#she is moving very far away and that has brought up my abandonment issues but i genuinely am so happy for her and her family and she is ver

[alliewritesthings]

So I have a really specific requests but I need it so bad :(

I was thinking about the readers father left the family a couple of years ago and lives with a new girlfriend and her kids and it’s still all very hard for the reader even though it’s been about 5 years.

So one day Chris comes home and the second the reader sees him she just bursts out in tears because it just all came back and hurts so much… so Chris tries his best to comfort her..

this feels extremely personal, and i dont think i did this justice at all. im so sorry if this isn't what you wanted but i sort of struggled.

this is not my best by far.

if this has happened to you, im sorry to hear that but i hope you're doing okay. and know that my messages are always open, or you can stay anonymous and come talk to me in my ask if you ever need to get anything off your chest.

warnings: abandonment, probably a hint of ptsd? if i've missed any then please let me know, and i apologise in advance

word count: 1k

masterlist + requests are open

Things had taken a sudden change when you reached your late twenties. The unexpected happened. At the age of twenty-nine, you lost a parent. Lost was a strong word... He left. And by leaving it meant he cut ties with his whole family - his wife of over thirty years and his only child; you.

Truth be told, you never saw it coming. They were happily married, or so you thought, and the man had adored you for as long as you could remember. You’d always hoped to have a relationship, let alone a marriage, like your parents but those ideals quickly changed. They changed overnight.

You still remember the morning you received the phone call from your mother to say that he’d left. You thought maybe it was a midlife crisis, maybe he was just having a lapse in judgment and everything would work out in a few days' time.

But oh, how you were wrong.

He’d left to be with another woman, moved across state to start his new life with his lover and her three children. You were left, abandoned, for a woman who wasn’t your mother, and her three children. Three children who weren’t his own flesh and bloody, who weren’t his... like you were.

Everyone acted like you were fine, in fact you pretended you were.

“She’s a grown adult. I’m sure she’s fine.” You’d overheard the conversation in the office at work. You returned to work with the news hanging heavy on your shoulders, you didn’t take a single day away to think about it. Everyone assumed you were fine and that you had seen it coming.

You were fine, right?

Around five years had passed, and the forms of communication from your father lessened over the years. For the first year you still received a birthday card in the mail, signed from his new family. You even occasionally received email invitations to family gatherings he was hosting. Every invite and card went unanswered, you were simply uninterested in the man who deemed you not important enough.

Now, you received nothing. Not even an email to say happy birthday; all communication had simply ceased. And as each year passed, you were expected to accept the situation. But you still struggled; when you and Chris brought your first home together you simply wanted to share the news with your father. When you had a problem with your car, your first thought was to ask your father who would surely know. When you were renovating your new home and you simply wanted help redecorating, or you encountered an issue; your first thought was to contact your father. But he was gone, and the presence you were so used to... was gone. He was always your go to growing up when you had any form of issue.

It was the ‘anniversary’; the day he left. If you could forget the day, you would.

It was one of the harder days. Chris had been away filming, and everything seemed to have gone wrong. The stress of the day already weighing on your shoulders, then that morning you had an issue with your car – it simply wouldn’t start, and your lack of knowledge of cars had left you running late for work. Today was one of those days were you really needed your father; you knew he would have come running to help you, dropping everything to be there. When you eventually made it into the office, your boss disregarded your ‘excuse’ and retorted that ‘you should be over your daddy issues, it's been years now.’ You brushed off his poor management, once again doing the one thing you’ve been good at – pretending you were fine and got on with your day.

All you had to do was get through that day.

You ended up working late, making up for being late that morning. You dragged yourself into the house around eight in the evening, a loud groan falling from your lips as you noticed one of your couch cushions had been destroyed; and sitting innocently in his dog bed was Dodger.

“Today can’t get any worse, surely?” You mumbled to yourself, forcing yourself to tidy up the mess left in the living room after pouring yourself a glass of wine. You simply just needed to relax... you’d cook Chris and yourself some dinner for when he returned shortly, then run yourself a bath, drink a few more glasses of wine and then pass out in your bed and carry on like you always did.

As you were turning on the oven to warm it through, you hummed contently to yourself. You stilled at the sound of the front door opening, moving across the kitchen to prep the food to go in the oven.

“Hey!” You heard the voice behind you. Chris was finally home. You turned at the sound of his voice as he approached you, wrapping you up in his arms. “How have you been?” He questioned, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You wished he didn’t ask that question; you knew it was just out of love and curiosity but it brought tears to your eyes. And before you know it, you were sobbing into his arms as your body went weak. He held you tightly in his arms, comfortingly running his hand up and down your back.

He’d forgotten the day.

“Hey, it’s okay. Talk to me.” He mumbled, tilting your head away from his chest so he could get a look at you. That’s when he’d realised.

“Why did he have to leave?” You whimpered into Chris’ arms. “Why wasn’t I good enough?” You wailed.

“No. Never think that. You’re perfect.” He tried to reassure you.

“Everyone says I should be over it by now. I know it’s been five years but he just left!” You cried.

“Who’s said you should be over it?” Chris’ eyebrows furrowed as you told him about your day in the office, his teeth gritted as you’d explained what your boss had said. “You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to be strong for anyone. That’s your father, you can grieve for as long as you need.” He mumbled to you.

“I’ve got you now. I’ll never leave you.” He whispered lovingly in your ear, cradling you close to his chest.

[todoscript]

loyalty

character: todoroki shouto.

warnings: suggestive language. a woman tries coming onto your man.

author’s note: was vibing with this with my girls the other night but might as well put the vibes on here too because we know that once shouto’s in love with you, he won’t ever betray that love

todoroki shouto

to cut to the chase, the very moment he realizes other women—whether they be heroes, news reporters, office workers, fans, etc.—start flirting with him his dick just goes limp.

soft, flaccid, not even the wind can get that thing to move

these ladies could go through the most tasteless ways, vying for his attention, like revealing clothing or unnecessary touching. still, he always gives them the bare minimum interaction, not so much as sparing a glance in their direction when he knows they’re just desperate to get in his pants.

he’s incredibly blunt and cold, and definitely isn’t shy about shoving them off when they get way too close, it’s pretty damn intimidating.

after all, we know how rude he can be when his patience gets tested.

they can go all they want at wasting his time, trying so desperately to garner his favor but as soon as you walk into the room, that’s a whole other story.

to those that only know him professionally, it’s staggering how quickly he softens up and goes starry-eyed for you.

a complete 180. like is this really the same man that nearly freezes nasty villains to death?

you can practically feel the devotion and adoration lighting in his eyes, all directed toward you. it’s only a matter of time before those ladies all give up.

they end up walking out of his agency with loud contempt in their heels at their utter humiliation.

- - - - -

Her nefarious attempts at wooing Shouto so far have all been fruitless, the wispy, exaggerated tone of her voice sounding like static every time it abandons her puckered lips. Grainy, annoying white noise. Shouto grimaces when he hears it, catching onto the game she’s trying to play.

His guest—a sidekick coming in place of her boss—circles the desk in his office, where the two were reviewing a plan devised to thwart a troublesome gang of villains. For any inessential reason, she’s checking her nails and tucking away stray strands of hair as if preparing herself for an interview—making herself presentable. Her hums threaten the silence, and he has a foreboding that these plans they’re going over are in a distant corner of her mind.

Now, Shouto more than realizes he’s an exceptionally desired man. He’s had his fair share of interviews and newspaper headlines depicting him as “the hot yet cool pro dominating the hero scene”. It didn’t take long for him to acknowledge the slew of admirers that came with his reputation and good looks. Some of which he’s had the displeasure of dealing with quite often nowadays.

Shouto sighs quietly. There comes a time when these “fans” come onto him too strongly that it becomes a hassle. Especially when they cross boundaries he has so critically established.

“C’mon, Shouto,” she muses freely, and the white and red-haired hero begins regretting the fact he took his own name as his hero alias. “Going over these plans is so boring, don’t you think? Why don’t we blow this joint and say… go out for lunch together, hmm?” She hits her shot again. There’s suggestion hidden in her faux naïveté, her act inflated by her fluttering eyelashes as Shouto turns to her.

Crossing his arms, his lips set into a frown. “You’re here for work, not to hang around and act like we’re friends,” he says firmly, piling bricks and binding them together with mortar to implant a wall he prays will drive off her desperation so he can finish this meeting quickly. The sidekick, however, seems determined to tear down these barriers as if the pro has issued an unspoken challenge. Her lips smothered in gloss upturn into a smirk.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she teases, hoisting herself onto the table next to the array of papers sprawled in front of him. She makes a point at crossing her legs, hoping he hooks onto the bait of her enticing display. To her dismay, Shouto doesn’t even blink, finding the material written on the papers more interesting.

Eyes widening, she questions the hero’s tenacity in disbelief. Her confidence stumbles amidst his lack of interest. She bites the inside of her cheek, pouting. Time for drastic measures.

Shimmying closer to Shouto, she leans forward, giving her voice a better path to intrude his ears with light whispers. “Don’t tell me you’ve been grumpy as if late because you haven’t had anyone to sleep with…” she taunts suggestively, glinting at how the hero’s muscles flex at her statement and assumes she’s finally pushed his buttons.

Oh yeah, she’s pushed some buttons alright. Little does she realize they’re all the wrong ones.

Diving brazenly into a torrent, the sidekick lifts a hand toward Shouto’s arm. “Y’know, I would gladly help you fix that if you let me—” Her words are thrown off, brought to an abrupt halt by him gripping her wrist.

The sudden tense, chilly air has the sidekick shivering at both the coldness and apprehension at what is in store for her.

“I’m sure you know by now that I’m taken,” Shouto emphasizes his words with a steely look in his mismatched eyes that nudge in the direction of your photo framed on his desk, your joyful yet spiritless expression unknowingly witnessing this woman’s acts on your man. She gulps, aware it is her own fault for choosing to ignore your picture and still have the audacity to try and have her ways with him. How despicable. Now she has to face the consequences.

Shouto cruelly shoves her hand from his grasp, his expression so sharp it almost pierces like daggers.

“So I’d appreciate it if you stopped trying to pursue a man that obviously has no interest in you before I tell your boss that their sleazy sidekick can’t stay in line and perform her duties.”

[author-morgan]

I’m curious to get your opinion on two things regarding the AC games:

1. The sequences set in modern time/the modern aspects of the stories

2. The supernatural aspects of the stories

I’m not the biggest fan of either of those facets of the games, but Odyssey and Valhalla (especially the latter) really just went too far in my opinion.

I tolerated the modern sequences in the older games with Desmond Miles. I definitely didn’t enjoy them, as they always pulled me from the game, but I understood it was a staple of the franchise. The closest I ever came to enjoying them was with Black Flag. Now, though, I just can’t stand them. I find them boring and overblown. The plot is stupidly convoluted. I don’t care about anyone other than Shaun and Rebecca, and it seems like Ubisoft just brought them in as fan service. But the whole Basim thing really just tipped me over the edge. Holy shit was that stupid. I know it’s a staple of the franchise, but I genuinely wish Ubisoft would just ditch the modern story lines and focus on the story people actually care about.

As for the supernatural elements, I think Ubisoft has just gone way off course. I don’t mind the whole Pieces of Eden thing—I actually think it’s interesting. But Ubisoft has made supernatural stuff the centerpiece of their games. It’s like they said “Well, we don’t know how to make an interesting plot, so let’s just throw in a bunch of gods and mythical creatures!” The historical basis of the AC games is what makes them so interesting, but Ubisoft is abandoning that. They’re barely even tethered to reality anymore. Valhalla just seems like a much shittier version of God of War. I want the villain to be an actual historical figure not a watered-down Loki.

Anyway, sorry for the rant. It just kinda pisses me off seeing what’s been done to the AC franchise. Odyssey and especially Valhalla just don’t seem like AC games anymore. I honestly think that if you took away the title, people would have a hard time associating the games to the franchise.

But I’m curious to hear your thoughts!

P.S. Sorry about any formatting issues, I’m on mobile.

Another essay incoming.

1. The modern storylines are not my favorite. They never have been. I’m mainly playing Assassin’s Creed to run around in different periods of history, murder people, and do sick parkour moves. While the modern-day portion has never been a personal favorite, in the end, I did not mind Desmond. He was his own fully realized character with motivations and responsibilities, and in the previous games, that worked. We had two coherent storylines running side-by-side together. Desmond’s story was fleshed out very well, and most players became emotionally invested in what happened to him, myself included. The Creed was an integral part of his story, and he was vital to the success of the early games.

Another reason why I did not mind Desmond was because of how the Animus functioned in earlier games. The user had to be descended from the historical protagonists (i.e., Desmond’s bloodline was descended from Altaïr, Ezio, the Kenways), so it put a huge emphasis on his role in fighting the Templars/Abstergo —hundreds of years had been leading up to this. That meaning began to crumble in Black Flag with someone (the player) being able to relive Edward’s memories with just Desmond’s DNA, but the family connection was still there. Then that meaning was completely lost beginning in Origins, where we are introduced to Layla, who can go around picking up anyone’s DNA and then pop on her VR Animus or jump into a portable one. The key aspect of why the Animus was so special was completely lost in that moment.

Now Layla. This is when I began to view the modern-day component as just an obstacle to overcome as quickly as possible to get back to the much more interesting historical gameplay. Layla is poorly written in my opinion. She is an awful, irritating, arrogant, and selfish character. There is barely anything likable about her and, during Odyssey especially, she got worse as the story progressed into the Atlantis DLC. The whole time during the main story, she ignores or refuses the advice and help from her friends, especially Victoria, who she later kills, and in my opinion, proves why she is an unsuitable person to be the Heir of Memories. Also, it rubs me wrong that when the Eagle Bearer hands over the Staff and dies, the first thing she does is, “oh, let me just hop into the Animus again right next to the corpse of the person I’ve been living as.” And in the end, it looks like the over two thousand years Alexios/Kass spent as the Keeper was pretty much for nothing, ouch.

When they announced Layla would still be in Valhalla, I let out a very loud, very displeased groan because I knew it would mean suffering through the modern-day parts before I could get back to being a Viking (and I hated every single Animus Anomaly too, my god). And by the end of the Valhalla, I was ready to say good riddance (and I did), but at the same time, her ending essentially negated the importance of Alexios/Kass’s story. And yes, Shaun and Rebbeca were most definitely there as fan service and reiterate that this new and ridiculous modern storyline is still somehow tied to what happened in the previous games.

At this rate, I don’t think Ubisoft even knows where the modern-day storyline is going anymore, and in general, perspective changes in RPG games just don’t work. It breaks the immersion and becomes super annoying. After the Desmond arc ended, Ubisoft should have either done away with the modern-day connection completely or rethought the design so you aren’t pulled out of the game every 5 to 10 hours to be reminded “hey, you’re actually a lady wearing a VR headset and this is still an Assassin’s Creed game.” If the games must continue to have a modern-day component, then a few cutscenes at the beginning and end should suffice.

2. The mythological aspect with the Isu has been present since the beginning of the series, and up until Odyssey was handled very well, I think. I do like the mythological aspects, to a certain degree. The backstory for this has been there and steadily growing since the first game. We knew about the First Civilization and the Great Catasphroe and that it was important, and why it the Apples of Eden and other artifacts couldn’t fall into Templar hands but then beginning with Odyssey, that direction was completely lost. I think I know what Ubisoft wants to do, but their writing and storytelling skills are not up to par with what they used to be.

It does make sense though that the Isu are seen as gods to different peoples, and that's about where things stop making sense. Just with Aletheia, her story between Greek, Roman, and Norse mythology is super convoluted and could have been better executed. Also of note, if a single Isu is meant to be a deity across several cultures, then who is the Greek and Roman equivalent of Havi, Loki, Thor, Freya? Or is Aletheia the only one with a triple persona? It doesn’t make sense, and considering the future plans for Assassin’s Creed as an online Fortnite-esque battle royale pay-to-win, I doubt a lot of these questions and plot holes will ever be answered.

I won’t even begin to discuss the issues with the actual mythologies they are using but I’m sure @mrsragnarlodbrok can tell you all about how they have misinterpreted/ruined certain aspects of the gods and nature of Norse Mythology.

3. As for the last two games not feeling like Assassin’s Creed? It’s because they aren’t. The introduction of player choice into the RPG game style effectively negated everything that made an Assassin’s Creed game feel like an Assassin’s Creed game. Odyssey was more of a way to explore the origins of a proto-Templar society with the Cult of Kosmos. And while Valhalla had assassins and a hidden blade for the protagonist, it was not centered on the brotherhood (and I quite like that Eivor did not join them, tbh) but on how the Order of Ancients began to transform and establish themselves into the Templar Order.

Odyssey and Valhalla have taken a lot of material from other games (God of War, The Witcher, and Shadow of Mordor and War, to name some of the ones that come to mind), almost to a degree where I’m asking myself how Ubisoft has gotten away with it. The mercenary system in Odyssey was a very poorly done mockery of the Nemesis System from the Shadow of Mordor games. Many of the “new” skills in Valhalla (and by the looks of it, the new DLC too) are just straight up from Shadow of War. It’s been quite some time since the Assassin’s Creed series added something fresh for the video game world, in my opinion, and at this point, Ubisoft is just milking this money cow for as long as they can. Could Ubisoft make an open-world RPG set in history? Yes. Should they have done that for the Odyssey and Valhalla? Probably, but if they slap that Assassin’s Creed logo on it and make up a poorly written storyline that somewhat connects to the golden Ezio trilogy, then it’ll sell more copies.

[therenlover]

Heartsick (A James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again

Tags: Fluff, Sickfic, Cuddling, Marriage Proposal

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Language, Potentially Triggering Mentions of the Reader Being Ill for a Long Time/Almost Dying of an Unnamed Illness, Planning Your Own Death

Word Count: 3700~

This was crossposted to my AO3 under the same title!

---------------

James Patrick March considered himself a fairly patient man. He had to be, in his line of work. Some things didn’t deserve his patience, like lazy workers or angry hotel guests, but when it came to things that did matter, he was willing to go to extremes. Murder, for example, deserved his patience. Once upon a time, the Countess did too. Yes, patience was a rare virtue Mr. March had possessed all his life.

When it came to you, though, he found his patience running short.

You had been a revelation all your own when you first walked through the doors of the Hotel Cortez with not even a suitcase to your name, radiating purity with every shallow breath. James had been excited to find you in some dark corner of the hotel and rip the life from your body. That is until you found his little nook at the Blue Parrot Lounge and seduced him with your charming personality and sweet smile. From that moment on the Countess didn’t matter anymore. The whole world was just him, you, and all of the deliciously naughty ways he wanted to debauch you.

James had insisted on moving you into your own suite on the seventh floor that very night, just a few short hallways away from his own, and given every luxury he could offer. He was nothing if not a gentleman. It just wouldn’t be right to move the one he intended to court directly into his bedroom, especially while he was still married to his previous wide. Despite the distance, things between the two of you went swimmingly. Even the murder, which James initially worried could drive you apart, was now a delightful shared activity when you chose to grace him with your presence during a kill.

That’s where the problems started.

Mr. March was a man stuck in his own time. That’s why, after 5 splendid years with you at his side, you still weren’t moved into room 78. This also meant your suite was a place he wouldn’t enter unless he was invited. Sure, you had a healthy sex life, but the Countess still had the March family engagement ring tucked away somewhere. He wouldn’t move you into his quarters or impose himself on yours until the two of you were at the very least engaged. The plans for his and the Countess’ divorce were moving, albeit slowly, when you stopped opening the door for James.

The first day he thought perhaps you were simply elsewhere, but after a week of nothing, he began to get angry. It was one thing to deny him your company, but to ignore him while he made a fool of himself banging on your door? That was a punishable offense in the March family playbook. So, he decided if you wanted to play hard to get, he would too. In his mind, James could practically envision you rushing back into his arms once you got over whatever was souring your mood. It wouldn’t be long until the whole nasty affair was behind the both of you once and for all, right?

Wrong.

A month since he last dined with you, James sat at his table in the Blue Parrot lounge alone nursing the remains of his 4th glass of scotch.

Liz was slow to walk out from her place behind the bar. “You want another?” she asked, holding out a crystal decanter, “or should I fish out the absinthe fountain a little early this year,”

“No, no I do believe I’ve had quite enough. Besides, it’s not as if I can actually get drunk anymore,” he huffed. Whether it was the drinks or his growing rage, Mr. March found his collar feeling a bit tighter. He reached up to pull at his cravat but paused when thinking about the ghastly wound it hid. In the end, he let his hand return to its place on his glass.

“Suit yourself,” Liz quickly returned the decanter to its place and began polishing glasses.

Somewhere in the distance, Iris picked up a phone and began to take an order for room service. James had an epiphany.

“Liz!” he shouted, getting her attention, “has Y/N been ordering much room service lately?”

Liz shrugged. “Only once a day for the past month. Why do you ask?”

“I find myself in a bit of a predicament. You see, Y/N began ignoring me about a month ago. I’ve been giving her a taste of her own medicine for quite some time now, and yet she has made no attempts to seek me out. Do you think, perhaps, there could be something wrong?”

The energy in the room began to still.

“Wait, Y/N hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

The dirty glasses were abandoned as Liz let out a humorless laugh.

“Damn you, woman!” James rose with a shout, slamming his glass down on the table, “what is she hiding!?”

“She’s sick,”

James’ heart would have stopped if it were still beating. He sat down again, bewildered. “What?”

“She’s sick. Fever, puking, tremors; the whole shebang,” As she spoke, Liz came back to the table and sat down on the plush booth across from him.

“But it’s been a month! Influenza shouldn’t last that long…”

“Well, it’s definitely not the flu, I can tell you that. Last time I brought down her dinner she nearly choked on her toast. She was so weak that I had to sit there feeding her soup because she couldn’t lift up the spoon long enough to feed herself,”

It was as if James’ whole world had come collapsing down on him all at once. Mortified, he let his head drop into his hands. “Why didn’t she inform me? Am I that pathetic a lover that she would rather suffer in silence than tell me she was ill?”

“Well, to her credit, you don’t exactly look like the most comforting type. When did she move in again?”

“Almost five years ago, it’ll be the anniversary of her first entering the Cortez on the 20th,”

“And how many times in the past five years have you, I don’t know, cuddled with Y/N,”

“You insolent-”

Liz lifted her arms, offering up a white flag. “I’m just asking a question,”

James opened his mouth to offer up a rebuttal but found he had no way to defend himself.

It was true that his relationship with Y/N tended to fluctuate between chaste and lecherous at the drop of a hat. Once they had made love, it was the only habit for him to leave her in bed and return to whatever was keeping him busy at the moment. Post-coital intimacy was simply something he had never experienced or needed. Unfortunately, seeing that the only time he spent with Y/N outside of their trysts were formal meetings or dinners, there had been no time for gentility or softness between just the two of them. If ghosts could blanch, he would have.

