#ramble about one of my many horrid muses???

[scrawnytreedemon]

I've done it, folks!

After blowing my nose for 2.7 days straight, I've caused myself a nosebleed (: There is a horridly red stripe on the sleeve of my dressing gown from when I went to wip eit, thinking it was yet more runny snot.

Well done, me! 🥳

[cheekygreenty]

His Queen - The Darkling x Reader

bitch, I think I outdid myself on this one. I'm shocked I wrote this

He hated the Tsar. He hated himself, but he didn't hate you. How could he of let this happen, he's never been a slave to his emotions. You were married, no, scratch that, you were the Queen for Saint's Sake. The Tsar had made it common knowledge that you didn't belong anywhere but the Grand Palace, in a glittering gown and a jeweled crown upon your always perfect hair sitting in front of a fire sipping on your tea. He wanted you nowhere near the action or actual Palace life. You were merely an accessory to him.

The young and innocent girl raised in nobility, who caught the old bastard's eye by fluttering your eyelashes at him, longing for his person.

Bullshit.

Aleksander could see your repulsion whenever you were in your husband's presence. The longing eyes as you looked at the doors, the shiver that rattled your spine as his sweaty hand gripped yours, or the increasing sadness in your eyes as the months went on. The jewels around your neck glistened, but your eyes didn't. Not anymore.

He had done some digging in the months following the wedding, and rest assured you didn't belong anywhere near the palace. You were scrappy, ready for a fight at all times. There were numerous accounts of you running around villages, fighting your way through pubs and inns. Your parents, the Duke and Duchess, were downright ashamed of you before your big day. You were itching to drop everything and join the First Army the second you had the chance. You were skilled in ways no noble was; you had street smarts.

Then the late Queen died and you were presented on a silver platter to the King, donning all the family jewels that never sit quite right. The King couldn't help himself, the public blamed the grief for his hasty marriage, 'he needed a companion.' But in reality, he saw what he could have and grasped you up the second he had the chance. And now you were stuck here, in a cage with no way out.

Aleksander didn't take a liking to you at the start. All he saw was what the King wanted him to see and for that, he feels tremendous guilt. He thought you to be proper and uptight and spoiled, so when you approached him the first time, franticly asking for advice about a simple state matter that was dropped into your lap by the General himself, he couldn't help but snigger at you and convey news of the stupid Queen to his fellow Grisha.

He didn't know the King treated you like a child or that all of this was new to you. I should've seen it he cursed himself, for the weeks to follow you were the talk of both the Palaces and news spread to camps on the front.

The stupid, young, ditsy girl who couldn't put together a luncheon for Ravka's war heroes was the Queen. Ridiculous.

He believed it too until he had seen you out one night when he couldn't sleep. You were deep in the forest, tending to your black stallion and in what looked like peasant clothing. You had mud on your boots and your hair was messily braided. There was a tatted punching bad tied up on a tree and another person sitting against a log, breathing heavily and clutching his side. Aleksander never made himself known, just blended into the darkness as he did best but continued to watch you eagerly. Only then did he faintly make out your bruised knuckles and the tears in your breeches.

'Again?'

'Saints Y/N no, I've got a way to go and the way you just bruised my ribs, I've a painful journey ahead of me' mused the sitting man.

That night, Aleksander sent out his best Grisha to collect information and asked Genya to tend to you, but you denied yet again (only after asking her to fix up your hands).

Ever since then, Aleksander has been observing you and getting to know you when he could, telling his Grisha it was to gather information since Genya was no longer garnering the Queen's secrets, but he felt drawn to you for whatever reason. You were the best part of his day; whether it was a simple smile sent his way or you rambling about the ways you avoid being followed around the palace, he listened intently and set the shared memories into his brain.

The General was a mystery to you. With his extremely handsome face and confident stances, he mesmerized you to the point of a blank mind. Whenever your eyes met his, it could be in a room of 60 people, rest assured you were right by his side in an instant. You had sought out his presence wherever you went and clung to it while you could.

But the King had made his opinion of the Darkling obvious, and his hatred ran deep. 'He likes to think he rides a horse above everyone else.' 'He's most unnatural.' You didn't care though. As long as he kept himself away from you and just used his words and not actions, you were fine.

You had gathered a particular kindness for late evening walks before bed, silently slipping onto the grounds of his palace, awaiting his companionship. It might have only been 40 minutes out of your day, but it was always better than not seeing him.

Ivan had pointed out that you had an air of hostility around you every time you were in a room with your husband and your heart tended to beat dangerously fast as if you were panicking. So Aleksander attempted to pull you away from him and distract you from the horrid man, and it seemed to work. He grew to like you and would miss your witty humor when he went back to the Little Palace.

Months had passed and he never grew sick of your presence, ironically he craved more of it. He tried to tell himself that you were just a part of his plan, nothing more, but things got even more complicated. He had accidentally mentioned seeing you that night in the forest, and instead of being hostile about it, you told him you enjoyed a fight or two and invited him to join you. That night, after multiple rounds of sparring and hard hits, he kissed you fervently. And again and again, until you both got past the point of going back.

You acknowledged the risk only after it happened and started to panic. You had an affair with the General of the Second Army. He seemed to be in the same state as you. But before you went your separate ways, he held you in his arms and promised it would all be ok. You believed him.

He got back to his chambers that night and his demeanor changed behind the closed doors. He was so mad. He always swore to take what the King loved most and destroy it before his very eyes, but this was a sick joke the Saints played on him. He needed to protect you, get you out of the Tsar's grip, and hide you away from any harm. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you out of danger's way and he knew it. Why did he let this happen? He knew that whatever your ending may be, you would get hurt, maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally.

You had told him of all the things the King did to you, how he treated you and paraded you around. You begged Aleksander to do something about it, to help you get out of that life and back to your old one, but there was nothing he could do and it broke his heart.

'I wish I could do something Y/N, I truly do, but I am not as powerful as you may think I am. The King is still the King' he had told you, guilt building in him.

He was sitting at his desk in his chambers now, looking out the window feeling fidgety. You were late for your evening walk, like really late. Sure it happened before, but Aleksander had a weird gut feeling that something happened. Maybe the King found out? or maybe you finally realized the magnitude of the situation and came to your senses?

He knew if the King whiffed out a sliver of what was going on with his wife and Aleksander, he would rain hellfire. He was a powerful man, the most powerful man in all of Ravka and there was nothing more dangerous than an embarrassed man's actions.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise he hadn't heard in a very long time, followed by the very loud thuds of falling books. The tunnel?

'ALEKSANDER?' your panicked voice reached him and triggered something primal in him. fight or flight. He and his shadows shot up and ran to you but stopped dead in his tracks, the black matter disappearing in on itself. You stood at the entrance to the tunnel, visibly shaking with anger, but that's wasn't the cause of his shock.

'Saints Y/N' He whispered, realization flooding over him like a nasty wave of ice-cold water. Your once ivory white nightgown was drenched in crimson but you were uninjured, it wasn't yours. The huge green Lanstov emerald sitting atop your left hand was smeared in red too, giving it a brown tinge.

'I need to get out of here right now.' You sounded solid and stern, the panic was long gone. The scrappy fighter was back.

Aleksander had always known what to say. But now, he didn't have a single word come to his mind and his body refused to move, he was rendered speechless and useless. This is a nightmare, surely, he prayed.

'Y/N I-I, What happ-'

'Aleksander, unless you want to see my head on a pike by dawn, I suggest you help me' You said as you moved across the room, after closing the tunnel door firmly shut. How does she even know about these tunnels?

'I once heard a drunkard speak of tunnels beneath the palaces, I tried my luck' You said answering his question without even being asked,

Your hands moved quick, shedding yourself of the nightgown and holding it in your hands as you moved to grab his black robe off a chair. Aleksander still stood there, his head whirling with so many thoughts, it debilitated him. He needed her to say it.

'Y/N did you do what I think you did'

'You know I did'

At that moment the doors burst open to reveal Ivan with an alarmed look on his face and his hands raised, ready to jump into action, most likely alerted by the falling books. But he faltered when he saw you, The Queen, covered in blood and holding a bloody nightgown in the most secure room of the Little Palace.

'Great another witness' You huffed and dumped the gown into the fireplace.

'Moi soverenyi, what is the meaning of this?'

'Ivan I wish I could tell you.'

'I killed the King. I have approximately 3 hours before somebody notices him laying in his own blood with his neck slit open' You sighed and sat down, head in your hands. This was the first moment you'd had to process it all, and it was overwhelming, to say the least.

A silence enveloped the room as the fire roared back to life, already having burnt the evidence to a crisp. Aleksander finally came to his senses, moved and grabbed a bowl of water and a cloth.

'Did anybody see you leave?' He asked as he handed you the items to wash your hands of the sticky blood.

'No. I made sure of it. I traveled through the tunnels.'

'And the King? There is no weapon near him?' Ivan interrupted.

Slowly you bent down and pulled a small dagger out of your shoe. Small but sharp.

'Give that to me' Aleksander took it out of your hands and walked out of the room while you continued to scrub the crimson off your hands.

You momentarily looked at Ivan, he didn't look mad or upset. He looked like a soldier.

'Are you not mad your King is dead?' You mused.

'He was not my King'

'That makes two of us' You were done cleaning your hands and moved to clean the ring. Should I burn this too?

'Leave it on. If things go sideways, you can buy your freedom' Aleksander returned. 'Ivan go get 2 horses and pack essentials. Get Genya too. I trust you to keep quiet.'

'Yes Moi soverenyi, Moya tsaritsa' He bowed his head quickly and waltzed out the room.

'Aleksander I'm scared now.....what have I done' You whispered. He took hold of your hand and pulled you into him. He held you tight, not wanting to let go.

'It's going to be ok. I promise. There's a small cottage down south I want you to go to. Ivan will take you. You will be safe. I will right this. I will protect you as I should've done earlier.' He kissed you deeply, letting all of the emotions flow through without the need for words.

'And what then?' You whispered against his lips.

'You be you. Perhaps go to Ketterdam. I feel you belong there... or come back to me when the time is right' He kissed you again, it was sweet and sad. A goodbye kiss. 'I love you, and even though you don't like it, you are my Queen. Forever'

'I love you too' Your hands fisted at his beautiful black kefta as tears dripped off your face.

****

That night you fled, your hair and appearance completely changed. The peasant clothes you felt comfortable in were on your back while the heartrenderer galloped beside you. Os Alta was still asleep as you sped down south, praying to the Saints that leaving Aleksander to deal with your mess was the right decision. That he would be ok too.

Ravka was shaken by the news of their dead King and the missing Queen. Some say she was dead, kidnapped by Fjerdans, and slaughtered mercilessly, others said Kerch merchants had her thrown in the Fold as she refused to give up information.

Either way, Aleksander had made sure you weren't regarded as a murderer and kept his promise to give you a chance to return to the Little Palace, to him.

Also if u can see this fic plz interact with it!! Idk if my tumblr is fixed yet and I need to make sure!!! If u were tagged and it didn’t notify you like last time, plz tell me!!!! 💓💓

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx

[twinleafroyalty]

-dont take forever for this cress 🔥-

UNPOPULAR OPINION // ACCEPTING

My unpopular opinion of the hour?

Your experiences are not universal, and the content you find offensive may be cathartic to someone else.

Just because my fiction offends you, does not mean it's inherently offensive.

There's this mentality I've noticed many muns having in RP spaces... Where if you write about a topic in a way that offends someone - even if you're writing about your own experiences - that you're a horrid person who is just making light of the topic and that you're hurting people who have gone through such topic.

This applies to people writing about discrimination, abuse... anything that can even be slightly sensitive.

I'm going to ramble for a bit.

I enjoy writing queer characters who... go through discrimination, or internalize/perpetuate that discrimination. I enjoy writing characters who struggle with their identity, who stay in the closet - or are forced into the closet - or who realize that they made a mistake in their identity. I enjoy writing about messy queers, those who despise themselves because of their identity, those who get into unhealthy relationships while trying to figure themselves out, those who get hurt in the process of discovering themselves, those who never do discover themselves.

Some people HATE that I write about these things.

There are muns who say that writing about any of those things is a sign of someone being a violent homophobe. There are muns who say that writing these topics is harmful to 'actual gay people', that it's triggering to survivors of homophobia to see it written about in a roleplay, that it's 'disgusting fetishization' to write about gay characters being closeted, that not explicitly condemning all the bad things that happen to my queer characters means that I'm writing 'gay torture porn'. I have had muns follow me while having rules pages that say fuck off if you write about homophobia, nobody wants to read that disgusting freak shit.

... Well, I want to read this freak shit. And judging by my followers who haven't been scared off by my queer rants, I don't think I'm the only one.

ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE POND... There are many muns who write queer characters and worlds in the exact opposite way that I do. They write worlds that all have 'universal acceptance' built in. Where homophobia just... doesn't exist. Not even in passing! All characters are accepted, muses don't really struggle with finding their identity nor coming out. They face little to no resistance from other characters*, everyone is fully open, nobody is closeted. Everything goes 100% swimmingly.

* ( Er, well, rarely there will be one bigoted character who exists solely to be a punching bag for other muses to dunk on - or who otherwise only exists in a character's backstory and is mentioned once in a blue moon... )

I hate these stories. Admittedly, I find them offensive at times - where are characters like me? Where are characters who go through discrimination - casual or intense? Who struggle with their identity? Who stay in the closet for whatever reason? Who misstep and make mistakes in their exploration? Where are the characters who don't get a happily ever after tale of queerness?

But, I KNOW THESE TYPES OF WORLDS AREN'T WRITTEN FOR ME. I'm simply not the audience! Just because I find them distasteful doesn't mean that they're universally harmful to all queer people and should be censored.

So, instead of calling the people who enjoy said fiction disgusting freaks and demanding they never write about such harmful things, I just don't read it. If it pops up on dash, I'll just ignore the post, or PostBlock it if I have to. If I see it in an RP server, I'll just roll my eyes and scroll past. Even though I find squeaky-clean depictions of queerness to be offensive, my experience is not universal.

...

I want to see something more realistic that relates to my own experiences - it offends me when people erase references to discrimination in their queer muses, because it feels like erasure of people like me who have gone through such.

Other people might want to RP a more idealized world, where homophobia doesn't exist - it offends them when people write about discrimination with their queer muses, because they feel like it's making light of something that nobody wants to go through.

Both of these views are fine! Our experiences, preferences, tastes in fiction? They're all different, and they're all going to be different, always and forever, and that doesn't make either of us correct or incorrect... and I wish more people realized this!

Anyways, I am begging people in this RPC ( and in the RPC as a whole ) to stop immediately jumping to "this writing offends me, and I'm [X], which means that you're a bad person who hates [X] people!!!" extremes.

*dies*

[diverse-hearts-moved]

Excuse my Rambling that is about to occur. For those who’d rather ignore my thoughts etc I’ll place it all under a read more - I’ll make a later announcement about threads going forwards etc.

Excuse my rambling that is about to occur. For those who’d rather ignore my thoughts etc I’ll place it all under a read more - I’ll make a later announcement about threads going forwards etc.

I’ll start this off by admitting that I am aware that I am part of the problem that’s been growing over the last few months. I’m not saying for one second that anyone should be policing who writes with who or who should be more accepting of ocs etc - but basic respect towards other muns is something that seems to be on the decline.

I’ve watched as headcanons have been stolen, as muses are taken up for no other reason than they happen to be popular, as newcomers have found it difficult to get their foot in the door and how old members of the community have felt as though they’ve been drowned out. I’m mainly relating this to my experience with Bungou Stray Dogs and Fruit Baskets fandom - and again I am aware I haven’t been helping, which is why I wish to do a soft reset of my blogs.

There are so many of you out there who’ve felt like giving up on your blogs either because you can’t get your foot in the door, you’ve felt as though you’ve been pushed aside for someone else who writes the same muse - or you’ve had a headcanon stolen and simply are too afraid to put anything out there anymore. Muses are dear to our hearts - at least I feel that they should be.

Again, you can have many muses, write with only a few select people, run your blog as you wish to run it but - don’t make interaction posts if you have no intention of following through with them, don’t make other people feel as though your take on a muse is the one true take and everyone around you just doesn’t know their muses as well as you do and for the love of god - DON’T STEAL OTHER PEOPLES HEADCANONS

Writing the same muse as others is of course going to make some headcanons seem rather similar but it’s painfully obvious when someones put so much work into their muse and then some of that work is simply carried off by someone else as though it is all their original idea. This is a basic rule that we all should bloody be following and I honestly don’t understand as to why it’s needing to be pointed out??

To be a community, to have fun on this broken mess of a site, it’s important to feel comfortable around those who you’re following/writing with and yet there've been so many stories where this is far from the truth of the matter. Yes, no one can possibly write with everyone but my god you can still offer support from the sidelines, you know? Stop comparing muses - it can make the mun rather uncomfortable even if you see their portrayal as the ‘best’ one.

We’re all human - we’re all going to have our favourites. There will be times where one muse/thread just takes over and that’s perfectly fine. We need to be comfortable in knowing that late replies doesn’t mean that you aren't wanting to write with them, just that you may not have an idea on how to reply. We’re all writers here, we’re aware of how fickle the muse can be at times - but guilt tripping people should never be a thing. There’s a difference between - hey did tumblr fk up and you didn’t get this and - I’ve seen you’re writing with X but not me? I guess you hate me now? - put into very simple terms but this mentality is just adding to the issues... least that’s how I see it.

I could be wrong - I could just be too old for this place now and simply be longing for a time where communities were just that - creative little hubs for you to gush with others over your muses and the alternate universes and storylines that can be explored. These include darker topics and just because a Mun writes about torture, sexual assault, child abuse etc DOES NOT mean that they frigging support that action!

As long as these topics are handled with the care that they should be and not romantized in any way then no one should be made to feel bad for exploring darker issues. Fiction allows us to explore the darker side of humanity but it should be handled with caution, in a serious nature that does not pull away from the seriousness of such an event on anyones life...

Darker topics can be sensitive in nature and that’s what the tagging system is for. Ask people to tag things you may not wish to see - tag topics that you know will be sensitive but please stop comparing the Muse to the Mun. Darker topics/angst are great for character development, but they aren’t everyone's cup of tea - in which case avoid them. If a blog is too much for you, don’t follow them. Block them. Do what you have to in order to feel safe but please don’t send in anon hate or a vague call out post etc. All it does is feed into people’s anxieties, and then we’re all back to square one.

The last thing I want to mention is character discourse. We write who we write because either they mean a lot to us, we wish to explore their character or they simply demand to be written. You can like or loathe a character, that’s perfectly fine of course, but going off on tangents about how horrid X character is and why everyone should hate them and if you don’t then you don’t understand their character - that bullshit needs to stop. I used to get death threats in the Mystic Messenger Fandom for writing Rika... thankfully that’s a thing of the past but I still get so fking nervous when people write huge essays on why she’s the most horrid person ever to have been written into existence.

Fiction is great because it allows us to explore all sides of humanity, the good, the bad and the ugly - and this freedom should be encouraged. People should be encouraged to explore their muses, not shut down by someone saying how ‘wrong’ they are and how they don’t know jack shit about their character or how they are making the character too likeable. Villains are humans too. Villians will have their soft moments... I’m slightly running on empty now but I really do hope that this made sense.

Short Version - We should all feel safe and welcomed on the dash so please stop doing bullshit to ruin that spirit of creativity.

[captain-yeet]

Don't You Knock? (Felix Volturi x Reader One-shot)

Summary: Finding out that vampires and soulmates existing in a single day is exhausting, let alone discovering you're the mate of one. The night after the Newborns came to Forks, you get a surprise visitor in the dead of night.

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Word count: 2.8k

A little something I’ve been working on this past week and also to celebrate a wee follower milestone. Come get y’all JUICE, enjoy!

Slamming the door to your apartment with accidental unnecessary force, you shrug out of your frozen jacket and tossed it to the floor. Today had been eventful, to say the least. It began with helping out your supervisor with paperwork down at the police station and ended with a vampire practically starting a riot over you.

Oh, and vampires exist now. Neat.

You were only a few years older than Chief Swan's daughter and he had asked something rather odd of you a few months back after she returned from disappearing to Italy; "Keep an eye out for her, will ya?"

So, you found a way to insert yourself into Bella's life, like a friend with older sister vibes. She was none the wiser, and so were you in terms of what kind of shit the silly girl had gotten herself into.

Shrugging out of your pants, you let out a content sigh. "Right, relax time," you breathed. No vampires, no pyres of burning bodies. Just me and some pasta.

You were just planning on tailing her and the gaggle of pale friends of hers to see what exactly they were up to. You'd seen them while out on a hike and immediately your suspicion grew when you saw Bella being carried down the hillside by her boyfriend Edward Cullen, accompanied by the largest wolf you'd ever seen.

Following them at a distance, the sight you stumbled across made you let out a very loud "What the fuck is going on here!?"

Bodies burning but with no horrid stench. One of the Cullen boys ripping apart a corpse with his bare hands and tossing it into the pyre. A naked boy on the ground writhing in pain, being lifted and carried off by more shirtless guys and one woman. A teenager curled up into a ball on the ground.

"Y/N what are you doing here?" Bella cried.

"What am I doing here? What the shit are you doing here, what exactly have these people roped you into?" You had snarled the last part, backing away from the two approaching Cullens.

The doctor's wife had whispered a quick explanation to you. They weren't human, but vampires. Vampires existed what the actual heck. Bella was in danger but isn't any more.

And the Volturi, the "vampire police" were arriving soon, and you had no time to leave before they did.

An hour passed and you hummed a song to yourself while you washed up the plates after having a quick dinner. The day had turned to custard and you just wanted to forget about it for a moment and go to bed.

The buzzing of your phone made you jump. Picking it up, you saw the name on the screen and sighed heavily.

Caller ID: Bella

"What now?" You groaned, leaning against the counter. You pressed the answer key and held the phone gingerly up to your ear. "Hello?"

"Y/N, are you home?" came Bella's voice through the speaker. There was a hint of urgency in her tone that had you immediately tense.

"I am, why? Has something happened?"

"Listen to me," she urged, "you need to leave, Alice has a vision that -"

Your brows knitted together in confusion. Bella had given you some information about her boyfriend having some kind of mind reading gift but you didn't realise that extended to the rest of the Cullens being gifted too. "She had a what now?"

A short sigh. "Someone is coming for you! Please just trust me and go!"

Pushing yourself off the counter, you paced in your kitchen. "Who?" you deadpanned, fear growing in your heart.

"Y/N go!"

Suddenly you heard the creak of that one rickety window in your living room shutting. You grabbed the closest thing to you; a pan. "If I don't call you back by tomorrow morning assume the worst," you murmured in a hushed voice before hanging up.

Placing your phone down, you grasped the pan firmly and stalked to the corner leading into the living room. You couldn't hear anything but the sound of a dog barking outside and the steady rain that had begun as you drove home. Taking a deep breath, you rounded the corner and entered the room.

Nothing. No one was in sight.

"You know that pan isn't going to do much," a deep voice commented from behind you.

Yelping in shock and fear, you instinctively turned and swung the pan with just the one hand at whoever it was behind you. An ice-cold hand gripped your wrist, stopping your attack.

The tall intruder raised his eyebrows at your clumsy attack, red eyes boring into your own with intensity. You were caught off guard by how ridiculously handsome, tall and muscular he was, which you knew was probably the last thing you should be thinking about right now. You swung at him with your free hand and he caught that too. Now you were pinned.

"Easy, I mean you no harm," he said firmly, his tone ringing with authority. He began walking forward, still with you firmly in his iron grip making you step backward till your back hit a wall. "If I let you go, will you calm down?"

"You broke into my apartment and you want me to be calm?" you hissed, the last word turning into a screech.

"Please, I -" the man struggled with his words for a moment. "I just want to talk. About what happened today, if you'll give me a chance."

You glared at him for a little. He could end you very quickly if that was what he wanted to do. You knew that after what you saw of him today. He was a killer, through and through.

So, you conceded with a solemn nod.

The man was pleased with your cooperation, releasing your wrists and stepping back away from you. You set your poor choice of a weapon down on a table and leaned against the wall, quickly wiping away a stray tear that began trailing down your cheek before crossing your arms and staring him down with a hard glare.

Red eyes traveled up and down your figure, at first with curiosity that dissolved into something else, something more akin to fleeting lust and you suddenly remembered your lack of pants. "Don't you vampires know how to knock? It would have given me time to make myself more decent."

A low chuckle came from the man. "That would have been a politer choice, but I guess I miscalculated things." With a pause, he added, "not that I'm complaining, it's a nice view."

He winked and you cursed yourself for the impulsive flush of heat to your cheeks. It really should be illegal to be that good looking and that infuriatingly forward.

Padding over to the couch, making sure to have the front of your body facing him and not your rear end, you made yourself at home and placed a blanket over your lower half. Resting your hands in your lap, you sheepishly looked up at him. "I'd feel more comfortable if you sat down."

Moving slowly, you assumed so he wouldn't frighten you, he sat next to you on the couch on the furthest end, giving you some space. "Where would you like me to begin? I'll answer any questions you have if you'll also grant me the same privilege."

