#tried something a little different with the hatching this time

[wereh0gz]

It's what they call "you."

[kissandtellus]

Hope you get well soon! Pneumonia sucks.

Maybe some little drabbles about the LADS men and unexpected pregnancy? Fluff and/or smut, your choice!

Unexpected

Synopsis: How would the LADS boys react to an unexpected pregnancy?

Warnings: Just fluff for this one! Mentions of ‘alternatives’, Sylus always hatching a plan, anxiety, mentions of pregnancy.

👣 Xavier

Xavier is staring down at the test in his hands. He has seen so many things in his hundreds of years of living, but nothing matched up to the excited, yet fearful look on your face.

He knew something was up, from the food aversions to the way you had shoved a pickle into peanut butter like it was the most delectable thing.

Xavier tries not to let the swell of tears brim in his big blue eyes. He stands slowly, approaching you. Your hands alter clasped in front of your chest, as if you were saying a prayer.

Yo hasn’t exactly been the most careful, but your lives as Hunters put a whole different fear in your mind.

“Are you upset?” You whisper. Granted, having a child means no 3 day naps for the blonde man.

He chuckles, pushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Never. This…” his hand presses against the still flat swell of your belly. “You two…are what I’ve been fighting for. Always.”

👣 Rafayel

“Did you get me a gift?”

“Kind of.”

Rafayel shoves his hand into the small gift bag. When his finger tips touch the plastic, he immediately thinks it may be a paintbrush. But when he pulls it out, confusion washes over his face.

It’s not for a few more seconds that it dawns on him. His hands have always been rather steady as an artist. But now, there is a very apparent tremble to his hands.

“Raf? Are you-“

He drops the bag and test and envelops you into a hug.

“I knew you smelled different.” To drive his point home, his face buried into the side of your neck and inhales.

“Raf?”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“Am I gonna lay Lemurian eggs?”

👣 Zayne

Zayne tapped your chart, legs crossed as he waited for the results. Between your mood swings, the vomiting non-stop, and the way you were so tender, he knew something was up.

You both waited in his office until the timer for the test went off. You immediately snatched it up before Zayne could. When your eyes saw the two pink lines your knees nearly buckled.

Zayne was quick to wrap you in his arms, pushing his glasses up on his face as he gazed at the test.

“Well then…” he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “Are you okay? Do you…would you like to look at alternatives?”

Oh Zayne, always the caring type. If you didn’t want to child, he would set you up an appointment and take you out for dessert afterwards.

But when you shakes your head, a smile breaks across his usually stoic face.

“I love you so much.”

👣 Sylus

Surprising Sylus with an ‘unexpected’ pregnancy test was like surprising a bomb dog with a detonator.

There was a reason he hadn’t pulled out, not wore condoms for the past month.

When you came from the bathroom with shaky hands, covering your mouth, Sylus sat down the gun he was cleaning and walked over to you.

He didn’t need to look at the test, he cupped the back of your head, murmuring sweet words against your skin.

“You entered my life at just the right time.” He whisperers. His hand cups your abdomen, fingers tracing the skin with a hum. “I hope you know that now I can’t let you out of my sight.”

Mephisto gives a squawk from his perch, flapping his wings. “Or Mephisto’s, for that matter.”

You clutch at his shirt, all of your anxieties fading away.

“Now, let’s go ring shopping.”

👣 Caleb

This man is an emotional wreck.

When you surprise him with a little paper airplane with the small pregnancy test attached, he nearly falls to his knees.

Another Pipsqueak?

Had God answered his prayers?

But when he sees how nervous you look, he’s cooing you, entrapping you in his arms while he rocks you back and forth with his steps.

“Do you need anything? When’s the first appointment so I can take off. You know what, screw it. I’m taking the entire year off. I’m not missing a thing.”

His lips are on yours before you can answer.

And you feel like everything is going to be alright.

[earthsparked]

So you want to join the coterie, huh? And you want to know what you're getting yourself into.

You know I can’t take sides in command arguments, captain, you gently remind Rodimus for the fifth time this week. I have to honor my obligation to the entire crew.

Rodimus shoots you his best look that says “I’m very sad and betrayed despite having been the one to sign your contract in which this is stated,” and goes back to arguing with Megatron and Ultra Magnus.

Privately you think Megatron is in the right on this issue. Tragic realization: the mech who tried to murder your entire species on several occasions, actually has good leadership skills and knows what he’s doing. But when Rodimus manages to wheedle Magnus into seeing things his way, you can only sigh and double check that your little bag of tricks stored in your utility scraplet, Scrappy, is fully stocked.

It’s going to be one of those days.

It’s not all roaming the galaxy having fun. Sure, there’s plenty of that. You're going to see wonders that human eyes have never seen before. But it’s a lot more, too.

You wriggle backwards out of Brainstorm and Perceptor's mystery machine. You're covered in thick, black grease that’s making your skin itch; they didn't think to check for skin-safety before asking you to crawl into it and fix some finicky little part. You scramble to your feet, a stained shop towel in one hand and a half-used can of solvent in the other. The fumes in the enclosed space are making you a little high.

You kick the access hatch shut and stand back. Go on, Percy, try it now.

Perceptor frowns as the machine whirrs to life, but the screen still throws off an error message. You sigh and shake your head. Your sensitive ears that always made you hate the hum of ceiling lights and refrigerators, are telling you something still isn’t right.

Kill it, I can hear the pitch is still off. Fine, I’ll just take the whole damn gear assembly apart!

Don't touch any of the exposed wires! You'll undo all my work! Brainstorm demands. And adds, belatedly, Also it'll kill you. Why don't you humans have any decent insulation? Terrible design. I could do better if I created a species in my recharge.

You don't think you want to hear where this is going. Grabbing your tools, you crawl back in the mystery machine.

Don't worry about learning mechanical stuff, earth's systems are completely different to their engineering anyway. Besides, it doesn’t matter if you’ve never held a blowtorch in your life, you’ll pick the skills up along the way. A flexible mind and willingness to learn are the only real criteria for any potential coterie member.

You spring out in front of the big blue mech, making him very nearly step on you with one of his birdlike feet. You know he won’t - for all his jokes, there’s not a mech on this ship that would knowingly hurt you. (Knowingly being the operative word.)

I know what I smelled, Whirl. There’s no disguising it. You have a coolant leak. You got some of that guy’s windshield stuck under your plating when you threw him across the bar, didn’t you? And it’s punctured a line.

His single optic narrows in an expressive glare. So what, Crunchy? Why do you care? Move or I’m gonna have more than glass stuck in my mesh.

He slowly and pointedly brings his foot down toward you, humming the Jeopardy! theme music. You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow higher and higher the closer his foot gets, not moving. When it’s just within reach, you make a wild leap, grab for a safe handhold, and hang on for dear life. Whirl shrills an arpeggio of startled mech curses and tries to shake you off, but you cling like a burr.

If you don’t treat it, it’s going to get worse! It’s either me or Ratchet, Whirlybird, and I don’t throw things! I don't care that you got in a fight, I don't - whoa, watch the wall! - I just want you to not be in pain!

He decides after a few attempts that this is a fun game. You’re dizzy as hell by the time he announces Eight seconds! Fine, cowboy, if you want to be inside me THAT badly.

You roll your eyes and somehow manage not to lose your lunch as he sets his foot down and lets you climb off. Scrappy opens his mouth, letting you pull out your gloves and pliers from one of his compartments. You dig out the shards of glass and patch up his coolant line, feeling relieved as you wrap the punctures and clean away the dried coolant. Having one of your mechs hurt always bothers you.

Yeah, you’re gonna make the best friends you’ve ever had. The kind you’d do anything for. And I do mean, anything. They really overplay the whole "humans will pack bond with anything" stuff a little too much, because they don't quite get how our relationships work. But eventually you will find yourself pulling on wells of strength you didn't even know you had, doing things you never thought yourself capable of. Not for yourself, but for them.

You spit a mouthful of blood onto alien ground and try not to let the glowering mech see you shake. Adrenaline or fear, does it matter which? What matters is Tailgate’s down, hurt and in stasis. You got banged up, too, and stayed behind to guard him while the rest of the landing team pushed through the fighting. They wouldn't have left you or him if they'd thought any of the enemy mechs were still in this quadrant. But this one stomped out of the swirling fog, a hulking shape bristling with combat readiness.

He’s big, but so fucking what? You’ve been passed in the halls by mechs much scarier than this guy.

You flip the safety off your weapon - almost too big for you, but barely a pea shooter to a full-sized mech. At your side, Scrappy hisses and snarls, clacking his sharp metal teeth in threat. Just because he's been altered not to eat metal at random, doesn't mean he can't when given permission.

You're supposed to be a non-combatant, untouchable and marked as such by the coterie patch on your shoulder. At worst, you can be held hostage until your ship pays a ransom. But playing by those rules means standing aside and letting this guy do whatever the hell he wants to one of your mechs.

You glance at Tailgate and your heart hurts. When did this ten-foot-tall alien robot start to look so small and vulnerable to you?

Your eyes blur with furious, worried tears, before fixing on the approaching enemy. You step forward, as if your tiny body can shield the wounded mech lying behind you.

Whatever you came here for, you spit as more blood drips down your chin, you’re leaving without it. Go conjunx a belt sander, you torqueless wonder.

But it gets real when you get to the point where you understand, they’d do anything for you, too.

You’ve been cold forever. Can’t remember ever being warm. The endless white snows of the polar icecap of this godforsaken planet you’d come to investigate, was going to be the last thing you saw. One wrong step and the snowbank had collapsed, dumping you into a subterranean cavern. You’re trapped, alone, hypothermic. Your emergency transponder broken. You'd left your pet scraplet behind out of fear his thin armor wouldn't protect him against the cold. You're never going to see the little guy again.

Without him or the transponder, your mechs are never going to find you here. You’re never going to see earth again. They'll just add your name to the coterie's wall of remembrance, and some other human will be on your ship, caring for your mechs. You hope they'll understand how special they all are. That they'll learn Rung needs a listening ear sometimes, and Roddy's boasting often hides his insecurities, and Ratchet's got a soft spark under all that grumbling...

You think you’re hallucinating when you hear the voice. Wait. Is that a heat signature - it is! Hey, captains! We found them! Over here!

A few minutes or hours or ages later and Brainstorm, upside-down, lowers through the hole in the crust above. You blink muzzily. ‘m on the ceiling…?

Powerful hands pick you up, and you’re ascending. You don’t remember much after that, except the feel of being surrounded by titans that cared enough to come back. You came back for me.

Rodimus, warmest of them all, carries you to the ship himself. Tucked inside his armor, out of the wind and ice. Nestled right by his spark chamber. You dream of being pure energy, or of being wrapped in pure energy, or that you're one of two waves of energy dancing together with the joy of being alive. In a place where size doesn't matter, and metal and flesh don't matter, because deep down you're more alike than dissimilar.

You're as much theirs, as they are yours.

I wish I could tell you what to expect, but no one has the exact same experience. Not even within the same cohort. It’s going to be unlike anything you imagine it could be. Every day's going to bring new discoveries, new dreams. Sometimes, new nightmares. It's a big universe, and humans haven't even scratched the surface of what's out there. For better, or for worse.

The crate rattles again. Your breathing is loud inside your exo-suit. This bay is kept pressurized, but barely climate-controlled, and close to the ship's heat sinks so it's scorching hot in here.

Scrappy's cameras are transmitting every move you make to the mechs crowded around the monitors on the bridge. You've turned off audio, because between the scientists' incessant arguing and Swerve's fretting over you going into Cargo Hold 3 alone, you weren't able to pay proper attention to your surroundings.

Rattle-rattle. Shake. That container weighs several tons. It's bouncing around like it's a bouncy castle full of elementary schoolers.

No oxygen. Movement. It could be a scraplet infestation. Easily dealt with, for you. Which is why you're here and the mechs are on the bridge, or in lockdown in their quarters.

It could be scraplets. Intuition tells you it's not.

You touch the side of your helmet to activate your mic. Where did you say we picked this up from, again?

The arguing in the background dims as Ultra Magnus answers, disapprovingly, The records for the cargo manifest have been...misfiled. Ergo, we don't know.

You can see him in your mind's eye, glaring at Rodimus. Misfiled? More like Roddy lost them in the skyscraper stack of datapads in his office. If he didn't just set it down somewhere and forget where he put it. Can mechs have ADHD? Would some strategies that work for humans, be helpful for him? A thought to pursue at another time, when you're not maybe about to be eaten by a monster.

You click the mic back off before you can get drawn into the new argument that's starting over the co-captain's lack of organizational skills. And step closer to the shaking crate. No markings that you can read. No packing list on the outside. Does it look a little banged up? Rusted? Or is it the shaky light from Scrappy's headlamp as he hides behind your legs, making it look like that?

Every horror movie you've ever watched at Swerve's on movie night, comes back to haunt you. The aliens out in the dark have their own legends and myths. Some of them, you've learned the hard way, aren't only legends or myths.

Sweat drips into your eyes. Fuck it.

Are you going to play nice, or am I going to kick your ass off my ship?

You slam the augmented crowbar home and pry the lid off –

That's all I can say, really. The rest is up to you. Good luck. Maybe I'll see you out here in the stars. Lost Light ship's human, signing off.

[tcoaal]

a fundamental key aspect of examining literature is the author's intention, and everything we do with that intent: be it accepting it or rejecting it. it is among the most important tasks of the reader: when you do a critical analysis, especially so.

i am a very, very, very firm believer the "Word of God" is secondary to what is presented in the actual text. it is most important to examine what has been said or done in the text and it's implications directly, that is my personal belief as a reader. however, i believe that the author's intent is not something that should be ignored.

Nemlei is very clear, for example, that the idea of the siblings acting the way they are due to a neurodivergence or mental illness is not the right way to think. this is observable in the text.

Andrew and Ashley didn't become murderous incestious cannibals because they were born the right way or crazy or some stupid shit like that. they are the products of a society and world that has completely and absolutely failed them at every opportunity.

the coffin does not exist because they were naturally destined for it.

i've always thought, from the moment i played it, this is it. this is the moment Ashley Graves became a Tar Soul. i think it was the last chance Renee had to say "Holy shit, I'm a fucking terrible mother." and try to help her. and when Andrew, a child himself, fell asleep (not something he should blamed for) as Ashley tried to share her pain. the moment a Tar Soul hatched.

so that leads into the second half. about accepting or rejecting the author's intent.

the final room in Shots and Such is haunting. there's so much you can easily miss. the bathroom, Ashley's last safe space, being destroyed in a rampage by Andrew. the fucking table. the one time they had sex Andrew in his right mind enjoyed, Ashley only able to enjoy it as she was so drunk she could not be "herself" and breaking down afterwards. even small things like Andrew not taking out the garbage and Ashley preferring to let it affect their living space than help him out. everything in that small apartment from hell: everything must be viewed together as the whole, as the sum of all it's parts.

there is a clear intention of the author in those so easily missable scenes. the mutual love and hatred between them, with hatred greater than love. the dysfunction and normalization of violence into just another day.

Andrew having raped Ashley and probably not even processing it was rape is just another dime in the dozen incident in that little hellhole. hell, maybe that was the night he knocked up Ashley.

we can interpret this scene in different ways, even though i think the author's intention is pretty clear. Ashley could not consent. she lost all control, they had sex, and Andrew can't piece together what went wrong. the one night they actually "made love" which is clearly an opinion he and only he has.

... and you know, we have to accept author's might not have the same morality as us. the same opinions.

"If two people get super drunk, and have sex, who's at fault?" and some people might not have answers we like. an author might even write an opinion we vehemently disagree with from the bottom of our heart.

and it is our duty as readers to discern and interpret their works. i truly, sincerely believe this. i believe from the bottom of my heart the author's intention has become clear in shots and such.

"No one asks when she kicks you out for the night, or which stairs she fell down this time. It's all business as usual."

the normalization of both abuse and despair.

to the point even this becomes just another tidbit of that hell.

hate the idea that an abuse victim can become an abuser all you want. i think it is clear what it is Nemlei has tried to convey. hate it, reject it, love it, accept it, or ignore it. disagree or agree with me. i personally have read this and have arrived at my conclusion based on the text given to me, and analysis of the dialogue in this scene as well.

Nemlei is not writing for us. she makes that clear.

and it is up to us if we want to accept or reject that.

[sweetromanova]

Off The Record🖤

Natasha Romanoff x Criminal Defense Lawyer!Original Female Character

Summary: She’s built a career on keeping secrets and defending the worst with nothing to lose. That changed when Natasha Romanoff showed up on the other side of the courtroom.

Warnings: descriptions of violence, psychological manipulation, implied child abuse and trauma, emotional abuse, mentions of torture, human and sex trafficking, war crimes and murder, implied coercion, legal corruption, gun violence, secondary character deaths, power imbalance, blood and injury depiction

Chapters: Two,

A/N: i tried in so many different ways to write this as reader/second person point of view but it just didn’t click so i did have to do original character! please be honest if the legal stuff is a little boring and too much, i feel it’s very dialogue and law-jargon heavy and can change it up if needed! enjoy🤍

Chapter One

Avengers Secondary Holding Facility, Upstate New York March 12, 2022

The quinjet cut through the clouds, the breeze stirring mild turbulence as it glided down toward the landing strip outside the Avengers’ secondary holding facility, the one for when Avengers didn’t want or need the world watching.

Natasha Romanoff stood at the rear hatch, face unreadable and gaze locked on to the man seated across from her. The same man that has just taken her a two month long gruelling mission to finally bring in. 

Maksim Vasiliev. Hands shackled, eyes full of cold amusement as he stares right back. Even bound, he looks like the one with all the power in the room. Natasha fought the use to put her fist through his face, again. Once had been enough, for now.

“Time to face the music.” She quipped, allowing two shield operatives to take him by the arm each as the ramp fully lowered to the floor.

Vasiliev turned to her, that same smile on his face that’s made her skin crawl for years. “You’re still so dramatic, Natalia.”

With his head held high, he sauntered down the ramp like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he wasn’t looking at lifetime of the same concrete walls staring at him.

Inside the facility, the Avengers were already assembled. Natasha entered just seconds before Maksim was seated in the interrogation room, all of them watching the sick man through the two sided mirror. Tension clung in the air until Tony decided to break it, in true Stark style.

“Well, that’s only ugly son of a b-“

“Always something useful to say.” Maria murmured, overseeing his transfer. The two guards that flanked Vasiliev disappeared from view, leaving the criminal alone in the room. “Any ideas on the first move, Natasha?”

“He’s in this for the long run so I think it won’t matter in what order we exhaust our options.”

“I could go in, maybe I can tell if he’s lying.” Wanda supplies helpfully, the pupils of her eyes already sparkling with red as she read what she could from his subconscious. “He’s still smug, like he’s got a way out of here.”

“That’s assuming he talks. He’s had 30 years hiding in the shadows to prepare for this.” Steve sighs. “Did he saying anything on the flight, Natasha?”

“Not much useful. Pointless stuff we already knew.”

“We’ve dealt with guys like him before, sociopaths with god complexes. Best thing we can do is break the pattern and get Wanda in his head to figure out what he knows.” Tony comments, already sounding bored. “It’s our best play.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re bored.” Sam drawls. “How this guy is alive is beyond me? I thought he went up in flames with the rest of HYDRA.”

“He hid, like a coward. Also those scars on his face? Plastic surgery. Fake passports and too many favours from people that owed him.” Natasha’s voice was low. “He slipped once and got caught. Think about how many more are out there, slipping away and disappearing forever.”

“Then let’s not give him the chance.” Tony stands, heading towards the door. “Let’s get Wanda in there, see what he’s coming up with.”

Wanda was already halfway across the room, when the door slammed open.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

All heads turned.