Noticing his sudden shift in mood, Liz rose, backing off. “Now, usually I like to stay out of your business, but because your little relationship makes Y/N happy I’ll give you some advice. Go down to the kitchen, have Ms. Evers heat some broth, and give Y/N her dinner personally, maybe even give her some extra attention as a little treat. That should fix the bulk of your issues. Got it?”

He was never one to take orders, but surprisingly James nodded. He stood quickly, smoothing his suit. “Thank you for your advice, Ms. Taylor, but I must depart. My paramour needs me,”

She nodded. “Any time,” James began to hurry down the stairs, but suddenly Liz shouted. “Wait a second,”

James paused. “Yes?”

“Only the living get sick, Mr. March. Maybe, after five years, it’s time for Y/N to extend her stay at the Cortez... permanently. Just something to think about,”

He gave her a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs to the kitchen. 15 minutes later he was waiting outside your door with a rolling cart in hard. He had already been stalling there for 5 minutes when he finally, with a deep, steadying breath, unlocked the door.

The room was dark and silent, almost like a tomb.

Your voice rang out like a bell as James pushed the cart forward. “Iris?” you called weakly, “is that you?”

“No, darling,” he responded, closing the door behind him. Slowly, he bent down at turned on a small lamp. “You won’t need Iris to bring you your dinner any longer,”

“James,” You whispered, half reverent and half shocked.

He was far too taken aback by the severity of your condition to form an immediate response.

You were curled up in bed, folded in on yourself as you wheezed for breath. As Liz had mentioned your body was weak and wracked with near-constant tremors while you tried your best to prop yourself up on the headboard. James had to abandon the cart with your dinner on it in favor of rushing over and helping you sit up. As he took in your gaunt face, his heart broke.

Your soft voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

James shook his head. “No my love, not yet,”

Tears began to spill from your eyes. “I thought you’d left me, James. I thought I was going to have to rot in this awful, dark room for eternity, that maybe ‘cause I died while I was sick my ghost was too damn weak to get up,” As you spoke, you tried to grip the back of his suit, but found you were far too weak to actually hold the fabric. Your inability to even do the simplest of tasks only made you cry harder.

Mr. March was quick to pull out his handkerchief and wipe your eyes. “Oh, my dearest, that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but none of that matters now. I cannot apologize enough for my abhorrent behavior as of late,”

“Will you stay?” your words were laced with desperation, “just for a little bit?”

“Of course, my dearest. I think you’ll find it very difficult to get rid of me from now on. Besides, I couldn’t leave my beloved paramour without doing what it is that I set out to do,”

“Which is?”

James stood and quickly returned with the room service cart. As he removed the silver tray-topper, you found he had brought you a bowl of soup, a small plate of crackers, and a tall glass of ice water.

“I intend to make sure you are well-fed and taken care of,”

“James, you don’t-” you tried to argue, but he cut you off.

“Nonsense! There is, unfortunately, no way to sugar coat this, but I will try my best,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you, “I have neglected you, darling, not just for the past month when I found my pride and ego keeping me away from you, but also for the past five years. I ignored your needs out of a false sense of propriety by bending to rules that are long dead and considered inconsequential. For that, I fear I may never forgive myself. Things will be different from now on, though. I hope to win back your heart properly now that I have realized the severity of my mistakes. Would you…” he paused, gulping, “would you be willing to humor me?”

You offered him a soft smile. “Oh, my beloved Mr. March, there’s no need. My heart has always been yours,”

Your words soothed him, and he offered you one of his debonair grins, the kind where his little mustache scrunched before his lips parted that never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Now where were we!” he exclaimed.

“Dinner,” you responded.

“Ah, yes! Soup!” He was quick to get a spoonful of the warm broth and bring it to your lips. “You needn’t worry, my sweetling, I watched Ms. Evers prepare this herself. Nothing but the best for you,”

It was easy to accept the spoon into your mouth. Something inside of you knew that James would be taking care of you from now on.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence, but you didn’t mind, far too tired to take part in any meaningful conversation. Instead, you simply enjoyed the attention. James had never been shy about his affection, but that affection always tended to come in the form of gifts or sex instead of close, intimate touch. It hadn’t bothered you enough to tell him. You always just assumed he didn’t enjoy that kind of love. Now that you’d had a taste, though, of his gentle yet constant affection, you knew you could never get enough.

Too soon the bowl was empty.

James stood, returning to the door with the cart as you relaxed and rolled onto your side. “When will you be back?”

He chuckled, opening the door. “Did you think you could be rid of me so soon, darling?” The cart was quickly pushed out into the hallway as James turned back towards you.

Your face flushed. “I just assumed…”

“Assumptions, assumptions,” he tutted, “It hurts that you have such little faith in me, but I admit I haven’t given you much reason to. As I said, things will be different now,” James perched himself on the edge of the bed with a smile as he untied his shoes and slipped them off.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes, darling, so I can join you in bed,”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been imagining the first time James would actually stay in your bed to cuddle since the beginning of your relationship, but it had been years since you had given any thought to that silly fantasy. Could it really be happening?

Apparently, your surprise was evident on your face because Mr. March paused once both his shoes were settled neatly on the floor. “Is something wrong, my dearest?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing at all,” you were quick to explain, “we’ve just never done this before,”

James smirked like a predator who had just found his prey. “Such an innocent gesture from such a naughty little minx. I don’t recall you being so… flustered the night we met when I took you up to my suite and-”

“James!”

“Alright! Alright, my love, no more vulgarity from me until you’re fully healed and back on your feet. Well, hypothetically on your feet,” he emphasized his words with a dirty wink. Then he crawled into bed beside you as if he belonged there, scootching over until he was resting pressed against your side. You slotted into place, with your face resting in his neck and your leg thrown haphazardly across his hips as if you were made to fit his body. Holding James was like coming home.

You let out a soft, pleased sound at just how good it felt to be held.

James took this as positive feedback. As he settled in, he began running his fingers through your bedhead, combing through the loosest of the knots. Sensing something strange, he paused to put his hand on your forehead. It was uncomfortably hot. “You’re still feverish. Do you need anything? A cold compress? A wet washcloth? Some water?”

It was funny to hear him fussing over you, but it also warmed the deepest parts of your heart.

You made a negative huff against his neck. “No! You’d better not move. Your skin feels too good. It’s nice… cold. The only thing I could possibly want right now is for you to dim the lights and take your damn shirt off so you can cool more of me off,”

“I would, darling, believe me, but there’s just the small issue of the wound on my neck,”

“James,” you glared up at him, “I have literally ripped a dying man’s dick off in front of you. We have dinner with Jeffery Dahmer on your birthday every year, where I have to eat my salad as he zombifies whatever poor sap wandered into Sally’s clutches across the table. Hell, just a few months ago we fucked in that bathtub filled with some businessman’s blood. Your neck is just another part of you, James, it doesn’t bother me. Shirt. Off.”

“Have I ever told you that I adore when you take charge?”

You grinned as he undid his cravat and the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Once or twice,” The thrill only lasted a moment, though, because before he finished unbuttoning his shirt he pulled away from your arms and got off the bed. A high-pitched whine escaped from your lips. “I thought you said you were staying?”

“I may be a ghost, dear heart, but my clothes can’t just disappear,” Always one for the dramatics, he shed his shirt and suit jacket to the floor with gusto. The sight of his bare torso made your heart beat faster. You had to remind yourself that you were sick and it would probably kill you to go for even a gentle round with Mr. March. Ah, but what a way to die…

James dimmed the lamp before returning, undoing his pants, and stripping down to his boxers. “Is this better for you darling?”

You nodded and reached your trembling arms out to your lover. “Much. Now come back to bed. You have five years’ worth of cuddling to make up for Mr. March, and I don’t intend on letting you wheedle your way out of even a second of it,”

He gave you a gentle smile as he found his way beneath the covers again. “I wouldn’t dream of it,”

Your face quickly found its way back into the crook of James’ neck. It was inhumanly cool, easing the constant burn of your fever and soothing your sore skin. The slit across his throat truly didn’t bother you. As you said, it was just another part of him for you to love, nothing more than a cosmetic imperfection.

Nuzzling closer, you took a deep inhale of his intoxicating scent. Perhaps it was the cologne he wore at the time of his death or even just what he naturally smelled like, but his pulse point radiated notes of sage and bergamot. God, how you loved him.

The pair of you were quiet for a moment with only the sound of your ragged breathing breaking through the air, but something urged you to speak your mind.

“You know, James, when you walked into my room tonight I assumed you were here to kill me,”

He chuckled. “I can’t say I didn’t think about it, my pearl,”

“Of course you did…” you went silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t have minded. This sickness is hell. I’m wasting away by the day and the pain never stops. I don’t mind dying, not when it means I get to spend the rest of time here in the hotel with you, but I don’t want to go out like somebody normal. My death needs to be special… I want to be the crowning glory of your murders, the most fantastic piece of art you’ve ever created,”

Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your hair, James sighed. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but the moment I thought of you, wasting away in the darkness and succumbing to some common germ, I knew I couldn’t kill you. Not yet. I refuse to have my bride accompany me through eternity bearing a constant reminder of my failure,”

Your breath hitched. “Bride?”

Slowly, his hand made its way to your throat. There was no threat in it, he wasn’t using even an ounce of pressure. It was more of a gentle reminder of his presence; a physical conduit of his passion.

“Yes, bride. I don’t mind if you can only become Mrs. March posthumously, though I would prefer to wed you alive and enjoy your last moments of warmth in the throes of carnal delight on our wedding bed, it all depends on where your illness takes you next. Until then I will be glued to your side. No more harm will come to you. I shall nurse you back to health with my own hand so that you glow with life long after your death. Yes, Y/N, your death will come, but not until I have done my best to atone for my mistakes in your life,”

“Was that a proposal?” You gazed up at James with wide, misty eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. “I suppose it was, and a poor one at that! To think I stalled for years in the hopes of finding the perfect moment to present you with my mother’s ring only to pop the question in bed with no ring in sight. I do hope you’ll say yes. I’d be rather crushed if you rejected me after all this time,”

You nodded, small tears escaping as you pressed your face into his soft skin. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I would’ve married you if you were the poorest man in the world and proposed with a ring-pop,”

“Then it’s settled. You shall be my wife as soon as you are well enough for me to fuck you again! I quite hate that Will Drake, but I believe he’s our best, quickest option if we wish to get you a dress commissioned. I have a few ideas drawn up already waiting in my office… perhaps I should call Ms. Evers and have her take them to him,”

“Shhhh,” you smiled into his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “we can figure out the details later. For right now, though, your fiancée is sick and she needs some TLC. What are you gonna do about it, Mr. March,”

He growled. “Well, I suppose ravishing you is off the table. Hmmm... what to do to my darling girl to make her feel better?” With a gentle nudge, he tilted your head up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s a start,”

-------

a/n: I hope you liked it! I’m really leaning towards writing a second part of this where the reader actually dies, so let me know if you’re interested. Also, my requests are open if you want to see any of Evan’s other characters! 

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thank you <3

[charlie-pippin-faraday]

now i’m still undecided on heather vs. theresa and we’re currently at a 4-4 tie, and i’d love more votes before i make a final decision. but, i did promise some headcanons, so even though i don’t have an official name yet, i’m giving you my headcanons now anyway

so, presenting: my headcanons about Eddie’s mother [this got a little lengthy but i have a lot of thoughts]

She's a fairly young mom. Like, not absurdly young, but definitely on the younger side. Like, I imagine her being like 25/26 when Eddie was born. And she's aged well, too, she looks good for her age

She looks EXACTLY like Eddie. He got EVERY physical trait from his mother and absolutely none from his father. She's got the blonde hair, hazel eyes, similar facial features. Like, you can tell on sight that they're mother and son

She doesn't sell herself as the "cool mom" and she doesn't TRY to be a "cool mom" but she is the cool mom

All of Eddie's friends in America think she's a "hot mom." This also extends to the Anubis gang. The day Jerome and Alfie meet her for the first time they go woah dude you have a hot mum. They bring this up a lot just to drive Eddie nuts. Jerome also threatens to flirt with his mother and become his new step-father, and Eddie seriously considers beating him up on the spot

Also the day Jerome and Alfie learn the phrase "MILF" is the day Eddie stops knowing peace, and he seriously considers throwing himself into the Atlantic Ocean

She is very sharp and smart, but not like a nerd or anything

She's a really big sports fan, and that's the reason why Eddie is super into all the New York sports; she brought him up that way, and he took to it like a fish to water. They love to go to games together

She is really enthusiastic, friendly, and warm. She's definitely a talker. She wants to hear about what's going on in Eddie's life, and she wants him to feel comfortable talking to her about anything

She definitely has a gossipy group of friends, like a book club or something. And she loves to tell them about Patricia and how her son is head-over-heels in love with this incredibly delightful girl

She is an INCREDIBLY patient woman; she has to be to deal with Eddie's anger and abandonment issues and teen rebellion. He acts out and gets in trouble and even gets kicked out of school but she keeps her cool. She's definitely the authority in the house, but she's probably not as tough on him as she has a right to be because she understands. She gets it; he's angry, he's upset, he's going through stuff that most teens don't have to. He needs support much more than he needs discipline

It's really awkward to be a teen boy and have your mom be the one who gets you through puberty and teach you all the growing up stuff, but they did it

She and Eddie are very close. Not like an unhealthy amount, and not to the point where he'd call his mom his "friend," but they are definitely closer than the average mother and son. It was just the two of them growing up in their house, they were all they had, really. Eddie was a complete momma's boy from birth, and still is. Eddie cried the first day of kindergarten when he had to leave her, and she tells Patricia this and Eddie is mortified

Eddie also calls her all the time when he's at school in England

Like Eddie, she was also a troublemaker in her youth; that's where he gets it from. She's adventurous, and she loved to sneak out, have fun, get into trouble. She also loved to instigate fights/drama at like family Thanksgiving and sit back and watch the world burn

Eddie grew up in New York; that's where they lived, they're New Yorkers. But, some time after Eddie goes to college, she moves out of the city and into New Jersey. Eddie sees it as a complete betrayal of "our people."

She hated absolutely every one of Eddie's previous girlfriends/dates before Patricia. She thought all those girls were shallow and dull, and she always thought Eddie could do better

She LOVES Patricia to the end of the earth. Like the SECOND she meets her she thinks "I want her to be my daughter." She loves her fire, she loves every little thing about her personality, but mainly she loves how deeply her son is in love with her; like, she can see that Eddie is absolutely smitten by this girl. And she loves him back, she can see that. She loves Patricia so much that Eddie starts to think she's starting to like Patricia more than him, which bristles the momma's boy just a little bit. She shows Patricia all of Eddie's old embarrassing childhood photos and moments, she joins Patricia in roasting Eddie, and she tells Patricia if there's ever anything she needs or if she just wants to talk she's always just a phone call away (Patricia definitely takes advantage of this offer, often). Patricia reminds her a little bit of herself, which is another reason why she likes her. After they graduate she tries to start manifesting their engagement and put those vibes out into the air

I imagine she met Eric when she was fairly young, early 20s. Here's how I personally imagine it went down: Eric went to New York for some kind of teaching training/program or job opportunity. They met at the New York public library, and a passionate love affair started from there. She thought he was sophisticated and she loved listening to him talk about the things he was passionate about, and they could have smart discussions together. Also she loved his accent. Her family members were not the biggest fans of this relationship: he was a good bit older than her, and he was from another country so they thought he wouldn't stay, and they thought it was moving at an incredibly torrid pace. Being the rebel that she was, she just went "well this just makes me want to do it more." And it did indeed move fast, and things were good for awhile. Until they weren't.

Eric left shortly after Eddie was born. Like, a few months. He just up and left, and she didn't really hear from him again for about 16 years. And she HATED him for it. He left her alone with this new baby. She was MAD and UPSET. Eventually that calmed down to bitterness, but that bitterness never died. She is STILL bitter towards him to this day, and tbh she'll take every chance she can get to be petty to him

Raising Eddie on her own was really hard, and scary. But she bucked up and did it because she loves that boy with her entire heart. Eddie doesn't really recognize it or appreciate it as a child, but when he grows up he calls his mom one of the bravest people he knows

She never got remarried and never even really dated; being a mom was her top priority

She thought the hardest day of her life was the day that Eric left, but no. That wasn't nearly the hardest day of her life. The hardest day of her life was the day child Eddie asked "why don't I have a dad like the other kids at school?" and she had to tell him what happened, or at least as much as he would understand, knowing that it would break his little heart

It was really painful for her to send Eddie off to boarding school in England. It made her really emotional to send him off with his father, who hurt the both of them, and whom she's still really bitter towards. But she knows he deserves the chance to get to know his father. And aside from like summer camps and such, this is the first time he'd be away from her for an extended period of time, and he's so FAR away, like that's her BABY. Her ONLY baby, the most precious thing in her world. She never tells him, but she cries like nobody's business after he gets on that airplane and flies away

She's got this fear that Eddie and his dad are gonna somehow get along SO well that he'll one day change his last name to Sweet. But, when Eddie not only says that that will NEVER happen and he'll stay a Miller, but that Patricia's also gonna take that last name when they get married and they'll be the Millers, she is overjoyed. And she has this feeling of satisfaction and vindication, like she won

[theworldinclines]

Title: family matters Pairing: Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi Excerpt:      “You’re almost like another son to him anyway,” Sizhui points out.      “So you’re the favourite child while I get tossed to the wayside?” Ao3 link

Read below the cut.

     The first time Jingyi meets Sizhui, they are each five. Zewu-Jun himself delivers the boy to lessons and asks that the children treat Sizhui with exceptional respect and consideration. That in itself isn’t anything new, as the Lans have written rules that explain why giving others kindness is one of the many keys to leading a decent life and acting as a role model to those in- and outside the sect. What was different, however, was the moment before Zewu-Jun took his leave from the students.

     He gave a downturn of his chin to the boys and the teacher, but was unable to take more than two steps before little Sizhui had grappled to his robes, arms held fast around the Sect Leader’s left leg. Jingyi has never been known for necessarily obedient behaviour, but even he had never dared such an act toward Zewu-Jun, let alone in public. To the entire room’s astonishment, the man didn’t look put out in the very least. Rather than reprimand the child, Zewu-Jun put a gentle hand to his head and guided him out into the gardens. Jingyi knew he would be scolded were he to peek at them, and did it anyway when Laoshi’s back was turned.

     Outside he saw Sizhui and Zewu-Jun, the Sect Leader in his immaculate robes bent to a knee as though they were in the cleanly confines of a hall rather than stood on a dusty path. Sizhui was staring at the ground, rubbing at his nose, and Zewu-Jun gave him a gentle chuck beneath the chin, murmuring words Jingyi couldn’t possibly hear. Sizhui’s nod prompted a smile from the Sect Leader that Jingyi, even at his young age, could tell held something more behind it.

     He was quick to be facing the front of the room by the time Sizhui was led back into the class, much more collected and prepared to learn for the day. Jingyi understands, sort of; although he hadn’t wanted to begin lessons either, it’s just what is expected of children their age in the Cloud Recesses. He’d still stomped and whined, of course, but here he sits.

     And he’s rather glad to have come once Laoshi dismisses them, because he gets to trot after Sizhui’s slow movements and say, “Hey!” He recalls in a split-second Zewu-Jun’s request that they show Sizhui respect, along with the rules, and adds quickly, “Welcome to Cloud Recesses. I haven’t seen you before.” Sizhui stares at him, uncertain. “Did you just come here? Where’d you move from?”

     Sizhui gives a helpless shrug that is interrupted by the Sect Leader’s prompt appearance by his side. Jingyi immediately dips into a polite little bow that makes Zewu-Jun smile and he returns the gesture. Jingyi grins before he can bite it down and says, “Zewu-Jun, where’s Sizhui from?”

     The Sect Leader hesitates a moment before his expression smooths into something less telling. “He is an orphan, A-Yi,” he says simply. “I trust that you will show him kindness.”

     Jingyi looks at Sizhui with slightly widened eyes, nodding vigorously. “I will!” he promises the older man. To the boy, he says, “I’ll protect you. Don’t worry.”

     For the first time, Sizhui’s lips quirk into the hint of a smile. “You don’t need to do that. I’m okay.”

     “Too late,” Jingyi says firmly. “Tell me if anyone is mean to you and I’ll deal with them.” Zewu-Jun lowers his eyes to hide his amusement and Jingyi barrels on, “Better yet, I’ll stick by your side to save the trouble. Okay?”

     Sizhui allows a little nod before Zewu-Jun murmurs that they should be heading home. The boy nods and Jingyi gives a wave, which Sizhui repays with a shy, squint-eyed smile. Jingyi beams. It may be Zewu-Jun’s request, but keeping Sizhui safe won’t be an arduous task at all, he thinks. Maybe they’ll even become good friends!

     Jingyi finds Sizhui by the rabbits. It’s his friend’s favourite spot in the Cloud Recesses and if ever there’s a time when Jingyi can’t seem to find Sizhui in the main pavilion, he knows where he’ll be. Today is no exception.

     Sizhui had disappeared just before he and Jingyi were meant to meet. They had each taken their meals as quickly as possible without appearing impolite to their families before the usual rendezvous by the rock garden’s bridge for a short break together, a daily update of all things Cloud Recesses. But when Jingyi arrived, Sizhui was nowhere to be seen and he’d known that something must have happened for his best friend to abandon him without warning.

     Seeing Sizhui now, surrounded by soft rabbits, Jingyi hopes that he’d perhaps fallen into a brief mood as he sometimes does and all is in fact well, though he’d had to come here to get away from it all. He wouldn’t fault Sizhui that. However, when he calls out for him in approach, Sizhui wipes at his face like he’s been caught, and Jingyi begins to frown.

     “A-Hui,” he says, coming to a stop beside him. Sizhui won’t look at him, gaze focused on the ground as he soothes a rabbit in his lap, and Jingyi can see that his eyes are red, cheeks tear-streaked. “A-Hui,” he repeats.

     “I’m alright,” Sizhui says. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

     “It’s been four years and you still think I care,” Jingyi replies, the slightest sarcasm in his words. “What happened?”

     “It really isn’t a big deal.”

     “So some non-issue made you come here and cry?” Jingyi deduces dryly.

     “They…” Sizhui stops.

     Jingyi sombers and can feel his frown deepening. “They who?”

     “Mingyu. And Pengfei. Rumours about where I’m from.”

     “Sizhui, what’d they do?”

     “They said…” Sizhui’s hands shake only slightly where they hold the rabbit, but it still makes Jingyi’s stomach hurt. “Just that they think I’m from that old sect that was eradicated years ago for their evil ways, and how it’s strange I’m not dead like the rest of them. A-Fei said if I’m evil it’s their duty to — ” Sizhui doesn’t complete the sentence as his voice catches, but Jingyi is already on his feet. “A-Yi!” Sizhui’s hand reaches for Jingyi’s ankle, though he’s too far to catch. “What are you doing?”

     “What’s it look like?” Jingyi demands. “I’m going to challenge them to a duel and shame them in front of the gods and the Four Families. What else?”

     “Jingyi, don’t,” Sizhui says tiredly.

     “Why not?”

