#And I desperately wish my relative would just stop seeing them but I obviously respect my relative's autonomy and they do still love them

[beechicory]

Oh my Godddddddd, another day, another confirmation that, in terms of parent quality in terms of my young relative it goes:

Me

our cat (look, she thinks she's responsible for us, and she does a good job!)

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the other potential parental figures, including their actual biological parents and their legal guardian

Just...fucking absolute ghouls. Levels of selfishness that go beyond comprehension. Sickening cruelty. I want to tar and feather them. Jesus Christ.

[dodo-begone]

Beware the Beast

Pairing: Yandere!Philza x Reader

Request: Maybe some yandere!philza headcanons? You don’t have to!

Word Count: 2k

Warning: yandere, swearing, talk about kidnapping, depression (kinda detailed on that aspect)

A/n: I accidentally turned this into a story- i really need to stop doing that. But I just couldn't resist! Also sorry if Phil is OOC. And this isn't proofread. We die like men here. Can be perceived as platonic or romantic.

This man has lived many years, lost so many loved ones. He’s getting tired of this cycle. It’s truly exhausting. You start to care about the world less. After a while, you start to see too many similarities in things, making it hard to look at. So he starts to close his heart to others. It’s just easier that way, for both parties. Saves him from the heartbreak and them from… well, him. He also stops caring for himself. After all, he’s literally immortal. Nothing can kill this man, so neglecting some self care routines every once in a while wouldn’t hurt…

But this becomes such a bad habit of his. He barely cares for himself after a while. It’s hard to find the energy when it isn’t going to matter in the end. Nothing matters anyways. Every action will always prove fruitless in the end. So what’s the point in doing something so... small if it takes this much energy? If a past version of himself saw Phil now, they’d be disgusted. Telling him to just get up and care for himself. Come on, you’re immortal. Nothing can kill you. Just do this.

He’s a mess when you two meet. His platinum-blonde hair was mostly neat, a little shaggy. It was obvious that he just got himself cleaned up a bit. One can only do so much about deep eyebags, dull hair, and lifeless eyes on such short notice.

You were introduced to him through Ghostbur. Phil was overjoyed that Ghostbur was making more friends. Though much less pleased when Ghostbur insisted that he’d bring his new friend over to meet Phil. Oh come on Phil, you’d just love them. They’re so nice! What tortured Philza more than his first interaction with you? His conversations with Ghostbur about you. He’d just prattle on about things you and him did, about how much fun you two had and how nice you were. Always nice.

And you were nice, an absolute sweetheart. But much too perky for Philza’s liking. You two had been chatting for quite a while when Ghostbur silently leaves you two together. Well, you’re chatting. Phil is just listening to you, hoping that you’d leave at any moment. Some topics were brought up; they were mostly some small icebreakers to get acquainted more.

When your past was brought up, you’d always paint this fucking picture-perfect past. So peaceful. God, the envy he had of you, of the peace you experienced in your life- He felt bad for it, honestly, he did. But he just wished he could’ve had even a fraction of the prosperity you spoke about. For someone living in the DSMP, you had a relatively easy and steady life. No war, no major or sudden loss or anything of that sort. A perfect life.

After that, you just kept coming back. Why? Why are you coming back? Are you here to taunt him for the life he lived? For the life he’ll never have? Is some god sending you as a punishment? A living example of everything he gave up, had to leave behind. That’s what he believed, anyways.

That was far from your intentions. You saw how he was in your first meeting; jumpy yet dissociating from reality. An oppressive, glum aura seemed to just emanate him. So downtrodden and dead inside, yet so obviously alive on the outside. It hurt to see him like that, as you went through something similar. You had no idea how long he’d been like that, but you decided that you’d help him in any way that you could.

You tried to make it a daily thing. Everyday you’d go to Phil’s house around midday to afternoon. You two would talk for a bit, but you’d couldn’t help sprinkling your questions in. Have you eaten yet, mr. Philza? Have you had water today, mr. Philza? Have you preened your feathers, mr. Philza? Have you bathed today, mr. Philza?

Your questions irked Phil. Everyday, without fail, you’d come and talk to him. It’d be small talk at first; what the weather was up to that day, some light politics, Tubbo’s new adopted son. Small. Yet you’d always bring up his self care. He was a fcking grown man. He could take care of himself. What’s worse? You’d pester him to care for himself in that instant if he even showed a small sign of negligence. And you’d stay the entire time, making sure he did everything. And then you’d always add “mr. Philza” on the end. It was a sign of respect, yet it upset him so much. But he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was.

Though it was annoying, it got him in the habit of caring for himself. It was only to stop your pesting! That’s the reasoning. The only reason. It wasn’t because you’re congratulating and giving him treats when he remembered to care for himself. Or you petting his wings… Those were only bonuses! He swears!

It becomes more steady as time goes on; you go and visit Phil, you talk with Phil and see if he’s caring for himself, and if he was, you’d reveal a delicious treat from within your enderchest. You two would talk while munching on the food, having fun sharing what your pasts were like. Well, more like yours. Phil didn’t really talk about his.

But he still seems so cold, disinterested. Even with how long you’ve been going over for. Like he’s only listening to what you’re telling him. If he’s even listening. And seeing how he interacted with others like Techno and Ranboo, it really disheartened you. He was so much more lively with them, more natural. Loud laughing and silly little antics. It only took a few small, insignificant depression episodes for your self doubt to finally debilitate you. Though it only really affected your contact with Phil; he was a big insecurity of yours.

So you start to distance yourself. You were hurting and saw yourself as a bother to Philza. It would’ve been better if you just didn’t try to talk to him anymore. He’d be so much happier without you bugging him all the time. All of this sudden, open time gives you much more empty hours. There was nothing to do. So you did what you could; you went out to make or strengthen friendships. It was so nice. You never realized how everyone on the smp was so nice. Maybe they weren’t as bad as Phil was making them all out to be…

Philza was upset the first day you weren’t there. You were such a steady element of his day. You were like the very air he breathed; it was extremely hard to live without you. He never noticed before how much he needed you. Yes, he knew that he really enjoyed you, saw that you were a pillar, a constant in his life. He came to enjoy your visits, but hadn’t realized how dependent he became because of them. It was day three when Phil started to worry about you. Why hadn’t you come to talk with him, like usual? He’s taking care of himself, just for you, just like you kept insisting he do. And he made you some cake.

He knew he was acting odd, lovesick even. His love for you was toxic, extremely so. It wasn’t healthy, yet he couldn’t care less anymore. You were like his nicotine to a smoker; he couldn't live without you being in his life. His everyday life. So after some debating, he finally went out to look for you.

Traversing the nether wasn’t too bad, but still a tedious walk. He was stuck in his mind the entire trip there, wondering where you could be and what you could be doing. Maybe you got caught up in making something. A redstone project? That’d be pretty cool. Or maybe moving? No, if you were, you’d have told him. But that didn’t stop him from speeding up just a wee bit. Just to make sure you were actually still on the smp.

His mind was racing, thinking of any possibility of what you were doing. And his mind eventually hit something that absolutely terrified him; you could be sick, injured, or dying. It felt like the world just fucking stopped. This was a sudden loss of contact and you still hadn’t come to talk with him. So that… that means there’s a high probability of you being in danger.

He ran the rest of the way to the main part of the smp. When he came out of the portal, he frantically looked around for any sign of you. For your house. Then it hit him; he had no idea where you lived. You only mentioned it being cold where you lived, just like where he lived. So that most likely meant Snowchester. He started running toward the cold nation

On his way to Snowchester, he observed his surroundings. A little bit. He had to get to you, keep his eye on the prize. And he was glad that he looked around. There you were, on another part of the prime path.

He was overjoyed to see you, especially doing so well. Soon he came to a stop. Just floored by the fact you were there, in front of him. Frantically he tried to view you as best he could, looking for any sign of injury or illness.

Now he couldn’t come across as clingy or desperate. That wasn’t how you knew him. You know him as Philza; the kind but a mild social recluse. Not really going out to others unless he needed something or he was needed.

So he walked over to you, trying his best to look nonchalant. Like he wasn’t just desperately searching for you a moment ago. He called out to you and guess what happened? You started to walk away. He was stunned. Did you just ignore him? No, you must not have heard him. It was kinda windy out at the moment.

Logically he did the best option, following you. He had no clue where your destination could be. You were going to a different area of the smp than he had been. My how the smp changed since the destruction of L’manberg. He knew it changed, but it seemed so much bigger than what you described.

He didn’t exactly pay attention to where you were indirectly leading him. That was until a flash of movement caught his attention. Snapping out of it, he looked to see what could’ve been going on. Who could’ve been there. And what he saw before him was a terrible sight.

Quackity stood by your side, animatedly chatting with you. Phil was confused as to why you were talking to Quackity of all people. You two recently talked about how Quackity was problematic and arrogant. If you knew that, then why were you talking to him?

Awkwardly he watched you. Not within earshot, but where he could keep an eye on you and Quackity. And Quackity was looking at Phil too. His eyes spoke volumes; Quackity wasn’t pleased that Phil was there. Boy was that sentiment shared. It was tense between the two, yet you still seemed oblivious to what was going on.

Then Quackity said something, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you somewhere else. But gave one last look at Phil, one that just spoke “fuck off”. Phil wished he could’ve told Quackity the same. To get him away for you.

Quackity’s action sparked a thought in him. A reason as to why you hadn’t come to talk to Phil; Quackity must’ve kidnapped you! Yes, that’s why you hadn’t come. It makes so much sense. Quackity knows you and most likely knows you talk to Phil.

With how easily you tell Phil of the people you’re talking to, he doubts that the behavior would just change. But that’s what must’ve gotten you in so much trouble; you were too trusting, too kind-hearted. You gave Quackity a chance and he was stealing you away, imprisoning you. You needn’t worry dear, he’ll rescue you from that foul man.

[ohheyitsokay]

before tomorrow

Pairing: Javier Peña x (f) reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of sex, strong language, a touch of angst

Summary: a classic fake dating undercover mission, with a healthy dose of miscommunication

>>

“Hey, Peña, can we talk?” Your head popped into Javier’s office and an annoying … feeling spiked in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah,” he gestured for you to come in, pushing some papers aside to give you relative attention. The door closed behind and you sunk into the chair across from him.

There was a comfortable smile on your face, these visits to his office becoming frequent over the past few weeks. He could see you thinking, knowing full well this was one of your first undercover missions, and he almost heard your words before you said them.

“About tomorrow,” you started, but there was something in your eyes he didn’t recognize.

He waited.

The weekend was something he figured you both were looking forward to. It was... an honest to goodness fun mission. Like the ones you’d see in movies. Intel, appearances, earpieces, and playing parts. Out of the heat, no takedowns or chances of innocent people getting hurt. More than that, it had felt like, these past few weeks, that neither of you would mind getting the chance to just hang out together, even for work. No watching eyes, no paperwork to get to, no opportunity for another one of the guys to shoot his shot with you.

At least, Javi had been looking forward to those things. He liked you. You were clever and pretty and you cared about people, genuinely.

“Can we make some rules?” Your tone wasn’t shy, but definitely a bit vulnerable. There was subtext there, and in your sharp eyes, but that was another thing he wasn’t quite sure of.

“Okay,” he said, slow, curious.

You chewed on your words again, Javier’s brown eyes not leaving yours for even a moment. The top button of his shirt was undone, and the humidity was making the ends of his hair curl just a touch.

There was no way you could promise you weren’t going to fall in love with him so you settled for something different.

“No pet names, no messing up my hair,” you held his gaze, trying to match his confidence. Months of banter and comradery should’ve prepared you for that much, at least. The corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit as you counted on your fingers. “And no kissing.”

“Alright, fair enough,” he said, a faint line between his eyebrows forming as he wondered what prompted this.

“Obviously, I’ll follow your lead, and…” you leaned towards him a little bit, a glint in your eye. “If I catch you looking at my butt I get your gun.” You almost cackled at the look on his face as you got up, waving before you left, not even waiting for his response.

Javier ran his hand over his jaw. What a set of rules. You following his lead, telling him not to look, not to kiss… it almost made him wonder what exactly you did want. If kissing was the only physical affection off the table, he could definitely work with that… He shook his head. If he didn’t know any better, that interaction almost made him more excited for the night to come.

-

It didn’t exactly happen like he had hoped.

He spent the morning preparing his bag – he had most of a weekend to pretend to be your lover at an elite conference – and overthinking your rules.

It was no secret that he was a ladies man. Even if he’d stopped talking about the women who once occupied his bed, the office gossip hadn’t. But the idea that you could potentially be bothered by that reputation left a bad taste in his mouth. This was his chance to show you he wasn’t that guy, at least not any more.

That personal mission promptly got in his way. When he picked you up, you were stunning. Sexy. He nearly choked, trying to compliment you, explain to you how gorgeous you were without sounding like goddamn creep.

The rest of the night was the same, Javier cursing himself for tripping over his words and feet. You could feel something was off, too. He was trying so hard to … make this seem like a date that he completely lost his cover.

You’d managed to get part of the Intel you need, thank goodness, but the narrowed eyes of the other guests followed the two of you around the room.

Lovers did not keep each other at arms length, with hovering, respectful hands. When they found themselves molding into each other’s sides, they did not jump apart, flinching, not fully meeting each others eyes. And then certainly did not avoid kissing when the lights were soft in the corner of the room, and the music and drinks were flowing.

No one present questioned you outright, and Javier’s heart protested when you got a message from headquarters and had to slip away.

Tonight, for him, was nice just being with you like this. He was enjoying the flush on your face, and the way your fingers felt, clinging to the fabric at the elbow of his suit. If it were a first date, it would have been perfect, the process of slowly becoming comfortable with each other, close to each other.

But it wasn’t a date at all.

It was a mission. And you were the rookie who had been flustered by your partner and almost cost them all the effort put into the invites, the placements, the whole weekend.

At least, that was what they told you.

It took you long moments to articulate your plan to do better, to reign the butterflies, and to rebuild your walls, but you did it. The nature of the conference and covers dictated you share a hotel room. As you went to find Javi – no, your partner – there, you focused on stripping yourself of the electric heat his hands had left on your skin.

Javier Peńa didn’t have eyes for you. He made eyes at most people, but it was just fun and games and he was good at his job. That was all that was behind those tender touches and adoring looks. He was good at his job, and you just needed to get it together.

But Javier's heart ached a little when you walked into the room. He was already set up on the couch and he almost jumped, standing to greet you.

“How’d that go?” he asked, before anything, the neutral look on your face feeling unfamiliar.

“It’s fine, it’s too late to pull me out anyway. I’ll get it together for tomorrow,” your professionalism was hard to maintain when his eyes were holding yours. They were deep and dark and even here, long hallways away from prying eyes, they seemed like they cared for you.

“And… forget those rules I made.” Now, your gaze was stuck on the floor. There was a small stain by the end table, the maids had tried to cover it with a rug.

Javi wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Still flying high from the feeling of you on his arm, his mind wandered to his previous thoughts about your rules. His mind was occupied for a moment, indulging the idea that maybe this was his chance.

Images of you – under him, gasping, fingernails curling into his skin – short circuited his brain.

“No rules, cariño?” Javier stepped into your space, eager at this off chance he could show you how much he liked you.

