#look I don’t remember the proper phrase for it

[thoughtofadumbteenprotagonist]

“You should be acknowledging this!” “Um, you should all be reblogging this actually” “think about this thing!” “Be aware of this new awful thing happening half way across the globe that you personally have no hope of every impacting in any way whatsoever, but I will word this post like it’s your fault personally!” No, actually. None of these things are my responsibility personally. Yes they’re shitty, yes they shouldn’t be happening, no I’m not going to be guilt tripped into reblogging your inane rant about it all just so someone else can get guilt tripped too.

[gojomamashouse]

Taking Care of You

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x babysitter!reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (M receiving), breeding kink, praise kink, Fem!reader. Very minor mentions of injury & blood.

Description: He had never considered himself too fond of domestic life until you came into his house and made it feel like home.

A/N: crossposted on my Ao3 and Tumblr.

3.7k words

18+ content! Minors and ageless blogs dni!

You remember the first time you came over to babysit for Mike all too clearly. You remember the way your eyes went wide when the door opened, and how your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. More importantly, you remember thinking that Mike Schmidt was far too hot for his own good, a clear image in your mind of how he had greeted you with tired eyes, messy hair, and a hand gripping the doorframe.

"Mr. Schmidt," you had blurted, ignorant to how his nose scrunched at the words leaving your mouth, "It's nice to—"

"Don't tell me I look that old?" His tired expression tried a smile, and you found yourself standing there, unable to formulate a proper response as you were already convinced you messed up the job before you even started. "Just Mike is fine.”

Back then, the only thing you knew about him was that he was hot, overworked, and clearly exhausted. So you did your best to make his life easier, even if those things were small, like cleaning all the dishes before he came home, tidying up all the clutter left behind on the table and kitchen counter. It wasn’t much, but you figured he could use whatever help he could get. He came home the first night, too tired to even notice before collapsing on the couch. Suppressing a giggle, you threw a blanket over his sleeping form, lingering a moment longer than you should have just to observe his face. Even in his sleep, you weren’t sure you could find even an ounce of peace in his expression.

—

Mike remembers the first week of your babysitting, when he returned home at some ungodly hour that Friday. While most babysitters in the past opted to lay on the couch, sleeping or watching TV, he had discovered that you preferred to be a bit more proactive. That night, in particular, he recalled your humming in the kitchen, rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher.

A strange feeling filled his chest at the sight, the smell of dinner still lingering and the radio playing some old song from his childhood. It was a feeling he shouldn't have been feeling towards the babysitter looking after his little sister. You had jumped when the floorboard creaked beneath himself shifting weight, still shy and jittery around him at the time.

“I didn’t see you come in,” your voice is still shaken from the scare. You turned to the oven, “Oh! I kept the food warm, in case you wanted some. Are you hungry?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, blinking a bit to shake the thoughts from his head, “Ah, you don’t have to do all this, you know. The cooking and cleaning stuff.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like I have anything else to do,” you returned your gaze to the dishes in the sink, “Besides, you work hard. It’s the least I can do. Just let me take care of it.”

Just let me take care of it.

A phrase he hadn’t yet forgotten, either. When was the last time anyone had taken care of anything for him? He’d taken on the role of being Abby’s caretaker the moment his parents were out of the picture. He had made countless sacrifices, dropping out of school to work full-time, losing his social life. His old friends preferring to go out partying rather than hang out with the guy who has a kid sister and a full-time job. Every day was work, only to mess up at work. Then go home, stress over a dirty home. Drive Abby to school, stress over her education and development.

He didn’t have it within himself to deny you, not when you were so kind and helpful. Even if the guilt ate away at him, reminding him how he couldn’t even afford to pay you close to what you deserved.

His eyes wandered to an image on the counter. There was himself, a familiar stickman with brown hair. There was Abby, of course, given the height difference. And then there was another figure, the hair undeniably similar to yours. All three figures were holding hands together inside a square home.

“What’s this?” He picked it up.

“Abby told me it’s us,” you had laughed, placing a dish in the dishwasher. “Cute, right?”

There was a thumping in his chest as he looked at you, before looking back down at the paper. All he could manage was a smile as he pinned it to the fridge.

You soon felt his presence at your side, his hand picking up another dish while you rinsed yours.

“Let me help with that,” he said.

—

You’ve fallen into a routine. Every day, when he returns home, he is met with the same thing. You, in the kitchen, humming. You, greeting him with a smile. You, sitting down to eat with him. You, always asking him about his day even though you know by now that he has nothing interesting to say. He prefers to hear you talk instead, to listen to you ramble about your shitty college professors and annoying roommates. He likes it like this. To be able to pretend that he’s not some deadbeat who can’t hold down a job to save his life or some traumatized freak haunted by the memories of his dead brother and parents. With you, he gets to pretend like he’s normal.

But, of course, just because he can pretend things are normal, doesn’t mean they are. Reality soon hits him when he’s sitting in his boss’s office, asking Mike for his badge and ID. It hits him when he’s driving home, remembering how he beat an innocent man, his knuckles still bloody as he grips the steering wheel tight. He walks through the front door, hearing you greet him from the kitchen, a sound that would have been music to his ears any other day.

“Mike?”

He doesn’t have the energy to reply. No, all he can do is walk over to the chair in the living room, sinking into it with a sigh. He loosens his tie and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the sound of dishes clattering in the sink followed by your footsteps against the hardwood floor.

“Hey, you okay?” Your voice is soft and gentle. His eyes shoot open when he feels your even softer touch against his forehead, laying the back of your palm flat. “You’re not sick, are you?”

In all the time you’ve been babysitting, neither of you had done so much as touch each other at all. The few times he could remember was how your fingers brushed when you reached for the same dish in the sink or the innocent hand you placed on his shoulder that one time you laughed so hard you couldn’t hold yourself up. He had always made sure to keep his hands firmly placed in his pockets or at his side. Now, you were touching his face, and he thinks that’s the first time anyone has touched him like that in years.

“Don’t worry about me.” He pleads, his body betraying his words when he leans into your touch, your hand drifting to caress his cheek, “You don’t have to.”

You ignore him, and your eyes scan over his form, before landing on his bloodied knuckles. A gasp escapes you, followed by the scolding of his name. He hears you stumble towards the bathroom, rummaging through whatever you can find and returning with a washcloth and disinfectant. You kneel beside him, cleaning the dried blood from his wounds and he winced from the sting of the alcohol.

“I know I don’t have to,” you finally break the silence. “I worry because I care.”

“Why?”

You avert your gaze.

“I just do.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.” He presses. There’s another pause.

“Because this feels like home.”

The answer is enough to render both of you silent, you out of humiliation, and him out of shock because he hadn’t realized you thought the same way.

You finish wiping the last bit of dried blood from his knuckles and there’s a lingering feeling left on his skin, where your fingers held his hands. Soft. Familiar. You’re still kneeling in front of him, but you’re wearing an expression he hadn’t seen since the first week he met you. It’s that look of shyness, the way you used to squirm under his gaze or shrink your presence out of fear of overstepping a boundary.

“Mike?”

“Yeah?

“Let me take care of you. Please?”

He knows it’s wrong. He knows that “messing around with the babysitter” has never been a good idea in the history of ever, but when he sees you gazing up at him like that, sitting on your knees between his legs, your eyes wide like that. Well, what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

The chair isn’t too high from the floor, so he easily finds himself at somewhat your level when he leans forward, his hand lifting your chin to look him in the eye. He pauses, analyzing your face just for a moment. Your lips are parted, so prettily, and your eyes are filled with a look of lust and desperation.

“Please,” you repeat, this time in a whisper.

Any semblance of self-restraint he had before was all lost the moment his lips met yours. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he got a taste, a groan escaping his throat when he feels your tongue in his mouth. And you, you are so pliant. So eager to please. Still timid, hands hesitant as they rested on his knees, but so willing to let him handle you however he pleases, moaning when he tugs on your hair, whimpering when his hands grope your chest through your shirt.

“Quiet,” he mutters between kisses. You feel him pull away, the ghost of his lips at your ear, “we gotta be quiet, yeah?”

You nod, and he kisses your forehead, a tender change from his rough kisses shared only moments prior. He looks down at you, a flustered mess, but knows he must look the same. He couldn’t even remember the last time he let himself indulge like this. He feels your hand slither up his thigh, fumbling with his belt, groaning when you feel him through his jeans.

“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes as your hand dips into his boxers.

“You have no idea,” he says, his hand caressing the side of your face, making circles with his thumb against your cheek. He can feel your skin heat up under his touch. Your hand wraps around his hardening cock, and he has to stop himself from bucking into you. You’re just so gentle and sweet and he knows you’d let him take his frustration out but he just cannot allow himself to do that just yet— not without a little guilt.

“Then talk to me.”

“Got, ah, fired,” he chokes out, feeling your thumb swipe over his tip, gathering his pre-cum and helping you stroke up and down with more ease. “Was my fault, too.”

“You started a fight, didn’t you?”

“Something like that.”

He looks down at you, his cock now fully hard in your hand. He can’t hold but admire the sight, how you hungrily stare at him, or how you press your thighs together to relieve yourself of your own desires. He feels his breathing become heavier with each passing stroke of your hand on his dick, and he forces himself to look away, his hand that had previously been caressing the side of your head now digging his fingers into the back of your scalp.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” he leans his head back, in an attempt to stop himself from busting in your hand before you’ve even done anything. He swears he’s not usually this sensitive, but the fact that it’s been so long, and the fact that it’s you, had him feeling like he was a teenager getting his first handjob all over again. He tries not to think about it. “I’m already behind on bills. I don’t think I can even pay you. Probably won’t even get another fucking job after what I did.”

“You don’t need to pay me.”

“You’ve got to stop saying shit like that,” he shakes his head, almost in disbelief. He looks down at you again, and you’re pressing your lips to kiss the underside of his dick, then kissing his tip. He shudders. “You’re too good for this. For me.”

He’s about to continue, but your lips wrap around him and he can’t think of anything. Curse words slip from his lips, feeling your tongue work around him, your hot mouth taking him. He still has his hand on the back of your head, tempting him to force your head down, but he’s more curious about whether you’d try to take him all yourself— which you do. He feels your throat contract around him as you try to push yourself down his cock, determined to take it all. Sometimes, you really were that predictable. Sure, you were a timid little thing, but you were equally if not more stubborn. He grips the back of your head to pull you off, a cough rising to your throat as you catch your breath and he smiles lazily.

Your quick to take him back in your mouth, and he cherishes the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and your hands that reached for the base of him to stroke whatever you couldn’t take. He gives an experimental thrust and he’s in bliss when he hears you moan around him. And as much as he wishes he could do this forever, watching you take him in your mouth, he knows his own limits and he knows he won’t last any longer. Besides, he’s neglected your needs for far too long.

He pulls you off of his cock finally, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, your lips puffy from their earlier actions. Then, he’s lifting you to the couch, hovering over your form as your back hits the cushions. Mike is thankful that you chose to wear a skirt tonight because with your legs spread like this, he gets a full view of your white cotton underwear, as well as the wet patch your arousal has created. He brings his hand down between your legs, feeling you through the fabric. He can hear your breath hitch and he watches you bite down on your lower lip to suppress your noises. And as much as he wants to tell you not to, he is reminded by the fact that you are both doing this in the living room, and the last thing he wants to do is traumatize his little sister, who is sleeping a few doors down the hallway.

“Didn’t know you wanted me this bad,” he whispers, finally slipping his hand past the fabric barrier to gather your slick at his fingers and rub your clit with his thumb, his other fingers prodding at your hole but not yet entering.

“Wanted you for so long,” you admit, sucking in a breath when you feel his thumb circle around your clit again. “You’re really fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

Two of his fingers finally sink into you and you’re gripping the fabric of his uniform at his shoulders. Rough, long and so much bigger than your own— you have to grit your teeth even harder to stop any sinful noises from escaping you.

“Always thought you were real pretty, too.” He continues, “You’re prettier right now, though.”

He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the wet sounds making you burn up in embarrassment. He’s obsessed with the way your eyes roll back, how your pretty lashes flutter open and closed, and how your hips buck to meet his rhythm.

“More, please,” you finally let out, your eyes going down to his cock, which was still very much hard. “Need you inside.”

You whimper at the emptiness you feel when his fingers leave, but quickly forget about it the moment your panties are removed and you feel his cock rub against your cunt, the tip resting at your entrance. You expect to feel him push in, only to see that he has paused.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he says, a pained look on his face. He had no reason to keep any around any more, not since providing for Abby had become his number one priority. He mentally kicked himself for it now.

“Mike,” you whine, trying to roll your hips up, but his hands remained firm against you, keeping you down. “I don’t care. Just pull out or something.”

You feel like a pathetic idiot for saying it, and he feels even more of one for considering it at all. All he can manage is a sigh. He’d already crossed so many lines tonight that he shouldn’t have. What difference would crossing one more be?

He hesitates before pushing in, but once he feels your tight walls around the head of his dick he can’t find it within himself to have any regrets. You’re so tight and warm and wet and he loves the way you stretch around him, gasping with every inch he gives you. He pauses when he’s buried at the hilt, mentally trying to cool himself down because the fact that he’s fucking you raw and you’re taking him so well is driving him mad.

“So good,” he coos, his hand on your face, thumb on your lower lip, “so fucking good.”

He pulls away until he’s nearly out again before thrusting into you fully, and he has to slam his hand over your mouth to stop the moan that would have escaped you. He continues to fuck you like this, slowly, and deeply, before it’s not enough, and he finds himself taking you faster, harder, wanting to see how much you were willing to take.

You feel every inch of him inside you, and you can’t help but clench around him every time the tip of his cock hits the spot inside you that you can’t reach with your own fingers. You feel so full and it’s everything and more that you’ve needed for so long.

He pushes up your shirt, revealing your cleavage. Your breasts are still covered by your bra, but he pinches your nipples through the lacy fabric anyway, content when he hears you make a sound, muffled by his other hand which remains on your mouth.

He can tell you’re close from the telltale sign of your pussy clenching harder, and how you start to freeze up, too fucked out to do anything else. He, too, starts to feel himself approaching his limit but knows he has to hold out long enough to let you reach your high first. He finally removes his hand from your mouth and uses it to rub your clit.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes.

“I’ll always be good for you,” you keep your voice a whisper, “Always waiting for you when you come home.”

Your words ignite a desire within him he never realizes he had. He had never considered himself too fond of domestic life until you came into his house and made it feel like home. Now, as he’s fucking you, the only thing he can think about is how deeply he wants to cum inside you, over and over again until he gives you another kid to take care of. He doesn’t care if he can’t afford it. He’ll pick up as many jobs as he can get just to take care of you.

He feels your back arch and your walls clench around him, immediately going to kiss you to swallow your cries. He ruts into you, over and over again and though there’s a sinful voice in the back of his head telling him to fill you up until he’s dripping out of you, he knows he should stay true to his promise to pull out. That is, until you tell him otherwise.

“You can do it inside,” you choke out, still fucked out from your orgasm, “I don’t mind—“

Before you can finish your sentence his hips come to a stop and he’s finishing inside you, as deep as he possibly can, as if to not waste a single drop. When he finally pulls out, he can’t help but watch in awe as his seed drips from your cunt down to your ass, ruining the couch cushions beneath you both. He tries not the think about the consequences that will bring. Instead, he’s pulling you close, catching his breath while laying his head against your stomach. Moments later, he feels your hand running your fingers through his hair and he sighs, leaning into your warmth.

“I don’t want you to be Abby’s babysitter anymore,” he starts, his voice hoarse and worn out. He can feel you tense up when he says it, before immediately continuing, “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

He hears you laugh.

“Does that mean I won’t get paid anymore?”

“I’ll repay you in other ways,” he flashes you a suggestive smile, earning him a snort and a flick on his forehead. Still, the guilt gnaws at him from within. “Seriously, though. I will. I’ll take care of you, too.”

He doesn’t care what job he picks up next. He’ll take any job in the world, so long as it means he can provide for you and Abby.

—

You wake up the next morning, the scent of pinewood and campfire surrounding you. You don’t remember exactly how, but you remember, after being fucked mercilessly, being carried to his room, cleaned up, and falling asleep in Mike’s bed. Now, you find the place next to you empty but can observe Mike standing at the door, speaking in a hushed voice while holding back the door.

You stand on shaky legs, still wobbly from your earlier affairs, approaching the argument.

“Abby, go away!”

“No! Let me—“

“What’s all this?” You interject.

Mike loses his grip on the door and Abby opens it wide. Her arms are crossed, adorning a frown while Mike is bringing his hands to his face.

“Abby, I can explain—“

“Why didn’t you tell me you guys were having a sleepover?” She fumes, “We could have built a pillow fort!”

[kisses4kaia]

on my knees, foaming at the mouth, begging for more sub coryo

u guys are so funny oh my goodness😭 (slight au where sejanus did not die because we love him🥰) i got a bit carried away as you can see!! but that’s ok !!!! also, university!corio .. okok go read now plz enjoy and reblog :)

being the girlfriend of the winner to the plinth prize whilst simultaneously biting your tongue constantly was no easy feat.

every thoughtless, careless, borderline sexist, comment corio received from older men—and even some of your male peers—along the lines of, “oh, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? bet you keep her on her knees, huh?” (whilst you were right there, mind you!), infuriated you beyond belief and typically made corio tense up and awkwardly brush them off.

because no, corio did not always keep you on your knees. as a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. you had him on his knees, every night, begging and pleading for a taste of you. and if he was a good boy, he would get one. you were assertive, not cruel.

you so badly wished you could shut them down, tell them exactly how it is, but you still loved and respected corio, and you knew what might happen to his reputation if that kind of secret got out.

so you kept on biting your tongue.

and tonight, corio’s arm is snaked around your torso and his large palm rests on the small of your back.

you’re at a elite party he was invited to, making friendly conversation with clemensia and sejanus while throwing witty comments back and forth with your boyfriend, when all of a sudden, one of crassus snow’s old friends come up to the both of you and it goes how you would expect; however, this time, something’s different.

this time, he laughs boisterously and nods, agreeing with the crude comment the man made. coriolanus shakes his hand and says “oh, absolutely. would you expect any less from my father’s son?”

you are fucking appalled, and the astounded expression on your face doesn’t do much to hide it.

when the old man whose name you didn’t bother to remember finally leaves, corio finally looks down at you to see your narrow eyes shooting daggers into his.

you say no words and storm off, and he’s hot on your trail. “baby? baby, hold up, slow down!”

you heed no mind to his words, and only stop your stampede when you find an unoccupied bedroom and drag him inside.

it was glamorous, which was to be expected, considering the host of the party was volumnia gaul; she always was one for dramatic flare. the ceiling was high and the walls were crowned in gold paint. the layout was simple, there was nothing but a queen-sized bed, an empty dresser, and bare vanity gracing its presence, all but proving that it was not it use, and perfectly fine for you to punish coriolanus in.