Sienna Blake strode in the place like she belonged, like she’s built the place brick by brick. A sleek black suit framed her figure, pointed heels skimming the floor and dark eyes sharp with precision and defiance. Behind her, Clint followed looking distinctly unamused but also not stopping her.

Wanda blinked. “Who the hell-“

“Who the hell are you?!” Natasha snapped, stepping forward before anyone else could. Her voice low and her tone lethal. “This is a secure facility.”

“I’m aware.” Sienna responded, coldly. “You’re holding my client-“

“Your client?!”

“-MY client illegally. Interrogation without counsel is a violation of the Geneva Convention, not to mention domestic law. You’ve had him in custody, including time of arrest, for six hours without a formal change or notifying legal representation.”

She threw a folder on to the briefing table. “That’s over now. He will not be questioned, touched, read, scanned or even looked at funny until I’ve met with him and confirmed he’s fit to speak.”

“Damn.” Sam muttered.

Tony leaned over to Steve, eyes never leaving Sienna. “Did we get sued and no one told me?”

Natasha’s jaw clenched as she stepped up closer to the woman. “Your client is a war criminal.”

“He’s also a person, WITH rights.” Sienna shot back. “And the law doesn’t care about how much you hate him. Rights are rights. If you’re going to act like a court of executioners, at least be honest about it.”

“She’s a bitch but damn, this is the hottest thing I’ve seen all year.” Sam fails to hide his grin, leaning into Tony as he watches in admiration. “Seriously, who are you?”

“I’m Sienna Blake, you’ll get to know me.” She turns back to Natasha. “If you want justice Agent Romanoff, follow the law. Otherwise you’re just another assassin with a badge.” 

The room went silent. Natasha didn’t flinch as her eyes locked with Sienna’s, almost challenging. “File your charges then we’ll talk.” 

Maria nodded her head to Sienna, watching as she struts out of the room and straight into the holding cell. Not a tremble in her step or a slip of a mask as she walks up to Maksim like he’s a coffee shop barista and not a man accused of genocide and terrorism.

“Sweet Jesus.” Clint scoffs, his tone almost impressed. “She’s something.”

“She is Sienna Blake. The best criminal defense lawyer the country has seen in the last decade. Came from no where and hasn’t lost a case since. She’s defended serial killers, war criminals, terrorists, you name it. Not one has seen the death penalty or life imprisonment yet. Only last week, she got a serial killer with a kill count higher than Tony can count, a ten-year insanity plea.”

“Only ten?!” Steve echoes, eyebrows raised.

“She’s that good.” Maria shrugs. “Pain in the ass but she’s good.”

Natasha glared at her. “You knew she was coming?”

“I didn’t invite her.” Maria laughs, defensively. “But the second we logged that initial paperwork, her firm sent in the paperwork. This case was bought and paid for before the quinjet was in park.”

Tony folded his arms, sighing tiredly. “Fantastic. So Hydra’s hiring the A-Team.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The Avengers Compound, Upstate New York

March 12, 2022

Later that evening, Natasha’s boots had yet to stop stomping through the compound, her tracks almost wearing a hole in the floor. She didn’t speak, she didn’t need too. Her entire body radiated pure, unfiltered fury. 

“So that could have gone better…” Wanda unhelpfully comments, exchanging a look with Sam.

Natasha didn’t reply, just continued to pace. 

“It was dramatic, sure.” Tony saunters over to the bar, playing bartender for the room of tense heroes. “Vodka anyone?”

“I should have just put the bullet in his head when I had the chance.” Natasha mutters, letting the anger seep through.

“Understandable.” Maria mutters, appearing at the doorway. “But also a war crime.”

Natasha turned sharply. “So is everything he has ever done. He doesn’t deserve the right to a fair trial, he doesn’t deserve the right to defend what he’s done. Or should I say get that pretentious idiot in a suit to defend his actions. He deserves a cage. Or a hole in the ground and even then, that’s still too nice.”

“Yeah, well…” Tony shoves a glass into her hand. “Welcome to the modern world. Apparently even Bond villains get legal representation now.” 

With a few taps on the tablet in his left hand, he flips it round to show the team. On there was Sienna’s profile, or what little there was of it. A few heavily redacted articles, a couple of courtroom photos and a list of high-profile cases, most of them deeply controversial. White collar monsters, terrorists with a side of trafficking, sadistic’s with a passion for genocide and even some of HYDRA’s nearest and dearest walking away with plea deals and community service. It was impressive.

“She represented him?!” Steve frowns, pointing to just one of her clients.

“She’s represented worse.” Tony adds. “She’s carved a niche for defending people the rest of the world would rather see set on fire. Yet she’s winning.”

“But there’s barely anything here.” Sam comments, scrolling. “No interviews, no press quotes, no personal information, it doesn’t even say what law school she attended. All of these criminals and cases and not one public acknowledgement, how is that possible?”

Wanda narrows her eyes. “Intentional maybe?”

“Absolutely.” Maria confirms. “She keeps herself off the grid better than some of you. Everything about her is curated, down to the colour of nail polish on her toes. She’s quite the mystery.”

Natasha crossed her arms, jaw clenched. “She’s a shield.”

“And ironically, the most effective one Vasiliev’s got.” 

“She’s not just defending him. She’s enabling him.” Natasha exclaims, getting more hysterical. “She’s giving them all a chance. She’s giving them all hope! Most wanted on Interpol? No problem because legally blonde here will get you picking trash on a highway for 6 months before you can go and steal another kid off the street to turn into the next doped up Captain America.”

Silence followed, nobody quite sure what move to make next. “So, what do we do?” Sam questions. “Let her play lawyer and him walk free?”

“No.” Maria said, firm. “We play this by the book. Yes, it will be hard but we cannot let him walk. Let’s keep our ground clean but efficient. He’ll slip up, they always do.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Natasha’s question is pointedly ignored. “How does she do this? She doesn’t even flinch. How do you sleep at night when you’re defending these monsters?”

Wanda’s voice was quiet, almost empathetic. “Maybe she doesn’t.”

Tony, meanwhile, kept scrolling the tablet. “Huh?”

Steve looked over, already advancing on Tony. “What is it?”

“Check this out. Federal database says she clerked for a Supreme Court justice but the file is sealed. Then nothing for years. There’s no trace of her. It’s like she didn’t exist.”

“That’s not standard, especially for government work.” Maria frowns.

“Exactly.” Tony said. “She’s hiding something.”

“They always are.” 

“But someone with the rep that she has would be smarter. Fake papers and silly narratives would be all over this. She’s just happy to be a question mark to anyone who looks a little deeper.”

“That’s confidence…”

Sam couldn’t help the smirk on his face. “Damn right she’s confident, did you see her in that suit?!”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Avengers Secondary Holding Facility, Upstate New York

March 12, 2022

The sterile white walls of the interrogation wing gleamed cold under harsh fluorescent lights. Sienna stood there, armed crossed, head held high and impeccably composed. Her slate grey suit was pressed sharp but her presence was sharper. Maria approached her, a thick folder in her arms and flanked by none other than Natasha.

“Commander Hill, Agent Romanoff.” Sienna nods, respectfully.

“Ms. Blake.” Maria acknowledges back formally, handing over the file. “This contains the formal charges filed against Maksim Vasiliev earlier this morning.”

Sienna’s ringed fingers skimmed through the pages, scanning quickly. 

“Let me be clear.” Maria continued. “These charges include human experimentation, torture, unlawful detainment, numerous violations of interaction treaties post-HYDRA and human-trafficking. The United Nations tribunal expects this to proceed swiftly.”

Sienna looks up, voice cool and calm. “I’m aware of the charges.”

Natasha’s posture shifted, rigid with anger.

“Interrogation is scheduled to begin within the hour.” Maria supplies, exchanging a glance with Natasha.

“No interrogation will be taking place until I’ve had the chance to go through the charges with my client.” Sienna almost commands. “I have requested a full psychiatric evaluation also. He will be evaluated for mental competency before any questioning.” Natasha’s jaw twitches. “I do hope you’ve received my motion filing.”

Maria nods. “We have received your motion to suppress any interrogation conducted prior to your arrival.”

Sienna smiled, not politely but professionally. “Correct, that motion still stands. Any statements obtained before my involvement will be considered inadmissible. That includes any comments made by Agent Romanoff or my client during travel to the holding facility.” Her eyes shifted to Natasha, who was glaring right through her

Natasha can’t help herself as her speaks, her voice low and venomous. “You’re protecting a monster.”

“I’m protecting the integrity of this process.” Sienna’s voice was too rehearsed, like she’d argued this one hundred times over. “If you want justice, you follow the law. You don’t get to rewrite the rules because it’s convenient to you.”

“Convenient?” The agent clenched her fists. “He’s killed hundreds, maybe thousands. You really think he deserves the benefit of the doubt?”

“It’s not what about they deserve, it’s about the right.” Sienna’s tone was absolute, unyielding. “Because if we allow these exceptions, then what separates us from the monsters we fight?”

Natasha took a breath, trying to keep herself in control. “I didn’t become who I am by giving monsters fair trials.”

“And yet here we are.” Sienna replies, still frustratingly calm. “If you’re so eager to condemn him then I suggest you prove it in court and wait for the verdict. Until then, I’d appreciate you respecting what’s right and following the law.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“No, I don’t expect too. I do, however, expect to win.”

“It’s not about winning, it’s about keeping the world safe from these kinds of people.”

“I would agree but what protects the world from injustice? The ‘Avengers’?”

Maria finally interjects, tone businesslike. “The tribunal respects your legal rights, Ms Blake but time is against us. When the evaluation is complete, we expect cooperation.”

Sienna nodded once. “I’ll cooperate, within the bounds of the law.”

Natasha couldn’t hear anymore, muttering in Russian as she stormed from the room. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Sienna.” Maria speaks, watching Natasha go. “A very dangerous one.”

[espinosaurusrexex]

Remember Me

WinterSoldier!BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader

summary: After a fight against the most notorious Hydra agent of all, Steve and you discover that your assumed diseased friend Bucky is still alive. Old wounds resurface as you are confronted with the grappling reality that you have lived vastly different lives for the past 70 years. Will he remember your shared history? And most importantly: does he still feel the same?

word count: 3.1k

a/n: Just a short piece that I managed to finish. I know it's not a lot, but I hope you enjoy anyway 💕

warnings: a bunch of fluff and angst, mentions of war, mentions of sexism, swearing, Bucky is really broken in this one, happy ending (:

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Proceed with caution, unidentified shooter on bridge. I repeat: unidentified shooter. It is not clear what the motive is. Take cover and shoot on sight.”

“Dispatch, this is Captain America - we’ll take it from here.”

“With all due respect, Cap, I will keep my men on site to keep your cover.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Least I can do for you, sir.”

“Stop chatting it up with the police and do your job, Rogers.”

“Alright, alright.”

You chuckled and turned to Tony. “How long are we out?”

“Three minutes, 46 seconds.” 

“You gonna survive that long, Stevie?”

“That guy’s got a good aim on him, gotta give him that.”

Muffled noises pushed through your earpiece before you stepped into the back of the Quinjet to gear up. 

“Can’t let him do anything. It’s one guy they’re fighting... one.”

“Yeah, one Hydra-trained assassin who’s apparently immortal and got more deaths on his record than Romanoff.”

You huffed as the meeting recollected in your mind. The Winter Soldier had been the newest pain in the Avenger’s asses ever since you discovered that Hydra was still operating in the shadows of S.H.I.E.L.D. 

“They’re just making a show out of everything, huh?” 

You strapped your gloves over your wrists and watched as Tony chuckled in the pilot seat. You and him had become good friends over the past few years. Ever since you and Steve had been discovered in the frozen airship of what you had thought to be your last mission about 70 years ago, you and Captain America had woken up in a vastly different world. One through which Howard’s son, Tony, gladly guided you. 

Both you and Steve were overwhelmed by the amount of changes the world had endured while you had soundly served your time as human popsicles, though Captain America seemed to struggle a little more with 21st-century technology and norms. 

It was fine, Steve had always been a little old-fashioned, even back in the day. You for one were delighted to learn about all the opportunities the world had to offer for women and other people who couldn’t have dreamed of any in the 40s. Because while Steve was celebrated for being the face of hope for the American people, you were still dodging snide comments doubting your place in the Army. And while you tried not to let anyone see the toll it took on you, it was the reason for enough nights you spent with Peggy sharing stories over a bottle of wine. 

You both decided the important men in your life should never find out. Though, of course, your not-so-secret didn’t stay hidden from Bucky for long. Which was one of the reasons you had jumped on that plane with Steve. Even when Bucky was already dead. Even when Steve was still oblivious. You constantly needed to prove yourself. But this one time, it had actually changed something – well, time had. 

You shook your head free of that thought and walked towards the cargo hatch. Tony had landed the Quinjet – it was go time. 

“Ready?”

“That guy won’t know what happened to him when we’re done with him.”

“Let’s rock his world, then,” Tony winked before his helmet closed and he flew out of the jet. You were close behind him, running the short distance from the ramp to the bridge from which you swung yourself off with a grappling hook. 

“What’s the status?”

“I’ve been shot.”

“I’ve got it, Bearcat check on Steve. He looks ridiculously helpless.”

“Roger that,” you sprinted towards the two fighting men on the street, as the Winter soldier threw Steve to the ground, his shield nowhere to be seen. 

“Okay, my turn.” You stepped in front of him, analyzing his movements, and dodging punches, trying to get some in yourself. 

“Oh come on, that’s not fair.” You huffed when he took a knife out of your leg holster and almost acrobatically threw it over your head just to graze your cheek with the blade. 

He had knocked off your guns at this point, leaving you with choking wire and some smaller daggers in your jacket. When he turned the right angle, you jumped his shoulders and locked your thighs around his neck, kicking the knife out of his hand and watching as he ripped your choking wire in half. Damn.

“Now, that’s not nice.” You threw the torn metal to the side as The winter soldier struggled to get you off him. A look to Steve told you he had a new plan, and with a short nod, you signaled your understanding to him. 

“But if you wanna be like that...” Steve threw you his shield and in a swift motion you managed to drag it over the soldier's head. He pushed his metal arm forward just in time, though your hit had already knocked the mask off his face. 

When the shield came down, you heard Steve’s footsteps halt next to you, the world going quiet. 

Your stomach churned when you watched blue eyes twitch between the dark smudges. Familiar and oh-so strange at the same time. 

“Bucky?” Steve stammered, and at the sound of his name, goosebumps rippled over your skin. 

The Winter Soldier’s look darkened before he reached for a gun. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

From then on, the day seemed like a blur. You remembered Sam knocking Bucky down and the lot of you flying back to the compound on standby. Steve was functioning a lot better than you were, considering the man you thought to be dead for over 70 years was currently handcuffed to a handrail on your jet. 

James “Bucky” fucking Barnes. Captain America’s best friend, founding member of the howling commandos, infamous war hero apparently turned assassin, and the man who stole your heart somewhere along the way. 

You dared a glance at the chained-up, unconscious brunette in the corner as Steve sat down next to you, a calming hand squeezing your shoulder. 

“Can I get you anything?”

You ignored him. “How are you not freaking out?” You whispered through glassy eyes instead. 

Steve’s expression softened when he pulled you into his chest, his other hand pressing your head further into him. His heart was hammering beneath his ribcage, his fingers cold to the touch. 

“I am. Just trying to be a captain.” His voice was strained when he mumbled into your hair. 

You just nodded in understanding, finding comfort in the fact you weren’t the only one feeling this way. 

❁ ❁ ❁

You watched him through the glass of the interrogation room with your arms crossed before your chest. Buck was sitting at the table, his head hung low, his dark hair falling in wet stands into his face. He didn’t move a muscle. For half an eternity, he stared at the table his wrists were chained to, almost statue-like. But when he finally looked up, you could see the confusion and nervousness in his ocean-blue eyes. 

They had given him time to recover, to shower, and feel like a human again. They forced him into normal clothes and offered him a bed to sleep. But it wasn’t enough. The man you were looking at was terrified and lost - exhausted and overwhelmed. 

Bucky visibly tensed when the door opened and Steve stepped into his sight. They spent the next hour reconstructing his past. Steve told him how he had ended up in the 21st century and by the end of their conversations, the tension was a lot less static.

“She’s alive,” Bucky stated and tore his eyes away from Steve to look at the one-way glass.

“She’s a tough one. Survived the crash without super soldier serum and came out of the ice just as unharmed as I did.” 

“What are the odds?” Bucky chuckled bitterly. “What are the fucking odds we all end up together again?” 

Steve only gifted his friend a sympathetic smile along with a squeeze to his shoulder. “Take it as a chance.”

“Feels like a punishment.” 

They were locking eyes and even though you were watching the interaction from the outside, you could feel the atmosphere turn somber. The men were staring at each other in silence for a while, though you knew there was an entire discussion happening in their eyes.

“Does she... does she want to see me?” Bucky’s voice was hesitant and broken. And you couldn’t help but somehow imagine a different question nestled in his words. 

You almost had to stop yourself from touching the glass with your hands, wanting to tell him that you were already seeing him - really seeing him. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Steve stood and with a last smile to Bucky, he exited the room. 

This was it. The door was open. The love of your life sitting only a few feet from it. Though it seemed like he was trapped inside another’s body. 

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Steve murmured as he stood in the doorway looking at you by the window. And you just nodded, trying to suppress your pulse rushing in your ears. 

“Thanks.” It was only a whisper. You weren’t used to your voice being this small. And Steve didn’t seem so either. He was looking at you with sad eyes, fists clenched by his sides. There was nothing he could do to make you feel better. Not this time. And he seemed to know so. With one last tight smile, he sent a short nod your way and then left. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky didn’t look at you when you finally built up the courage to step inside his room. He was much bigger than you remembered. Thick muscles adorned his arms and shoulders. Shaggy, longer hair fell from his head and over his scrunched brows. His left arm was entirely of metal, a red star reminding him who had taken claim to him several decades ago. 

If you hadn’t known, the man before you had almost no resemblance to the soldier you loved in 1941. He had been lean and full of life. He was broken now. And you were terrified someone had taken the very thing from him that would keep him from becoming himself again. 

Without a word you approached Bucky, cupped his hands with yours, and undid the restraints that tied him to the table. And this was the first time he looked at you. Really looked at you. Bucky’s piercing blue stare was full of awe and sorrow, a deep pain etched beneath the grey flecks within the vibrant color. 

You sat down beside him. 

“Hey.” Your voice was shaky, dragging a long silence in its wake that only made your heart beat faster. 

“Hello,” Bucky finally whispered, breaking the spell. His voice was a raw timbre, like a long-forgotten melody. And so much more tangible now that you weren’t listening to it through a speaker. 

But that was it. Neither of you spoke afterward. 

There was so much that could have been said, so much that could have been exchanged, known, explored about the other. And yet it didn’t feel like any of the words known to you were enough to break the static tension in the room. You were just looking at Bucky, scanning every part of his body like it was a flash card for the most important test of your life. 

So, here you were: With the opportunity of a lifetime right at your fingertips and the confidence of a kicked puppy settled deep in your wounded soul. The person you had known for the longest looked so timid as if he were looking at a stranger. Not that he had ever been shy about strangers back in the day. But this was different. This was strange and beautiful, and scary, and exciting. No book in the world held the answers as to what to do in this situation. 

And the solution was so easy: you just had to say something. So why didn’t your damn mouth open?

The speaker above your heads crackled and then Tony’s voice rang through the room. And for the first time in what felt like hours, a tiny bit of the weight on your shoulders lifted with it. “Bearcat, If you don’t open your mouth and put the guy out of his misery in 5 seconds, I’ll personally mediate this incredibly static confrontation.”