No pet names.

His touch started gentle, brushing a strand of hair back before combing it in with his fingers. Broad fingers slid through until he was palming the back of your head, by your neck.

No messing up my hair.

You were still as a statue, your eyes finding his like magnets and metal, and you could feel him draw close, his breath in yours.

The gentle bump of your noses was the a yank, back, back, back to your senses. Heart racing, you pulled away, a white hot feeling tearing through you. One hair closer and you would’ve been done for. This was Javier Peña. He had probably used those same touches to get countless girls and if they were anything, they were proof that you were not special.

“Tomorrow,” you all but spat at him. Turning, you shoved yourself towards the bedroom, hissing under your breath, “I cant believe you.”

Javier watched you go, dumbfounded. And then the realizations hit him one after another, sharp pain with a healthy onslaught of panic.

You thought he had been getting close to you for the job. You thought it was your fault, that you had to do better because this was professional.

He had misunderstood everything, tried to come on to you when you were giving him a chance to be respectful and he ruined it.

Cursing, he wished fruitlessly he could punch himself. Had he done anything, anything at all to make it clear to you he adored you? That if you’d kiss him, sleep with him, it would be a damn honor? That it had nothing to do with the mission?

Fuck.

He figured he had roughly ten seconds before you remembered to close the door and it would be all over.

Pushing into your room, he saw your expression and felt physical pain shoot through his chest.

Hot, angry tears were carving paths down your face, and they almost drove him to his knees. By the door, he tried to make himself look smaller, trying to tell you on face he hated himself for being so blind tonight.

Speak, words, now. His mind yelled.

“Querida, please, I'm sorry,” he was talking fast, desperate. He told you as quickly as he could how much of an idiot he was, how he didn’t mean to get you in hot water. You stared at him, wide eyes, tears drying as he tried to explained how much he liked you, how he was trying to do this thing right and screwed it up. How the last thing he wanted was for you to think you were just another opportunity hook up.

When he was done, he was almost breathing hard, forcing himself to wait for you to process before he risked shooting himself in the foot again.

Slowly, almost as if you were in a trance, you reached behind you and grabbed an overstuffed pillow off the bed. Javier was nervous you were going to hit him for a moment before you held it to your face and groaned.

“Of all the stupid, emotionally incompetent men in the whole world I just had to go and pick you,” your voice was muffled but the feeling the words gave Javier was clear as spring water. He was fine being stupid, knowing you ha picked him.

“Get out, we can figure this out tomorrow,” your face was visible again and then you threw the pillow at him and he retreated. A goofy smile was growing on his face. He had made a fool of himself, then apologized and confessed and still you picked him.

You picked him.

The idea of going back out into the field tomorrow became more than exciting. Javier felt like a damn teenager in love. He was still confused, but at the same time he wanted to go to sleep quickly, so he could skip to the part where you were near to him again.

There was a lot left to figure out, but he felt light now that you were no longer mad at him. Settling into the couch, he was already half dreaming of the next day, playing at your lover for real this time, and … and kissing you.

That thought made him slow down, and wake up again. Something felt off, and that feeling carried him back towards your room.

His knock was quiet, nervous you wouldn’t hear, and nervous you would.

When you opened the door, you looked soft and confused and he knew.

“Querida… our first kiss shouldn’t be undercover, it should be now,” he said, with determination. Before the night could end, he had to show you, prove to you that he was serious. “Before the mission starts again,” he added, and he watched the understanding fill your eyes.

“Do you mean that?” your voice was small, but equally determined.

And he nodded, swallowing.

He was offering to do this, for real: not for the game or the job or anything else, because none of those mattered here in your hotel room. It was hard for you, an hour before, to let him apologize. To let the wall that said he was in a category of men who would only hurt you. But you had, had deconstructed your self preservation and now…

The man in front of you was asking for permission to fall in love with you.

And when he kissed you, solid and gentle, you both knew you’d let him.

<<

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

[bamf-jaskier]

Okay so I’m going to try and do a comparison of some of the major scenes between Geralt and Yennefer in Bottled Appetites vs The Last Wish. 

Warning: this is a very long post and I tried to keep it as short as possible but Geralt and Yennefer is the relationship that is mainly focused on in both the short story and the show so there’s..a lot of content here. 

Now, before I really jump in it’s important to note that the show is basically the spark notes version of the book, there’s a lot of missing content in the show mostly because the book just has so much more complexity so for a brief timeline:

Jaskier is injured

Talks to Chireadan 

Meets Yennefer

Take Bath Together 

Yennefer mind-controls Geralt and send him off to go fight some council members

THEN this is where the show and book differ 

In the books, Yennefer’s mind-control has more obvious consequences and Geralt gets into legal trouble and there’s a whole scene with some town leaders threatening Geralt and Jaskier. (Although it is important to note Yennefer in the books has a back-up plan to save Geralt)

As well when Geralt goes to stop Yennefer in the books from capturing the Djinn  she portals away with Geralt and they hate-crash a Noble’s party before having a conversation and fighting the Djinn again, Geralt makes his third wish and then they have sex 

So basically the townspeople sub-plot is removed in the show and the Djinn fight is streamlined into one-scene instead of multiple. Now understanding that, let’s get into the scene comparisons. 

Geralt Meeting Yennefer:

The Last Wish:

“You parried my spell,” she finally said. “You're not a sorcerer; that's obvious. But you reacted exceptionally fast. Tell me who you are, stranger who has come in peace. And I advise you to speak quickly.”

“I’m Geralt of Rivia. A witcher.”

Yennefer leaned out of the bed, grasping a faun—engraved on the pole—by a piece of anatomy well adapted to being grasped. Without taking her eyes off Geralt, she picked a coat with a fur collar up off the floor and wrapped herself up in it tightly before getting up. She poured herself another mug of juice without hurrying, drank it in one go, coughed and came closer. Geralt discreetly rubbed his lower back which, a moment ago, had collided painfully with the wall.

“Geralt of Rivia,” repeated the sorceress, looking at him from behind black lashes. “How did you get in here? And for what reason? You didn't hurt Berrant, I hope?”

“No. I didn't. Lady Yennefer, I need your help.”

“A witcher,” she muttered, coming up even closer and wrapping the coat around her more tightly. “Not only is it the first one I’ve seen up close but it's none other than the famous White Wolf. I’ve heard about you.”

“I can imagine.”

“I don't know what you can imagine.” 

She yawned, then came even closer. “May I?” She touched his cheek and looked him in the eyes. He clenched his jaw. “Do your pupils automatically adapt to light or can you narrow and dilate them according to your will?”

“Yennefer,” he said calmly, “I rode nonstop all day from Rinde. I waited all night for the gates to open. I gave your doorman, who didn't want to let me in, a blow to the head. I disturbed your sleep and peace, discourteously and importunately. All because my friend needs help which only you can give him. Give it to him, please, and then, if you like, we can talk about mutations and aberrations.”

She took a step back and contorted her lips unpleasantly. “What sort of help do you mean?”

“The regeneration of organs injured through magic. The throat, larynx and vocal cords. An injury caused by a scarlet mist. Or something very much like it.”

The Show:

Yennefer: And quite a bit more. You’re immune.

Geralt: You must be the mage.

Yennefer: Yennefer of Vengerberg. 

Geralt: Hm. Chireadan didn’t mention that, uh…

Yennefer: What did he fail to mention?

Geralt: We need your help.

Yennefer: “We”? [Geralt looks to Jaskier who gives a feeble wave.] Just a friend, I hope? [Geralt looks back at her.] Your heartbeat, it’s extraordinarily slow. You’re… a mutant.

Geralt: A witcher. Geralt of Rivia.

Yennefer: The famous White Wolf! [Standing up she steps close to Geralt.] I thought you’d have fangs or horns or something.

Geralt: I had them filed down.

Yennefer: [chuckles] First time I’ve seen a witcher up close. [She circles him, looks him over.] What little spells can you cast with your hands? Call it professional curiosity.

Geralt: Please, Jaskier here needs immediate attention. And then, if you’d like, I’ll indulge your curiosity all night long.

Yennefer: It won’t take all night. But I’m sure we can find a way to fill the time.

Geralt: [holding up the small sack with the pot’s shards] He was attacked by a djinn.

Yennefer: A djinn?

Geralt: Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s spreading. [Yennefer takes the sack and inspects the contents.] Fix it and I’ll pay you. Whatever the price.

Yennefer: You’ll have to do better than juice. [to the undulating figures] "Ragamuffin"!

In the books there is no orgy sequence, instead Yennefer has been mainly just been fucking with the merchant Beau Berrant, who in the show is the Mayor of Rinde. The apple juice sequence occurs in both adaptations and Geralt goes to Yennefer. In the books, Yennefer is alone in Berrant’s bedchambers, in the show she is in the orgy sequence. If you read the passages, they share the same bare bones. Yennefer tries to bespell Geralt, he is immune, she comments on his mutation, Geralt asks for help. 

Yennefer and Geralt have the same flirtatious overtones in both adaptations. Honestly I don’t have much to say here because it parallels relatively well as far as characterization goes. I will say I prefer the book’s prose but I also understand that the show has more simplistic writing and wording. 

Anya Chalotra has fantastic energy in playing Yennefer and the tension between the actors in this scene are quite apparent. 

Bathing Together:

The Last Wish:

She entered the bath-chamber just as Geralt, sitting naked on a tiny stool, was pouring water over himself from a bucket. He cleared his throat and modestly turned his back to her.

“Don't be embarrassed,” she said, throwing an armful of clothing on the hook. “I don't faint at the sight of a naked man. Triss Merigold, a friend, says if you've seen one, you've seen them all.”

He got up, wrapping a towel round his hips.

“Beautiful scar.” She smiled, looking at his chest. “What was it? Did you fall under the blade in a sawmill?”

He didn't answer. The sorceress continued to observe him, tilting her head coquettishly.

“The first witcher I can look at from close up, and completely naked at that. Aha!” She leaned over, listening. “I can hear your heart beat. It's very slow. Can you control how much adrenalin you secrete? Oh, forgive me my professional curiosity. Apparently, you're touchy about the qualities of your own body. You're wont to describe these qualities using words which I greatly dislike, lapsing into pompous sarcasm with it, something I dislike even more.”

He didn't answer.“Well, enough of that. My bath is getting cold.” Yennefer moved as if she wanted to discard her coat, then hesitated. “I’ll take my bath while you talk, to save time. But I don't want to embarrass you and, besides, we hardly know each other. So then, taking decency into account—”

“I’ll turn around,” he proposed hesitantly.“No. I have to see the eyes of the person I’m talking to. I’ve got a better idea.”

He heard an incantation being recited, felt his medallion quiver and saw the black coat softly slip to the floor. Then he heard the water splashing.

“Now I can't see your eyes, Yennefer,” he said. “And that's a pity.”

The invisible sorceress snorted and splashed in the tub. “Go on.”

The Show:

[Later, in the bathroom, Geralt takes a bath while Yennefer keeps him company]

Yennefer: Fishing for a djinn seems an extreme measure to remedy sleeplessness.

Geralt: When extreme measures seem reasonable, yes, I’m desperate.

Yennefer: And yet you didn’t ask me to help with that.

Geralt: Looming death kind of jumped the queue. Now I’m wondering if I can afford you. Have I accidentally agreed to indentured servitude? [Yennefer notices his scars.] Go ahead, ask about them. Everyone does.

Yennefer: Everyone else is boring. [She undresses and steps into the tub.] Turn around.

Geralt: [Tries to look at her in a mirror, but Yennefer moves it with magic so he can’t see] That’s cheating.

Yennefer: Nobody smart plays fair. Tell me, are all witchers similarly blessed? [She sits down so they’re back to back.] Come now, you promised.

Geralt: Hm. I haven’t conducted a survey, but I’d hardly say we’re blessed.

Okay!! Now I can get more into the characterization differences because oh boy are there some here. First, Yennefer mentions Triss in the books which I would have loved to see in the show but the main thing here is how they objectify each other. In both adaptations, Yennefer notices Geralt’s scars when they begin to bathe together but in the books, Yennefer uses it as a way to pry more into the biological functions of Witchers whereas in the show she uses it as a way to talk about their shitty childhoods. 

This ties into how the show, instead of focusing on the more biological aspects of Witchers, focuses on the tragic backstory of the characters. Of course, Lauren is of the mindset (like much of fandom) that Witchers are more animalistic while Sapko really pushes the idea that Witchers are creations of science so it makes sense the show wouldn’t want to talk about Witcher science as much. 

As well, in the books, Geralt is rather respectful to Yennefer, promising to avert his gaze and she ends up turning invisible so she can objectify him but he can’t objectify her. It places Yennefer in charge and the obviously more powerful force in the room. 

In the show, Geralt tries to take a peak at Yennefer and they sit back to back, establishing them as equals. And this is no mistake. In the books, Yennefer is quite a bit older than Geralt, she is powerful mage and Geralt is just a guy. Yennefer is the one in power in their relationship and that is obvious in every aspect of their relationship. 

The show made Geralt 32 years older than Yennefer. They push a narrative of Yennefer and Geralt being on more equal footing (or even at times go as far as to make Geralt seem the more mature and older one which we will see later with Yennefer not being aware of the Wish). 

This reverses a lot of the show/book dynamic where instead of Yennefer being the dominant one she is on equal footing with Geralt. Of course, this is likely due to Henry Cavill being around 37 and Anya Chalotra being around 23. Hollywood is allergic to the older woman/younger man dynamic that is seen in the books so making Yennefer seem younger is not a problem specific to The Witcher but with Hollywood at large.  (Not to say it isn’t still bad to see this perpetuated in the show because it is)

Yennefer mind-controlling Geralt:

The Last Wish:

“He's asleep,” said Yennefer. “And dreaming.”

Geralt examined the patterns traced on the floor. The magic hidden within them was palpable, but he knew it was a dormant magic. It brought to mind the purr of a sleeping lion, without suggesting how the roar might sound.

“What is this, Yennefer?”

“A trap.”

“For what?”

“For you, for the time being.” The sorceress turned the key in the lock, then turned it over in her hand. The key disappeared.

“And thus I’m trapped,” he said coldly. “What now? Are you going to assault my virtue?”

“Don't flatter yourself.” Yennefer sat on the edge of the bed. Dandilion, still smiling like a moron, groaned quietly. It was, without a doubt, a groan of bliss.

“I already knew what you were like,” she continued, “after exchanging a few words with you in Beau's bedroom. And I knew what form of payment I’d demand from you. My accounts in Rinde could be settled by anyone, including Chireadan. But you're the one who's going to do it because you have to pay me. For your insolence, for the cold way you look at me, for the eyes which fish for every detail, for your stony face and sarcastic tone of voice. For thinking that you could stand face-to-face with Yennefer of Vergerberg and believe her to be full of self-admiration and arrogance, a calculating witch, while staring at her soapy tits. Pay up, Geralt of Rivia!”

She grabbed his hair with both hands and kissed him violently on the lips, sinking her teeth into them like a vampire. The medallion on his neck quivered and it felt to Geralt as if the chain was shrinking and strangling him. Something blazed in his head while a terrible humming filled his ears. He stopped seeing the sorceress's violet eyes and fell into darkness.He was kneeling. Yennefer was talking to him in a gentle, soft voice.“You remember?”