You thought for a moment. Many pressing questions came to your mind at once. You weren't sure where to begin. "Okay," you agreed with a heavy exhale. "Well, the first question I have to start with is who are you?"

"Fair," he smiled and again your heart skipped a beat. "My name is Felix, as you know already, I'm a member of the Volturi who are tasked with enforcing the secrecy of our kind."

Your brain took a moment to process the information. "So... you're essentially the vampire police?" you concluded with a raised brow, earning another chuckle from Felix.

"I guess you could say that although we're closer to being a governing force, now let me ask the same of you."

Glancing away briefly, you let your eyes roam around your apartment before meeting his curious red ones again. "My name is Y/N and uh, I work down at the local police station here in Forks - a cadet, got in thanks to my okay-ish GPA." You felt yourself rambling so you quickly shut up before you embarrassed yourself further.

"You don't strike me as a woman who'd aspire to be a cop," he mused, his head cocking to the side.

You shrugged meekly. "Maybe so, but I've always wanted to try making a small difference and I figured why not try and work towards becoming an officer?"

"That's admirable."

Heat flushed to your face. You racked your brain for more questions. "Well, if you're a vampire, how old are you?"

"About 2,000 years old, give or take."

A strangled hysteric laugh caught itself in your throat, making him purse his lips and stare at you like you'd grown another head. "I'm sorry," you said quickly, "it's just... wow that's a... long time to be alive." Taking a moment to compose yourself, you gave him a small smile. "You look amazing for your age, I gotta say."

A grin spread across his handsome face, and again your heart skipped a beat. You couldn't deny he was incredibly handsome - ridiculously so. "Immortality does wonders," he replied with a wink, clearly enjoying making you flustered.

A question popped into your mind at that moment, one that had been plaguing your thoughts since you left that clearing "... What is a mate? Why is it so significant for, your kind?"

You recalled the moment the two of you locked eyes for the first time. You remembered Edward Cullen's hiss of anger and shock and the way this man before you stared at you. It was like he was a deer in headlights and time itself had stopped. The pyre had disappeared, every confusing new thing that had surrounded you in a matter of minutes gone.

In that finite moment, it was just you and this tall strange man who gazed at you like a blind man seeing colour for the first time.

"Straight to the point, aren't you?" He murmured, chuckling to himself. Eyes downcast, he paused to think about how he wanted to answer. "My kind lives for a very long time," he began, lifting his gaze back to you. "Some of us will find another that we connect with so intimately that nothing else compares. A mate is a life partner, someone who feels as if they were made for you."

Resting your chin on your hand, you listened to his explanation earnestly. The idea of soulmates felt like a silly girl's fantasy, but you couldn't help but feel a tug at your heartstrings at his words. "And me?" You asked softly, scooting a little closer to really lock eyes with him. "Edward said I was your mate."

Mate. The term felt so foreign to you, it rolled off your tongue strangely.

With that announcement, the clearing had become chaos. Angry snarls from both Volturi and Cullen alike sounded through the area, you'd been pulled behind a blonde golden-eyed woman.

And many protests.

"Impossible!"

"That's absurd, Felix would never become attached to a human."

The voice of reason had come from Doctor Cullen. "It isn't impossible - look at Edward and Bella. If this is true then it's up to them to decide their fates."

Felix's reaction was the one that stuck out to you the most "You seemed so angry, back in the clearing..."

During the outcry, Felix's face was the one you focused on. After moments of staring at you with thunderstruck wonder in his eyes, he balked and you could have sworn you saw him say "No," to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose like he'd suddenly gotten a bad migraine.

He sighed. “It was more shock than anger. Of all the things I had prepared myself for dealing with when we arrived, meeting my mate was not one of them.” Shaking his head, he offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry that the way we met wasn’t under better circumstances. Having you see me like that on our first meeting...”

 “I wish the circumstances had been better too.”

Another memory flickered in your mind. The young girl on the ground. Her screams as she cried out in pain, Felix stalking toward her with a stoic expression. There was no doubt in your mind that even if this ‘soulmate bond’ thing was true - and a tug at your heartstrings swayed you to believe that maybe it was - the man before you was dangerous.

 “You killed that girl,” you stated bluntly.

 “I had orders,” he retorted, the stoic mask returning. “I had no choice.”

You were shaking your head before he finished speaking. “That doesn’t mean that what you did was right!” Exasperated, you raised your hands. “Just because someone orders you to do something doesn’t mean that it’s the correct course to take! Don’t you have a mind of your own?”

Felix opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it, jaw clenched.

Okay, maybe don’t try to aggravate the vampire, Y/N, you cautioned yourself. Hands falling with a slap on your exposed thighs, you sighed. “Shit, I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

Silence followed. You watched him carefully and he watched you, neither making a single move for a while. 

 “You’re afraid of me.” The words left his lips calmly, not phrased as a question but rather a statement.

Lips parting slightly, you felt your face turn into a grimace. Your emotions were all over the place at this point in time and you didn’t know what to do about it or how to feel. Maybe you were scared of him - he did break into your home after all. And a rational part of your conscious knew that being afraid was probably a good thing. But at the same time? You felt a sense of hope - hope that this whole vampire mate thing may be true and that he really wasn’t here to kill you or worse.

 "I guess I can’t blame you for feeling that way,” he sighed. “Do you still want an answer to your original question?”

Biting your tongue for a moment, you nodded. “Yes, tell me.”

 “Meeting you was a shock, that is true. It’s just...” A pause for a moment, and in a more gentle voice he spoke once more. “I have been around for a long, long time. Centuries. In that time I thought I wouldn’t ever find my mate as I watched others find theirs - I even became somewhat promiscuous, because if I was never going to find the one, what was the point? Why not fool around with whomever? And then you appear before me and I’m shaken to my core.”

The room was silent save for the frantic beating of your heart, the patter of rainfall and the distant sounds of life around your apartment building.

 “I fear I’ve ruined my chances of you accepting me as yours,” Felix confessed.

 “I... may be willing to accept you - or at the very least give you, us, a chance. But you must do something for me first if you’re willing?” Is this a bad idea? A great idea? Maybe both, you concluded.

Felix’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What do you want me to do?”

You pointed at the door. “Leave my apartment and knock on the door.”

Suspicion turned into amusement. “You want me to leave and then come back in?” he repeated, playful sarcasm in his tone.

You felt your lips twitch up into a smirk. “Yes, that is indeed what I want. If we’re doing this I want to give it a real shot with a proper beginning - no attacking anyone with a pan and preferably with pants on.”

The two of you eyes each other a moment before you broke out into a fit of giggles. Felix shook his head muttering something along the lines of “Strange human” before taking your hand gently in his own, pressing his lips against your knuckles in a feather-light kiss, sending your heart beating overtime. "As you wish."

Letting your hand fall from his grasp he rose to his feet and walked away from you. Opening the door to your apartment wide, Felix faced you and stepped backward with a smirk, closing the door behind him.

When he closed the door, you stood up and rushed to find a pair of pants. Luckily you’d conveniently left some unfolded laundry out in the living room after a late-night trip to the laundromat. Shimmying into some comfy leggings, you murmured to yourself, "Feel free to knock now, big guy."

Not even five seconds later, and there was a short knock at your door. What, they have super hearing too? you chuckled to yourself.

Taking what felt like the millionth deep intake of breath for tonight, you opened the door for your “unexpected” visitor.

Pursing his lips trying not to laugh, Felix nodded in greeting. The man towered over you and for a brief moment, one of his hands running through the dark shaggy locks of hair, you wondered how his head didn’t hit the doorframe. And also how soft his hair was to touch. “Hello, may I come in?”

 “Since you’re so polite, of course you may,” you greeted him, stepping back to allow him to enter.

 “Does this mean you’ll give this a chance?” he took a hesitant step forward, watching you for any sign of discomfort, “you want to give a future with me a chance?”

You nodded. “It’s not every day a vampire comes to my door asking to be my lover,” you replied teasingly, winking at him as he had done to you earlier in the night. And besides... if you're serious about me being your mate, then I want to give this a go."

An earnest, genuinely happy smile lit up Felix’s face. You’d never seen a more beautiful man in your life. Beaming back at him as he entered your apartment, you knew from this night onward your life would never be the same. Were you ready for that? You weren’t quite sure.

But for now, you were certain in your feelings; if soulmates were real, you’d feel like a fool to pass up your own. Whatever the future held, you’ll face it.

You’ll face it with him.

[sleepy-sunlight]

"Don't you dare" for Cullen x Inquisitor

Of course! I thought I’d be plenty of fun to write something with this prompt and had so many different possibilities! I just hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with and have a fantastic day dear

“Don’t you Dare”

———————————————————————————————————–

Cullen was not sick.  

The Commander of the Inquisition’s armies, did not get sick.

It was simply an impossibility.  

His schedule, already threatening to burst with its constant business, couldn’t handle the irreparable damage that an illness would inevitably cause.  

So, Cullen elected to just, not be sick.  

Sure, his head throbbed like someone were banging a mace against it, his bones rattled as if they may break at the slightest pressure, and his throat left his voice drier than sandpaper, but he most assuredly wasn’t sick.  

The conclusion he’d come to however, wasn’t nearly as well accepted by others.

Josephine for one, had turned out to be quite the nag.  

“You look like you’d collapse at the smallest breeze.” She had once said as he staggered into her office, only able to give her a small dip of his head before he glanced back to his papers.  

She pursed her lips and rose  from her seat, settling her hands on her hips. “You know Commander, you’re much more charming when you answer those speaking to you.”  

“You wouldn’t understand me if I tried.” He rasped.  

“What was that?”  

He almost laughed.  

He scribbled it down onto one of the few documents he hadn’t drowned in his reports, the fellow advisor having to stifle a snort.

“Feeling a little under the weather, are we?” She scoffed. “I hope you have a plan on just how you’re going to hide that from your darling Inquisitor. They can be quite the worrier, if you hadn’t noticed.”  

Her cheeks puffed out with amusement as she spoke. “And seeing how often you stare at them… it’d be hard to believe there’s something you haven’t noticed.”  

Did he perhaps make a rude gesture involving his middle finger? Yes. Did he regret it? No.

With most others he’d be a polite statue with a brooding expression but Leliana and Josephine somehow managed to bring out the snarkiest parts of him he didn’t even know was there. It was like having his sisters pester him all over again – if one was a deadly assassin and the other an Antivan diplomat.  

“Don’t get upset with me for pointing out the obvious,” She mused. “You may as well go and try to get a head-start on resting. Nothing heals the body like sleep.” 

Can’t sleep. I need to keep working. He scribbled onto his parchment.  

“Well, maybe this is your body telling you to take a break,” She frowned. “If you even know what that word means.”  

Wars don’t stop to take breathers. Neither will I.  

She rolled her eyes and approached him so that she could set a comforting, firm hand on his shoulder.  

“If wars are the only thing that inspire you these days, no wonder you’re so close to crumbling.”  

She glanced up to him and her gaze held a rare sincerity, nothing like the façade he’d seen her hold far too many times with fellow representatives of state.  

“Please reconsider, for your own good.”  

The words had lingered with him since, and even then, standing in the war room the next day, while his pride had won out, guilt still managed to tug at his chest.  

She hadn’t treated him any differently but a sort of knowing enveloped her all too clearly.  

And with your arrival, she struck him a single glance and the tiniest hint of a smug, awaiting smirk.  

She really was one of his sisters in all but blood, wasn’t she?

You came to the table with a highly held head and the familiar, gentle smile he’d come to know and not-so-secretly adore. You gave a bright wave with the free hand that wasn’t grappling a thick stack of documents, and your gaze almost instinctively traveled to him before your already rosy cheeks became that much darker.  

“Good afternoon everyone. I trust everything has been going well?” You asked, shifting your attention to your other dear advisors, rocking on the soles of your feet in anticipation.  

“Of course. My recent excursion with an Orlesian noble in fact has earned us a significant donation. I think it will be well spent towards reinforcing our inventories.”  

Leliana simpered and leaned forward against the table, once so curt and stiff now proud smiling like she held a secret she simply couldn’t wait to spill. “While Josie was off gallivanting in Orlais, I found the location of several secret hideouts near Denerim, Redcliffe, and Ostagar. My forces remain near, waiting for your command.”  

“Oh?” Josie wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t realize we were competing Lily.”  

“You knew,” She snickered. “You just didn’t realize you were losing.”  

“Lily!”  

“I’m teasing…!” Leliana laughed. “But if we were competing, I’d be winning.”  

Before Josephine could snap another witty comment, you cut through with an amused lightness in your voice that only poured further through with your laughter. “Alright now, let’s give it a rest. We haven’t even given Commander Rutherford a chance to speak. Maybe he’ll throw you both out of the water!”  