You rolled your eyes and then glared at the mirror, knowing full well Tony was watching you despite your asking him to leave. You mouthed a ‘shut it’ towards the glass and then turned in shock when a familiar voice rose from the silence.”

“Bearcat?”

You stared at Bucky with soft eyes. There was an innocence in the way he slowly guided this conversation - almost like he’d always had. It was an easy question, a nice entry to the heavier stuff that was bound to be discussed. 

And just as you began to explain, it dawned on you how much you had missed about each other. How differently your life could have been if it weren’t for the cruel turn of fate.

“When Steve and I were discovered, S.H.I.E.L.D. was our home for a long time. They tried to put us in apartments, even set us up with chaperones to guide us through the new century.” Bucky looked intrigued, even leaning forth as he listened intently. You wondered if he ever realized how much time had passed when he was the winter soldier... if anyone ever cared to tell him. “But it wasn’t until I met Natasha that I felt like I had arrived. She showed me so many things and trained with me until I became an agent here. Howard’s son came up with the nickname. He reminds me of him.” You smiled and shook your head “He’s a pain in my ass but a genius that can be genuinely helpful even though I don’t want to admit it at times. I haven’t grasped the explanation fully, but apparently, my fast learning and efficiency when it came to fighting reminded him of one of those small powerful fighter jets that were finished just after the war.” You chuckled at the memory before your eyes found Becky’s again only to see pain all over his face. 

A silent tear rolled down his cheek and hit the floor before you could see it stain his skin. “I'm so sorry.” His voice was shaking, his body trying to make itself smaller but failing miserably with all the muscle surrounding it. He took up the room and your heart right along with it.

“Hey you have nothing to apologize for, you hear me.” You cradled his face and his hands instantly covered yours, only for his metal one to retract just as fast again. He was sorrowful and it made your heart ache. 

“You’ve been navigating through so much alone and this is yet another thing you had to do without me.” He confessed through his tears and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t changed within - always caring for everyone around him and never putting himself first.

“I’m fine. Was then and am now.” You ensured him. “If you want to worry about someone, take Steve. He’s a lot more overwhelmed than I am.” Bucky chuckled through his tears, a deep seriousness settling in his eyes. “If anything, I’m sorry we didn’t save you sooner.”

He shook his head. “You couldn’t have known.” And there it was: a glimpse of the loving, caring, charming man you’d known so many years ago. A small smile snuck onto your face at the revelation and a spark of hope shot through your body. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” you confessed, "We never had the time to actually be just us. To live all the dreams we shared back then.” 

Bucky's eyes were full of sorrow before he closed them and pressed his forehead to yours. “I wish I could say I missed you,” he whispered and slung his arm around you, “But I didn’t remember.”

“And that’s not your fault, you hear me.” Your hand stroked over his damp hair, pulling it back and making Bucky look at you again. “None of this is your fault. Don’t you ever doubt yourself. What happened to you is horrible. And I vow to kill every single person responsible for keeping us apart for this long. But not once will anyone ever consider this your fault.”

Bucky averted his eyes and turned his head but you were quick to catch his face with your hand. “Promise me you won’t beat yourself up. Please. That’s all I ask of you. Let Steve and me handle the rest and focus on becoming comfortable in your skin again. I can’t wait to meet the man you can become.”

“You don’t want to know me, doll. Not anymore. Even if it wasn’t my fault, it changed me. I’m not the man you-“ he stopped talking as you watched regret flash over his features. “I don’t think I can give you what you deserve.”

“I don’t care what I deserve, Bucky. I want you. I always have and that won’t change because some bullies tried to brainwash you. The very fact that we are here talking like this shows how much stronger you are than them. How the good in you never wavered.”

“But I can’t even trust myself. How can I expect you to do so of me?”

You cradled his head harsher as you felt your own tears roll down your cheek. “All I need is for you to try and trust me. We’ll figure this out... like we always do.”

Bucky’s flesh hand had fallen to your thigh, a soft thumb stroking over your leg and he watched the movement in awe. You didn’t know how long it had been since he had last felt comfort but you were determined to make up for all the lost time. With the wild beating of your heart, you took his metal hand and laved your fingers with his, watching as Bucky’s eyes glued to your smaller hand in his. There was no fear of what could happen, no aversion towards the alien element attached to his body. And then, finally, he encased your hand with his silver fingers. 

Your other hand still stroked his cheek and you waited until he caught your gaze again. And once he did, you did not hesitate to slowly push your lips to his. 

Just a short, sweet kiss. One that held more words than you could ever say. And then you waited. What for? Maybe a rejection, the shake of his head, or the sheer confidence with which he used to kiss you decades back. 

Bucky’s breaths were shaky, his hands still touching you and sending softly timid comfort through your body. He held your gaze for a second... and then, he finally kissed you back. 

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[kedreeva]

After a month-long fight, Artemis' system finally threw in the towel. We put her to sleep this morning.

I am crushed, and I don't really know what else to say.

She started slowing down shortly after her last suprelorin implant, and the xrays showed something, a weird shadow or cross-peritoneal sac encompassing her heart and liver, but none of the three avian vets who saw it could interpret what it actually was or what to do about it. We started her on some painkillers and antibiotics, and tube feeding liquid chow so she would not lose condition if she was not feeling well. We changed up antibiotics, we gave her an antiemetic for nausea, we tried different pain meds...

For a little while, she seemed to be improving. Whatever it was, it wasn't as visible on the next xrays, and her bloodwork looked better. She was moving around more and sleeping less (she'd been sleeping all day at the start), she could get up and down to the big perch on her own.

And then last night, her crop was a little squishy when I gave her her evening meds. I hoped that it was just that she'd finally eaten a good meal before bed, but when I came out today to give her morning meds, the blueberries from the evening before were still in her crop. That's NOT good. Her urates were also stained yellow. I called the vet and got an emergency appt, but I knew before I left that I would probably have to make the call to end it. I gave her a little time out in the sunshine and grass while I got the car ready, and then we drove down. She sat quietly, and didn't complain during the exam, but ultimately the radiograph showed the problem was still present, and her kidneys were shining bright. Her GI tract had slowed to a stop, her heartbeat was slowed way down, and her urates were showing crystals.

So, I said my goodbyes, and the vet did as well. Everyone was fond of Artemis- she was always well behaved and sweet to everyone she ever met. She loved people, she loved cuddles. She was only 6. I knew she wasn't going to make it a full, normal lifespan, not with everything that was wrong from the get go, but I had hoped for a few more years. I got a few more than she'd have gotten with anyone else. It's never enough.

Artemis was my favorite, from the moment she hatched. She was never mean- not to humans, not to other birds. She is the ONLY bird I've ever owned that was like that. She loved Stan from the moment she met him, and tolerated his weird social habits to the end of his days. They were ALWAYS together, always sitting in the sun together, always following one another. I'm honestly not surprised she followed him to death- there are so many anecdotes from keepers who have birds that spend weeks, even months, grieving after losing a close flock mate. It wouldn't surprise me at all to find Artemis had been holding onto life with both hands for Stan, and with his passing she gave up.

I am going to miss painting with her so much. I have her first painting, and her last, in my bedroom, and I'm really glad I didn't let that last one go yet.

I don't really know what else to say, besides that she was my heart. I loved her, and I hate that she's gone. There will never, ever be another lady like her.

Sleep sweet, lovely. I'll miss you til the end of my days, and I look forward to joining you at the meadow when that comes.

[remxedmoon]

do you think you could explain how you do your shading/rendering :o? i'm so curious (specifically with the binary brush, if it makes any difference in how you do it)

hey hey! thankyou for the question!!! i’ll admit i’m not very good at explaining things (like. at all) but! tried my best 👍 (also super sorry anon this ask is from months ago. if i didn’t respond to your ask it’s probably just been sitting in my drafts taunting me for months)

^ this is what i do most of the time when drawing characters! generally i use rounder shapes while blocking out shadows, and you can do as many layers of this as you want! i generally don’t do highlights unless im shading darker colors (like the party’s black hair or isabeau’s sweater). i also usually shade the top half of the face! because it looks nice to me :3

^ aaaa idk how well i’m explaining this?? this is just something i Do, i didn’t really pick it up from anywhere (i mean. i didn’t pick up the hatching from anywhere either but yknow). with things like mirabelle’s hair, i do this process, but block in the highlights instead of the shadows. if you want a better example, here’s some of the rare process pics i have from a drawing i finished recently

also! going to answer an ask from. october. that’s somewhat related to this? just because i know i’ll never get to it otherwise

so i’ve genuinely been spending months trying to figure out how to answer this and the short answer is: yes absolutely you are allowed to take inspiration from my art style oh my god thank you so much and also: i can’t give tips here i’m so sorry.

i don’t really. know?? what my thought process is?? i’ve been drawing for so long that i rely more on muscle memory and what “feels right” to me. i didn’t really choose my art style, i just stumbled on it by accident. i wish you luck though, thankyou so much again!!!

(ALSO IM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME 3 MONTHS TO RESPOND TO THIS ANON)

thankyou for all the compliments, hope this helps a little!!!

[sexisbetteronthemoon]

Keith LOOKS like he’d be a freak who only orders black coffee, lance thinks it’s disgusting. BUT may I suggest Keith having the biggest sweet tooth? Like Hunk made jelly donuts, turns around, any mysteriously four are gone, and Keith is skedaddling out of the kitchen with a plate

lol you can suggest anything you want! :)

i don't see him as a sweets guy, but! i do see him as a guy who will eat literally anything and everything he can get his hands on, regardless of whether or not he likes it or if it's bad for him.

my hc is that after his dad died, Keith grew up food insecure until Shiro came along. so when presented with food, he ate it even if he didn't like it.

so, if he's hungry, and he sees jelly donuts? down the hatch. chew quickly and swallow.

milk slightly past its expiration date? smells funky but no visible lumps. don't breathe and down the hatch.

bread with mold? pick it off and eat it.

and while this should mean he constantly gets food poisoning, i think his galra side has saved his ass countless times and only given him indigestion.

then there's the other things. things Lance notices once he starts paying attention.

Keith eats like he's being chased. he tends to inhale his food, barely savoring it. he keeps one arm on the table, nearly hugging his plate to himself, and he hunches over like he's hiding it.

Lance doesn't ask about it.

Lance cooks different things, and he watches.

he cooks sweet, sour, savory, bitter etc and he takes note on what Keith slows down for. he cooks more of that. he cooks less of other things that Keith doesn't pause to briefly savor. he also makes sure to stock up on things Keith likes, putting his own things further into cabinets so Keith reaches for what's in front first.

the day it takes Keith more than five minutes to clear a plate nearly makes him cry.

but Keith still eats too fast.

Lance decides to take a more hands-on approach to see if he can slow Keith down.

so one day, he serves a single plate of finger foods and sits on Keith's lap.

Keith stares at him, intrigued. he knows something is coming, and he's excited about it, but he probably can't guess what Lance means to do.

and when Lance starts feeding him a bite at a time, spacing them with kisses and sweet words, Keith still doesn't get the point of the game. he starts to think this is a reward and not a game at all. he doesn't know what he did tho. he decides he'll ask later what he's being rewarded for.

distracted by Lance and Lance's kisses, it takes Keith nearly half an hour to finish his food. and when he's done, Lance says, “Good boy.”

that gives Keith pause and a boner.

it was a game, not a reward. Lance only calls him a good boy when they're playing. tho it hadn't felt like a game. what had Lance been testing?

he doesn't ask. it's more fun to him when he doesn't know the rules of the game. figuring them out is part of the fun.

Lance does this more and more, and Keith isn't complaining a whit. then, after a week, Lance sits beside him and not in his lap. Keith misses him, but they're holding hands, and he still gets kisses between bites.

after another week, Lance has Keith feed himself, and makes sure to give him kisses between bites.

Keith notices that Lance tends to squeeze his hand during the kiss.

he doesn't think anything of it.

the next week, Lance doesn't kiss him, but Keith finds he takes a little longer to finish his food than usual.

the next week is the same, and this time, he notices that Lance is squeezing his hand between eat bite, making him pause to chew more thoroughly before he tries for the next bite.

Keith puts down his fork and glances over.

“did you pavlov me?” he asks.

“yes,” Lance says, not even trying to deny it.

“why?” Keith asks, baffled.

“to make you slow down.  how's your stomach lately?”

and Keith thinks about it. he has been getting less indigestion.

he leans over and kisses Lance.

“thanks, beautiful,” he says, and Lance gives him a kiss for that too.

[sinizade]

B'ella, the Pale Child (Dark Urges Redeemed)

Class: Warlock (Barbarian subclass)

Romance: Bae'Zel

Besties: Scratch / Owlbear / Wyll / Gale / Karlach

One extra egg among all those eggs wouldn't make a difference, nor would they complain about having two extra hands to fight for the "glory" of their queen. This way, the hatching of this egg surprised the elders of that Creche a little, a child as pale as the moon and with eyes as red as blood that possessed a fury worthy of a demon, certainly that child had something inside it, but the Githyanki wouldn't get rid of a healthy child just because of surpestitions based on one of the babies' appearance... But should they?

B'ella was obedient, precise, deadly, her teachers could see and feel the almost insane pleasure she felt every time she beat her opponents in training, every time she made them bleed and beg... Something so... Sadistic... Even for a Githyanki child, it was unusual to have such an appreciation for death and the ways of killing, but then again, they weren't going to get rid of such a dedicated and useful fighter like her just out of superstition.

Her adulthood was only accompanied by an insatiable hunger, B'ella could have had her uses in combat, an animal, a monster, but when her abilities began to affect other Githyanki they finally realized that having her there was no longer safe or suitable for Creche, so in a clear desperate act they tried to contain B'ella, they tried to tame the monster inside her... The Slayer, but that obviously didn't go as they expected and her sadistic, cruel and psychotic fury spread to everyone in that Creche. Every teacher, every warrior, doctor, student, child, egg, all murdered, torn apart in a bloody dance that spread throughout each hall and that was when she heard a voice, a small creature that praised her... A praise that she never found she was going to receive, told her that there was a place where she could be who she really was, where she could know what it was like to have a family that truly admired her for what she did...

That male human, that Enver Gortash, intelligent man. Tasting Gortash, subduing him to her whims was satisfying, but her devotion was only to her creator, to her god, to her father, Bhaal... But everything had been thrown into the trash with the betrayal of that insolent child, that damned and jealous changeling who took her rightful place.

Waking up on a ghaik ship with no memories left her disconcerted, but her focus now was to get out of there and return to her people and achieve purification. Having someone as adept in battle as Lae'Zel made it easier since the rest of her companions with the exception of Karlach left the pale gith with disgust in her mouth regarding combat.

It wasn't so bad being around that bunch of big noses, they entertained her, they seemed to care about her dark desires, not just for them, but also for her? This was new, not even she remembered the last time she received any kind of help (literally)

Lae'Zel... Zhak vo'n'fynh duj... B'ella could barely understand what she felt, she could barely know what she felt, she didn't know or remember that feeling, but with Lae'Zel everything was clear. .. She was her world, her sword, her flame, the source of her joy...

Finding out that she wasn't a child of Gith broke her, even if she managed to hide it well, it destroyed her completely inside, knowing that the years she spent in her Creche, that her "egg", that her life, was a fake life designed by her "father". That wasn't for her, even if it once had been, now it wasn't... B'ella would no longer be a Bhaalspawn, now she would be a child of Gith and follow Orpheus and her beloved Lae'zel into battle against Vlaakith's tyranny

Some extra information about B'ella

Her memory was "reset" to her times at Creche as soon as she lost her memories, before her dark impulses took over.

She has a strange habit of keeping a lock of her enemies' hair for no reason, she just likes to have a memory of good battles, but when the enemy wasn't good enough she just crushes its head (She has a lock of hair with her from the hair of Minthara/ Ketheric/ Raphael)

Even though she appears to be reserved and cold, B'ella is considered TOO romantic when she is with Lae'Zel and only Lae'Zel, only her source of joy can see B'ella that way

[azuhrasims]

A Little Mod Showcase

Mods created by @janesimsten and @littlbowbub that add flavor to old fashioned game play. You should check out both of these awesome creators though, they have more mods than I'm showing you here!

Archery Skill by JaneSimsten. This mod comes with multiple bow options, three different target ranges, and options to compete with your fellow sims. Kids can practice their bow skills too.Also, its a 10 level skill! This is just a fun flavor to add to any country living save.

Of course if you are into archery, maybe your sims also want to go hunting? You can do that with:

Marksmanship Skill by JaneSimsten. This mod brings your sims rifles, pistols, and 3 different lengths of shooting range to practice their marksmanship. For funsies, you can also get into duels with other sims with this 10 level skill.

The cool part for archery though? This one comes with a hunting spot that works with both guns and bows! Once you reach skill level 3, you can start the hunt. Hunt for multiple critters. These animals actually show up in your inventory and your sim can place them in the world if you need something a little more gruesome for your story telling. That said, you don't actually see any animals killed with this mod - a shot is fired and an animal appears in your inventory.

If you want to use these animals that you've hunted for meat, you can do that with:

Medieval Cookbook by Littlbowbub. This one is so much more than a cookbook - but I will always stand by Jess's recipes and craftsmanship. If you have the medieval cookbook mod installed, you can click on the animal you've hunted and carve it for meat that can be used for cooking.

If you don't want to deal with hunting by marksmanship or archery, the medieval mod has a nifty sign post that comes with it that allows you to do SO MANY rabbit hole activities! Really. You can go to a rabbit hole for fishing, hunting, gathering herbs and plants - which LBB has added some custom herbs for cooking that can be gathered!

You can also go search for firewood, which you want to keep in mind if you get the add-on for this mod that requires firewood for all fireplaces and fire places to light them. You can also download a couple of fun options for custom cooking fireplaces. Using the actual cookbook then, find a variety of medieval dishes to pick from!

Going for hard mode in your sims game? Install this mod with LBB's Homestead Helper and related homesteading mods to be forced to make very part of every food item your sims want to consume.

The Functional Spinning Wheel by JaneSimsten. The spinning wheel looks awesome and the animation is flawless. You get the option to spin thread or pull yarn. With this mod installed, that thread and yarn are required for knitting and cross stitch. Fun side note, if you play as a spell caster, they can cast a spinning wheel curse on a newborn like Sleeping Beauty and isn't that just the neatest thing?

Rideable Dragons by JaneSimsten. Guys, I was not prepared for this little fire starting, flying lizard to amuse me so much. You purchase the egg and hatch the dragon yourself. They start out as manageable smallish sized child dragons and grow up into great big dragons. The dragons have behaviors attached to them like Cottage Living animals, so you can pet them, clean them, feed them, give them gifts. They stay in one spot and do not move around on the ground though. That;s a good thing, Until you train them not to start fires, these guys are hazardous to your lot!

This comes with a 10 level Dragon Rider skill. At level 5 you can begin to take your adult dragons for flights. Its fun. Watch them in Tab mode if you really want to see how far your dragon and riders are going.

Climbeable Tree by JaneSimsten. This one is a little thing that is lovely for screenshots. It will take your sims a few tries to learn how to climb the tree the first time. It appears to be related to the fitness skill though.

Blacksmithing Skill by Jane Simsten. This one is cool. The blacksmithing skill is another 10 level skill. You mine the ore you need to craft from rocks that come as part of the mod (their in the rock category in landscaping!) Then you make that ore into ingots. The ingots can be made into swords, maces, pole arms, sword racks, suits of armor, and more! This would make for an awesome way to make that medieval weapons shop that every town needs. It takes some serious time and effort to get started though!

Lute Skill by Jane Simsten. Its a lute, with custom lute noises! 10 level skill, options to write and license songs and romance other sims are here. Our bards can have lutes!

Playable Harp Skill by Jane Simsten. Guys, the animations and the custom sounds on this are so lovely. I feel like I've stepped into a lovely wonderland when my sims are playing the harp. It just feels magical. 10 level skill.