“Yes, my lady.” It was his own voice.

“So go and carry out my instructions.”

“At your command, my lady.”

“You may kiss my hand.”

“Thank you, my lady.”He felt himself approach her on his knees. 

Ten thousand bees buzzed in his head. Her hand smelt of lilac and gooseberries. Lilac and gooseberries…Lilac and gooseberries…A flash. Darkness.

The Show:

Yennefer: If you wake him before he’s healed, the spell won’t take. That’s no way to treat a friend, Geralt.

Geralt: You want the djinn, but the amphora’s broken. The djinn’s already long gone. [Suddenly the candles around the sign flare up.]

Yennefer: [rubbing perfume onto her wrists] Do go on. Tell me how stuff works. The djinn is tied to this plane and its master. How many wishes did the bard express before he lost his voice?

Geralt: You need Jaskier to make his last wish so you can capture it.

Yennefer: So that’s… two then.

Geralt: The djinn will fight you. If you try and bend it- [He breaks off, clears his throat then inhales.] Ah… That scent… Lilac and…

Yennefer: Gooseberries. [Geralt exhales sharply.] Tough to get in your head. You have a strong will, but you can’t contend with me. Sorry I couldn’t be direct, I knew you’d fight it. [She leans up to kiss him, bites on his bottom lip until it bleeds.] And I do love a good old-fashioned trap.

Geralt: [slurring] A good old-fashioned… nap. [His eyes flutter shut.]

I mentioned how the show is a spark notes? Well, in the books Yennefer finds out through interrogating Geralt in the bath how many wishes are left. As well, in the books Yennefer is much more physically violent, again asserting the idea that she is the dominant one in the relationship and that she is in charge. 

Honestly, the show softens Yennefer quite a bit in this scene. While she does bite his lip, it’s slowly and not particularly violent. In the books, she is compared to a vampire, grabbing his hair, pulling him down. 

It all ties into the softer, younger version of Yennefer we see in the show vs the books. She is not as aggressive in the show and also not as dominant. Again, this could be due to the actor’s age difference but I also think it ties into Hollywood’s avoidance of placing women in a position that is above a male character. (Especially with Henry Cavill as Geralt, he would be unlikely to play a more subservient role to a woman purposefully considering some of his past statements about Me Too). However, having Yennefer as less aggressive also might make her more relatable to the audience and have her be more likable. At least, that could be what the writers were going for but I’m not psychic and I couldn’t tell you for sure. 

Geralt trying to save Yennefer from the Djinn:

The Last Wish:

“Yennefer saw him, jumped up and raised her hand.

“No!” he shouted, “don't do this! I want to help you!”

“Help?” She snorted. “You?”

“Me.”

“In spite of what I did to you?”

“In spite of it.”

“Interesting. But not important. I don't need your help. Get out of here.”

“No.”

“Get out of here!” she yelled, grimacing ominously. “It's getting dangerous! The whole thing's getting out of control; do you understand? I can't master him. I don't get it, but the scoundrel isn't weakening at all! I caught him once he'd fulfilled the troubadour's third wish and I should have him in the sphere by now. But he's not getting any weaker! Dammit, it looks as if he's getting stronger! But I’m still going to get the better of him. I’ll break—”

“You won't break him, Yennefer. He'll kill you.”

“It's not so easy to kill me—”

She broke off. The whole roof of the tavern suddenly flared up. The vision projected by the sphere dissolved in the brightness. A huge fiery rectangle appeared on the ceiling. The sorceress cursed as she lifted her hands, and sparks gushed from her fingers. 

“Run, Geralt!”

“What's happening, Yennefer?”

“He's located me…” She groaned, flushing red with effort. “He wants to get at me. He's creating his own portal to get in. He can't break loose but he'll get in by the portal. I can't—I can't stop him!”

“Yennefer—”

“Don't distract me! I’ve got to concentrate…Geralt, you've got to get out of here. I’ll open my portal, a way for you to escape. Be careful; it'll be a random portal. I haven't got time or strength for any other…I don't know where you'll end up…but you'll be safe…Get ready—.” 

... (description paragraph skip)

“This way!” shouted Yennefer, indicating the portal which she had conjured up oh the wall by the stairs. In comparison to the one created by the genie, the sorceress's portal looked feeble, extremely inferior. “This way, Geralt! Run for it!”

“Only with you!”

Yennefer, sweeping the air with her hands, was shouting incantations and the many-colored fetters showered sparks and creaked. The djinn whirled like the bumble-bee, pulling the bonds tight, then loosening them. Slowly but surely he was drawing closer to the sorceress. Yennefer did not back away.

The witcher leapt to her, deftly tripped her up, grabbed her by the waist with one hand and dug the other into her hair at the nape. Yennefer cursed nastily  and thumped him in the neck with her elbow. He didn't let go of her. The penetrating smell of ozone, created by the curses, didn't kill the smell of lilac and gooseberries. Geralt stilled the sorceress's kicking legs and jumped, raising her straight up to the opalescently flickering nothingness of the lesser portal.

 The Show:

[In the bedroom]

Yennefer: [still chanting in Elder]

Geralt: [as he enters, Yennefer lifts a hand in his direction.] Don’t! I’m here to help you.

Yennefer: [lowers her hand] I don’t need your help. You’re free. No longer under my spell.

Geralt: And yet here I am.

Yennefer: You seem to want to meet your end.

Geralt: As do you.

Yennefer: [groans] The djinn isn’t weakening. The bard expressed his last wish, but it’s- [screams] it’s getting stronger! Go!

Geralt: That’s because I’m the one with the wishes.

Yennefer: You? You’re the djinn’s master?

Geralt: Yeah.

Yennefer: Well, what are you waiting for? [She screams as her bones crack.] Make your wishes!

Geralt: Becoming the vessel for the djinn will have you lose control, not gain it! Can’t you see what this is doing to you?

Yennefer: True transformation is painful.

Geralt: Release the djinn! I’ll give you my last wish!

Yennefer: You heroic protector… noble dog, permitting my success so long as you command it yourself. Fuck off! I’ll do this myself!

Geralt: Damn it, Yennefer! Tell me what you want!

Yennefer: I want everything!

[In the bedroom, Yennefer’s eyes have gone red, her voice distorted]

Djinn: [speaking through Yennefer] Make your wish! You can have anything you want! You could choose not to be a witcher. What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power?

Geralt: I wish… [The rest of his words are drowned out by the wind. Yennefer falls forward and the wind calms down. Geralt pulls up his sleeve to reveal the third cut.]

Yennefer: The djinn… Wh- Where did it go? [The house groans and creaks, and the two look to the ceiling as it crashes down.]

Yennefer still craves power and wants for everything in the show. In the books, she is more established and wants to try and control the Djinn. This is why when Geralt comes back for Yennefer, both versions express surprise at why Geralt would come back to help after they cast a spell on him but Netflix!Yennefer tells Geralt to fuck off on the basis she doesn’t want a man controlling her life (tying into the Strong Female Character Trope) while Book!Yennefer wants Geralt out of danger first and foremost.

Of course, much of this in the show is likely a response to try and subvert the “damsel in distress” stereotype and while the books have Yennefer as the dominant one and in control, showing that she in not in distress, the show has her explicitly point this out because she is not established as the dominant one as much as in the books. 

The show constantly is more overt with its themes that the books which are far more subtle. 

Yennefer is mad at Geralt and then they have sex:

The Last Wish (Warning this is rather long and I even tried to shorten it without removing content!!):

“You moron!” Yennefer yelled, trying to scratch out his eyes. “You bloody idiot! You stopped me! I nearly had him!”

“You had shit-all!” he shouted back, furious. “I saved your life, you stupid witch!”

She hissed like a furious cat; her palms showered sparks.

Geralt, turning his face away, caught her by both wrists and they rolled among the oysters, seaweed and crushed ice.

“Do you have an invitation?” A portly man with the golden chain of a chamberlain on his chest was looking at them with a haughty expression.

“Screw yourself!” screamed Yennefer, still trying to scratch Geralt's eyes out.

“The wish, Geralt! Hurry up! What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power? Might? Privileges? Hurry, we haven't any time!” He was silent

“Humanity,” she said suddenly, smiling nastily. “I’ve guessed, haven't I? That's what you want; that's what you dream of! Of release, of the freedom to be who you want, not who you have to be. The djinn will fulfill that wish, Geralt. Just say it.”

He stayed silent.

She stood over him in the flickering radiance of the wizard's sphere, in the glow of magic, amidst the flashes of rays restraining the djinn, streaming hair and eyes blazing violet, erect, slender, dark, terrible…

And beautiful.

All of a sudden she leaned over and looked him in the eyes. He caught the scent of lilac and gooseberries.

“You're not saying anything,” she hissed. “So what is it you desire, witcher? What is your most hidden dream? Is it that you don't know or you can't decide? Look for it within yourself, look deeply and carefully because, I swear by the Force, you won't get another chance like this!”

But he suddenly knew the truth. He knew it. He knew what she used to be. What she remembered, what she couldn't forget, what she lived with. Who she really was before she had become a sorceress.

Her cold, penetrating, angry and wise eyes were those of a hunchback. He was horrified. No, not of the truth. He was horrified that she would read his thoughts, find out what he had guessed. That she would never forgive him for it. He deadened that thought within himself, killed it, threw it from his memory forever, without trace, feeling, as he did so, enormous relief. Feeling that—

The ceiling cracked open. The djinn, entangled in the net of the now fading rays, tumbled right on top of them, roaring, and in that roar were triumph and murder lust. Yennefer leapt to meet him. Light beamed from her hands. Very feeble light.

The djinn opened his mouth and stretched his paws toward her.

The witcher suddenly understood what it was he wanted.

And he made his wish.

... (time skip)

Yennefer, slightly flushed, knelt by him, resting her hands on her knees.

“Witcher.” She cleared her throat. “Are you dead?”

“No.” Geralt wiped the dust from his face and hissed.

Slowly, Yennefer touched his wrist and delicately ran her fingers along his palm. “I burnt you—”

“It's nothing. A few blisters—”

“I’m sorry. You know, the djinn's escaped. For good.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Not much.”

“Good. Help me up, please.”

“Wait,” she whispered. “That wish of yours…I heard what you wished for. I was astounded, simply astounded. I’d have expected anything but to…What made you do it, Geralt? Why…Why me?”

“Don't you know?”

She leaned over him, touched him. He felt her hair, smelling of lilac and gooseberries, brush his face and he suddenly knew that he'd never forget that scent, that soft touch, knew that he'd never be able to compare it to any other scent or touch. Yennefer kissed him and he understood that he'd never desire any lips other than hers, so soft and moist, sweet with lipstick. He knew that, from that moment, only she would exist, her neck, shoulders and breasts freed from her black dress, her delicate, cool skin, which couldn't be compared to any other he had ever touched. He gazed into her violet eyes, the most beautiful eyes in the world, eyes which he feared would become…

Everything. He knew.

“Your wish,” she whispered, her lips very near his ear. “I don't know whether such a wish can ever be fulfilled. I don't know whether there's such a Force in Nature that could fulfill such a wish. But if there is, then you've condemned yourself. Condemned yourself to me.”

He interrupted her with a kiss, an embrace, a touch, caresses and then with everything, his whole being, his every thought, his only thought, everything, everything, everything. They broke the silence with sighs and the rustle of clothing strewn on the floor. 

They broke the silence very gently, lazily, and they were considerate and very thorough. They were caring and tender and, although neither quite knew what caring and tenderness were, they succeeded because they very much wanted to. And they were in no hurry whatsoever. The whole world had ceased to exist for a brief moment, but to them, it seemed like a whole eternity.

And then the world started to exist again; but it existed very differently.

“Geralt?”

“Mmm?”

“What now?”

“I don't know.”

“Nor do I. Because, you see, I…I don't know whether it was worth condemning yourself to me. I don't know how—Wait, what are you doing…? I wanted to tell you—”

“Yennefer…Yen.”

“Yen,” she repeated, giving in to him completely. “Nobody's ever called me that. Say it again.”

“Yen.”

“Geralt.”

The Show:

[Yennefer and Geralt portal into the room inside the manor, where they first met.]

Geralt: Yennefer? [He gets to his knees and shifts the hair of her face.] Yennefer. It’s me… Geralt.

Yennefer: [She opens slowly her eyes, shoves Geralt away and rises.] I know who you are. What did you do? You stopped me, didn’t you? I nearly had it.

Geralt: You had shit all. I saved your life.

Yennefer: And I saved yours! You let the djinn escape. Who knows what havoc it’ll wreak now that it has no vessel at all?

Geralt: No more havoc than you. Djinns are only dark creatures when held captive.

Yennefer: How can you be so sure?

Geralt: When did you last feel happy when you felt trapped? And if you were going to portal us to safety, you could’ve taken us out of this shit town!

Yennefer: A fine critique if you could make a portal yourself. And it wasn’t a shit town, it was a fine town till you came along. I had a plan!

Geralt: [chuckles] And that was going swimmingly!

Yennefer: It was. Like a drowning fish. [They kiss and begin to have sex.]

I tried to keep it short here, but the show combined multiple scenes from the book here. I do love the fact that they kept the shit-all line, it’s a favorite. Of course, many people have likely noticed the HUGE difference between the show and books. In the books, Yennefer knows what the wish is and she’s aware Geralt tied their destinies together. 

The show keeps Yennefer in the dark about the wish (likely as a way to manufacture tension on the mountain and have it be dramatic tm) and this just further places her as the not-dominant one in comparison to Geralt. I will also say I love how in the books, Geralt gets a flashback through Yennefer’s past and her trauma. It would have been interesting to see that in the show. 

This final scene suffers so much in the show by being so shortened. We don’t see Yennefer and Geralt have a long conversation about the consequences of the wish or what they might do next, they just exchange a few lines about the Djinn which makes the sex scene seem more sudden than in the books. 

Of course, I will give props to the actors for the sexual tension they are able to generate in just a few lines as they move closer to each other (granted this tension is ruined as soon as the music starts playing and Jaskier shows up, making the sex scene humorous instead of impactful). 

The last lines in the book passage where Yennefer asks Geralt to call her Yen just breaks my damn heart and I would do anything to have seen it in the show. The way the books showcase two very traumatized people finally finding each other is just so lovely and I don’t understand the directing decision to have the tone of the scene switch so quickly in the show from serious and impactful to light. It takes away a lot from the characters. 

In the end, the show has Yennefer in a less dominant position in the books and also has her act younger in a sense. This could be due to the actor’s age difference or Hollywood’s allergy to dominant women but despite this, the actors bring a lot of chemistry to the screen (especially in the first meeting/bath scenes). 

I would have liked the show to give Yennefer more agency in regards to the wish, especially considering that is her character arc in the show, but I did appreciate how many scenes paralleled each other and I believe at the end of the day, the show was able to preserve enough of Yenralt to make it a believable pairing in the show and I can see them improving the dynamic they have already established throughout the first season in season 2. 

[sapphiics]

All I wanna get is(just a little more closer)

a/n: I listened to Nights by Frank Ocean for a good two and a half hours straight writing this.

dt: @ellesgreenaway india you are the sole reason i finished this I really needed the encouragement thank you so much babes

word count: 1.7k

content warning: none! it’s barely angsty and includes a happy ending

———

“You didn’t have to walk me home.”