“what the fuck was that?” your voice is scornful and with the way your face twists up and contorts into a look of contempt, he knows he’s in for it.

he stumbles over his words, trying to think of a way he can phrase his words to deescalate the situation, lessen the blow for himself. “i-i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. please, honey. please forgive me. i’m begging you,”

the last phrase causes you to look up at him before smirking wickedly, “are you?”

you can see it dawn on him, the realization that you really are going to make him beg—the proper way, down on his knees.

he sighs ashamedly before letting his knees buckle, right one hitting the ground, the left following suit.

the slicked back hair on his scalp gleams perfectly underneath the warm overhead lighting the small chandelier provides, and his glossy, devastatingly blue, eyes are boring into yours as his bottom lip begins to quiver ever so slightly.

“i’m so, so, so, fucking, sorry. i’m so stupid, i just didn’t want him to think lowly of my fathers kin. i fucked up, i know, just, please, please, forgive me,”

he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears when he speaks and you can’t help but revel in how hot this all is. having one of the most powerful men in the capitol at your feet, pleading for you, you have to work hard in order to conceal the ache between your legs.

“show me, then.” you turn around on him and walk to the bed, sitting, before crossing your legs and leaning back, dangerous, siren eyes inviting corio to crawl to you.

he doesn’t even hesitate before getting on his hands and knees and desperately pawing at the ground, trying to get close to you again. and when he reaches your sat figure, he grabs your ankles, uncrossing them and pulling your high heels off slowly, all before kissing his way up your calf, and up to your mid-thigh, where the slit in your dress begins. he looks up at you pleadingly, expression reading ‘may i?’ and you could praise him for being so polite if he wasn’t enduring punishment.

you nod slightly, raising your hips just enough so corio could hike your dress up, bunching up at your waist.

his eyes stay on yours, watching you intently as he pulls your delicate, lacy, black and pink, panties down your smooth legs, before gently placing them on the floor next to him.

when you part your legs ever so slightly, the eyes boring into yours spark up with excitement and hope. he finally breaks eye contact when he shuts his eyes and lays his tongue flat against your cunt, lapping up the ego-boosting amount of arousal that’s drooling from your achy hole.

he’s so perfect for you, timing his transitions between fucking into you with his tongue and sucking on your clit just the way he’s learned you like just right, never lingering too long on one part of you.

at this point, you have your legs wrapped around his head tight, nearly restricting his facility to breathe, shamelessly moaning and praising his ministrations. “fuck, yes corio! oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum? yeah? so fucking pathetic,” you spit at him in between borderline moans so pornographic that you’re apprehensive that somebody outside of the four walls you’re in may hear you, but it doesn’t seem to bother you that much, considering the lack of you lowering your own volume.

and the sounds, the sounds are vile, fucking disgusting. his salivated muscle messily dragging all over your labia, his perfectly pouted lips making out with your pussy like he’s in love with it (he is). all of the insanely erotic factors of this moment don’t do anything to hold off your impending release, and with a weak cry of the boy beneath you’s name, sweet syrup leaks out from your tight hole lands onto corio’s anticipating tongue, and you can feel him smile against you at the taste of it.

he drinks it all down in no time and when he continues to lather his tongue all over your clit, not seeming to want to be done, you have to physically pull his head away from you as a result of overstimulation.

he frowns but when he sees the look on your face, your exhausted, satisfied, fucked-out, face, he has to bite his lip to contain his smile.

“i did good?” there’s a special twinkle to his eye, and you find it all-enamoring.

“so good,”

“you forgive me?”

“yes, but next time you pull some shit like that, i’ll jerk you off under the dinner table, you hear me?”

[emjee]

hiiiiiiiiii I've had three glasses of wine and here's a WIP preview of the fic I'm calling "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood (Library)" (aka Steve Rogers gets a library card circa 2011 and quickly learns about Librarians Vs. The PATRIOT Act)

“I can help who’s next.”

The next man in line at the reference desk of the Brooklyn Public Library was so handsome that Marian’s brain quickly supplied a list of five potential nicknames for him that the staff could use among themselves if he became a regular.

“Hi, I was uh, wondering about getting a library card?”

“Sure, I can help you with that! Are you a Brooklyn resident?”

“For a long time.”

“Have you had a card with us before? If you have I’ll check and see if you’re still in our system.”

“I did, but it was a very long time ago.” Neighborhood kid, she wondered, maybe just moved back to the old stomping grounds?

“Well, we keep the records for a couple of years, and we do like to check so we avoid duplicates. What would the name on file have been?”

“Is there something else you can search by?”

“If it’s under a name you don’t use we can try address and date of birth.”

“My birthday’s July 4th.”

A year would have been helpful, but they could circle back to that. “What’s it like sharing a birthday with a country?” she asked as she started typing.

“Well, the fireworks always made me feel special when I was a kid.”

“I’m sure. Do you remember what address we might have had on file?”

He took a moment to reply, and when he did his voice was calm, but soft enough that she had to learn forward to hear him. “I don’t think it’s there anymore.”

House fire? Gentrification?

This sort of thing happened from time to time—a patron came in who clearly had a story that made getting them what they needed less straightforward that it might otherwise have been. That wasn’t a problem; sorting that sort of thing was literally what the fine people of Brooklyn paid her for, but she was always curious about people’s stories. Sometimes they told you, sometimes they didn’t. She wasn’t going to ask, though. Curiosity or no, it was ultimately none of her business.

“None of that’s a problem,” she assured him. “I can make you a new card right now, if you have an ID and proof of address. Driver’s license would work for both, or a passport, state ID, student ID plus a piece of mail…”

“This is going to sound like a silly question, probably…” He looked at the ceiling, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“No such thing,” she said lightly. “Besides, we’ve probably heard it before. Probably ten times a day.”

“If I do get a card, does anyone…know? Besides you all, I mean.”

Marian sat straighter in her chair and immediately became all business. “Not a silly question at all. Any record that identifies you by name is confidential under New York state law. We don’t even let law enforcement have it.”

A genuine grin dawned  on his face and she immediately thought of three more possible nicknames. “Seriously?”

“Not unless they’ve got a warrant or a subpoena.”

“Huh. But it would have to be under my legal name?”

“We do need to have it on file, but if you have a name you’d rather use, we can make a note in the record. That’s the name your mail would come addressed to, and what the staff would call you.”

She watched him glance down, smile, and put a hand in his pocket.

“Yeah,” he said, producing his wallet and handing her his ID. “In that case.”

She set the ID on the counter in front of her while she opened a new card registration form and didn’t give it a proper look until she had her hands on the keyboard.

Well. That certainly explained a lot.

After entering ROGERS STEVEN GRANT into the record in a rapid clatter of keyboard strokes, she glanced back up at him and said, “What would you like me to put in the preferred name field.”

He gave it a moment’s thought. “Fred.”

She couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Excellent choice. Same last name?”

“Joke’s not as good if I change it.”

“Fair point.” She grabbed a fresh card from the drawer and scanned the barcode into the system, then saved the record. “Welcome to the Brooklyn Public Library, Mr. Rogers.”

[prophecyofwinter]

Across the Sea and to the East

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Under your uncle’s usurpation of your brother you have been sent away to hide in Lys under House Rogare. You’ve found new purpose with the Lord of Light but you will be called home soon.

Tags: slight slow burn, actual burning, violence, smut, angst, tags will be added as we go.

Authors Note (new!): I will be releasing a prologue for another Aemond x Reader fic soon! I love writing about Essos so I had a good idea for a story about Saera Targaryens daughter. Keep an eye out! I will take turns for chapters between the two.

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Prologue

Chapter 4: A Womb and A Prophecy

It was a beautiful Lysene morning. It was raining therefore no morning fire, so you were able to go back to House Rogare to spend some extra time with your adoptive siblings.

Ten siblings you acquired, not including bastards, most are younger than you. Including your sweet sister Larra, she turned four and ten just a few moons ago. She has been sweetly attached to your side since you arrived in Lys.

The two of you sat in the greenhouse seating area snacking on small treats. The pitter-patter of the rain on the glass smoothed you greatly as you sipped your tea down. You wore a lovely red gown, made of light and airy fabrics to match Lys’s weather and style of fashion. You would have to find yourself a new wardrobe as to not be seen as a foreigner in your home country.

Larra curiously twirled her thumbs, thinking before she spoke.

“Father tells me you are to go to Westeros soon. Does that make you happy sister?”

You let out a breath of laughter out of your nose, leaning back in your seat.

“Why yes, yes I am happy to go to Westeros… though it is not to Winterfell, King’s Landing will have to do.”

Larra got a little pouty, you weren’t sure if it’s because she’d miss you or if she wanted to go to King’s Landing herself. Even if you wanted to bring her, you truly had no promise you would come out unharmed. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if Larra somehow got involved.

“I’m sure you will go to Westeros one of these days Larra, I don’t believe you’d quite like it though.”

Naturally you can’t have more than a few moments of peace and footsteps quickly approach your seating area. You sigh out loud and turn to a proper position to greet your interrupter.

You sucked in an abrupt breath, not expecting this visitor without a notice. One of the highest priests from the Red Temple in Volantis, she stood draped in red robes with a mask of gold covering her face. Her dedication to the Lord is commendable, she gave up all identity to have no obstructions in her faith. She was nobody but a faithful servant of the Light.

“Priestess, I had no word of your incoming arrival or I would have met you at the Temple myself.”

You stood to meet her, she bowed respectfully as one must do in your presence.

“It is raining so I knew I would find you here my Lady. Apologize but it was far too urgent to wait and it is too private to be sent by letter. I must speak to you privately.”

Goosebumps creeped up your body, her phrasing worried you immensely. You peaked over your shoulder to Larra and nodded your head to tell her you’ll be back shortly.

“In private is where we will speak Priestess.”

——————

You took her to one of the guest rooms, decorated beautifully with beautiful architecture like the rest of the house. The rain gave the room an odd darker feeling.

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a sword. Even for someone as experienced as her, even she didn’t know how to go about it. That tells you it must be of extreme unique importance.

“I have many things to attend to today so if-“

“Do you remember the Azor Ahai prophecy?”

How could you not, it was one of the first things you learned about in the temples. It’s a tale every child in Essos hears tenfold.

“Of course I do but I don’t see how that was so important to come all this way for.”

For the first time you see the Priestess look nervous, or at least you could tell from over her mask. You assume there’s more to it so you allow her to speak uninterrupted.

“You must play your own part in the Prophecy my lady. I know R’hllor has told you, you make your own path and this is your choice as well. However, if it is to come to fruition there are circumstances to cultivate it.”

“You are beating around the bush, out with it.” You speak with slight frustration.

“Azor Ahai must come from your and a dragon lord's blood. If you are to go to Westeros it would be wise to secure something for yourself. It would be unwise to rely on your descendants to do it for you.”

Oh, well. Beat around the bush she did not. Yours and a Dragon Lord's blood? Targaryens are the only Dragon Lord’s left so that’s all she could mean. Oh.

“Oh. So I must have children with one of the Targaryens is what you mean.”

“Yes. Since you have a past with Prince Aemond I would hope the choice would be there. Do not leave Westeros empty handed my lady.”

This complicates things for you, going to Westeros was in part to see Aemond. But, what if he has moved on and has no desire for you. That is always a risk, and now the fate of the prophecy rests on you getting Aemond to marry you. If you were a man and Aemond a woman, it may have been easier to manage.

“I see. Is that all?”

“Yes, that is all. I will be seeing you for prayer this evening my lady. I look forward to it.”

As she leaves you feel a sense of weakness fill your bones, you have to sit down. This doesn’t feel right, you had been promised a life free from these exact circumstances, though it’s presented as a choice.

In reality, it really is not.

In less than 2 weeks you will be faced with more choices and consequences then you had ever wished for.

[bucketsofmonsters]

read your stories and im so in love with how you wrote acacius, i hope you continue making stuff with him! he's just... 🥹💖🫶 maybe little stories of them like the in-betweens and the afters!

The phrase the in-betweens and the afters is so cute, I cannot get over it. I wanted to write you a little something and it got a little out of hand, sorry it took so long to get out. Anyways, hope you enjoy, thank you so much for the ask <3

Word count: ~2k

“Well, when do you usually show up?” you asked, not willing to let this go until you got a proper answer.

“I don’t know, when I’m sure they’re gone.”

“It took you forever to show up for me, I was freezing and I couldn’t feel my legs, I don’t want to put them through that.” A shudder ran through you at the thought of that first night, when you’d been left out to die. You wouldn’t change it for the world, it had led to the best thing that had ever happened to you, but that night would never be a pleasant memory. You could still feel it all so viscerally, that fear, the biting cold, the restraints, everything. 

“I didn’t know you’d be there because you freed the last sacrifice, remember? I thought your silly little village was done with their obsessive sacrifices, how was I supposed to know that was your doing? We will show up on time for this one, I promise.” It took him a moment to notice the state you were in. 

“Hey.” His voice was softer this time and you looked up to make sure he was alright. You found him looking down with the same concern. You’d gotten much better at reading him since that night, gotten more familiar with how emotions worked on his monstrous features. “You know you don’t have to come, right?”

“What?”

“I mean, if you think it might be overwhelming. I’ve done this before, I can do it again.”

You shook your head, adamant in your decision. “No, I want to come. I just don’t like thinking about it.”

His sharp claws ghosted past your cheek as he cradled your face in his hands, studying your features and making sure you really would be alright like you promised. 

You heard the soft fall of raindrops coming from outside and a smile plastered itself your face. You’d always loved the rain, even if it was a bit more inconvenient when you were living out here instead of inside manmade structures. 

Acacius’s ears perked up at the noise. “You shouldn’t go out.” 

Your brow furrowed as you looked up at him. “Why not? I’ll be fine, I've been in the rain before you know.”

“You don’t have any fur and it’s the middle of the night, it’s too cold

You couldn't help but laugh. “You are so dramatic, I’ll be just fine.”

He had already begun gathering up furs, barely listening to you as he did. You gave up your attempt at reasoning with him for the moment, knowing he was already too wrapped up in his little task to hear you. 

Unceremoniously, when he’d decided he had enough, he dropped them on you and you almost collapsed under the weight of them. “Okay, so I’m not taking all of these because I can barely carry them. I will take one,” you reasoned with him. 

“You’re not even strong enough to carry a few furs and you expect me to think you’ll be just fine?” It would be sweet if it weren’t so annoying, how careful with you he was. 

You rolled your eyes. “I don't need to be able to lift heavy objects to be able to walk in the rain. Besides, if I get too cold, you run hot, I’ll be fine.”

That seemed to get through to him. You knew that if you showed any signs of being too cold you’d be swept up in his warm arms and carried home as quickly as possible. The idea was kind of appealing, you half considered letting him. 

“Despite what you seem to think, I am not a walking blanket,” he said, his feigned annoyance not even slightly convincing. 

You rolled your eyes, leaning into his warm side and immediately pulling a low pur from him. “You don’t seem to mind.” 

He shook his head, which wasn’t quite as convincing when he was still purring at you. “You’re impossible. If you insist on going we need to leave, with this rain they’ll be freezing.”

Your eyes widened as you realized you’d gotten totally distracted from your little mission. “Right! Yeah, we have to leave, come on.” 

You scurried out the mouth of the cave into the rain and Acacius followed after you, not taking long to catch up despite your head start. 

He always tried to move slower for you. You were so much smaller than him and you weren’t built to move as quickly. You would never cease to be impressed at how easily and quickly he weaved through the trees, stopping every few moments to ensure you were trailing dutifully behind him.

He always tried to carry you, and occasionally you’d let him. You bickered over it, mostly to maintain your pride, but eventually you’d give in and let him sweep you off your feet. 

Not this time, however. This time he seemed content to let you trail behind him, at least for the time being as you approached your destination. 

Just as you knew there would be, there was a girl bound to a familiar stone in a familiar circle of trees that you’d honestly rather forget. Her tears were mixing with the rain as she occasionally tugged at the bindings around her ankles and wrists. 

You heard a terrified cry escape the little sacrifice the second Acacius stepped into her view, immediately nearing her. 

He started to undo her bindings. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”

His low voice and reassurances didn’t stop her thrashing and sobbing. 

It felt so silly, seeing someone be so afraid of him. You couldn’t fathom it, him being scary, your Acacius. At the same time, you understood exactly what she was feeling. It felt like you’d lived in this forest with Acacius for a lifetime and yet it was so easy to pull yourself back a year and remember exactly how it had felt to be in her place. 

You could tell the second she spotted you standing behind him because the look of fear on her face dropped as her eyes went wide. “You’re dead,” she informed you, her face a ghostly white. 

You weren’t entirely sure how to respond to that accusation. The best you could manage was, “Not really.”

Acacius finished breaking her bonds and helped her to her feet. “And you won’t be either. The next town over is…”

She sniffled, blinking the rain out of her eyes. “I just want to go home, please let me go home.”

That gave him pause. “Are you sure? They left you here to die.”

Despite the monstrous figure standing next to her, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. “Why aren’t you dead?”

“Mostly because of him if I'm being honest,” you said, nodding in Acacius's direction. “Turns out I don’t have the best survival instincts.”

She was just staring at you wide eyed as she hesitantly stood, shivering in the rain. 

“Here,” you said, pulling the fur from around your shoulders and wrapping it around hers. “This’ll keep you warm, can you find your way back?”

The girl nodded eagerly, already glancing back towards the village. She spared one last nervous look towards Acacius while backing away. “Thank you for not killing me.”

“Anytime.”

And with that she took off running and it was just the two of you once more. 

“You know she’ll tell them you’re alive, don’t you?” he warned you.

You shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter anyways, what’re they going to do?”

“Nothing. At least not while I’m around. They’re not even going to be able to find you. Unless you want them to, I suppose.”

“God help them if they do, I’ve got a big bad monster on my side.”

His hand fell to your waist and a low rumble of agreement left his throat. You were mostly joking but you knew that if push came to shove, you were more than safe from anyone who might come poking around. 

Your head was cocked to the side as you leaned into his touch, staring at the gap in the trees the girl had run through back to your old home. “She wasn’t what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure. Not that.”