There are more and I may get to them in the future, but this is what I played with today and it was lovely. Thanks to Jane and Jess for all of their hard work to make our games more magical!

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part i)

a/n: I suppose this series will be a short one, 4 parts maybe? I just love Claere so much - she's my little unhinged weirdo :')

It was a rather secluded and quiet affair, the marriage between Claere Velaryon and Cregan Stark. There were no great halls crammed with noble witnesses, no bright banners flying high to announce the union of two ancient houses—only the low rustles of the breeze through the pines and the crackle of a distant hearth as the vows were uttered.

The ceremony took place beneath the watchful eyes of the old gods. The holy weirwood tree loomed with its gnarled white bark, etched with time, and ruby leaves swished in the cold Northern breeze. Claere, a priceless dream draped in rare emeralds, silver silks, and white furs akin to seafoam—a nod to her Velaryon heritage—eclipsed against the stark landscape of Winterfell. She made up for the glitz and grandeur that this lifeless gathering lacked.

Cregan Stark, silent and relentless, took her freezing hand with the kind of sworn resilience that marked Northern might—his bold grey eyes sceptical of the bride before him. Though the match had been arranged by the Sea Snake, the union between them was regarded as special—one for the histories. Theirs was not a marriage forged in the fires of splendour but in the subtle rendition of what they each represented: a union between sea and snow, Velaryon and Stark.

No songs were sung, and no cheers erupted, but in that stillness, something more meaningful lingered.

Cregan was first informed of Rhaenyra's second child and only daughter as if she were a fleeting nymph from a fairytale, a cold mystery whispered from beyond the Wall. "She is adrift in dreams," his maester had told him. Claere Velaryon possessed all of her mother’s fabled graces—from her haunting violet eyes and white-gold hair to the sharp, aquiline features that marked her as pure Valyrian. Her skin, fair and translucent as glass, only furthered the ghostly aura that surrounded her.

If summer snow had ever reincarnated in his time, it would have been Claere Velaryon. The rumours spoke of a 'beautiful freak', chiselled like an ice sculpture, who sang like the sweetest lark, whose fingers danced effortlessly over the harp, filling halls with melodies as delicate as her presence. She was drawn more to solitude and the quiet company of the stars than to her brothers, most of her nights spent soaring high above the world on her silvery dragon, Luna—hatched in her cradle and enormous beyond her years.

The whispers had reached him long before he’d ever seen her. She doesn't eat food, prefers the taste of human flesh and blood, they had said, each rumour darker than the last. She once tried to stab her uncle in the heart. She dabbles in blood magic with that wretched dragon of hers. Some claimed her visions could only divine the worst of futures, and that she would cut herself to the bone just to understand pain. It was said everything she touched withered into the gloom.

Cregan swallowed against the rising dread. He had been pragmatic in agreeing to this union, believing the support of the ancient Targaryens would strengthen the North. Yet now, as he stood face to face with the girl cloaked in a bizarre silence, he wondered if he had invited his own destruction. The North had weathered many storms, but this... this felt different. He had faced wildlings, dire winters, wars, and beasts, but Claere Velaryon might be his greatest unknown yet.

Perhaps this alliance, this bond forged for power, would be his ultimate undoing. The Sea Snake must’ve played him for a fool, tying him to a sorceress masked as a Valyrian princess.

As if her touch had stung him, Cregan recoiled and returned his hands to his sides, a flicker of unease settling beneath his skin. The girl’s violet eyes stayed distant at his reaction, focused on some invisible realm beyond the godswood, oblivious to the accusations that swirled around her name like storm clouds. Never meeting anyone’s gaze, she stood perfectly still, frigid as the legends surrounding her, the direwolf sigil on his chest holding her attention.

When the quiet ceremony was over and it was time for goodbyes, the weight of the moment settled heavily on them all. Soft whispers filled the air as hands were clasped, and final glances exchanged. The warmth of shared vows had already begun to fade whilst the mother and daughter, her three brothers and their grandsire traded farewells. Cregan wavered close by, observing his new wife's interactions.

No one cried except the youngest brother, Joffrey, who had refused to let go of the princess. Everyone around her, her own kin, had kept their distance in approaching her.

"Who'll sing to me now, Claerie? The moon song?" Her little brother wept, shedding his tears into her fair silk gown.

Claere’s eyes moved from her tear-streaked brother to the rest of her family. Her voice was glacial, her expression more bored than curious.

"Why does he cry?"

A brief pause passed between the lot of them.

"Because he... we will miss you, sister. We might not see each other for a long time." It was young Lucerys who eventually answered her, his tone painfully understanding. He must be the forbearing one among them.

"Then do not miss me," Claere said to them simply. "It is not my wish to cause you pain till then."

Her certainty unsettled them, a silent dismissal that left her words hovering unanswered. She seemed unaware, perhaps unconcerned, that her family could not comprehend her detachment.

"I love you, Claerie." He buried his face deeper into her gown, as if afraid she might vanish from his arms. Claere remained still as if brooking her brother's overflowing love.

There it was—a twitch in Claere’s blank eyes, a flicker of something almost human. She glanced down at Joffrey, and with visible reluctance, patted his head. The gesture was mechanical, lacking the warmth he sought. A moment later, Jace stepped forward, his hands firm as he pulled Joffrey away, his actions laced with an unspoken fear that any more time in her presence might invite something unwanted.

"Will you stay with me?" Claere asked them, though her voice, usually collected, wobbled just enough to betray the edge of apprehension.

"Not for long, my girl," Rhaenyra said to her, her smile strained, hiding some secret discomfort. "Your home is here now. You will grow to love this place and your husband. I am sure."

"A cage of stone and ice," she murmured, her gaze distant, as if already relinquished to the cold halls of her future.

Rhaenyra's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was unduly firm. "You speak too soon, Claere. You are a Velaryon and a Targaryen—power runs in your blood. You will learn your duty in time."

"And you'll have Luna on your side," Luke appeased her in vain. An unspeaking, fire-breathing beast for a companion. His tender heart did not hold a candle to his blind faith.

But Claere said nothing more, her expression as stony as ever. The distance between her and the life she was meant to embrace felt as vast as the sky beyond.

Cregan watched the exchange in silence, the chill in his chest deepening with each word. His worst fears were confirmed. Claere was a stranger, even to those who should have known her best. They spoke to her as if she were something fragile, something... unnatural.

A freak.

And now, she was his.

X

No one was more reluctant than Cregan to spend his first night with his new bride.

As far as obligations went, he had managed to ban the sickening tradition of a "bedding ceremony" from the occasion, much to the disappointment of some. The thought of parading the princess through a crowd of leering men felt like an abomination, yet even without that outlandish formality, he still felt the burden of duties and expectations ploughing down on him like an axe.

His familiar chambers felt chillier today, the fire crackling weakly in the hearth as Claere stood near the window, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. She was silent, as she had been throughout the feast, her face betraying little emotion. She refused to eat, revel in wine, or even speak. She had managed a quiet nod after well-wishes, sometimes pressing her lips tight to pass for a smile.

He recalled, with an involuntary tremble, the black rumours that had plagued him during the dinner. The mention of how his wife’s tastebuds were supposedly tempted not by the fine meats and ales of the North, but by the flesh of those who dared to covet a single glance from the Velaryon beauty. Fattened soldiers who sought her favour and found only their doom.

It was absurd, indeed. And yet, as he glanced at Claere, so still and detached by the firelight, Cregan couldn't shake the disturbing thought. What sort of woman had he brought into his home?

The distance between them felt more than just physical—it was as though she existed in another world entirely, one he had no access to. He didn't know what troubled him more: her silence, or the eerie calmness with which she met her fate.

As Cregan set down his ancestral sword and shrugged off his heavy fur cloaks, Claere moved to him with quiet resignation. Her fingers began to undo the delicate laces of her nightgown, her motions disconnected as if compelled by some unspoken assignment. The fabric slipped, gathering at her shoulders, poised to fall, when Cregan's voice broke the tense stillness.

"There is no need for that," he said sharply, cutting through the air between them, the words coming out quicker than he intended.

He stepped forward, his rough fingers gently, yet firmly, adjusting the cloth back over her bare skin. Every inch of paleness he touched was smoother than the silk she adorned, warmer than the ice-cold fingers he had held in the godswood.

Claere blinked, startled, her violet eyes searching his face for the first time that night. The vigour of that shade disarmed him for a moment before he looked away. Yes, she was his wife, but more than that, she was a mystery. And he was a man who distrusted what he could not comprehend.

"Rest. That is all for now," he added, softer now, the command awkward in his throat.

Claere scrutinized him still, her sharp gaze unrelenting as if she could unearth the truth behind his stoic mask. When she spoke, her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"Is there another you hold dear, my lord?"

He sighed, sinking into a cushioned seat by the hearth. "No," he replied, his tone careful, meeting her eyes with conscious composure. "And you?"

A strange smirk flickered across her face, the barest twitch of her lips. "Everything I hold dear gave me away like a pawn on a board."

Her words struck him like a blow, twisting his gut with an uncomfortable pang of pity. He allowed for her loneliness as if somehow, he was responsible for it. Yet, a strange foreboding hung in the air and kept his response locked in his throat.

Instead, he turned his gaze to the flames, fists clenching against the armrests as the fire danced and crackled, its warmth doing little to ease the cold knot of guilt growing in his chest.

"I understand you favour peace and quiet," he began carefully, his words lingering in the space between them. "But would you consider sitting with me tonight?"

Claere, staring at the shadows cast by the firelight, turned her gaze to him. Her eerie eyes, unnervingly calm, gave no indication of her thoughts. For a moment, he regretted speaking.

The pause stretched, and Cregan felt the silence chew at his nerves.

"Why?" she asked finally, her voice as undisturbed as it was empty, as though the idea of companionship was foreign.

He hesitated, searching for words. "I thought it might ease... the strangeness of the night." His eyes flickered to hers. "For both of us."

Claere’s lips barely moved as she gave a soft hum of acknowledgement. The stillness in her made him wonder if she felt anything at all, and a deeper anxiety stirred in him.

Without answering, she crossed the room, her movements as fluid and graceful as a phantom. She sat across from him, her gaze never leaving the flickering flames. Even now, such a short distance felt insurmountable.

"Ask away, my lord," she said quietly, reading into him deftly. "I do owe you many answers."

Cregan’s gaze faltered as Claere contested, and for a moment, the heat of the fire did nothing to chase away the chill crawling up his spine. Something was unnerving about the way she stared at him, something impenetrable, as if her pale eyes held some ancient secret he wasn’t meant to uncover.

"Do you hear them?" His voice was low, almost lost to the sound of the crackling wood. "The whispers about you."

Claere’s expression remained unchanged, her face as still as a porcelain mask. "What do they say?"

"They say that I was a fool to take a girl like you," he said, keeping his emotions hidden. "A girl who walks in dreams, who doesn’t belong to this world. They fear you."

Her gaze did not move an inch, unaffected by his claims. "People fear what they do not understand."

Every rumour, every whispered story of her strange tendencies crept back into his mind, grinding at his resolve. The tales of oddity, rituals, and things best left unspoken—they clung to the air between them.

"Are you afraid of me, my lord?" Her question cut through the silence like a blade.

Cregan swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart lurching in his chest. He wanted to say no, to deny the concern that gripped him, but something in her gaze made him feel exposed, powerless in a way he had not been before. He forced himself to meet her eyes, but the intensity there—the dark, unfeeling stare—made him feel as though he were sinking into a frozen lake.

His jaw clenched for a moment, as though wrestling with the words he ought to say to her. He leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter, but no less intense.

"I will not be made to live in dread of my wife," he countered firmly. "Though, beyond question, those words waver my trust for you. Upon your integrity. Time will tell."

For the first time, a glimmer of something passed over her face—a brief crack in the mask. Hurt? Confusion? Whatever it was, it was fleeting. Claere tilted her head slightly, studying him from head to toe like one might a curious specimen. He shifted back into his chair, unease unfurling in his stomach.

"You should be afraid of me," she said softly. It wasn’t a threat, but a statement, as if she were merely acknowledging a truth he had yet to accept.

Cregan did not sleep a wink that night. His ancient sword, Ice, lingered closer to him than expected, leaning on his bedside. He laid utterly still as Claere slumbered gingerly, uncaring of the shadows that danced around her, like a tarrying chill that would not leave him alone.

As the sun crested over the horizon, spilling its golden light into their chamber, there was one thing he made certain: Cregan understood that his fear was not of Claere herself, but of what she represented—an unknown force that defied everything Winterfell was. Truth and unity.

X

As the days wore on, Cregan Stark found himself perpetually on edge, his mind halved between the secret suspicions that crept through Winterfell and the cold reality of his new wife. Claere moved through the castle like a careless sprite, floating just beyond reach, drifting from room to room, always apart from the people around her. She left a wake of uncertainty in her path, tales trailing behind her like a fog.

Scarcely did she remain grounded; more often than not, she soared into the skies with Luna, her dragon, a creature so tremendous that many in Winterfell whispered it had outgrown the older beasts of war—Vhagar's equal in size and perhaps ferocity. The sight of it, gleaming silver scales slicing through the frozen air, sent shivers through the keep. Claere’s infrequent appearances at suppers left the hall feeling incomplete, her absence punctuated by muttered resentments from the courtiers and smallfolk alike. The duties of a lady to Winterfell—tending to the hearth and home, overseeing the castle’s workings—were not simply ignored but utterly abandoned.

And yet, Cregan could not bring himself to care. As long as Claere caused no disturbance, as long as she kept to the law, she was no hindrance to him.

As it went, Cregan had not slept in her bed since their wedding night. In fact, they had barely spoken. Claere had quietly suggested moving to a nearby chamber, giving him "his breathing space," as she put it, and he hadn’t objected. He offered up the one with arched ceilings, for when she dabbled in her music, and nearest to the enclosure where her dragon was housed.

Her peculiarities deepened with every passing day. In the dead of night, her harp’s haunting refrain would echo through the passageways, its melody weird and hypnotic. At other times, he would hear her soft footsteps racing through the corridor, out into the courtyard, lost in her dreams until dawn. Most of his courtiers noticed her out on the ramparts after nightfall, laying across the roof—how she got there was a mystery—and staring at the sky for hours on end, speaking to herself. But most unsettling of all were the obscure songs she would hum—songs that danced on the edge of his consciousness, unnervingly poignant, yet cruel in the sweet voice they reached. As if she were singing of things far beyond this world.

Blood and shadow, ice and flame, Sing the tune without a name In the frost, their voices hum Of dead unseen, of eyes aglow Of footsteps deep beneath the snow Ice will crack, and winds will wail, Have you seen the end unfold, the secret that never sleeps?

Claere's songs instilled an image of the most unspeakable cold he knew, distant woods beyond the Wall, where horrors awaited, ready to engulf the unwary. Sometimes, the songs became too much, stirring a dread in him so deep he would storm down the hall, ready to confront her. But each time he did, within her room, like a figure of utmost naïveté, she went by weathering her own storm.

This time, she had ensconced herself by the hearthside, rent of her sleeves, weaving dried winter roses across a vine.

"Did I wake you?" she had asked up at him.

His words faltered. Rather a hollow noise whooshed out his lips, his resentment fleeing at the sight of her. How could someone so callow invoke such unease?

"The hour grows late, princess," he would reply stiffly, the reprimand hollow even to his own ears. "It would be wiser to find some sleep before the morn."

"I adore the night," she had said to him. "Without it, you cannot see the stars. There are no shadows, too."

Cregan had expected to hate her. He had expected to find her burdensome, a hardship forced upon him by duty. But he did not. Indeed, he endured her and accommodated her. As unfamiliar as Claere was, there was something fragile beneath the mantle of her mystery. He found himself unable to despise her, though neither could he truly be fond of her. A part of him, born of compassion, wanted to protect her from the world that had turned its back on her. Perhaps, buried beneath her oddities, she yearned for some semblance of a connection she had never known.

It was one of the handmaidens who had come to him, trembling with unease, to speak of her lady’s growing detachment.

"She barely eats, my lord," the young girl had said. "I fear she grows weaker by the day, surviving on little more than water and grain."

"Have you asked the princess what she would prefer? Surely, our larders are rife enough to sustain her... distinct palate," one of the lords from Cregan's council interjected before he could react.

Cregan shot him a sharp, warning glare. He had long since grown weary of the whispers—the looks exchanged behind his back, the way people averted their eyes when his wife entered a room. The court treated her as if she were a curse, a spectre they wished to avoid. It only stoked his resolve to defend her, to ensure she was not devoured by their disdain. Claere was different, but she was not an object to be mocked.

The maid shifted uneasily. "I have spared no effort in this. Though, there is another issue, my lord."

The Stark lord sighed. "Aye, go on."

"Her ladies have dwindled to nought. I am only charged to tend to her meals, if not no one."

Cregan's heart sank at the thought. He wanted to believe that Claere was merely adjusting to her new life, that in time she would settle. But with each passing day, it became harder to ignore the isolation tightening its grip around her.

"And what, pray tell, has come over them to spurn their service to the Lady of Winterfell?" His voice was low but the threat in it was unmistakable.

The handmaiden lowered her head, unwilling to speak the truth aloud, yet the answer was clear enough. Fear. The court, the smallfolk, her own attendants—everyone was frightened of Claere.

When his eyes bore into her, she hesitated whilst wringing her hands. "We see strange things where the dragon sleeps. My lady's songs... people say they hear them echoing in the courtyard when there is no one."

"These slights must cease at once," he hissed, his voice barely above a murmur, but the weight behind it made the girl flinch. "Claere is a princess of the realm, moreover your lady. Any who fail in their duty will answer to me. Am I clear?"

She nodded hurriedly. "Yes, my lord," she stammered, bowing before retreating from the hall.

And when the next issue reached him, it was, once again, centred on the most pressing concern: Claere's dragon.

"We are unable to feed the beast, my lord," a nervous steward reported, his voice trembling as he stood before Cregan. "The men refuse to go near it. Even the bravest among them say they hear odd noises from its holding."

Cregan's brow furrowed deeply. "Are they afraid of a dragon doing what dragons do—eat?"

"It's not just that, my lord," the steward began, his voice shaky. "We simply do not have the numbers to sustain it. We've lost livestock faster than we can replenish, and there is not enough game in the woods this season. Our people will be left with nothing if it continues like this."

Cregan stood from his chair, pacing toward the hearth as the steward’s words sank in. Feeding Claere's dragon was becoming a task fraught with superstition and suspicion—neither of which he could afford in Winterfell. And now that dragon was a looming menace not just for its size, but even for its insatiable appetite. If they couldn't meet its needs, there was no telling what havoc it might wreak.

"I will take her out to hunt on the morrow," a hushed voice spoke up from across the room.

Cregan turned sharply to see Claere standing in the entrance, her pale little figure silhouetted against the dim light of the corridor. No one had even heard her approach.

A rush of murmurs, of "my lady" and "your grace", went across the sparse crowd in the hall.

For the first time, he noticed how discomfited she seemed with the attention on her. She had courteous bows for the little council of lords before she stood before Cregan, silvery hair left dishevelled and her thin lavender silks trailing by her feet. The toll of her attendant's dearth was evident, how she had to cope alone these past days.

“You heard all that?” he muttered to her, trying to mask the unease.

Claere nodded, unruffled. Then she mellowly addressed the rest of the council who was seated and the anxious steward.

"Luna will no longer be a burden to you," she assured. "Thereafter, I will fly her beyond the Wall. There must be plenty of wild herds there that would satisfy her. And it will keep her from Winterfell's rife supply for a time."