     “We’ve only just begun sword-work, for one,” Sizhui quips, aiming for a joke. Jingyi crosses his arms over his chest and Sizhui sighs as he gently sets the rabbit aside to stand. “We’re barely 10,” he says. “You can’t fight another kid to the death, Jingyi.”

     “I disagree,” he mumbles.

     “Well, that’s allowed. I don’t expect us to agree on everything. But you’ll only get in trouble and I don’t want that.”

     “They said horrible things to you!” Jingyi exclaims. “And I said I’d protect you. ‘Our word is our oath,’ remember? Never break a promise. If I don’t confront them, I’m betraying one of our rules. A punishable offense, you know.”

     “Coming here to find me is enough,” Sizhui says, fond but immovable, per usual. “I’m not even crying anymore, thanks to you. I’d say you did your duty.” Jingyi grumbles his dissent, arms still crossed, but Sizhui just bumps their shoulders together as he stands by his side, twining an arm through Jingyi’s out of habit. “Let’s get back to class.”

     “They’re lucky they didn’t say that stuff in front of me,” Jingyi says while they walk. “Those brats. Don’t think I won’t do it next time.”

     “Yes, A-Yi.”

     “Don’t ‘Yes, A-Yi’ me; I mean it!”

     “Okay, A-Yi.”

     “Sizhui!” comes the expected whine.

      Because it is their shared space, another day finds the boys with the rabbits. Zewu-Jun had apparently shown it to Sizhui when he first arrived and was feeling lonely, and although Jingyi dislikes that Sizhui had felt sad, he’s happy that it had at least brought them a special hideaway that so few know about. There’s nothing like an afternoon of hideously dull lessons to remind Jingyi why he so prefers not being in class. As if he ever forgets.

     “There’s no way Laoshi Qiren isn’t trying to kill us,” Jingyi deadpans. “I swear, leaving his class I’m always sapped of both energy and will to live. Not a coincidence.”

     “You say this nearly every day.”

     “And it’s true! A slow-burn murder.”

     “I feel certain that if my Grand-Uncle was trying to kill me, there’d be more concern from my father and uncle.”

     Jingyi  makes a face and holds a rabbit up to meet her dark gaze. “What do you think? Who’s right, little one?”

     Sizhui rolls his eyes, taking the rabbit gently from Jingyi so that he can return her to the grass with her family. “She can’t talk,” he says, “but if she could, she’d agree with me.”

     “One of our numerous Sect rules is to reserve assumptions until proper evidence is drawn,” Jingyi recites, “yet here you are. What would your esteemed uncle say? Or your father, for that matter?”

     “Zewu-Jun would say it’s worth it to tease you. Baba would say… I’m right,” Sizhui concludes proudly. “Because I’m his son.”

     “Nepotism! Utter bias!”

     “You’re almost like another son to him anyway,” Sizhui points out.

     “So you’re the favourite child while I get tossed to the wayside?” Sizhui laughs at Jingyi’s affronted expression, and for that Jingyi takes his free hand where it rests across from him on the grass. “You know, that’s fine. If he already accepts me as a son, there won’t be any trouble when I request formal permission to court you.”

     Sizhui turns red and pulls his hand back to pet the rabbit, glancing around as though someone might be watching all of a sudden. “You’re silly,” he says to Jingyi.

     “We’re already going to be 15!” Jingyi pouts.

     “Why are you so interested in discussing it today?”

     Jingyi tugs a little at a few strands of grass. “Just the lesson earlier about cultivation partners.”

     Sizhui’s cheeks haven’t lost their blush but he does look pleasantly surprised as he says, “You paid attention in class after all! A-Yi!”

     “Only for today because it applied to me,” Jingyi insists. “To us, I guess.”

     Sizhui seems to remember his shyness and ducks his head. “You want me to be your cultivation partner?” he asks.

     “Don’t you want to be?”

     “I never said I didn’t!” Sizhui says quickly, seeing that Jingyi appears disheartened. He carefully reaches for his hand despite his own red face and says, “Would I spend all my time with you if I didn’t want to?”

     “Well, how should I know?” Jingyi asks, but he’s sitting up like he’s got less weight holding him down now. Back to his usual self, which is a good sign. “Some cultivation partners are platonic, you know.”

     “Rarely.”

     “A-Hui, are you questioning Laoshi Qiren?”

     “I’d prefer to avoid lashing by oar if I can avoid it, thank you.”

     “I thought you said you have nepotism on your side!”

     Sizhui shakes his head and, somehow graceful even here, stands up from the ground. “We should head back, A-Yi,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his robes. “It’s getting late now.”

     “Can’t we just stay here forever?” Jingyi asks dramatically, falling onto his back. At Sizhui’s look, he sighs and extends a hand upward for Sizhui to accept.

     Instead of allowing him to help Jingyi to his feet, Jingyi tugs Sizhui down so that he tumbles back to the ground, half against Jingyi’s side. Jingyi laughs aloud in amused delight while Sizhui’s blush returns with a vengeance.

     “Lan Jingyi!” he scolds, twisting away from him. “Shameless!”

     “You sound like your father!” Jingyi laughs again.

     Sizhui huffs and hurries to stand, putting distance between himself and Jingyi. “And if you don’t want him to give you the oar, you’d better just do as I say. Let’s go.”

     “Bossy, bossy,” Jingyi says, though he’s following Sizhui obediently for the path. He sneaks a glance to his left and can’t help but grin at Sizhui’s flushed cheeks and the way his ears have gone pink at the tips. According to Sizhui, Hanguang-Jun’s ears do the same.

     He gives a little poke to the skin of Sizhui’s ear, just to mess with him, and Sizhui huffs another breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Completely shameless!” before abandoning Jingyi altogether to hurry ahead of him.

     If Wei Wuxian had been asked as a teenager whether he could ever envision making a life for himself in the Cloud Recesses, he’d have laughed in your face. He did, actually, when Jiang Cheng made the passing joke all those years ago, assuring his brother that this place would never feel like home to someone with Wei Wuxian’s habits. Now, what’s closer to two decades ago than Wei Wuxian would like to think about, he has to admit that his younger self hadn’t been nearly open-minded enough.

     Circumstances that he couldn’t have foreseen changed his view of Cloud Reccesses, and he knows that he will be here for as long as he can be because being here means keeping his place beside his husband and son. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else these days and the certainty of that sometimes takes him by surprise, when he considers just how different things are now but in a way that feels right, like it’s what always was meant to be.

     He feels himself smiling when he sees A-Yuan and A-Yi in the woods near the rabbits. He knows that Lan Xichen had brought A-Yuan years before when he’d been new here, sure that giving the child a piece of Lan Wangji would bring him comfort in his three-year absence. It’s still Wei Wuxian’s favourite place in the Cloud Recesses — except for the rooms he shares with Lan Zhan, of course, but that’s a given — and it makes him even happier that Lan Sizhui had found solace here as his fathers had done at his age.

     He watches from afar with a fond smile as the boys stand to be on their way home, but Wei Wuxian’s smile freezes when he can tell even from here that Sizhui is smiling sweetly with a hand in Jingyi’s, and his smile decidedly disappears when he realises their faces are far too close together. Wei Wuxian trips backward, a twig or five snapping as he does, and it must alert the boys to an outside present for when he regains his footing against the tree, they’ve fled the scene. A hand to his chest, Wei Wuxian stands there in astonishment.

     This lasts for only a moment before he is all but sprinting for the Library Pavilion where his husband is sure to be writing this early afternoon. He forces himself to slow down so as to not alarm Lan Wangji, though he comes to a sliding stop inside the doors anyhow with heaving breath.

     “What’s happened?” Lan Wangji asks, not lifting his eyes from his work. When it’s obvious that Wei Wuxian is still having trouble speaking, he looks up at him. “Wei Ying?”

     “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. He goes to him across the room and drops onto the floor to clutch at his husband’s arm. He stares at Wei Wuxian with the slightest concern and Wei Wuxian says, “I don’t mean to be dramatic — ”

     “Debatable,” Lan Wangji answers. “Say what you have to say.”

     “Did you know A-Yuan is — that he and Jingyi are — ”

     “They are what?”

     “I’ve just seen them with the rabbits, which is ordinary, but afterwards, Lan Zhan — ”

     “Baba? A-die?”

     Both men look for the entrance where their son has appeared, hands folded in front of him and looking for all the world their dutiful, sweet boy. Wei Wuxian’s heart stops, a feeling he’s never enjoyed, and jumps to his feet.

     “Sizhui!” he exclaims.

     “I need to speak with you both. Is this a bad time?” he asks. He’s walked in on more than one longing glance between his fathers to know when he should make himself scarce, but Wei Wuxian waves his son’s worry away like a pesky gnat.

     “Come here,” Lan Wangji invites him, and Sizhui does. He sits across from Lan Wangji, who looks up at his still-standing husband. Wei Wuxian hurriedly settles beside him and nods at Lan Sizhui in assurance.

     “I wanted to tell you on my own, before anyone else, so that you would know I’m sure of my decision,” Sizhui begins. “With your formal permission, I… I will begin publicly courting Jingyi.” Sizhui’s ears have begun to redden but he doesn’t hesitate as he goes on, “We’d like to be married.”

     The library is silent enough that a pin’s dropping would prove thunderous.

     As calm as he normally is, Lan Wangji simply asks, “How long have you known?”

     “A-die, you know he and I have been friends since almost the day I arrived here. He’s been there for me without my ever having to ask, and we… we’ve been certain of how we feel for over six years now.”

     “Six years?” Wei Wuxian blurts aloud. Lan Wangji gives him a warning side-eye and Wei Wuxian tries to remain collected. “Sizhui, if it’s been so long, why haven’t you told us until today?”

     Sizhui’s flush deepens but he forces himself to meet his father’s eyes. “Before all else, Jingyi and I are friends. We didn’t want the hassle of chaperones or rumours. I understand if our keeping this secret is upsetting, Baba.” He bows his head. “I… I’m soon to be 18, and I know we’re young. But I can’t help wanting to make the most of whatever time A-Yi and I have. You and A-die — ”

     A pause. “From what I’ve been told of your story, it has kept in my mind that I shouldn’t live with this sort of hidden feeling any longer than necessary.” Sizhui looks up at them. “Jingyi loves me, and I love him. Will you allow our marriage?”

     Wei Wuxian is crying, which he’d be embarrassed about if he cared, and he throws propriety to the wind in favour of opening his arms for his son, who gladly and in relief stands to accept the embrace. Lan Wangji is sort of smiling in a clear indication that he’s happy with these events, and Wei Wuxian leans to poke at his cheek just to tease him.

     “I’m thrilled you’ve told us,” Wei Wuxian says to Sizhui. “I assume Jingyi is informing his parents?”

     “Well, we wanted to wait until we had your blessing,” Sizhui admits. “It would be easier to tell them once we know Hanguang-Jun and the former Yiling Patriarch are on our side.”

     “You little schemers!” Wei Wuxian says, giving Sizhui’s cheek a light pinch. “Go on, then. Tell Jingyi the good news.”

     Sizhui beams and looks at Lan Wangji. His smile strengthens under his son’s eyes and he gives the slightest nod, which Sizhui knows to translate as wholehearted approval.

     He bows to his fathers and disappears from the library. Wei Wuxian falls against Lan Wangji’s arm as soon as he’s gone.

     “Ah, Lan Zhan. I rushed here to tell you about how I saw them kiss in the woods, but A-Hui beat me to it. I suppose they’d just decided at that moment to tell us, you think?”

     “Mn.”

     “If I didn’t already know Jingyi to be a good boy, I’d have to kill him.” Wei Wuxian sneaks a look at Lan Wangji, who doesn’t look amused. “No fun, Lan Zhan, no fun.” He taps a finger on the table and at Lan Wangji’s prompting expression says, “Well, I suppose they’ll be needing a chaperone now, eh? Can I volunteer to keep an eye on Jingyi? Break a leg or two?”

     “Wei Ying.”

     “Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m kidding,” Wei Wuxian says with a half-pout. “Huh. Maybe this is how Grand Master Qiren feels about me defiling the soul of his youngest nephew. I think I understand now.”

     “You did not ‘defile’ anything,” Lan Wangji says without pause.

     “My good husband.” Wei Wuxian presses a kiss to his cheek, followed by a gentle pat to the other. Although he’s smiling, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and Lan Wangji covers Wei Wuxian’s hand carefully with his, wordlessly asking for Wei Wuxian to speak his mind.

     “It’s nothing. Only what Sizhui mentioned about our past. I don’t want to marry away our son but I… I am grateful that they don’t have to endure… all we had to endure. No mortifyingly long wait to reach their happily ever after. I’m glad for it.”

     Lan Wangji nods his agreement and brushes a kiss against his husband’s hand, making him blush. “A-Zhan!” he says with feigned astonishment. “Not in the library! Shameless.” Wei Wuxian knows he isn’t imagining the amused, pleased look on Wangji’s face, and he can’t hide his own smile at the sight. He still pulls out of Lan Wangji’s grip and says, “I don’t want to be responsible for any damage here, Gods forbid Qiren’s wrath finds me! Later?”

     “Mn. Later.”

     Wei Wuxian dimples at Lan Wangji, firing off a wink, before hightailing it for the Gods know where.

     Lan Wangji returns to his writing, but pauses as he thinks about the hour’s events. His son will be married surely within a year, perhaps have children of his own. The thoughts of a new baby to hold and Sizhui being loved so dearly bring such an unexpected wave of warmth to Lan Wangji that he decides, for today, he can put work to the side. He goes off to find his family growing, or perhaps the ‘later’ he’d been promised.

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 7 (aka the ‘big boobie vampire mommy’ and ’mutant servant girl that is very horny for her’ chapter)

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 link below:)

“Good evening, sir. Is there something I can assist you with, tonight? It’s quite late, and my mistress has already retired for the evening due to the strenuous nature of today’s events, so while I’m sure the good Lady Dimitrescu won’t be too terribly displeased if you’ve come with urgent news that requires her immediate attention, I’m afraid anything outside the realm of absolute importance will have to wait until morning, when my mistress will be better rested and therefore better able to address whatever concern you’ve brought” The low and smooth voice of an older teenage girl said, staring slightly downward at Salvatore with a level of such blank indifference that he would have wondered if the girl hadn’t seen him had she not outright greeted him upon opening the door.

With piercing red eyes, dark skin and long, black curls tied up neatly and carefully into two thick buns on either side of the top of her head, and dressed in a pretty, but still practical dress, the older teen looked every bit as much the role of a dignified estate’s head servant as she acted, right down to the pencil straight stiffness of her body. Despite how uncomfortable the stiff position looked to Salvatore, the subtly bold way she carried herself did give the older teen an air of confidence and reliability, however what it didn’t do was answer the multitude of questions flying around in Salvatore’s head about who she was, and more importantly, where she came from.

And then it hit him.

“Y-you’re… Alcina’s g-gift… aren’t y-you?” Salvatore asks aloud, though seemingly more to himself than the girl standing in front of him. Said girl furrows her brows in confusion for a moment before huffing in, what appeared to be, mild offense. Though what on earth Salvatore could have done to offend the young teen, he had absolutely no idea.

“I have no idea what you mean when talking about these so called “gifts”, however I think it's important for you to know that I am a very busy woman with a great many things to do, so if this is all some kind of sick game you’re playing to waste my time then I’m going to have to politely ask that you take your rotten whale behind and go throw yourself into the nearest body of-”

“Anastasia?” a low, feminine voice booms from somewhere behind the older teen standing before him. The girl immediately stiffens, her skin around her nose and cheeks darkening even further, her eyes growing wide and her breath catching in her throat as she turns around. Immediately abandoning Salvatore at the still open front door, the young servant clumsily made her way further into the room before disappearing out of the narrow view the hooded man had been given of the castle through the crack in the door.

Taking a step forward and opening the door enough to slip inside, making sure to close it securely behind him, Salvatore lingered along the walls of the room, merely observing the events before him unfold as the young girl, Anastasia, quickly moved to stand in the center of the circular design on the floor of the entrance hall. Waiting for her on the landing at the top of the stairs was none other than the lady of the house herself, Alcina Dimitrescu, standing as tall, proud, and intimidating as Salvatore last remembers, though it would appear that the disfigured man’s fear of the much larger woman was not shared amongst everyone in the room.

“Y-yes Lady Dimitrescu! Is there something I can do for you this evening, my Lady?” Anastasia asks, hands clasped together in front of her and eyes blown wide at the gargantuan woman leering from above, like a lovesick puppy dog waiting for a command from its beloved owner. Eager to perform. Eager to please.

“Why yes, my sweet, I was just wondering what on earth all that racket was and if it could wait until morning to be finished? The girls and I have had quite the taxing day and I do so wish to retire to the sound of peace and quiet” Alcina coos warmly, causing Salvatore to pause in confusion.

“Oh goodness, I apologize, mistress. It’s just that there was a visitor at the door and despite my repeated attempts to convince him to come back when you were rested, he insisted upon making a nuisance of himself. Please forgive me if my attempts to preserve your restful evening were for naught” the girl said sadly, bowing deeply in apology as she continued to speak.

Alcina practically purrs in delight at the teen’s polite, but genuine behavior. “Fear not, my dear, I had only just taken off my earrings when I heard the commotion. I came out here merely to see if things were getting out of control, but it would appear as though you’ve handled things perfectly.”

The girlish blush on Anastasia’s face only darkens in color as the young teen casts her adoring gaze to the floor, joyous glee from having been praised by her mistress evident all over the younger girl’s body.

Not wanting to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary, especially if this is what he’d have to witness the whole time, Salvatore gathers all of his strength and uses it to clear his throat and take a step forward, revealing himself to both women as he gingerly comes out into the light.

“YOU!” Anastasia yells, immediately turning on her heel and making a beeline toward the increasingly anxious Salvatore. “So not only have you made enough of a nuisance of yourself to disturb the lovely Lady Dimitrescu just as she’s about to retire and rest from a very long and taxing day, but now you’ve decided that you’re so above everyone else that you can just waltz right into someone else’s home without even the slightest hint of respect or admiration for the incredible woman living in it, how dare you be so crash and selfish you overcooked blowfish, exit this castle immediately, or I’ll shove my boot so far up your rear end you’ll be fishing around for it for weeks you-”

“Anastasia, calm yourself, dear” the loud, but calming sound of Alcina’s voice said, causing the young teen to pause in her angry scolding of Salvatore.

“My Lady?” The young teen asks, dutifully awaiting orders.

“Let the wretched man inside, he’s the furthest thing from a threat to us, even if he is an annoying little manthing. Although, I’d be lying if I said a visit from you at this hour of night is something I’ve come to expect of you, dearest elder brother.”

The disfigured man swallowed thickly as he stepped past Anastasia to fully face his other younger sister, who looked all the more intimidating from her looming perch upon the upper story.

“I-I know this is s-sudden…” Salvatore begins, hoping he’d at least be able to explain himself before Alcina tossed him back outside on his ass.

“I’ll certainly say” Anastasia bursts in angrily, but she’s quickly silenced and sent away to tend to her other duties by Alcina, who motions for Salvatore to ascend the large set of stairs leading up to the rest of the castle and join her on the landing for a moment.

“Spunky little thing, isn’t she?” Alcina says when Salvatore finally makes it to the top of the stairs, panting slightly as he follows the much taller mutant’s gaze to the door that Anastasia had just exited the room from.

“Th-that’s certainly… one way… o-of putting it” Salvatore stutters, not wanting to offend Alcina by calling her servant rude, but clearly not seeing what’s so great about someone who just yells at you a lot the second you walk through the door.

“Yes! She apparently received a strain of cadou that was quite similar to mine, however her need to consume blood to maintain herself is far more similar to that of leeches. Rather than having to consume it regularly in smaller doses, like myself, she’ll only require one feeding every few weeks or so, which I thought was quite interesting. The only issues Mother Miranda brought up was the fact that her hunger, if it gets bad enough, can trigger both her transformation, as well as some sort of feral and animalistic meltdown that only ends once she’s finally had her fill. Apparently more than a few villagers were lost in the process of learning this information” Alcina comments casually, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Mother only brought her over earlier today, just before dinner, and yet she’s already managed to carve quite the little space for herself here. I hadn’t realized how dirty this place was without any girls left to take from the village until she went through and washed all the walls in the west wing spotless. It was like night and day, I could hardly believe how open and bright the halls looked” Alcina stated.

“W-wow… so th-then… d-do you think y-you’ll keep her a-around… long term?” Salvatore asks curiously, craning his neck so he could get a better look at his sister’s face.

“Perhaps. I’m certainly thinking about it. Not only is she an incredibly hard and fast worker, but she’s also got such a lovely spark of energy and excitement to her, and she’s always very polite and respectful, if a bit obvious in her “admiration” of those she looks up to… not that that’s a bad thing, necessarily. It’s quite sweet, actually!”

“S-she did look… q-quite taken… by y-you” Salvatore comments, having noticed the girl’s far-too-eager-to-be-innocent disposition when Alcina was in the room, vs. when it was just him. Not that it was a terribly surprising turn of events. Alcina, for all her monstrous height and sheer mutant bulk, was still a very beautiful, and very desirable woman at the end of the day, meanwhile Salvatore was only about 2 rolls of the genetic dice away from sharing a more recent common ancestor with the blobfish than he did humans.

“I know, isn’t she adorable? She came exactly like this, too. Mother Miranda has no idea if this is a result of the mutation process or if it's merely her former personality finally returning now that she’s awake and out of containment, but I suppose the logistics of things aren’t really important in the end. I'm so glad I chose her over the other two, I don’t know what I would have done had such a promising and delectable little morsel like her go to waste on the rest of you imbeciles” Alcina coos in amusement. “Regardless of what Mother Miranda said however, I was almost certain this whole “gift” situation was going to be nothing more than a pile of useless drivel that I’d be left to clean up all on my own once the novelty wore off, however after having Anastasia here for these past few hours, and seeing all that she’s willing and capable of doing, I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps I’d been too hasty in my final decision.”

“Funny… K-Karl thought m-much the… th-the same thing i-initially… w-when I t-talked to him… th-the other day… th-though… knowing him… I doubt h-he’s having q-quite as much… of a ch-change of heart… as you a-are” Salvatore said suddenly, more than anything due to the incredible shock that was the concept of Alcina and Karl sharing a similar opinion, at the same time, while both occupying the same dimension of reality.

Alcina’s face immediately turns sour at the mention of Karl. “Oh, did he now? That’s an unfortunate thing to learn,” she says in annoyance, clearly displeased by the notion of agreeing with Karl on anything.

“Y-yes… he… he th-thinks that maybe… M-Mother might b-be using the g-gifts… to d-distract us w-while she’s g-gone away… o-on her mission… b-but that maybe… sh-she also wants… s-something else out of a-all this… something… th-that she isn’t t-telling us… f-for some reason” Salvatore explains, unsure if he should be revealing all this information to Alcina, notorious and open critic of Karl and quite literally everything the younger man has ever done and said, is doing and saying, and will do and say sometime in the span of his chaotic lifespan.