“She was more pleasant than you were when we first met,” he teased. 

You reeled back. “Excuse you, I was delightful.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, playfully sizing you up. “You grew on me.”

It was hard to look offended while you were giggling but you did your best. 

Before you got the chance to shoot something back, the endless patter of rain ceased and you looked up at the sky. Most of the stars were still hidden behind clouds that you could barely make out in the dark. You were still sopping wet but the end of the rain left you with new opportunities. 

“We can check some of my traps on the way back!” you stated triumphantly now that the two of you were no longer rushing to escape the water. 

He shook a little, getting the water out of his fur and drenching you again. “Watch it, wolf-man!” you said with a laugh, trying to ring some of the water out of your own hair and your clothes. 

“Sorry, I had to. We don’t want your walking blanket to be all wet, do we?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to dignify that with a response. “Come on, trap time!”

He followed you with a huff. “Anything but the traps. I don’t understand your insistence on keeping those things, you don’t need them. I can get you food.” You knew full well exactly why he didn’t like your traps. He wanted to provide for you, give you everything you needed.

You shrugged. “I don’t know, I like doing it, feels familiar and besides, I like feeling useful”

He waved away your concern. “You’re plenty useful without those things. Besides, traps are unnoble anyways, your little human trickery”

“Well, we don't all have wolf instincts and massive claws and fangs. Some of us have to get crafty”

“You have me, you don't need wolf instincts.”

Aside from his huffing, he followed after you without much protest. The first trap you checked hadn’t been tripped, still at the ready. In all fairness, it had barely been a day since you’d set it, you hadn’t been too hopeful it would be full. 

You’d made certain that they were humane, that they’d be relatively painless for any of the prey that stepped inside. 

Despite your bickering over the traps, you truly didn’t want to upset him, not in a way that really mattered. You’d checked in before, that the traps didn’t truly upset him, but you couldn’t help but do it again. “Are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to mess with your forest.”

He nodded. “You’re part of this forest now, part of the give and take. You can hunt in your little traps and take from the forest and someday, the forest will take you.”

You could see the way his face fell as he discussed it. You both knew human lifespans were much shorter than his was but he tried to forget that one day he’d be without you. That was the way things were, the give and take of the forest. He’d never resented it before until he met you.  For now, he just tried to forget it, to enjoy you while he had you. 

You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze as he looked down on you, 

“I like being part of your forest, it feels like I belong here.”

“I think you do. Come on, let’s go home,” he prompted gently and you wanted to agree but your enthusiasm got the best of you.

“One more trap first?” You were far too excited about them, you knew that, but you wanted to catch something, to have some prey to show for yourself. 

The second he laid eyes on your hopeful smile you knew you wouldn’t be going home quite yet. “I let you get away with too much.”

“It’s cause you love me.”

He trailed behind you, letting you lead the way to your carefully selected hunting areas. 

You couldn’t help but yawn as you marched onwards. It was just now catching up with you how late it was. 

You didn’t have the chance to say another word. Acacius didn’t give you the opportunity to protest and insist you could walk on your own like you normally did before he finally convinced you to let him carry you. You were scooped up into his warm embrace and you instantly knew that you’d be checking no more traps tonight. 

He seemed to read your mind as he immediately reassured you, “They’ll be there in the morning, little one.”

The lack of argument was unusual for you, your drowsiness stealing some of your fight. What did line up with your usual behavior was that as soon as you were in his arms, you snuggled right into his fur. You couldn't help it, he felt so warm and safe. 

“Wake me up when we get back” you muttered into his fur, already succumbing to sleep. 

He grumbled out something in the affirmative that you could tell he didn’t really mean and pulled you closer as he trudged along through the trees, shortening his gait so as not to wake you.

[7-wonders]

(Michael's Version)

Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XVII)

Summary: What it says on the tin: Michael's version.

Word Count: 5.6k

A note from the author: Certain phrases and sections may sound familiar, and that's because they are! We're back in the past, baby! This is it—our penultimate chapter. I have so many emotions about coming to the end of this journey, but I'll save them for the final chapter. Until then, enjoy, and as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

Mad Love Masterlist

When Michael Langdon opens his eyes and finds himself surrounded by white, he believes that he’s died.

In his mind, it’s a logical conclusion to come to. He and Mallory had tried a very risky, obscure spell, after all, one with no real precedent for safety. If it ended up failing, it certainly wouldn’t be a shock. And don’t people see a white light when they die? It’s then that Michael remembers that when he dies, he is most certainly going to Hell, and actually takes a proper look at his surroundings.

While he is looking at the color white, it’s because he’s lying on the floor and staring up at a white ceiling. Around him are bookshelves packed to the brim with a variety of both old and new books—books whose pages are imbued with magic that Michael can sense. There’s a large, mahogany desk covered with more books and spare pages sitting under a picture window to his left, the chair pulled back and waiting for its occupant. Waiting for him, because he knows now beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s in the library at Miss Robichaux’s, which can only mean one thing: the spell worked.

Michael scrambles to his feet, his hand going to rest on the desk so that he can feel the wood beneath his palm and confirm that this isn’t some mere dream or hallucination. His nails scrape along the grain, the wood firm and sturdy and real. An opulent, gilded mirror on the opposite wall garners his attention, and he hesitantly makes his way over to peek in the glass.

Gone is the red, velvet dinner jacket and the dramatic eyeshadow. No longer does his hair tumble past his shoulders, and his eyes are devoid of the cold, disinterested glint that he had trained himself to carry at all times. Now, Michael stares at himself as he was, all those months ago. He’s fresh-faced, though a little exhausted, and he can see only worry and excitement in his eyes. His hair is curly and falls to just past his chin, the ends barely brushing his shoulders if he shrugs. The black bomber jacket slung over the back of the chair is obviously meant to complete his ensemble of a black t-shirt, black jeans, and Docs. 

For the first time in a long time, he recognizes the person in the mirror.

Now that it’s obvious that he’s back to a time before the apocalypse, his mind is already three floors down to where you surely sit. Logically, Michael knows that he should take a moment to assess the situation, perhaps test the parameters of the spell, and see if there are any limits on time or what he can and cannot do. He couldn’t care less about that though, not when he’s back in a world where you’re alive and well.

He throws open the door, so eager to reach you that he rushes out into the hallway without looking and runs right into somebody else. Both parties begin to fall backward, but Michael wraps his hands around his accidental victim’s upper arms and pulls them both upright.

“Whoa!” Zoe Benson exclaims, on the way to the library to return the book in her hands.

“Sorry.” The apology comes easily to him; surprising, considering how long it’s been since he’s had to apologize for anything.

“You’re good!” Zoe assures him, without any of the hate or malice that a witch who just faced off against him in a battle to reverse the apocalypse would be expected to have. “Are you looking for Y/n and Mallory?”

Michael knows exactly where you are, but he nods anyway, if only because you’re being referred to in the present tense.

“They’re hammocking in the backyard, which is a relief. Mallory needs someone to tell her to relax, and none of us can convince her.”

“I’ll make sure to convey the coven’s thanks, then.”

Zoe smiles. “You do that. I’ll see you around.”

Michael nods, waiting until Zoe actually makes it into the library to nearly run (more cautiously, now) down the stairs and towards the backyard. He pauses at the large French doors, taking in the scene before him. You and Mallory share a hammock under a canopy of wisteria trees that are trying their hardest to hold onto their blooms. Where before, Michael had been the one to rouse you from your nap, you’re now sitting up and embracing Mallory. The Supreme catches his eyes over your shoulder, and she smiles in tearful relief.

His feet carry him to the hammock almost unconsciously. Were it not for that, he would still be standing in one spot, stuck in the wonder of this moment and basking in you being alive once more. Now, Michael puts a shaking, hesitant hand on your shoulder, unable to wait a moment longer before touching you, yet wary of ruining this moment. Your skin is warm under his grip, and he can feel your muscles flex as you turn to look at him. When you smile at him, easy and free and nothing at all like the small, pained ones he had had to force out of you for eighteen months, he lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Hi, my love.” He almost can’t get the words out, so choked up with emotion that they nearly become lodged in his throat.

“Hey,” you greet happily, completely and blissfully unaware of the nearly two years of literal hell he’d put you through. “How’d it go?”

Michael doesn’t respond at first, instead sitting on your other side on the hammock so that he can bring you into his arms and enjoy the feeling of you alive once more.

“Everybody’s in such a hugging mood today!” You wink at both him and Mallory and grin. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.” 

Michael hums, but otherwise remains silent. After a moment, you speak again. 

“Geez, was it really that bad?”

Yes, he wants to say. I had the worst nightmare, one in which I was a terrible friend and husband, in which I betrayed everyone I’ve ever known and ruined your trust, trust that I had worked so hard to gain. I dreamed that I destroyed our lives, everybody’s lives, and became a monster. I thought that I lost you, only now I know that I didn’t, because you’re here and happy and alive. I’ve woken up, back into the dream that I didn’t know I was living in until I lost it.

Instead, he says, “No, it was only mildly frustrating. Just…feels like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Co-dependency isn’t healthy, sweetheart.” Tears spring at the pet name, and he has to shut his eyes to keep them from falling.

“Indulge me for just a bit. We are on vacation, after all.”

You laugh. “I’m on vacation. You’re on a research trip.”

“Since my research hasn’t really yielded anything, how about we make the next few hours before we have to meet Dinah a vacation for both of us?”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Michael?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

You radiate joy, and Michael is so happy to be basking in it once more. “Then I happily accept.”

“I have a couple of things to give you for your protection, Michael, in case Dinah tries to cross you,” Mallory says. “Will you come with me while I grab them?”

He’d much prefer to never leave your side again, but he knows that there are matters that need to be discussed in private, so he begrudgingly nods and disentangles himself from you.

“We’ll be right back,” Mallory assures you.

“Don’t worry, I’m just fine out here!” To demonstrate this, you kick your feet up and lay back down on the hammock, smiling at the heat of the sun on your face once more. 

It’s one of the most beautiful sights that Michael’s ever seen in his life, and it makes it all the more difficult for him to leave. Mallory ends up having to tug him to her, transmuting them both so they’re in her bedroom.

“This was a really good time for you to pick,” Mallory admits as she pulls a key from her pocket and walks into her closet.

“I can’t believe it actually worked!” Michael exclaims, running a hand through his hair as he tries to take a moment to process everything that’s just happened.

“I wish I could say that I had faith in us, but it was really 50/50 on what I thought was going to happen.”

“What now? Do we have a limited amount of time here? Are there things that I can or can’t say and do?”

“When I first started practicing this spell, it was difficult for me to stay in the past for very long. It got better the more I attempted it, but the longest I managed to stay was two hours.” Mallory reappears, holding three familiar items. “Even then, the entire time it felt like there was a rope tied around me, constantly trying to tug me back to my time. I don’t feel that at all now.”

“I don’t, either.”

“I think it’s because we cast the spell together. After all, who on Earth is more powerful than the Supreme and the Antichrist?”

The answer? Nobody, unless one of the divine forces decided to step foot on the mortal coil.

“So you don’t think there’s any danger of us being pulled back to our present before I’m able to meet with Papa Legba tonight?” Michael asks.

“I don’t. As for your second question, there are no ‘rules’ as to how you need to act. At least, I don’t think there are. Just…remember that we’re in a very crucial time right now, and that everything you do tonight that differentiates from the original timeline will have an effect on the outcome we’re trying to achieve.”

Michael nods. “Try not to fuck up too badly, got it.”

“Hey, things can’t go as terribly as they did the last time we were here,” Mallory points out cheekily, laughing at Michael’s scowl. “C’mon, you kind of deserve it.”

“I do,” Michael concedes with a sigh.

Mallory hands Michael a box of Cuban cigars and a pouch of mandrake with her right hand, her left holding the lethal-to-Michael charm away from Michael to prevent any accidents. Before he can take them, she grabs his wrist and waits until he looks at her again. “You’ve got this, alright? I have faith in you.”

“Thank you. None of this would be happening without you—you’re the reason I have a second chance.”

“You can thank me after tonight.”

This time, it’s Michael who uses his powers to transmute them back to the backyard. You’re still in the hammock and idly scrolling your phone, only looking up when you hear the air near you shift.

“Back so soon?” you ask.

“Try to sound a bit less excited, yeah?” Mallory teases, holding the charm out for you to take. “Here, this is for you to hold on to tonight. Papa Legba shouldn’t try anything; he’s an honorable being who typically doesn’t take what has not been explicitly given to him. Still, it never hurts to have a little extra protection.”

“It’s pretty,” you note, holding it out to show Michael.

Mallory puts her hand out to stop you. “It’s a charm to protect you against beings that are not of this plane, as well as those descended from said beings. I think you’d prefer not to zap Michael to Hell.”

You pretend to think for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. He’s too cute to get rid of.”

Michael can’t help himself from blushing at the compliment. He’s always been easily flattered, especially when you’re the one doing the flattering. Before anything else can be said, a younger girl appears at the back door. “Miss Mallory? Miss Zoe’s looking for you, somethin’ ‘bout a book you have.”

“Thank you, Abby, I’ll be in shortly.” When the girl runs back through the house, Mallory sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Duty calls, I guess. Try not to have too much fun tonight.”

“No promises,” you say cheerfully.

Before she goes, Mallory pulls you into a hug. “I love you. Be safe, alright?”

“I will. I love you too, Mal.”

Mallory looks at Michael just before she ducks inside, her expression reiterating everything she previously said—that tonight is crucial, that every move he makes now matters, and that she has faith in him. Then she’s gone, and Michael’s turning back to you.

“I was thinking hotel first so that we could freshen up. Does that sound good to you?” Michael asks.

“Sounds perfect. I wouldn’t mind a shower right now.” Your nose wrinkles. “I smell like airplane.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing you can smell like,” Michael says, holding his hand out for you to take so that he can transmute to the hotel.

“Says you.” You grab Michael’s hand, and he squeezes just for the small joy of feeling you squeeze back.

The curious thing about going back in time, specifically to an event that he’s already lived through, is that it feels a lot like being an actor in a play. The motions and words are familiar, and Michael has to put in a bit of effort if he wants to say or do something different than what he already said or did. The deja vu here is strong and recurring, and it takes him a second to get over the feeling time and time again—deja vu about the deja vu; who else can say they’ve experienced such phenomena?

Still, there are more positives in repeating this time than just the obvious one of, y’know, being able to change his major mistake. He’s also able to remember to take everything in, to simply watch and not miss what he once believed to be mundane. 

He’s able to fully enjoy the delight that you display upon finding out what his surprise is, as well as feel proud that he knows you so well. He’s happy to follow you around while you indulge your curiosities, watching you as you stop at each stand and peruse the offerings. He admires how much thought you put into what gift you’ll be buying for Kate as thanks for watching your cat.

(He’s pleased on your and Mallory’s behalf that you’ll have the third member of your trio back, even though you’ll never know that you were missing her.)

It’s thrilling to be walking hand in hand with you once more, to enjoy your closeness and being in love. Michael’s perfectly content to be pulled along by you, to answer your questions about what he thinks about this or that item, to allow you to feed him a beignet. This time, he doesn’t waste a moment of opportunity and kisses the powdered sugar off of your lips while feeling your smile. 

This trip truly was perfect before that fateful meeting, and to get to relive it is a gift. He falls easily into his “role,” parroting those familiar lines about the beauty of New Orleans and your potential grad school options while basking in long-forgotten normalcy. When you stand up, Michael has to hide a smile, knowing what’s coming next. You turn back to him with your hands cupped around something.

“Here, hold out your hands,” you instruct.

Michael does as asked, dutifully waiting for you to deposit your prize into his waiting hands. A fat firefly lazily buzzes around, and he smiles at the sight as it bumps into his hands over and over again. He glances up to see you looking down, not at the firefly, but at him, with a grin on your face. After a few moments, the firefly finds its way out of his hands and back to the others in the grass.

“You should try and catch one!” you suggest.

Where before, Michael allowed the buzzing of his phone alarm to stop the fun, now, he simply silences it and gets up to join you. He’s not very good at it, and he misses more times than he’d care to admit, but it’s worth it for your laughter and encouragement. Plus, it is pretty satisfying to finally catch one and hold it up for you to see.

You and Michael leave the open-air market ten minutes later than he was originally planning on, but it was more than worth it. The walk to Dinah’s studio is short, made even more pleasant by the sky lighting up as the sun sets and the warm, slightly muggy air.

“Did you have fun?” you ask.

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that, since I’m the one who planned the date. But yes, I did.”

“Good. I did too.”

“Then I call this date a success.” 

You’re happy with that answer, satisfied to walk in companionable silence. Michael, on the other hand, is wracked with guilt now that there’s a moment of quiet amidst all the chaos that he’s found himself thrown into since the moment he opened his eyes in the past.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

“For what?” In this time, you believe that there’s nothing for him to apologize for. For Michael to be able to live with himself though, he needs to apologize.

“I know I’ve been…off since we saw Cordelia. And I know that you were really shaken up by the Cooperative meeting that I took you to.” You look at him in surprise, and he shrugs. “What? I notice things.”

“I was shaken up,” you admit. “It was scary hearing that you want to end the world so soon, and that there are concrete plans for you to do so. Scarier still knowing that your father’s watching your progress.”

“I know, which is why I’m sorry.” 

I’m sorry that I hurt you in so many different ways, he thinks, mentally apologizing for the things he truly wants to say sorry for. I’m sorry that I killed everybody you ever loved, and that I became someone you would have hated were you not forced to love me. I’m sorry that I got you killed, and that I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“Things are going to be different from now on.”

There’s a hope in your eyes that Michael doesn’t feel like he deserves to have directed towards him. “Really?”

He nods, wanting so badly to reveal his hand, but being unable to do so. Instead, he hopes that you know how sincere he is when he says, “I promise.”

You’ve reached Dinah’s studio, the Voodoo Queen throwing open the door impatiently before Michael can get his hand on the handle.

“You’re late.” Dinah levels Michael with a glare. She’s not that upset, he knows, not when she’s got an extra hundred thousand currently sitting in her bank account.

“Sorry, we got lost,” he lies. You turn your face into his shoulder, coughing to hide your laugh.

“Mhm. Let’s go, I got places to be after this.” She walks towards the back. “And lock the door behind you!”

Through Dinah’s dressing room is another, smaller room—where she conducts her real business. There are candles on various surfaces throughout the room, and the main table, ringed with four chairs, is covered with a red cloth.