Oh no. He thought.  

You beamed at him and he swore even the brightest rays of sunlight were dull in comparison to your warmth, his breath hitching and stomach fluttering with those awful butterflies he’d never confess of.  

“So… Cullen, what have you got to report?”  

He knew there wasn’t much of a chance this would end well, so he braced himself and took a deep breath, clearing his throat.  

“Well as of late…”

His voice sounded like gravel, coarse and dry like it were painful to utter a sound, and his throat already crackled and ushered forward another cough that he couldn’t quite swallow down.  

Your eyes had widened like saucers the very second he spoke, and your brows had knotted with concern by the time he’d finished.

“Cullen…” You were ripe with concern, Cullen biting the inside of his cheek with that tinge of guilt growing to a wave crashing against him. “Do you feel alright?”  

“I ah – I admit I feel a bit under the weather but it’s nothing I can’t manage.” He tried to soothe your worries with a crooked grin but your focus remained plastered to his dark circles and ragged breaths.  

Why did you have to care so much?  

Why did you have to care so much about him?  

He didn’t deserve it anyways; he knew that much.  

But his heart still swelled regardless.  

“Are… are you sure about that?”  

He couldn’t lie to you, but he certainly wished he could then.  

“I – I won’t let it get in the way of my duties. It’s nothing to fret over.”  

You folded your lips into a frown. “This isn’t a matter of whether you can still work. This is a matter of your well-being.”  

Josephine sighed. “I tried to tell him, Inquisitor, but I’m afraid you’ve simply hired a very stubborn man. He’s quite dedicated.”  

Dedicated.  

To his work, or to you? The distinction had become blurred.  

You rubbed at your temples and dropped your shoulders in exasperation. “The soldiers rest, Josephine and Leliana rest – even I have to rest! Our bodies need it. That’s how we prepare ourselves for the trials of tomorrow.”  

You visited him often throughout the day, filling his once quiet and lonely days with laughter and rambling stories of your childhoods and beyond.  

But every time you visited; you’d noticed one thing.  

“You aren’t resting.” You wrinkled your nose. “You’re hardly doing anything other than working!”  

“Working is what will allow the Inquisition to progress.”  

“We certainly won’t be progressing if the Commander of our armies dies from exhaustion – or this new sickness of yours!”  

Cullen wasn’t one to raise his voice. Neither was he one to let his frustration get the best of him.

But he did then.

His papers dropped as he slammed his gnarled, heavy hands onto the war table with a force that left its legs threatening to break beneath him.  

“I am not sick!”  

His words echoed and bounced off the walls like they were in a cave, hollow and imposing with a weight tethered to all of their shoulders. His shoulders dropped and a heavy sigh slipped from his lips, lifting up his head to meet yours.  

Josephine was set aback by his outburst, stumbling a bit away from the war table with a dropped jaw, trying to figure just what to say when venom still stung at the air.  

Leliana, had averted her attention away but her tightly wound fists and twisted expression revealed just how desperately she suddenly wanted to leave the room. She already had enough stress, this wasn’t worth the fight – especially not with the few people she considered her friends.  

However, you, on the other hand, locked a steely gaze onto him.  

You’d never looked so stern. After all, since you’d both met he’d come to memorize your smiles and rosy beam that could leave flowers blooming in your wake. Your anger had never been aimed towards him.  

And now knowing your scowl, he’d give anything to take it away.  

“Cullen-”  

“I’m sorry I… I ah – I lost myself.”  

“Let me finish.” You snapped, beginning again.  

“Cullen, whether you like it or not, your body has limits and if you’re not willing to acknowledge that, then I certainly am.”  

Oh no.

If what he thought was coming, was in fact coming, it better not be.  

“There’s no need-”  

You rounded about the table, undeterred.  

“As your leader and Inquisitor, I’m faced with no other option…”  

He furrowed his brow and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his mind whirling and banging all at the same time in a horrid mangle of a storm.  

“This really isn’t necessary I don’t-”  

You stopped him as you met him on the opposite end of the war table, reaching out to settle a gentle palm on his arm, so much smaller and softer than his own. It distracted him, if only for a second until he caught the inklings of a smile touching your lips.  

“Don’t you dare.”  

“Too late.”  

You didn’t even try to hide your toothy grin – there wasn’t any point.  

“I’m putting you on sick leave.” The second you uttered the command, Josephine scribbled it down for the records. It was official, there was no use fighting.  

“You’re relieved of your duties until I deem you to be of good health.” You winked, and as much as he hated it, Cullen’s cheeks turned red. “Enjoy the break.”  

He hated it.  

He despised it.  

There was so much that could be done! How was he expected to simply sit back and ignore it all? And for what? So Mother Giselle could force some herbal remedy down his throat?  

At least, that’s what he’d been expecting.  

Mother Giselle did visit, and she did send medicines of all sorts his way, but he’d found something he’d almost considered foreign in how long it’d been missing from him.  

Quiet.  

Peace and quiet.  

No bustling soldiers barreling into his office with questions or deadlines littering his conscious in the latest hours of the night, but instead a simple breeze or  the faint creaking of the old weary floorboards were the things that greeted him in the morning – that and of course, you.

Your company was perhaps the only one he didn’t mind.  

He’d even worried you wouldn’t visit. Of all things to fret over.

The next day when the morning was still stained with nightly purples and blues you’d knocked warily upon the door to his office.

He’d expected a random soldier who hadn’t quite received the news, so finding you on the other end of that door did nothing short of send his heart leaping.  

“Inquisitor I-” He tried to croak out a curt welcome before you eased him back with a wave of your hand, moving inside.  

“There’s no need for official titles here Cullen. We’re friends.” You chuckled, folding your arms across your chest. “Have you settled in nicely?”  

Friends.  

It’d be an awfully long time since he’d had something like that.  

“Yes I – I’ve accepted it as well as I could.” He wrapped a sheepish hand around the back of his neck. “I’m… sorry for my behavior. I should’ve handled myself far better – it was rude, and none of you were deserving of that.”  

“Oh, it’s fine! You were sick, stressed, and frustrated. Anyone would’ve yelled at least a little in your situation. I understand.” You snickered.  

It was good to hear you laugh; it was a sound he’d never forget for as long as he lived.  

“But…”  

He was snatched from his thoughts in an instant.  

“If you ever try to pull a stunt like that again where you nearly work yourself to death; I might just lose my mind.” Your playful words betrayed the pensive glint in your expression. “I truly care about you Cullen. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself like that. You wouldn’t want me to push myself like that, would you?”  

He didn’t even hesitate.  

“Well, of course not-”  

Whatever puzzle pieces he hadn’t quite connected in his mind, snapped into place then.

“Ah… I see.”  

You chuckled, leaning against his desk with crossed legs. “You’re an amazing person, I’ll believe in that ‘till the day I die – but you’re still a person. And people need to take time for themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that.”  

His brain almost shut down after you called him an amazing person, but he hung in there, just barely. He just prayed you couldn’t see the red now creeping up his ears or hear his heart thumping like a drum against his chest.  

“Time for myself… r-right.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  

You stood up and reluctantly carried yourself to the door, not quite wanting to wrap your fingers around the knob just yet. “Good, I’m glad to hear it.”  

Cullen didn’t want to hear the click of the handle. He didn’t want you to leave.

“But uh – if it’s time to myself, I can spend it however I’d like, correct?”  

“Yes?”  

You peered back with raised brows only to meet him staring back at you, smitten smiles spreading from ear to ear upon both of your faces.  

“Then, would it be terrible to ask you to stay?”  

You never darted away from a door so quickly, but you tried to hide your excitement. You did a poor job of concealing it, but you tried.  

“Not at all.” You remarked in a cheerfully bright tone. “Just don’t get me sick?”  

“No promises.”  

“Darn.”  

But you didn’t move, you stayed right beside him, and you enjoyed that rare time of peace and quiet, together, with hands sneakily grazing close and your fingers somehow finding a way to entwine their pinkies together.  

And if this is what all breaks entailed, Cullen supposed he wouldn’t mind another.  

[thisbitchinthecorner]

1735 Day 6- Sleigh Bells

For @drawlight

1735

In a fine salon in Paris, several distinguished men are seated around an ornately carved table, all engaged in a rousing debate of religion and philosophy.

“I hear what you’re saying, my friend, but what if there is no God and that morality is a construct created by man to keep control of their lesser impulses.” A younger gentleman said, upsetting the group.

“One would have to presume that man’s impulses are evil in nature. I do not believe that men are created evil, surely there is a God and He plays a role in all our lives.” An older, more aristocratic man replied.

“But what if there is a God and He doesn’t interfere with our lives at all. What if we were just created for creation sake, and that God has abandoned us to our own devices.” The evening’s host, a fair haired, refined man said as he lifted his glass.

“Abandoned?” Aziraphale sputtered, nearly dropping his chalice of fine French wine. “You believe God would abandon mankind?”

“Mr. Fell, when is the last time God spoke to humans? Moses? Can we even be certain that is was God speaking and not Satan? Or just a hallucination of the mind? No, I believe that there is a God, but that He has no interest in what his creations do with their lives.” The host replied.

“Just because you cannot understand God’s plan doesn’t mean that The Almighty has abandoned humanity.” Aziraphale mused. “I mean, God’s plan is, by definition...”

“Ineffable.” A voice belonging to a suave, elegantly dressed figure interrupts their discussion. “What my friend is trying to say is that God’s Plan is ineffable and not meant for us to understand. But my money is on God laughing at us all for trying to make sense of any of this nonsense.”

“Ah! Mr. Crowley, good to see you.” The host said warmly. “Come, there is always a place for you at our table.”

“I hear he has some most unusual ideas about Heaven and Hell. Such a delight to have the chance to converse with him!” The younger man says in a hushed tone, clearly quite impressed.

The group continues to debate as the evening grows late.

“Do you honesty believe that God doesn’t give a damn about humans?” Aziraphale argued.

“No! I’m saying The Almighty does’t care about humans- I’m saying She doesn’t care about any of Her creations!” Crowley threw his head back in laughter as the room erupts in furious protest over his choice of pronouns.

“Come now, you know that’s not true.” Aziraphale, ignoring the ramble, yelled.

“Is it, angel?” He replied quickly. Too quickly. The table fell into a hush as the members whispered among themselves.

Sensing the shift in the room, Aziraphale lowered his voice. “Now, my dear, why don’t we agree to disagree. Let us toast to the rousing discussions had on this fine evening, and a toast to our enigmatic host, Monsieur Voltaire.”

As the occupants raised their glasses, more than a few conspicuous glances were exchanged.

Very quietly, their host turned towards Aziraphale, speaking in a hushed tone. “You know, Mr. Fell, many have had their eye on Mr. Crowley for quite sometime. Out of everyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

“Oh!” The angel’s eyes grew wide, but before he could answer, a certain demon flanked his left.

“Lift home?” Crowley asked.

“Let me get my coat.” Aziraphale replied in kind.

The pair exited together, this was not unexceptional, except for tonight, there would be talk long after their departure.

A jingle of sleigh bells heralded the arrival of Crowley’s carriage; a sleek, black sled pulled by 2 massive, jet black horses with glowing red eyes. Crowley opened the door, allowing Aziraphale to enter first. The demon snapped his fingers and the horses galloped at magnificent speeds.

“I rather like our fine host.” Aziraphale said, breaking the silence. “That is, I respect his opinions more than that horrid Rousseau fellow.”

“I agree. Voltaire is a friend, we have much in common.” The demon remarked.

“Is he also a snake?” Aziraphale asked innocently.

“Ha! No! I’m saying that he alters is appearance to reflect who he is on the inside.”

“Like you in Golgotha and Rome and...”

“Yes. Exactly like that.”

“Ah. I like him very much, but his ideas are quite radical.” He turned the conversation. “You know, I believe we might be the topic of gossip after this evening.” Aziraphale fidgeted in his seat as he spoke.

“Why is that?” Crowley, desperately trying to maintain his composure.

“I believe it’s because you called me angel.”

“It just slipped out. I don’t believe I revealed you as a celestial being.”

“I think, I mean, what they assumed, was that we are...Well, I think they took it as a term of endearment.”

“A term of endearment?” Crowley nearly slid off his seat. He settled himself and gave a laugh. “I called you angel because that is what you are.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale said quietly, trying not to sound disappointed.

“You always call me dear, so how is angel any different?”

“I don’t know, it seemed rather...personal, intimate.”

“I can stop if you prefer.”

“No no, I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.”

“Very well then.” Crowley snaps his fingers and the sled comes to an abrupt halt. The bells on the harness continue to ring, providing a beautiful melody against an otherwise quiet night; a serenade of chimes singing through the streets of London.