Contrary to what Salvatore assumed, however, instead of looking bored and uninterested in what Karl thought about this whole situation, Alcina looked just the slightest bit… intrigued, if still clearly wary. “Really? And what, pray tell, does our dear sweet little brother Heisenberg believe will come of this whole situation then? Did he say?”

“H-he… he never m-mentioned anything s-specific… but he th-thinks that the g-gifts… might p-play a l-larger role… in all th-this… than M-Mother has been l-leading us to believe.”

“I see,” Alcina says, remaining silent for a moment as she thinks, looking almost concerned by what she’s heard. “And what do you think of this whole mess, Salvatore?”

“U-um… well… I-I think it’s nice… th-that Mother trusts us e-enough… to g-give us her p-previous experiments… and u-use them however w-we want… b-but I’d be l-lying if I s-said… that I d-didn’t think Karl… was o-onto something… I-I don’t know w-what I believe to be t-true a-at the moment… but I d-do know… th-that I’d like t-to give… g-give a gift of m-my own… to Nadine… and that… and that y-you might be… s-someone else who c-could help me… w-with that” the hooded man explains nervously, hoping that Alcina was in a good enough mood to feel like humoring him and his sudden request.

“Nadine?” The tall, pale woman asks in confusion, before suddenly nodding in understanding. “Ah, your gift…”

Salvatore nods. “D-Donna… is f-fashioning a n-new dress… for her… a-and even gave me… this b-beautiful nightgown… to hold h-her over until… until the real one is c-complete. I th-think she w-will… e-enjoy the nightgown b-but… but I’d like to… l-like to get her something else t-too… like a… like a necklace… a-a gold one… o-one that w-would… c-complement her skin tone… j-just right.”

Alcina briefly stares at Salvatore with a blank expression, momentarily making the hooded man worry that he’d overstepped his boundaries and said something to offend the much larger woman. His nerves are thankfully calmed when Alcina turns and orders Salvatore to follow after her, which the disfigured man happily does if it means what he thinks it means.

The two siblings arrive at Alcina’s personal chambers just as Anastasia is exiting them, her arms filled by a large basket of blood soaked towels and clothes, some collected from Alcina’s room, the others likely from either Bela, Cassandra, or Daniela’s rooms.

“Good evening, Lady Dimitrescu! Are you finally retiring for the evening?” Anastasia asks, bowing cheerfully as she finally notices her mistress approaching her. “I’ve already gone ahead and prepared your bed for you, as well as collected all the soiled laundry from today’s harvest. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”

“Thank you, my dear, but not quite, I have one more matter to attend to before I fully turn in. Since you were so kind to offer however, I would greatly appreciate it if, once Lord Moreau and I are finished with our affairs, you would be so kind as to escort him to the front door and bid him a good night, for me. You are free to retire to your own chambers for the evening once he’s left” Alcina orders softly, which the young girl obediently nods her head to.

“Of course, mistress, thank you very much! And I’d be happy to see Lord Moreau out for you, so please don’t hesitate to call me once you’re finished with your meeting” Anastasia says, bowing lowly to both Alcina and Salvatore before wordlessly skittering off to do… whatever it was she planned on doing to those dirty garments.

“Now, about that gift you were talking about” Alcina says upon entering her personal bedroom, immediately striding over to her vanity and beginning to sift through several boxes worth of jewelry, “you said you wanted gold, correct? And a necklace specifically?”

“Y-yes! I-if you have anything y-you’re willing to… g-give away… of course… I’d feel t-terrible taking something i-if it meant a g-great deal to you” Salvatore answers, standing awkwardly in the doorway as he waits for Alcina to return to him with whatever she finds.

Of all 3 of his siblings, Alcina was the one Salvatore was easily the least close to, despite having been the only two around for a considerable amount of time before the eventual arrivals of both Donna and then Karl. It wasn’t that Salvatore was displeased when Mother Miranda first informed him that he’d be getting a “sibling” all those years ago, but Alcina’s natural personality, coupled with her terrifying size and strength from the mutations, had made the very meek and timid Salvatore hesitant to reach out and form any kind of sibling bond with the younger woman, like he had with Karl.

Karl was a royal pain in the ass to deal with on even his best days, but at the end of it all, there’s still only so much a 6 year old can do to you, anger issues and mutant metal bending powers or not. Alcina was both a royal pain in the ass to deal with more often than not, but also a fully grown adult when she first joined the family, so needless to say the 2 oldest siblings hadn’t been given very many appropriately opportune moments to bond or get along.

That being said however, the simple but elegant golden locket that Alcina procures from one of her many boxes of jewelry has Salvatore wondering if maybe he had misjudged Alcina, having never expected her to show him something as luxurious and real-looking as this, especially when the understanding was that she’d be giving it away whatever item of jewelry Salvatore took a liking to.

“This is an old locket I received for my 3rd birthday from a relative who died long before I was old enough to care about who they were, though all those diamond star details on the front do make me think they could have been close with us at one point, or perhaps they just had that much money to throw around? It’s an old and well-loved piece of my collection, but Duke has been bringing back such wonderful treasures from his travels that I just have to start getting rid of some of these old sentimental trinkets so I can make room for all the new additions I plan on purchasing once he finally returns” Alcina explains, gingerly handing the necklace over to Salvatore, who could do nothing but gawk at how extravagant and, to be perfectly honest, expensive the necklace looked.

With 4 small diamonds, likely real knowing Alcina, embedded into the surface of the locket’s front cover, surrounded by small engravings that give the glimmering stones the appearance of stars in the night sky, the necklace looked like it belonged upon the neck of a fair and noble princess, into which the radiant beauty could then place the photo of the man who’d stollen her innocent heart. Nadine wasn’t actually a princess and Salvatore all but gagged at the idea of a picture of his face, mutated or not, being put somewhere for anyone to see, however the necklace was far too perfect for the hooded man to possibly turn it down.

“So what do you think? Will something like this do?” The taller woman asks, curiously. “I could continue looking if that isn’t quite what you’re after, however if that is the case, then I would like to politely request that you come back and look at them tomorrow. It's already so late and I’d have to have the rest of my collection fetched from the vault downstairs.”

“N-no no… th-that’s alright… this i-is perfect… thank y-you… Alcina… this w-was very k-kind of you to do… f-for me” Salvatore says, carefully tucking the glittering necklace into the bag Donna had placed the nightgown in.

“Don’t fret about it too much, I only did it because I had a bit of time to spare prior to going to bed, and you happened to catch me in a good mood. That’s it” Alcina states firmly, though something in the back of Salvatore’s head can’t help but take the taller woman’s words with a grain of salt, feeling as though there was more to Alcina’s sudden generosity than just pure coincidence. “Besides, who knows what gaudy thing you’d have shown up with had you not made the surprisingly wise decision to invoke Donna’s and my vastly superior knowledge of the feminine experience. I don’t even want to think of what tacky little trinket you’d have tried to gift her. Why the thought of that alone is enough to make me want to run for the hills, how on earth do you think your poor little gift would have felt? I’d have had to murder you on the spot if I found out you tried to pass some disgusting pile of garbage off as an appropriate gift. In fact, if I didn’t know that Donna was working on a more fitting dress for her already, I’d have half a mind to skin you alive for only having a flimsy nightgown to take back with you, but I doubt any of the dresses I have, that would be appropriate to wear with that kind of necklace anyways, would come close to fitting her, and I really do want to start making room for some newer, more exciting pieces. So, with all that in mind, count your blessings that the stars have aligned in your favor tonight, dear brother, because I won’t be doing this for you again… unless, you’d be willing to do me a few favors in exchange for some of the other pieces of my collection, that is.”

Aaaaaaaaaaand there’s the Alcina that Salvatore knows and secretly likes. In vehement denial that she feels anything positive for her 3 siblings and also actively trying to get someone else to do her dirty work for her. It's certainly not how the hooded man prefers to operate, but he supposes that if Alcina can somehow convince everyone around her to do all of her work for her, why wouldn’t she take advantage of that as much as possible?

“I-I think that’s e-enough… for t-tonight actually… maybe i-if I decide I’d l-like to get her s-something else… I’ll c-consider that offer y-you brought up” Salvatore says, bowing politely to his sister as he makes his desire to leave obvious.

Thankfully, Alcina seems more than happy to send her older brother on his way, calling Anastasia to come lead Salvatore back to the front door so he could finally begin making his way home.

“Th-thank you again… Alcina… I really a-appreciate this… an-and I'm sure Nadine w-will love the gift t-too” Salvatore says just as he’s about to bid Alcina goodnight and begin following the young servant girl.

“Yes, yes, you’re very grateful of my wondrous kindness to you, I know, you’ve made that fact more than clear already, brother” the taller woman says with an only mildly annoyed roll of her eyes as she stands just outside the door to her chambers. “Just make sure you don’t waste the opportunity my graciousness has afforded you, do you understand?”

Salvatore stiffens nervously as Alcina shoots him a pointed look that screams ‘don’t fuck this up or I’ll fuck you up’, a threat which the hooded man knows she’ll make good on, should Salvatore make it necessary for her to do so. Salvatore wasn’t sure how Alcina had picked up on the nature of his budding affections for Nadine so quickly, or how she seemed to instinctively know what he was planning despite having never asked directly, but clearly she’d noticed something and was now in the process of making the matter of whether Salvatore successfully courted his gift her business.

Heavens above have mercy upon whomever is unlucky enough to have their problematic situation noticed and meddled with by Alcina Dimitrescu.

“Y-yes… I u-understand… an-and I’ll be s-sure not to w-waste... waste the g-golden opportunity you’ve g-given me… OH! An-and Donna w-wants her mannequins b-back... too… sh-she wanted m-me to tell y-you” Salvatore replies, his anxiety only mildly calmed when Alcina makes a face at the mention of Donna’s yet-to-be-returned-still mannequins.

“Oh for goodness sakes, I always forgot about those stupid things. Anastasia?”

“Yes, Mistress?” The young servant dutifully answers.

“Please make a note to remind me to have Heisenberg come by so he can collect and return the manequins Donna leant me while I was commissioning some dresses from her earlier this month. That foul-mouthed mutt owes me a favor, and so if all goes the way I’d like I’ll be making this his problem in the morning” Alcina says devilishly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Of course, Lady Dimitrescu, I’ll be sure to remind you of that first thing tomorrow morning” Anastasia replies warmly, though her amicable grin is quickly replaced by a flush and a girlish giggle when Alcina waves and turns on her heel, swaying her hips in an obvious fashion before bending down to enter through the door of her chambers.

Salvatore passed exceptionally confused glances back and forth between his sister and the young servant standing in front of him, totally clueless as to what just unfolded a moment ago as a feeling of disgust, the kind you get when you see something you wish you hadn’t, began to curl in the pit of his stomach. Whatever it was that was going on in the Dimitrescu house, and more importantly with their new servant girl, it was clearly none of Salvatore’s business. Not that he’d wanted it to be in the first place.

Salvatore had enough problems to deal with regarding his own gift, he didn’t have time to worry about whether or not Alcina was already making moves on hers.

“Have a safe journey home, and do make sure to stop by with Nadine if things turn out well between the two of you. Based on how today played out, it would seem as though things are about to get a lot more interesting around here… and a lot more fun too. Goodnight, Dear Brother” is all Alcina says before gently closing the door to her chambers, effectively ending their conversation without so much as a single word from Salvatore, not that he minded being handed the chance to finally get out of here, especially after… whatever the hell that exchange between Alcina and Anastasia was.

Best not to think too hard about it, probably, especially when there was another woman back at the reservoir who was much more deserving of Salvatore’s lustful and impure musings.

“Uuum… the front door is this way… Lord Moreau,” Anastasia says suddenly, her face still dark from embarrassment, though whether it was from her earlier treatment of him before she learned he was another Lord and not just some random man from the village, or from… that thing he just saw that he doesn’t feel like thinking about anymore, the hooded man couldn’t tell.

Nor did he particularly care to find out.

[heresathreebee]

Old Stomping Ground

[Ava Starr X Female Reader]

Summary: One of the good things to come out of constant alien invasions are the abandoned ruins of New York, and you’re fixing to show Ava your favorite place. Previous Masterlist Next

Tag(s): 13+ | can be reader gender and race neutral reader but is written with woc readers in mind, no-snap au, post-Ant Man and the Wasp, Ava and reader on an adventure in post Avenger's New York, homelessness, alien trees and the power of community.

AN: no-snap au, post-Ant Man and the Wasp. No beta, we die like men. Just you and Ava having a short adventure.

You took three days off of work for this one. Packed two backpacks with food, water, clothes, and other supplies. Bedrolls and bug spray and hiking poles. Ava laughed at your enthusiasm but she seemed to vibrate with excitement right along with you. 

"Can you at least tell me where we're going," she pleaded. 

You ran through the end of the checklist for the third time, trying to be extra careful now that you wouldn't be hoofing it solo. You dodged the question expertly with a "it's not far and it's not dangerous so hush! Learn to enjoy the mystery, babe." 

Ava rolled her eyes playfully but stopped asking and let you finish. After that you ate a hearty breakfast and began your journey north by northwest. In the taxi, your girlfriend's eyes darted from building to building as you turned on every street and you mentally gave up on scolding her. She was too pragmatic to allow for that level of trust yet. 

You were surprised that it took her until you passed the ruins of the daycare you once attended that she whipped her head around to whisper, "is this… Leviathan alley?" 

You shush her but can't keep the excited grin from your face. "It's a bit more than just an alley." 

Once SHIELD was finished stripping for parts and gutting the cybernetically enhanced alien creature left behind in the Battle of New York, the rest was abandoned. The city's been planning to clean up and rebuild but there are scores in the earth where the leviathan crashed and crumbling, precarious buildings that need to be brought down first in the safest way possible. While the city’s been debating how to deal with the destruction, the poor and destitute had moved in and discovered the blood of the chitauri has some very interesting properties. 

"It's like it changes the property of concrete," you explained, climbing over rubble and reaching back to pull her up, "uhg– breaks it down into some kind of hyper fertilizer. There's this copse of trees growing where we think the stomach was and I think in its natural habitat, the creature was probably an omnivore of sorts and may have swallowed thousands of seeds–" 

"That's all very fascinating dear, could you please take this?" Ava shoves a canteen into your hands and cups your hands to bring it closer to your mouth. You've climbed for what feels like miles and hey, you are pretty parched. "Think we'd better rest and eat, maybe look for a safe place to set up camp and… oh, look over there!" 

Ava's sudden whisper makes you turn. It's green in that direction, though this 'alley' is shrouded in darkness due to the dome made from the spine and ribs of the leviathan, the sprigs seem to grow just fine, becoming taller as they moved farther away from you until they began to develop woody stalks and trunks. 

"That's the forest you were talking about," Ava whispered in awe. “I wanna get a closer look.” 

You gently caught her arm. “Camp first, eat. It’ll still be here tomorrow.” 

~ 

Ava didn’t expect you to take her into an encampment. There were two dozen people in tents, an open grill going and laughter. They seemed to recognize you. It was mostly older adults, a few elderly people wrapped in thick blankets and teens walking around asking anyone needed drinks. You grabbed the blanket from your pack and wrapped Ava in it as soon as she found a seat on a slab of concrete. 

"Comfy?" 

Ava smiled up at you, taking the proffered fruit slice from you. "Very." 

She examined the strange fruit. It had a thin violet skin with a spongy white inner layer and pink juice with black seeds  dripping from it. She leabed over your shoulder get a look at the fruit as a whole, and it seemed the pink goop was loose inside the fruit similar to a coconut. 

"Are these from the trees," she asked. 

"Yeah, they're edible don't worry. No side effects we've seen," you assure. 

Ava nods but as she's licking the tangy pink juice you continue, "well except for Nadia but she's a mutant." 

Ava flicks worried green eyes at you and slowly takes the fruit from her mouth. She's already swallowed on reflex so there's no turning back now, only managing whatever weird things would come next. 

"Uh… what do you mean by that?" 

You blink at Ava. "Oh it's not, like, bad or anything. Right, Nadia?" 

A dark skinned girl in an orange beanie looked up from her phone. "What?" 

"Tauri makes you, what, gassy?" 

The man on the grill threw his head back in a laugh and Nadia kicked a rock at you. "Ha hah, you're everybody's favorite clown in the circus. It doesn't make me gassy, you jerk, it makes me smell like roses actually." 

"Oh," Ava said, "that's all?" 

You and Nadia shared a knowing look. "It's strong. Not overpowering but strong like you've got your nose buried in a whole bouquet of them." 

"And your fingers tingle and you make sparkles– " 

"Nadia I think that's just you, baby!" 

People laughed and the conversation died down. Ava let the slip of tauri fruit linger in her grasp until you gently pried it out and ate it yourself. You were side eyeing her but kept your question to yourself and eventually Ava was able to relax. She fell asleep during Nadia's uncle Rodney's story with her head on your shoulder and dreamed of violet things. Violet dresses, violet paint, violet fires, and violet sprigs. 

All you could dream of was the smell of roses so close and so thick you could touch it. 

~

The walk through the natural path as the trees got thicker finally prompted Ava to ask the question that's been plaguing her. "How do you know them? Are they family?" 

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder and slowed your pace to match hers as your fingers tapped the straps of your backpack nervously. "Sort of. They were family when I had no home to go to. Then I got a job with enough money and a stupid good deal on my apartment because I had no priors. 

"Rodney and Jules and some of the others prefer it out here with the forest. Some of them have nowhere else to go or no way to take care of themselves. Nadia's been kicked out of every home she's ever been to, but she won't go to that gifted school for mutants in Westchester county. Can't say I blame her either." 

"School for mutants, eh," Ava said as she trudged on, "interesting." 

You walked along in silence, drinking in the inviting quiet of the forest and the tiny chirps and peeps of its new inhabitants. You'd almost say it would be a shame to tear this place down knowing it's a new natural habitat, but you know New York had a hundred bigger and more pressing issues to deal with right now. As long as any capitalist moguls kept their eyes elsewhere, the new jungle should be fine. 

As the forest becomes denser, you have to pull a rechargeable flashlight out to see the ground beneath you. Black bugs crawl under and over the brush and fallen twigs, and something no bigger than a cat scuttles away out of the path of the light. Ava puts a hand on your arm and you open your mouth to assure her you'd protect her, but as you look at her you realize she's ready to protect you. Arm poised out and eyes darting around for signs of sudden movement from the brush. 

You walk in silence for what feels like an fantastic eternity but when you look at the canopy you stop yourself. Ava looks up to, gently taking a hold of your hand to keep you close and it sends tingles up your arm. She rarely reaches for you but she seems to be growing more and more confident of it. 

Light dances beyond the thicket of the leaves. Green and gold flashes as a soft breeze creates gaps beyond the chitauri rib ceiling and every time a light flashes you feel warmth on your skin like soft little kisses. 

Something wooden creaks, and that creaking quickly turns to snapping. You unconsciously squeeze Ava's fingers as you spot a black tree trunk beginning to fall towards you. Suddenly, Ava's arms are around you and she pulls you down into a duck. 

Everything happens so fast it blinds you. You can't see, can only feel as shivers of warmth and cold jitter through your entire being, drowning you into sensations you've never felt before. It makes you feel fear more than anything. Is this how you die? Cowering? 

When the sounds of falling trees stop, there is only the wind and the rush of Ava's windbreaker against yours. You test your fingers to see if they still work and dig them into her back. Nothing broken, you're still standing if gravity is correct. 

She finally lets you lift your head from her embrace and survey the scene. That tree opened a spot in the canopy for more natural light to pour in which is good because your flashlight was lost among the thick bramble bushes. 

Ava brushes your forehead. "Are you OK?" 

It must be a trick of the light but she looks like she's shimmering. Perhaps you hit your head or something but it seems like you never fell. Your standing just beside the fallen tree but you could have sworn you'd almost felt it go through you. And then…

And then there was the smell of roses. 

"I'm fine," you say at last. "Let's get back, probably shouldn't have come here by ourselves anyways…" 

Ava gives you a look, it almost looks like trepidation. You steel your resolve and press on to retrace your steps, knowing you had a lot of walking to do before you would exit the treeline. 

Ava has powers and you're ok with that. You'll just let her tell you in her own time. 

[official-weasley]

The Extraordinary Dragon (Part 2/6)

A fluffy story about Charlie training a dragon with a sad and mysterious past.

Warnings: dragon abuse Word Count: 2,266

“Are you ready?” Matthew was standing with me by the gates of the reserve, his arms crossed on his chest and looking like he will burst from excitement any moment now.

It’s been a week since I found out that I am going to work with a 1-year-old Hebridean Black. That, however, has been the only information Matt has given me. He has been awfully secretive about this dragon and no matter how many times I asked him about it he just told me not to worry and that I will have all my questions answered once the dragon arrives.

Today was that day and I couldn’t help but feel nervous. Not only because I didn’t know what to expect and the whole thing seemed to amuse my boss very much but also because this was a Hebridean Black – my favorite breed of dragon.

We don’t have a rule book here in the Sanctuary but we do have a few protocols we have to obey.

Wear your protective gear at work.

If you get injured, stop what you are doing immediately and find a healer.

No matter how vicious the dragon is, try to stay as calm as possible because they sense fear.

We don’t get promoted but are assigned to dragons based on our experience.

In the first year when we arrive here, we work with researchers to observe dragons – learn about their behavior and eating patterns.

In the second and third years, we either get assigned to Common Welsh Greens or Antipodean Opaleyes. If we are doing great with the latter, our superior might assign us to one of the fliers so we can start training to fly on a dragon.

That is a crucial practice for working with dragons later on because part of the daily routine is to take them out for a flight. The training usually lasts for 6 months and then we have to pass the flying exam – which I passed with flying colors on the first try, of course!

Then in year four we usually continue with Opaleyes. I was lucky enough to get a chance to work with two Chinese Fireballs.

In years five and six we are assigned to a new breed, the Swedish Short-Snout, and we train with the healers to learn how to heal and recognize symptoms if the dragon we work with shows any signs of sickness.

For me, that dragon was a Norwegian Ridgeback. I wasn’t experienced enough to work with the breed but due to a shortage of dragonologists, Matthew assigned the dragon to me anyway, and even though it wasn’t the easiest dragon to work with I had a pleasant enough experience with it that I now visit its habitat a few times per month to say hello.

In year eight or nine we can sign up for an exchange program. It means we go and work in one of the other dragon reserves. My wish was to work in the Swedish Reserve for one year and I was over the roof when my application was approved.

My boss wanted me to apply to the Chinese Reserve so that I could work with Fireballs since I have already dealt with them but I heard that even though the Swedish Reserve mostly works with Short-Snouts they had a Peruvian Vipertooth and a Ukrainian Ironbelly.

I know I shouldn’t have gone against my boss and try and work with dragons I wasn’t ready for but I just couldn’t help myself. I knew I would be less monitored there and nobody would tell me I can’t work with a certain dragon so I had to try.

Working with a sick Norwegian Ridgeback was harder than trying to befriend a Ukrainian Ironbelly. The latter looks like it’s going to eat you at any given moment but they are harmless even though they are huge compared to the other dragons.