Michael pulls out a chair for you to sit in and makes sure that you’re comfortable before pushing you toward the table and taking his seat next to you. You watch Dinah move around the room in a whirl of colors, gathering the last items needed for tonight’s ritual. Your head tilts curiously when she pulls out a match and strikes it into a flame, and he braces himself against yet another bout of deja vu.

“It’s a part of the ritual,” he whispers in your ear, feeling you nod.

Once all of the candles are lit by Dinah’s own hand, the voodoo queen sits down in the chair on his other side. She studies you harshly for a moment, making you squirm under her scrutiny, before looking at Michael. “You sure that you want your honey in here to meet Papa? After all, she’s nothing but a pretty little mortal.”

He smirks. If there’s one lesson he can take away from those eighteen long months, it’s that you’re so much more than that. You’re determined, unflinching in your morals, and willing to face down any of your fears to do what’s right.

“I assure you, she can more than handle herself.”

You smile nervously at Michael, and he winks at you in what he hopes is a comforting way. His eyes are drawn down to your lap, where your hands are shaking. While Dinah grabs one of his hands to start the ritual, he uses his free one to hold one of yours. Your smile softens, and you mouth, “Thank you.”

She turns his hand so it’s facing palm-up, and takes a deep breath in before beginning to knock on his wrist. After she does so, she places her wrist against his briefly before swiping up a bottle of liquor from the table. The amber liquid is poured into a copper mug, and Dinah brings it up above her head in order to pray to it.

“Papa Legba,” she begins. “Ouvrier barrier pour moi agoe.”

This chant is repeated twice more, but it only takes her invoking him the second time for the shadow of a tall figure wearing what looks to be a top hat to rise against the blank canvas of the wall. As Dinah chants for the third and final time, a cold wind sweeps through the room and brings with it an echoing, deep laugh and the sound of bones clinking together.

Michael hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Papa Legba before this night. He heard plenty of stories, of course, but Papa Legba was notoriously hard to get an audience with, even when one was the Antichrist. 

Like many demons, Papa Legba looks like a normal man at first glance. He appears carrying a cane and wearing a fine suit, a top hat decorated with tiny skulls and feathers atop his head. A necklace made of beads and claws rests around his neck, and his long cloak sweeps along the floor. That’s where the human similarities end. White paint covers the top half of his face, and his blood-red eyes look upon the trio assembled before him with delight as he grabs the cup from Dinah and drains it.

“Dinah Stevens! Calling upon me so soon after our last…chat, eh?” He looks down at a couple of cigars sitting on top of a decorative silver plate and hums. “Mm, lucky for you that I cannot resist Cuban cigars, Mambo.”

The empty cup is discarded for one of the cigars, which he holds to his nose in order to properly enjoy it before scratching one of his nails against the end and lighting it. The cherry glows red as he takes a couple of deep puffs, the air growing hot around you as the shadows surrounding him morph in that distinct, sentient way—the shadows of souls now belonging to Papa.

Papa Legba takes a seat in the chair next to you, stretching out languidly. You scooch your chair closer to Michael, and he fights the urge to wrap his arm around you.

“The Antichrist – and his little wife!” Papa Legba greets, his voice echoing and layering on top of itself. 

Michael nods in a show of deference, and you do the same. “Papa Legba,” he says. You jump slightly, his “otherworldly” voice surprising you.

“I am sorry that I could not attend the wedding festivities, mes chers.” He grins at both of you, his gold tooth glinting in the candlelight. “A little drama with your papa, you see. But the entire Underworld was very much abuzz at news of the nuptials, I assure you.”

“We appreciate your well wishes.” You remain silent, choosing instead to smile and nod in agreement. “I assume you know why I asked Dinah to facilitate this meeting?”

Papa Legba shakes his head, but the smirk on his face gives off the feeling that he knows exactly why he’s here. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“You’ve abandoned your post,” Michael reminds him before deciding to go off-script. “And I’m guessing you have ulterior motives beyond becoming bored with your function.”

Papa laughs. “Ah, you’re a smart little Antichrist! Correct, this is the outcome I was hoping to achieve as a result of my actions.”

“Well, you certainly got my attention. Why go to all this trouble?” Michael already knows the answer, of course. But everybody in this room has a part to play in his plan, even though they don’t know it.

“The lords of Hell are not too pleased with the current plans. Ending the world?” He tuts and shakes his head. “Now, that just takes all of the fun out of everything. Who will barter with me when the only souls left on Earth are devoted followers of Satan or half-dead?”

“So you’re the messenger.”

“I’ll confess, I have been sent by my fellow demons to attempt to sway you. For some reason, they think that I am the best public speaker.” He puts a hand to his chest as if he’s touched by the sentiment.

“And how are you attempting to sway me?”

“My dear boy, I am here to convince you not to start an apocalypse.”

This is the moment where it all went wrong. Michael let his anger get the best of him, his need to please his father ruling his emotions and actions. Briefly, he thinks of the butterfly effect, which you taught him while learning it in a class last semester. The belief is that every choice, and every action, no matter how big or small, can set a person on a hundred different courses. He’s seen the course that was taken when he lashed out. Now, he’s choosing rationality, and he’s excited to see what course that leads everybody down.

“You’ll be happy to learn that it will take far less convincing than you originally thought,” Michael says. Next to him, you gasp.

Papa Legba looks simultaneously surprised and pleased. “Really?”

“Recently, I’ve been made aware of some new developments regarding my father and the nuclear annihilation course that we’ve been working on. Now, I’m interested in exploring other avenues.”

Papa Legba’s red eyes are so focused on Michael that it’s even beginning to make him feel a little uncomfortable. “So I may tell my friends that they will get to play with their food for the foreseeable future?”

“Yes, I would say that’s a pretty accurate statement,” Michael says with a nod.

“You have just made many of the legions of Hell very pleased, young master.” His gold tooth glints in the candlelight as he grins, pulling a card out of thin air and presenting it to Michael between his long fingers. “You may call upon me whenever you need so that my friends and I may help you achieve your goal; we are at your disposal.”

Michael takes it gratefully. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Papa Legba stands and takes the last cigar off of the table with him, sliding it up the sleeve of his coat until it disappears. “Until next time.”

With a gust of wind that blows out all of the candles and the clinking of bones, he turns and melts into his shadows. Shortly after, the lights overhead flicker on, bathing the room in reality once more. Dinah rolls her neck with a groan, taking a moment to collect herself after the strain of the summoning.

“Well, I guess you do have some sort of a spine,” she declares, standing and smudging the symbols she had made at the doorway. 

“A backhanded compliment, but one that I’ll take.”

“Are we done here? I wasn’t lying when I said I’ve got places to be.”

Michael rolls his eyes. She truly is just a terrible person, apocalypse or not. “Yes, we’re done.” 

You’ve been silent since Michael revealed that he wasn’t keen on ending the world, and you remain that way now. Michael gently pulls you from your chair, and you follow him dazedly, letting him handle the goodbyes as you digest everything that’s just happened. Michael can’t blame you in the slightest; he knows that it seems like a jarring and sudden change, especially when the plans to bomb the world are so concrete and detailed.

About halfway down the block from Dinah’s studio—Michael thought that a walk in the cooler night air might do you more good than transmuting—you finally find something to say. “What the hell was that?”

“I told you that things were going to be different.”

“I assumed you meant, like, that you were going to try and push off zero hour a little bit more!” You finally look at him, cautiously and hopefully. “What about your plan? You’ve wanted to end the world for a while now. This is what you and the Cooperative have been working towards since before we even got married.”

“No, that’s not what I want. What I want is a life with you. I want us to actually travel the world together. I want us to experience new things. I want to watch you chase your dreams. I want to develop dreams of my own.”

It’s the first time Michael’s admitted that last sentence to anybody beyond his thoughts in the middle of the night. Even before the end of the world, he watched with envy as you and your friends and fellow students went about your lives, excited for futures and possibilities that seemed endless. Somewhere along the way, he realized that he wanted that for himself, that he wanted to be more than just the Antichrist. While the original meeting with Papa Legba forced him to put that want to the side in favor of accomplishing what he believed to be his destiny, this do-over has afforded him another chance to discover his own dreams.

“Did you know that my father isn’t even the one who picked out the current apocalypse plan?” he asks.

“He’s not?”

Michael shakes his head. “I recently found out that it was the two idiots at Kineros who built the new Ms. Mead. They hacked into Ms. Mead and planted the idea, convincing a vulnerable, naive Antichrist that fire and blood were the only ways to end the world and make Satan proud. All because they were pissed at minor inconveniences and wanted to ‘wipe the slate clean’.”

As Michael says this, he makes a mental note to kill those two. What? He’s still the Antichrist, after all.

“All Satan wants is to win this millennia-long, metaphysical chess game that he’s playing with God. He doesn’t care what I do, so long as I get him some ‘wins’. And Papa Legba was right. If I were to end the world, Satan would win…for a time. But then the rules would be changed, the board reset, and where would that leave me? I’d have done all this, ruined our, and everybody’s, lives for nothing.”

“So this is real? You’re not ending the world anymore?” you check.

“Not ending the world anymore,” Michael confirms. “We’ll find some other way to sow chaos, I’m sure. In due time. For now, I’m happy to wait and—”

He’s cut off when you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his lips to yours. In the eighteen months he’s just lived through, he can’t remember the last time you initiated a kiss. Now, he eagerly reciprocates, kissing back and hoping that you can feel all of his apologies and promises through his actions. He hopes that, from now on, he’ll never have to go more than a day without kissing you again.

When you pull away from Michael, there are tears running down your face. His heart twists at the sight. How had he not known that you were in so much fear about what was going to happen, that you and Mallory were working behind the scenes to try and find a way to change his mind? 

“Thank you,” you say, lifting your hands up to wipe your face clean; a futile task, since you keep crying from relief. “Thank you so much.”

“I love you.” Michael’s earnest in his declaration, never wanting you to forget this fact…or to give you a reason to. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to scare you in this way, to cause you this anguish.”

“I know. You were just doing what you thought you were supposed to do. But you’ve changed, and I’m so proud of you for that.” You always know just the right thing to say, the right way to encourage him. He’s so thankful to have that back.

“I love you,” Michael says again. He’ll say it every hour for the rest of his life, if it means you’ll smile at him the way that you currently are.

“I love you, too.” He kisses you again, there under the streetlights on a beautiful, fall night in New Orleans, and is reminded that there are so many things to love and appreciate about humanity.

Michael may not make it to Heaven when he dies. But right now, in your arms, he’s found the closest thing to it. And nothing will ever make him give it up again.

•••

@ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @nsainmoonchild @redroses07 @xo-angel-ox @littleangel4996 @iamlivingforturner @thatonehumanbeing05 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene

[mari-writes]

🦉🖤

“Here you go, my prince!”

Akaashi felt Bokuto’s lips brush his cheek, and a mug was quietly placed near his laptop on the kitchen island. He mumbled his thanks, with every intention of continuing his grueling night of studying. He had so much to do…

But then he registered his boyfriend’s words. He blinked, looking up from the screen to where the man was heading back to the kitchen. “Wait. Bokuto-san, what did you just call me?”

“Huh?” Bokuto hummed as he poured from the kettle.

Akaashi was almost too embarrassed to repeat the phrase. “You… called me your ‘prince?’ Where did that come from?” Akaashi knew that Bokuto loved to use pet names. They’d only been dating for a few months, but he’d heard plenty. ‘Babe’ was the most common. 

But this was new.

“Oh!” Bokuto laughed nervously. When he turned around, Akaashi noticed a rosy blush working its way up his neck. “Um, well…”

“I don’t mind.” Akaashi smiled softly. “You’ve just never called me that before.”

Bokuto nodded, putting down his mug and leaning across the counter. “Well I’ve always wanted to! And now I get to whenever I want!” He grinned at Akaashi’s continued confusion. “What I mean is… you’re really, really beautiful.”

It was Akaashi’s turn to go red. He looked down into his tea to avoid Bokuto’s fiery gaze.

“When I first saw you, I remember thinking, ‘Oh my gosh, he looks like a prince from a fairytale, or a historical drama on TV!’ And that was before I even realized I was bisexual!” He chuckled.

Akaashi sputtered. “B-Bokuto…”

“You were just so proper and lovely! And you had such good posture! That part’s changed a bit, I guess… but you’re still so put together, and focused, and um, regal? That’s a word, right?”

Akaashi was close to falling off his stool. He didn’t know how to deal with this. Would he have to endure this sort of flattery all the time now? Was this his life from now on?

“‘kaashi?” Bokuto made his way around the island. “Are you okay in there?” His voice was kind, but Akaashi detected a slight teasing tone. The man knew what he was doing. And Akaashi would have none of it.

Slamming his laptop closed, Akaashi turned and grabbed his boyfriend by his shirt. “Shut up,” he snapped, and smashed their lips together.

Akaashi wasn’t great at expressing himself. But he knew how to do this. He knew how to show the love of his life that he felt the same way, that he had been enamored with him since the very start, as well. 

Bokuto made an odd sound, like a cross between a yelp and a groan. It didn’t take long before he was eagerly reciprocating, his hands sliding around Akaashi’s trim waist and pulling him off the stool. Akaashi’s arms found the back of his neck, long fingers tangling in monochrome locks.

After a few heated minutes, Bokuto pulled back. His face was beet red, hair in disarray, and the smile that split his face was blinding. “Wow!” He shook his head in disbelief. “Who knew you were so into being complimented!”

Oh you have no idea, Akaashi thought, a bit shamefully. 

Perhaps, someday, he'll tell Bokuto of the pleasure he experiences when being praised. Akaashi was embarrassed at how intense it could be—especially when said praise came from the man he was currently pressed up against.

Akaashi huffed, annoyed at how close Bokuto already was to figuring it out. He was supposed to be the analytical one, wasn’t he? He bit back a pout. “Oh, just shut up and kiss me more,” he demanded.

Grinning, Bokuto leaned back in. “Sure thing, your highness...”

//

Yes, I wrote another silly little thread fic instead of working on my other (more important) WIPs. I’m sorry. I hope you enjoy this enough to forgive me. If you do, please leave a comment and share! It really helps me out.

You can check out my other fics here!

[writingsbyzuzu]

Don’t Get The Blues

chapter 4- curse the goddamn day

Sheriff!Ted Nivison x Outlaw!Reader (Hasan implications, platonic!outlaw!Schlatt and Slimesicle) (Author’s notes: EEEEEE it’s finally here, i’m so sorry for the delay, I hope you guys love it!! just know the thing at the end is not a forced scenario by any means, it’s what reader agreed to, she just doesn’t see the point of doing that event at that point in time, and I hope I communicated that effectively. and no flashbacks this chapter!! please enjoy.)

Charlie sits across from you, the two of you sitting in silence. You’re hemming a dress, the needle moving along between your fingers, as Charlie smiles at you. “You know, you didn’t have to hang back with me on this one,” he says. “It does me good to spend time with you. Seven months of robberies and sharp shooting shows? Lord knows I need a break,” you hum, before lifting up the dress to show him. “Besides, this needed to be done.” Charlie nods. “Sorry we couldn’t get anything nicer,” he mumbles. “No one will remember the dress,” you quickly say, before the two of you sit in silence once more.

“They will. I will at least.” Charlie smiles, before it fades, as he thinks of how to phrase what he had wanted to say next. You look up at him, knowing what he thought. Charlie was your oldest friend, after all. You didn’t want him to feel bad, or nervous.

“Nothing is going to change, Charlie.” You stare at each other for a moment, and his shoulders soften. “You sure?” “I won’t let it. Not on my watch.” Your gaze is intense and firm. “Not on my watch.”

✩⭑✩

Hasan knew it was a matter of time. One day, enough would be enough, he had hoped, and the six of you could stop, pack up, move somewhere else, try your fortunes elsewhere, taking satisfaction in the knowledge that you had done enough for the people living on the outskirts. The six of you, or even just you and him - could finally live your own lives as people. Have a proper home. If enough wasn't achieved, he knew it was a matter of time before something truly bad happened. And unfortunately for him, that feeling was about to be realized. Normal heist, Kurtis had assured him. Maybe all the successes had lured them into a false sense of security that morning. 

Break the wheel, stop the cart, stop the driver, steal, run. That was the expectation. That was the norm. They went through the motions. Ludwig shot down the wheel. Schlatt, Hasan, and Kurtis approached, as Ludwig held back, and held up the driver. But then Hasan heard a click behind his head. “Get down on the ground and put your hands up.” He turned around. He didn’t recognize the men. It didn’t matter. Hasan wasn’t going to give up that simply when they didn’t even know what he looked like. Hasan held up his gun in response. “We can all shoot you,” the man holding a pistol to Hasan’s head announced.

“Try it.” Hasan said. The other two men turned, and Schlatt and Kurtis turn to pummel the men into the ground. Hasan reaches over, shoving the man’s arm down and wrestling the pistol out of his hand. The men scuffle, before falling onto the ground. The man wrestled an arm free, punching Hasan square in the nose.

And then Hasan faced a horrible realization. 

He felt the bandana slipping from his face. Minutes passed, the punching exchanged throughout the six men.

He finally, finally hears another click. “Get up and get off my friends or I will shoot the three of you,” Ludwig said, holding the rifle. The strange men stood up, along with Kurtis, Schlatt and Hasan. Hasan looked over, Schlatt’s face also exposed. They both went to readjust but it was too late.

“We’re state policemen. They’ll know if you kill us,” one of the men shouts.

It was always a matter of time, Hasan thought. He had just been hoping it wasn’t today of all days.

✩⭑✩

Ted wasn't sure how many times he could live through this loop. His days felt identical, akin to trudging through quicksand. He knew how he and Eddy were being viewed. Idiots, fools. He figured the townspeople weren't far off with that one. His entire career was on the verge of slipping through his fingers, and he had a front row seat. The governor, tired of the antics and lack of answers, hired men to assist with the investigation. 

And it was these men now who entered the station.  “We saw them. Looked those pests right in the damn eyes, got them dead to rights," one says. Ted sits up, astonishment crossing his face. “You saw them?" The loop, he thinks, is finally ending. Damn to hell losing the credits to catching the robbers, Ted just wanted the ordeal to be over. The man nods. “The governor is gonna be mighty proud," he states. Ted rolls his eyes, getting ready to write. “I know everyone in this damn town, and there will be no arrests without me," Ted mumbles. The man nods again, and the words leave his mouth, and Ted freezes. Time stands still, and his body goes cold.

“One had a mustache and side facial hair. Long hair. The other one, the big one, tan. Freckles. Face covered in hair. Brown eyes."