“Thank you for the ride home.” Aziraphale said warmly, almost hesitant to leave.

“You’re most welcome. Goodnight angel.” Crowley grinned as he raised his eyebrow.

“Oh you!” Aziraphale laughed as he shuts the door behind him.

“Goodnight, my angel.” Crowley whispers to himself as he commands the sleigh forward, into the darkness. In his coat pocket, an invitation for the next salon gathering, three months hence at Voltaire’s Burgundy residence. The writing on the card caused his heart to skip a beat.

“To Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell”

Well. He thought to himself, I’ll be damned. As he carefully slid the invite back into the jacket pocket.

What he couldn’t know is that in his London residence, a certain angel received the same invite. He tucked it away, in an unassuming box, the contents included: a red flower forever in bloom, a single black feather, a scroll with scorched ends and several other items. None of them having any particular monetary value, yet each precious in their own way to their owner.

[who-souffle-blog]

“The Longest Night”

[ANGST/ALCOHOL. WORD COUNT: LONG lmao.]

It had been a long night and while Clara didn’t like to admit to her habits, partaking in alcohol often crept it’s way into her weekly routine.

The truth was, it had been a rather long month. Not only was it the anniversary of her mum’s passing, but among other things, her father still wasn’t handling the loss of his wife well...despite how long it had been since. However, Clara and her father weren’t the closest and therefore; they both, found the comfort in the intoxicating beverage rather than communication..especially on a topic as morbid as Ellie Oswald’s death. It was easy, [not speaking to one another on the topic], given Clara had moved in with the Maitland’s to help them transition through the stages of grief at the loss of their mum as well.

But still, there was something that pushed Clara into a deep sense of longing, something that kept her restless and she needed to tell someone, but who?

Just as she was about to ring up an old friend of hers, the familiar wheezing and groaning of the TARDIS materializing caught her in the midst of a gulp of Brokers.

Springing up from her place on her bed, she practically tossed the half-empty bottle into the waste bin in the corner of the room and tried her hardest to douse herself in the perfume that stayed on her vanity mirror’s counter.

“Clara!” The bow tie-wearing alien pulled open the doors to his ship, his head poking out as he observed her bedroom for the millionth time despite her protests. “I seem to have landed in your room..again. Apologies!”

He was always so quirky and despite the amounts of times she teased and poked fun at him, there truly wasn’t anything she would change. Sitting up, the short brunette eyed him, her head tilting as she checked her phone’s date.

“Um, Doctor? It’s Monday, not Wednesday. What’re you doing here? You might wake the kids! It’s 1:35 am!!”

“The kids? Oh, yes! Angie and Artie! How are they by the way?”

“Doctor,” she paused for a moment before deciding to give into his questions, knowing it would be hopeless if she just ignored them. “They’re fine, though I believe they’re resting right now. I’ll tell them you said hello in the morning when they wake, yeah?”

Her voice was one of urgencies, she didn’t like having to talk, there was no way he couldn’t smell the alcohol on her breath..no way at all..and her suspicions on that matter were only proven when the Timelord raised his head and began to sniff the air around his beloved companion.

“Wait...1:35 in the morning? CLARA! Why are you awake? Have you got someone over? Am I interrupting something?”

“What? No, I haven’t got anyone over—Doctor?!”

He had begun his usual snooping around the room drill. The ‘there’s someone here and I’m going to find them’. She couldn’t help but giggle softly at how jealous he seemed once he got a whiff of alcohol being present in the room with her. But it was also strange, why was he being this way? This wasn’t like him, well not usually.

Finding no one, the Doctor adjusted his bow tie before giving one last glance across the room and moving between Clara and the TARDIS.

“You’ve been drinking. If no one else is here, then it’s only you and you smell like alcohol. Why do you smell like alcohol? Did someone make you drink it? That stuff tastes horrid, almost as bad as the water at the ‘Fountain of Youth’. Did I ever tell you about that-? Who knew it was real, I certainly didn’t-” he had begun his sarcastic storytelling, rambling on about some other adventure whilst he looked her over with a few glances. He seemed to be watching her intently, his eyes narrowing at hers.

“It’s only a few drinks, everyone drinks-”

“But you don’t, you never drink.”

And there it was, the reason she never ever told him.. There were many things she kept from the Doctor, frankly because most of them he would either disapprove of or become...weirdly curious of and she didn’t want to deal with any awkward questions. Choosing to ignore him, she quipped with a question of her own:

“What are you doing here on a Monday? Look, I know you told me about your other friends travelling full time with you, but we discussed this, I need a reality check someti--” Clara went silent as the Doctor lifted a finger to his lips and lightly shushed her. Her mind seemingly going blank as she gave him a look of confusion and discomfort.

“I’m only here to check up on you. You know, the usual pop in - pop out, ‘hey how are you?’ kind of thing~” he mused quietly. His strides were slow, as if cautious, as he walked over to the waste bin and tilted his head to look at the contents inside. With another soft sniff to the air, he grinned and then turned back to Clara, gently clapping his hands together. “Looks like you need a roommate!”

“I’m sorry, a what??” She had finally found her words and frankly she didn’t like where this was going. The Doctor couldn’t be her roommate, it would make things dreadfully awkward all the time and she wouldn’t be able to stand it..

“Only for tonight!” He held his hand up, a bright smile spreading across his lips as his green irises glimmered with a childish spark. “One night Clara Oswin Oswald, I want to see how well you are doing...” speaking softly, he moved to sit in Clara’s leather reading chair next to her bookshelf.

“Once again, that’s not my middle name,” she retorted, watching him disapprovingly. Not even a minute later, she crossed her arms a sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. Only one night and that’s it..!”

“Of course, one night, as you wish. So then Clara, tell me about your mother,” his eyes met hers. The childish dazzle fading in an instant.

[flynnpls-blog]

TO ALL YOU BEAUTIFUL HUMANS OF @hollywoodfamerp !!

i told myself not to get all sappy with these posts but let’s be real, i’m a huge ass sap and i have no ragrets. so it’s kinda blowing my mind that a person like me who can’t shut up even if you paid me is at a loss for words when it comes to the gratitude that i feel to each person that i have ever interacted with and even those who i have yet to. when i came into this place a little over a year ago playing the lovely babe that is thomas brodie sangster, i was extremely intimidated, not only by the size of the group but over all because no one ever really plays thomas’ face in rps. i knew that i was going in blind and i didn’t necessarily know what to expect or if people would even want to interact with him, but immediately i was greeted with open arms with him. you have NO idea how much that meant to me, especially since in other rps before no one ever took too well with him. it was like pulling teeth to even get a response from someone but here, it was completely different. it was motivating and people always seemed to reach out even if they didn’t know who he was. it was the start of something incredible for me here and i couldn’t have been more thankful for the people that welcomed me with no hesitations. not only have i met some incredible people that i call my close friends but i’ve also created so much magic with various different people. there was never a time here that i ever felt left out or that my babies were undermined in the slightest. everyone has always been accepting and open to everyone i brought in and that is so refreshing in this rpc. 

with that being said, i want to thank every single person here from the bottom of my heart for opening their minds and hearts to my crazy, weird little babes. from my new baby grant, to my hard ass little firecracker lauren, to my longest loved babe britt, and especially to my forever love brandon. i thank you! i know that some people don’t take well to the 13rw cast, as they have every right to, but the fact that brandon has been nothing but loved here honestly makes me emotional. he has been my main muse since taking him up this summer and i knew from how well thomas was accepted that it would be just the same for brandon and little did i know that he was loved even greater. so thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me the opportunity to grow his friendships and connections. thank you for giving him a chance and thank you for giving me the encouragement to be apart of something so incredible here. my love for every single person knows no bounds. 

i also want to take the time to give some quick little shout outs to some people that have been nothing but angels to me. whether i’ve known you for two days or the year that i’ve been here, you have made such an impact on me and my muses. 

@bxprinsloo | @dxminnette - sarah, you are seriously such a riot that it kills me every time we speak. whether it’s out of character or in, you always manage to make me smile. i can’t even begin to explain how much i always wanted to reach out to you to plot but was too damn nervous all the time because HELLO you’re such a talented writer and the second that you took up dylan i knew that this was going to be a match made in heaven. i love the way you’re so passionate about your babies and how to will just randomly surprise me with feels in the form of texts, submissions, or just random plot thoughts. I LOVE IT. and i love YOU. thank you for being such a kind soul to me and thank you for giving me the beauty that is all our connections. i seriously couldn’t ask for anyone better to smack me in the face with feels when i least expect it. 

@aubreycplaza - MARISSA. this is me speaking as both britt and myself: i fucking love you. let it be known that a lot of people tend to not get britt’s humor because it’s really awkward ( and slightly cringe ) but immediately you picked up on it with aubrey and these two clicked. i can’t even describe what to call them, if it’s soulmates or just really strange ass friends but either way, i love them. i love your sense of humor and i just love the heart that you pour into aubrey. everything you write is always so authentic and i admire the fact that you show the layers of her. she has never been a one sided woman and i can’t tell you how much i love the way you play on that. i can’t thank you enough for keeping up with me, even on my slow moments with britt and even when i’m horrid at messaging back. i thank you from the bottom of my heart and i hope you know how appreciated you are.

@hf-jmorrison | @hf-missmiddleton - KELS. my darling you are seriously one of a kind. i say that with all the love in my heart because you are one of the sweetest people i have ever crossed paths with in my rp career here on tumblr. you always manage to make brandon feel so incredibly loved with either one of your ladies and i can’t thank you enough for that. you are so gifted and dedicated to your two babies and it shows through every thing you write for them. i loved every single moment of being able to write with you and fan girl out of character. please keep being your positive and sunshine self because you deserve all the best in the world!

@annak47hq - reese, you beautiful creature. i don’t even know how brandon and anna got started on this weird friendship / siblingship but i don’t think i’d trade it for the world. from the beginning of you joining, i could see the passion that you had for anna and i have admired every single ounce of dedication and time you’ve put into her. it’s refreshing to see someone take the time to think out their muse and i can’t even tell you how much it has paid off because you play her brilliantly. thank you for blessing me with not only the sweetest pairs of friendships but for gracing us with anna! much love for you!!

@katslngfrd - daisy!! i can’t even describe to you how excited i get when seeing katherine on my dash and seeing that we had got another one - one just as talented as you are, i freaked! you seriously make me laugh out loud from your undying love for kat and dylan to the shameless talks of briles getting down and dirty #noshame i seriously am so so excited that we have you here to be apart of this family and i hope that you stay and grow katherine to her fullest potential because you seriously are so loved here!!

 @cara-x-delevingne | @kit-x-harington - oh mickey, there is so much love in my heart for you that i could explode!! from the moment you joined as nathalie and kit, i knew that you were the most incredible rper that i had ever seen in such a long time. you put such thought into all of them and none of their voices are ever the same, it’s almost like you embody them. i can’t tell you how thankful i am that we got to explore so many friendships - kit & maisie!!!!, nathalie & maisie, kit & thomas, nathalie & thomas, and now brandon and cara. it is such a blessing to not only get to interact with you on the dash but to also talk with you out of character because you are such a bright light in this community. so thank you from the bottom of my heart for being so incredible! 

@armiehmmer | @jenniferlxwrence | @conncrfrantas | @saoirsexrcnan - GRACE! ahh you are so wonderful and i wish that i could scream that from the rooftops so that you’d understand just how special you are! no matter what character you bring in, it seems like you just tap inside their brains and know exactly what they are thinking. you seriously have such a gift with writing and as i shamelessly stalk candice and armie, i can’t even begin to tell you how much i admire you as a writer and person. i definitely need to make more of an effort with gaining all the friendships between all our babies but just know that you are immensely talented and i hope you know how much of an impact you’ve made on this rp. 

@xtswifts - caroline, lemme tell you something wring now. i need proof that you aren’t the real t swizzle and i need is now because there is no way in hell that you aren’t. that’s how fucking good you are! real talk though, you have such a presence when you are on the dash, just like how taylor captivates a room - you know how to make your light shine on this dashboard. everything you do, everything you say. it just radiates grace and postivity and i seriously believe that we need more people like you in this world. it’s my fault that i have been so intimidated to reach out for plots and connections, mostly because i’m like how am i even worthy of such a queen like this? but i am making this my goal to have every single connection ever with you because you are INCREDIBLE. hands down the most well written and well encompassed taylor i have ever seen. thank you for being such a sweetheart and please keep gracing us with your baby!!