Because I got a certificate of successfully taming both a Vipertooth and an Ironbelly, Matthew was so impressed that once I got back I was assigned to work with 3 different dragons.

I couldn’t believe that he allowed me to work with a Peruvian Vipertooth and not one but two Romanian Longhorns. I nagged him to assign me to one of those dragons for a year before my year in Sweden and he always said I wasn’t ready. But when I came back with the letter from my Swedish trainer, Matthew couldn’t believe how well I did and decided to give me a chance to work with dragons completely on my own.

I have been working with Hel, Lasair, and Rocker for over a year and I am doing great. All three of them listen to me and I have no trouble going through their daily routines. They trust me and I have learned so much from them in such a short amount of time. And apparently, it shows since my boss assigned me to the Hebridean Black.

“I would love to say that I am ready but the look on your face concerns me.” I lifted an eyebrow at him, my palms getting sweatier.

“Look, for how many years have you been begging me to let you work with a Black? Now you’re trying to chicken out?” He smirked.

“No, of course, not. I am just curious why the sudden change of hearts. Isn’t it too dangerous? Aren’t I unqualified to take care of a Hebridean Black?”

“Asterin.”

“What?” I turned my head to him, with more questions in my head than before.

“The dragon’s name is Asterin.” He explained and nodded toward the gate where 7 wizards appeared along with a big cage with a dragon chained inside.

We hurried to them and helped them unload the dragon. I had so many questions. We have never received a dragon that was chained or that needed so many people escorting it. What was Matthew not telling me?

They told us not to take the beast out of the cage until we reach its assigned habitat. Matt called 4 of my co-workers to help levitate the cage to a secluded area that was going to be Asterin’s home for the next 3 months.

Every time we get a new dragon to live in our reserve, we put it far away from the rest of the dragons so that it can get used to the environment change first before it’s introduced to other dragons. Then we determine if the dragon is capable of living with another of its breed – we never put more than 3 together – or if they’d prefer to have their own habitat. After those 3 months, the proper training can begin.

“I need some answers.” I frowned at my boss when we were left alone with the new dragon.

“Okay, so the dragon was put through a lot. She has trust issues and is very untamed for her age. She doesn’t want to fly and barely eats anything.” He explained.

“That’s why she’s so small for her age?” I leaned to the right to get a glimpse of Asterin behind Matthew.

“Yes.” He nodded.

“But I don’t understand. The dragonologists that brought her here are from the MacFusty clan. They take care of Hebridean Blacks, why was she brought here and where did they get her from?”

“They found her.”

“What do you mean they found her? You don’t simply stumble upon a dragon!” I furrowed my brows.

“But they did – abandoned in the forest close to their reserve. They heard her cries. She had both her wings broken and half of her teeth were missing.” Matthew continued.

“That would explain the not eating and flying part.” I could feel the heat on my face. If she was found like that someone had to hurt her and then just left her. How could someone do something like that to such a beautiful creature? Why would they hurt a dragon?

“They tried taking care of her,” Matt explained further, “but after not making any progress for more than half a year they contacted me.” He locked eyes with mine and it seemed he was trying to read my face.

“What’s with the look?”

“You know that you need 15+ years of experience to work with a Hebridean Black here.”

“I do. That’s why I asked you about 50 times in the last week why did you pick me?” My heart was racing, knowing I will finally get the answer to my question.

“I didn’t.” Matt cleared his throat.

“What?” “I didn’t pick you. They did.”

“Who? The MacFusty family?” I don’t think I was ever this confused – this didn’t make any sense. I knew about the clan. They were famous for taking in Hebridean Blacks and taking care of them before releasing them into the wild but there was no way they could know about me.

“They knew that the dragon needed better care and even though their property is expanding they reckoned it would be better if the dragon is moved to a bigger reserve,” Matthew said. “They contacted the Swedish Dragon Sanctuary and they recommended the dragon to be transported here, into your care.”

“The Swedish Sanctuary?” I said more to myself than to him.

“I guess they were impressed with how a 27-year-old tamed a Ukranian Ironbelly as if it was no big deal. And your trainer, Oskar, found it amusing when you called them extra large Cruppies.” Matthew playfully shook his head.

“Well, they are. Their size is just deceiving.” I defended my statement.

“Charles, you must’ve done something to impress them so much that they thought of you when they found out about Asterin’s situation.” Matthew put his hand on my shoulder and winked at me.

“And you just agreed?” I narrowed my eyes at him. I still couldn’t believe it. They singlehandedly picked me? They thought of me to help the dragon?

I took a deep breath. I was prepared for anything when Matt was keeping all of this a secret from me but I didn’t think that this involved me on such a large scale. This was a great honor, an honor about which I didn’t know how to feel. I am good with dragons but I am not that good, am I?

It rarely happens that a dragonologist is recommended to be assigned to a dragon, especially if they are 28 years old. I’m still learning. I am still observing and studying the dragons and now the MacFusty family knows my name?

I rubbed my eyes thinking I was dreaming. This opportunity won’t only escalate my career and make my day-to-day more fun, it will also make my dream to work with a Hebridean Black come true.

“I don’t know what to say.” Was all I could muster.

“Just enjoy it, Charles. I know how much you like a challenge.” He tapped me twice on the shoulder and walked away.

I swallowed thickly and looked at the dragon who was standing still and being aware of every speck that moved.

“Hi.” I waved slowly. “My name is Charlie and I’ll be your buddy for the foreseeable future.”

The dragon’s tail started to move from left to right and I was pretty sure that if I took a step forward I would get scorched.

“It’s okay. I mean you no harm.” I bowed my head, maintaining eye contact, and then sat on the ground. “See, if you want you can eat me right now.”

I looked at Asterin’s claws which were dug deep into the earth beneath her paws. It meant that she was tense and stressed and didn’t believe a word I said to her.

“I can leave if you want. Just let me come back so I can give you some dinner.” I started to stand up but a roar straight to my face made me sit back down.

“Okay, okay. You do not agree with me leaving. I understand.” I lifted my hands in defense.

I felt like my heart was going to escape my ribcage any moment now. I wasn’t scared. I was thrilled. I could see that this was going to be a tough challenge and I couldn’t wait to see how everything will unfold.

I sat still and had a staring contest with Asterin for the next 3 hours. My bum and back were killing me but I didn’t care. The dragon didn’t move a muscle and her claws were still dug deep into the ground.

“Asterin, it’s time for dinner. How about you let me stand up?” I motioned with my head to the sky – it being dark, that’s how long we sat together in silence.

The dragon didn’t move nor blinked so I inhaled sharply and without exhaling stood up slowly, maintaining eye contact. Asterin let out a silent growl but didn’t roar, which was a good sign. I backed away and once I was out of her sight I hurried to get her food. Hebridean Blacks love venison so that was what I was going to get her.

As I was heading out of the food supply hut, I grabbed a bag of apples just in case Asterin is a vegetarian like Crystal.

The whole way back to the dragon I was debating whether or not I should stay and observe her eating or should I just leave her alone. I wanted to see if she will even want to eat and if it’s painful when she chews the meat.

My decision, however, didn’t matter when I came back with the dinner and Asterin was nowhere to be found.

[spencesglasses]

sweet creature (spencer reid x f! reader) pt 2

a/n: ah yes, a case chapter. this was gonna be longer but i didn’t want it to just drag on and i just ended up cutting out some parts soooo enjoy this 3k word chapter of y/n using her big galaxy brain to solve a case with just a pinch of fluff w spence :)

part one | part three

It was only the beginning of the movie when the weight of the day hit her. She snuggled further into the couch, trying to gain some extra warmth. Spencer had his apartment so cold, she could nearly feel the chill creeping up her body. Her eyelids began to close shut slowly, and the sound of the television lulls her to sleep. She was far too tired to keep herself awake, so she hoped that Spencer didn’t mind if she rests, at least for a few minutes.

Spencer keeps his eyes glued to the television screen, having been making commentary throughout, he didn’t even notice Y/N fast asleep. “You know, it’s actually scientifically impossible for someone to-“ He turns his head to look at her, and she lets out a quiet snore. The TV’s sound was barely audible now, Spencer turning it down so it wouldn’t wake her. He stood up to his full height and the freshly cleaned floor squeaks as his feet carried him to the cupboard that held spare linens and duvets.

He laid a blanket over her figure gently, careful not to disturb her. Taking the extra blankets, he spread them out, making a makeshift bed on the floor below her. He flickered off the TV and all that could be heard was the pitter-patter of the rain against the windows. Spencer let the layers of blankets engulf him in warmth, letting his eyes fall heavy and drifts off to sleep.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the vibrations of her phone ringing. It was Anna. Wait. I’m still on Spencer’s couch. Shit! I was asleep longer than I should have! She sits up, checking the time, “I’m late to work!”

She tossed the blanket off her and tried to push herself off the couch. But then she sees him. Spencer curled up with a blanket that was much too small for him. She stifled a snicker and covered him with the blanket she was once using.

Before Y/N could leave, she noticed a pen and notepad sitting atop his desk. Maybe I should leave a note, she thought. She grabbed the pen and the black ink slid smoothly across the page.

Sorry to leave so soon… and for falling asleep during the movie. Lets reschedule? Keep in touch, 187! xx

-Your favorite barista

She heard Spencer stir in his sleep, and just before he could wake up, she was gone.

-

“Surprise?” Garcia questioned. “What surprise? What’s going on-” and then she realizes. “Oh, Coffee shop girl! You’re the girl from the coffee shop!”

Y/N hid a giggle behind her hand as she stood. “You told them about me?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see JJ’s head shoot up. “Yeah, Spence,” she says, tilting her head at him. “You told us about her?”

“I told Garcia,” he grumbles.

Spencer can feel the five pairs of eyes on him. He didn’t think that not telling the team about her was such a big deal. Why was it such a problem he kept something to himself for once? They practically live together. Spencer just wanted to keep someone who makes him feel like a person. He wanted to keep her so close to him because he finally had the chance to think about something other than work and the cases, and the people he couldn’t save. He wanted to be someone; to feel normal. In the time that it’s silent, he understood why Y/N didn’t tell him, but he sure as hell wishes that she did.

Spencer’s eyes flicker back and forth between her and the team.  “We should focus on the case.”

-

The first case Y/N works on with a team is fairly close, which she appreciated. She wasn’t particularly fond of plane rides but that was something she had to get used to. Joy, who she found out is Rossi’s daughter, had been writing a piece about violence against women on campus, and noticed a series of mishap in the area. After finding what she believed was more of a case than a possible story, she brought attention to a series of disappearances to the team’s attention once a young woman by the name of Bahni Desai had gone missing.

“4 cases in 9 years.” Derek speaks into the cell, sitting in the driver’s seat. “How come this hasn’t been on our radar?”

“Because the disappearances were in different states with different M.O’s.” Rossi explained over the speaker.

Y/N claimed her spot on the middle seat in the back, reviewing a case file. “The first missing woman was Kathy Miller in 2006,”

Morgan questioned. “So what’s the plan once we land on campus?’

“Track Bahni’s movements. Campus police checked her room, she’s not there. They taped it off for you.” Hotch instructed.

“What about her cell phone?” asked Spencer.

Y/N shifted in her seat, passing the file to Spencer and whispered to him. “It’s kind of cold in here, don’t you think?”

He turned ever so slightly to look at her. “I have my jacket in my bag if you need it,”

She dug to find the much-needed jacket and threw it over her shoulders. It was his FBI issued jacket, tapered at the sleeves and a bit oversized. It smelt like him, she noted. Cinnamon and coffee. She offered him a gentle smile. “Thanks, Spence.”

Spencer returned the smile, handing her back the file.

“It just pinged in her room overnight,” Garcia informed. “No credit card activity. I’ve confirmed with all the ticket agencies she didn’t take a boat, bus, blimp, or plane last night. Oh! The Dean's office just sent us her file from Judy Temple College. It looks like- Oh dear…” She trails off.

“Looks like what, Garcia?” Y/N urged, tugging the jacket closer to her.

“She voluntarily withdrew!”

-

“She definitely didn’t plan on leaving town,” Spencer surveyed Bahni’s abandoned closet. “Her clothes, shoes, and luggage are all still here.”

“Well, it looks like she was trying on different outfits,” said Morgan.

Y/N shuffled past Spencer, standing next to Morgan, and observed the clothes laid out. “Miniskirts, heels. Seems like she was going out.” Y/N added.

“But why not take her phone?” Reid asked, picking up Bahni’s cell. “She’d need it to meet up with her friends.”

She spun on her heel and inspected her desk, noticing two chemistry textbooks. “Unless her friends were already here,” she suggests, her finger brushes against the lettering on the cover, then beckons Morgan to look at the books.

She turned the cover of the textbook, Morgan doing the same to the one to their left. Y/N pushes out a sharp exhale out of her pursed lips. Paddy Morris, she read.

Morgan is the first to speak. “Same textbooks, different names. “She wasn’t studying alone.”

Spencer moves closer to the pair and peers over Y/N’s shoulder. “That could be the last person who saw her.”

-

Y/N trailed behind Morgan and Reid with her hands tucked into the pockets of Spencer’s jacket, and her eyes wandered around the halls of the building. This is going to be her first interview. She wasn’t nervous, per se, but her mind couldn’t help but fill with possible scenarios. Don’t mess this up, Y/N. Only ask questions relevant to the case and remember, don’t say the wrong thing.

“Nice jacket,” Morgan commented, slowing down to reach Y/N’s pace.

“Nice face,” she joked, reaching up to tap his cheek.

Y/N quickened her pace, walking past Spencer, and she could practically feel his stare burning into the back of her head. She found the correct door, and it was Reid and Morgan’s turn to trail behind her. Finding Paddy’s correct door number, she taps her knuckles against the hard wood. “Paddy Morris, this is the FBI,”

“Very funny, Josh,” They heard through the door.

Y/N turned to the men behind her and they shrugged their shoulders in unison. She scrunched up her nose, knocking once more.

The trio held up their badges as the door flung open, exposing the girl. “You’re not Josh.”

“Great observation,” Y/N nodded.

Paddy opened the door wider for them, and they took their spot on the three chairs to the side of her bed. “We have a few questions about Bahni Desai,” Morgan told her. “Is there any information you have that might help us?”

She let out a sharp exhale. “I was with her last night. She was fine,”

“Any idea why she left her cell phone in her room?”

“We didn’t take purses, and we didn’t have pockets in our skirts.” Paddy draws out.

Y/N saw Spencer shift in his seat. “Ok, walk us through the night, you guys were studying before you went out?”

“Yeah, um,” her voice is shaky. “I knew about this party. She didn't want to go.”

It was Y/N’s turn to ask a question. “Did you two come back to the dorm?”

Not too bad, not too bad, she reassures herself.

“No. I made her stay.”

“Why?”

She gulped, looking over their shoulders and out the window. “There was this tennis guy that I’d been trading tweets with. He said he’d show up, but he was late, and then the later it got, the more I drank.”

“How much did you have?” asked Reid.

“Her, I don’t know. Me, a lot. Until Peter arrived…” she trails off. “She told me she was going right after that.”

“Did anyone walk out after her, maybe try to escort her?”

“Not that I saw,” she frowns, face streaked with tears and day old mascara wiped beneath her eyes. “God, it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

Morgan reassured her. “No, it’s not. But there’s still a way you can help us.”

She perked up, wiping the stray tears away. “Anything. Name it.”

Y/N straightens up and asks, “Where was the party?”

-

“This was the last spot she was seen. The next camera is 100 feet down,” Spencer pointed forward. “Which makes this the abduction zone,”

Y/N walks with him, investigating what the team has found, all thanks to Garcia, Bahni’s last location before she went missing. “Alexandria police searched the buildings, nothing was there.”

“Well, if she got in the car with him, they would have shown up on the camera down the street.”

Her eyebrows knit together, suddenly coming to a stop. “Right, so it would be too risky,” she looked to the camera, and observed the shops behind them. “Just shoving her in the trunk of a car. And out in the open like this? Someone would have been bound to see them,”

“Well, that leaves this.” Spencer gestures to the near alleyway. It’s empty. Secluded. Low chance of anyone seeing the attack.

Spencer and Y/N shared a look, walking further into the alley. His phone went off, signifying that he’s gotten a new message, and she watches him as he fetches his phone out of his coat pocket. She could see the wrinkle between his brows that he would when he was worried about something,

She stops in her tracks and gently places her hand on his bicep. “Is everything okay?”

“Actually, no. My mom’s not doing so well,” Spencer says, biting the inside of his cheek. “The doctors have had to change her medicine 3 times to try to stabilize the schizophrenia,”

Y/N knew about his mom and her conditions. He had mentioned it a few times to her when he would go into her shop during her break. She let out a soft exhale and rubbed languid circles in his arm as a comfort. “Spencer, why didn’t you tell me… or the team?”

“I- I didn’t want to bother you,” he averts his eyes

“You could never bother me,” Y/N’s voice is hushed. “You can never bother any of us, got it? How long has this been going on?”

Spencer’s frown deepens, looking down to the asphalt beneath their feet. “It’s gotten really bad the past few weeks.”

“As soon as we’re done here, you need to go help her. She needs you,”

Y/N watches as his eyes narrow, looking at her this time. “I know. Right now so does Bahni.” he said firmly.

She watches him as he moves to leave the alley, and a frown etched on her face. Y/N knew he would rather keep something to himself than bother anyone about his problems, but this was different. She just wanted to be there for him, to help him, to make sure he doesn't feel alone. He was her friend, after all. Spencer turned to her, looking at her expectantly, and she followed him.

“Alright, let's think this through,” Spencer said.

Y/N added. “Okay, so, if he took her this way, it is a busier street,” they both observed the cars passing. “The traffic was much lighter last night, but it would be a risk to abduct someone in plain sight.”

“So he was able to control a drunk woman and it didn’t look suspicious.”

“He probably just put his arm around her and walked off, and was too drunk to realize she was in danger.” she replied.

“You know, if this was just about the assault, he could have done that back in the alley. I think this gotta be some sort of long-term play,”

“Then he’s been watching Bahni,” she makes eye contact with Spencer. “Looking for the perfect opportunity.”

“Well, he certainly found it last night. She’s a straight-A student who never drinks and rarely goes out.”

Y/N nods, walking back to the alley to inspect it once more. She eyes the spot where the suspect was last documented, trying to think of anything that could possibly help them, and then it hits her. “Spence, tell Garcia to look for offenders with precursor crimes.”

“On it,”

-

The rest of the investigation went by smoothly and the team rescued Bahni successfully, arresting Tom Larson for abduction of Bahni Desai and Sam Burnett for the murder of Kathy Miller in the process. By the end of the night, Y/N stayed behind as the majority of the team left, having to finish paperwork for Hotch. She heard shuffling, and it brought her attention to Spencer sitting on the edge of his desk. Following his gaze, she noticed a framed photo of JJ’s newborn perched on her desk. Then she examined him closely, noticing visible bags under his eyes, and his hair slightly disheveled. She gathers the loose paper into a folder, then places them into the drawer of her desk.

“You were that little once,” Y/N says, catching Spencer’s attention.

“It seems impossible, doesn’t it,” he smiles fondly at the photo. “That we all start out so helpless.”

Y/N got up from her chair, joining Spencer at his desk. “Yeah, well, we all end the same way.”

A moment of looming silence passes between them and Spencer stiffens, suddenly becoming hyper aware of the proximity. It’s not that he didn’t like it. It made him more aware of the flutter and flit of the butterflies in his stomach. That he didn’t like.

Y/N is the first one to break the silence. “You’re gonna call your mom?”

Spencer is brought back to reality by the sound of her voice, and he’s back at ease. Y/N did a good job at doing that; easing him. He furrowed his brows, checking his watch. “It’s not too late there, is it?”

She gently grabs a hold of his wrist to check for herself. “Shouldn’t be,” she whispers.

Y/N let her arm fall to her side. “I wanted to tell you, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“That I was joining the team,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “I wanted to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?” he counters.

“I didn’t want to intrude. I thought it would’ve been weird if some girl from the coffee shop you go to just suddenly started working with you, but I guess that happened anyway,”

Spencer’s eyes flick down to her. “You’re not just some girl from the coffee shop,” he says slowly. “And if it makes you feel any better, I really enjoyed working with you today.”

Y/N’s lips curled upward, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Hmm, I guess we just make a good team,”

“Guess so,” Spencer says with a soft laugh that makes her heart swell. “You know, I actually didn’t mean to tell Garcia,”

“You didn’t?” She raised her brows.

He shook his head. “She saw your number written on my coffee cup.”

“I see,” she hummed.

There’s a moment of comfortable silence. Y/N scoots away from him slightly, barely realizing the closeness. Her stomach twists and tumbles within her, nerves spiking, trying to find words to add to the conversation. She finally looks at him and she feels heat creeping up her neck when she saw that he was already looking at her. And she finally says, “I guess I should be getting home,”

Spencer followed her movements, trailing behind her as she retreated to her desk. “Would you like a ride home?” she asks.

For a second, it is silent again. It’s clear to her he’s thinking way too into the question. “It’s no bother,” she adds, giving him a kind smile. “I promise.”

She held out her arm just like she did that morning and waited for him to link his arm with hers. He visibly relaxed, hooping his arm beneath hers. This is what he liked about Y/N, what drew him to her. She allowed him to break down his walls when he was with her, and he guesses that that was why he let himself be so comfortable with her because if he was being completely honest, he wouldn’t do this with anyone that wasn’t her. Yeah, he was close with JJ and Penelope, but the connection was just different. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, and for the first time, Spencer Reid didn’t know why.

-

taglist: @eevee0722 @ceeellewrites

[seventfics]

Love your writing. Prompt: Jaskier has abandonment issues, which he tries and fails to hide. Angsty shenanigans ensue

[Thank you! ☺️ I normally don’t do prompt requests but this is right up my alley of emotional suffering, so,]—x

So it’s true that Jaskier has everything anyone could ever want in life. He was born into comfort, held status and name, and had the fortune of education, though that last one was beaten into him mercilessly because he was not an easy child. He had it all—

He still has it all, if he wants it. Nothing stops him from returning to teach in Oxenfurt. No one will deny him his family title, of properties or inheritance. On the contrary, he’s earned even more renown by his lyrics and poetry and Continental ballads, his name known to every court and tavern. People flock to him for his tales of the White Wolf—and that too is part of his renown, for he turned the Butcher into a hero at no cost of his own but a few sore throats after eveningfuls of encores—

They invite him for festivals, banquets, courtly affairs. They propose to him, bed him, threaten him out of towns for having bed the wrong person. He is famous. He is the bard Jaskier. And when his fame and his charm are no longer a novelty, people are quick to move on. 