“What?"

“Mustache-"

Ted waves his hand at the man, tears forming in his eyes. “There has to be a mistake," he whispers. “We saw them, our eyes do not deceive us," the man insists. Eddy reaches to grab Ted's shoulder. “Ted-" “No." Ted slams his fist on the desk. “There has to be some mistake," Ted repeats. He knew they were right. “We didn't see the others." 

“No need," Eddy states. “We know who the others are." 

“Was there a woman?" Ted asks. The men look at him confusedly. “No woman. All men. Four. We only saw the two." Eddy nods. “So we can make the arrests then. We can keep our jobs," he says, looking pointedly at Ted, who collapses at his desk. “Tell me everything that happened," he looks up at the men, the shock wearing off.

✩⭑✩

You had woken up to the sounds of murmurs in the other room. You had chosen to sleep for a while after finishing hemming the dress, and now, hours later, feeling drowsy, woken up in a daze. You slowly sat up, before quietly rising and entering the living room. The men stood around the table, but they had all ceased when you opened the door. Staying in the doorway, your stomach dropped upon seeing their serious faces. “What’s going on?”

They were all looking at you, except Hasan.

“What?” you ask again, peering to look at all of them, the nerves starting to rise, your stomach tightening in knots. They finally looked up at you, and your stomach plummeted. Schlatt had bruising on his cheek, his lip busted. Kurtis wasn’t much better off. But Hasan? Hasan’s nose was clearly broken, the blood all crusted around his mouth, his eye bloodshot, a bruise clearly forming. You step forward, reaching out to him, but he simply holds his hand up. “Get dressed. We’re leaving now.”

You don’t ask to where. You already knew. You had made this deal months before, that morning after that man had tackled you seven months ago. The deal had felt like lifetimes ago, especially with the stark realization that you were going to be caught. 

“Are you sure? But-”

“Do as I say.” Hasan cuts you off. You nod, turning to go back and shut the door. “Everything is going to be okay,” he calls out. You don’t respond. Just wonder why you aren’t even bothering to run.

✩⭑✩

Eddy had finally gotten Ted out of the chair and onto a horse. He felt sick. He didn’t care about the childish fight over Hasan for you that had lasted their whole lives. What did that matter now? He was still Ted’s friend, in Ted’s mind and heart. You were all his friends no matter how you felt. He had based his whole life on you. And now he was going to arrest and condemn your friends to hell. Eddy had tried to have him think positively. You weren’t there, Charlie wasn’t there. You weren’t guilty. There was suspicion. But the two of you weren’t there. You would live.

But Ted was going to have to hang four people he loved. And it made him sick. But it also made him angry. He knew and he knew you knew. How could you betray him in such a way? Did he deserve it? He knew you only had good intentions. Just those intentions weren’t for him.

He was still circling all the topics in his head when the men approached the cabin. Eddy turns to Ted, who was finally snapping out of his thoughts. They get off the horses, hands on their pistols. Ted knocks on the door. No answer. “Charlie! It’s…It’s Ted. Open the door.”

Silence.

“Charlie! We can talk about this. But I have to do this. I’m sorry. Open the door.”

Silence.

“Ludwig! Kurtis! Open the damn door.”

Eddy nor Ted had heard the small child approaching. The child stood behind them watching. “They aren’t home,” the little voice calls out. Ted and Eddy jump a little, but turn to the boy. “Where are they?” Eddy asks, crouching to the child’s level. “I’m not supposed to say,” the boy winces. “You’re gonna hurt them.” “We’re the good guys. They did some bad things,” Eddy whispers. “How was it bad? They helped me. I was sick, and they used money to get me medicine to make me better. They helped my mommy build a home.” “They…well they did bad things to get the money. It isn’t right.”

The little boy’s shoulders fall. “You won’t hurt them right?” Eddy and Ted exchange a guilty glance, and Ted raises an eyebrow. Eddy looks back to the little boy, feeling immense guilt. “We won’t hurt them,” Eddy says. 

“They went to the church.”

✩⭑✩

“We could just run. We have horses. We could ride away,” you whisper to Schlatt. He shakes his head. “No use, doll. We sealed our fates.” Tears leaked from your eyes. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I should have listened to you. You said no and I ignored you and I’m going to get you all killed,” you whimper, as you grip his arm. He shakes his head. “Don’t say that. I made that choice, doll. I could have kept saying no. And besides, we helped so many people. We shouldn’t take that back.” “You’re my family. I need you alive. We can run. Why can’t we? Why should we still do this?” You plead with Schlatt, but it’s no use. “You can’t change fate, kiddo.” He turns to you, tucking a strand of your hair, then looks over at Hasan, at the front of the church.”  Then he leans over to whisper in your ear. 

“He always knew it would end up like this. He was just hoping he wouldn’t go out without doing the one thing he’s always wanted to do.” 

Schlatt straightens himself, and you look at each other. “I wish we could have done this under happier circumstances,” you whisper. “Me too. We gotta make do with what we got while we got it, yeah?” He extends his arm, and you take it. You reach down with your other hand and smooth out the white dress.

And with a simple nod, Schlatt is marching you down the aisle to Hasan.

Hasan gives you a small smile under all the bruising, and you take your place beside him. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t Ted, and you loved Hasan differently, but you loved him. And if he was going to die for you, you could afford him this last kindness, right? You accept what you have.

And then the doors opened, the familiar pistol click echoing throughout the almost empty church. 

You turn to see Ted, his pistol pointed just straight, Eddy and three other men behind him, also holding pistols. He looks around frantically, seeing Ludwig, Kurtis, and Schlatt sitting in their pews. Hasan lets out a curse, and Ted finally looks to see you, 

standing in your wedding dress, getting married to his childhood’s best friend and worst competitor.

He turns his pistol up at Hasan.

“You’re under goddamn arrest, fucker.”

[noodyl-blasstal]

Cool, Calm, and Collegiate - Chapter 7

We did it! We finished @blupjeansweek with prompt 7 - Reunion.

You can read below, or on Ao3. Missed yesterday's chapter? Catch up here. or read the whole story in one go.

-

There’s an emergency meeting in the aftermath, a lecture on press interaction and how to deal with any angry parents that might be in touch. They’re also notified that the children from the twins’ class are going to be split among them. There’s no question of Edward and Lydia coming back, especially not with the formal investigation still underway.

The rest of the summer season is blissfully dull by comparison - kangaroo shoe day has nothing on beemageddon. The kids still enjoy it, natch, but it feels safe enough, contained fun (which is exactly what it should be.) They get good grades, she gets good reviews, and the summer marches inexorably on to a blank spot on Lup’s map. There’s no plans yet, no nothing.

The worst part of all of it is the waiting. Lup’s utterly sick of it.

She’s waiting for news from jobs, she’s waiting to know where she’ll be living and what she’ll be doing, and she’s waiting to tell Barry that she’s in love with him and would like to bone down proper style about it if he’d be game actually. Not that she’d say it that way… probably. Honestly at this point it’s a real risk - she’s nearly blurted out her feelings a few times and she definitely keeps staring at his lips at inappropriate moments, but she wants it to be good, he deserves that.

The worst part is, the worst bit of it all, she knows he feels the same. She’s seen the way he looks at her, knows that he’s felt the change between them too. It would be so easy to just say something, pop the unnecessary protective bubble that they’ve both built up around themselves and fall into the relationship they’ve been unknowingly carving out all these years. But she doesn’t. She can’t until she knows the plan, it’s not fair to him.

“Last week of summer school!” Barry says, next to her in bed.

“Yeah.” She snuggles in closer and lays her head on his chest. “And still nothing back about last week’s interview.”

“Ah… well, they’d be lucky to have you.” Barry soothed his hand across her back. “If they go with someone else they’re idiots.”

Lup sighs heavily. She knows that, she’s fucking fantastic, but hiring committees don’t always get the memo. She bodied that interview, but… nothing. “I just want to know the plan and where I’ll be and what I’ll be doing. I don’t think that’s unreasonable!” 

“It’s not.” Barry’s tone isn’t the faux-soothing one that people sometimes adopt with her when she’s complaining about the tenuous nature of taking short term research jobs, he means it. “I remember the post-doc years, it’s no fun.”

“I just want to be in one place and working on something important.” Lup nuzzles her head against Barry. “Something like the bonds research”

“Well....” Barry pauses as if he’s trying to work out exactly how to phrase what he’s about to say. “What if something like the bonds research was the bonds research?”

“What?” There’s no way.

“Well, I was thinking, you’re doing so much on the project anyway… it’d make sense for it to be formalised. I already want you to publish with me, but it would make more sense to just have you on the team.”

“You want to hire me as a post-doc?” Lup’s face scrunches up in consternation.

“No, I want Lucretia to hire you as a researcher.” Barry says as if it’s that simple. As if that’s a thing that can just happen.

“Fucking what?” Lup sits upright. “You want to nepotism me a job?” She doesn’t know whether to kiss him or kick him. Maybe she could do both, she’s talented. But she doesn’t need his help to succeed, she can do that all on her own. She doesn’t need pity.

“No! I mean… kind of.” Barry frowns. “This isn’t how I wanted to ask you… Shit. Look, obviously I know you, so it’s possibly kind of nepotism technically if you squint, but I want you because you’re a brilliant researcher who’s familiar with the project. You’ve got all the qualifications and more besides and IPRE would be lucky to have you on staff. You’ve already helped me solve like three issues this summer alone, why wouldn’t I want to work with you on this?”

Lup’s about to shout at him about not needing pity, about to push herself away, but she resists the urge. Really, he’s not wrong. She found her first post-doc through a researcher she met at a conference, there’s literally networking events for these kinds of reasons. She’s a baller scientist, she’s a phenomenal researcher, she’s the best teacher the IPRE ever saw if her reviews are to be believed, so why the fuck shouldn’t they want her… The main question was whether she wanted this.

She did.

But she couldn’t choose that fast, she should at least pretend, for salary negotiation if nothing else.

Lup jumps out of bed. “I need to shower.” 

“Uh, sure.” Barry motions to the bathroom, as if she doesn’t know where it is by now. Sweet idiot.

She’s halfway to the door before she turns back and sits down next to him again. “Thanks Bear, I really appreciate the offer.”

“It’s not just because you’re you, you know. Lucretia wouldn’t put up with any bullshit.” He says quickly before she can turn and run again.

Lup kisses him quickly on the cheek before she completely loses her nerve then near enough sprints to the bathroom. She’s calling Taako before she locks the door behind her.

“Yes, I have seen the time thank you so much… Taako… Taako… TAAKO, listen, I think I got a job… Here! With Barry… no it’s… well, yeah it is kinda like that… but listen. Research! Proper research!... The bonds project… I guess I have been, yeah, I’ve been involved since nearly  the start… Huh… No, I didn’t think about it that way… I don’t know… I haven’t had time to think about the logistics… I only just found out… He told me… In be…” She catches herself but it’s too late. “... it’s not like that!... I was here late… talking! We were talking!... No. Not about that… I haven’t figured it out yet. I will though… Don’t be gross… What should I do?... You think so?... What if something goes wrong?... yeah… good point… we’ve kinda been working on it for nine years… Thanks ‘Ko. Say hi to Krav for me… HA! I knew he was there… you can dish it but you can’t take it, you baby… I hate you too, super triple double… okay, I’ll keep posted… love you… bye!”

Lup starts the shower, then immediately stops it again and rushes back to Barry’s room. “Do I get an office?”

“Yes.” Barry says, he has the grace to not even look slightly startled by her swift reappearance.

“Okay. Thank you… shower.” Lup says quickly and leaves again. 

She makes it halfway to the bathroom before she turns round this time. “Is it a permanent contract?”

“Yep.” Barry nods and sits up slightly, his attempts to doze abandoned.

“Thank you.” Lup leaves again.

Temporarily. 

“Is it full time?” 

“Yes, full time and year round, no term time nonsense. Lucretia’s really fair with this stuff. There’s campus housing for a bit if you need it too.” Barry looks at her as if waiting for another question.

She never said he isn’t smart. He knows his stuff.

“And there’s proper research support?”

“Budget for research expenses, publication fees, and support to take time off to go to conferences and training.” He smiles.

She smiles back. “Huh. Okay.”

“Okay…?” Barry’s eyebrows raise expectantly.

“Okay it’s time to shower.” She gets to the door before turning back. “Oh, also, I think… No, I know, I’m in love with you… bye!” She sprints for the bathroom and locks the door behind her, only just resisting the impulse to keep running. She did it! She did it! She’s got a job! And maybe a Barry? Fuck… that wasn’t the plan. Adrenaline surges through her system as she grabs her phone again.

“‘Ko?... I’m gonna take the job… also I told Barry I love him… I don’t know… what do you mean what do I mean?... I told him I’m in love with him… I ran away… bathroom… well it wasn’t exactly planned was it?... Put Kravitz on, I can hear him saying calm and useful things in the background… Hi Kravitz… nice to meet you too… uh huh… yeah, sprinted out of there… okay… that’s a fair point… yes… no it wouldn’t… in my defence I can’t say I was thinking at the time… how did Taako tell you… really? Oh fuck… bye Kravitz!... I saw an opportunity… fine… sorry… Yes, I will…  Love you too ‘Ko, byeeeeeeeee.”

Lup laughs as she hangs up. Taako seems happy, Kravitz seems nice, now  she just needs to fix whatever the fuck mess she just created, but she’d quite like to do it clean.

There’s a light tap at the door as she’s washing her conditioner out. “Lup?”

“Who isssssss it?” Lup sing songs.

“Lup!” Barry sounds like a guy who’d just had someone confess they were in love with him and then sprint away without any follow up opportunity. Oops.

“Sorry Bear. I’m nearly done.” She feels guilt prickling at her. There’s no nervousness, she knows he feels the same, it’s so evident, but she’s had time to freak out about it with Taako and Kravitz, he’s been stewing. “I’ll be with you soon, in fact, do you just wanna come in?”

“I… uh…” Barry sounds panicked at the prospect.

Lup reaches out to unlock the door. “It’s open, you can if you wanna.”

She can almost hear the anxiety rolling off him.

“You can wait if you’d rather, it’s fine.”

The door cracks open.

“In or out, you’re letting the cold air in.”

The door clicks shut. “You’re in love with me?” Barry asks.

“Head over heels.” Lup says matter of factly. “Sorry for… you know, the sprinting. I’ve been trying to work out how to tell you and it keeps nearly slipping out and then it actually did so I panicked.”

“I know.” He says simply. “I’ve been trying to tell you too.”

“To tell me what?” Lup asks, smiling to herself.

“That I’m in love with you.”

“There you go.” 

“What?” Barry asks.

“You just did it.” Lup peeks her head out from behind the shower curtain and grins at him, not that he can see her, his glasses are totally steamed up. “We both did it!”

“Oh… yeah. I did do that. We did that!” Barry smiles, pleased with himself. “What do we do now?” He asks.

There’s a long pause, water sloughing the last of the conditioner from Lup’s hair.

“I mean… I’ve got some suggestions, but they’re not very PG.” Lup tries to sound as sultry as possible.

Barry laughs. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now pass me my towel please?”

She knows for a fact that Barry screws his eyes shut behind his glasses when she steps out of the shower, she loves him for it. She also loves him for the way he pretends the towel is a matador’s cape as he prepares to wrap her in it, and the small kiss he plants on top of her head when he does.

“I have a suggestion.” Barry says.

“I’m willing to hear it.” Lup replies. 

Barry laughs and cups her face gently with calloused palms, she knows every scar on his hands and most of the stories behind them. She’s traced the shape of them while they talked late into the night, and now his thumb is ghosting along her lower lip. She kisses it quickly. It’s clearly enough permission for Barry and he dips his head to press their lips firmly together, stroke his thumbs across her cheeks. It’s a chaste kiss, a perfect first kiss, but Lup wants many more kisses from Barry and she plans to get them.

“When does Lucretia need to hear back from me?” She asks, kisses her way along Barry’s jaw as he answers.

“Uh… I don’t… Lup, I’m not… I can’t concentrate…” 

“Don’t then.” Lup replies.

Barry doesn’t, not on the job, anyway.

-

Bear, 

Hey office neighbour! I bet you didn’t know that there was a letter tube between our offices, but boy is there. 

I know, you’ve been thinking to yourself that seeing me at work, at home, on dates and via email just isn’t enough. Don’t worry, the carrier pigeons are in training. But hopefully for now this’ll suffice.

Thank you, not for the opportunity (though thank you for that too), but for wanting me and letting me know that. I never feel less than with you, and I hope you know how much I adore you.

Anyway, what do you want for tea later?

Love you (collegiately, we’re at work, be professional!) with my whole heart,

Lup xxxxxxx

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

Jeff Fictional Universe (JFU) Headcanons

A/N: Hi everyone! I'm on holiday at the moment and don't have too much time for writing, but my next fic is close to being finished and here's this in the meantime: it's a bunch of my headcanons about Jeff the Landshark that haven't explicitly made it into my JFU fics yet.

Send me an ask if you have any of your own headcanons about Jeff, I'd love to hear them and see if they'll fit into future stories! Have a good day y'all and I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: vague mentions of death, not proofread.

➼ Jeff was experimented on by MODOK. This one is pretty canon to Jeff’s official comics since MODOK officially created the land sharks, but in my mind, it went a lot deeper than that. Jeff doesn’t really remember any of it, nor does it affect him anymore, but he’ll still get a bit nervous in lab environments and snap at people who get too intrusive, even if he doesn’t know why he does that.

➼ He’s a mix of a bunch of animals – a shark most obviously, but he has the behaviour of dogs/cats and the toe count of guinea pigs, to name a few.

➼ Jeff understands every language, but he can only speak his own. He doesn’t expect anyone to speak his language because of this, but he can get frustrated that they don’t even understand his language. Especially with Natasha.

➼ When you first got the ability to speak to animals in the JFU, Jeff was the first animal you could understand, but you had gotten so used to answering Jeff’s mrrrs with random assumptions that you didn’t even notice. Jeff also didn’t notice because you had actually been fairly good at guessing what he wanted. It was only after a few days and a long speech by Jeff that you both had the moment of realisation.

➼ Jeff cannot read; you and Natasha have tried to teach him but to no avail. It became a challenge between the Avengers that anyone who teaches Jeff to read would win. Tony got closest to winning, but you later realised that Jeff was just reciting a section of the book which Tony had taught him to memorise, and he still couldn’t read anything else. Bruce decides that Jeff is just biologically incapable of reading full words.