While the disparaged lord hung his head, Cregan's breaths began to constrict. The idea of Claere—of anyone—venturing beyond the Wall unsettled him, but the alternative was just as threatening. It was dangerous to let someone so young, so inexperienced roam in the ancient, Northern wilderness. The risks were too great, even for a dragonrider. His argument would be proved right by the last Targaryen who visited the wall, Claere's own great-great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne and her dragon, Silverwing.

His gaze never left Claere as the lords around them voiced their concern, exclaiming how unwise it was for her to embark beyond Castle Black in such perilous times. Yet, she stood before them as cold and unbothered as ever, her violet eyes betraying no hint of fear or doubt.

"You plan to hunt beyond the Wall alone, as winter draws nigh?" Cregan asked, laced with tension. "You would risk that?"

One of his bannermen, old and discerning to the dangers of the North, came forth with an incredulous look. "A Southerner such as you would have no idea of the true perils beyond Whitetree, my lady. Five hundred years have passed since the last great threat, and still, we are not entirely certain what lurks in the darkness. If it isn't the cold that claims you, it might be wildlings or worse—barbed, spindly creatures, drawn from the blackest legends."

Claere tilted her head slightly as if the lord’s words were of little consequence to her. As if she knew something about the Land of Always Winter that he did not.

"Do not fret, ser," Claere replied, gentle yet astute. "Luna is fearsome when she needs to be. She is not just any dragon—she is the last living relic of Old Valyria, a mere egg when Aenar the Exile first claimed Dragonstone. She will protect me."

Her words should have been reassuring, but they left Cregan with a hollow pit in his stomach. It wasn’t her confidence in the dragon that troubled him—it was her complete lack of concern for the threats she would face. He had seen fear in men’s eyes before, but Claere’s violet gaze was barren, as though no amount of danger or uncertainty could touch her.

"You speak of Luna’s strength as if it is enough," Cregan finally said, his voice low. "But what of your own?"

"You needn’t concern yourself with my safety," she replied, her tone as impassive as her expression.

He studied her closely, weighing his options and her obvious solutions, searching her enchanting face for some flicker of apprehension. There was nothing. It irked him to no extent. Did nothing shake her? Did nothing put her off?

"I am the Warden of the North," he bit out. "Your safety is under my jurisdiction."

She shrugged one side of her shoulder. "Then it appears we have reached an impasse, my lord."

Her words were calm and detached, as though she were discussing the weather. Cregan's patience wore thin, his protective instincts clashing with her indifference.

He strode to her side, towering over her, his imposing figure blocking them from the view of the council. Claere leaned away, her eyes dipping down, her face contorting in disquiet at his proximity. Yet he pressed on, tucking a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze back to him.

"Don't," he tried to protest.

"Look at me," he urged, his grip tightening as frustration bled into his words. "I cannot risk you for something as feckless as a hungry pet. Do you understand me, Claere?"

Her gaze flicked up to meet his. For a brief moment, it was as if she were on the verge of revealing some hidden truth, some implicit fear or vulnerability.

"You do not risk me. 'Tis I who take the risk," she said, her voice painfully even.

Cregan's jaw clenched, his exasperation palpable as he released her chin, stepping back but still glaring at her. He could protect Winterfell, the North, and his people—but her? He was not so convinced anymore.

"Fine. Do as you wish," he surrendered. "Ride past the Wall."

She offered him nothing more than a parting curtsey as if she had already said too much. With that, Claere turned to leave the room but his words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"However, I will ride with you."

For a moment, she remained still, her back to him. Slowly, she turned her head, glancing at him over her shoulder. And finally—there it was.

A flicker of astonishment in her violet eyes. A break in the mask of indifference she so carefully maintained. Her lips parted, but no words came. Something deeper, more vulnerable, flickered in her violet gaze, a shadow of doubt or unease, quickly concealed again behind her calm facade.

"Why?" she asked, her foremost intuition to always suspect goodwill.

"It's not a request," Cregan replied, his tone brooking no arguments. "If you are to face danger, you will not do it alone."

Claere’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer before she gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Without another word, she turned once more and left the room, the heavy doors closing behind her with a quiet thud.

Cregan stood still, watching the place where she had just been, and where no one could see him, broke out into a triumphant smirk. This was it then, a game at which two could play. If she was a tempest, then he would be the steadfast mountain, immovable against the storm.

X

thank you for reading! idk how a taglist works but I'd love to hear your thoughts <3

[libraryofgage]

Mermaid/Pirate Steddie Six

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

This fic was line-jumped! If you'd like to learn more about line jumping, please see this post

Anyway, thank you line-jumper for your patience, I know this was a little late orz but I hope you enjoy it!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

---

“Why do they look so weak?”

“Do you have more of these?”

“Can he really not breathe under water?”

“Does he understand bubble patterns?”

“He’s not the worst swimmer.”

“I could probably break his ribs with one tail swipe.”

“Please don’t break my mate’s ribs.”

Of all the words echoing in the water around him, those last few are the ones Eddie gets stuck on. He perks up as the curious hands of adolescent merfolk poking and prodding at him pause. From the determined expression on Steve’s face as he tugs Eddie closer, he definitely meant to say that.

“Seriously?” Robin asks, curling around Steve’s other side. Her hair floats across Eddie’s vision before settling, and bubbles rise from her fluttering gills. “You’re already mated? How did that even work?”

She glances down as she asks, and Eddie follows her gaze to Steve’s tail. It looks normal to him. His wound has healed, leaving only a faint scar behind. If anything has changed, it’s that the inexplicable splashes of orange across his scales make sense in the water. They glimmer and shine like gold and silver coins in the wavering sunlight that manages to break through the surface. Eddie is hypnotized by them, and it takes a conscious effort for him to look away.

Steve’s flush tells Eddie something important has been alluded to, and he’s starting to get an idea of it. “Robin! Not in front of the guppies!” Steve tells her. She cackles in response, bubbles bursting from her gills as she curls around Steve’s right side and flicks his forehead.

“But we already know about that stuff,” one of the guppies, Lucas, says. A few bubbles rise from his gills, too, and Eddie is starting to wonder if they’re important when Robin and Steve pause to study them. 

Another one, Dustin, nods and places his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. He pushes up to float above him, holding tight so he doesn’t end up floating away. Somehow, this results in Dustin’s tail smacking against his back a few times, but at least it doesn’t hurt. “Yeah,” Dustin says, “You taught us during the last cold tide trip. Remember? Joyce and Hopper got together and started talking about more guppies, so then Erica asked what they meant and you got all red like a lobster as you tried to explain it.”

“Teaching you about reproduction and discussing…recreational enjoyment are very different things,” Steve says, his firm tone undermined by his flustered look. 

Eddie taps Dustin’s hand, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows in a curious expression when Dustin looks down.

“Oh, do you wanna know?” he asks.

“No, he doesn’t,” Steve says at the same time Eddie nods. When Steve glares at him, Eddie grins, salty water rushing into his mouth. He doesn’t mind too much, especially when he points at his throat and Steve’s glare immediately melts into fondness and concern. He leans in, kissing Eddie and pushing more air past his lips. 

“We are just teaching Eddie about reproduction,” El says when Steve pulls back. She pushes under Eddie’s arm, wrapping her tail around his leg to stay in place. With her there, Dustin’s tail is no longer hitting his back, and Eddie hesitates before patting her head. 

Between her, Dustin on his shoulders, Steve holding him close, Robin practically wrapped around Steve, and the rest of the guppies surrounding them, he’s starting to realize how touchy merfolk are. Or maybe this is just Steve and Robin and their guppies. He’ll have to ask later.

“Why are you making such a big deal when it’s boring?” Max asks, huffing as two lone bubbles rise from her gills. “Two merfolk decide to have a kid. One fertilizes the other, they carry the egg for a while and birth it. After that, caretakers watch the egg until it hatches. Simple.”

Yeah. Eddie has so many questions. He can’t ask any of them now, though. All he can do is nod along, forcing his expression to remain serious as he listens. Max seems to like the attention, her gills fluttering again and letting a stream of bubbles rise to the surface as she perks up.

“Man, it sounds boring when you say it like that,” Mike tells her, grinning as he turns to look at Eddie. “So, anyway, dicks an--”

Robin laughs as she smacks her hand across Mike’s mouth, using her other hand to ruffle his hair until it’s floating wildly in the water. “All right, all right, let’s stop before dingus goes belly-up,” she says, pinching Mike’s cheek when she pulls his hand away.

He huffs and sticks his tongue out at her. “Eddie asked,” he says.

“Eddie didn’t ask anything. He can’t talk, and he doesn’t make bubbles,” El says.

“No, like, he used his face.”

“Oh.”

As they talk, Eddie tugs on Steve’s hand, pointing to his throat again. Instead of immediately kissing him, he glances up at the surface with a frown. It’s not like Eddie was actually running out of air, so he doesn’t tug on Steve’s hand again. “How about we go up,” he says, looking at Robin. When she just looks confused, he adds, “You could see Eddie’s ship.”

“Really?!” Dustin and Will ask, both of them looking at Eddie hopefully.

Eddie considers for a moment, figures the guppies can be entertained by his crew if they get too bored, and nods once.

“Yes!”

----------

“They have so much energy,” Eddie says, carefully setting Steve on the bed before collapsing into it next to him. He rubs his fingers together, feeling how wrinkly they are after spending most of the day in the ocean. They still haven’t smoothed out despite being on the ship for an hour already.

Steve hums softly, reaching over and taking Eddie’s hand. He laces their fingers together, rests their hands on his stomach, and says, “They liked you.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell between Mike trying to drown me and Erica trying to bite me,” Eddie says, squeezing Steve’s hand.

The drowning attempt had happened when they surfaced. Mike had grabbed Eddie’s ankles and yanked him back under, grinning as Eddie yelped and swallowed half the ocean in the process. Somehow, Steve had managed to both kiss Eddie some air and smack Mike upside the head with his tail.

The biting had happened while trying to get all the guppies onto the ship. It involved nets and ropes and straining muscles, but they’d managed. When Eddie was getting Erica untied from the ropes, she’d leaned over and snapped at his shoulder. Robin saved him in time by yanking her back, refusing to hear her excuse about Eddie smelling like “really fresh krill” and her being hungry.

Things had been chaotic between getting the guppies and Robin settled, figuring out food, and keeping them entertained so they wouldn’t destroy the ship out of boredom. Eddie had never been so relieved as when they’d started nodding off in a giant tub they secured to the mast.

“They were just…testing you. A little. It’s normal when caretakers introduce a mate,” Steve tells him.

“What, are they making sure I’m sturdy?”

“More that you can handle them if you join the pod,” Steve explains. “Caretakers don’t leave their pods. If they mate with a merperson from another pod, that merperson just joins it. Guppies are overprotective and want to make sure mates deserve their caretakers.”

“That’s kinda sweet,” Eddie says.

Steve nods in agreement, shifting around some until he can turn to face Eddie. The bottom of his tail curls around Eddie’s leg, a heavy weight that he finds reassuring. “How do you feel?” he asks.

Eddie can hear the questions lying beneath. Did he like the guppies? Did they manage to scare him away? Is he going to end their courtship?

“They’re cool. I like them,” Eddie says, the words spilling out so he can reassure Steve. He feels something light and happy bubble in his chest at Steve’s smile. “I am wondering about something, though.”

“What?”

“How, uh, how does all of that…work?” Eddie asks, his face burning as he gestures to Steve’s tail, focusing on the general area Robin had looked at before. Despite the embarrassment of asking, he can’t help the heat that simmers through him at Steve’s knowing smile.

“Are you interested in theory or practice?” Steve asks.

“Practice. I am so, so, so interested in practice,” Eddie says, throwing an arm around Steve’s waist and tugging him closer. “But I wouldn’t mind a little theory so I know what I’m doing.”

Steve laughs, pushing against Eddie’s chest lightly. When he lets go, Steve sits up, gesturing for Eddie to sit behind him. Once they’re settled, Steve is nestled between Eddie’s legs and Eddie is resting his chin on Steve’s shoulders. “There’s a slit,” Steve says, taking Eddie’s hand and placing his palm on a patch of scales just below his waist. “When a merperson is aroused, it opens to provide access.”

Eddie swallows, nodding as he feels the cool slide of Steve’s scales under his palm. He glances at Steve and moves his hand, brushing his fingers over the area until he can feel where the slit is. It’s a slightly raised line, barely noticeable if he weren’t looking for it.

“And, uh, how does it work? For two mermen, I mean,” Eddie says.

He feels more than hears Steve hum, the vibrations pulsing through him from where Steve is resting against his chest. “Well, it doesn’t matter much,” Steve says, reaching up to tug on a loose strand of Eddie’s hair. “You humans have a word for it, I think, but all merfolk have the ability to carry or fertilize. It really just depends.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, biting the inside of his cheek as he presses his palm flat against Steve’s scales again. “So, which…I mean, what do you…you know, prefer?”

Steve thinks for a moment, twirling Eddie’s hair around his finger. “Anything that feels good,” he finally says, tilting his head back to grin at Eddie. “How about finding out what does?”

Not for the first time, Eddie thinks, perhaps, the merman in his arms will be the death of him. It’s a good thing he doesn’t mind one bit.

------

Tag List! (tags are full, please follow #high seas steddie)

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[everythingne]

this little life - dr3

Three moments in the girls lives when you and Daniel support the girls through thick and thin. And one where they come to support you.

Rosella, learns the second definition of 'Shark Week' on the week of her thirteenth birthday.

Sienna's first boyfriend at sixteen, and subsequent heartbreak.

Different move out days for your girls, big emotions that cannot be contained.

warnings/notes: period talk, cheating, this fic is so old danny was in f1 when i started it... this shit is LONG so buckle in!!!

Ever since Rosella was able to kick in your stomach, she always preferred Daniel. It was funny, the second Daniel would start speaking she would kick, and when he stopped cooing at her she'd stop. From birth she only reacted to his voice, she wanted to be near him 24/7, 365, he was the only one who could calm her down, and the person she went to for everything when her problems became more than just hunger and sleepiness.

And now you had a pouty Daniel to deal with because for the first time in her whole life, Rosella didn't want to go on their little father daughter date this week.

Usually around the second week of each month, Daniel took Rosella out by himself on one night and Sienna out the next. This had started back when the girls cried to you around five years old, upset they never got to see him due to how much he was racing and how they had to stay back due to having school now. A plan was hatched and between races, Daniel would shower the girls with as much love as possible, and every weekend that was close enough you'd bring the girls to him. It was expensive and tiring, but it was worth it to see them smile. And it was originally just until the girls were older, and they understood why he was gone so often.

But then it just became habit, which Daniel was a creature of, and now his habit was being broken because Rosella was moody and didn't want to go. Daniel is the best father you've ever known, you've seen how much he sacrifices for his girls, but fourteen year old Rosella's gotten her first period and feels awful and feels too embarrassed to tell him.

You'd tried hinting, vaguely mentioning things you assume he would've picked up from Michelle or from you, but nothing. He was clueless.

So when Rosella texts you and asks for you to come to her room, he asks you to figure out what's wrong with her. You say you will, press a kiss to his cheek, and then make your way to your eldest daughters room. Knocking, you wait for the soft 'come in' and make your way into the room.

"Heya, baby, how are you feeling?" You move to the side of the bed where shes curled in a ball, holding out one of her reheatable stuffies.

"I feel awful." she hiccups and you soothe her, gently placing your hands on her face and rubbing your thumbs along her wet under eyes. She'd gotten the worst of it, the terrible acne, the horrible cramps, the nausea... she looked sick as a dog. You briefly wonder if she actually is sick on top of her period.

"Do you want me to have Dad come sit with you?" You offer, the TV in her room is paused on whatever episode of Friends she'd paused when texting you. Rosella shakes her head, but a small smile creeps on your face. Friends was the show she and Daniel were watching together. Daniel had been able to quote it since you met him, but there was something special about him watching his daughter react to it all for the first time.

"Why are you watching your show without him?" You ask, rubbing her stomach and hoping to alleviate some of her cramping and you press rhythmically into her skin.

"It's stupid." She starfishes out, welcoming the gentle massage as you tut.

"If it's bothering you, it's not stupid." You say, "And I have you and you have me, so what's really going on?"

"I miss him," Rosella admits, as if her father is off in Vegas racing and not downstairs on the couch, when she sees your confusion clearly written on your face, she continues, "He's a guy, he doesn't wanna be here when I'm all... bleeding and shit. And I didn't wanna explain why I didn't wanna go out because I thought it would gross him out and now I feel bad."

"Don't feel bad, Ells. He might be a guy, but he's your father." You say, setting the plushie on your lap, "And before he was your father, he was my boyfriend, so trust me when I say he won't mind. He gets it, I think Aunt Mickey made sure of that. If anything, it might make him upset because he thinks you're growing up, not because he gets grossed out."

Rosella contemplates your words, her curly hair mused against her pillows, brown eyes watching you. It's like your genetics didn't even try with her. She's still for a few moments before she lets out a low sigh and nods.

"Okay. But only if you warn him before." Rosella points, before curling back into a ball and you nod, peppering some soft kisses to her hairline before getting up off her bed with a promise to send her father back up properly armed.

You pass Daniel in the living room and wave him over, plopping the stuffed rabbit on the counter before opening up the microwave and setting it inside. Daniel has rolled over to see what you're doing, and slowly gets up as you turn on the microwave and turn to the fridge.

"What's that look for?" He asks as you open one of the drawers and open a box of yogurt cups, only to pull out some chocolate from your hidden stash. Daniel walks into the kitchen slow, knowing the look on your face is one of determination as you hand him the chocolate and then two water bottles from the fridge. You shut the fridge as the microwave currently heating a stuffed rabbit dings, and hand it to him as well.

"Honey, what are you doing?" He asks as you root through another drawer and then stick a takeout menu for one of the various takeout places in your area and point at him.

"Rosella's got her first period. That's why she doesn't wanna go out. She feels like shit, and her hormones are all over the place, but she didn't say anything because she thought it would gross you out, okay? You remember how I was before the girls, how my periods wrecked me?"

Daniel just nods.

"Take that and make it ten times worse, because it's her first one. So, you are gonna go up, and be the best damn dad you always are, and make her feel better."

Daniel nods once more, kisses you in thanks, and is double timing up the stairs. You follow, stopping in the hallway just outside of the doorway so you can listen to him and Ella as they talk.

"Yeah, she told me." Daniel sits down on the edge of the bed, lifting the blanket off your eldest and laying the hot stuffed rabbit across her lower stomach. Rosella sighs softly as Danny rubs a hand along her arm, squeezing her shoulder before laying the blanket back over her.

"I'm sorry I'm being moody." She apologizes and you watch Daniel scoff and shake his head, one hand coming up to start to pull her curls up into her usual position so he can tuck her little bonnet on. A gift from her aunt, who had the same incredibly curly hair.

"Your body is kinda rejecting itself right now," Daniel tightens the bonnets top, adjusting it how he knows Rosella likes it to sit. You didn't even realize he remembered that, "You're allowed to be a--dare I say it, bitch this week."

Rosella giggles at that, and Daniel takes her and sits her up so he can have her drink some of the water. You're not expecting Rosella to nearly chug half the bottle. They split a chocolate bar as Daniel then gets up to pick up her room, having Rosella recount stories from her last few practices with Red Bull's Junior team, since Danny had missed them. While she talks, you quickly head downstairs and fill up two Yeti's. You keep one for Rosella, but briefly pop in your youngests room to check on her. Sienna's playing some old Italian music, you can almost smell the Ricciardo's home down the road with the music she plays as she works on finishing up some work. It's her final for one of her engineering courses, and she happily explains it to you while you help her stretch out her body in her seat.

Once done there, you slip back upstairs to Rosella's room, holding the water bottle in one hand and pausing in the hall when you hear Rosella laughing so hard she's wheezing. It's a welcome sound compared to her tears earlier, and you lean on the wall once more to watch.