 “I mean I’m pretty sure you were invited to at least three different after parties.” JJ continues, turning towards Elle. The two of them were walking home from the last football game of the season. Their last one ever, senior year finally upon them.

“Parties that I’m not even remotely interested, seeing as how you’re not gonna be there.” Elle’s hair tossing over her shoulder as she looks at JJ. Her silky brown hair, curly and damp after tonight’s game.They’re natural, sitting just below Elle’s shoulders, framing her face perfectly. JJ’s always liked the curls.

Truth be told, JJ’s liked just about everything concerning Elle Greenaway, since the day she looked out her bedroom window to see a U-Haul truck parked outside, a young girl moving boxes into the house across the street in November of junior year. It didn’t help that Elle happened to be a star soccer player at her old school, and their similar interests meant JJ and her had 5 classes together. Or that she wore the same vanilla perfume single day, a scent JJ couldn’t get out of her head.

But it was when Elle really started being close with her, the two of them practically joined at the hip, that JJ’s innocent infatuation turned deeper. When they started going to practice together, getting lunch, meeting up outside of school. Sleepovers in JJ’s bed, their legs intertwined under the heavy quilt she uses as a comforter. She can still remember the first night the two of them shared the same bed, facing each other with their hands folded under their heads. The following morning brings the brutal news to JJ’s heart, that she has the biggest crush on her best friend. A crush that’s only intensified as the months go by, to the point where JJ finds herself both wanting to be around Elle constantly, and wishing the brunette was far away from her as to prevent further heartbreak. But Elle was irresistible, and JJ couldn’t avoid her even if she wanted to. So she shoved it down, deep down into her stomach, convincing herself that she and Elle could be friends. Just friends.

Only ever friends.

The ever so prominent fact that Elle still thought JJ was dating somebody only made matters worse. 

She wasn’t wrong to think so, considering up until three days ago, JJ had been in a steady relationship with Will Lamontagne. The charming country boy, Will came to their school just a couple months before Elle did, and him and JJ hit it off like nobody else. He was sweet, unassuming, and treated her with nothing but respect. From the moment he met her parents, Mr & Mrs. Jareau have been daydreaming over their future wedding. Everybody expected them to make it, the one couple from high school to go the distance, stick it out to the inevitable end. Half the town’s got bets on them getting married right after graduation.

But Will wasn’t clueless, and JJ had never been the best at hiding her emotions. After all, there was a reason they worked so well together for so long. He may not be her great love, but he knew her and her feelings, a fact that kept JJ with him for almost a year. Despite how much he loved her, and he did love her, Will knew it wasn’t reciprocated, and JJ was never going to break his heart. Nothing surprised her more than to see him at her doorstep that Tuesday afternoon, a medium-sized cardboard box in his hands.

Her volleyball sweatshirt hanging over the edge, a picture of the two of them at homecoming sticking out of the box. The overwhelming sorrow she could feel radiating from him as he broke up with her already made her feel awful, but it was the sincerity in his voice when he told her to be with who truly makes her happy that broke her. A pointed look ,silently telling her that he knows, brings tears to her eyes and forces her arms to wrap tightly around his neck. Twisting her hands in his shirt and breathing in the smell of aftershave and pine that always came Will, JJ loved him more in that moment than she ever could remember in the 8 months they’ve been dating. 

Which brings her back to the present, where she finds Elle looking at her strangely, a nervous yet curious look on her face. Which unnerves JJ, considering Elle isn’t nervous about anything. She’s always been the more confident, teetering on brash, one of the pair. “I found out something interesting today,” Elle starts, “Apparently somebody broke up with their long term boyfriend this week and neglected to tell me.” Her mildly accusing tone caused JJ to stop and turn fully towards Elle. “I figured it wasn’t important,” she shrugs, “ I wasn’t heartbroken and we had a busy week to focus on anyway.”

“You guys dated for nine months, this is practically a divorce.” Elle laments, looping her arm through JJ’s and leaning into the blonde, “Obviously you’re feeling something about this, and I want to be there for you.” Her voice turns soft at the end, and JJ finally meets Elle’s eyes, the care and love in her face shining.

The love JJ can see Elle has for her is almost stifling, stealing her breath and making her heart ache. What she would give to have that love mirror hers, for Elle to want the same things JJ’s wanted for the past year. The two of them stare into each other’s eyes, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and JJ can smell the strong scent of Elle’s trademark icebreakers. She could've sworn Elle glanced down at her lips when her tongue poked out and swiped against them, glossing over the cracks caused by the impending winter. Whatever was happening between them ended almost as soon as it began, a fleeting moment that passed far too quickly for JJ’s taste.

“So don’t bottle it up and tell me next time,” Elle says, giving JJ an exaggerated eye roll, following up with a large grin across her face as she starts to pick up speed. JJ lags behind her, not ready to go home just yet. They still reach her house in no time, and JJ finds herself desperate for more time with her, just the two of them in their own little bubble separate from the world. She gradually slows as they approach her walkway, JJ hoping she doesn’t have to say anything, that Elle will just know what she wants.

“You wanna go to the park?” Elle suddenly says ,the words ones that JJ desperately wanted to hear. She nods feverishly, her cheeks heating up as Elle slides her hand down her arm, grasping JJ’s. The pair walk in relative silence, Elle’s soft hands fitting perfectly into her own, their shoulders pressed together as they march towards the tiny playground in their cul-de-sac. It’s only when they’re sitting side by side at the top of the slide when Elle finally spits out what JJ can tell she’s been waiting to say all evening.

“ Why are you so okay about this?” At JJ’s surprised face Elle backtracks, “ I mean if you dated for so long and you loved each other then how are you so okay about it? It took me a good month to get over my last girlfriend, and we weren’t half as serious as you and Will.” 

JJ sighs, the words on the tip of her tongue since the breakup really settled in, “ I guess I just wanted something more, I mean Will is a great guy, but I want to feel more than just complacent in a relationship, you know?” JJ lets out a small huff at the end, her breath clouding up in front of her. “ I felt so guilty about it, but I never,” she pauses, an odd sense of vulnerability she’s scared to give in to settling inside of her, “ I never yearned for Will. I mean, he was there and he made me happy, but I would be completely okay without him.”

“I just want someone I can’t live without, someone who I want to be with always.” Finally letting out what she’s been thinking this entire week, she’s surprised to see Elle sitting closer, her hands in both of JJ’s.

“You want passion.”

Elle turns her entire body towards JJ, keeping their hands intact as she stares into the blonde’s eyes.

“You want someone who can’t be replaced.” JJ can’t look away, even as she feels Elle’s hands slide up her arm. Her breath starts coming quicker, and she can feel her hair getting pushed back by Elle’s slender fingers as they get impossibly closer.

“You deserve to be completely in love with whoever you’re with JJ. You deserve the best.” Elle sliding her hand closer to the back of JJ’s head, their noses grazing each other. “You think so?” JJ’s voice a small whisper she slides her fingers towards Elle’s waist, her heart near beating out of her chest. The insecure part of her brain convincing her that this was a dream, one of the many she’s had about her best friend.

But then Elle leans in that last inch, cradling JJ’s head in her hand, and there was no doubt in her brain that this was real. Cause Elle’s lips were just as soft as they looked, and they moved against JJ’s in a gentle yet all-consuming way that wiped away everything from her mind except this moment. JJ could taste the fruitiness of Elle’s raspberry gum, and the peach slushie they shared during halftime was still faint in her mouth. It’s like everything she was missing out on, all the emptiness she felt when with Will, was getting filled to the brim by Elle and her kisses, overwhelming JJ in the most addictive way.

When they finally separate, small pants the only sound they can hear as their foreheads touch, something akin to fear strikes through JJ. The knowledge that nothing is ever going to be the same between them hitting her like a freight train.

“ I do,” followed by a chaste peck, “ Of course I do.” And Elle’s grinning at her, trailing her long fingers through JJ’s hair, easing every single worry she could possibly have.

taglist: @greenaway-lewis @scandinavian-punk @ssajelle @morcias @suburban--gothic @jemilyology @rosesblueviolets @willlemonheadsupremacy

[evienyx]

lmao seems like you're becoming an mcyt blogger too. anyway i was wondering what are your thoughts on wilbur??? like the character, i mean

I’m expanding my horizons. I’m an incredibly versatile person.

Anyway, you want my thoughts on Wilbur? Oh, I can give you my thoughts on Wilbur.

First off, I would say that, as a character, Wilbur is probably my second favorite, right behind Techno. My favorites tend to differ from the norm, largely because of the fact that I’m a writer, and I look at everything with a bit of a different lense. Even subconsciously, the first time I watch the streams, I’m analyzing the story and the characters, thinking of ways it could have been improved, and admiring what’s done well.

And, damn, Wilbur’s character is done so well.

His descent into madness was, obviously, terrifying to see, but what’s most interesting about it to me is the fact that he feels so justified throughout it. His character is consistent, and what he wants is also consistent. Wilbur stated in his conversation to Phil that he’s come back multiple times to the button, that he’s almost pressed it so many times. Just that statement, the realization of how many times he’s come close to it, despite everything he’s said to Tommy, despite the way he’s been seemingly all for the revolution now,is terrifying. It’s seemed to us for quite a while now that, through the madness, through the insanity, he does believe that L’Manburg can be taken back.

It’s at this moment, though, in the button room, that the truth slowly dawns. All this time, Wilbur did believe that they could take L’Manburg back.

And, all this time, that hasn’t mattered in the slightest to him.

Win or lose, live or die, Wilbur was going to press that button.

If we ignore the fact that the button was a Chekhov’s gun, if we fully analyze this in character, it’s absolutely groundbreaking.

Because here we see a man who once would have done anything to save L’Manburg, now doing anything to destroy it.

One of the ways Wilbur’s arc over the last few months of story (since the election) can be well-represented is, in my opinion, through observation of his relationship and interactions with Tommy.

More specifically, though, in the way that he uses his power over Tommy, what value he places on Tommy’s wellbeing, and how Tommy views him.

At the L’Manburg election, they’re thick as thieves. They’re brothers, at that point, because in this household we roll with SBI family dynamics. Tommy looks to Wilbur for guidance, and when they lose the election and Schlatt exiles them, they run together. Wilbur calls for Tommy to run, they make sure the other is safe (ignore Wilbur’s death, lmao). They leave L’Manburg together.

When they start Pogtopia, when they start thinking about how they’re going to get their country back, Wilbur tries to cheer Tommy up. He jokes with him, references Tubbox. They brainstorm together, they share ideas. They plan, and they work as equals. Wilbur has Tommy drop the ‘President.’ They’re in this together, and one of them is not above the other, anymore. Wilbur does his best to make sure that Tommy is safe, and that he is as happy as possible in the current situation, despite how dark and dreary their prospects appear to be.

Skip forward a bit, and we come to the announcement of the Manburg Festival. Now, up until this point, the dynamics have been rather consistent since the election. We’ve seen Wilbur rise up and take charge a bit more when necessary, like with Tubbo and the whole double-agent business, but ideas are shared and they treat each other with both respect and love.

When Schlatt is making the announcement, with Wilbur and Tommy looking on from above, Tommy draws back his bow to take the president out, and Wilbur stops him. Tommy listens. Had the roles been reversed, this would not have occurred, but mostly because Tommy wouldn’t have questioned Wilbur’s judgement in the first place. Tommy has complete and utter faith in Wilbur and his decisions at this point. That is the power that Wilbur holds over Tommy. Tommy trusts him. Wilbur uses this power over Tommy to ensure that the outcome of each and every decision they make is optimal, and to make sure that both of them stay safe and the rebellion stays strong. It’s a relationship of faith and trust.

Then, though, the announcement of the festival. And, mainly, the aftermath of the announcement. As they walk through the forest, for the first time, we see Wilbur question his motives. We’ve never seen this before, and neither has Tommy. Wilbur wonders if his morals are correct, or if he’s just been assuming he’s in the right. He decides to be the bad guy, and the relationship with Tommy shifts. The trust and faith that Tommy places in Wilbur is turned right back on him as Wilbur tells Tommy that he’ll never be president. Wilbur uses the relationship that he has with Tommy, uses the subconscious trust Tommy places in him, to manipulate him.

At this point, they are no longer equals. Wilbur no longer values Tommy’s input, as Tommy isn’t on his side on this issue, and Tommy doesn’t share with Wilbur anymore, as the faith is gone. Still, Tommy continues to trust Wilbur, he just doesn’t have faith in him or believe that he’s doing the right thing. Additionally, Wilbur’s care for Tommy’s wellbeing deteriorates a bit, but he still does care. Just... not as much.

The next big shift would be the day of the Manburg Festival.

What is interesting about this day is that it is the one time that Wilbur and Tommy agree on whether or not to blow up Manburg, because, as Tubbo is executed by their ally in a shower of colorful sparks, Tommy calls for Wilbur to blow the place to smithereens. Wilbur’s failure here is one of the best things for the story, but we can talk about that another time.

While the dynamics don’t shift in any notable way at the festival, what with Tommy and Wilbur showing up together, fighting and working together, they do change dramatically after the festival is over.

We can see this mainly with two events: The Pit, and Tommy, Tubbo, and Niki’s talk.

Wilbur is the one who coaxes Tommy into fighting Techno (a fight that, logically, Wilbur knew Tommy would lose). He pushed at Tommy’s emotions, manipulated him, into fighting a battle that he had no hope of winning. Any care he had for Tommy’s wellbeing is out the window at this point. He willingly sent him into the Pit to die.

Additionally, this is the first time that Tommy explains that he isn’t fighting for Wilbur anymore. He fights not for Wilbur, but for vengeance for Tubbo in the pit, and when he talks with Tubbo and Niki, it becomes clear that he no longer has faith in nor trusts Wilbur.

The next turning point comes very soon, when Wilbur is in the button room with Tommy and Quackity.

Tommy convinces Wilbur not to press the button, and Wilbur says that he’ll trust in Tommy for now, and breaks the button down as well.

The thing about this that is most important is that Wilbur is lying, and Tommy doesn’t realize that until it is far too late.

We don’t realize this until much later, but Wilbur didn’t care about what Tommy said. He explained to Phil that, despite his words to Tommy, despite what he claims about trusting Tommy’s plan, he’s still come close to pressing the button again, and again. He doesn’t trust in Tommy’s plan, and even if he does, it doesn’t matter, because Wilbur doesn’t care. He’s going to press that button regardless.

What does come from this, though, is that Tommy begins to trust Wilbur again. He feels like Wilbur cares, like Wilbur has his back. He places Wilbur back as leader, in his mind, and all of these things come to a climax on the day of the battle between Manburg and Pogtopia.

The War for L’Manburg shows the two of them relatively trusting of one another on the field, despite Wilbur’s constant jokes about being the traitor (which we later find out to be true, but that’s not what this is about). Tommy trusts Wilbur on the battlefield, and listens to what he says. They fight together.

Wilbur then places Schlatt’s life into Tommy’s hands. He gives him an incredibly difficult decision to make, plays with Schlatt’s life just to rise conflict within Tommy. It doesn’t matter in the end, but I thought it was interesting to see.