➼ Despite this, Jeff can write a few short words/phrases; mainly his, yours, and Natasha’s names.

➼ Even if he can’t read words, Jeff understands all the letters of the alphabet individually and is convinced that the letter ‘E’ is written backwards (Ǝ). Any attempts to correct this are met with a scolding from that land shark and a lesson on how to ‘write it properly’.

➼ Somehow, Jeff has even set his phone keyboard to have a backwards E. Nobody is sure how he managed this, or even why he changed it, since he types in his own language and only uses the letters ‘m’ and ‘r’.

➼ He will sometimes ‘correct’ Natasha and your mission notes to have ‘the proper Ǝ’ because he doesn’t want you to look bad or be embarrassed. This leads to Maria Hill and Fury sometimes even writing their Es backwards since they’re so used to seeing it and reading it as if it were normal.

➼ On the topic of Jeff’s mental abilities: Jeff can only count to 4, since he has 4 fingers on his front hands (he only has 3 toes on his back feet, but that’s another matter – see ‘Class Pet’ for Jeff’s reaction to this information)

➼ If Jeff tries to count above 4, he reverts back to 1. This has led to some issues when you asked Jeff to scout out how many soldiers there were during a mission (Jeff had stowed away, but he was put to good(?) use). You went out expecting an easy fight, only to be confronted by 13 soldiers and a realisation that Jeff cannot count.

➼ There aren’t many foods that Jeff won’t eat; he’ll happily root through the trash for an extra snack, however, Natasha cooked for him once and that is where he draws the line. He immediately taught himself how to cook and he is excellent at it, and will often step in to cook when Natasha says she will (much to your relief). He is not so good at cleaning up after himself – but you leave that chore to Natasha.

➼ Sharks have some understanding of what Jeff is saying when he swims with them, but he has a ‘land accent’ and sometimes they find it easier for you to translate for Jeff, much to his annoyance.

➼ Jeff hopes to find other landsharks like him one day… little does he know that he’s the last of his kind. The others attacked civilians in an invasion orchestrated by MODOK and were put down by the Avengers; Jeff was saved by being the runt of the litter and was left in his cage rather than being sent out with the others.

400 year old Jeff headcanons (these aren’t all canon to the JFU, but it’s a fun version of Jeff that @wolferine and I brainstormed in discord.)

➼ Jeff is 400 years old but nobody believes him; they even go as far as to call him a baby constantly since his appearance has never changed.

➼ He was kicked out of the landshark group because he ate all their food. Jeff is exceptionally hungry for a landshark. He spent some time in the sea after that and befriended the oldest greenland shark, who was still just a pup like Jeff at the time.

➼ Jeff still goes to visit his friend from time to time, glad to have had someone with him for his whole existence.

➼ When you and Natasha take Jeff in, it is the first time in his 400 years of life where he has been content to settle with a family for their entire lifetimes. The Avengers promise that their children will look after Jeff when they’re gone, like a tortoise (once they realise Jeff isn’t a baby).

➼ Jeff replies to any scolding with ‘I’m older than you’ or ‘respect your elders’, much to Steve’s annoyance because that’s usually his line, but now he’s being called a youth by a tiny, round, short legged shark.

➼ The other Avengers expect Jeff to scold Thor when he comes to Earth and calls Jeff a baby on their first meeting, but to their surprise, he just accepts it. Jeff mentions later on that he met Thor roughly 350 years before during a battle on Earth. Thor doesn’t believe Jeff is that old until he finds a portrait of the battle back on Asgard, and spots a familiar landshark in the drawing; he still doesn’t believe it can be Jeff and assumes it is just Jeff’s ancestor, so Jeff bites him in annoyance – that spurs a memory and Thor suddenly realises that it was Jeff who fought in battle with him (because Jeff had accidentally bitten Thor in the heat of the battle, and he’s been bitten by so many creatures in his life that he instantly recognises the landshark bite.)

Jeff taglist: @unexpected-character @wolferine

[bunny-rambles]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Handle with care.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

characters; Rubedo (Subject 2, also known as Dorian but I refer to him as Ruby), gn reader

cw/tw; mentions of injuries, very fluffy, comfort, there’s a kitten, mutual pining, let me know if I missed anything

word count; 3.4k

notes; wow this is the longest thing I’ve ever written, but it’s been a while and this should’ve really been updated a lot longer ago so I hope this makes up for it <33 It’s tooth-rotting fluff because he deserves it and I love him. I will most likely make a part 3 to this so let me know if you want to be tagged in the next work.

Part one here; “Made with love.”

Please reblog if you like this!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s raining.

Why was it always raining, whenever you weren’t here?

A crash of thunder made the blonde pause in his pacing around the room, his eyes shifting to look towards the window at the miserable display of weather. You were supposed to be back by now, what was the hold up? Why weren’t you back? Were you in danger? The thought made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar, uncomfortable emotion. He wasn’t quite sure what it was called, even though you had already tried to explain it to him. Emotions were difficult to grasp, but not impossible to understand. Or feel, unfortunately. Exploring new ways to feel the world around you was an exhausting task, especially when those emotions weren’t exactly positive.

He remembers the first time he experienced relief while he was with you. When he finally opened up about who he was, or what he was, to be exact. Instead of the reaction he was expecting, instead of the bitter sting of rejection he had grown so used to feeling, he was accepted. For once in his sordid life, he was welcomed with open arms. Not because he was Albedo, not because he was a successful experiment, but just because he was him. Ruby- your precious gem. Even though the feeling of having that heavy weight being lifted off of his shoulders was euphoric, the vast amount of new sensations was too much for him to handle. He remembered how his throat constricted with each desperate gasp of air, how his eyes filled with so much water his vision began to blur, how it felt like he was drowning in oxygen. But he also remembers the comforting feeling of your arms wrapped around his trembling body, and the new-found warmth blooming in his chest that replaced the unbearable tension. How he wishes he could feel that now.

The doors lock starts to click and he swears he’s never moved faster in his life.

“Sorry I’m l-“ You were cut off by a hand ungracefully pulling you into the house, and straight into his chest.

“You’re not hurt?” He asks hastily, hands beginning to roam around your body as he pulls away to get a proper look at you. You shake your head, but he’s not convinced. Especially since one of your hands seems to be obscured from his view. You’re drenched - shivering, cold to the touch, but other than that…

“Good. You’re not injured.”

“Did I make you worry?” You asked quietly, eyes trained on his face. Ever the enigma, you couldn’t tell what he was feeling, not until he told you directly. It was silent for a moment before he nodded his head hesitantly.

“I think so.” He confirms, but his eyes aren’t on you anymore. Instead, he’s focused on the squirming movements that were coming from inside of your thick coat. He flinched when he heard a high pitched cry, his gaze immediately flitting back up to you.

“I thought you said you were fine.”

“I am, but…” He heard it again, this time louder, and it definitely wasn’t coming from you.

“Ruby… Don’t freak out.”

“Freak out?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. Ah right, you hadn’t taught him that phrase yet.

“Um… Don’t panic. Better?” He nodded, and with that you moved your coat off your hand slowly. In your palm was a small, squirming lump of soaked fur. It cried out once more, head raising up to look around its surroundings.

“What is this… Creature?”

“It’s a kitten. I found it on the way home, that’s why I was late.” The so-called ‘kitten’ squeaked, alerting him of its presence. It was tiny, trembling from head to toe, how it even survived was a miracle itself. Stiffly, he reached his hand out to take it from your own, holding its minuscule body in his grasp. He turned it around, looking at it from every angle as it continued to mewl.

“I thought we could… Keep it here.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t have a home, and it’s cold outside… And it reminded me of you.”

His head raised to look at you for a moment, shock painted on his pale face for just a second before he looked back down at the small animal. “It’s your home… It’s your choice.”

Surprised, you stepped forward towards the pair. “Really? You don’t mind?”

Your friend shook his head slowly, taking another step closer to you so there wasn’t much space between the two of you. “It would be cruel to dispose of it, would it not?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face when you heard those words. How much he had grown, to admit that action was cruel, when just a month ago when you had met him, he would’ve thought the complete opposite. He didn’t seem to notice you grinning from ear to ear at him, his glacial eyes glued to the squirming heap in his hand. He seemed to be a little lost in thought, or lost on what to do.

“It’s shivering.” He mumbled after a moment, walking away from you and grabbing a nearby towel, wrapping it around its tiny body. You knew he was trying to help, but the poor thing looked like it was drowning in the fabric, squealing as Ruby tried to dry it with the thick cloth.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Your hands slid on top of his to try to guide his movements. “Gentle…”

His eyes followed your hands, his own being manipulated entirely by your tender movements - all he was doing now was holding the animal as it was pampered and dried by you. Wordlessly, he placed the kitten in your hands carefully so you didn’t drop it and disappeared out of the room. You were a little confused, wondering if maybe he was frustrated with the new arrival or the task of keeping it warm, but your questions were answered when you saw another towel in his hands. He stepped behind you while you were busy, making you raise an eyebrow. “What are you-“ You were cut off by having your face covered with the cloth before it was swiftly moved away.

“You’re wet too.” He answered simply, his hands massaging your head with the towel and drying the top of your head. It was subtle, but you could feel that his movements were a lot more gentle with you, almost mimicking what you were doing to the wet lump of fur in your hand. It was soothing, you almost toppled into him from the expert way he was making the tension seep out of your body - you nearly did, had it not been for the hand on the back of your shoulder steadying you when he realised you were losing your balance.

You weren’t sure how long you had been there when he started moving to the ends of your hair instead, making sure the droplets of water didn’t drip down from the tips and then stopping his drying altogether. “Thank you…” You breathed out, offering a tired smile to your friend who was now by your side. He merely nodded, eyes now back on the mewling baby. He held his hand out carefully, silently offering to take it from your grasp. “Are you sure? It’s already dry and I-“

“You need to change out of your clothes or you’ll get sick. I also suggest a warm shower. ” He did have a point, and you had been stuck in them for a while now. But what if he wasn’t sure what to do while you were gone? What if it was injured or it overwhelmed him if it started squealing again?

“I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry.” Ah, it seemed like you weren’t exactly a blank canvas like him when it came to trying to conceal your emotions. As he had put it once, you were like an open book, but a book he still had interest in, with each chapter still drawing him in no matter how many times he has read the same passage.

“…Please come get me if you need me.” Finally, you relented, and he offered you a nod in reply as you gave him the kitten. After leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as a thank you, you retreated out of the room and straight into the bathroom to change.

If only you had stuck around to see how he stood there with a dumbfounded expression, frozen in place as his artificial blood rushes to his cheeks. He raised one hand slowly, tracing where your lips had been, the contact still burning his skin. That feeling again - the fluttering in his stomach, the speeding of his heart, the tingling in his fingertips. What was this emotion again? One too complicated to fixate on, so he simply dismissed it after a few moments, waiting until he had calmed down to make his next move.

“What do I do with you then?” He mumbled to himself, looking down at the (now) quiet creature, staring back at him with wide, silent eyes. When his head tilted slightly, the kitten mimicked the motion, blinking slowly up at him. Curious, he again tilted his head, this time to the other side. Again, it followed suit. He shook his head, eyes moving away from the tiny fur ball and around the room. After subconsciously worrying himself sick about you, he was feeling drained.

All he wanted to do was cuddle up to you, something you had done once when he couldn’t sleep and now it had become a part of your daily routine. But unfortunately, you weren’t here at the moment, and the blanket he had wrapped around himself once he sat himself down on the couch felt too big for just one person. He released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, his shoulders sagging as he melted into the comforting warmth of the fabric. He would’ve much preferred you being here with him, with your head resting against his torso, as his hands carded through your hair. Or his favourite, when his ear was pressed up against your chest so he could listen to the thumping of your heart. He couldn’t quite explain it, the sound was the one thing that gave him the utmost comfort - perhaps it was because it was the most damning proof that you actually existed, that he wasn’t just delusional from being deprived of affection and care. He wasn’t on that mountain, alone. He was with you, and really that was all that mattered to him, even if he didn’t show it very often.

He had almost forgotten about the kitten at this point, until it started crawling its way up his chest, nudging at his cheek to snap him out of his thoughts. He hummed questioningly, raising his head from where it had rested on his palm, staring down at the purring little thing. Does that mean it was happy? You liked it when he ran his fingers through your hair, especially after a long, stressful day. Maybe if he… Reaching out his hand, he carefully ran his fingertips over the top of the feline’s head, raising an eyebrow when his hand was bumped against in response. The strange noise coming from such a small body was only growing louder, and he hoped that it really did mean it was happy. Well, he wasn’t getting scratched up or bit, so it was safe to assume he was correct. When the little one curled up on top of his thighs- thigh, actually, as it could barely fit on both - a strange feeling began to settle in his chest. A permanent weight felt like it had been lifted, and he could finally feel the fluttering in his torso. You had once described this phenomenon as ‘butterflies’. Ah, yes, he summarises. He was happy.

But now he was also feeling a new sensation, a familiar one at that. He could feel his droopy eyes begin to slide shut on their own, and the need to sleep overtook his senses. Still, he didn’t want to disturb the newest member of the family by lying down. With the lightest touch, (you had mentioned it once, you described it as ‘featherlike’ when he ran his fingers traced intricate patterns on your back) he carefully lifted it off of his lap while he laid himself down, and set the small lump on his stomach. He released a breath when he didn’t feel it stir. And now, finally, his eyes could close and he could just… Sleep.

-

“Ruby! Are you hungry?” You called out from your bedroom after you finally changed into some comfortable clothes, feeling refreshed after a much needed shower. When you heard no response, you weren’t exactly surprised - he wasn’t really one to shout. Instead, he waited for you to come to him, face to face so he didn’t need to raise his voice. He was quiet in general, silent almost. Sometimes you forgot he was even here, until he curiously poked his head out of his room if he heard you were busy and asked if you needed any help.

He was getting better, sometimes he even initiated conversations. ‘How was your day?’ ‘Would you like me to start dinner?’ And then your personal (and his) favourite, ‘Would you like a hug?’. For someone he didn’t understand emotions, he was an expert at giving comfort when it was really needed. The way he would take you into his arms, how he would say such sweet phrases to you that would make you melt against his warmth, how he would hold you for as long as you needed him to - you would happily label him a professional at it. After a while, you sadly came to the realisation that perhaps he was giving you what he himself craved back when he was alone on that desolate mountain. You were quick in returning the favour whenever you felt like he needed it, which seemed to be quite often. You didn’t have a clue how much it meant to him, how he felt like he didn’t deserve it so he didn’t ask often, but you knew. You knew.

With a tired hum, you stepped out of your room and made your way to the living room, expecting to see the blonde having a staring competition with the kitten. He does that a lot. And when he stares, you know he was confused, his thoughts so loud you swore you could almost hear them. And then he would act on whatever answer he thought was best. Even though he was smart, most of the time he would get it wrong. You couldn’t help but find it cute when his entire body deflated and a pout began to form on his lips. All it took was some encouraging words from you and a demonstration on what to actually do and he was fine again. There were other times, however, when he would cower away from you if you reached out to touch, repeatedly calling himself a failure for not being able to do such simple tasks. It was a little more difficult to get him to calm down if he got worked up into that state, but thankfully, it didn’t happen nearly as often as it used to.

Instead, you walked in on something… Rather unexpected. Ruby, so still you could almost mistake him for a porcelain doll, and the small feline you had rescued, fast asleep together on the couch. You almost didn’t want to move in fear of disturbing them, together in their own little world of dreams. But you could see the both of them beginning to shiver, and suddenly you remembered there was a storm raging outside. Trying your best not to disturb the sleeping beauties, you carefully grabbed the nearest blanket and draped it over both of them, making sure the young creature's head wasn’t covered so it could breathe. You froze when you heard a quiet groan, but relaxed when your friend hadn’t seemed to wake up, only shifting to be more comfortable.

“Sleep well…” A whispered, hush voice whispered in his ear before he felt the gentle press of lips against his cold cheek.

-

“Are we not keeping it?” The blonde questioned, looking to where the kitten resided on his shoulder. After you woke him up the next day and fed him breakfast (Pancakes, one of his favourites), you brought up that you weren’t sure where to start looking for a home for the little one. All you earned was a confused look - from the both of them - and that question.

“Well…” You began, frowning as you thought. You weren’t exactly equipped to have a cat, you didn't have any food or toys, and neither of you knew the first thing about taking care of one. You thought it was the smarter choice to give it to someone who did know those things. You weren’t expecting them to get so attached… “I don’t know… Are we really capable of looking after a pet?”

It was silent for a moment, and you thought maybe you had gotten through to him, until he spoke up. “I can learn.” His voice was quiet, and he was avoiding your eyes now. He never asked for anything he wanted , not even when you asked what he wanted to eat - you had to learn his favourites just from his reactions alone. This was the closest he had come to expressing that he finally wanted something. And who were to deny such an innocent request?

You let out a heavy sigh, making your way towards the pair and running your fingers through the animal's fur gently. “Would you be happier if I let it stay with us?” He nodded his head slowly, still not meeting your gaze. “Then… I see no harm in keeping it. It is adorable, after all.” You giggled, smiling brightly when his head raised to meet your face. He nodded again, but you could tell from the way his eyes lit up that he was incredibly happy. “So… What do you want to call it?”

“I don’t… I’ve never named anything.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, what things are important to you?”

“… You.” He mumbled quietly, and your ears burned from such a sweet, honest answer. You coughed quietly, hiding your surprise before snapping yourself out of it.

“Ah- Yes- right- you’re important to me too…” You rushed, laughing nervously before clearing your throat once more. “Apart from me, what things do you like…? Your favourite things? Start from there.” Again, there was another silence, this time even longer. And for once you could see the frustration forming on his face as he tried to think. He was lost. “Hm… I named you after a gem. So what’s your favourite colour?” Perhaps this would’ve been an easier question.

“I like blue…”

“Perfect! How about Sapphire then?” You suggested with a grin, watching as he thought for a moment.

“Sapphire…” He spoke in his smooth voice, closing his eyes as he let the sound of the name linger in the air. “I… Like it.” He confirmed, looking back up at you.

“Ruby and Sapphire… It sounds like I’m collecting precious things, it suits you both very well!”

“I’m precious?” He asked quietly, looking utterly (and adorably) confused. Sweet thing.

“Of course you are. And you always will be, to me.” You responded earnestly, resting a hand on top of his cheek, your thumb caressing the soft skin underneath. Another silence, as he stared in your eyes in awe and bewilderment. He could feel that fluttery feeling again… and heat rising to his cheeks. Was this normal? You caught yourself before you could lean forward to seal the space between you, pulling away abruptly with a nervous smile. “Ah… Well… I’ll go out now to look for the things we need.”

