think the person will leave you is manipulative and deceitful. I've left people for doing it and I support anyone for doing the same.