Anyway, Wilbur then places Tommy as president-elect, while Wilbur plans to go and detonate the bombs beneath the country while Tommy speaks of plans to rebuild. Then, though, Tommy calls Wilbur president again, and Wilbur renames the country before passing it off to Tubbo.

Wilbur had called Tommy up to the podium to speak, right where a large part of the bombs were placed. His intent was for Tommy to speak there while Wilbur pressed the button and blew the country sky-high, with Tommy at the center of it all.

Any care Wilbur once had for Tommy’s wellbeing is gone, and nothing makes that more apparent than his attempted appointment of Tommy to the presidency, where he would have been in the most danger as he gave a speech while standing on a minefield, facing a crowd containing a man who lived only for chaos and another who vowed to watch the country burn to the ground along with any government that may wish to form.

We can see, as well, the moment Tommy realizes what’s going to happen. We can see when he begins calling for people to find Wilbur, muttering “no” as he searches desperately, and then screaming as his worst fears are realized and his brother Wilbur blows everything that he’s ever worked for into nothing more than a crater.

Wilbur’s character development, his arc, his consistency, is incredible to watch. It’s one of the most impressive things of the entire Dream SMP story (which, honestly, isn’t much of a surprise, since Wilbur’s been directing it this whole time, anyway). There are so many more things that I could say about this, but this post is long enough, so I’m gonna end it here.

I’m always up to rambling about Dream SMP things, especially analyzing characters, plot, motivations, and the like.

I’m a nerd, sue me.

[freckledoriya]

“no flash photography” (midoriya x reader)

WARNINGS: none, just fluff!

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

SUMMARY: You’re a pro-hero photojournalist assigned to capture the number one hero, Deku. But what happens when you start catching feelings through your camera lens?

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | requests are OPEN!

TAGLIST: at the end of the post, message me to be added/removed!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this my fourth fic for @bnhabookclub‘s bingo event (see my bingo masterlist here). and a big thanks to @sunflower-kami-boi and @gallickingun​ for beta reading and supporting me!! 

You love Izuku Midoriya: the way his freckles speckle his cheekbones, his ability to smile even through his toughest battles, the mess of green curls that are just begging to have your hands run through them. And then there are his hands: soft, yet calloused from fighting. When you interlock your hands with his, you swear you can feel electricity from his quirk pass from him to you. At least, that’s what you imagine holding hands with him would be like. 

No, you don’t love Izuku Midoriya. You love taking pictures of Izuku Midoriya. 

That’s the correction that you keep telling yourself. Your job as a hero photojournalist has been a journey, one that started out as a fangirl’s hobby and morphed into a profession as a photographer for the magazine Hero Weekly. More specifically, a photographer who was recently assigned to capture exclusively the world’s number one hero, Deku. 

The day that Midoriya was given the title of number one was the day that everything changed for you. You went from a respected photographer to what often felt like part of the paparazzi, following Izuku around the city as he fought villains, but also secretly taking pictures as he went out to dinner with his fellow heroes. That part of your job kept you up at night. You knew it was an invasion of his privacy, but you needed the approval from your boss. The guilt and fear crawled all over your skin, amplified only when you started catching feelings for the hero. But your dream of becoming a renowned hero photographer depended on it. So you pushed aside all the anxiety and did exactly what your manager asked of you: 

“I want to know who he’s dating, what he likes, dislikes, details of his quirk, extra bonus if you happen to get shot of him shirtless” your boss rattled off. 

Ever since All Might’s retirement, the magazine had been hurting for another star to focus on. It resulted in budget cuts and threatened lay-offs, leaving everyone, including you, on thin ice. And after years of waiting, young upstart Midoriya fit that bill perfectly. His curls seemed to frame his round yet somehow chiseled face. And those freckles. If his beautifully sculpted body wasn’t enough to get the fangirls on board, the freckles always got them. After all, he didn’t become number one solely from his nearly flawless track record with villains; it definitely didn’t hurt that he had a shy and modest smile that any woman would be enchanted by. 

You sure were.

But being assigned to Deku was an exhausting task. Following him around from battle to battle was hard enough, and you soon found yourself in a battle of your own-- one with your deep admiration towards the green-haired hero. You began to feel linked somehow with Izuku through your photos. It was as one-sided as you could get, with Midoriya never knowing your existence (a fact that caused an unbelievable amount of pain). Despite this, you felt like you knew Izuku personally, as if he goes on dinner dates with you at his favorite restaurant on the corner. Or that it’s he, not the press, that reveals his ticks and habits. You would sit a considerable distance away, watching through a cafe window, imagining yourself on the other side of the table from him. You’d laugh at his jokes, flirt and cause him to get all adorably flustered, and gaze longingly into his emerald eyes. You hope and wish that one day it won’t just be through a camera lens. 

You couldn’t help but feel some kind of intimate connection with the hero. After all, you experienced just about everything he did. His fights, his wins, his loses… every scar, every bruise, you were there for it all. So how could you not feel this way? 

It was all inevitable, and you gave right into it: reading everything you could find on him, even going to his regularly visited coffee shop on your day off of work. You knew the chances of running into him were slim, and yet you did it anyway. You were desperately chasing a feeling of closeness with him, and somehow sitting in a place that he visited gave you a piece of what you craved. 

You ponder this as you sit in the aforementioned cafe, sipping your coffee and going through the photos on your camera, jotting down notes. It’s crowded, the morning rush, so you pay no mind to the “ding” of the door opening and the tall hero walking in. It’s his voice when he orders that catches your attention, a voice unmistakably belonging to the one and only, Izuku Midoriya.

You quickly turn away and throw your hand over your mouth, wary of any sounds that might come out. This was different from when you would see him behind a camera lens. You weren’t doing work, surrounded by others clamoring to get a money shot. You were here as you, not just a nothing face behind flashing lights. 

When you turn back around, you half expect him to be gone, for you to have totally gone crazy imagining him. But, he’s still there. He’s in what must be his work out clothes: basketball shorts and a worn All Might shirt, looking as effortlessly perfect as every other time you’ve seen him. And that’s when it hits you. This is it. This is the chance you have to talk to him. 

But what would you say? What could you say? What if he recognizes you as one of the no-life photographers who follow him around? Should you keep that a secret? Will he hate you? A thousand questions fly through your head as you ponder the possibilities. Should you call out to him? Would it be weird that you know his name? Do you call him by his hero name or his real name? 

He begins to walk past you after grabbing his coffee order. Your heart drops at the sight of him leaving.

Do something.

“Deku!” you call out, careful to keep your volume as low as possible as to not alert the other patrons around you. 

He quickly turns and looks at you expectantly. “Yes?”

“Um…”

Say something.

“I…”

Anything. 

“I’m a really big fan!”

Anything but that.

But it’s too late. The words were spoken and reached Midoriya’s ears.

“T-Thank you,” he looks away, smiling as a slight blush appears on his freckled cheeks. 

“So do you take pictures?” he asks, nodding down to your camera on the table.

“Yeah,” you reply shakily, still deciding on how much information about yourself you should reveal. 

Izuku smiles at you. “What do you like to take pictures of?”

Shit.

You swallow and nervously pick at your cuticles. You don’t want to lie to him, but you don’t exactly want to start off the relationship with him knowing you take secret pictures of him so that a magazine can sell. You tread carefully as you speak. 

“Heroes,” you reply simply. “I take pictures of heroes.”

Letting out an awkward laugh, you gesture to the seat across from you, inviting him to join you. 

“Can you show me some of your work?” He tilts his head in curiosity as he accepts your invitation to sit down. 

No no no no no. 

You embarrassingly know that the camera you’re currently holding contains pictures you took of the hero last night as he left his high-rise apartment. Thinking quickly, you pull out your phone and go to the Hero Weekly website, remembering that they ran a picture you snapped of Red Riot in battle last week. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a photo you captured for fun when you happened to stumble upon the fight. Still, it was better than showing what was on your camera memory card currently. 

“Whoa, that’s a great picture of Kirishima!” he says ecstatically. “Is that from Hero Weekly? That’s impressive!”

His praise causes your stomach to do flips. “Thank you. I really appreciate that coming from you.”

“What got you into taking pictures of heroes?”

You sigh and look into your coffee cup, hoping the beverage will spell out the right words to say. 

“I’ve always really looked up to heroes. Ever since I was little. But I never bought into the “larger than life” hero personas that the rest of the media seemed to portray. They miss the most amazing thing about heroes: they’re human, just like everyone else.”

You look at Izuku shyly, unsure if you should be opening up to him like this after just meeting him. “When I photograph heroes, I like to ground them, see past the exterior. Capture their magnificent strength and power, but show that they have feelings, wants, and needs. They all have passions and flaws. And that’s what I love so much about heroes. They’re relatively ordinary humans that do extraordinary things.”

There’s a beat of silence that passes as Midoriya looks at you in amazement. He smiles and slightly bites his lip, obviously debating about the next thing he wants to say.

“Is that why you photograph me in private places?”

You feel your heart plummet. “H-How did you know?” 

Izuku blushes and rubs the back of his neck embarrassingly. “I kinda of… may have… noticed you a few times.”

You’re stuck in shock, your mind short-circuiting, leaving your mouth slightly ajar with no words coming out. 

Deku sees your frozen look and starts frantically waving his hands, speaking at a million words per second. “Not in a weird or creepy way of course just that you’re really pretty and sometimes when I’m out places I notice you trying to get my picture so sometimes I make sure to give you a clear shot, I really hope that’s okay, It’s not because I don’t think you’re capable of getting your own picture, I just-”

A fit of giggles escapes from your lips. “How are you even more adorable than I imagined?” 

He blushes as you try to stop laughing. 

But you can’t help it. All your worries and fears melt away and you’re left with all you ever wanted: sitting across from the blushing hero Deku in a cafe, pure happiness running through your veins. 

You don’t even notice the paparazzi capturing the moment from the bushes outside. 

TAGLIST: 

@gallickingun @prismaroyal @wesparklebitch @bnha-violetnote @sunflower-kami-boi @shoutosteakettle @strwbrry-lia @ee-blue @shoutodoki @sadistiks @knifeewifee @viceofaladriel @saltie @khemz1312 @frenchspeakingfilipina @tessaisalbright @katsumi-kaminari @pixxiesdust @izukuwus​

[carewyncromwell]

Zut alors! This art sure makes this Cinderella AU look like...well, a Cinderella AU, doesn’t it??

One critique I have about many Cinderella adaptations is about how the “ugly stepsisters” are either portrayed as one-dimensionally bad so as to make our Cinderella look more saintly by comparison or given just enough dimension that one could see them as secondary victims of their mother’s abuse and yet aren’t given an ending that frees them from it the way Cinderella does. And yes, obviously in many of those cases, the stepsisters jump in on abusing Cinderella too, but it’s a learned behavior the stepsisters acquire from their mother and, in some cases, one could also point to there possibly being an element of the child joining in on their parents’ abuse of their sibling, etc. as a method of self-preservation. There are a few adaptations where one stepsister “reforms” themselves while the other doesn’t, but in this story, I wanted to show that -- as unpleasant as the entire Cromwell clan is, including Carewyn’s cousins -- there’s some logic to how they behave. And in Claire Cromwell’s daughters’ cases in particular, they’re just as trapped by the expectations of their gender as Carewyn is, arguably more so because they’ve lived with Charles their whole lives and the importance of marrying well has been drilled into them much more than it ever was for Carewyn. Although it’s obvious how much worse Carewyn’s situation is compared to her cousins, I kind of liked the idea of showing how a character in the “ugly stepsister” role would feel, being constantly outdone by her relative despite her best efforts. And even in Carewyn’s canon, she does project a “perfect paragon” affect that irritates characters like Merula to no end, so this isn’t too much of a stretch. Doesn’t mean Iris is a good person or anything, but what can I say, I like giving my antagonists understandable motivations. 

In Carewyn’s canon, she becomes a robin Animagus. Part of it has to do with their size and coloring; part of it has to do with their symbolism (being associated with spring and, in the Christian tradition, selfless kindness, as they either earned their “red breast” when they sang comfortingly in Jesus’s ear while he bled on the cross or when they got burned fetching water for souls stuck in Purgatory); and part of it is because “Robin” was my deceased paternal aunt’s name, as well as my middle name! 🧡

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

On Charles’s instructions, Carewyn was returned to the tower room at the back of the Cromwell estate, this time with thick ropes tied her wrists together and lashing them to the legs of the cot set up in the corner. As Blaise finished securing Carewyn to the bed, he went out of his way to scold her that all of this was her own doing for trying to abandon her family before departing. 

Carewyn tried everything she could to get free, but within an hour, she determined that there was nothing sharp enough in the room that she could use to cut her bonds, even if she could move more than two feet in either direction. And so, in utter frustration, she collapsed to the floor, her eyebrows knitting tightly over her closed eyes. 

Talbott, she thought, please warn Orion...please, make sure he’s safe...

She wished she could simply have faith in Talbott, but being unable to do anything to protect Orion made Carewyn feel number and more afraid than she’d ever felt near the battlefield between Florence and Royaume. 

A moment later, Carewyn was startled by the sound of the door being unlocked. When it opened, she found Iris standing in the doorframe. Claire’s middle daughter was decked out in a striking dark blue and emerald satin gown and a dark blue feathered mask, and her dark hair was put up in a beautiful braided bun trimmed with peacock feathers.

“So you are locked up here,” said Iris. 

Carewyn raised her eyebrows very dully. “So I am.”

Iris’s face, for once, didn’t look particularly haughty. Her blue eyes, the same color and shape as Carewyn’s, swiveled over her cousin’s frame, taking in not just her bound ankles but the sewn-up back of her green dress. The dark-haired Cromwell looked almost disconcerted.

“This is your own doing, you know,” Iris said in a slightly higher voice than normal. “If you’d just left Prince Henri to me...done what Grandfather told you to do...”

“Blaise has more than given me that lecture already, thank you,” Carewyn said coldly.

Iris’s expression turned very offended. 

“So much for you not talking out of turn!” she said scathingly. “I would’ve thought you’d have learned your lesson, after what Grandfather did to you...”

Her eyes flickered over to Carewyn’s back again. Carewyn could see the discomfort and macabre fascination swimming in her eyes -- as if part of her wanted to see how bad the scars were, and yet the thought made her feel nauseous. 

Perhaps it was the compassion Carewyn felt, seeing her cousin struggle with feeling any kind of pity for her circumstances after how long they’d always hated each other...but she couldn’t help but address her a bit more gently than usual. 

“Just because Grandfather says something doesn’t mean it’s right.”

Iris scowled. “Just like you, to be ungrateful, after everything our family’s done for you...”

She turned her back on Carewyn as if to leave.

“I’m not just talking about myself,” Carewyn murmured. “I’m talking about you.”

Iris stiffened, stopping in the doorframe. 

“I heard Grandfather yell at you, when you first came home,” said Carewyn. 

“So what, you want to rub it in my face?” Iris huffed, sounding rather like a snake bearing its fangs after being stepped on. “Boast about how you always twist everybody around your little finger, without even trying?”

Carewyn couldn’t help but cock her eyebrows. “Boast? Iris, the only thing that’s twisted around here are the ropes that have been tied around my wrists -- and they hurt quite a bit.”