“Can I…?” He asked quietly, reaching for one of your hands. “Excuse me… Can we come with you?” No way was he going to leave his new friend in the house alone. The smile that spread across your face was infectious, since he could feel the edges of his lips beginning to curl up.

“Yes, you can.” You weren’t letting go of either of these precious gems any time soon.

[lbibliophile-sw]

Out of Clear Sky

Also on AO3 [650 words] @whumptober - day 4: shock @clonefandomevents - Coruscant Guard bingo: memory loss

Even as he follows the Jedi and their Commanders through the Senate Dome, Fox can’t quite believe it.

The Chancellor, a traitor, playing both sides of the war. The Chancellor, a Sith, the Sith, the one they have been searching for. Surely not. Surely not the kindly, if frequently frustrating, man he has spent the last two and a half years protecting.

Fox hadn’t believed it, when the Jedi had first called him into a meeting to reveal their investigation and its findings. It seemed almost traitorous to even consider the possibility. But then they laid out their evidence, and he had to admit that he doesn’t like the picture it forms. Either the Chancellor is a traitor - as preposterous as the very phrase sounds - or they have leaks at the highest levels that he must be made aware of. It seems that all this time he has been closer to the war than he realised.

Besides, if the Chancellor is indeed a Sith that makes it the Jedi’s jurisdiction as much as his own, and they are set on their path. His invitation is a courtesy not a request. So here Fox is, following along to ensure that proper procedure is followed, and desperately hoping for an explanation that makes sense.

Fox can’t quite believe it, but as soon as the Jedi present the Chancellor with their accusations, Palpatine proves their claims without a doubt.

The first bolt of lightning sends Cody straight to the floor, twisting and writhing with a strangled scream. The second is caught against General Windu’s lightsaber, tangling around the glowing blade before overwhelming it and knocking back the Jedi behind. The third lightning bolt, Fox registers as a flash in his peripheral vision as he instinctively collapses.

Then… pain. Liquid fire coursing through his veins, whiting out all other awareness. He does not hear his voiceless gasp, does not feel the carpet against his cheek. For what could be a moment or an eternity, nothing exists except the burning light.

Awareness returns in fragments, beginning with the distant recognition that he is pulling himself to his knees. An odd rhythmic snap-hiss echoes in his ears and he blinks his eyes until he can make out bright smears of red and green and blue dancing wildly.

Oh. Lightsabers. Jedi. Sith. He should do something.

His arms are numb and twitching spasmodically, but he forces them to move in the direction he needs them. It takes several tries to retrieve his blast from its holster, to switch it to stun – can’t take the risk, not like this – to aim it at the red lights at the centre of the whirlwind of movement, and fire. It doesn’t hit, a crimson blade flicking away the blue ring contemptuously. But the moment of distraction is enough. A body hits the floor. The red light goes out.

Fox… drifts for a bit, then. He knows there is movement in the rest of the room, but he ignores it. Focuses only on steadying his breathing, on flattening shaking fingers against the cool plastoid of his armoured thighs.

“Fox. Fox!” Wolffe calling his name finally gets his attention. “Are you alright? I mean, of course you’re not, but…”

He could be, if he needed to. They are trained to keep going regardless of physical or emotional pain. But here and now… he looks up at his brother and lets himself be vulnerable.

“The lightning… It… Why did it feel familiar? I don’t understand.”

He feels lost, and yet there is a part of him that maybe does understand. A part that remembers missing hours, inexplicably trembling hands, and a haunting sense of dread. Thinks of the control chips removed from their brains. He doesn’t want to consider what it means.

Strong arms wrap around him, and he buries his face against Wolffe’s neck, hiding from the sad and terrible expression in his eyes.

“Oh, Fox’ika. I’m so sorry we left you with him.”

[crownedtargaryen]

Aemond x Bastard Baratheon!Reader Oneshot FLUFF

A/N: I’ll be honest I used to hate Aemond, so if I don’t have a good grasp of his character I sincerely apologize. @valeskafics is to blame for my newfound Aemond love.

ALL NOTES ARE APPRECIATED (LIKES, SHARES, COMMENTS)

TW: Just people being rude, Implied sexual desire Pronouns: She/Her

Ever since I was young Aemond has impacted my life. A pushed-aside boy with a bastard girl who was set to marry the solemn and husk Targaryen, the duo felt like destiny.

At first, his mother was appalled by the request, feeling it was insulting of the deer to suggest a bastard wed her sweet boy, a growing and powerful individual. 

What had changed her mind? 

Well, when Aemond and I were together, there was an undeniable gentleness he felt toward me.

After he had been pushed around by his nephews, he became defensive and harsh. Maybe a woman was what he needed to rid that standoff and snappy personality.

When the adults were busy talking, I would urge him to show me around. Reluctantly, he agreed, since he hadn’t had much of a choice otherwise. He was knowing of my adventurous personality, and that no matter his response to showing me around, I'd go with or without him. So, might as well not be responsible for my demise.

I was with him when it happened, walking with him as he ushered me to come with him. He trusted me, a loving and honest feeling. It devastated me when he seemed ashamed in my presence. Lucerys sliced his eye, and I watched as he fell to the ground in horror, unable to do anything. The two brunettes looked at me fearfully, then scampered off as I fell to my knees next to my lover-to-be.

"Aemond?! Aemond! Let me see it, please, I can help!" I insist. He cries, which is something you never wished to see. I watch as he shoves me away with one hand, looking at me fearfully and shaking like a scared pup. "Aemond please, I beg of you." He refuses, panting and swallowing down screams. 

"Go away!" He yells at me, making my muscles tense. "Leave! NOW!" I refuse, shaking my head. "Are you stupid?! LEAVE!" I glare at him, moving over and grabbing him. He fights for a moment, before becoming too weak to battle anymore. I carry him straight to his mother, where she screams in horror and snatches him from me. My clothes are bloodied, and my figure trembles in adrenaline and horror.

"What have you done," Alicent screams, making my eyes widen. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY BOY YOU BASTARD." I wince at the phrase, looking at her with tears in my eyes.

"Your Grace, it was the Valeryon boys. I swear it! The smaller one, Lucerys, he attacked him!" I yelp, her eyes widening with anger and sorrow. She feels bad for saying what she said to me, but can't muster an apology. Her servants bring in whoever they can to help, and I hastily clear the room to avoid being in the way.

As I walk through the halls, I see the two boys hurriedly trying to find their mother. I run over in a fiery rage, grabbing Lucerys and throwing him to the ground. I stare at Jacerys who looks at me in shock, Lucerys groaning after his head hits the solid floor. I don't dwell on the fact I'm outnumbered here, I focus on the smaller one, clawing at his face and punching him as his arms are pinned beneath my legs until I'm forcibly removed. His face is bloodied beneath me, but he isn't hurt enough to be dead or chronically wounded. Just maybe a scar or two. "You took his eye! My husband!" I scream in anguish, kicking and crying, trying to escape Jacerys. I didn't care if he attacked first, and I don't care if it was self-defense, it felt unfair.

And after that, it's a blurred memory. I remember Alicent thanking me for my sacrificed honor, and demanding an eye for an eye. I faintly remember Aemond looking at me, the light in his eyes now gone. It shattered me.

Now, we were of the proper age to marry, but he hadn't talked to me since that day. It'd be dishonest of me if I were to say I hadn't been avoiding him as well, I knew he didn't want to see me.

All I knew, is every early morning on my name day, a knock came on my door. When I opened it, no one was there. Just a gift left at the door. I was sure it was him, but he wouldn't show any sign of interest when the celebrations came around.

Until this name day.

I was expecting no one at the door once more after the knock, scrambling out of my bed and opening the door swiftly in hopes of catching him. However, he waited. I open the door to Aemond, standing with the brutishness that I've grown used to. A small smirk comes to his face when he sees me, my heart skipping a beat.

"Prince Aemond? To what do I owe the pleasure," I whisper, looking around the halls to ensure no one is around.

"Happy name day, Princess," he says, surprising me. He hasn't spoken to me since- "I thought I'd deliver it face to face this time." I smile, almost melting into myself. I know the boy I once knew is in there, he's just putting walls up.

"Come in then," I insist, turning to the side and allowing him inside my chambers, closing the door behind him. "What'd you get me this time?" I look at the small box, raising a brow. He hands it to me and takes a seat. I feel somewhat defenseless around him, his eye trailing my form. When he notices I catch him staring, he covers it with an excuse. "Are you planning on opening it?" His face is flushed, and I feel a knot in my stomach, a good one. 

Slowly, I lift the lid off the box. My eyes widen at the contents inside, a necklace. A rich golden color with a dragon pendant attached to it. I grin like an idiot, hearing a small chuckle escape Aemond.

"I'm assuming you enjoy the gift, yes?" He crosses his arms and leans back a bit in the chair. I admire the expensive gift, looking at him with excitement and joy.

"Aemond, it's beautiful," I compliment, holding it close to my chest. "Could you help me put it on?" Hesitantly, he nods. I walk over, which surprises him, and sit between his legs on my knees, back facing him as I hand him the necklace, our hands brushing. He pulls away as if I burned him, taking the necklace. I can hear his breathing become broken, his warmth radiating onto my back. Slowly, he moves my hair from my neck, telling me to hold it, and slips the necklace over my neck. I feel his hands touch my skin, a small shiver escaping me. I hear the gentle clip of the neckpiece and look over my shoulder to him where he's pursing his lips. I stand, looking down at him and adjusting my hair. "What do you think? Does it look nice?"

Aemond pauses before nodding slowly, and I smile once more. I watch as he relaxes at the sight of my smile, his gaze softening.

"Look, Aemond," I start, but he senses what I plan to say and stands swiftly.

"I have to return to my chambers, have a good name day, Princess." He hastily says, surprising me as he pushes past me. I hesitate before rushing to him and grabbing his hand.

"We can't avoid it forever," I say with a heartbroken tone, seeing him pause and then look at me. "Please, Aemond." His eyes widen at my words, watching as they gloss over slightly. I hate seeing him cry, I refuse to see him cry. So, without thinking, I grab his face and kiss him.

He freezes, refusing to return the kiss at first, then sighs and gives in. He wraps his arms around my figure, cupping my cheek with one hand as the other rubs my side. He groans into the kiss, leaning into it as it becomes more heated. I pull away, my mind and body craving more but I don't give in.

"Aemond," I whisper, watching him scan my face. I reach for his eyepatch, he grabs my hand.

"No," he demands, his jaw clenching.

"Why? I watched when it happened, why can't I get closure?" I murmur, seeing him debate his options.

"I do not wish you scare you," he murmurs back, his forehead pressed to mine. I close my eyes and sigh. "I have no fear towards you, Aemond. You are mine, and I am yours. Scar or not, you're still the man I love." I admit, peeking through my eyelids and seeing the surprise on his face. I open my eyes, smiling at him and looking at the eyepatch. Aemond hesitates for a moment, before nodding.

I reach for the clasp, undoing the patch and letting it fall into my hand as I slowly remove it from his eye. The sapphire stares at me, then he looks away hastily and grips me tighter. I reach and cup the side of his face, turning him to look at me. Hesitantly, he gazes into my eyes.

I say nothing, I merely kiss over the scar and chuckle softly. "Out of all the gems, a sapphire? Expensive taste." I joke, seeing his fear wash away. I watch that signature smirk come to his face, unable to stop myself from smiling like an idiot.

He doesn't let me tease him anymore, kissing me eagerly. I return the kiss and its passion, feeling us heading backward as I fall onto the bed. I look up at him, Aemond's smile growing as he nuzzles his nose with mine, gentle Eskimo kisses.

"I love you," he coos, petting the side of my face. I hum, content with his words and feeling my insides exploding with joy.

"I love you too," I respond, hooking my legs around his waist. "I never stopped loving you, nor will I ever. I swear it." 

"You swear it?" He teases, moving his head back to get a better view of my face, raising a brow.

"I swear it, by the old gods and the new," I assure, seeing his eyes glimmer with the affection I had known times ago. "I swear that I will love you into the last of my days, and after."

Aemond sighs, moving a strand of hair from my face. "I swear it as well, you are mine as I am yours," he reassures, moving back in and kissing me.

I felt complete once again.

[themurphyzone]

BatB AU Missing Scene: No Matter How Your Heart is Grieving

AN: This oneshot is what I consider to be a missing scene between Ch 12: A Bedtime Story and Ch 13: Mystery in the Castle of ‘Til the Last Petal Falls. 

Looking back on the story, I’ve noticed that for all the times I mention the mice cuddling in the library at night during the curse, it’s never the specific focus of a chapter. Plus I don’t think I wrote enough of Beast!Brain or Pinky receiving cuddles from him which is a grievous error in judgment and I must correct that immediately. Pinky crying over his deceased mom and stillborn sibling in Ch 12 seemed like the perfect place to insert monster cuddles. 

Also I felt like emotionally torturing Beast!Brain again.

AO3 Link

Pinky is crying. 

The Beast’s stomach clenches into an uncomfortable knot, his large paw clammy as he folds his clawed fingers around Pinky’s small hand. It’s not much, but it has to be enough. 

Please, let it be enough…

Pinky’s blue eyes are watery when they should be bright, his ears fallen when they should be perked. Sobs wrack his body, deceptively quiet for the trembles that run from ears to tailtip. 

The Beast’s method of comfort is inadequate. He knows that, deep inside whatever remains of his shriveled soul. 

This silence is cruel. He needs to say something. 

He thinks of only two words, an expression he’s heard in a life he will never have again. He almost utters them, but the words catch in his throat. 

My condolences sounds so empty, so devoid of any real meaning. 

It’s a phrase that belongs to the upper castes of society. They say it to relatives of the deceased as a courtesy, but they are never sincere. 

Always cold, always emotionless. 

He remembers an admiral’s funeral he’d attended so long ago, in a life he would never have again. The admiral had fallen in battle at sea, his entire fleet decimated by British warships. 

His body sank with the ship, forever lost in the depths of the Atlantic, and the French flag had been draped over an empty casket. 

The Beast’s parents had been furious with the admiral’s failure, and if it hadn’t been a state funeral they were required to attend to keep up appearances, they wouldn’t have bothered at all. He and Snowball had been made to attend as well, and the lectures on proper behavior in the week leading up to the funeral were numerous. 

More so for him than Snowball.

My condolences, his father had said to the admiral’s remaining family, though the words were forced through gritted teeth. He and the other military leaders were more concerned about finding a replacement for the deceased before Britain took advantage of their victory. 

The funeral was a quiet, solemn affair. The Beast recalled fidgeting in his seat, uncomfortable with the silence and blank faces of the nobility. He’d been scolded for that. 

But he thought he was doing well, not making a scene and silently learning all he could about military strategies on the ocean.  

Then the admiral’s son came to deliver the eulogy. 

He was a captain of the Royal Navy, as his father had once been before his promotion. There were medals pinned to his dress uniform. A ceremonial sword was strapped to his hip. He was tall and well-built, and he’d likely seen countless battles throughout his career. 

And when the captain stood in front of the empty, flag-draped casket, he broke down and wept like a child. The eulogy was left unspoken. 

Papa! Papa! he cried, yet nobody in the stoic, silent audience was moved. 

But the captain’s tears had affected his child self to the point where he had to be removed from the proceedings and relocated to a dark sitting room away from everybody, where he couldn’t embarrass the royal family with his emotional outburst. Only Snowball took pity on him and held his hand, but he quickly let go before the king and queen noticed. 

He didn’t understand why a stranger’s grief affected him so much. 

But he knew he was weak for crying. He had to huddle in the corner, tiny and alone, scolding himself to calm down so he could be presentable again. And Snowball’s attempt at comfort only confused him more. 

Why bother taking his hand if he wasn’t going to stay? 

Then the captain’s voice changed into a quiet sob, one that haunted the Beast from Pinky’s first night in the castle. 

Pinky was alone, crying in a prison of stone and shadows. By his own volition, he’d given up his freedom. His shoulders trembled, his eyes uncertain, but he stood his ground and asked to become a prisoner in his father’s place.  

As soon as the deal was struck, the Beast had thrown the old mouse out of his castle. He had believed that if this father truly cared for his son, then he’d try to put up a fight. That he would never allow a monster to imprison his son for the rest of his life. That he would scold his son for being a coward and caving into pressure instead of trying to escape. 

You didn’t let me say goodbye! Now I’ll never see him…I-I’ll never see him again. 

He saw himself within Pinky, crying for a comfort that would never come. But he shoved down the guilt, thinking only of the opportunity to break the curse and reclaim his throne. His parents would never welcome him back with open arms if they saw what he’d been reduced to. 

For all his cruelty and failings, he deserved to die in the cold. 

Then Pinky saved him, though he wasn’t worth the effort. Anyone with sense would’ve left him where he fell. 

But Pinky didn’t stop there. He healed the Beast’s injuries, worried over him, talked to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The Beast had become fond of their conversations, even if the topics were strange and not something most would consider speaking about. 

Pinky didn’t treat him like a failure, even when he couldn’t accomplish the most basic of tasks because of his body. When the Beast spilled oatmeal all over himself because he couldn’t use a spoon in an embarrassing display, Pinky chose to ignore normal etiquette and sip directly from the bowl to put him at ease. And in a rather silly mishap, Pinky spilt oatmeal everywhere too. 

He’d turned the faux pas into something they could both laugh at. 

And the Beast didn’t feel so alone anymore. 

Pinky’s presence opened his entire world. Sometimes, he wondered if this is what happiness felt like. If this is what companionship was like. 

They’d always been foreign concepts to him. He used to think they were forever out of reach. But Pinky proved him otherwise. 

He never thought he’d be so grateful to be wrong. 

The castle no longer felt dark and gloomy with Pinky around. His smile and laughter chased away every shadow, and while his boundless energy sometimes confused the Beast, it was always interesting to hear about his discoveries. 

And yet, sometimes Pinky’s smile would become too bright, his laugh slightly too loud. He’d fly from one topic to the next too quickly for anyone to keep up with his rambling. When he was finished playing with Wakko, Dot, or Mindy, he’d wave goodbye for seconds longer than he needed to. 

Then he’d turn to the Beast and ask if he had any plans for the afternoon, his strange behavior disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

It didn’t happen every time he played with the younger servants. Just on occasion. 

The Beast never asked. Maybe the pattern didn’t exist. Maybe it was just one of Pinky’s many quirks. 