In Lettenhove, in his early years, there was a tutor who praised him for his sharp musical ear. The old man spent many hours of the day showing him the value of the arts, something that left an imprint in his very soul. Not a year later, his parents sent him to temple school to learn his letters. He never saw the old tutor again—

In Oxenfurt, there was a girl who loved him for his voice. She was beautiful and sweet, her laughter like winter bells. By Summer’s end, she found a painter who worshipped at her feet like a dutiful priest at the altar of the gods. He doesn’t remember her name—

There were many like that girl since, and every time, he learned to accommodate a little better to keep them longer, to no avail—

In Posada, there was a witcher who huffed and groused at his company, and yet allowed him to come along on his journey. He was kind in a guarded way, a way familiar to Jaskier—the echoes of someone who has given himself up many times, only to suffer loss and rejection. Heartbreak hangs about him like a cape. And it takes Jaskier some time but he accommodates, learning the witcher’s limits, his preferences, what’s a jest and what’s a jab at old wounds—

 “What’s this, you’re going to hunt the drowners now?”

The witcher is packing his bags neatly by the door. He offers a brief nod. “It’s early. They’ll be sluggish.”

“Give me a moment, I’ll come with.”

He’s given a strange look that says nothing of the sort will be happening. “No you’re not, bard. You’ll get yourself killed.”

Jaskier takes the threat of life in stride. “I’ll hang back, I swear, who wouldn’t want to see the great White Wolf in action!”

Sometimes the witcher huffs, indulging him. Other times, dreadful times, he orders him to stay put. So Jaskier waits in taverns, sitting on his hands. It’s the hardest thing for him to do. To wait. He does not sing, not while his gut twists and his fingers flutter nervously on wood. He simply waits and thinks about all the reasons why his company is but a burden on coin and travel, the witcher so used to traveling alone.

And every time Geralt comes barreling through the front door wet with gore, his mind and his chest empty of all aches.

“Oh thank the gods, you’re—still in one piece,” he says, because shouting you’re back, you’re alive, you didn’t die and leave me behind is far too much of a weight to throw on Geralt’s shoulders, he knows. 

Geralt merely grunts, shaking off some of the grime. “Of course I am.”

 It’s like that. The witcher leaves on a hunt, and on the times Jaskier cannot follow, he waits. Geralt always comes back—if not for him, then at least for the reward. It’s at the end of every crossway where they part face to face, never knowing if they’ll meet again.

And Jaskier continues his own journey, in search not of home, but its opposite. Of a place that will forever change to the years and the seasons and never bore him. Never bore of him. No one should know him any more than he is allowed to know another, except—

Except the witcher Geralt of Rivia who he meets again and again. Knowing him more with every meeting—

—A noise in the forest, distant, and Geralt gets up with his swords from camp.

Jaskier just fumbles, “You’re not just going to leave me here twiddling my thumbs in the dark, are you?”

“I’ll be right back, bard. I have to check—”

—A shared room on low coin, and never a problem between them. Jaskier stirs awake to the bed moving. 

“Sum’thing up? Y’have to go?” He tries to mumble through a dry mouth. Geralt nudges his head down.

“No, I just need to eat. You keep sleeping, Jaskier—”

—A storm, and they’re both holed in a damp cave. Geralt looks ready to throw himself out in the rain and hunt for the Kikimore queen anyway.

“Geralt, please don’t leave in—in this storm.”

Geralt does listen, perhaps because he sounds a bit more shaken than usual. They’ve already gone low on provisions because the rain soaked through their bags. They need the coin. And it would have been fine, if Jaskier hadn’t insisted they go through this town—

Foolishly, dangerously, he becomes attached. Years go by. A decade. Two. There is no one else Jaskier knows more in his life. Geralt’s mannerisms, his expressions, his disquiet. He knows them all in the silence across a campfire, and he hopes he is known in return. 

He hoped at the banquet in Cintra, barely whispering of a need that he dared not tell anyone else. 

He hoped in the chaos of Rinde, of the djinn and the witch, begging for the witcher to choose him first. 

And he hoped in the mountains of King Niedamir. 

And his hope is not enough.

Jaskier knows to bear smiles and jokes for the right crowds, and he knows how to be serious in certain company. He learned to accommodate a little better to keep people longer, of course, to no avail. Even with Geralt—

He should never have grown complacent, believing that things would be different this once. He became attached—beyond attached, beyond need, beyond affection—

“I'll go get the rest of the story from the others,” Jaskier says in parting on that mountain, because if he makes light of it, then it will sluice off his frame like water, undamaging. He can pick himself up to keep searching for that place—of that someone that will never bore of him, that will never forget him and throw him aside.

Despite his efforts, there’s a chasm in his chest. A breathlessness like a wound that doesn’t want to heal. And he lingers at the foot of the mountain when he sees Roach nibbling on dry grass, tethered by the inn’s poor stable poles. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays with her, petting her coat. She indulges him, preferring his company over the stablehand’s. There’s a joke there somewhere, about her being as obstinate as her rider, but he can’t bear to say it. Can’t bear to speak through the stone lodged in his throat—

And he shouldn’t be with her, not if he wants to avoid the witcher who so clearly and plainly told him to take off for good. But Roach is sweet. For once, she doesn’t bite his wrists. Instead she nickers, snuffling his dusty doublet. Maybe she’s learned to accommodate for heartbreak too, as it seems to follow where Geralt goes, whether caused by his hand or brought upon him—

“Jaskier.”

He freezes in place. He cannot turn. To see his blazing expression would be too much—

“Sorry. I won’t be staying. I’m just,” his voice fades as it starts to shake. How can he explain why he’s touching the witcher’s mare, for the simple comfort that she offers in not shying away from his touch?

“Jaskier.”

It is a demand for him to turn. He recognizes it in Geralt’s voice. Jaskier clenches his hands on Roach’s mane—

Refusing doesn’t work, as the witcher takes his shoulder to pull him back—

There are no fixed smiles left in him. No jest, no shrug. He hurts too deeply to put forth the effort. He is the bard Jaskier, but in front of Geralt of Rivia, he’s just alone. He has everything anyone could ever want in life, and not a lick of it matters with no one to stay for him, no one to call a friend—

But Geralt is not angry. He doesn’t quite look like anything except intense, keeping his wide yellow eyes on Jaskier’s own as he grips his shoulder tight. 

“Let me go,” Jaskier says because he cannot take being seen so deeply, so closely, and not being wanted—

“No.” Geralt’s grip turns painful. “You—don’t want me to.”

Something breaks in him at the words—the truth in them—and it burns in his eyes and it burns his throat—and burns to tears shed pressed to black leather, his hands scrambling at the hard surface of Geralt’s armor. 

He doesn’t want to be let go. Geralt holds him to his chest and he feels like stone cracking under pressure. Like gravel being crushed—

“I was angry,” the witcher says, swallowing against Jaskier’s ear, “I didn’t mean it,” tucking his face into Jaskier’s hair, “I don’t want you to go.”

And maybe it’s cruel or greedy but he wants for Geralt to ache like he does. To feel terror at being left behind. At it being Jaskier who walked away—hurting, choked by his own surging feelings—from the mountain first, by his offense—

Another part is relieved. Because Geralt does know him, after everything, after Jaskier’s efforts to know the witcher. He knows him well to strike where it hurts the most. He knew where to tear into with harsh words—

And that by doing so he went too far and tore into Jaskier’s heart too—

There are no apologies, but there are amends. There is a wavering conversation and one more stay at the inn.

At the crossroads they’ll part again, but not with goodbye. Not with tears or screams or hidden fears. They’ll meet again, like they always have. Better than they always have—

Because this time, and every time since, they part with a promise to see each other again.

[crescentmoons-and-stardust]

The Broken Hearts Hotel

Chapter One: Star-Crossed

I’ve had many names over the years. I don’t even remember my original name so I’ll use the most popular one. The one everyone recognizes. 

Juliet is my name and fair Verona is where I’m from (in this version, at least). My age is disputable but I remember I was young. Too young for what I experienced. It blows my mind that some can even consider my tale a romance when I think about it. My life was cushy, I’ll admit. My family was rich and influential. I didn’t want for anything growing up. Looking back I realize I had the perfect life but hindsight is twenty twenty. 

Maybe that’s why I did what I did though. I was a spoiled, bored teenager. I needed excitement in my life.

Rosalina was considered the beauty of the family. She was a few years older than me and was totally stuck up. Always surrounded by a group of friends, my older cousin had no time for little ole me. Actually, no one really had time for me. My other cousin Tybalt had an older brother protectiveness of me but other than that he left me alone. My dearest (and truthfully, only) friend was my nurse. For the record, her name was Bianca. That’s usually left out.

Bianca was my friend and surrogate mother since my own couldn’t bother herself with parenting. Bianca was old fashioned. We’d spend our time doing needlepoint and reading the bible. Like I said, I was a bored teenager.

So when I was finally allowed to attend one of our grand masquerade parties, I was thrilled. Bianca sewed me a gorgeous dress, though the neckline was a little too modest for my taste. I spent hours at the market trying to find the perfect mask. I finally decided on a dainty red and gold mask lined with pearls. I was going all out for my first masquerade. 

I could barely sleep the night beforehand. I was so excited. I had my hair done and was dressed hours before the party started. I’m not going to lie, when I looked in the mirror, I was blown away by how I looked. I finally looked like a woman, and a beautiful one at that.

The party was both amazing and overwhelming. There were so many people that I had to greet and so many men to dance with. But one man in particular caught my eye.

So I should probably back up here and talk about the rivalry that has plagued my story for centuries. Montagues and Capults have hated each other since God knows when. It goes back years, maybe even decades. What was the issue? No one knows. Isn’t it ironic? Isn’t it poetic? 

Let’s be real, it’s stupid. And I’m sure the original reason for the hatred between my family and his was stupid as well. The rivalry was well known throughout the town. I can only assume everyone else rolled their eyes when it was brought up.

Anyway, back to the party. Romeo caught my eye from across the room. Was it love at first sight? I thought so but what did I know? I’d never been in love before. But there he was looking as handsome as a prince. And he was staring at me in much the same way. I blushed and broke eye contact first. Suddenly I was filled with panic and I slipped out into the garden. He followed me a moment after. 

“My lady,” He bowed to me. Actually bowed. How could I resist that? “My name is Romeo.”

“Nice to meet you Romeo,” I murmured. I was going for demure but it came out as a squeak. He took my hand and kissed it in greeting. I could have melted into a puddle on the floor. Embarrassing, I know, but this was the first man to interact with me outside of family. I didn’t know at the time that he had originally been there for Rosalina. Or that he fell in love with a different girl each week, I just knew that there was a handsome man before me. Me. Boring, good mannered, Juliet.

Well it wasn’t long before we were in the garden kissing until my lips went numb. Unfortunately my absence was noted and Tybalt came searching for me. Not only did he ruin my first kiss but he made such a scene that Romeo was soon kicked out of the party. 

I was sent to my room at once where I wallowed in despair. Would I ever see my beloved Romeo again? Well I didn’t have to wait for very long for my answer. Romeo scaled the wall and invited himself into my room and not long after, my bed.

It was wonderful and scary and thrilling all at once. The things he whispered in my ear, the lengths he promised to go for me. It’s no wonder I thought myself in love with him. And for that night, everything was perfect. 

It all fell apart pretty quickly though. Romeo got a little too hot headed in the streets and killed my cousin. You think that would end any romantic feelings on my part but I was young and stupid. Tybalt started it anyway! He killed Romeo’s best friend first. Romeo was just a loyal friend. It was sweet, really.

That’s what I told myself. Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit. And then Romeo had to go into hiding. You see, they didn’t know it had been Romeo who killed Tybalt. The fight happened late at night and the only other witness, Mercruito, was already dead. So he left his body and fled to my bedroom to stash the murder weapon. He needed to leave town but he promised he’d come back. And I promised to wait. And I did. For months. He took an apprenticeship a few villages over while he waited for someone else to take the blame for Tybalt’s death. So I wrote him love letters that I never sent. I kept my window unlocked every night. I waited and prayed and yearned. And then I met Paris.

Paris was not nearly as handsome as Romeo but he was still an attractive man. While Romeo was flirtatious and suave, Paris was charming and gentle. He was a sweet man and if I hadn’t met Romeo, I think I would have been ecstatic when my mother announced our engagement. 

We would have been happy together. I realize that now, but then all I thought of was my Romeo. I had a sweet spot for Paris and that only caused guilt when I remembered that I had already promised myself to another. Romeo was my true love. How could I ever think I’d be happy with another?

The timing of Romeo’s return couldn’t have been more perfect, almost as if he planned it like that. He had heard about the engagement. He raged and he sobbed as he asked if I was going to abandon him so easily. He’d die for me, he said. Would I be willing to do the same?

I would. And I did. With a special tonic I would fake my death and then Romeo would come get me from my family’s crypt. He’d whisk me away and we would start a new life together. I believed him and I think he believed himself as well. But it’s like I said earlier, Romeo was quick to fall in love. 

So when the tonic was finally ready I drank it quickly before I could change my mind. My thoughts slowed and my vision blurred. I became sluggish and panicked as the tonic slowed my heart rate. I tried to make it to my bed but I think I may have lost consciousness before I could. I heard shouts as my world went black.

When I woke, my body ached. I was lying on a stone slab in a thin dress that did not keep out the cold. As my thoughts returned to me, I looked around and there was my Romeo waiting for me. I gave a weak smile that he did not return. Instead, he could not meet my eye and was fidgeting nervously.

“I think we’ve made a mistake,” He said at last. My thoughts were still confused so I did not respond. 

“It was a fantasy to think we should run away together,” He continued.

“What are you saying?” I asked but I already knew. He was not going to start a new life with me. 

“Perhaps you should marry Paris instead.” And then I knew. He had met someone else. He did not love me, he never did. This was all a game to him and it had finally gone too far.

“I gave up everything for you!” I cried. He shrugged and told me I wasn’t actually dead. I could return home to my family’s rejoice and it would be like nothing had changed. But things had changed. My heart was broken as the man who’d asked me to die for him had already moved on.

And suddenly I was angry. A burning white hatred bloomed inside me. I wanted him to suffer the way I had while he had been gone. How hopeless and sad I’d been. The happiness I’d felt when he returned was now being ripped away from me. I’d done all he had asked. I’d waited and was going to give up my entire life for him.

It was stupid to remind him of Tybalt. That I could tell everyone what he had done. I had the murder weapon after all, still rusted with my cousin’s blood. Romeo’s face paled as he tried to calm me. The more he tried, the angrier I became until we were both yelling.

I didn’t even see the knife he had until I felt it thrust up inside of me. He looked as shocked as I felt as we both realized what he had done. But then just as quickly, the shock vanished from his face as determined resolve replaced it. He stabbed me over and over again until my white dress was no longer white and the blood was pooling onto the floor. He laid me down gently, as gently as he had done when he shared my bed. He whispered sweet nothings in my ear that I tried not to hear. His tears that dripped down onto me only made me angrier and with my last strength I tried to push him away.

Blackness. Then light. Then the Broken Hearts Hotel. 

My story, as twisted and retold as it has now become, is the greatest romantic tragedy of all time. And I couldn’t be any more furious about it.

[descentivity]

Depression, Trauma, (and Most Importantly,) My Thoughts on Hello Charlotte EP1 & 2

Eating has been difficult for me for as long as I remember. It started off as an aversion to food, in favour of spending my time more efficiently on what my dumb little mind viewed as more important: Homework, video games.

Over time, it turned into anorexia. I had already gotten used to eating just under 500 calories a day, and my depression took my poor habits and twisted them into a cowardly and slow attempt at suicide.

On my road to recovery, I’ve found that years of poor eating choices have lead to my body struggling to process food. I have to eat at a painstakingly slow pace lest my stomach turns against me, and the smell of food is sometimes enough to diminish my appetite altogether. My bowel movements are, for lack of a better word, a shitshow.

This brings me to today, the 10th of August, 2021. 6 or so years of barely eating enough to survive later, I’m setting the world record for the slowest consumption of a fillet o’ fish in the history of mankind. 

In my absolute boredom and unfathomable stomach pain, ManlyBadassHero’s playthrough of some random horror game (I can’t remember the name) appears in my YouTube recommended, and I’m reminded of a horror game I bought on sale on Steam, the last of a trilogy. In all honesty, I only bought the game because it was dirt cheap and one of my sisters’ names is Charlotte. I was too horrified at the time to process the story nor play the previous two games, so I did a quick achievement run and left it at that. I was certainly very confused as I had no idea who any of the characters or what any of the concepts were, but the gore had me too mortified to go and find out myself. 

A year later, I’m looking the trilogy up on ManlyBadassHero’s YouTube channel, and decide to start from the beginning of his Hello Charlotte journey, in 2016.

Hello Charlotte EP1

I’m going to be completely honest with you, the first game really didn’t resonate with me too well. It was a cute, quirky, RPG Maker horror game, with two loveable main characters and an interesting world. However, with context from the third game, the events felt too self-isolated and inconsequential. Felix and Charlotte are in a little self-contained TV world created by a fictional race called Pythia - creatures with 3 or 4 eyes that can create miniature dimensions, once brought into a hivemind by an “Oracle,” which seems to be some sort of god. They all seem to be falling apart and have taken a horrific turn as most of the Pythia have been “executed,” and those who haven’t have either gone mad or into hiding in their own bubbles of (albeit temporary) safety.

The ending of the game is somewhat misleading, too. Once Charlotte and Felix escape the TV world by having Charlotte merge with the Oracle itself, the game almost plays off the previous events like they were all a story made up by a young and imaginative Charlotte. Did they happen at all? Is she a reliable narrator or point of view to begin with? (Spoiler alert, she is not.) The explanation for it all seems to be that Charlotte herself is a schizophrenic, though the legitimacy of this is brought into question in the third game, which I will talk about later. Altogether, the game didn’t bring out many strong emotions in me, and I was starting to zone out as I moved on to the second game’s playthrough.

Hello Charlotte EP2

What struck me as odd in the second game is that while the first game seemed to bring Charlotte out of her own strange, black-and-white world and back into reality, we’ve found out that she’s right back where we started last game. A black-and-white world, inhabited by her imaginary friends. Aliens, gods, and the like. However, Charlotte’s seemingly made-up world feels more alive this time. I’m not sure if this is the consequence of the game developer improving their skills or an intentional detail, but even more characters are introduced, and previously shallow tenants of Charlotte’s home are given more depth. The hazmat-suit wearing aliens have faces, personalities and whole backstories attached to them, now. Charlotte has a best friend at school named Anri, who has a obsessive crush on her. She’s friends with a bullying victim named C with horrible germaphobia, who has almost identical struggles to her (more on those struggles later.)

What also surprised me is the continuity between the first and second game. For some reason, I thought that this Charlotte would be starting from scratch, completely oblivious to the fate of the first game’s iteration. However, this concept only seems to be used in the third game, so I guess I was simply mislead. This game, in fact, takes place 3 years after the first, and the Oracle still lives on within Charlotte’s conscious. However, it’s a dying god, on its last leg. It had already been dying during the time of the last few Pythia, but it had used the last of its strength to free Felix and Charlotte from their world. As the Oracle’s health declines, so does Charlotte’s mortal body.

Unlike the first game, most of the themes in this game hit way too close to home. The feeling of second-hand helplessness when someone you barely knew ends their own life. Anri’s obsessive and outright manipulative lesbian crush on Charlotte, bordering on bullying. The schooltime harrassment and trauma Charlotte underwent. The fear and dangers of social interaction. Feeling unlawfully punished by your school teachers for seemingly nothing at all. Depression, self harm, and the primal urge to escape from it. Getting roped into others’ mental health, until both of your issues converge into a disgusting amalgamation of the need but severe lack of therapy and a break from it all. Delusions of what could’ve been and the possible, yet near impossible future ahead. Looking back on everything you’ve ever done and regretting every second of it.

While I ticked off the trauma presented to me on a silver platter in the form of a fucking RPG Maker game like a twisted bucket list, I found myself relating more and more to not only Charlotte, but the students around her. Scarlett, whose life was so perfect that nobody had even thought about her possible mental issues until it was far too late. Anri, who would lay down her life for a girl who simply doesn’t feel the same way. C, who desperately wanted to escape from reality by any means possible.

An interesting fact about Hello Charlotte is that there are numerous omnipotent beings amongst its cast. They aren’t shy about providing very in-depth character analysis to Charlotte, and in turn, to the puppeteer (I suppose now is a good time to inform those who are unfamiliar with the series that the puppeteer refers to a species, character, and the player, all at once. Charlotte has a puppeteer controlling her by the name of Seth. You are/are controlling Seth as the player. Capiche? Capiche.)

What this meant for me watching Manly’s playthrough was the feeling of two gods (in this game, at least) peering right into my soul, analysing characters that reflected my exact experiences and even my personality during my school days. I learned and realised things about myself that I simply hadn’t known before. Just like Charlotte, I’m simply looking for direction in life, and I’m too afraid to act without instructions. I found myself bullied, manipulated and abandoned by someone who simply wanted my affections, and only learned to miss them when they were gone. Like Anri, my desperation for love and approval from an individual in turn lead to anger and resentment for them. Like both Charlotte and C, I eventually turned to hurting myself to make all the pain go away, refusing help from others and developing a shell of false optimism and naivety to forget about the damage I had dealt to my body, personality and relationships.

As much as I hate to admit it on my little obscure Tumblr blog with 0 followers and 0 traction, I still struggle with these things. I have no direction in life, and wander aimlessly, hoping for one of my offshot attempts at content creation to take off. I find myself missing the girl who emotionally abused me to hell and back every day. I resent another girl for never feeling the same way I felt about her. I still don’t take care of myself, and spend every day in a state of denial about my physical decline and sickliness. I’m so incompetent emotionally that I spend days ignoring my own boyfriend, starving him of the proper relationship that he deserves all because of how broken, fragmented and distant my own mind is.

Hello Charlotte EP2 has four endings. All four of them, in my eyes, are bad.

In the first, C and Charlotte overdose together, leaving their mortal realm to become gods. They choose to ignore and forget the pains of their mortal lives, and live the rest of their godly lives in ignorant bliss. Do I want to forget about my depression and trauma? Learn nothing, and forget about everything that made me who I am today? Or worse even, do I dare take the plunge into “godhood,” and leave this mortal plane to end my suffering altogether?

In the second, Charlotte discovers that C isn’t who she thinks he is, and she finds him without a soul. Alive, but empty. Charlotte could not save him. Consumed by grief, she ascends and becomes a god, consuming the entire world around her. After all is said and done, she realizes her mistake. All of her friends are gone, C is still empty and unresponsive, and now she is alone. Sometimes, I feel as though I’ve already gone through this ending, many times over. Countless times I’ve let my depression become all-consuming and take over my life. I’ve pushed so many people away and hurt so many more, and for what? I have nothing to gain from every fit of depression, and the consequences make it seem nothing more but a selfish attempt to make myself feel better.

In the third, Charlotte is the only one who dies. In her last moments, the Oracle comforts her, like a mother cradling her child. They embrace, and say goodbye to each other, as Charlotte’s own life was the only thing keeping the dying god alive. At this point, I’ve started to draw parallels between the Oracle and depression. Depression isn’t always a horrible thing that beats you down and keeps you from being truly happy. Sometimes, wallowing in my own sadness and depression would be the only thing that keeps you sane, stable, and calm. The feeling of hopelessness really is bittersweet, and in desperate times, goes hand-in-hand with acceptance of one’s circumstance. Oftentimes, I find that this is the most realistic way I’ll go out. One day, I may just accept depression, and succomb to it. There may not be a struggle at all. Rather, a quiet, submissive hum, which will fade away into silence.