“You know what I mean!” said Iris impatiently. She crossed her arms, her shoulders sulking. “Stop being so...so bloody witty, will you!? You’ve always been so witty -- able to talk about absolutely nothing with complete strangers...even people you don’t want to impress! And then, all of a sudden, all those people can do is talk about you. Like Prince Henri...every time we talked, the conversation would always end up coming back to you and the dresses and shoes he wanted to make for you!”

Carewyn’s face became a bit more solemn. 

“The Prince and I are friends,” she admitted. “It was never anything more than that.”

Iris sniffed. “And I suppose it was ‘never anything more than that’ with Duke Lestrange either?”

“I didn’t even know Duke Lestrange,” Carewyn said exasperatedly. “And I had no interest in him romantically either. I think I made that quite clear both before and after you ripped my dress so badly that it exposed my undergarments.”

“And yet even then, you still charmed him!” said Iris, whirling around to glare at Carewyn. “You didn’t want anything from him, so why did you talk to him? Why did you smile and act all nice with him?”

“Because it was the polite thing to do!” said Carewyn, flabbergasted. “Because he was a guest! And one doesn’t have to get something in return to have a reason to show someone respect! It’s not something to be treated as a transaction!”

Iris’s face appeared more surly than ever as she looked away, adjusting the skirt of her gown. 

Carewyn looked down at her bindings and then back up at Iris’s back. She exhaled slowly through her nose, as an idea started to prickle at the sides of her brain. 

“...Iris...I’m sorry if I’ve wronged you,” she said softly. “I never had any intention to sabotage you...I know how much a proper marriage would endear you to our family.”

She took a deep breath. 

“If you want me out of the way...then I’ll go.”

Iris looked at Carewyn, startled. Carewyn stared her intently in the face.

“Just undo my bindings,” she said, “and leave the door unlocked...and when you and the others return from the ball, I’ll be gone. You’ll never have to live with me again.”

Iris stared disbelievingly. Carewyn’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, betraying some desperation. 

“Grandfather won’t have to know it was you,” she said. “No one would know except for me and you, and I won’t be here to tell anyone. Please...just let me escape.”

Let me get out to warn Orion. Let me save Orion. 

Iris stared at Carewyn for another long moment. Then, very slowly, her eyes narrowed. 

“You...you really want this,” she said lowly. “Don’t you?”

Carewyn gave her a very serious look. Iris’s eyes narrowed that bit more, darting from her face to down at her bindings and back. 

“...Well, then...”

She bent down, took hold of Carewyn’s bindings...and tightened them sharply.

“Ack -- !” 

Carewyn couldn’t quite choke back a yelp of pain. Iris shot back up to her feet, her eyes burning with resentment. 

“You probably want to live your own life just as much as the rest of us do,” she said. “Only you keep stopping me from starting my own life, by charming every man I could persuade to marry me. So I guess it’s only fair I make sure you can’t escape either.”

She strode for the door, snatching it up and glaring at Carewyn one more time. 

“At least tonight I won’t have to worry about you catching anyone else’s eye. You’ll be locked up here, far away from the ball, and unable to charm anyone.”

And with this, she slammed the door behind her and locked it with a loud CLACK. 

And so all Carewyn could do was sit helplessly on the floor, bound tightly to the bed, as the sound of her family’s carriages clattered off of the estate and toward the palace of Florence. Carewyn couldn’t even look out the window to watch them go. 

She tried several more times over the next hour to try to break free of her restraints, but as the sun grew lower and lower in the sky outside the window, she once again found herself falling still. All she could do was hope and pray and think of Orion...pleading with every entity of fate and justice that he was still alive. Soon enough she found herself falling off into a restless sleep in her uncomfortable position on the floor. 

This is why, when she heard a bizarre CRASH from downstairs, Carewyn was slow to react, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. It took her a moment to even gather her thoughts enough to try to escape her bonds again, so as to try to figure out what was going on. Once she did, however, she caught the sound of a voice calling out. 

“Miss Cromwell! Miss Cromwell, are you there?”

Carewyn’s heart leapt in a combination of disbelief and delight.

“Baroness!” she cried.

She tried to get up and run for the door, only for the rope around her wrists to hold her back. 

“Ack -- Baroness, I’m here!”

There was a sound like two sets of footsteps quickly climbing the stairs. Then, after a moment, she heard Talbott’s voice. 

“Carewyn, stand back! We’re going to get you out of there -- let me just adjust this -- ”

Carewyn was glad she was tied up away from the door when a few minutes later, it was thrown off its hinges with another CRASH. 

Talbott and Baroness McGonagall came running through the dust into the room. At the sight of Carewyn on the floor, Talbott immediately ran over to try to undo her bindings. 

“They’re -- they’re too tight!” he hissed in aggravation. 

“Leave it to me,” said McGonagall sharply. “Focus on the spell keeping that door off its hinges: once your concentration breaks, it’ll return to the way it was.”

She materialized a knife from the pocket in her gown and, with a strong SNAP, cut the thick cord attaching her to the bed, which helped her pull the rest of the bindings off of Carewyn’s wrists. 

Once her hands were free, Carewyn threw her arms around both her and Talbott’s shoulders, hugging them both in gratitude and relief. Within a second, though, she’d pulled away to look at them both urgently. 

“Baroness, we need to move fast...my grandfather -- ”

“Yes, Talbott told me,” said the Baroness curtly. “Quickly now -- ”

She swept back down the stairs, Talbott and Carewyn at her heels. Once they crossed the threshold, the door magically floated back up behind them, slamming back into place with just as much force as it had been blasted off. 

“The palace of Florence is at least three hours from here,” explained Talbott as they ran down the stairs. “I knew I couldn’t stay transformed that long, and I’ve never flown so far before -- didn’t reckon it’d be smart to try to fly somewhere I’ve never been and risk falling right out of the sky on the way, so I decided to go get the Baroness instead. Fortunately, on our way back here on foot, we collided with Badeea, and she was able to ride on ahead to the palace and tell the Weasleys the change in plans -- ”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “‘Change in plans?’”

Talbott smirked broadly, showing teeth. “Yeah -- the plan to bust you out of here.”

Carewyn gave a start. 

“It was KC and Bill Weasley’s idea,” Talbott explained. “After I delivered Cosimo’s message to you and took a break to recuperate from flying, I turned back into an eagle and headed to the palace. Figured Prince Henri would want to know the state you were in and might be able to do something to help. Unfortunately he couldn’t -- Charles Cromwell’s wealthy enough that he’s ingratiated himself to the King and Queen, and as your legal guardian, there isn’t much anyone else could do, unless you decided to run away. But Bill and Charlie didn’t like the thought of you being stuck there. Bill had already told Charlie to hold onto this coach he was fixing for the royal family, so they could use it to smuggle you out of the Cromwell estate and take you to their family’s house. And KC realized that the perfect night to do that would be the night of the ball, when the entire Cromwell family is supposed to be in Florence and you’d therefore be left completely unguarded. So Bill, Charlie, Badeea, and I decided to stay behind while everyone else at the palace headed out to Orion’s ball, so that we could come get you.”

Carewyn could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her eyes had gone very wide. 

“You...you mean you all put this together, just to help me?” she said shakily. 

Talbott’s face was very serious as they reached the ground floor. “Of course we did. You’re a good person, Carewyn -- you don’t deserve being trapped here.”

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with emotion despite her best efforts. 

“Talbott...” Her lips spread into a weak, overwhelmed smile. “I...thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Talbott said brusquely. “We’ve still got to get you to Florence.”

In the distance, Carewyn could hear the sound of a coach pulling up in front of the estate. McGonagall with her long legs reached the door of the manor first, and she unlocked and opened it, sweeping out into the courtyard. When Carewyn and Talbott darted after her, Carewyn gaped.

The broken royal coach she’d gone to help Charlie bring to the Burrow was as good as new, as clean, shining, and upright as it likely was when the King and Queen first purchased it. And sitting up in the driver’s seat was -- 

“CAREY!”

Charlie, dressed in a white-feathered black hat and a dark red velvet doublet trimmed with silver scales, dropped the reins connected to his and Bill’s chestnut horses and Badeea’s gray horse and leapt right off the coach and over to Carewyn. Jumping off the boot of the coach was Bill, dressed in a brown suede coat decorated with silver trim, and climbing out of the coach itself was Badeea, dressed in silver-dusted white satin. 

“Charlie!” cried Carewyn. “Bill! Badeea!” 

The Weasley brothers launched themselves at her, throwing their arms around her and squeezing tight. Unfortunately the wounds on Carewyn’s back made her crumple slightly, flinching away from their touch with a barely suppressed hiss of pain. 

“Carey?” said Bill, instantly concerned. 

“I’m all right!” Carewyn said very quickly. “I’m all right...”

Her blue eyes flooding with emotion, she threw her arms around both Charlie and Bill in return, squeezing them back. 

“It’s so good to see you,” she whispered. 

Bill’s eyes were very emotional too as he cradled the back of her head with his hand. The joy Carewyn felt just at the memory of her friends days earlier was back in full. She thought it’d be a long time before she’d ever see them again...and yet they were here. They’d come for her when she’d needed them most...

Badeea came up beside Carewyn, her dark eyes very concerned as she trailed a hand lightly along the stitching at the back of Carewyn’s dress. 

“Carewyn...your dress...”

The ginger-haired woman gave her a reassuring look. “It’s all right.”

She looked around at all of them, taking in their fine clothes. 

“Then...we’re all going to the ball ourselves?” she asked uneasily. “That’s the new plan?”

“Yep!” said Charlie brightly. “Andre had been working on some costumes for us, so we could all attend his mother’s New Years masquerade, before the whole thing at the border went down. He wasn’t able to finish any of them...but I borrowed a spare doublet from Andre’s closet for Talbott and Badeea was able to finish decorating the costumes that were closest to being done...”

He pointed out the “scales” on his doublet, while Bill held up the sleeve of his brown suede coat to show off the sparkly silver painted trim. 

Carewyn’s eyes widened. “That paint...is that -- ?”

“The paint Orion gave me? Yes,” Badeea said, beaming as she showed off the shiny “fur” detailing she’d applied to her own hijab. “It’s the first time I’ve ever purposefully applied my paints to fabric, but for a first try, I’d say it turned out pretty well. Your shoes and dress look even better, though...look!”

She moved over to the open door of the coach and pulled out a gray and orange gown and a pair of shoes. 

The chest was decked out with reddish-orange feathers arranged in a rounded heart shape, while the rest (made out of gray satin) was painted to look like it was covered in feathers. And the shoes...they were truly the most beautiful dancing slippers Carewyn had ever seen. The heels were made of colorful pumpkin diamond, while the shoes themselves, made of cloth, were nonetheless painted in a way that it looked like yellow, red, and orange stained glass. There was even a sheen on each panel, no doubt made with the slightest brush of the silver paint Orion had given Badeea, that made it look like it was sparkling. 

Carewyn brought up a hand to tentatively hold the skirt of the gown, staring in disbelief and awe. Badeea’s dark eyes were sparkling with pride.

“It’s a robin, see?” she said. “Andre thought it’d be the perfect way to apply your supposed ‘favorite color’ -- ash gray -- to your dress. He originally wanted to trim your shoes with more diamond, but after seeing everything on the battlefield, he was reluctant to spend any more money on materials. So I tried to make it look like it was made of diamond anyway...it didn’t quite work out the way I hoped, but I don’t think it turned out too bad.”

“Badeea...it’s beautiful,” breathed Carewyn, her eyes trailing over the “stained glass” slippers. 

Despite this, though, she whirled on the others with a severe expression. 

“...But I can’t go to the ball! My entire family will be there, as will Lord Malfoy and Patricia Rakepick -- none of them would let me get within twenty feet of Orion -- ”

“They will if they do not recognize you,” said McGonagall crisply. She turned to Badeea and extended a hand. “The mask, please.”

Badeea handed McGonagall a hand-painted robin mask to her. McGonagall then set about tracing a yellowish-gold spell in mid-air, which she then lightly tapped with the mask. In an instant, it sparkled with traces of golden light. 

McGonagall then placed the mask in both of Carewyn’s hands. 

“This mask has an illusionary enchantment placed on it,” she said solemnly, “one that will activate solely for you, while you are within the gates of Florence’s palace, for today only. While you wear it, you will appear, to the person seeing you, as a beautiful stranger. You will not look the same to any two people...meaning that, were anyone to try to identify you later, no one would be able to agree how tall you are, how slender, how old...not even any physical features like hair or eye color.”

McGonagall’s expression then turned very grave. 

“Just be sure that you leave the palace before the final stroke of midnight. Once the next day begins, my spell will break no matter what I might do...and if you’re still in the palace when that happens, then I daresay there’ll be plenty of people there who will recognize you.”

Carewyn nodded. Considering how willing Charles was to commit treason and murder, the last thing she wanted was for her grandfather to know she’d made it to the ball and who had helped her get there. 

“I understand,” she said.

“I will not fit in the coach with you,” said McGongall as she glanced at Talbott, “but I can maintain the illusion for the rest of the night, even from a distance. And I know my apprentice will do everything he can to make sure you get back to Royaume safely, once Orion is out of danger.”

Carewyn’s eyes became a little smaller and softer. “Thank you, Baroness...for everything.”

McGonagall’s usually stern face softened noticeably as she brought a hand to gently rest on Carewyn’s cheek.

“Godspeed, Miss Cromwell.”

And so Carewyn, Badeea, and Talbott all climbed into the coach. Once they were all inside, Bill -- playing the role of footman, snapped the door shut behind them and leapt up onto the boot of the coach. 

“Let’s go, Charlie!”

With a nod, Charlie bounded back up into the driver’s seat, snatched up the reins, and flicked them sharply with a “YAH!” The three horses charged off, pulling the coach right off the Cromwell estate and toward the reddening horizon. 

On their way to Florence’s palace, the group got themselves dressed. Carewyn politely averted her eyes as Talbott changed into the handsome purple velvet doublet Andre had been wearing when Carewyn first arrived at the palace, and then Talbott climbed out onto the boot of the carriage with Bill while Badeea helped Carewyn get dressed. 

When Carewyn took off her dress, Badeea saw her injured back for the first time. The artist’s gasp of dismay was silent, but she nonetheless trailed a cool, gentle hand along Carewyn’s bare back.

“I don’t think your gown will hide these,” Badeea murmured. “It’s cut low, to show off your back.”

Carewyn set her jaw grimly. “Then we’ll just have to leave them. Once I reach the palace and the Baroness’s illusion is activated, no one should be able to see them anyway.”

Badeea nodded grimly, her dark eyes very sad as she helped Carewyn pull the gown over her head.

“We all worried Lord Cromwell wasn’t treating you well,” she confessed, “but...I don’t think any of us thought he’d do something like this to you.”

Her usually serene expression betrayed a flicker of resentment. 

“He’s a horrible man,” she said very softly. “Just...horrible.”

Carewyn offered Badeea a weak smile, bringing a hand onto her shoulder and squeezing to show some reassurance. 

Charlie had never been to the palace of Florence before, but he was fortunately able to follow the many, many sets of long tracks left by other carriages and carts from Royaume that had already left for Florence’s capitol. He set the horses off at the fastest gallop he could manage without endangering his passengers, and within three hours, Charlie caught sight of some more carriages in the distance. He rushed to catch up with them, pulling up just behind them as they headed through the open gates of the Florentine palace.