Maybe he doesn’t want to hear the answer at all. 

The Beast wants to believe that Pinky likes the castle enough to stay. With a little more time, Pinky may finally consider the castle his permanent home. 

He thinks of the fallen petals under the bell jar. The rose is dying. Time is not on his side. 

Pinky is the only one who can end this awful curse. He’s the only one who can lo-

No, he discards that thought quickly. I can’t ask him to make that sacrifice. He’s already given up too much, for so little reward. 

More tears fall from Pinky’s eyes. The Beast has to hold Pinky’s shoulder to keep him upright. It’s frightening how much trust Pinky is placing upon the Beast to hold him up. 

Pinky talks about his family. He’s hiccupping throughout his tearful ramble, his words shaky and sorrowful. The Beast listens to his apologies, and he doesn’t know how to tell Pinky that none are needed. 

He senses that he’s the only one outside of Pinky’s remaining family who knows that Pinky’s mother died in childbirth with neither mother nor infant surviving, rather than a vague accident that is never elaborated upon.    

Pinky has entrusted him with that secret. It’s saddening to know that someone as cheerful and open as Pinky has experienced grief and loss, and how there are some things even he’s unwilling to share. 

He seems to feel guilty for not saying anything earlier.

But it explains so much about Pinky. 

His attachment to his mother’s cloak. Worrying about the Beast’s injuries. Volunteering to watch over the youngest servants so others could work in peace. 

His willingness to sacrifice his freedom for the only living parent he had. 

And through it all, Pinky doesn’t complain. He sacrifices his own needs to help others without a second thought. And if questioned, he’ll only stand his ground and insist upon giving something of himself anyway.

But it comes at a great personal cost to Pinky. 

He masks the pain with a smile and distraction. He asks about someone else’s well-being. But he won’t ever focus on himself. 

The Beast has pondered telling Pinky the truth about the curse and his former identity. There were many reasons why he hesitated to broach that discussion. 

Sometimes, he feels ashamed about how far he’d fallen from his former status. Other times, he wants to keep the remnants of his royal pride and dignity, and Pinky would never realize he was entirely to blame for the curse. If Pinky knew who he truly was, then he’d never want anything to do with him again. Their friendship would be over. 

But recently, the Beast came to fear that Pinky would try everything in his power to break the curse. That he could try to sacrifice his heart, his soul, or his life in a heartbeat if it meant his friends could be free.  

He can’t ask Pinky to give up more of himself. Not when he’s done so much for everyone already. 

It’s too cruel. 

Then Pinky whispers his name, or the self-explanatory nickname the Beast asks him to use in place of his real name. It’s too shameful to use while his intelligence is slowly dwindling away. 

He briefly wonders if Pinky would call him by his real name if he asks. If it came from him, well, maybe he wouldn’t mind so much. 

“You read that ballroom scene so beautifully. I imagined myself to be there. I had a pretty gown, and I was dancing on clouds, and there was this lovely stranger too! But…I know I won’t ever get to see one for myself. They were always so grand in the bedtime stories Mama read to me! She even showed me how to dance like I was at one.” 

The Beast glances at the cover of Cinderella. He’s surprised Pinky is so complimentary to his reading voice. His literacy isn’t anywhere close to what it used to be. He had to improvise some portions of the tale instead of reading directly off the page, but it seems Pinky barely noticed. 

The page where Cinderella danced with her Prince Charming had been the most difficult part to read of all. He wants to blame the publisher for placing the black text over a navy background, which made the words nearly invisible, but that’s not the whole truth.

Rather, it was the way Pinky leaned against him as the Beast read, the dreamy expression on his face, the soft hums and swaying of his body that made it difficult to focus on the story. 

Imagining himself as Cinderella and dancing with his very own Prince Charming. 

The Beast’s claws sink into the rug.

He tries to convince himself it’s just a literary archetype for a royal love interest. 

But he can’t. 

Of course Pinky would want to dance with that sort of character. Tall, handsome, perfect, the very representation of a better life, and…

…Pinky is wiping his eyes.

It isn’t only a romantic fantasy for a dreamer like Pinky. 

Just like King Arthur and Robin Hood were integral characters for his own childhood, Cinderella is Pinky’s. 

It was a reminder of simpler times that were a distant memory now. No matter how much they missed it, they could never return to their former lives. 

The Beast can’t return to his childhood residence as he is now, nor can Pinky dance with his mother anymore. His family will never be whole again. 

“Pinky…” the Beast whispers. 

Pinky looks at him, sky-blue eyes tinged red around the edges. 

The Beast’s throat closes. He can’t think of any words that would soothe Pinky’s pain. 

But he knows that he must take action. He can’t allow Pinky to bear his pain alone. 

The Beast pulls Pinky forward, and he pushes down the discomfort of Pinky clumsily crashing into his chest. Pinky inhales sharply, his breath tickling a small patch of exposed fur on the Beast’s collar. 

It’s awkward for both of them. One of Pinky’s hands presses uncomfortably against the Beast’s ribcage, while the other is resting on his thigh. He feels the light pressure through the fabric of his pants, and he tries his best to ignore the shivers traveling up his spine. 

Perhaps he made a fatal error in judgment by initiating this embrace. He has very little experience with comforting others. Once or twice, when the Beast was a very young prince, he might’ve made some silly faces at Snowball to cheer him up when he was overwhelmed with his studies, but Snowball quickly outgrew the need for it. 

The servants are more inclined to seek out each other for support when they have difficulties with their cursed bodies, and the Beast knows there’s no comfort he can provide them.

But he can’t shy away now, even if his nerves are screaming at him. Pinky needs this more than anything else. 

Pinky needs…me. 

The Beast wonders if he finally has a purpose in a world that has cast him out. This is a task meant for him alone, and it’s more important than any royal decree. 

He has to see this through to the end. He can’t stop until he sees a silly, bucktoothed smile grace Pinky’s features once again. 

I can never accomplish what I set out to do…but I need to be successful now. Just this once. 

The Beast shifts his body until he and Pinky are in a more natural position. Pinky’s hands rest against the Beast’s collarbone. He lifts his head, trying to look at the Beast’s face, but the Beast carefully presses him back down. 

Pinky doesn’t need to see his own inner turmoil right now. Pinky will ask if he notices, and the Beast doesn’t want him to focus on that. 

Pinky’s head settles against the Beast’s chest, and he gives a little sigh. 

The Beast takes it as a sign that he could possibly be doing something right for once. 

Pinky is always the one who embraces him, and never the other way around. Pinky is exuberant with physical touch, giving hugs freely and with little warning. He doesn’t think about it, and the only requirement seems to be the recipient’s existence.

The Beast does not reciprocate. He tried, once, but a voice in his head screamed at the impropriety of it all and he broke off the attempt. He remembers the confusion in Pinky’s eyes when he pulled away, his monstrous paw hanging in the air. 

Mice and monsters, peasants and princes…none of them should ever mix. 

Unnatural. Shameful, his parents’ voices say in his head. 

As a prince, there were boundaries to maintain at all times. One must act as if they’re in the public eye, even if they’re alone. Any royal foolish enough to let their guard down would have their weakness exploited and reputation damaged forever. 

But as a beast, there are no royal eyes on him. To the outside world, he does not exist. And while it frustrates him that he cannot govern as he was meant to do, in a strange way, there’s a component of freedom within his stone prison. 

Nobody can judge his interactions with Pinky, nor can they interfere. 

Yet there’s always a voice in his mind, whispering that even a kind mouse like Pinky wouldn’t want the touch of someone like him. Even if Pinky willingly takes his hand, smiles at him, and leans against him while he sleeps, eventually his tolerance will run thin before disappearing altogether. 

That voice has kept the Beast safe for all this time. If he listens, he cannot be hurt. 

But he must ignore it now. That same protection does not extend to Pinky, who trusts him with the truth about his family. 

The Beast cannot remain idle and allow Pinky to mourn his lost family alone. This is the time for action. 

He supports Pinky’s body in the crook of his arm, his hand resting on the mouse’s upper back. Pinky’s drooping ears flop as he burrows deeper into the Beast’s fur.  

The Beast inhales sharply, and it takes all his willpower to ignore the strange sensations traveling through his body. The silk fabric of Pinky’s dress mercifully doesn’t tear under his claws. He holds his breath briefly before letting it out in a slow, controlled exhale. 

Pinky’s body trembles, but he lets out a ragged, shaky exhale of his own. It’s immediately followed by a choked gasp. He isn’t getting enough air between his sobs. 

The Beast takes another slow breath, holds, and releases it on the count of three. Then he waits, and tries not to show his relief when Pinky finally follows his breathing pattern. 

So he repeats the process, and on the fifth attempt, they inhale and exhale at the same time. 

Tears still form beneath Pinky’s closed eyes and run down his face, but at a much slower rate than before. His hands release the Beast’s shirt, and his body relaxes. 

Encouraged by this progress, the Beast focuses on matching the pace of their breathing. Pinky’s ear is positioned directly over the Beast’s heart, and the Beast feels a nervous flutter in his stomach. He can only hope that Pinky won’t question why his heart is trying to claw its way out of his ribcage. 

He watches the embers flicker in the fireplace as he breathes. The flames haven’t been maintained since they settled in the library several hours ago, and they’re slowly weakening. The light and warmth that the fireplace provides is limited, and will only last one more hour at its current rate. 

But what little light remains is enough to illuminate Pinky’s pure white fur and the damp, tearstained streaks that run from his eyes to his chin. 

Those tears shouldn’t be there. The world must truly be a dark, cruel place if it punishes a kindred spirit like Pinky for no reason at all. 

His finger hovers over Pinky’s face, but as much as he wants to dry those tears, the sight of his rugged claw prevents him from doing so. Pinky might be comfortable with their current position, but touching his face…that required a level of intimacy the Beast would never reach. 

He lowers his hand. 

Pinky’s head slumps against the Beast’s chest. His crying has finally ceased, his chest rising and falling at an even rate. His shoulders are relaxed, and it seems the emotional toll of this long evening has finally lulled him to sleep. 

“Rest now, Pinky,” the Beast says quietly. 

Pinky’s ear flutters, then his body goes still. He has so much energy when he’s awake. It’s strange, but not in a bad way. 

He doesn’t know how Pinky will act when he awakens tomorrow. He could be charmingly annoying and excitable and ready to discover the new things the castle has in store for him, or he could be quiet with a faraway look in his eyes, his grief for the deceased members of his family still haunting him.

The Beast will comfort him if the sorrow persists. But it’s exhausting to be powerless against a force that he cannot adequately protect Pinky from. Pinky’s mother and stillborn sibling are long gone from this world, and he cannot give them back to his friend. 

But if there’s any way to bring back Pinky’s smile, then he will take it.

Outside the tall window, a dark cloud drifts away from the moon. A silvery, ethereal beam of light trickles in and falls upon the book of Cinderella. On the cover, Cinderella’s elegant ballgown shines with starlight. 

The Beast stares at the book, and a spark of inspiration comes to the forefront of his mind.  

It’s a fantastical and foolish idea.

It’s a hopeful yet harrowing thought. 

The book lays in front of the smoldering fireplace. Tiny sparks dance along the ashes of firewood. Though it doesn’t provide much warmth, the beginning of spring isn’t harsh this year. 

Because of Pinky, it’s bright and pleasant and sunny, rather than a reminder of the changing seasons and passage of time. 

He lays Pinky on the soft rug, careful not to jostle him. Pinky is limp in his arms. He wears his heart on his sleeve. The Beast never expected to earn Pinky’s trust so easily, even though he contributed to his grief. 

Pinky sleeps on, unaware of the guilt the Beast feels as he crouches over him. The only sound he makes is a barely audible squeak, as if calling for someone to come stay with him, and the Beast touches Pinky’s shoulder without thinking. Pinky quiets down immediately.    

“I’m not going far,” the Beast whispers. He lays his cloak over Pinky’s vulnerable form so he doesn’t wake up and ask questions. 

This idea is vague with little detail, and there’s a good chance that it’s not viable at all. Pinky may not react well, and the Beast isn’t sure if he’ll view this act as disrespectful to the memory of his mother.

There are so many ways this can go wrong, but on the slim chance that everything goes right…

Maybe Pinky can have a reason to smile again. 

He moves away from Pinky and approaches the tale of Cinderella with trepidation. He needs to check the most crucial element of the story. 

This idea must be molded to perfection. No detail can be overlooked. 

He turns the pages carefully until he reaches an illustration of Cinderella arriving at the ball in her pumpkin carriage, dressed in her silver gown and glass slippers.  

The carriage was unnecessary. There was already a ballroom within the castle that hadn’t seen use since his ancestors lived here. The Beast had no need for it. Curse or not, he’d never been one for social gatherings. 

So the ballroom remained unused. Only maids venture inside to clean every once in a while. 

But this time, the venue will require a thorough cleaning. Every furnishing and tile polished until they gleam, every cobweb and dust particle swept away. 

A ball also requires formal clothing. But while Marita and her team of seamstresses can provide the outfit, that would mean telling them about his request for Pinky. 

He can’t reveal his real motivation to anyone. It’s embarrassing to admit out loud. 

He’ll just say it’s another plan to end the curse. He’s tried plenty of things that never worked. It’s believable enough. 

There also needs to be food. Special dishes, not just everyday bread and cheese. He’ll have to consult Flavio later. Surely he must know what to serve at these kinds of events. 

Then he turns the page, and his heart plummets. 

Prince Charming asks Cinderella for a dance. He’s handsome, eloquent, and the perfect figure for any romantic dream come true. 

The Beast can’t measure up to those lofty expectations. Sometimes he still needs to lean against furniture and railings to walk upright. He’ll only make a bigger fool of himself if he tries to dance. 

And if the planning stages are brought to completion, there’s the issue of inviting Pinky to this supposed ball. 

He can’t become the Prince Charming to Pinky’s Cinderella. He’s the antithesis of everything that archetype stands for. There is only one role for him in a fairy tale. He is simply the beast slain by the hero, and nothing more. That’s all he will ever be. 

This plan…it was doomed for failure from its conception. 

He closes his eyes and shuts the book. Then he pushes it away, unable to look at Cinderella and Prince Charming dancing across a star-filled sky. 

Now he understands why he was restricted from reading books that weren’t part of his curriculum. 

Cinderella only filled his head with nonsense. This text is nothing but fantasies that will never come true. 

But as he stares into the night sky, he imagines himself and Pinky in place of the characters. They’re intertwined, dancing among the stars to a melody only they can hear. Pinky’s dress shimmers with every graceful step he takes, his sky-blue eyes shining with happiness while the Beast guides his movement. 

Pinky’s smile is brighter than the sun. 

The Beast blinks, and the vision is gone. 

The Beast lays on the rug and tries to sleep, feeling nothing except a deep sense of longing. He feels pressure building within him, a heaviness upon his heart. The moon is once again obscured by clouds, its silver light fading into darkness. 

But he isn’t alone. 

A thin halo of the remaining moonlight surrounds Pinky’s fur as he crawls over to the Beast, the cloak trailing behind him. Pinky yawns, his eyes still closed, and he curls against the Beast’s chest. He may feel fragile, but he’s stronger than anyone the Beast has ever known. 

The top of his ears brush against the Beast’s cheek. 

Pinky’s presence brings hope. Because of him, the Beast dares to dream once more. 

Implementing this plan will be a monumental endeavor. But he and the rest of the castle will make it happen. 

Pinky has given him a purpose in a world that doesn’t want him. So the Beast pulls him close, and silently promises that he will do his best to bring the fairy tale he holds so dear into reality. 

End

No matter how your heart is grieving,  

If you keep on believing, 

A dream that you wish will come true. 

[my-castles-crumbling]

hiya cas! i hope youre well 😊

so, i have some medical issues (nothing serious!! probably - im still waiting for a proper diagnosis but ive had a few appointments and tests etc and have been assured its nothing to be concerned about) and so i obviously have to go to hospital appointments sometimes for the aforementioned tests and discussions. it was scary at first (i hadnt been in a hospital since the day i was born up until this point, and i was 18 when i had my first of these appointments) but its easier now, but im still a little stressed

im not technically estranged from my family - i still live at home with both parents, and we're on decent enough terms - but we dont really have any sort of important conversations. or any personal conversations either. so i guess we're just not really close? idk. anyway, this has meant i have absolutely no idea what any of my family medical history is. i had to find out through my older sister that my father was diagnosed with diabetes four years ago (and she only found out because she worked at the pharmacy where he got his stuff from), and my eldest brother was the one who told me my grandparents' causes of death (they died before my birth and my parents never mention them), but they dont know any more than that either

this hasnt been an issue for me before, because obviously ive never needed to know. ive never been asked about it, but now that my own health isnt right, i kinda need to know. in my first appointment i got asked about it, but i told the doctor i didnt know and would ask at home

i did ask, to be fair. i spoke to my mother and explained why i needed to know but she just kind of... brushed it off? idk if thats the right way to phrase it. she said there was some vague thing about heart issues but she didnt say anything specifically, or which side of the family it came from, or anything all thay helpful at all

its so frustrating because im not the first of their kids to need this information. my sister has medical problems too (different issues than mine though) and our parents were no help with her either

i spoke to a friend about it last autumn when i first went to hospital and he looked at me so oddly, it made me feel so broken, i guess. apparently discussing medical history isnt a taboo subject in most households, because he knew all of his and he's never been to hospital for anything. but the way he looked at me like i was weird or something for not knowing was awful. again, it made me feel genuinely broken and damaged. it was kind of one of those moments where you realise 'oh, my family isnt normal' and it sucked, because i thought id had that realisation years ago

its happened with some other stuff too (i.e. telling parents about a relationship, friends, interests, spending time with family etc) and it just... it really sucks. i dont know what else there is to say than that ig lol

i was going somewhere with this ask, but ive kinda gotten off track and now i cant remember, soooo.... have a good day! thanks for reading my ramble 🥰

Hi hon!

I’m so sorry, whose moments of realization suck, truly. Please know that you did nothing wrong <3 

Because this is a health thing, I do have some advice for you (ignore me if you want!) There are forms on the internet that have questions about family history. Print one out and just give it to your mom and dad. Don’t give them room to question it. Say your doctor needs it, and you need them to fill it out.

I wonder, though, if your parents don’t share their history with you, they might not know their parents history. A lot of times, these kinds of things that happen in families are passed down. 

But yeah. Just give them a form and make it a health thing. You deserve that info. 

Again, please know that you are NOT broken, and it has nothing to do with you <3

(naming you medical anon)