In the fourth and final ending, Charlotte and C die alongside each other. After her death, Charlotte confronts the Oracle, and wishes to save everyone, and for everyone to be unhappy. Of course, this is where the classic saying: “Be careful what you wish for” comes in. Because of her wish, everyone’s soul, what makes them individual and unique, is erased. After all, no one can suffer if they cannot think at all. In some ways, emptiness is pure bliss. This once again goes back to the bittersweetness of depression. The sheer emptiness it may bring on, at times, is bliss. Feeling nothing isn’t always a bad thing. It’s a way to cope with the horrors of the world. To remember nothing at all is such a tempting yet unattainable solution that I can’t say I haven’t longed for in the near or distant past. Charlotte, of course, is distraught that her friends are all gone, their identities and souls lost forever. Following this, she has one request to make of another god, the observer. She wishes to be killed, as all of her actions have lead to nothing but pain for others and herself. The observer, however, refuses this offer. Instead, he comforts her and takes her hand. They go on a journey together. He suggests that one day, she’ll learn to control her power, and she can recreate the world and her friends. As they leave, Charlotte reflects on her hopes and dreams for the journey. She hopes to learn to be kind, and not hurt others. She wants to change her ways, and become an honest, good person. Charlotte, slowly but surely, is on the road to recovery.

Putting the unsettling sequel to this game aside, maybe I could learn a little bit from Charlotte.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Forgiveness is Divine

Ron Speirs x Reader One Shot

Requested by the effervescent @hbo-monster-bob​ (my first ever request oh my lordy!)

Summary: you get hurt and Ron loses his cool in front of the wrong people. Now he fears he may have truly lost you. 

Warnings: mention of injury, potty words, a bit more angst than initially intended, some good ole RemorsefulButTryingHisVeryBest!Ron Speirs, some shitty dialogue i probably should’ve spent more time on

~ ~ ~ ~

He’d really fucked up. 

Even as he had ranted at you, he’d known how badly he was fucking things up.

But you...you’d made him worry. You’d scared him.

While helping Malarkey and Bull drag a wounded NCO into a trench, a bullet had ricocheted off of someone’s helmet and buried itself deep into your left bicep. The shock of it had made you drop, unable to catch yourself between your unresponsive arm and your death grip on the NCO’s vest.

Ron had thought you’d died.

He’d been sure that he’d just watched you die in front of him and then he was being fired at and he’d gone numb and gotten himself and his men out of the line of fire.

Hours later, he’d caught sight of you at the med station with one of the medics fishing around in your bicep for the fragments of the bullet that had stained your jacket beyond use with your blood.

You’d initially given him the soft smile you’d always saved for him when he stormed in, the fact that you were alive and safe eclipsed by his rage that you’d made him worry so badly.

His mother had once compared his temper to a tsunami- wild and destructive and overwhelming to those foolish enough to cross its path.

“The only difference between you and your father is that you stick around long enough to see the carnage you’ve created. My only wish for you, my sweetheart, is that you learn to own your mistakes and make them right again…..”

Ron had disappointed both of you with what he’d done next.

He’d let you have it.

He’d shouted and scolded and criticized you for your ‘carelessness’, tearing into you for abandoning your position of relative safety in favor of ‘playing a hero’. 

Ron had called you incompetent and reckless and questioned your sanity. Your smile had slipped from your face and he’d watched as you began to close yourself off to him, eyes becoming cold and detached despite the pain you must be feeling as the medic tweezed the deeply embedded shrapnel from your bicep. 

If you had been alone he knew you would’ve snapped right back at him or (at the very least) told him to calm down and find you when he’d remembered how to behave like a grown-up.

This brought him to his second fuckup, he’d done it in front of people. 

No, it was worse than that.  

He’d questioned your competence in front of three of your superiors (and several NCOs….and six of the medics).

When he’d finally run out of steam, you’d stared at him with a cool indifference that he’d only seen you slip into when you were dealing with something/someone you loathed. 

It was a look he’d never had cast his way before. And now that it was?

Ron felt about two inches tall. He hated it.

After making him suffer your silent and baleful glare for an agonizing two minutes, you’d turned to the (incredibly uncomfortable) medic and let your hateful expression melt into your regular, relaxed one.

“Any instructions for me, Doc?” you’d asked politely, and when the man had given you some gauze to repack the wound later you’d popped down off the table you’d been sitting on and walked past him like he was little more than furniture.

His outburst had gotten you taken off of the frontlines- away from the action and away from him.

When he’d asked Nixon where they’d put you, the other man had scoffed and given him an answer along the lines of “somewhere where her ‘incompetence won��t put others at risk’. Jackass.”

Welsh was significantly more helpful, telling Ron they’d sent you to Battalion for some extended desk duty (after scoffing at him, of course. Ron hadn’t realized just how quickly word had spread about his outburst).

Not that knowing where you were made much of a difference. 

He could be sitting right next to you and you’d still carry on as if you were alone, and when you did look at him it was so detached that all of his words of remorse died in his throat.

It was horrible.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

After reclaiming a hamlet on the airborne’s way to Germany, Ron had realized that you weren’t going to budge or relent in your indifference. 

Your willpower was clearly steadfast- you wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t at least a little bullheaded.

He was going to have to come to you. 

He had to try to make things right, even if you hated him for it...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Ron had knocked and not received an answer, he’d decided to come in anyway.

You didn’t look up at him as he closed the door behind him, keeping your eyes firmly trained on the typewriter in front of you as your fingers flew across the keys. 

A neat stack of (what he assumed to be) freshly typed reports for Sink rested beside your still-smoking cigarette on the table, and from the slope of your shoulders Ron could only assume that you’d been at this task for hours.

Clearing his throat, he tried to ease you into conversation.

“Want me to take those to Battalion for you—?”

“No. I don’t.”

Well, at least that was more than you’d said to him in the past week. 

Ron had never imagined he would ever be the sappy type to miss the sound of someone's voice. Of course, that was before he met you. Before he’d started to care for you in the way a man cares for a woman, rather than the care a CO has for his fellow officers.

Not that he’d told you that. Not yet.

And now he may never get to- considering you’d refused to speak to him for the last three weeks about anything other than urgent work matters…..

You brought your cigarette to your lips and pulled from it deeply as you read over all that you had typed so far, the angry tick of your clenched jaw the only sign that you knew he was still there.

Even as you despised him, Ron still found you beautiful. A vengeful divinity with a glare that could cut glass and a stubbornness that rivaled his own.

He walked over to stand behind you, reading over your shoulder and realizing that it wasn’t reports that you had been working on….but death notices

You’d once told him it was your least favorite thing to do, that you’d gladly take latrine duty for the rest of your life if it meant you never had to write another.

“Soul sucking,” you’d called it, a night when the two of you shared a cigarette while on patrol. Your nose had been red from the cold and your eyes a little glassy from unshed tears, but you’d given him a sad smile when you’d noticed the grim look he was giving you. “I can’t remember the last time I wrote something that didn’t begin with ‘We deeply regret to inform you…’

Ron used to know how you felt about everything, and if he were being honest with himself he liked knowing how you felt about things- good or bad. For all the men you were the consummate professional, bright and even-tempered and nurturing.

But with Ron, you let yourself be a person. 

A brilliant, passionate, driven person whose complicated thoughts and feelings complimented his own so well he’d briefly considered changing his stance on the concept of soul-mates.

With a grim weight in his chest, he realized that all of those feelings toward you may have to be changed to the past tense.

Stubbing out the cigarette with ink-stained fingers, you pulled the letter from the typewriter and added it to the pile. He watched as you picked up a pen and began crossing names off a list he hadn’t seen before. You’d gotten through three of the five pages and it was already two in the morning.

Guilt flooded him when he realized that you’d been having to do this for at least month. 

If he hadn’t understood your anger towards him before, he certainly did now.

“Y/N…” he began, not surprised when you sniffed and made to get more paper for your next batch of death letters as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s late, you should rest.”

Silence as you secured another sheet of paper in place and centered it.

Ron waited a few more seconds before he took another step closer to you, hand hovering over your shoulder hesitantly.

I owe my mother a few apologies if this is how she was ever made to feel with my father.

When he placed his hand on your shoulder you immediately stiffened, fingers freezing where they rested over the keys like you’d turned to stone.

He’d expected as much, yet it still stung.

Ron says your name again, more softly than he thinks he’s ever spoken to another person in his life.

“You need to rest—”

“Are you issuing an order, Lieutenant?” Your voice was sulfa powder on an open wound- searing and sharp. 

Your head has turned minutely in the direction of his hand on your shoulder, and if a glare could cause burns he’s sure his hand would’ve been ash by now.

He shakes his head. “No, no I’m not.”

You seem to nod in acknowledgment, only stopping when his thumb kneads into one of the tight knots along your trapezius. Ron sees your jaw tighten again, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

Surprisingly, you’re allowing it to linger where it is as well.

“Good, Sink’s commands outrank yours anyway. Besides, it’s not as if I have to be anywhere in the morning. You made sure of that—”

You cut yourself off when Ron steps up beside you and crouches down, eyes trained forward so all he can see if your profile. 

“Please,” he whispers, moving his hand from your shoulder in favor of taking one of yours in between his calloused palms.

With an awful surge of hope, he decides to put it all out there, knowing just how easily you could reject him and leave him alone again.

Maybe I don't want to be alone, not like I used to.

“I thought you were dead, Y/n.”

You sigh ruefully at that, closing your eyes with a grimace.

“Hey, look at me—”

For the longest time you don’t, but just when he thinks you’ve shut him out again you let your eyes open and allow your doubtful glaze to fall on him.

You may as well have embraced him, considering the overwhelming relief he felt as he looked into your eyes.

“It, it was….I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did—”

“You didn’t speak to me at all.” You nearly hiss, the deep breath you took the only display of just how furious you were beneath the surface of civility. Ron’s chest tightened uncomfortably when he caught your lip quiver, yet when he made as if to comfort you, you gave him a look that shut him right up.

You weren’t finished yet.

“You were out of line, Speirs. You had no right to speak to me like that—”

“I know...”

“You fucking humiliated me! In front of Winters, Moose, and Sink- not to mention every single goddamned man in that tent—”

‘I know—”

“What in the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been getting them to see me as anything other than something to fuck or mock? Years, Ronald! All gone like that—!”

You cut yourself off again when you start to cry, biting the inside of your cheek in an attempt to regain composure.

You were right, he hadn’t been thinking about that at all. 

He’d never thought much about the immature comments he’d overheard from the NCOs and replacements, never considered that any of those childish innuendos had ever been said to you directly.

“I didn’t intend to…..when you got shot I wasn't able to do anything—”

You furrowed your brows at him and made a face. “I didn’t need you to do anything. I’m not even in your company.”

He feels as if he’s about to lose you again. The idea makes his throat feel uncomfortably tight and his blood is beginning to run cold.

Make it right. I have to make this right….

“I know you don’t need me to take care of you,” he says quietly, looking down at your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so he’s speaking against the curve of your knuckles. “But I think I need to do it for me.”

When he looks back at you he sees that your eyes are wide, one or two of your tears have spilled over and down your cheek.

“Jesus, I’m….Ron—” you begin, but stop when he shakes his head minutely.

“You know.” He interrupts. “I know you’ve got to know by now….”

Of course you know. You’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. If anyone could read his true intentions through his blunt demeanor, it would be you.

But he’s glad that you don’t ask him to elaborate further. You seem just as content as he does to leave it unnamed.

You roll your lips together a few more times before taking a shaky breath. 

“That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like that.”

He hums in acknowledgment. “You’re right. It doesn’t. Forgive me.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a yawn catches you unaware and Ron can’t help but smile slightly at the simplicity of the action. 

When you raise your left arm to hide your yawn into your elbow you hiss in pain, and instantly Ron is anxious again.

“You okay?” He asks, and you nod despite your grimace.

“Yeah, yeah. I just forget sometimes.”

When you lower your arm he watches as you take a deep breath and turn back to your work.

“I’ll do them.”

You whip your head to look at him, another yawn interrupting your questioning gaze.

“What? No, don't be silly. I’m almost done….”

Something in the look he gives you shuts you up, and when he gives your hand a squeeze you seem to sigh in defeat.

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I go to bed, are you?”

He gives you a smirk. “Good guess.”

Standing up from his crouch he gently coaxed you into a standing position, nodding his head away from the desk and towards the darker corner of the room where your makeshift bed is set up. 

You give him a tight smile. “Gotta rebandage the arm first….oh-kay then.”

The rolled gauze is barely out of your pocket before Ron takes it from your hand, pointedly looking down at your covered arm.

“Ron...you really don’t have to—”

“I know that, but I want to anyway.”

And because you’re infinitely more forgiving than any mortal being could ever hope to be- more forgiving than a beast like him deserved, you let him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  

Sitting beside you on the floor, Ron was careful when unwrapping your old bandage, trying as hard as he could to keep his touch light.

The injury was red and bruised and angry but it was healing- just as the medic had promised. You’d have a scar, but you didn’t seem to mind that possibility.

You said his name quietly, and he realized he’d been staring.

When his thumbs ghost around the curve of your bicep you shiver, and when Ron looks back at your face he sees a light blush dusting your cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you say, exhaustion apparent in your voice now. “Stop looking at me like that—”

“Like what?” he says with a small smile, setting the clean bandage over your wound and feeling a pleasant tightness in his chest when you snorted a laugh.

“Like... like you’re a disappointed babysitter.”

Ron laughed at that, shooting you a look before starting to wrap the strips of gauze around your upper arm.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he tended to your arm, and every so often you offered him your cigarette to take a drag from.

Things still felt somewhat precarious between the two of you, yet Ron also felt that something more significant had been established in the dingy office you’d been assigned to stay in.

In the morning, Ron would approach Sink and Winters and see if he could get you back from battalion HQ. Not as a man who cared for you, but as a soldier who’d made a mistake and grievously misjudged another soldier’s character.

Anything to ensure you didn’t have to sit in this room another day and write to the families of dead soldiers.

When he’d finished bandaging your arm, you gave him permission to help you maneuver it back into the sleeve of your sweater. He felt your eyes on him the whole time and he swore he’d never known a feeling so sweet.

Your eyes are heavy with slumber already, but you still try once more to discourage him from finishing your paperwork.

“I can do it in an hour or two, just a quick nap—”

“If you were this reluctant to sleep as a child, I’m starting to get why so many of your babysitters were ‘disappointed.’”

Ron lifts up the pile of blankets you’d reluctantly allowed him to find for you, and despite your protests, you scoot yourself underneath them and fold your arms across your chest like a petulant teenager as he tucks them around you.

“Children tend to mirror the behavior of those in positions of authority,” you say offhanded, almost sounding like you were directly quoting from some textbook on child psychology. “Maybe one should look within themselves and explore what unfavorable quality they may be projecting upon the blank canvas of youth….”

You laugh at the furrowed confusion on his face.

“You must be a poetic drunk.” Ron offers, and from the grin on your face he knows he’s on to something. “Go to sleep, before you start reciting Shakespeare or something—”

“Twelfth Night or Romeo and Juliet?”

“Y/N.”

Ron’s fingertips brushing across your cheek instantly quiets you, your eyes trained on his face as he allowed himself to openly admire you for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you nod.

“I know you are.” 

When he sees the obvious haze of sleep start to curl around your gaze, Ron knows he needs to let you rest.

“Wake me up in an hour?” you ask, something in your tone of voice seeming to acknowledge the slim chance of him agreeing to your request.

“Maybe. Sleep.”

With a half-hearted glare, you mumble something equivalent to ‘yeah yeah, okay’ and turn your head away from him and close your eyes.

Ron stays where he is, stroking at your hairline in the same calming way his mother used to do for him when he’d had a bad dream as a child.

If his mom were here now, he imagined she’d be proud of him.

Maybe he wasn’t fated to be distant and cold and cruel like his father.

For the first time in his life, Ron let himself begin to dream of life after all of this.

The only thing he knew for sure?

He’d do anything- everything in his power, to make sure you were a part of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ TAG LIST TAG LIST!

@mrseasycompany​, @itswormtrain​

(Love you guys! hasta la pasta, my dudes!)

[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

I decided to re-open the taglist for this fic because I am sometimes a pushover, so now you can either ask or comment to be on the fic’s taglist or the permanent taglist! 

Additionally, I have no consistent update schedule. My first draft is written by hand- I always like to stay two chapters ahead, so I posted this chapter when I finished copying chapter 5 into a Google Doc and proofreading.

Also, fun fact: I hate chocolate. My senses just do not like it at all. I also have a very sensitive tongue and can taste the barest hint of spiciness in foods, which also means I have zero spice tolerance whatsoever. As a Chinese-American with family in Sichuan, this means I get force-fed a lot of extremely spicy foods anyway.

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 [Chapter 3] Chapter 4

“Why are you letting them stay? He tried to kill Dick!” Timothy points at Damian, who glowers at him from across the cave as Alfred stitches Richard’s cuts.

Marinette sighs. “Akhi was not trying to murder Richard. If you paid more attention, you would notice that all of Richard’s wounds are carefully placed in non-lethal areas meant to slow him down instead of severely injuring him.”

Batman does not say a word. He hasn’t spoken since Richard called him to verify their claims.

“They were raised as assassins, Timmy. It’s normal that they’d feel threatened a lot, and act accordingly. They’re family now. Give them a chance.” Richard replies, and Marinette blinks. She did not expect to have Richard defend them so easily.

“Pardon me,” She pipes up. “But ‘they’ are currently present.”

“Right. Sorry.” Richard has the sense to look guilty. Timothy just glares.

Damian squeezes her hand three times, their signal for I would like to leave. Marinette sighs as she exits the Batcave. Being accepted into the family is… a work in progress.

.o0o.

Slade is put into Blackgate not long after with the information Ubu gave after being interrogated by the Bats. Damian and Marinette were not allowed to go. 

Too young, Richard had said. They had interpreted that as You cannot be trusted to keep him alive. He did make the right call though. Damian would have tried extremely hard had he gotten the chance.

Of course, the League did dispose of him not long after anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

Damian and Marinette spent their days in the Manor sparring, reading, or practicing their instruments. Richard, who seemed determined to bond with them, bought them both new sketchbooks, for Damian’s drawings and Marinette’s designs. She had discovered an affinity for clothing design while undercover on a mission, and had been designing ever since.

Cass (she insisted that they call her that instead of Cassandra,) was always happy to spar when asked, and although nobody ever defeated her, it was a welcomed challenge to fight someone who knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. Damian grudgingly admits she is a worthy sister, which makes Marinette smile and Cass beam.

Jason had his own home and only visited every once in a while, and Timothy was rarely seen. It didn’t help that Damian continued to make snarky comments whenever they did see him, but if Timothy was scarce, Father was practically nonexistent.

Since they came to the Manor, their father has said a total of two words to the both of them, and that was just their names when he exited his study as they passed by.

Marinette is determined to make her new family work, and so when she finds Timothy completely by accident, typing away on a laptop in one of the less-used rooms in the Manor, she takes a chance.

“You do know we are not trying to replace you, right?” She asks softly, sitting down in an armchair and deliberately not making eye contact with him. 

Timothy snorts. “But is that not what you’re doing? Bruce chose to take in everyone else. I had to blackmail him into letting me be Robin. And then the biological kids show up, born and raised like fucking royalty, so who would care about Tim Drake? The little kid whose parents didn’t even want him and his neighbor only adopted him because he knew his most well-kept secret.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Marinette says quietly.

“Yeah, right.” Timothy laughs bitterly. “The Princess of the League-”

“I wasn’t.” Marinette interrupts.

“Huh? But-”

“I wasn’t the Princess.” Marinette keeps her voice calm with considerable effort. “As soon as I was born, Ra’s gave me over to Lady Shiva. He declared me unworthy because I was a girl, and I was raised as the lowest-ranked assassin. I may have been Shiva’s protege, but that just meant she went even harder on me. I did not know even my last name until after my first death when I was five. I did not properly meet my brother until last year. Ra’s decided that I could be acknowledged, but maintained his stance on feminine inferiority.”

She chuckles hollowly. “You fear being replaced by your father figure’s biological children, Timothy. But your fear is unwarranted. Bruce Wayne chose to adopt you, because he is a good man with copious amounts of generosity. However, it evidently does not extend to his biological children. Talia dumped us at Batman’s feet and left without another word, without looking back. And Father? We may have been a complete surprise, but he has said two words in total to us since that first night- our names. You need not worry, Timothy. You shall not be replaced.”

Marinette stands, her message conveyed, and pauses in the doorway of the room. 

“Have a good afternoon, Timothy.”

The next day, Marinette and Damian watch on live television as their father is killed by Darkseid.

.o0o.

The funeral for Batman is somber. Everyone cries except for Marinette and Damian.

She thinks they should be crying, but Marinette simply didn’t know her father well enough to really mourn him. Damian squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The twins stand, faces carefully blank, shoulders straight and unmoving, like rocks in an ocean of tears.

Crime in Gotham runs rampant when they think Batman is gone, and so Richard becomes Batman out of necessity- and chooses her twin brother as his Robin.

Nobody else sees how it crushes Timothy, because Cass has left for Hong Kong, abandoning Batgirl and making her own identity as Black Bat. Jason is holed up in a safehouse somewhere, Richard and Damian are in their own little world as they prepare for their first patrol together, and Alfred needs time to mourn too.

So she finds herself knocking on the door to Timothy’s room, one hand holding a plate of sandwiches and a freshly brewed coffee because he hasn’t left his room since the funeral. Marinette quietly enters upon his muffled “Come in” and sets the plate down next to Timothy, whose eyes are red-rimmed and have even larger bags than normal, and yet he continues to work.

“I… noticed you have not come out to eat, so I brought some food and fresh coffee. Black.” She adds, after a moment of hesitation.

“Thanks.” Timothy mumbles, immediately going for the coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

Marinette shrugs. “Everyone else was caught up in their own situation and had issues to work through too. I am relatively unaffected by the circumstances and therefore my observation skills have not declined.” She says simply. “You should also eat. I will not stop you from drinking the coffee, but you cannot work on an empty stomach, either.”

He begrudgingly eats a sandwich, still typing away at his laptop all the while. Marinette notes the tension in his frame.

“Would you like to talk about it? I have read that venting is significantly better for one’s mental health than keeping it bottled up.” She offers.

Timothy suddenly slams the laptop shut, hard, but Marinette doesn’t flinch. The reaction was trained out of her a long time ago. 

“It’s not- it’s- my entire life, I’ve been trying to prove myself. Robin was- Robin was special. I wasn’t the first Robin, but it was a reminder that I was worth something to someone, that I could do good and be useful. And then Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman, and he just names Damian as his Robin like my opinion on the matter meant nothing, booting me out of the position, without any semblance of an explanation and-” He breaks off into sobs.