The palace of Florence couldn’t have been more different than Royaume’s. While Royaume’s castle was white stone with extensive hedge gardens and many rounded towers trimmed with pointed dark rooves, Florence’s was made of tan-colored clay bricks stacked a mile high with geometric railings along the edges of towers and beautifully carved marble columns and arches framing the interior courtyard. It was also lit up with dozens of torches, making it blaze with golden light in the night. The warmer color palette, in contrast to Royaume’s palace’s pure white marble and clean lines, made Florence’s palace look significantly older, even though it was just as well-maintained. Carewyn couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of interesting histories she might read, if she could take the time to look over the yards of text etched into each column and wall. 

“I think I see Andre’s coach!” said Charlie.

He pointed out a coach parked almost directly in front of the grand staircase. Its coachman was tending to their horses.

“He must not have arrived too long ago,” said Bill. He looked at the others through the window of the coach. “Do you have the masks ready, Badeea?”

Badeea lightly waved the last mask she’d been painting back and forth to help it dry. “Just about...”

Carewyn could also see the white coaches belonging to the Cromwell family parked on the far right end. She could even see her horse among the white steeds pulling them -- it kept pulling at its reins tensely, as if not liking being lashed together with its fellows to the coach. 

Charlie pulled up in front of the castle, as far back and as far left as he could, so that they could stay close to the gate in case they needed a quick exit. As soon as they came to a stop, Bill pulled open the door of the coach. 

“Are you ready, Carey? Your hair and dress okay? Got your mask?”

“Yes,” said Carewyn. 

“Go on, then -- we’ll be right behind you.”

Carewyn nodded determinedly and quickly climbed out of the coach, holding her skirts up so as to keep them clear of her “stained glass” slippers. 

Charlie couldn’t help but gape. “Whoa, Carey...the Baroness wasn’t kidding! You don’t look like yourself at all!”

Carewyn blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah! You’ve got, like, blond hair and green eyes -- like some emerald dragon!”

“You look like a brunette to me,” said Bill sheepishly. 

“We can gush about the Baroness’s talent for illusions later,” Talbott cut them off brusquely. “Carewyn -- go find the King.”

Carewyn nodded. Turning her gaze toward the palace, she ran straight for the stairs, charging right past the guests that walked more leisurely up the stairs and ignoring how their heads turned in her direction. 

Orion...please don’t let me be too late...!

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 2

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/622991219538214912/the-long-way-around-ch-1

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2210

Warnings: None

Jasper’s POV

Before we even get close to the house, a high-pitched, agonized screaming makes Esme and I both flinch. She had insisted on coming along, though Carlisle, Edward, and I had all warned against it. Newborns can be feral and deadly, and none of us want Esme to get hurt. But she was adamant, and we all respect her too much to deny her a choice. Personally, I think Esme wants to be there so the girl can have someone less intimidating to interact with. I can’t blame her. If I had to wake up in an unfamiliar place after experiencing trauma and indescribable pain, I would much rather see Esme than me.

We enter Carlisle’s study, the smell of bleach strong. Esme tsks upon seeing the state of the girl’s outfit. The bloodied parts of her dress have been cut away and, I assume, burned. What’s left doesn’t do much to protect the girl’s modesty, but someone had the decency to cover her with a towel. Esme flits away and returns within seconds carrying clean clothes. Wordlessly, Carlisle, Edward, and I exit the room. 

The girl’s screams die into fearful whimpers, likely in response to Esme’s cold, unfamiliar touch.

“She thinks she’s in Hell,” Edward mutters, looking at the floor. “She’s terrified.”

That much I know. I can feel the waves of agony, fear, and horror rolling off of her. It makes me want to flinch away. But instead, I merely clear my throat and try to ignore these emotions. “We’ll need to be careful when she comes to. She might not be willing to listen to reason, and that will be dangerous with her newborn strength.” 

Carlisle and Edward nod. 

When Esme calls us back in we find her sitting in a chair near the girl’s head, stroking her hair. “What’s her name?”

“Y/n, Y/l/n, according to the license we found on her,” Carlisle responds, adjusting the morphine levels in the drip. Based on the girl’s--Y/n’s--screams, I doubt it’s doing much, if anything. 

Edward nods almost imperceptibly, confirming my suspicions. Of course we would never tell Carlisle. It would break his heart. As it is, I can feel his intense self-loathing. I do what I can to ease it. 

Y/n briefly opens her eyes to see who is touching her, and I can see, as well as feel, her fear. When she gives into the pain and closes her eyes once more, I move to stand on her other side, opposite Esme, and use my ability to try to calm her down. 

While she’s consumed in whatever hell she’s enduring, I study her. She’s in great distress, obviously, and it pains me to see how young she is. She can’t be more than twenty. Such a short human life. Then again, a rueful voice within me taunts, you had less. Physically, I’m frozen at nineteen, but I feel so much older...Probably because I’m actually a hundred and seventy-six years old. Inwardly, I scoff. If she’s careful, Y/n has a very long life ahead of her. 

We stay like this for many hours. Y/n alternates between writhing and screaming to whimpering pitifully. Her emotions are hard to bear, and I can only guess as to what Edward is experiencing. Esme and I do our best to make her feel better, but with little success. The transformation is a truly terrible process. Eventually, Y/n’s skin becomes too hard for the needles, and Carlisle puts away the drip. A few hours later, Edward perks up. 

“Shouldn’t be long now. The pain is starting to recede from her fingers and toes.” 

‘Shouldn’t be long’ is relative, and it takes four long hours until her heart starts beating frantically in its last effort to survive. 

“Esme, back up,” I advise, knowing that, any minute now, the seemingly harmless girl on the cot could jump up and become a deranged killing machine. 

Esme goes to stand at the back of the room with Carlisle. Edward moves to block the door, and I plant myself directly in front of the cot. Hopefully, if she does become violent, the four of us will be able to catch and subdue her. 

“No sudden movements,” I remind them. “She’s scared enough already and it’s only going to get worse. Once the thirst hits, we’ll be virtually unable to communicate with her until she feeds. It’ll be the only thing on her mind.” My voice is grim, and I can’t help the flashbacks to my many years surrounded by vicious newborns, as well as my own time as one. 

My family stills, a sure sign of stress, as Y/n’s heartrate skyrockets for five tense seconds, and then stops. 

No one breathes. 

Y/n gasps, opens her eyes, and sits up in the span of half a second. I feel her fear, shock, and confusion. 

“What…” She looks around the room, taking us in. When she sees me staring directly at her with my hands clasped tightly behind my back, I feel her fear intensify. It’s a natural reaction to both my intimidating stance and the scars covering my body, and I wish it didn’t bother me so much. 

“Where am I?” Her voice is breathy, eyes wild. I send waves of calm her way. 

Carlisle takes a slow step forward, his palms open in a show of harmlessness. “I am Dr. Carlisle Cullen. This is my wife, Esme, and two of my sons, Edward and Jasper.” He nods at each of us. 

“You’re very safe here, Y/n,” Esme reassures. 

I can tell it does little to ease Y/n’s suspicions, but it was kind of Esme to try anyway. 

Carlisle’s voice is calm and soothing when he continues. “You are at our home, which is about fifteen miles outside of the main town. Your friends brought you here three days ago. Do you remember that?”

“I…” Recognition dawns on Y/n’s face. “I was stabbed. But I was dying, I…” She gulps, a new bout of fear consuming her. “Am I in Hell?”

“No,” Carlisle says firmly. “I’m sorry for the pain. Unfortunately, it’s the only way to enter this new life.” 

Her confusion deepens. “New life, meaning…” She trails off in a question. 

“You’re a vampire,” Edward states simply. 

It’s then that she decides to bolt. 

Edward is on her in a millisecond, having heard the warning from her thoughts. 

“Edward, no!” I lunge forward, trying to all at once keep Y/n from escaping and Edward from getting hurt. 

But it’s too late. The new vampire has already given into her instincts and bitten Edward, hard, in an effort to get him to release her. 

He does, of course. Vampire venom hurts like a bitch. 

Edward howls and falls to the floor; Esme is at his side in an instant. Carlisle quickly guards the door, while I work to force the crazed newborn into the corner of the room. She snaps and throws her arms around, but I easily dodge her predictable movements. 

“Listen to me.” My voice is harsh, commanding, just like it had been all those years ago. But what can I do? It’s the only way they’ll listen. 

Y/n’s eyes dart wildly around the room. I hit her with every ounce of calm and lethargy I’ve got. Thankfully, she soon becomes much more subdued. 

I continue. “We don’t want to hurt you, but if you attack us again you’ll leave us no choice.” I let her mind fill in the blanks of what we’ll do if she does try to attack. Of course we wouldn’t actually hurt her, but she doesn’t need to know that. A little dose of fear will be useful in controlling her. 

“You say I’m a vampire.” Her voice shakes slightly, but she stands tall, defiant, almost. She’s trying to project confidence. I know her true emotions, so I know her exterior is a facade, but I have to admire the effort. She looks at me then, straight in the eye. “Is that why my throat burns? Why I’m so thirsty?” She spits the word out, and I can feel her desperation and dread. She so badly wants to be wrong. I honestly think she would feel better if we laughed at her and said no, we were just playing, that we had actually kidnapped and drugged her instead. 

But of course, we can’t say that. This is her new reality. So my voice is even and honest when I respond. “Yes. You’ll need to hunt soon.” 

Carlisle appears at my left shoulder. “Our coven is different from others. We feed only on animal blood.”

At the mention of blood, her emotions change. Suddenly, she becomes ravenous and hyper-focused. She sinks to the ground and claws at her throat. 

None of us are shocked. Esme, Edward, and Carlisle all went through this process with each other and with Rosalie and Emmett. I went through it with the myriad of newborns I helped train. But still, it’s unnerving to see how one can go from human-like to animalistic, the true predator coming out in a split second.

Having recovered, Edward joins me on my right side. I can feel his annoyance, but that won’t fade until the sting from the venom does. 

“Jasper’s right, it’s all she can think about right now. She’s starting to wonder if we’re threats standing in the way of her obtaining a meal.” 

I nod, feeling her growing suspicion. “Are there any humans nearby?” 

Edward pauses, then shakes his head. “I can’t hear anyone. I’ll let you know if that changes.” 

I steel myself. “Okay. Esme and Carlisle, you go ahead and wait in the forest. Be close once you pick up our scents, but don’t follow, just try to keep a perimeter. She could easily misinterpret us as a threat and decide to attack.” 

They nod and rush to the woods. 

Y/n is now growing restless, and I can feel her indecision. 

Edward looks at her, his gaze hard. “Patience. We’re doing this to help you, so calm down.” 

Y/n lets out a light snarl, showing her displeasure. 

She’s not going to understand that, I think at Edward. She won’t be able to listen to reason until she feeds. 

His annoyance grows, but he doesn’t push Y/n further. 

Once I’m satisfied that Carlisle and Esme have a good head start, I decide it’s time to go. “Come with us, we’ll take you somewhere with blood.” 

Y/n’s emotions flare with excitement and anticipation at my promise. 

Stay at her side but don’t get in front of or behind her unless it’s necessary. She could interpret that as a challenge. Once Edward nods, we take off. 

Y/n obediently stays between me and Edward, knowing we’ll take her to where she can satisfy her thirst. If you promise a newborn blood, you can get them to do anything, I think ruefully. I feel Edward’s sympathy for me, and I shake off my past. Right now, we have a job to do. 

Not two miles into the forest, we catch the scent of deer. Edward and I hang back, letting Y/n’s instincts guide her from here on out. 

She’s messy, but swift. Within minutes, all ten deer are drained. 

I feel Y/n’s dissatisfaction, and hold back a chuckle. Even without tasting human blood, it’s easy to be disappointed by the animal blood. Thinking of drinking from a human again stirs up temptation within me, and I crush it down. My self-control now is much better than in the past, but I’ll always remember the taste of human blood, and that makes it hard to enjoy the eternity facing me of drinking only from animals. I idly wonder if Y/n will choose to stay with us or go her own way, and if she does leave, will she continue drinking animal blood or switch to humans? But now isn’t the time to think about that. We still have to keep a close eye on the situation in front of us.

“Better,” I ask, approaching Y/n slowly. 

She purses her lips, still crouched on the ground. “Sort of.” 

Edward smiles in understanding. “You’ll get more used to it in time. It takes a lot of practice, but you can do it. We’ll be here to help you as long as you need.” 

Esme and Carlisle’s scents reach us, and Y/n crouches, a growl rising in her throat. I do my best to calm her. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just Carlisle and Esme, whom you met earlier. They won’t try to take any food from you.” 

Placated by both my words and ability, Y/n straightens, but a residual amount of suspicion remains. 

“I expect you have a lot of questions.” Carlisle’s voice is steady as he addresses Y/n from a few hundred yards away. “Come back with us to the house, we will answer them all.” 

With a sad-sounding sigh, Y/n nods. I feel for her. She’s got a long, hard road ahead. 

And so do you, a voice reminds me. I hold back a groan, knowing the next few years are going to be tough for us all.

A/n Hello, thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623116614605357056/the-long-way-around-chapter-3

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora

[fromtheo-withlove]

Pt. 4 - A Reunion

Finally get to bring in a bit of comfort, I hope you guys enjoy! It’s been such an amazing experience getting to share this story with all of you. Apologies in advance - it’s a bit of a long chapter but I’m hoping it’s worth the read.

TW: prisoner shackled, emotional whump, guilt and self-loathing, mention of injuries

Tag-list: @ihaveacrushonjester @tears-and-lilies @starnight-whump

Masterlist | Previous | Next

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Even before her mother had passed away 4 years ago, Princess Aurelia had always been incredibly close to her father. She treasured the time she got to spend with him and wanted to be like him when she became a ruler herself. Stories of the adventures and bravery of his youth were legendary and he had a way of charming everyone he spoke to. And Aurelia loved him.

But after watching Bennett and Gabriel’s arrival unfold and hearing about her father’s plans for them, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to see him in that light again. He had been different since the war began, quicker to anger, quiet, but she didn’t think he’d do something like this.

He had admitted Gabriel was an innocent in all of this, yet he let him think he was going to die, left him terrified and blindfolded while he played mind games. He had even whispered to her that he wasn’t going to actually let him die, but told her that he’d make it worse for him if she was uncooperative. She just couldn’t forgive him for all of this.

“Well,” she thought, “he may be acting like a stubborn monster, but I inherited every bit of that stubbornness and I’m not backing down either.”

She didn’t have any ideas on how to get Bennett and Gabriel out of this mess, but she was determined to see them at least, take care of them as much as she could.

It ended up being relatively easy to make it happen. She sought out Robert, the head of the castle guard, and he had ultimately agreed to let her visit the dungeons while one of the guards he trusted was on duty. He had known the princes when they were young. He had even given them sword lessons for a time and had been a tough teacher, but had a soft spot for them as well. It appeared he still did.

“Aye, war is war, but those boys were good lads. It’s a shame it’s come to this. I’ve told my guards to take it easy with them, but half this damn castle is hungry for their blood. They could use a friend in this mess.”

The guard’s first shift was that night, just past sundown. She passed the preceding hours pacing her room, gathering food and medical supplies to smuggle in, and trying to mentally steel herself for the reunions she was about to have.