@sxmitchell - kourtney, you are just like shay - an absolute angel. you have such a heart for your girl and it shows with every conversation you have about her. i enjoy hearing all about your thought process with shay and hearing how well thought out every little decision you make for her is something i admire wholeheartedly. not to mention, you out of character? oh my gosh you make my heart happy!! just from your little check ins to make sure i’m alright, from the way you always take the time to see how someone is mentally, that makes you so incredibly special. i can’t tell you how much i’ve enjoyed getting to explore lauren and shay, and even shay and grant. thank you for always putting in 100% and you deserve nothing but the same in return. 

&& i have to shout out to some of the other most amazing babes that i have met and have shown love to all my babies. i sincerely hope that we can cook up all the good plots and that you all keep up the dedication and creativity with your muses. 

@dontpanicitsbeebo​ | @vanessam0rgan | @dxvescamerxn | @blccmtroye | @bobsmorlee | @haizzsf | @joekccry​ | @fcknattyice​ | @itskeeoone​ | @jpgsasha​ | @ncrmanii​ | @phoebctonkn​ | 

now that i’ve rambled entirely too much, i just want to say thank you as a whole to everyone that has ever once interacted with my four and for those that haven’t yet, i still want to thank you as well and hope that we can plot something amazing for our muses in the future. i’m always more than willing to plot / chat / fan girl with anyone and everyone so please never feel that you can’t come to me. i’m just a huge nerd who is too intimidated to even say hi most of the time. thank you all for the wonderful year and i can’t wait to see what the future holds for all of you and this group. 

much love, 

marie xo

[sincerlyyme-blog]

Group Therapy (CONNOR MURPHY x READER)

AUTHORS NOTE: hello!!!!! i am back!!!!!!! i wrote this little thing, in hopes of making it a multiple part series. so this is just part one! but if you guys dont like it, let me know and ill just leave it as it is. I also want to take a moment to say that i am back to UPLOADING A FIC OR HEADCANON ONCE A DAY!! when i first started this blog, that was my uploading schedule. life got in the way, but im back baby!!!!! 

Word Count: 2.4k ish

TW: suicide, suicide descriptions, swearing, therapy groups , etc

PS: i have been to many group therapies, so this is all just based purely on personal experience. so if this is triggering to you, please dont read any further!!!!

           Connor Murphy was special. Not special in the way you would describe a rare artifact or gem. He was special like the waves in the ocean, the colours in the sky, or oil paint on a canvas. He was special because you knew what to expect. Like a wave in the ocean, you expected to crash. Like the colours in the sky, you expected to fade out after hours of daylight. Like oil paint on a canvas, you expected to dry and harden after creating something beautiful. Connor Murphy was a synonym for beautiful; only the rarest of poets could find in a dictionary. He was the sound that rolled off of the tongue of a politician. He was the feeling of warm laundry, draping around your body. Connor was all of these things—which is why his downfall was to be expected.

           You had tried numerous group therapies in the past. None of them seemed to improve your feelings or behaviors. But they stabilized your health, which is all you could really ask for. There was something equally pleasing and eerie about joining group therapy. It was oddly satisfying to hear everyone bitch and complain, but also eerie that the painted beige walls would contain a group of kids who tried to kill themselves. Talk about a Suicide Squad.

           You drove yourself to group therapy. This one was named Youth Wonders: Group Therapy and Psychiatrics. The name was slathered on the brick building in bronze lettering. It looked ancient. Maybe it looked cool back in 2002, but it made you roll your eyes just at the sight. You were 5 minutes early. Your keys were still lodged into your car ignition. This was the hardest part: getting out of the car. There was always that part of you that was tempted to ditch, go eat some McDonald’s for the hour, and go back home to tell your dad that everything went well. The feeling of guilt spread over your stomach just at the thought. You have lied to your father many times before. He didn’t deserve to be lied to again.

           Finally, you slumped out of the driver’s seat and walked into the horrid building. It smelt like old carpet and candle wax. Kind of like a church. But nothing Holy grew an abundance to you whilst walking through the halls. A white, thick door was stood open with a brick. On the inside if the door, facing you, a pink slip of paper was taped up.

“TEEN YOUTH SUICIDAL THERAPY GROUP”

           They really don’t sugar coat anything here. Your footsteps grew heavier as you walked through the door. Plastic chairs were all set up in a circle. Inside there were only four teenagers, and a woman who had a strange resemblance to Whoopi Goldberg.

           “Name, please?” her scratchy voice echoed off the walls. Her dry hands where clutching a clipboard and her pink pen was held between her fingers, like a cigarette.

           “Oh, uh, Y/N L/N,” you frowned, taking a seat across from her.

           According to the amount of chairs set up, there were only six people in the group. You, an empty chair, Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, and an empty chair. The empty chair was to your left. You stared at it, feeling cold. The awkward tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You took this moment of silence as an opportunity to look around the room. All of the teens glared at their feet.

           The girl next to you had red hair. Her face was populated with cystic acne that looked painful to the touch. Her ginger locks were pulled into a low ponytail. She wore a large men’s sweater that hung off of her skinny body. Sitting to her left was a large Filipino boy. He wore a purple sweater and old hiking shoes. The toe of the boots were worn out and his big toe peeked out. His hair was greasy, and he looked in need of a shower. Down the line, in the circle, sat a Latina girl. Her hair was done perfectly and her ears were pierced. Big golden hoops dangled from the lobes, reaching her collarbone. She was chewing bubblegum, and wearing a croptop – even though the temperature was just above freezing. Finally, in the corner sat a very pale white boy. He was short and skinny. He looked like he was 12 years old. His minecraft shirt had large orange stains, and had blonde whiskers growing in on his upper lip.

           Whoopi-Goldberg-lady took a final sigh, clicking her pen. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, another person stomped in.

           “You finally decided to join us…” the woman looked at her clipboard before reading out loud, “Connor?”

           The boy grunted in response, throwing his body down onto the chair next to you. You winced at the sound. He had long hair. The ends curled into the collar of his denim jacket. Your eyes trailed up to his face. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he grinded his teeth together. The Whoopi-lady stood up, smoothing out the material of her chiffon blouse.

           “Welcome, everyone. My name is Liz,” she spoke above her gravely tone.

           Her name was Liz. Finally, you could stop referring to her as the Whoopi-Goldberg-lady, in your head.

           “I will be your counselor and guide for this group. Within our 9 weeks here, I expect all of you to hit a few goals. The first being: opening up. I want you to share your story, knowing that whatever is said in here, stays in here.”

           You could hear the boy next to you, practically scoff.

           “So the first thing we are going to do is; go around the room, say your name, age, and explain why you are here.”

           You could feel everyone tense up.

           “Let’s start with,” Liz glanced at her clipboard. “Jamie.”

           The red-haired girl sat up straight. She removed her fingers from her mouth, as she was just chewing on her cuticles moments ago. Her bleeding fingers dove into the sleeves of her sweater.

           “Hi, I’m Jamie,” she spoke softly, almost like a robot. “I’m 15 and I’m here because I overdosed on sleeping pills.”

           Liz nodded, “Ok. Great. Thank you, Jamie.”

           Next in line was the boy in hiking boots.

           “Hi, I’m Leroy. I’m 16 and I tried to hang myself from a tree,” his voice was a deep baritone. But was quickly cut off by the Latina girl beside him.

           “Did the tree break, fatty?”

           “Andrea,” Liz warned. “This is supposed to be a safe space.”

           “Ok, yeah, whatever. I’m Andrea. I’m 18. This is my third time here. I took too much meth and blacked the fuck out. So I’m here,” she snapped her gum, fingering the golden hoop on her ear.

           “Daniel, your turn,” Liz looked at the small pale boy.

“Hi, um, I’m Daniel. I’m 16 and I, uh,” the boy began to sob violently. Your heart broke a little bit. The boy next to you, Connor, scoffed. You were almost in disbelief at his heartless gesture.

“It’s ok, hun. Take your time,” Liz spoke softly.

Daniel continued, hiccupping and telling the group how he tried to end his life just two weeks prior. After many tissues, Liz continued down the line.

“Connor?”

The boy next to you, shifted in his seat. He was now sitting up, straight. His long legs tangled over each other. His large, black combat boots looked heavy against his skinny shins. He was wearing a lot of layers.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Connor. I’m 17. I tried killing myself 3 weeks ago.”

“How? You have to say how,” Andrea twirled her hair around her finger.

“Why? Do you get off to people’s backstories or some shit?” he hissed back.

Liz waved the two of them off, gesturing that it was okay to keep those details private. Next was you. And you could feel your breath become heavy. All eyes landed on you.

“Well, uh, my name is Y/N. I’m 17, also. I tried killing myself last year, but I’m here because my therapist told me to,” you spoke softly.

“That’s fucking boring.”

“Andrea!”

 You were pouring coffee into a Styrofoam cup, rubbing the drowsiness out of your eyes. It was the half-way mark through group therapy. The group is given a 15 minute break between the two hours, and there is a small table full of shitty snacks and coffee.

“Coffee at 1pm?” a voice spoke from behind you. You turned to see that Connor boy offering you a lazy smirk.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”            “Well it’s shitty filtered coffee, and no one drinks coffee in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much,” you spoke while moving to the side, putting creamer and 8 packets of sugar into the small cup. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Jesus Christ,” he gaped at the amount of sugar you put in.

“It’s good, you should try it some time,” you mused, taking a small sip.

Connor shook his head, pouring some of the filtered brew into a cup of his own. “No, thanks. I’d like to live well into my thirties.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of why you’re here?”

“Touché.”

 The rest of the afternoon went as expected. Red-haired girl went on a rant about her dad never loving her, Daniel cried some more, and Liz gave us homework to complete for next week. The green folder full of worksheets will be added to the pile of therapy homework that you never do. You have other things on your plate. You have a job, school, and university to think about.

While walking to your car, you see the tall boy leaning against the hood of your car.

“Uh, hi?” you spoke, raising on eyebrow.

He jumped a little bit, not seeing you at first. “Oh, hey, can you drive me home? My dad is at work and my mom…” he trailed off, looking at his feet.

You scratched the back of your head, not really knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry, I barely even know you. I should just walk home-“ he began to ramble, grabbing his messenger bag from between his feet.

“Get in,” you sighed, unlocking the car.

“Wait. Really?”

“What’s your address?”

The car ride was pretty silent. It contained the sound of your humming motor, and the small murmurs of directions from Connor. You had asked him what street he lived on, but he just told you that he would direct you there. He lived on the outskirts of the city. By following his directions, you drove into the suburbs. The houses were all parallel to each other. Each of them very large, big two-car garages, and nicely trimmed lawns. It was the type of neighborhood that would give out the good candy on Halloween.

“It’s the house on left, here,” he mumbled once again. Your eyes practically bugged out of your head.

“This one?” you took one hand off the steering-wheel to point to the house in front of you. It was gigantic. It was painted yellow with a dark blue door. It must have been at least 4 stories high. The backyard, from what you could see, was massive. Two large pillars on other side of the front door, reminding you of pictures in textbooks about ancient Rome.

As you pulled into his driveway, Connor picked at his nail polish. “What? Are you surprised?”

“A little,” you laughed, looking over at him.

He began to pick up his bag, looking over at you. The sunset in the sky casted a pink shadow in your car, making everything a rose colour.

“Well, uh, thanks. I’ll see you next week,” he spoke, stepping out of your car.

You watched as the goth boy walked into the giant, yellow house. It was a sight to see.

 Next week rolled around, and you were five minutes early. You sat in your car, rubbing your temples. Another night without sleep. It was beginning to take a toll. Sitting in your car became a ritual you had. It gave you time to mope, before having to put on a brave face for wherever you were going. You let out a large sigh. Your head was pounding. Placing your forehead in the palms of your hands, you laid them down on the steering wheel. Closing your eyes, you were grateful to have a second to decompose.

It was quiet until you heard your passenger door open and slam shut. You let out a scream, sitting back, looking at the man who just entered. It was Connor.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

“Chill the fuck out.”

“CONNOR, YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT.”

“What? Get in someone’s car? I know. I’m not an idiot.”

You began to go on a slight rampage, telling him about how many girls get abducted by leaving their cars unlocked. He responded by telling you to ‘lock your fucking car, then’. Before you could shout another witty response, he shoved a cup of hot coffee into your hand.

“Here.”            “What… What is this?”

“Coffee, you dumbass.”

“Yeah, I know. But why?”

He just shrugged, taking a sip out of his own cup, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“So, why do you sit in here?” he mumbled against the warm lid of his beverage.

“It’s just nice, I guess?” you spoke out softly, rubbing your eyes.

Connor nodded, drinking his coffee quietly. You did the same.

  Lunch time came around. Therapy had been going well. But you couldn’t help but find yourself staring into space every other minute. It was no group participation. It consisted of Liz telling everyone that how they were feeling is “okay”. It wasn’t anything that you hadn’t heard before.