"And you're watching our show without me!" Daniel scoffs, turning back to his daughter as he throws an extra blanket on her bed to add to the four he'd already tossed on, "Which should be a crime!"

"I needed to know what happened at the wedding!" Rosella defends and Daniel gawks at the title of the episode before getting into the bed himself.

"This is like, one of the best parts of the show!" Daniel defends, "how far into the episode did you get?"

"I finished part one, Phoebe just found the pregnancy test. I'm gonna scream if it's Monica's." Rosella claims as her father moves to sit next to her. You see a flicker of contemplation roll across her dark eyes before she shrugs and you watch the best possible thing happen, Rosella curls into his side and wraps herself around his arm. Like she used to as a toddler. Daniel, for his credit, holds himself back from a burst of tears, a hand coming to hers as he restarts whatever episode Rosella was on. She closes her eyes and relaxes into her father's touch as he begins telling her how this is his favorite episode (which he says about all of them) and when Danny sees you in the doorway he pouts and mouths to you.

'She's all grown up.'

It brings a tear to your eye and you nod, mouthing back, 'but she's still your baby.'

He nods, securing a comfortable position with Rosella on his lap as he starts the episode over again. Deciding not to disturb, you leave the water bottle by the door, texting Daniel that it's there if Rosella needs it. He thanks you, and informs you that Rosella had supposedly decided she wanted Mediterranean tonight, so you go off to order your usual from the local place and drag Sienna away from her studies so that she can get some fresh air for the first time in like twelve hours.

When you come back about an hour later with food and to check Rosella's heating pad, the sight before you makes a big grin spread across your face. The two have adjusted so Daniel's laying down over her covers, with Rosella practically starfished across her father. Stepping into the room, you set the food down on Rosella's desk and grab some stray blankets from the floor and move her leg to drape a blanket across Daniel. He opens his eyes a little, but when you stay quiet he simply rolls to pull Rosella closer. Once they've both started to snore softly again, you pick up their trash ad set the metal water bottle on the bedside for the inevitable thirsty wake-up your daughter will have.

You kiss both of their foreheads, turn off the lights, and take one last look at the room before softly shutting her door with the trash and dinner in hand.

"Is she sick?" Sienna whispers when you make it downstairs and you shake your head.

"Just her period." You tap Sienna's nose as you pass her, opening the trashcan with one hand to pop in the trash while Sienna takes the food from you so she can toss it in the fridge.

"Thank god I haven't gotten mine yet." Sienna huffs, biting into her gyro as she sits at the counter now, knowing you've banned her from working on homework while eating after the day she came to you and said she could see her homework on the backs of her eyelids.

"Soon." You hum, biting into your chicken dish and laughing softly at Sienna's pout of dissaproval.

When you check back in a few hours later, Rosella's awake enough to ask for more water and her dinner. Your voices wake Daniel, and so you bring up their food and enough snacks and water to last them the night. If Rosella's anything like you, the insomnia will kick in soon, or her cramps will keep her up. You just hope her having her father by her side eases her pain.

Going to sleep in an empty bed has never felt more fulfilling than that night. Knowing Daniel's off comforting Rosella makes a warm feeling blush across your skin.

2.

"Mom, Dad," Sienna nervously stood at the end of the counter, a bag slung over her shoulder. You could see Rosella cheer her on out of the corner of your eye before you turned around to face the now seventeen year old.

"Yeah, Si?" You ask, cleaning up the dishes from dinner last night while Danny finishes his breakfast before running off to go meet someone for some meeting or whatever he was busy doing with his wine company.

"Is it okay if I have a friend over after school?"

"I'm off today so yeah, as long as its okay with her parents." You automatically say, assuming it's one of Sienna's two best friends Giorgia or Olivia.

"Uhm. His parents are okay with it." Sienna says softly and you pause, glancing up, whacking your husbands back preemptively when he starts to cough with his tea in his mouth.

"That's fine." You say before Daniel can make some joke about a boyfriend, and side-eye him before he has the chance to say it after you speak. Sienna and Rosella had plenty of guy friends ever since they were kids, especially Rosella, since she was a racer like her dad through and through. Daniel has always joked with the girls about boys, and you know today will be no different.

"Is he coming alone?" Daniel asks and Sienna nods, going on to explain they have a project together thats due on Friday and they're running behind. They won't be able to do enough work in class to catch up so they decided to meet up after school. He lives a few doors down across the street, so he can just take the bus and then walk home after.

"What's his name?" You ask innocently, assuming you probably know his mother and that's what makes Sienna sort of stutter. You raise your eyebrows, encouraging her to continue before she mutters out and kicks her black converse against the tile.

"Nicholas Fish."

"Nick!?" Rosella shouts from the door and before Daniel can tell her to hush she starts to giggle, "No way, Si, come on."

"It's just for class, Ro!" Sienna fires back, and luckily Daniel gets them to calm down before it's a screaming match in the kitchen. But you do know the Fish's. His mother Kylie was one of the schools secretaries and his father Charles was a banker. They were kind people, nothing bad, smart and respectful, and so you nod.

"Nicholas can come over." You say, poking Daniel's back to keep him hush as you continue, "Just make sure his mom knows he'll be at ours, and ask if he likes pizza."

"Everyone likes pizza, Mom." Sienna sighs, but gives you a hug in thanks before her and Rosella are rushing out the door to catch the bus. You don't miss the giddy smile on your daughter's lips and cross your arms as you lean on Daniel.

"It's just for class, Ro!" He mimics Sienna's voice and then hums as he peppers a few kisses to your hairline, "why'd she get so defensive?”

"She might like him." You suggest and Daniel shakes his head, putting his dishes in the dishwasher and closing it as he turns to lean against you once more as he wraps his arms around your waist.

"Nope. She's fourteen. Can't date until she's twenty." He grins and you laugh at his antics, the same sort of playfulness from back when you'd met him around that age. You both were a bit more subdued now, but he had his moments from time to time.

“Oh, like how your mom used to joke you couldn’t get married until you were thirty five?” You ask as Daniel kisses you jaw, then walks off to go grab his bag and his keys. You think he's going out with Scotty today, something they're filming for a Youtube video or whatever.

“Twenty six is close enough!” Daniel retorts, wagging a finger at you from the doorway. He pauses, realizing something before rushing across the room to give you a proper goodbye kiss, “See you tonight, love.”

“Bye Danny.” You smile against his lips, letting him pepper a few more to your lips and cheeks before he’s out the door. The quiet of the house is welcome after a hectic morning, and you elect to finish your coffee on the couch before doing any cleaning.

Hours later you learn Nicholas, or Nick, is a rather nice kid. He takes his shoes off at the door without being asked, greets you formally, and when the two settle in the dining room with laptops open you find he's very respectful of your daughters personal space.

You can hear Sienna laughing from the kitchen as you work on answering some emails. You let your eyes wander to where Nick is trying to glue someone to the poster they have to make, and clearly not doing well if Sienna’s laugh is anything to go by. She goes to grab it and he loudly announces he’s got it, cueing the two to wrestle a bit before he manages to snag the glue stick from her hands. Sienna jumps to grab it, stumbles, and Nick’s hand flies out to catch her. He grabs her by a belt loop, pulling her right to his chest, and you see the flush on both of their faces from the proximity. You see him ask something, and Sienna sharply nods before they share a brief kiss.

You lower your head before you’re caught watching them.

And excitedly you tell Kelly the next time you have time to call. She’s going through something similar with Penelope, the girl having brought back her first boyfriend for Max to meet. All had gone well, as far as you heard, but she was just as excited as you were about the prospect of Sienna getting out there. Sienna, unlike Rosella, was a lot softer spoken and a lot more reserved. Rosella had a boyfriend, two girlfriends, a few partners. Nothing long term, nothing serious.

You worried Sienna was giving her entire heart to this boy, considering as far as you knew he was her first boyfriend. Kelly had implored you to talk to Sienna about it, to get to know what the relationship was. It was what led her to meeting P’s boyfriend, and led to Max meeting him as well.

The conversation goes about as well as you expected, she dances around it, but admitting they’ve been dating for a few weeks. But only when you promise to keep it from Daniel for just a few days while she works up the courage to tell him—which she should’ve been more afraid to tell you, to be completely honest.

She shows you all the little things he’s made her, notes and origami and doodles in the margins of unfinished math homework. It’s puppy love, all of it, and it makes your heart burst with joy for your daughter.

Daniel received it well enough, a bit upset his second baby was growing up too. You had Nick over for dinner, he happily helped set the table and cleaned after without being asked. Daniel likes him enough to allow him to come over whenever he wants, much to Sienna’s joy, and the genuine excitement you see when she’s around Nick is contagious.

Sienna chooses to go to MIT for a double major in Mechanical Engineering and Physics. The extra classes she’s been taken transferring over and allowing her to do that easy enough.

Nick is going to Berkeley for Biochemistry. He’s gotten a wonderful scholarship, his parents immensely proud as is your family and you do a joint celebration dinner with both families.

You see the tension happen the day Sienna realizes they’ll be so far. You notice Daniel almost prepping for the inevitable, ice cream in the freezer, ensuring her favorite movies are online to stream, her favorite takeout menu on top of the pile in your junk drawer. You notice you’ve done the same, you've saved some cute clothes for her online, found one of those makeup products she swears she always gonna try and never does, washed all the blankets in the house and ensured they were super fluffy for her.

But the break-up doesn't come.

Sienna and Nick try long distance over their summer break before they leave for college. He's going to Nevada to visit some family, you're staying between Perth and dipping to Monaco for a few days to meet up with Max, Lando, and a bunch of the other drivers and their families. It seems easy, a trial run, and you and Daniel both encourage it. Long distance was difficult, it was hard not to get caught up in what you were doing physically and not to forget the other person sometimes.

They do well through the first week, the second week Nick's a bit standoffish, but he gets over it by the time you're leaving for Monaco. When you get back, they'll be able to hang out until the end of August when you move Sienna into her dorm, and she raves about being able to see Nick again after the trip.

The first night in Monaco, you notice you haven't seen the teen girls in a while after you've wrapped up dinner in Charles' house. Your two, Rosella and Sienna, Max and Kelly's Penelope and Lily, or Lando and Olivia's Cece or Ada. You get this weird feeling in your gut. Something is wrong and you know it is. Daniel's hand slides to your knee and squeezes it, he knows it too.

It's Rosella who comes to get you.

"Momma?" She pops her head in the doorway, eyes big like shes in trouble. And you don't even spare a second, your chair shrieks as you shove it back and hand your glass to Daniel. He takes it, turning to watch you follow your eldest down a hall. The kids are hovering near the doors to the balcony, and you step outside with Rosella to see Sienna sitting on the floor with Sophia rubbing her back and Olivia, Cece and Penelope all hovering nearby.

Once the girls see you, they disperse, Cece telling Adam and Lily to knock it off with the whole 'threatening the guy' thing.

"Si, baby," You instantly know whats happened, or atleast what you think has, and when Sienna holds her arms out for you theres no question in your mind as you drop to your knees and wrap her in a tight hug,

"Momma--" she hiccups, and you just hold her, telling Rosella to leave you both be for a few minutes. She takes the rest of the kids inside, pausing to ask if she should get her father but you shake your head, he can come out after you've calmed your daughter down.

"Baby, take a breath, okay? We can't talk if you keep sobbing," You whisper, wiping at her tears, "it's okay to cry, but I need to know whats wrong so I can help you, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Sienna shakes her head no, but hands you her phone. You unlock it, knowing her passcode. She'd told you a long time ago and you never had to use it, until now. You unlock to photos, a few screenshots and such compiled in a folder titled 'evidence' thats been shared to her by her friends back home on Google Drive of all places. Over the past two months, they've been collecting solid evidence of Nick cheating. One of the girls even going as far as messaging him privately to see how long it would take for him to confirm their suspicions. Sixteen messages and he asks this random burner account they made for pictures.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You hiss. Sienna's not five anymore, you don't hide your anger as well as you used to, but you know she can tell by your protective hold on her that this anger is directed at the phone screen. The further down you go on its worse, and eventually they found a girl who'd tagged him in some... interesting and touchy photos. He hadn't gone to Nevada to visit family like you'd been told, apparently this was his online girlfriend of two months who was also going to Berkeley.

Little Sienna, your baby, had been used.

She wasn't so little anymore, you note. Her dress is expensive, Dior perfume in her hair and patted into her skin, her hair was closer to your color now, eyes brown like her fathers but face so undoubtedly you from your teen years. She's going to college. She's gonna be out on her own.

Suddenly you're a thousand times more grateful for Sienna's friends being nosy. At least this realization had come when you were still able to physically hug your baby to your chest as she sobbed.

You set the phone down and just pull her in as tight as you can. There's no words to say, no amount of apologies or promises to get him back will make this better. She sobs into your shoulder until theres nothing left, and Rosella returns with a glass of water upon your request. Every time you reread the messages, you contemplate sending them to Nicholas' mother, but Sienna begs you not to, so you save vengeance for the next time you see her in person.

It takes a good hour of sitting on the balcony, the warm Monaco breeze rippling across you both under the stars as you wipe away your daughters tears. Her mascara had smeared under her eyes, luckily Charles' wife Alex had some wipes you used to gently wipe down your daughters face, applying them like you would a cold compress when she's sick, while Charles lets Leo curl up in Sienna's lap.

"What did I do wrong, Momma?" Sienna murmurs, closing her eyes and you gently wipe under them, "I was texting him, and calling him, and I was watching all the movies and shows he liked so we could talk and--"

"Si, baby, you didn't do anything." You stop, lifting one of your hands to cup her blotchy red face as she sniffles, "It was Nick's own decision to go off and cheat on you, yeah? You did everything you were supposed to do as his girlfriend and he took advantage of your kindness, and love, and used it for his own gains--whatever those gains were."

"Was everything fake?" Sienna asks and you click your tongue. This is a hard one to answer, so you take your time to think through what you're saying, speaking cautiously.

"No, I don't think someone can fake the way they look at someone. He looked at you like you were the sun and he was a starving plant, and one day, that spark was gone. What he should've done is broke up with you as soon as he realized he liked someone else, because if he truly loved you still, he wouldn't have fallen in love with another girl, or he wouldn't be seeking other girls out."

"So for two months he never loved me?" Sienna sighs, "but we did so much together..."

"And he doesn't love his current girlfriend either, because he was asking a random bot account for nudes." You huff, "so regardless of how long you were together, nine months or two, he's a dick. A cheating dick and no matter what his reasons are, do not crawl back to him. I don't care if he's 'changed.' He cheated on you, and you know what you do now?"

Sienna shrugs and you take her hands and squeeze them, "You're eighteen in Monaco. And you know I wouldn't usually offer this, but have Bluebell take you and the other of age girls out tonight, go party, go have fun because he's stupid and nothing and you're Sienna Ricciardo. You had a name made for you when you were still a fucking egg in my ovary, girl!"

"Ew!" Sienna laughs, and her bright smile makes you grin. Partying won't solve all her problems, and there will be more to discuss when you get home (and when you tell Daniel) but for the night, it makes Sienna happy. Even if you stay up until four to ensure the kids all make it home.

3.

You've been staring at Sienna's empty room for probably five hours, hands curled in little fists as you hear her and her friends partying downstairs. They're all sleeping over tonight before Sienna leaves for the airport super early tomorrow morning and you haven't been coping well. Neither has Daniel, but he's the life of the party downstairs so you refuse to pull him up.

But when two arms wrap snugly around your waist, a head propped up on your shoulder as someone sighs, you know it's Danny.

"I can't believe it's empty." He murmurs, "Like, yeah her stuff is still there because she'll come back for break, but it's still so... empty."

"The life is gone." You hum and Daniel, who you know would usually tell you to not be so dramatic, nods and kisses your collarbones.

"Don't act like she's dead." He murmurs, stepping to the side to wrap his arms fully around your shoulders and tug your mopey self to his side. You lay your head against his chest, some Taylor Swift song being belted in the basement and bringing life to the house. But for you, who had just grappled with the fact Rosella was moving to England to pursue her career with Red Bull by the end of September, sending Sienna to the States was another level of awful pain. You were empty nested before they were twenty, something you hadn't prepared for or even thought of before the girls were teenagers.

"Our babies are growing up and I hate it." You murmur into his hoodie and Daniel hums, agreeing with you silently.

"Si's gonna be fine, she's got a bunch of friends at uni already and Ella's gonna have all of Red Bull at her beck and call." Daniel reasons, "and Si's roommate is from just outside Melbourne, and they're traveling together."

You just nod, but the tears that prick in your eyes are wiped by his thumbs as he presses a soft kiss to your lips, "Oh honey, I know."

"What am I gonna do with them both gone now?" You ask, looking over and Daniel. Your little house in Australia suddenly felt so suffocatingly huge, not even his presence could fill it. You knew his racing days were coming to an end, you had already retired from teaching last year. It was like the end of an era.

“We gotta get hobbies.” Daniel murmurs as he presses your foreheads together, hands coming to your waist to rub small circles with his thumbs, “or we can travel and actually be tourists?”

“Let’s get a cat.” You tease and Daniel scoffs, pinching your hips with a tiny grin. The girls had always begged for a cat growing up, but because their father didn’t exactly like pets and because of how frequently you all traveled, it never happened.

“I think Ella would kill me if we got a cat after she moved out.” He grins, pecking a kiss to your nose. You take his hands, still resting on your sides, and bring his knuckles to your lips to kiss.

"We'll figure it out. Together, yeah?"

You traveling with both girls is as eventful as it had been when you had taken both Rosella and Sienna on your own years and years back to Miami. But this time, both girls stick closer, are a lot calmer, and it doesn't take nearly as much trouble to get to the gate, through the flight, and into the streets of Cambridge with your sights set on MIT.

Luckily, once in Cambridge, Sienna was dragging you all to meet up with her roommates. They were living in a little apartment style place on campus, and the four girls got along like a house on fire.

Isla was from just outside Melbourne, going to MIT for Cognitive Science and had met Sienna at an MIT event hosted in Melbourne. The two had made the decision to apply together, and you'd had her over a few times already.

Valeria was actually introduced to you and Daniel by Carlos at a Grand Prix, one of his childhood friends daughter going to MIT for mechanical engineering as well. You and her mother had gotten along well, but you weren't sure if Sienna's closed off nature would work with her loud and hyperactive personality. Somehow, it just worked perfectly, and the two clicked like puzzle pieces.

Faith was actually from Cambridge, her brother currently working at MIT as a Music professor. Faith was going to MIT for computer science and programming on a legacy scholarship. Her personality was closer to Sienna's, and you learned the girls bonded over a shared obsession with Formula One.

Which that had been the selling point between all four girls, they all loved Formula One. It gave them a common ground to speak on, and it was what brought them all together.

There's about twenty people in their apartment, setting it up and cooking a dinner all at once. That night, all the girls split up to say goodbye to their families and Sienna pulls your little family into bone crushing hugs at the car. Daniel had to be back to Red Bull for training within two days, hardly giving you enough time to settle Sienna in, but she swore she'd be fine.

"I'm gonna miss you guys so much." Sienna whispers, and then the waterworks start as she barrels into your chest. You coo, wrapping your arms around her tightly and pressing little kisses to her hairline as Daniel rubs her back. She's not the only kid on the street corner sobbing their eyes out to their parents, and its melancholic.

"You're gonna have so much fun here, Si." You murmur into her hair, kissing her head once more and leaning back to wipe her tears, "You're all on your own, being an adult. We're gonna miss you just as much if not more, and I need you to know we're so so proud of you for doing this."

"You're doing something I never did," Daniel takes the hiccuping Sienna from you and cradles her to his chest briefly, "I cannot express how proud I am of you."