The sight of somebody crying makes Marinette more than a little awkward, because what is she doing? She doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person, but she does know that Timothy was touch-starved as a child. However, she isn’t the most touchy-feely person on the planet either, so she just settles for rubbing his back as he lets it all out.

Once he’s run out of tears, she silently hands him the tissue box she plucked from his desk. 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are not worthless.” Marinette says sternly. “Nobody is worthless, and you are far from being anywhere near so. You are the cleverest and most intelligent of us all, a capable, quick-thinking strategist, and you have detective skills that rivaled Father’s. I believe Richard chose Damian as Robin because Robin is always supposed to be Batman’s sidekick. He is always taken under Batman’s wing because there are things he hasn’t learned, that Batman can teach him. Richard sees you as an equal, and therefore cannot keep you as his Robin because you have graduated the mantle. It is time you created a new identity and moved on. Do you have anything in mind?”

Timothy sniffs once. “Thank you. I really needed that. And as for the ideas,” He reaches over and pulls out a sketchbook, a smile spreading across his face. “I’ve got a few.”

.o0o.

They brainstorm ideas for almost three hours before Timothy falls asleep. Marinette easily carries his light frame to his bed and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before quietly exiting his room.

Thankfully, she managed to convince Timothy that the cowl was a terrible idea. Marinette returns to her own room for her sketchbook. Batman and Robin will have each other’s backs. But Red Hood works alone, leaving Red Robin with nobody to watch his back.

Timothy is Marinette’s brother too, and everyone else is headed into the field anyway. She, like Damian, also had the phrase ‘justice, not vengeance’ drilled into her head, and Richard had made sure to remind them daily to aim for non-lethal spots. Not that she planned on taking a life ever again anyway.

Marinette flips open her sketchbook to a bookmarked page and smiles. It seems that Starling would be making an appearance very soon.

.o0o.

It is almost time for Richard and Damian’s first patrol as Batman and Robin. Marinette heads downstairs to wish them well, but freezes at the sight of her twin in Timothy’s old suit.

“This is unacceptable!” She screeches, hurrying forward and looking pleadingly at Richard. “You cannot let akhi out into Gotham looking like a traffic light!”

Richard frowns, as does Damian. “But you never had a problem with Tim wearing it.”

“Tt. Timothy had little to no prior experience in combat before being trained as Robin. Damian has been trained to utilize the shadows in combat since birth. Wearing those bright colors will make him stand out and put him at a disadvantage.” Marinette tuts, already scribbling out a new design in her sketchbook.

“Then what do you suggest, ukhti?” Damian asks.

“I have a design in mind. The colors will stay, but the yellow and green will have to be significantly darker, and the red should be dulled as well. Sadly, you will have to wear that monstrosity tonight, but I can have the suit finished in time for patrol tomorrow, as will mine and Timothy’s new suits.” She replies, not glancing up from her book.

“What do you mean, Marinette?” Richard questions, and Marinette feels a tiny twinge of annoyance at how he handled telling Timothy about Robin.

“I mean that Timothy and I have crafted new identities as well. You did not expect him to just stop fighting crime, or for me to just sit at home while everyone else carried out Father’s mission, did you?”

Damian nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It will be nice to see you in the field too, ukhti.”

“What will your names be?” Richard prods curiously.

“I will not tell you just yet.” Marinette smirks. She shows her twin the finished design. “Does this look alright, akhi?”

“It looks wonderful, ukhti.” Damian replies. “Thank you.”

She sniffs. “Well, somebody had to fix the lack of fashion sense in this household eventually.”

.o0o.

Everyone else in the family may use capes, but Marinette decided that Richard’s Nightwing suit was by far the best because of its lack of one. Capes were long, heavy, a waste of fabric, and overall useless.

The Starling suit was primarily black, with a dark emerald mask covering the lower half of her face (because why carry a gas mask and rebreather when it can be built in?) with gloves and boots in the same color. A single silver star with curved sides was splayed on her chest, and a dark green utility belt rested on her waist. Her steel war fans had holsters strapped to her thighs.

All in all, the suit was built for the shadows. Marinette had learned to master slipping through the dark, unseen, and Gotham was the perfect place to utilize that. Starling would be nothing more than a ghost, a legend, if she had her way. After all, the less citizens knew, the less likely the information would hit the underworld, and that way, the vigilantes wouldn’t have all their cards out in the open.

Damian looks much better in his new suit as well, and Timothy is also grinning when he steps out of the male’s changing room. (A/N: the new 52 suit. I’m not letting him out of the Cave with that ugly cowl, or the traffic light costume with an extra R. Don’t even get me started on the Drake one.)

Richard, cowl still down, smiles as bright as the sun itself. “Good to see you, Robin. Tim, Marinette, can I ask your names?”

Timothy fastens his domino. “Red Robin.”

Marinette pulls her face mask up and curtsies with perfect posture. “Starling. I wish to work in the shadows, if that is alright.”

Richard puts on the cowl and becomes Batman. “You guys all look amazing.” He grins, and it is unsettling to see Batman smile. Oracle logs into the comms from the Clocktower.

“You all ready?”

They split the city in half. Red Robin and Starling take the North while Batman & Robin will cover the South. 

Starling trails Red Robin from afar, leaping from building to building and only using her grappling hook when the distance is too great to close by foot. They stop four muggings and two attempted assaults, all without Starling being spotted. The criminals think they hit their head on the alley walls or each other instead of her fist from behind.

It’s almost three in the morning when Batman calls it quits and they return to the Cave, changing out of their suits and showering. They are somehow all unharmed, so Alfred sends them up to bed.

Damian and Marinette brush their teeth before climbing into bed and flipping off the lights.

“Tonight was actually quite enjoyable.” Marinette remarks. “It is a nice feeling, to know that you are helping people.”

Damian hums sleepily. “It is good to know that we are continuing Father’s legacy.”

Marinette smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” She burrows deeper into her blankets. “Sleep well, akhi.”

“The same goes for you, ukhti.”

For once, Marinette doesn’t have a nightmare.

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[not-all-dead]

angstpril day twenty-three, part one: bedside vigil

CW: dying death dead dying yeah that, also sad sad sad, most of them have some sort of not explicit mental health issue going on, and lastly its so so so so so so so long like i’m actually so sorry how did it get to be this long i-

first half under the cut, second half here !!

He could feel the end coming. He could also feel that the time was right. It wasn’t too soon, though he did wish he could have more time. It wasn’t too late either, he felt, it really was right on time. It was his time.

He was glad he knew this, because it meant his family and friends could gather around him. It meant he’d get to properly say goodbye to all those he cared about. He knew they’d miss him, and he’d miss them too, but he’d see them again soon. And he’d never really leave them, not as long as they kept him in their memories, in their hearts.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a faint knock on the door.

“Aang?” Katara called quietly, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep.

“Come in,” he replied, his voice hoarse.

She opened the door and came in, carrying a small tray of food. The smell filled the room up and Aang smiled, looking lovingly at his wife. He didn’t get all that hungry anymore, but her cooking was a comfort he tried to enjoy in his final days.

“Bumi, Zuko, and Izumi got here this morning,” Katara said and she set the tray on Aang’s bedside table.

“And Sokka left last night to find Kya. Toph, Su, and Lin finally agreed to stay on the island for a little bit, and Suki and Ty Lee should be here by tonight,” she sat on the wooden chair that now sat by Aang’s side at all times, reaching forwards and taking his hand.

She watched him for a moment, paying close attention to his breathing as his chest rose and fell steadily.

“Thank you,” he said after a time, turning his head slightly to see her better.

“You don’t need to thank me, sweetie,” she responded, smiling and squeezing his hand.

It was after another while of sitting like that in silence that there was a hesitant knock on the door. It opened slightly and Izumi’s face peeked in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to interrupt, but, uh…” she trailed off, glancing at Aang and then looking at the floor.

Katara squeezed Aang’s hand again and stood, leaning over to place a soft kiss on his forehead. Then, she walked over to the door, opening it fully.

“You’re not interrupting anything, dear,” she said, placing a hand on Izumi’s shoulder.

“Take all the time with him you need,” she finished before stepping around the younger woman.

Aang followed Izumi with his eyes as she made her way to his side, taking the chair Katara had just been sitting in.

“This feels so unreal,” Izumi started, clasping her hands together and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“I know logically everyone has to die at some point, but it just…” she trailed off and looked up at Aang with tears in her eyes.

“I wish it wasn’t true,” she blinked and a few tears slipped down her cheek.

“You’ve always been like a niece to me, Izumi,” Aang reached a shaky hand out to wipe her cheek.

“Just because I’ll no longer be here physically doesn’t mean I’m leaving you,” he added before drawing in a raspy breath and coughing slightly.

Izumi’s eyes widened in panic and she pushed out of the chair.

“Should I get Katara?” she asked, inching back towards the door.

“No, no, I’m alright,” Aang reassured her, giving her a weak smile.

“I’d like to speak to your father, though,” he said, to which she nodded before turning and leaving him alone.

He turned his head back so that he was looking at the ceiling again, watching as the shadows shifted almost unnoticeably. He didn’t look at the door when he heard it open, his eyes remaining fixed on the shadows above as Zuko made his way to the chair and sat down.

“This feels so unreal,” Zuko muttered, causing Aang to let out a small laugh.

“That’s exactly what your daughter said,” he said quietly, finally turning to look at his old friend.

“Of course it is,” Zuko let a smile creep onto his face.

He let out a sigh, his smile disappearing after a moment. His gaze turned to his feet for a long moment of silence before he forced his eyes up to meet Aang’s.

“I’ll miss you,” he took in a deep breath.

“We all will. But I’m glad for the time we’ve had. Ah, the memories of chasing after you as a delusional teenager,” Zuko let out a small chuckle and Aang smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

“But really,” Zuko continued, his face turning serious again.

“There’s so much I wish we’d had the time to do, but there’s even more that we did have time for. I’ll cherish those memories, I promise I won’t forget a single thing, until I see you again,” Zuko finished, stopping himself before he had the chance to cry.

“Until I see you again,” Aang responded quietly.

There was another knock on the door and Aang chuckled.

“It’s like a round robin of people coming in here,” he joked as Zuko stood and moved to open the door.

Bumi stood there, his head hanging down and his hands fidgeting in front of him. He looked up when Zuko pulled the door open, first looking at the Firelord and then to his father. He gasped slightly and looked back at Zuko, who placed a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t have to say anything to the young man, instead simply stepping around him to give him space to be with his father alone for a while.

Bumi hesitated at the door, staring at Aang for a second, before walking in and closing the door behind him. When he turned back around, he couldn’t help but run to the bedside.

“Dad,” he cried, falling to his knees in front of the chair.

“Bumi,” Aang said, lifting his hand to gently stroke Bumi’s hair.

“I don’t- you can’t- dad,” Bumi stuttered, putting his arms up on the bed and resting his chin on them.

“You’ll be alright,” Aang said looking sadly down at his son.

“I’m sorry,” Bumi whispered, hiding his face in his arms.

Aang watched him for a moment before saying anything, his hand still repetitively smoothing his rowdy hair.

“Sorry for what?” he asked.

Bumi looked up at him tearfully, opening his mouth and closing it again before shaking his head. He sat there for a minute more before pushing up from the ground. He steadied himself against the bedside table, the sudden change in altitude sending a rush of blood to his head. Once he could see straight again, he leaned over and kissed his father on the forehead.

“I love you, dad, and I’ll miss you, and-,” he inhaled sharply and closed his eyes.

“I really am sorry,” he finished, leaving the room before Aang could question him again.

Aang let out a sigh and watched the door. His eyelids were heavy and he soon found himself drifting off to sleep. He was vaguely aware of Katara coming at some point, taking away the tray of uneaten food and checking in on him. It was in the early hours of the morning that he woke up again.

He opened his eyes to Suki pacing quietly back and forth behind Ty Lee, who was asleep in the chair. When Suki noticed Aang trying to prop himself up slightly more, she rushed around the bed to help him. Once he was seated comfortably, a pillow behind his head, she walked back around to wake Ty Lee up.

“Let her sleep,” Aang rasped, then clearing his throat.

Suki looked down at him and hesitated before nodding. She sat herself on the edge of his bed and rested her hand on his leg, looking at him with a sad smile on her face.

“You’re looking rough,” she joked, smirking at Aang.

“I’ve been better,” he responded, glad that Suki was being lighthearted about it all.

“You’ve also been worse,” Suki added, shaking her head and chuckling.

“Last time you died, Katara brought you back,” Aang couldn’t help but laugh as Suki continued to speak.

“Guess that won’t be the case this time, but hey, at least you’ll get to see Gyatso again,” Aang felt his eyes filling with tears for the first time since he’d taken ill just as Ty Lee finally woke up.

She opened her eyes groggily, turning to Aang as soon as she noticed Suki sitting on the bed.

“Aang,” she said quietly, her usually very bubbly demeanour completely abandoned.

“Your aura, it’s so…” she trailed off and looked sadly at the ground.

Suki hated seeing her like this and grabbed her hand, pulling her slightly towards the bed.

“Hey, let’s not sulk,” she said to her wife, glancing back at Aang.

“I’d rather see you happy in my last days than sad to see me go,” he added, smiling as Ty Lee peeked up at him.

“You’re right,” she said, the corners of her mouth pulling up ever so slightly.

“I’m so glad I got to know you, Aang, you helped me learn so much about myself, and have been one of the best friends I’ve had,” she added, squeezing Suki’s hand as she spoke.

“I feel the same, you taught me a lot and I always knew I could count on you,” Suki agreed, squeezing Ty Lee’s hand back.

“We’ll miss you,” Suki finished, looking back and forth between her wife and Aang.

“I’ll miss you too,” Aang replied. “But I’ll never be far.”

Ty Lee smiled at him warmly, and had just opened her mouth to say something when the door slammed open.

“Kyoshi nerds, out, now,” Toph said loudly as she stomped over to the chair Ty Lee was sitting in.

Nobody in the room could stifle their laughter as Ty Lee gave the seat up to Toph. She and Suki both bid adieu to Aang as they left the room, leaving him with a seemingly very pissed off Toph.

“C’mon, Twinkletoes,” she said, crossing her legs and leaning back against the chair.

“Dying? Now? Don’t you think that’s a little…”— she gestured messily in the air in front of her —“petty?”

“Is my timing inconvenient for you, Melon Lord?” Aang laughed.

Toph frowned and crossed her arms, suddenly overcome with the reality of what was happening. She sat quietly for a moment, her head turned down, until the door creaked open just slightly. A single tear fell from her eye as Su walked silently into the room, hesitating behind her mother before Toph shoved up from the chair.

“Whatever, Twinkletoes,” she said, roughly wiping her cheek as she stalked out of the room.

Su stared after her mother for a few seconds before looking at the floor.

“She just… needs some time,” she muttered, taking the seat by Aang’s bed.

“I see you, Toph, and Lin decided to get along for a weekend?” Aang ventured, cocking his head to one side.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. Lin hasn’t said a word to me since I got here, though, and mom’s been really distant the whole time too. I didn’t really expect any different, though, which is why I didn’t bring Baatar or the kids. They shouldn’t have to deal with my family drama,” she leaned forwards, resting her chin in her hands.

“How are Baatar and the kids doing?” Aang asked, watching Su’s face while she answered.

“Baatar’s been sick on-and-off for a few years, but he’s seeing a healer who says she can give him a lot longer to live with a number of healing sessions and some daily medication. The kids are all doing well, Opal was just born a few months ago,” she paused and looked up at Aang.

“I wish I could’ve brought them here at least once, to meet you, and everyone, but…” she trailed off and looked down again.

“It’s alright, Su. I’ll get to meet them eventually, and when I do, I’ll have all of eternity to get to know them,” Su couldn’t help but smile up at Aang at his response, her eyes stinging just slightly.

“You’re right,” she said rubbing her eyes lightly.

She shifted her feet on the stone floor and sighed, feeling Lin pacing just outside the door.

“I should, uh, let Lin come in here. She’s been… worried to say the least,” Su said standing and giving Aang one last glance before leaving the room.

Lin already had a frown fixed on her face when she walked in. She stood near the foot of his bed with her arms crossed, not letting herself look Aang in the eye. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before huffing and glancing at Aang.

“Lin, sit,” he said, making a small gesture towards the chair.

She shook her head and looked away again, tapping her foot on the cold floor.

“Do you really have to die?” she asked hoarsely.

“Lin, please sit,” Aang repeated, looking at the young woman with concern.

“I mean- you’re the avatar, right? Kyoshi lived for two hundred and thirty years, couldn’t- couldn’t you just not die? That would make a whole lot of stuff a whole lot easier, and I mean-,” Aang cut her off by blowing a small burst of wind in her face.

“Lin, you look like you’re going to collapse. Please sit,” he said, slight amusement on his face.

She looked up at him and huffed, but relented and moved to sit in the chair. She slid down slightly, her arms still crossed and her legs sprawled in a very unladylike manner. She glared at the floor as she began talking again.

“I just think it’s kind of rude of you to die right now, that’s all. I just-,” her voice broke and she let out a small sob, slapping her hand over her mouth.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

“No. No. I’m not crying now,” she muttered, taking a few deep breaths and then looking up at Aang.

He gave her a sad smile before saying anything, reaching his hand over and putting it on her knee.

“You can’t push everything down all the time, Lin, but I can’t force you to cry,” he said, bringing his hand back and putting it over his stomach.

“Do you want to talk about something else?” he asked, to which she nodded.

“Tell me how Tenzin’s doing, I haven’t seen him since I’ve been sick,” Aang shifted so he could see Lin better, though she was staring at the floor again.

“He’s… he’s not doing great,” she started, shuffling slightly back in the chair so she wasn’t so slumped over.

“He’s been pretty much locked in his room since you got sick, barely letting anyone in other than for food and such. I’ve gotten him to talk a couple times, though not much. He says it’s too much, that he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle talking to you now… but he does want to. He said he’d come in when he’s ready, but that it might not be for a while… he’s just really scared of losing you,” she paused for a second, twiddling her thumbs in her lap.

“I- I’m scared to lose you too, we all are,” she said in a near whisper.

“You’ll never really lose me,” Aang started, but stopped when she scoffed at him.

“Bullshit,” she said, looking up at him with a mix of disbelief and annoyance on her face.

Aang sighed, smiling softly at Lin.

“Again, I can’t force you to believe anything, but I will stick around,” he reached out and took her hand weakly in his.

“I promise,” he said.

Lin’s eyes started to tear up again and she stood, pulling away from him and moving towards the door.

“You- you should sleep,” she said, looking back at him one last time before exiting the room.

He let out another sigh, but figured it best to follow her advice. It didn’t take long after he slid back into a lying position before he was sleeping deeply once more. His sleep was undisturbed, though he didn’t dream of anything. He was far too tired to dream, far too tired for anything really. Even so, he grinned widely when he woke up to Katara’s face by his side.

“I love you,” he whispered, trying not to startle her.

Her eyes snapped up from the brown yarn she’d been furiously knitting into a blanket. They softened when they saw his smile, her own lips pulling into a quiet grin.

“I love you too, sweetie,” she said, setting her yarn and needles on the bedside table.

“Have a good rest?” she reached over and ran her hand over the short hair that now grew thinly over Aang’s usually bald head.

“Mm, mmhmm,” he closed his eyes again as she kissed his forehead like she did every time she left the room now.

“Sokka and Kya are here,” she murmured, standing slowly.

“Should I bring them in?” Aang opened his eyes again at Katara’s question, nodding and shuffling back just slightly against the headboard.

Katara made sure he was properly situated before stroking his hair again and leaving the room. Aang looked down at his pale, shaky, bony hands while he waited for someone to come in. He wasn’t afraid of dying, but it was still off putting to see his own body so frail and destructible.

“Hey,” he heard Sokka say outside the door.

“Kya, hey, it’s alright. Let me go in first, okay? It’ll be okay, you’re okay, just… sit here for a minute.”

There was the sound of a metal chair being placed by the door and then the squeak of the door’s rusty hinges as Sokka came in.

“Is she alright?” Aang asked, looking past Sokka at the door as he took the chair.

Sokka rubbed his hands over his face before leaning forward on his elbows, staring into space as he spoke.

“Yeah, she’s not been doing the best, but she’ll be alright. She…we’ll make sure she is,” he looked at Aang for the first time since before he’d taken ill.

It was impossible to not notice the difference. Aang’s eyes were more sunken, his eye bags bigger and darker now. He actually had hair growing on the top of his head, but he was skinnier than ever with how little he’d been eating. His eyes were duller than they used to be, their sparkling excitement and energy simply missing.

“Fuck,” Sokka whispered.

“You really are dying, aren’t you,” he muttered, examining Aang’s face.

“It’s my time, Sokka. I can feel it,” Aang responded faintly.

Sokka nodded and took a deep breath. Aang could hear how shaky it was, how desperately he was trying not to cry. He pushed slightly away from the headboard and held his arms out to Sokka with a slight smile.

“You can cry,” he said, to which Sokka responded with a quiet sob.

He pushed himself out of the chair and onto the edge of Aang’s bed, accepting the hug and returning it fiercely. They hugged for a long time, Sokka crying on Aang’s shoulder, until Aang noticed Kya’s face peeking through the doorway. He pulled slightly away from Sokka, who wiped his tears with the palm of his hand before following Aang’s gaze to Kya. He smiled at her and nodded, standing to leave but hesitating first.

He put his hand on Aang’s shoulder and squeezed, smiling down at his old friend.

“I’ll miss you,” he said before walking from the room.

Kya dragged herself over to the chair by Aang’s side. She paused for a second and looked at her father, huffing lightly before sitting down. Aang could tell immediately that something more was wrong, something other than just his passing, but had no clue as to what it could be. He turned his hand so his palm was up and looked at Kya’s expressionless face, his brows drawing together.

“Hold my hand?” he asked, prompting Kya to at least look up at him.

That she did, also lifting her hand and curling her fingers in with her fathers. He continued to watch her face, noticing that she really was showing no emotion whatsoever as she stared blankly ahead.

“Kya, what’s wrong?” he tried to tighten his grip on her hand but didn’t succeed.

She opened her mouth to respond and took a deep breath, but then still said nothing. Finally, after what felt like hours to both of them, she found her voice.

“Dad,” she whispered, looking up at him again.

He looked back at her sadly, not knowing how to comfort her without knowing what was wrong. He tried to suck in a breath but started to cough, getting himself under control after a moment but still wheezing slightly. Kya’s face was more concerned after the coughing fit, but still quite neutral. He could see how empty her eyes were, but knew there was nothing much he could offer her now.

“Tell…” he trailed off, trying to muster up enough strength to finish his sentence before continuing.

“Tell everyone I love them,” he said barely louder than a whisper.

Kya furrowed her eyebrows as Aang slid down in the bed just barely, his eyes watching her with sadness.

“Dad,” she whispered again.

“Dad,” she said louder as he closed his eyes, his face relaxing.

It was the last thing he heard.