You stood up the moment Liz said that your 15 minute break began. You walked over to the snack table, pouring another cup of coffee. Connor watched you from his seat, chewing on his bottom lip.

No one else had picked up on your caffeine habits. Rather, the rest of the teenagers fought over the sugar cookies that were lined up on the table. You walked back to your seat, sighing loudly as your butt hit the chair. You took a large gulp of the cheap caffeine, letting your eyes settle close for a moment.

“You know, I never got to hear your story last week,” you spoke softly with your eyes still closed.

“Well, same goes to you, I guess,” he mumbled back, slouching into his chair.

You cracked an eye open, looking at him. “Mine isn’t as recent.”

He shrugged back, watching you as your eyes flutter shut once more.

“My family is shit. My parents hate me. Some kid wrote a weird letter about my sister. I freaked the fuck out. It was just kind of the last straw, I guess?”

 It was quiet for a few more moments. You opened your mouth to speak, then Liz clapped loudly, asking everyone to return to their seats. Group began again, and Connor avoided your eyes at all costs.

[midnight-in-town]

We will be waiting for the night

For @dorkshadows ^3^ : A little evening in the mind of our very mad Lady Red pre/mid-canon, as I really enjoyed our old talks about her characterization. I also wanted to write my take on Lau’s character and I know you like him a lot.

I apologize for the random timing, but you are one of the few people I always wanted to dedicate a story to (non-spoilery preview: I am not a great author so it doesn’t make for a great gift) but unfortunately I’m often busy, so consider it a very very late gift for your birthday of last year (or a very early gift for your birthday this year, but I tend not to like celebrating birthdays in advance -> superstition :/). 

I hope you’ll enjoy it but even if you don’t, that’s okay. :D

/!\ Important notes before reading: 

Beware the madness and mentions of violence/drug use

If the story appears to be a succession of strange ramblings, then thanks for noticing because that’s what I wanted it to be considering that I see Red as mad, desperate and probably dissociating (which doesn’t mean I don’t like her, otherwise I wouldn’t write about her)

Also Madam Red in this story refers to Grell as ‘he/him’ and I made that narrative choice because Grell pretended to be a butler and not a maid in canon until their true identity was revealed, so I assumed Red inwardly saw Grell as a guy. If you can’t agree with/can’t respect that choice, please don’t read. 

Excerpt:

Just like the end of some unfortunate events, their beginning was the result of a miscalculation on her part, during one of these rare nights that she did not have Grell by her side as she got rid of one more of those ungrateful women.

Killing on his turf was… frankly something that she should have had enough intelligence to avoid, but on that night, her thirst had been too overwhelming and fate had decided that she were to be discovered by his kitty pet, the girl’s amber eyes ignoring the bloody corpse at her feet, rather staring at her the same way Grell would sometimes. As if the sordid murder of a fellow human being did not even deserve a flutter of the eyelids. 

Lau did not even bother to feign looking surprised either when his kitty pet brought her to him, all dirty and still wearing her bloody dark coat, as always reeking of iron, the taste or smell of anything sugary washed away by her sins and far far away in her madness. 

Also on: [AO3] [FFnet]

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She imagines the laugh of happy children on a sunny summer day…

“What are girls made of? Sugar and spice and everything nice.~~”

...before remembering that there will never be any children around her. Not anymore.

“What are girls made of? Sugar and spice and everything nice.~~”

And red. Yes… Red, red, with the blood flowing out of their body when they are killed.

But blood can be pretty sometimes, she finds, especially when it is used to paint a surreal scene of murder in some dark backstreet of London. The taste of iron is the only thing she does not like because it is too strong and bitter, she thinks as her lips form a smile in spite of it, so opposed to the sugary smell that children carry with them everywhere they go, as if to remind her that she should not have stabbed that prostitute as much as she did.

However, it is too late to go back, that she is sure of as she watches Grell smile at her, pointed teeth showing behind the dark red of his own lips and she wonders if he is going to say that they should go back now. To where there are no children anymore. There will never be.

“Can you believe that stupid stereotype that says that women are more likely to faint at the sight of blood?” Grell asks her, very matter-of-factly, his eyes rolling in annoyance as he keeps on smiling at her, “As if we women do not see more blood than those gents do. Men really only have their hotness to make up for their stupidity, I swear.”

She notices again that rambling away after they are done with their victim is something that Grell likes to do. She does not know if that is to ease away the awkwardness that killing theoretically might raise in him, but she could not be less bothered by it. She usually prefers not to say a word, relishing in the after of her madness, seeing as it is the only time she is allowed to let loose on her fury. The only time the rest of the world is asleep and she does not have to pretend.

Nothing can spoil the moment, nothing should and nothing will.

“We ought to go home,” Grell ends up saying when he notices her staring at the body without blinking, “who knows who could pass by at such a late hour?”

Possibly no one, she thinks, it is not like she is stupid enough to go crazy just anywhere but she knows he is right: lingering on the crime scene rarely ever is a good idea. Besides, she reeks of iron because of all the blood and the smell could definitely attract some… dogs.

“We ought to go home, Madam Red,” Grell repeats, as he checks some strands of his long red hair, his foot tapping on the ground with a slow rhythm, which she recognizes as a sign of impatience.

Right. Home.

“Go back then,” she says, feeling Grell’s strange eyes shifting to her bloody silhouette and inwardly hoping that she will not have to argue. “I still have somewhere I need to go to this evening.”

He used to protest whenever she started doing this after one particularly messed up evening (something about partners in crime being tied together like a butler and his lady were, until the end of nights), but now all he does is staring and, as always, she can feel the disapproval and the annoyance emanating from the phosphorescent gaze he likes to transfix her with.

One day, surely, he will protest again. Probably more vehemently than he cares to do now. He is a good actor after all, his shy and clumsy act to the criticizing eye of the world nothing but the antithesis of who he really is. That is what their life is made to be: at day, she is the lady and his mistress whom he shall serve with devotion but at night, when it is cold and dark, he goes back to how he first appeared to her. He is a Death God and she is nothing but a killer. She kills their victim, but she is just a murderess who could die at any time when he is Death and relishes in her sins.

So one day, surely, he will stop pretending seeing her as his equal when he decides that she shall not kill again.

Not that she cares, most of the time. And right now, there is no need to contemplate her possible death, as she has somewhere else to be at.

“Go home,” she says again, her voice echoing through the back alley but there is still no one else there to hear her. No children at this time of the night. Or day. Or at home.

Hah. Home…

Where he is dead. Where everyone is dead, really.

They say passion can burn men and women alive, though for Ann it never was passion but rather jealousy. And jealousy can eat the heart and soul of men and women, alive or dead.

Really, how many times did she want, imagine, dream and hope that she could be Rachel?

However, even though Rachel is finally gone, it is impossible to replace her because her sister took everything away with her, not only the man she still loves with all her heart and soul, but also the children.

Ah… Rachel always had it easy, did she not? Whereas sometimes Ann is not sure of the fact she is still supposed to be a living person. Maybe it would make things easier to know for sure where she is standing, but things were never so simple for her in the first place. She lost a part of her every time someone she loved died after all, while Rachel is dead and unable to feel anything anymore.

Speaking of which, for someone who is supposedly dead, Grell seems more alive than she is most of the time. That’s why she busies him with the task of being her one and only servant; that makes for company and sometimes she thinks that he is all she has left.

“If you were not my one and only muse,” he pesters often as a result, “I would not force myself to wear such horrid clothes.”

She is grateful to him in these moments because he keeps her in check by acting like he cares about what she does, which is a lot compared to the almost nothing she has left.

Where did the children go? She wonders as her mind wanders again, the killer that she is strolling through a very silent neighborhood of London, still focused on going where she always goes at the darkest hour. That is right, it almost could be a song: out of the two who could have been her own had she been Rachel, one is dead and the other changed too much. As for the other two blond little angels, one is almost a man and the gentle little pretty dove hardly comes by anymore.

It must be her mother’s fault. Lady Frances always was too astute.

Just like it was Rachel’s fault. It is always the mother’s fault.

Now I am lonely because of her. And the truth is that loneliness is as terrible as sorrow, she thinks as she walks through what definitely seems to be a deadly silent city, no echo of happy children’s cries anywhere ever again, because both leave crazy ideas in their trail when they linger.

Just like the end of some unfortunate events, their beginning was the result of a miscalculation on her part, during one of these rare nights that she did not have Grell by her side as she got rid of one more of those ungrateful women.

Killing on his turf was… frankly something that she should have had enough intelligence to avoid, but on that night, her thirst had been too overwhelming and fate had decided that she were to be discovered by his kitty pet, the girl’s amber eyes ignoring the bloody corpse at her feet, rather staring at her the same way Grell would sometimes. As if the sordid murder of a fellow human being did not even deserve a flutter of the eyelids.

Lau did not even bother to feign looking surprised either when his kitty pet brought her to him, all dirty and still wearing her bloody dark coat, as always reeking of iron, the taste or smell of anything sugary washed away by her sins and far far away in her madness.

Similarly, she did not bother trying to settle for a lie as an explanation: some nights were not suitable enough for her to pretend when she was so tired of it, and he had probably suspected her well before this instant anyway. That is why, as he had looked at her that first night, she instantly understood that he saw who she really was: not Lady Angelina, not even Madam Red, but rather ‘Jack the Ripper’.

…Or maybe he had never suspected her before seeing her like that. Hard to say with him.

“Oh, Angel! Why, I did not expect you tonight.”

In any case, it had been as if it was the first time a fellow human being had met the real her properly.

“I guess it was another lucky night for harvesting, then?”

And, in her eyes for some reasons that made him really look really attractive, his Asian origins and the fact that he was not... him a lost protest at the back of her deranged mind. Love and a wanton desire of flesh are nothing alike anyway. …Or maybe she likes how cunning he is, for that would be a common point with him, the man her sister stole from her.

“Who knows how long until our little Watchdog finds out about your hunting grounds though, hmm? So it is better that you fully enjoy it while you still can.”

Tonight though, unlike months ago, she is not brought in by his pet with gorgeous eyes but rather invites herself to his dark and hidden den, the dull feeling of apprehension lost ever since her first visits and his ever still cheerful banter absolutely misplaced considering their situation.

“I still think it is completely unfitting that they would give the name of a man to such a pretty killing Lady. Don’t you think so, Ran Mao?”

One could call this a good deal that they have between them, as she now makes a habit of bringing him the uteruses that she collects, when she does not want to go back to what she used to call home. It is a way for her to get rid of them without leaving any proof behind and he sells these miserable organs devoid of their function for pure profit, which is simply him being his resourceful self as always (as there is obviously nothing else to gain from keeping the secret of what she is truly capable of).

And there is a certain sort of madness there again as she always lets a tear or two fall when she gives them to him, each time the reminder that children are forever gone because her uterus was once removed as well and will never carry any. So much for broken dreams when Lau is the one making money.

Sometimes she goes home right after leaving with him the proof of her nocturnal madness, but some other times she is tempted to stay. It is not like his company is soothing (though she does seek him for it to some extent), but the opium he offers sure is.

Often, he likes to joke that she is his favorite customer, which is strange really because he lets her smoke for free, as compensation for the uteruses that she brings and that he sells, so she wonders if the term ‘customer’ can really apply to her.

Sometimes Lau smokes with her, some other times he just watches her losing herself further, Ran Mao always playing the part of the silent witness. Her amber eyes stare but never judge and despite it all, the girl’s silence and opium itself, Angel never forgets her presence, no matter if Ran Mao never uttered a single word in her direction.

She always loses her mind to opium when she smokes, she always sighs because she feels falsely at peace (‘for once’, she always thinks) and it is something that is priceless for her. Maybe that is what Lau means whenever he says that she is his favorite customer.

She thinks about Rachel as she smokes and she remembers her sister’s kindness and lovely smile. Her ever so gentle sister… Why did she have to make Angel so unhappy? Why did she have to steal the only man Angel ever loved?

She thinks about the children too. Why did they all have to become so estranged to her? Why did they not have any more time to play with her, as they used to? When was the last time she saw a smile on Ciel’s face or that she saw Lizzie at all? Why did Rachel have to take that away with her too?

She thinks about her dead baby. She always wanted a girl, because Rachel never had one. A girl as bright and cheerful as little Lizzie, a girl who would have replaced all the jealousy consummating her with motherly love. Why could her always fragile older sister give birth to two sons when Angel had to lose her only baby?

And ultimately…

“My poor husband…” she cries out loud without tears to the high ceiling, “I do not think I ever thought about him whenever I laid in his arms.”

“Now that is rather unfortunate,” a playful voice rises from the room’s foggy atmosphere. “Poor man, I cannot help but imagine how entranced by you he must have been if he knew of your idyllic and imaginary passion for your brother-in-law and still loved you.”