It takes maybe thirty more minutes of hyping her up and a long tight hug from her sister for Sienna to finally step back and move to go back inside her apartment. Daniel squeezes your shoulder as you watch your baby go, and Rosella's in the car wiping her tears away. You're about to turn, to get in the car when you hear Sienna shout your name. She comes tumbling down the sidewalk at full speed before crashing into you in one final tight hug, her head buried in the crook of your neck as she squeezes you with all of her might. You wrap your arms around her just as tight and hold on with every ounce of love pouring out of you until she's ready to step back.

"I know I'm on the other side of the planet, but you've got this, okay baby?" You swipe a few more tears from under her eyes, "I'm behind you every step of the way."

"I love you Momma." She whispers, wiping tears from your eyes and you laugh, curling her in one final tight hug before she steps back, squeezes your hands, presses a kiss to your head and slips back into housing. Despite being terrified of what could happen to Sienna now that she's out on her own, you force yourself to retire to the passengers seat of the rental car where you husband squeezes your knee in reassurance.

"She'll be fine."

For the three days before you leave after you drop Rosella off and help her set up her apartment, she’s a mess. Doing anything and everything she can with her father, practically clinging to his side when he’s home and moping when he leaves. You help her pack up, making sure she has all of her things, and after that she clings to your arms like a baby.

"I don't know how to live on my own," she complains, "like, what if my shower breaks?"

"You call your landlord, or one of the drivers in London, they'll be just down the road y'know?" You say, brushing a few wild curls back, "you're gonna be fine, think about Si! She's been fine in the states, she's been thriving there!"

"Yeah but... with racing and everything I just... I dunno, Mom."

It's Danny's voice that chimes, "Badger, relax, you're over thinking it."

"They seriously stuck her with that nickname?" You turn to Danny who shrugs, crossing the room to press a kiss to his daughters forehead.

"I think its funny." Is his defense and you just shrug at your husband, digging in your purse to find Rosella's house keys as you all plan to leave for the store. Stocking up the fridge is the last task before your flight that night back to Perth, and you can see both Daniel and Rosella dragging their feet when it comes to leaving for this. As if they can delay time. You have to nudge them along, out to hallway, like they had done with you when Sienna moved out.

Before you leave though, Danny snaps a photo of her in the living room, sending it to everyone he knows almost immediately, writing proudly 'Rosella's all moved in!' and happily reading off the excited replies to Rosella while you peruse the aisles of the stores. You stop to wave Daniel over, asking him which batch of Apples looks the most ripe when a little voice catches your ear.

A girl, a tiny little thing, mousy with unruly curls. She tugs on Rosella's pant leg, and immediately your daughter kneels, noticing the stars in the young girls eyes.

"Hi," the girl squeaks, "You're Rosella Ricciardo, right?"

You have to smack a hand over Daniel's mouth to keep him from interrupting, and wave Rosella on when she looks at you for guidance. Your daughter straightens up and nods, "I am! What's your name?"

"I'm Katie. My sister and I watch racing... and I think you're so cool being a girl in F1." The girl starts nervously, but when Rosella nods for her to continue she bursts into excitement, "My mommy let us start karting this year! I go really fast, but sometimes I still lose, but it's okay! Mommy says every winner has to lose first or it doesn't taste as good to win!"

"Your mommy is very smart." Rosella smiles, "Karting is super cool, do you wanna race forever?"

"I wanna race like you!" Katie grins, and nearly tackles Rosella with the tightness of her hug. Down the end of the aisle, another girl gasps and comes bounding over, a bit older. You learn it's Katie's sister Marlee, and the two bounce around stories with Rosella while you smile at their mother who hovers nearby.

"Come on, girls, they're also trying to shop." The woman eventually says, and you see the conflict in all the girls eyes. You know Rosella would stay and talk for hours, so your not surprised when she takes the cap off Marlee's head, and the cap off her own, and digs in her purse for a sharpie. Once clarifying how to spell their names, Rosella scribbles a quick note on the brim of the caps, and helps the girls put them back on. They both give Rosella the tightest hugs, and you can see all of the stress and worry Rosella's had about her career and future slide away as she grins.

She bids goodbye to the girls, their mother snapping a quick photo of them all, before you go your separate ways. But you aren't surprised to see Rosella had grabbed the mothers phone number, texting her and asking for updates about the girls in racing. You have an odd feeling Rosella's going to end up creating an army of little racers.

Once home from the shop, groceries unloaded, take-out dinner devoured, and suitcases in the hall, you give Rosella a tight hug and kiss, "We're always a phone call away, baby, okay?"

"Okay, Momma, thank you." Rosella murmurs into your shoulder, and then when you let her go, she slams into her father in a tight hug.

"Oi, Badger, you've got this." He pats her back, but then tightens his hold on her, "Call me whenever. No matter the time. We'll see you when you come home for the GP, yeah? Your first home race.."

Daniel looks like he might sob, and when Rosella steps back, the light catches her just right. She looks just like a young Daniel as she stands there, cap loose and barely covering the wild curls that wiggle in the wind. The apartment in London is beautiful, big glass windows that show off the landscape, smaller windows that can be cracked open for air.

In the middle of all the now unpacked place, Ro looks back at you both with teary eyes.

It's never easy, growing up, but somehow you know it's going to be so freeing for her. She's going to thrive here in London, chasing her dreams with the same determination and grit her father had back in his Red Bull days. Just like Sienna was thriving at MIT.

general tag list (open ! )

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins @armystay89 @leclercdream

[not-neverland06]

Bad Day

pt. two

part one

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) warnings: reader embracing the dark side, graphic descriptions of violence Summary: Another set of tourists, but this one’s different. You actually have to meet this group. They’re particularly difficult, too, causing more damage than any of you expected. Can you survive the night, again?

You focused on the way the knife glinted as it spread mayonnaise over the bread. You watched it glide through the thick substance and brought it back down, flipping the blade and smoothing and spreading it-

Your fingers tightened around the handle and you winced as you slammed your eyes shut. You couldn’t be around blades, even ones as dull as this, without thinking of that night. 

You’d fought, more than anyone else ever had, Bo told you. You’d also killed one of your friends in cold blood, no one had ever done that either. 

He had been tied up and vulnerable and you hadn’t even given him a fair shot at surviving you. 

You didn’t feel guilty about it, and that’s the part that haunts you. You didn’t try to justify your actions and cry yourself to sleep over the guilt you felt for being alive while your friends lay scattered throughout town. You slept deeply, peacefully, in the arms of the men who murdered them. 

You’d wake up after having a dream about that night and you would feel exhilarated because it had been the first time you’d ever truly stood up for yourself. You reveled in the power you’d felt when you’d swung that ax into his neck. 

You didn’t even remember their names. 

How fucked up was that?

You basked in the memories of their demise but their faces were lost to you. One blur that bled together the more you tried to picture them. 

You didn’t mourn them or feel pity, you felt no guilt, and that’s what fucked with you. Were you a bad person?

You had to be. 

But you’d never been one before Ambrose. 

You distracted yourself from the thoughts. You’d spiral and never get back up if you let yourself go down the rabbit hole. You tore off a piece of turkey and threw it at Jonesy, she pounced on it the second it hit the floor. 

You finished the sandwiches, one going into a brown paper bag the other a plate that you wrapped with plastic. You left the kitchen, winding around boxes and junk that they called sentimental. You’d gotten into a nasty fight with Bo a few months ago about cleaning the house up a little, but he had refused. 

You hadn’t realized how many beers he’d had that night and chosen the wrong moment to suggest change. Something he was staunchly against. He hadn’t hit you, never had, but he’d thrown a bottle near your head, the glass shattering and bouncing off the wall. Some of it had hit you, scraping up the back of your arms and legs. It wasn’t too bad, but you hadn’t felt that terrified of him since the night you came here. 

You’d been petty, stolen his keys and camped out in one of the houses in town. You hadn’t been able to get any sleep, not with the wax family watching you, but it had gotten the message across. Lester had told you Bo thought you’d left and lost his fucking shit. Vincent, apparently, had been even worse. 

By the time you got back the house was in worse shape then when you’d left. 

Bo had told you he’d think about cleaning some of the stuff out. That had been three months ago.

You grabbed the flashlight off their father’s desk and used the hatch in the office, dropping down into Vincent’s lair. Vincent, when he’d discovered just how much you hated the darkness that led into his workspace, had started leaving a flashlight out for you. 

When Bo got pissed at you he’d hide it. You’d have to crawl to him and beg for it back. 

You’re pretty sure he didn’t care what it was that he stole, he just wanted to exercise some control over you. Remind you of your place in this town, under him.

The flashlight was a nice thought from Vincent, but it didn’t really help you much. You used it anyway, wanting him to know you appreciated how much he cared. Because you’re pretty sure he’s the only real reason you’re alive. 

When Bo had caught you down here, standing over Owen’s dead body, he told you he didn’t know if he was going to keep you alive or not. You knew he meant it, he wasn’t teasing you or playing around, he genuinely did not know what to do with you. You were an outlier in a long list of repetitive victims. 

Vincent swept in behind him, glanced down at the ax, the injuries all over your body, and hesitantly stepped towards you. They looked at each other, a silent conversation laying in their gazes.  

Vincent took a slow step towards you and you recognized his actions for what they were. A test. 

Earlier, you’d seen Vincent try to help his brother, ease his pain and wrap up his wounds. Bo had reacted cruelly, the only thing he seemed to be capable of. 

You watched with a blank stare as Vincent kneeled down in front of you, brushing his fingers over the scraped skin of your knee. 

You jumped slightly at the burn of flesh against your wound, but otherwise didn’t react. Slowly, he stood back up, grabbing your arm with a gentleness that wasn’t present in your first meeting. He led you back to his desk, flipping over the drawing of your face and pulling out bandages. 

Some of them he had to toss to the side because they were covered in wax, others he used on you. 

Bo watched it all with a frown on his face and crossed arms. “What the hell are you doin’?”

Vincent’s head shot up and his arms tightened around you. Again, you forced yourself not to react, not to flinch away from his hold and grimace as you heard his muffled breath next to your ear. Vincent didn’t say anything, didn’t move his hands to communicate, he blocked you in like a guard dog and after a moment you heard Bo cussing and storming out. 

He mentioned something about getting the restg of your group, but nothing after that. You could only relax once you heard the basement hatch slam shut. “Thank you,” you whispered to Vincent. He grunted, but offered nothing else. 

His fingers were quick, precise in the way they cleaned and wrapped your wounds. They were also surprisingly gentle for someone who had just slammed a blade through your friend's skull. 

Vincent kept you squirreled away down there, sleeping on a cot in the corner of his large and stuffy studio. You weren’t sure how many days or weeks had passed with him idly sketching you and sculpting different wax animals for you, the lack of windows made it hard to tell, but you do know you were much better off here than in Bo’s dungeon. 

You’d learned bits of sign language from him, you were bored and he seemed eager to teach you. To finally have someone who would speak his language too. 

He was kind in his own way, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t eager to get the fuck out of there. 

Bo had stormed down one day, saw you, and lost his goddamn shit. Apparently, he’d thought Vincent was only keeping you around for a bit of fun and then killing you. The fact that you were still alive, and being taken care of, nearly gave him an aneurysm. 

Again, Vincent hadn’t let Bo hurt you. He’d protected you from his brother’s wrath and forced Bo to accept that you were staying. 

Sometimes you wished you weren’t kind to him. That you had yelled, kicked, and clawed at him. Called him a freak and told him to go to hell and find his precious momma. You would be dead, sure, but you wouldn’t be here. 

Thoughts like that had disappeared a long time ago, left with the summer heat. You knew it wasn’t Stockholm syndrome, you’d been a psych student before your world was flipped on its axis. You knew what the signs were, but this wasn’t loving them to save yourself. 

This was accepting that there was no place for you in society anymore, not after what you’d done. Not after you’d actually helped Vincent sculpt his wax around Allison’s pretty face. 

You’d enjoyed it, a sick satisfaction from seeing the bitch dead, your survival a victory over her. 

When she’d been alive she had a top. This really cute white, lacy number and no matter how many times you asked, she would never let you borrow it. She had no qualms stealing your clothes and never giving them back, but god forbid you ever even looked at that top.

It hung in your closet now, yours to do with whatever you pleased. You smiled every time you thought about it. 

“Vince?” You knocked on the doorway and clicked the flashlight off as the door creaked open. The warm glow of candlelight leaked out into the dark abyss. You slipped inside, shuddering at the rush of heat that hit you. It wasn’t always hot in here, only when he was preparing a new batch of wax. 

You frowned, he only did that when there were visitors coming. Lester must’ve called ahead, told them he spotted someone on the road. You closed the door behind you walking towards his desk and dropping the plate on top. Your fingers skimmed over the sketches, catching on another one of you. 

You picked it up and smiled, it was a sketch of you curled up on the couch with Jonesy, your face pressed into her fur as you slept. You remember waking up from that nap, frowning when you heard wood creaking behind you but not seeing anything. 

What a weird little stalker. He knew he could ask to sketch you and you didn’t mind, but he always ran away like you were gonna be mad at him. You shook your head, placing it back down, and walked further into his studio. 

You found him sitting at his table, curled over something you couldn’t make out. You could see his wrist flicking, the carving tool in his hand, and figured he was making another animal for you. You already had a whole shelf full of different animals, practically your own wax zoo. 

“Hey,” you whispered, hands creeping slowly along his shoulders. He tensed slightly before he leaned into you. “Brought you lunch.” His movements paused to sign, Thank you.

You glanced down at his hair, curling around him like a dark curtain and frowned. “Vince, you got wax in your hair again.” He shrugged and continued working. You sighed, walking back towards his desk and rustling through drawers until you found the brush you’d left down here for him.

Sometimes you think he does this on purpose because he likes how you take care of him. You ran the brush through his hair a few times trying to make sure you’d gotten all the wax out. He let out a low groan, his head tilting back and thudding against your chest as you stood behind him. 

You chuckled, scratching your fingers along his scalp and he let out a long sigh, melting into you. You’d have to force him into the shower later, to wash everything out of his hair. It was astounding how stubborn both brothers were about just showering. 

You weren’t sure why they resisted so much, maybe it was something that happened between them and their parents. Either way, it was a fight to get them near the water and even then you had to bribe them with your body, luring them in like a siren just so you could wash the grime off. 

You braided Vincent’s hair away from his face and he stilled, temporarily becoming your doll while you did what you wanted to him. He was always a bit easier than his brother. He was eager to please, even more eager for your praise. For you to tell him you were proud of him. 

You leaned down, pressing a kiss against the waxed cheek of his mask. “Eat your lunch, please.” He nodded but the second you backed off he was back to carving into the block of wax before him. You sighed and glanced around his space, collecting the dishes of other half-eaten meals you’ve brought down. 

The bell rang above you and you let out a sigh or relief as you stepped into Bo’s shop. A cool breeze rustled the fabric of your top. Seems like he got the air conditioning up and running again, even in winter you could still wear a tank top and shorts and be sweating. “Bo?”

“Back here!”

You walked towards the garage, brown bag clutched tightly in your hands and poked your head in. He was bent over, head under the hood of a car and oil smeared all over his coveralls. Your eyes traveled over the car he was working on, wincing when you realized it was yours. 

You hadn’t used it since you’d gotten here. You’d seen Bo towing it in, along with Owen’s but you’d always avoided paying too much attention to it. You weren’t sure why he bothered working on it, maybe it was a taunt towards you or he was just bored. You never really knew with him. 

“Brought lunch,” you offered, walking towards his work table and jumping on top, the bag going next to your thighs. He lifted himself up, looking towards you and smiling. 

“Thanks, hun,” you hummed in response, sticking your neck out as he approached. He chuckled, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. 

He reached for the bag, pulling out his lunch and taking too big of a bite. “‘M gonna have to go up to the house,” he mumbled through a mouth full of sandwich. “Need to change before our visitors get here.”

You nodded, staying quiet as he stared at you. You’d gotten used to this look and even more used to what was about to happen after. He’d tell you to follow him and would help you off the desk, deceptively sweet as he tugged you down to the room below the garage. 

Then he would tape you up, muttering to himself about not letting you leave. You’d submit easily, letting him do what he wanted. It was easier than trying to tell him you were staying. 

But his gaze shifted back to the car and you frowned at the side of his face. He should’ve told you to move by now. Instead he leaned back against the desk, his hand skimming your own. He didn’t look at you while he spoke. 

“Want you to work on your car.”

You blanched, eyes going wide as you stared at him. That wasn’t even close to what you were expecting. You had gotten so used to sitting under that grate, listening to the screams of his victims as he hunted them down. Now, he wanted you up here, wanted you to see it. 

What was he doing?

“What?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “fucked somethin’ up, want you to fix it.” He crumpled the bag into a ball, tossing it into the trash can and turned back towards you. You didn’t see anything on his face that would give away why he was keeping you up here on the surface and it set you on edge. 

This had to be some sort of test. Maybe he was seeing if you would try and use the new victims to escape or warn them off. Or he wanted to see if you could pretend like you belonged, go along with his act and keep the victims feeling safe and compliant while he killed them off. 

What the fuck?

You were used to how things worked in Ambrose. There was a system set in place, one you had learned to follow. This went against what you’d come to know and it was setting you on edge as you watched him walk off, heading up the hill and towards his house. 

You stayed glued to the desk for a while, you weren’t sure how long, but it was enough time for Bo to have cleaned up. He popped his head inside the garage, suit on, and frowned. “What’re you doing? Move your ass.”

You jumped, leaping off the work table and rushing towards the car. He laughed at your panicked movements, staying a moment to admire your ass as you bent over the hood before you heard his boots on the gravel, heading towards the church. 

You didn’t appreciate this switch up with him, how erratic his moods and behaviors were. He made it impossible to track and read him, to fully understand why he worked the way he did. 

You were grateful that, at the very least, he had given you a distraction from trying to figure out what this test was and if you were in trouble or not. 

You inspected the car, forcing yourself to remember everything he’s taught you while you’ve lingered in his shop. 

“Oh, they're right here.”

You jumped, rolling out from underneath the car and glancing towards the doorway that connected the garage to the auto shop. Two unfamiliar voices echoed within Bo’s shop. 

“Fan belts?”

“Yeah,” a guy and a girl. You poked your head over the top of the car and saw the guy was a lot taller than you and broader. Shit, you really hoped you didn’t run into him once they figured out what was going on up here. “But he doesn’t have the right size.”

“Just pick one, Wade, I don’t want to be in here much longer.”

“Alright, just hold on Carly.” You grabbed a rag, wiping your hands off and stepping towards them. 

“You plannin’ on stealin’ that?”

They both jumped, whipping around towards where you leaned in the doorway arms crossed over your chest. “No,” the guy rushed to defend himself, his girlfriend shaking her head frantically. “We left some money on the counter, we just needed to get out of here, that’s all.”

“There you are,” you all turned towards Bo. His posture matched your own, leaned against the entrance to the shop, hands tucked in his pockets. God, he looked good. Now that you weren’t fighting for your life you could fully appreciate how handsome he looked all cleaned up. Bo glanced at you then back to the other two, “She botherin’ you?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, glaring at him over their shoulders. He winked when they faced you and you figured he was putting on another show. Huffing out an irritated breath you rolled your eyes and turned back towards your car. You frowned at the oil streaked along your skin and clothes, you’d never be able to get the stains out. 

“Oh,” Carly started, shaking her head and glancing back at you again. “No, of course not, we just didn’t know that there was anyone in the shop.”

“She’s new, don’t like lettin’ her around customers, too much attitude.” You could practically see his smirk from under the car. He was probably so proud of himself, being able to tease you without you snapping back for once. 

“She’s fine, um, I left some money on the counter, but you don’t have any fifteens.” You watched as Bo’s feet moved towards the register, most likely pocketing the money. “Is that enough?”

Bo’s tone was easy going, the perfect southern gentleman as he helped a poor lost couple. “Close enough. You know, I’ve got the right size up at the house. Only a couple blocks from here…”

You forced yourself deaf, trying to block out the rest of their conversation. These people weren’t exactly assholes and they didn’t seem particularly deserving of what was about to happen. Your friends were bad people, you didn’t feel guilty about them, but there was something about this couple that had your stomach burning in anxiety. 

Maybe this was why Bo had you outside, playing mechanic with him. He wanted you to see the harsh reality of what it was they did here. you couldn’t always cover your ears and pretend it wasn’t happening. Was this what the test was? See how committed you were to him and Vincent, to Ambrose. 

You used the car as a cover, dropping the wrench beside you and covering your face as you tried to decide whether you were going to cry or throw up. It was fine, the idea of all this, when you were hidden under the grate. The straps were a reminder that it could be you up there being hunted again. 

Being face to face with the victims was entirely different. 

A hand slammed down on the roof of the car, the metal reverberating around you, “Hey!”

You screamed, jumping up and nearly hitting your head on the underbelly of the car. You rolled out, glaring at Bo while he stood smiling down at you. He kneeled down, laying a hand around your thigh and squeezing. 

“You’re gonna stay here, keep an eye out for any more of their friends, and behave. Okay?”

You nodded and he dug his nails in, “Yes, Bo.” 

“Good girl,” he stood up and walked towards the garage door. You watched him, afraid to take your eyes off his back. He turned back around, one last lingering look that had you feeling cold, “Don’t fuck up.” You flinched as the garage door slammed down behind him. 

“Help! Help me, please!” You jumped up and ran to the front of the auto shop. Carly ran face first into you, her fingernails digging painfully into your skin as she looked behind her. 

“Shit,” you grabbed her biceps and pulled her away. “What’s going on?”

She backed up, wiping her eyes and gulping as she tried to catch her breath. “That- that guy, Bo, I think he did something to my boyfriend.”

“Alright, calm down, it’s okay.” God, you were just as freaked out as her. What the fuck were you supposed to do? “Let me get the phone, we’ll call someone.”

She nodded, running to the door and locking it. She pressed her face against the glass and peered outside, keeping an eye out for him. You knew you didn’t have long before she started to get suspicious. The station had a working phone, but there was no way in hell you were actually about to call the cops on Bo. 

You paced back and forth, running your hands through your hair as you looked around, trying to find a solution. Your eyes snagged on the wrench by the car. You whipped your head over your shoulder, Carly was still stuck to the window. You ran for it, grabbing it and turning back towards her. 

You raised your hand up, wincing as she caught your eye in the reflection of the glass. “What’re-”

She crumpled to the ground with a thud, crimson pooling around her arms. 

You saw in the reflection Bo approaching you from behind, back in his coveralls. “Atta girl!” You didn’t react when he slung his arms over your shoulders, squeezing you and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “Did good, baby.” He released you, huffing out a big sigh and walking over to the girl, “Alright, grab her ankles.” His tone was no longer adoring going right back to business. 

You looked at him like he was crazy, ”Bo, what?”

You dropped the wrench to the ground and he frowned from where he was picking up her wrists. “You got a problem?”

”Yeah! What the fuck are you doing? Why am I doing this?” He dropped her arms unceremoniously and you winced at the crack they made against the cement. He stepped over her, stalking towards you and you stumbled back, heart beating faster in fear. 

His hand snapped out, grabbing you before you could make it far. You whined as he dug his nails into your cheeks, puckering your lips and gripping your jaw hard enough for it to creak. “You’re doing this ‘cause I said to. Do we have a problem?”

He was so good at making you feel small. You wonder how Vincent’s put up with it all these years. “No, Bo,” your words were muffled by his grip, but he got the message. He released you, but you didn’t go far, his arm wrapping around waist and pulling you into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, his hand coming up to push some of your hair back. “It’s alright, darlin.’ We all make mistakes, right?” His tone was condescending, his smirk even more so, but you played along like he wanted you to. Nodding and accepting when he pressed a violent kiss to your mouth, your teeth clashing together and lip splitting from the force of it. 

He backed away from you, chuckling loudly and going back to the unconscious girl on the floor. You grabbed her by the ankles like he’d told you to and helped him drag her down to the basement. He propped her head on your shoulder while he unlocked the door and you struggled under her dead weight. 

“Why is she going down here, Bo?”

Your mind went to the Polaroids covering the walls, the things he’s had you do in that chair and you felt anger burning in your gut. Not worry or fear for her like you should feel, but white hot burning rage at him for trying to pull something like this.

He looked over his shoulder at your expression and grinned, “Nothin’ like that, baby. Little bitch put up a fight and wrecked my truck, I ain’t done with her yet.” 

A good person would wince and whisper and apology to the unconscious girl, say they were sorry for the pain she was about to experience. Instead you felt sated, relieved, and completely fine with hauling her body up into the chair and taping her down. 

You held her legs down as he taped them and she started to move around. Bo tossed you some superglue and you gripped her by the jaw, clamping her lips shut and pouring glue over the seam of her mouth. She whimpered and you ignored her, moving mechanically, distancing yourself from the fact that she was a real moving person. In her place was a wax statue, full of imperfections that you needed the glue to fix. 

All three of you looked up through the grate at the sound of the boots stomping in the garage above you. Bo shared a look with you and nodded towards the door. You let the girl go, slipping out of the basement and closing the door behind you. You came up through the entrance behind the register, glancing outside to see a man in front of the garage. 

You let out a breath of relief, closing the door to the shop as you stepped into the garage, he hadn’t got a chance to see the pool of blood. “Can I help you?”

He turned around, a particularly bitchy look on his face. “Looking for my sister, Carly, seen her?”

There was a loud yelp and you frowned. You walked towards the work table, reaching for the stereo and turning the volume to Bo’s music on. You covered the grate from his view as Deftones blasted through the small garage. 

“Sorry, it’s my dog, she hates new people.”

He gave you an awkward smile and nodded. “Yeah, might’ve seen her. Pretty girl, blonde hair?”

He nodded his head, giving you an appraising look. You weren’t sure if he didn’t believe you or was checking you out. You really preferred that he didn’t believe you, you weren’t prepared to deal with Bo if he thought someone was moving in on you. ”My boss, Bo, took her and her boyfriend up to his house a few minutes ago. They were lookin’ for a fan belt.”

“His house?”

You shrugged, “He keeps extra shipments there. Wasn’t too long ago, you want me to take you?” 

He sucked on his teeth, shaking his head and backing away. “No, I’m good, thanks though.”

You panicked, fists clenching as you watched him retreat. “It's really no problem.”

“I said I’m good,” he snapped. 

You could see Bo creeping up behind him, the same wrench you used on the guy’s sister in his hand. If he turned around he would see Bo. Carly was easy to take out, she was small, trusting. This guy looked built and like he’d been in a few too many fights. “Wait!” You shouted, too scared to come up with a good distraction. 

He glared at you and opened his mouth to say something just as Bo struck. The wrench came down on the guys head with a disturbing crack, but he didn’t fall like he should have. He stumbled forward and whirled around on Bo, his fist catching him in the jaw and tackling him to the ground. 

You could clearly see blood pouring down the back of his head, but he remained unphased as he  pounded into Bo. “Shit,” you cursed, darting to the side to pick up another weapon but you failed to notice how the man had stopped beating Bo. He must’ve seen you moving somehow because in a split second something was slamming into your side and the air was leaving you as you were slammed into the cement. 

You groaned, feeling like your lungs had collapsed and curled up in an attempt to protect yourself as he directed his attacks towards you. “Nick!” A shrill voice screamed from the grate. “Nick!” He leapt off of you, heading back towards Bo and ripping the keys off his belt as he made a run for it. 

Your vision was red, blood pouring down from a cut on your forehead. You took in a painful breath, your lungs wheezing, your ribs had apparently taken the majority of his punches. With your brain pounding against your eyes you rolled onto your knees and crawled towards Bo. 

He wasn’t as badly injured as you had thought he would be, must’ve gotten in a few hits of his own. “Bo,” you grabbed his shoulders, gently shaking him. “Bo!” You tried again, shouting this time and slamming his head down on the cement. 

He groaned and you let yourself fall back, head lolling on your shoulders as you tried to get your vision to stop swimming. “Shit, he got me.” Bo sat up, wiping the blood from under his nose, “Get home.” He ordered, tone not leaving any room for an argument. You nodded as he stormed off, but instead of going home like he told you to, you laid down on the cold cement and groaned. 

Should lungs hurt?

You eventually managed your way to the house, once you’d got breath back, your injuries weren’t as bad as you’d thought they’d been. You stumbled into the doorway, glancing at a trail of blood leading into the office and trudging your way to the fridge. You grabbed a beer and threw yourself down on the couch. 

It didn’t take long to hear footsteps creeping towards you. Your heart clenched when you saw how hesitant Vincent was to get near you. You loved Bo, but he could be a real fucking dick to his brother. You leaned your head against the cushion, rolling it to the right and smiling at Vincent. 

It seemed to be enough for him to feel comfortable approaching you. He kneeled on the floor beside you and fussed over your scrapes. “I’m fine, really,” you reached up, taking his hand in yours and trying to give him a reassuring smile. “I think they got Bo pretty bad, though.”

He tugged his hands from yours, taking off his gloves and signing. How bad

”One of the guys, he’s pretty strong, busted his sister out from the basement after attacking me and Bo. Actually managed to knock Bo out for a minute.”

Stay here

“Wait-” you reached out, trying to grab the back of his sweater but he was already making a run for the front door. It slammed closed behind him, his truck starting up a minute later. You sighed and fell back against the couch, letting your eyes shut as you tried to relax. 

You hadn’t realized just how relaxed you’d gotten until you heard the door slam. You jumped up, glancing out the living room window and realizing how dark it’d gotten. You moved off the couch, placing your beer on the coffee table and heading into the kitchen. 

Bo was leaning on the counter, already a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was completely soaked in blood, his nose leaking and a bandage wrapped around his arm. “Holy shit, Bo, what happened?” 

You ran forward, hands instinctively going to the arrow buried in his arm. “Back off!” He snapped. You frowned and stepped back from him, trying not to upset him any further. You heard the rumble of a truck on the driveway and you glanced through the window. 

Two bodies lay in the bed of Vincent’s yellow truck, a blonde girl and some guy you hadn’t seen before. Vincent jumped out, Jonesy following behind him, and made his way towards the door. You opened it before he could, grabbing him by the cardigan and making sure he wasn’t hurt like Bo. 

He took your hands in his and shook his head, gently moving you back. “What have I told you about leaving without me?” Bo shouted. “You wait for me!”

Vincent nodded, not bothering to respond to Bo. There was a moment of tense silence before Bo offered a half-hearted smile to Vincent, “We’re almost done, Vinnie, momma would be proud of ya.”

It was the closest to an apology Vincent would ever get, you all knew it. Bo can’t apologize, his parents had permantly fucked with his psyche, and it started with his dad doing a risky surgery to seperate his boys. Vincent’s face would permanently be ruined but you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Bo had gotten the fucked mental end of the separation. 

“How many are left?” You asked, reluctantly releasing Vincent’s hands. 

“The girl and her brother,” Bo paced, taking a swig of his whiskey. He hissed and clutched his hurt arm. “Alright, help me out with this.”

You had to hold yourself back from snapping at him. Oh, can I help now? Dick. You grabbed hold of what was left of the arrow and yanked as hard as you could, Bo clenched his teeth and let out a loud pained groan. You winced at the amount of blood that started coming out, Vincent moved you to the side, already having a bandage ready and tying it tight around Bo’s arm. 

“Where do you think they headed?”

Bo grunted, speaking through clenched teeth, “House of Wax.”

You nodded and stepped back from him once it seemed like Vincent wouldn’t need your help. “I’ll go with you both.”

”No,” Bo shouted and Vincent shook his head wildly. 

“Don’t be a dumbass, you need my help. They’ve already kicked your ass, I’ll stay out of sight, promise. I just want to be there in case they get the upper hand.” Bo looked unsure and Vincent was still shaking his head. You placed a comforting hand on both of their arms and begged, “Please. Let me help.”

Bo shook his head and your stomach dropped, worried he would say no. Finally he let out a long sigh, “Stick with Vincent.”

You nodded, feeling Vincent’s hand grab onto yours as he led you outside. Bo grunted and slowly followed after you both, his left arm stiff beside him. 

You followed Vincent into the bowels of the House of Wax, he moved slowly, keeping one hand behind him to make sure you didn’t bolt. You weren’t planning on it, but they didn’t seem to completely trust you for some reason. 

You heard footsteps ahead, quck and frantic, rushing through his workshop. Vincent pulled out his bone handle daggers and ran down the rest of the steps. You stayed on the stairwell, keeping your head peaked around the corner. 

The brother was in there, rushing through the workshop and knocking shit over without a care in the world. He hadn’t noticed Vincent yet, too busy looking for something. You weren’t sure what he wanted, or what the plan was until you saw him grab a pile of sheets, getting ready to throw them in the fire that kept the wax warm. 

Shit, he was going to set the whole damn place on fire. 

Even if you did manage to kill these two, it wouldn’t matter, the police would come, they’d see the bodies. Bo and Vincent would be locked up and you…

Well, you didn’t really know what would happen to you. 

You could always plead insanity, show the jury the scars from your bonds and they’d think you were just a victim forced to do the unimaginable. 

You considered it for a moment, letting him get away with this, thought about the freedom that might await you. There was an empty feeling associated with that image, you’d miss Bo and Vince, miss the fucked up life you were living here. 

There weren’t any worries here, just make sure the victims didn’t make it past the woods and you were fine. No taxes, or wondering how you’d afford to keep living in your overpriced apartment, no fucked politics. You were free to be whoever you wanted, do whatever you wanted. 

You grabbed a lead pipe off the stairs and threw it at the wall. It provided enough of a distraction for him to drop the sheets, not yet making it to the fire, and for Vince to grab him. You watched long enough to see the knife go through his throat and then ran back up the stairs towards Bo. 

You heard screaming before you made it through the door, Carly shouting something at him. What worried you was that you didn’t hear him respond. You turned the corner, feet sticking to the wax as you gripped onto the doorway for balance. 

She was standing over him, baseball bat in her hands poised to bring it back down over his face. You could already see blood leaking down his face from where she’d hit him before. Without thinking you charged at her, wrapping your arms around her middle and taking her down to the floor. 

She let out a surprised yelp but you didn’t let her get much else out before you were wailing on her. You don’t know what happened after you grabbed her. You only remember punching her the first time, remember your knuckles splitting and your blood mingling with hers as she wrestled with you. 

All you could see was Bo laying on the floor, not moving, as this bitch stood over him with a bat. You were blinded by rage, a hot fury burning in your gut and keeping you moving as you pounded your fists into her. You felt satisfied by the sound of her bones crunching under you. 

She screamed at you, words you couldn’t hear as your blood rushed through your ears, and threw her hand up into your chin. You groaned, jaw whipping to the side. She pounced on you, digging her fingers into your throat until you couldn’t breathe and flipping you both over. 

You dragged your nails down her face, the skin digging under your nails like warm wax. You dragged your palms down until you could feel her throat, the movement it made as she took in a deep breath. You felt it bob up and down under your touch and you squeezed. She let out a strangled yelp and you could feel yourself slipping. You were becoming lost in a place of animalistic panic. 

You were almost dead, the man you loved was most likely lying dead next to you as you fought for your own life. Your vision was cloudy until it went completely black and then you felt arms wrapping around your chest and pulling you back. You kicked and screamed, still in fighting for your life until you recognized the voice in your ear. 

“Alright, it’s alright, it’s over.” You slumped back at the sound of Bo’s whispers. You ignored the feeling of his blood leaking into your shirt as he sat down with you, pulling you into his chest and squeezing until it hurt. 

You didn’t mind the pain, though, embracing it because it meant you were both alive. Both of you were okay. You reached back, wrapping your arms around his neck and melting into him. Carly lay dead a few feet in front of you, her face mangled and you looked down to see her blood soaking into your clothes. 

You had your own wounds from where she’d fought back, bleeding lacerations that you’d fix later. For now you sat with Bo, watching as Vincent stomped towards you both. In a minute you’d get up, help them clean up the house and the bodies. Then you’d all go home, you’d make dinner, pass out on the couch and wake up in one of their beds. Probably Bo, if his panicked grip was anything to go by. 

Life would go on as it always had, except you’d never have to see that chair again. You’d never be looking up through a grate as blood pooled on the garage floor. You’d go with Bo when he went to the city for supplies, you’d be able to pick out clothes that weren’t plucked from the hands of the dead. 

It wasn’t right. 

You weren’t a good person. 

You didn’t deserve salvation or heaven after all of this. 

But you’d found it and you were perfectly happy. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[zivazivc]

What was Ish and Lena's relationship?

I made so much for this ask, don't look at me 🫣

The two trolls had a short summer romance at a "no boarders" music festival called Fusion Fest. Back then it was a pretty new and small thing, and the point of the festival is for trolls from all genres to come together and enjoy each other's music and company; celebrating togetherness and acceptance.

(Yes, I made a logo. 😅 This festival is a major annual event for the mixed trolls in my AU.)

Ish and his friend group went to check it out because they're already a colorful ensemble of different genres, and they were curious to see what it was about.

Lena and her friends somehow caught wind of the festival in their backwater village where nothing new or exciting ever happens, and they decided to go to rebel against their closed-minded, racist parents and community, but mostly because they were bored teenagers who'd never seen any trolls other than Rock Trolls before. Despite them wanting to experience something new, their reason for going was very much NOT the point of the festival; They were treating it more like a freakshow to stare at, and them rebelling against their parents was more just to anger them and not because they were any better...

In my mind Lena is very attractive (in a trashy, grunge kind of way), and a 16-year-old Ish immediately got a crush on her from across the room.

He put his Funk moves on her and left her completely flustered from how forward he was. I imagine he was really charming and smooth, but also I can't stop cringing and comparing it to bird mating dances lmao.

(The song Ish is singing to Lena. It makes it feel extra perfect because I just happened to learn the singer was also a 16-year-old when recording it!)

Lena didn't fall for him as hard as he fell for her at first, but she's one of those girls who will go for any bad boy that looks intimidating, and she thought funk trolls were scary and intimidating, because she was subconsciously racist herself too. 🧍 She did really start to like him after they hooked up though, and started liking him for him (so at least she was learning...)

But then they were faced with an unexpected surprise one morning after waking up from a night of concerts and partying (and mixing of substances that shouldn't be mixed)...

Ish panicked hard, he even tried getting rid of the egg, claiming it had to be a dud given the circumstances, but Lena stopped him saying she felt it move. Thank god, because Leslie hatched only minutes later.

Ish was so freaked out that he abruptly left and headed back to Funk Kingdom in the same day, and just abandoned Lena with the baby.

Lena was also very scared but she immediately warmed up to little Leslie and had no intention of dropping him off at an orphanage or doing something similar, despite her friends' encouragement to do just that, claiming her parents were going to kick her out if she showed up back home with a mixed baby.

I'm thinking Ish did try to reach out to Lena by sending her a letter a few weeks later (he got her address before the egg thing happened), but the letter never reached her because she really was disowned and kicked out of her parents' house when she came home and refused to give her baby up...

So Lena never heard from Ish again, and the next time Ish heard about Lena was about 9 years later when Leslie turned up looking for him with his baby brother, and he learned that she was gone...

(Ish having a weird day where he went out after Kymani poorly relayed a confusing phone call from the police station, and later came back home as the sole caretaker of two neglected kids.)