Lau knows what she is thinking about. Of course he does. Or maybe she is the one who told him once before?

She certainly cannot recall doing so, however, even with the sweet fog that opium lays all around her, she is sure that she does not want Lau to know that, at this time of the night, she cannot remember what the man she loved so much looked like and that as a result she cannot reach her memories of him.

In fact, this is why she loves Lau’s opium so much and why she keeps on coming back, but even a mad woman still has her pride and thus Lau cannot know about that.  

As Ann rides off on imaginary dark clouds this night again, Angel throws one last look down and the abyss that greets her in Ran Mao’s eyes is bottomless and beyond scary.

“Wait,” she asks Lau in a slurred whisper, “did your girl not have amber eyes earlier?”

And Lau’s laugh is low and deep as he exhales some smoke from his own pipe (for he chose to smoke with her tonight), while the girl at his side does not stop staring with her terribly empty gaze. “What are you saying, Angel? You chose your path long ago, why would you still be able to see the warm light of amber after everything you have done?”

She feels a warm hand lay on her forehead and does not understand because she is supposed to be where no one can reach her. Soon the sky above her turns into a mocking pair of slit eyes.

“I wonder…” Lau’s voice resonates all around her, the taunting tone anchoring her and forbidding her from flying to the sky, ��Do you think the son of man you fell so helplessly in love with would spare you, should he know of your sins?”

“For you to speak about my sins, since when have you been Christian?” She tries to spit back but only manages to mumble.

“Oh, but without speaking of gods, the law is made by men and no matter where you escape to, no one will absolve you of all your wicked and jealous crimes, you know.”

She frowns at this. “This is… really bad philosophy.”

“So is Jack the Ripper’s, my beautiful Lady clad in blood’s red. You are a fascinating one. You try so hard to be beautiful, proper and noble when in reality you are nothing but a nasty bloodhound, following a long forgotten trail to reach your lost dreams. You know that is why you always come to see me, despite your denial. Because I am a dream maker.”

She would slap him harshly (for how dare he speak to her like this), but he is everywhere and nowhere at the same time and she cannot reach him. She cannot reach anything or anyone anymore, and yet Lau’s presence is all around her, as is the weight of Ran Mao’s eyes staring.

“Angel, floating high is nice,” Lau’s voice lulls her from far away. “You can watch over the world and unless someone looks up to the sky, they cannot see you. However, you will never get to fly away if you do not get rid of the shackles tying you down to your Earth. Dreaming and living will become the same only then, when you stop having expectations and fears.”

This is nonsense…

“Yes it is.” A voice answers her thought, but it is not Lau’s and Ran Mao never speaks. “But remember Ann, you are all mad here. That is why you lost everything.”

And for a brief second, Angel thinks she recognizes Rachel’s voice along what seems to be the very sweet and sugary smell of desperation.

Lau contemplates waking Madam Red up once dawn is around the corner, but it is definitely calmer when she sleeps instead of crying and besides, it seems that Ran Mao enjoys watching whenever the Lady dreams.

Sighing, he puts his pipe down and gets up to go pat his loyal kitty pet on the head. “Say, Ran Mao,” and the girl’s amber eyes silently stare at him and his thoughtful smile instead, “would it be very cruel of us to ask our dear Lady doctor to take care of one of our girls’ abortion?”

But Ran Mao just stares some more, before jerking her head away to resume her previous activity of watching over the dreams of the insane but beautiful Madam Red.

Your amusement will disappear if she dies too quickly, he hears in his head and he knows she is right.

Really, he hopes that the little Watchdog will not discover his aunt too soon.

Thank you for reading, I hope it wasn’t too off-putting and weirdly written. The title is in reference to this song, since listening to it is what gave me the idea for this story in the first place.

About Ran Mao’s changing eye color: it actually comes from the fact that different official artworks by Yana have her with either amber or black eyes, so I wanted to play on this a little, especially since I always had this little theory that Ran Mao might be yet another supernatural being. 

It’s hard to do Lau’s character some justice through writing, so I apologize if I completely failed, but the thing is, I doubt he is really the clueless character he pretends to be, so here you go for a more perverse and manipulative Chinaman. 

Simple headcanon of mine, but I always thought that Frances noticed when Red started to emotionally falter and realized that she might be the one behind “Jack the Ripper” which is why she forbade Lizzie to visit Red around the start of Kuroshitsuji. 

[ozymandiascezn]

schrei es in die winde ||2||

chapter two

fandom original

pairing original oc x original oc

warnings none that come to mind

-

The city of Old York was a grey one. You can read it in the books that years ago, skyscrapers filled the sky. There are old colored photos too, a stark contrast to the relapse into black and white photos. Now everything is closer to the ground — safe. That’s all anyone has cared about since they abandoned the old way of life, except no one was ever really safe. If they were, people wouldn’t be dying every day.

Andrej didn’t like this city as much as he liked his home town, which wasn’t any fault of his. He’d take the countryside over the city any day. But he had moved here for her, and now that she’s gone, there isn’t a single place left that he feels like he belongs to, so he stays.

Fingers snap in front of his eyes and he blinks, grumbling, “what?”

It’s the head honcho of his factory, Wilbur Norvil. He’s a spindly man, hands constantly wrung together as if he’s about to break some news to you that you might not want to hear. His suit doesn’t fit him, but he brings a familiar aura, as if he’s death incarnate but it’s his first day on the job. Everything about him is black save for his sickly pale skin. It was a wonder he lived any time the sun would come out.

“Sir? You zoned out again,” his voice is high, it reminds Andrej of a rat, “we’re here to discuss business, other business. The textile business is swell, but that is not why you asked for me, hm?”

“I want to expand. If it were up to me, I’d buy this whole city and wipe it of corruption, but I’m getting tired, Wilbur. I want to buy a bar, particularly a franchise. One that won’t mind the change of ownership.” Andrej casts his glance to the Hudson, he imagines the many bodies that are rumored to float in it. “Victoria is looking at some locations now, but you might know some places that aren’t on the list.”

He makes a noise between a whimper and a groan. “Of course, Sir, what exactly are you in the market for? Vintage bars, newer looking bars, high end bars? Or perhaps bars with secret rooms?”

“Secret rooms? Tell me more,” He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, hesitating for a moment before placing it between his lips. “How many have secret rooms?”

“Oh, just the Black Herring bars all over Old York, rumors is you gotta have the password to get in to the secret though.” Wilbur shrinks under his gaze. “It’s a worthy investment, Sir.”

He grunts, “it better be. I’ll have Vic look into it more when she has the time, for now I’ll take your word for it. I’ve had enough trouble to last me the rest of the month, so make sure your word is true.”

“Of course, Sir, has my word ever led you wrong?” Wilbur shrinks under Andrej’s knife-like gaze.

“No, but let’s not get too cocky about it. We all make mistakes, I don’t need this one having the potential of killing anyone. We’re not here to flirt with death.” He pulls out a cigarette, tucking it between his lips as he lights it. “Our job is simple, Wilbur. Let’s keep it that way, hm?”

Wilbur nods quickly, agreeing. “Of course, Sir. I’ll have the info you need on your desk by tomorrow morning!”

“If only half the people I work with were as timely as you, Wilbur,” he sighs, smoke flowing from his lips, “the world might flow a bit better that way.”

-

Andrej finds himself accompanied by a young girl, Jordie. She’s not much older than six, but her vocabulary is strong for a street rat. She is vehemently opposed to being called by her full name, Jordaan, but as spunky as she tends to be, she is small and so not worth the pain and suffering Old York has to spare.

She’s an orphan, one Andrej had every intention of adopting — legally, on paper, really adopting. He’s never been fond of kids, but she and Philip were a weak spot in his ruined heart. But then he lost her, the woman who held his heart, and suddenly nothing seemed to matter anymore.

She holds his hand, a chocolate cake pop in her hand. She got it from him, and the sweet tooth too, apparently.

“Andrej,” his name doesn’t come easy to her, more like An-rez, “how come your lady friend isn’t with you? I like her! She would’ve given me two cake pops!”

He smiles faintly. “Yes, she would’ve, but… unfortunately she won’t be coming with me for a while.”

She looks up at him as if someone had just kicked her puppy. “Why noooot? She was nice! I want to see her!”

Truth be told, he couldn’t answer that question. For months, he had battled with the idea of why. She was nice, wasn’t she? So, then, why her? Out of every ill-tempered, horrid being to exist in Old York, why had it been her? He is a monster, born from the worst clutches of society and still the fates chose her.

He has never understood why. Why it wasn’t him, why they decided to end his happiness right as it was beginning. For the first long while, he kept himself up at night asking ‘why’ over and over again, and now it’s like a prayer he says when he goes to sleep.

“I don’t know why,��� he answers after a while, “I don’t know why anything happens anymore. But I’ll give you extra sweets next time, for now, just behave.”

Jordie doesn’t miss the empty look in his eyes — almost everyone in Old York had it, but she’d never seen it in him before. She says nothing and walks in silence alongside him, until a bird catches her attention and she rambles on about her favorite books.

When they return to the manor, Elizabeth and Victoria are nowhere to be seen, but Philip and Roscoe — a mutant who stops by any time he’s in town — had made cookies and so Jordie quickly disappears from Andrej’s side. Although he isn’t alone, he certainly feels it.

He retires to a quieter area of the home — the parlor, which was hardly ever used now that everyone would rally themselves in the living room, more inward of the manor. Andrej preferred the parlor for it’s view of the street, where he could see who comes and goes. It was arguably not the safest point in the house, but it was quiet and when it got cold, the air was crisp against his skin and the frost crystallizes against the windows.

He picks up a book, a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s finest. It was a grim read, but the grey skies of Old York made him feel grim. Besides, the laughter of Jordie and Philip ring out through the halls, lightning all the darkness the home shelters.

Victoria makes her presence known when she enters the room. “You preach about us being safe and then you sit in a room where a sniper could get you.”

“My rules don’t apply to me, Vic. It’s there for you and the kiddos.” He hums, eyes gliding over the page even though he’s no longer actually reading. “Mainly the kids. I don’t want Jordie or Philip getting hurt.”

“You really like Jordie, huh? She’s smart for her age, it’s unsettling almost,” she shivers, smiling lightly, “you should adopt her, you know. She clearly doesn’t like the orphanage and she’s much more at peace and safe here with us.”

He pauses, staring at the page as if it would hold the answers he needs. “I was going to, before… before the accident, if you will. Now? I’m not so sure. I don’t have the time, more mutants here will bring more risk.”

“Yes, but you’d be adopting her as your daughter. Not some mutant you’re taking in from the streets. No one’s asking you to be her savior, what she needs is a parent who can give her love.” She muses, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re capable of that.”

Andrej closes the book and tosses it aside. “A human can be capable of so many things. Just because I am capable of something, it doesn’t mean I can or will actually do it. I am capable of so much, but as of late, none of it seems to matter.”

“You can’t grieve forever, Andy. It’s been months. People need you, people like Jordie.” She sighs. “You don’t have to adopt her now, you know, but it’s always a thought. I think she’d make you feel a whole lot better.”

“Sometimes, I do think about it… adopting her, I mean,” he sighs, as if admitting this had taken the weight off his shoulders, “taking her to the park, reading to her before she goes to bed — that sort of thing. Jordie likes that toy shop on 25th street, so I imagined taking her there and letting her get whatever she wanted.”

“Then, what’s stopping you?” She raises an eyebrow. “Why not give yourself this good thing?”

“Our lives are dedicated to protecting people like her, people like me, from falling into the hands of people like Nico Ward. They’d kill her if they had the chance, and they’d do it to get to me.” He grunts, standing up as if the conversation was too difficult to be done sitting. “Having her so close to me doesn’t feel safe.”

“We have a job tomorrow. Why don’t you come along? It’ll give you some time to think, and get your mind off of everything else.” Victoria watches as he passes by her, into the hall. “It’s going to be fun and easy. The target is an heirloom necklace some… rich guy wants back. He’ll pay good money for it, too.”

He pauses, hands tucked into his pockets. “Alright, I’ll go — if my skin cooperates, that is, if not, I take it you and Roscoe will grab a few others and go.”

“Ah, skin, a fickle mistress, is it not?” She slings an arm around his shoulders, standing on her tippy toes (even in heels) in order to tousle his hair. “Your hair is nice messed up like that. I should do it more.”

He snorts, chuckling. “I probably look like I haven’t slept in a month, huh? A fashionable homeless man.”

“You’d keel over and perish if you were ever a homeless man, Andrej.” She nudges him playfully. “It’s nice to hear some form of happiness coming from you again.”

He rolls his eyes at her words, electing to ignore them.