The dungeon was vast, spanning the length of the castle. The king had ordered the princes be kept separately to avoid conspiring, as if they posed any threat in chains, shackled down. She was worried about Gabriel, but she decided to visit Bennett first. She needed answers and she needed a clear head for this conversation.

As the guard let her into Bennett’s cell, he reassured her that the prince would be shacked down and wouldn’t harm her. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the reassurance before remembering the crimes everyone believed Bennett committed. Rather than laugh, she nodded politely and thanked the guard as he closed the door and went back to his post.

It had already grown dark outside and the cell would have been pitch black if not for the glow of the lantern that Aurelia held. Luckily, she thought, there isn’t much here to light. The cell was small – enough space to pace in circles if the prisoner wasn’t shackled and enough room for them to lay down, but not much beyond that. Bennett sat in the corner looking tired and wary, his hands shackled behind him on a chain bolted to the floor.

He was the first to speak up. “Why are you here?” he asked, his eyes mistrustful.

She didn’t blame him for such a blunt greeting under the circumstances.

“I needed to see you, talk to you. Apologize. What happened earlier, the show my father put on…. It… shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.” She slowly walked closer as she spoke, then kneeled down near him.

She raised her hand to place it on his shoulder, confirm to herself that he was real and there, but he flinched and pulled away from her reach.

“I don’t deserve your time or pity, Auri. I wish I did. God, I wish I did. Please just go to Gabriel, he’s the innocent one in all of this. And do you want to know the worst part? He has every reason to hate me and he’s probably more worried about me than himself.” He let out a bitter laugh. “You know how good he is and you’ve already heard how much of a monster I am. Just go.”

Aurelia gave Bennett a hard glance. “Benn, stop it with all the self-loathing and self-sabotage. I’m going to see Gabriel after this. Let’s not waste time with you trying to convince me to leave, unless you truly have no wish to see me.”

In truth, he desperately wanted her company and in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to lie and say otherwise. When he stayed silent for a few seconds, she continued talking.

“I came here because I wanted to see you. I’m a grown woman now, I can make my own decisions.”

He finally spoke up, more quietly than before. “I know you can, I’m sorry… You have every right to stay here, but I don’t know what to say.”

“Well I didn’t come here to throw around accusations, you faced enough of that today, but, please, help me understand how things got to this point. Did you really murder innocents in those villages? I- I just can’t believe that. I need to hear it from you, without an audience. How could the same boy I knew, the one who wouldn’t hurt a fly, ever do something like that?”

She said that she couldn’t believe it, but Bennett noticed her stumble on her words, saw the fear in her eyes at his response. He knew her doubt in him was deserved, but it still somehow hurt.

“That boy you knew was pathetic, weak, naïve. When I returned to Lianhar, I had to see that and grow up. It’s the way the world works, Auri.”

Aurelia shook her head sadly. “Your father really did a number on you.” She stayed silent for a moment before asking quietly, “Do you remember the baby bird?”

“Obviously I do… why?”

“Humor me, what do you remember about that day, Benn?”

He knew what she was trying to do, but it had been so long since he’d been spoken to with compassion and a part of him wanted it to last as long as possible. “Okay… We were probably 11, maybe 12. It was springtime. It was that time of year when it’s finally starting to get warm but the weather keeps changing. There was that crazy wind and rain storm. The day after the storm we were so excited to collect fallen sticks and build our own little fortress.”

“We never did get around to building one,” Aurelia remarked with a small smile.

Bennett paused for a moment at Aurelia’s remark, but didn’t want to dwell on unfinished childhood dreams. It hurt too much to think about. He continued.

“Gabriel was inside, probably reading some textbook. We went down to the old oaks, and there was the baby bird, almost hidden in the tall grass. He was so small, and cute in an ugly way, with his feathers still growing in.”

Aurelia smiled genuinely at the memory. “You were amazed by it, shouting at me to come over. Until you saw its broken wing. I told you there was nothing we could do, tried to comfort you, but you were so upset about it.”

He nodded. “I was sad. I think I named him Momo.” He felt the corner of his mouth creep up in a smirk, the closest thing he’d had to a smile in weeks.

“You weren’t just sad, you were heartbroken. You laid near it crying and talking to it for almost an hour.”

“Auri, I get it, I was an overly dramatic child.”

“No Benn, you were loving and hated to see anyone or anything suffering. That bird would’ve died without you.”

Bennett scoffed. “No, your memory is way off. Gabriel was the one who saved him. I just sat there like a blubbering idiot.”

“I know he mended its wing, but he wouldn’t have even known about the bird if you hadn’t refused to come inside for lunch. He did always have a knack for medicine, but it was your heart that saved the bird.”

Bennett’s slight smirk was gone. He grew silent and leaned against the cell wall, no longer looking at Aurelia. When he spoke again, his voice had hardened.

“Well, regardless, real life isn’t like that bird story. And like I said, I had to grow up.”

“So you’re saying that you did kill them? Those innocent people?”

“No Auri,” Bennett snapped, his tone more annoyed than he intended. “I didn’t myself, but what difference does it make if I held the blade or my soldiers did? I didn’t stop them. That blood is on my hands.” He finally looked back at her, eyes narrowed, “I’m sorry if that gets in the way of you reminiscing on idyllic childhood memories.”

Aurelia raised her eyebrows, but didn’t take the bait. “So was it your idea? A plan to show strength? Did you want to do it?”

“Stop, it doesn’t matter.”

Aurelia stood up. “Just answer the question,” she commanded angrily. The sight of Bennett flinching at her demand was like a bucket of cold water on her anger. She quieted. “Please Benn, I need to know. If you still have any feelings of friendship towards me, tell me the truth.”

“You’re going to play that card?” Bennett said angrily. “What do you want me to say? That I never grew out of my weakness? That I didn’t want to lead a battalion, but conceded after just 10 minutes of pressure from my father? That my men never respected me, that they resented me for not allowing them their fun? That they killed my squire and pretended he died in an enemy attack? That they made veiled threats when Gabriel visited with medical supplies? That they were ready to stab me in the back because they felt my tactics were too passive? And instead of stamping out the disloyalty or, even better, dying for my own morals, that I gave up and handed my second-in-command the reigns?”

As he spoke, the anger in Bennett’s voice began to soften, but the bitterness and pain remained. “It doesn’t matter if I didn’t want them to pillage villages or harm civilians, I took a coward’s way out and convinced myself that what they did was out of my hands. I didn’t think they’d go so far.” His voice started to break.

“I really didn’t think they would, Auri. It will haunt me for any days I have left. But I should’ve known what I was doing. A good leader would’ve avoided that bloodshed. When I was a child, I’d cry about the injustices of the world, but then I actually had the power to change things and I was too much of a goddamn coward.”

Aurelia stood staring at her friend, tears in her eyes. “So, now you know,” he whispered. “You can leave with your answers.”

Instead of turning to the door, the princess knelt down face to face with Bennett and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. The gesture broke down his last barriers, and he began to cry into her shoulder.

“Benn, listen to me. You were forced into an unfair situation from the start. You didn’t ask for any of this. You avoided innocent bloodshed for a long time. They killed someone close to you, threatened you and Gabriel. Put you in an impossible position. You do not deserve this.”

He continued to cry for a few minutes as Aurelia stroked his hair. It was better than he deserved, but he needed comfort more than he ever had and he knew there was a chance this embrace would be the last he ever received. He only regretted not being able to hug her back.

Eventually, he began to breathe more normally and Aurelia let him go.

She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “I’ve been trying to change things for you both, I swear I’ve been trying, but… my father….”

“Auri, the fact that you even visited is more than I can ask for. I’ve already accepted that I’m not getting out of this mess, don’t anger your father over something impossible.” He paused, then continued, “But my brother…. I know it’s unfair to ask and it’s probably not doable, but if there’s any chance for Gabriel, if you see any way to convince your father to spare him, please try.”

“I promise I’ll keep trying, but I don’t want to give any false hopes about the odds.”

Bennett just nodded.

Aurelia’s eyes suddenly lit up as she remembered what she had smuggled in. “I almost forgot, I brought you some food!”

“I’m not sure I can stomach it right now to be honest.”

Aurelia looked skeptical. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Bennett didn’t even bother to answer the question. He sighed dramatically. “Fine, you’re right, I need food.”

“I knew it! You always hated to eat when you were stressed out, but then you’d end up exhausted and feeling worse.”

“I guess some things never change. Like you acting like a mother hen, trying to take care of me. “Benn, wear your jacket it’s cold. Benn, eat your breakfast. Benn, it’s not a good idea to jump off the stable roof into a tightly compacted bale of hay.” I guess I should’ve listened to you on that last one,” he said with a grin.

“And I guess I should just lean into the mother hen for today – I also brought medical supplies. Your shoulder and head looked injured earlier. Can I see them?”

He nodded. “They’re from the fight when I was captured, but they’re really not bad. I’ve had worse.”

She examined the wounds for a moment. “Okay tough guy, but they’re still pretty bad. I can’t leave anything visible like bandages unfortunately, but I’ll clean them out and apply some ointment to help numb them a bit. I’ll ask Robert if he’s willing to have the guards bandage them before tomorrow night, maybe under the guise of appearances for the banquet or something.”

The mention of the banquet brought Bennett back to reality. “Do you know what your father has planned?”

“No more than you do, I’m sorry. But I do know he plans to keep you both alive for a while, for better or for worse.”

Auri spent some time treating Bennett’s injuries, trying not to think about how many more she’d be caring for over the next few weeks. She needed to take things one day at a time.

When she was finished, she packed up her things and wrapped Bennett in one more hug. “I should go see Gabriel now, I can’t risk wandering around too late and having my father discover I’ve seen either of you. I’ll come back though, as much as I can.”

As she headed to the door, Bennett felt overcome with gratitude that she planned to come back. “Hey Auri?.... Thank you.”

-----

Keep reading: Next

[peachywise]

nullify

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader 

- part 6: the beginning of understandings || part i ⋆ part ii ⋆ part iii ⋆ part iv ⋆ part v ⋆ more to be released 

- synopsis: It was finally time to meet the bringer of the apocalypse– a petite girl wrapped up in a blanket drinking tea. Totally chill. Nothing unusual about the situation at all. At least Klaus was consistent with his irritating commentary.

- note: my bad sorry i haven’t updated in so long!! but i’m back! and since season 2 is now out, please just note that this story is my own continuation of the story after season 1. also, i am no longer doing a tag list. honestly i just can’t be bothered, and i’m sure most of the blogs have changed since the last one for this series. i post on ao3, so you can subscribe to the story there!! 

link on ao3 

_______________________________________

Okay. So you were going to face the person who allegedly caused the apocalypse. No big deal. This was just a normal day, and she was just a girl. Albeit one who had undergone pretty severe trauma in her life, but hey. Nothing you couldn’t handle with a pleasant smile and a cup of tea, right?

Maybe the tea was a bad idea. But you felt like you needed a peace offering. Something to break the ice before asking someone who was relatively a complete stranger, “I think I can contain your powers, so why don’t we try? Also, why don’t you move into my apartment for the time being? I promise the occasional cockroach that comes out the drain won’t do any harm. It would be nice if he paid rent, but I can’t complain.”

Yeah. Just a normal day.

An abrupt tap on your shoulder and Klaus’s breath tickling the side of your neck forced your eyes away from your previous stare down with the white bedroom door, and any and all courage you’d built up to walk in quickly dissipated.

“Hey, you think if this whole—” his voice caught on a sharp intake of breath as he tried to find his words, his hands rolling, “trying to convince my sister to not start the second apocalypse by moving in with you thing doesn’t work out, I can still crash there? You can’t begin to imagine just how stifling it is here. I don’t even think Five has changed out of his little uniform in a week, let alone had a shower. You smell so much better. Like vanilla with a bit of stale coffee and deep-seated cynicism.”

Turning your face fully towards his, your noses almost touching by how close he had leaned in, you kept your expression passive. And then you tipped your hand to let half of the scalding tea fall over the lip of the cup and on his bare feet.

As Klaus jumped back, hopping between his feet and hollering a string of “ow, ow, ow,” you took a small step back and replied with a drab and mocking, “that has to hurt.”

Klaus gave a curt laugh that was almost lost, given his teeth were clenched in pain. “You know, I don’t know if I like your violent style of foreplay.”

“You’re making it very clear why Vanya destroyed the world in the first place, Klaus,” you responded, voice raised. “You haven’t even experienced just how sadistic I can be. I can turn around right now and just let her cause the second apocalypse again.”

“How original of you, threatening to leave. What is it, the tenth time already? Maybe if we’re all lucky, you can get a couple more in before dinner!”

“You know what’s original? Your desperate need for attention because you never got any from daddy as a kid. I’ve never seen that before-“

The door opened in front of you, and someone’s soft cough had you and Klaus both turning in their direction.

Allison Hargreeves.

“Are you guys done?” She questioned, a tight impatient look crossed on her features. At a loss for words, partly embarrassed now that you’d raised your voice, you tried to find anywhere to look but her eyes. Your gaze ultimately got caught on her neck, and the healed, puffy scar raised on her skin. Right. They’d mentioned Vanya had injured Allison. Pretty horribly at that. You remembered what you were nervous about in the first place.

“Allison, this is Y/N, though they will reply to trouble or travel-sized Satan just as well,” Klaus offered, slipping past his sister, who stood fully in the frame of the doorway.

Reaching behind to scratch your neck, you forced a timid smile on your face and gave a small wave with your free hand. “Hey. Nice, uh… place you got here.” Totally casual. “Very clean.” Not awkward at all.

Allison snorted. “Uh-huh. Nice to meet you. Let’s see if this was all worth it, shall we?”

Straight to the point. You could respect that. Nodding, you kept the nervous smile on your face as you walked past her after she sidestepped away from the door. You didn’t really know what you were expecting. Part of you thought the room was going to be some weird pit of despair. Dark and broody, like it was supposed to set the scene for some comic book character about to delve into their villain origin story.

But nope. It was just a standard bedroom, very well lit, white linen, clean carpet. The only thing that really stood out was the sunny yellow blanket wrapped tightly around a petite frame huddled on the single bed, a sky blue polka dot teacup clutched in both of her hands.

Well, now you didn’t feel so bad that you’d poured out basically all the tea you were going to give Vanya on Klaus.

“I’m guessing you’re Vanya?”

No shit, she was Vanya. You literally knew what she looked like.

You shuffled your feet awkwardly as the girl’s eyes flickered up to you. You still had the teacup in your hand.

“I brought you this, but I… spilled a little,” you commented off-handily, moving over to set it on a small side table.

Klaus made a notably shocked look. “Is that what you call a little?”

Vanya nodded her head once, her tone quietly gruff as she added, “we could hear you through the door.”

Allison offered a very helpful, “I’m sure the whole apartment floor heard them.”

Klaus, unable to contain himself from continuing this rally of comments, added, “well, it’s not the only time my screams have woken up someone next door. Certainly won’t be the last, God hoping the world doesn’t explode again.”

All three of you groaned. Good to know you weren’t the only one exhausted.

“It’s nice to meet you, Vanya. Did they explain to you why I’m here?” You asked, moving closer to the girl in question.

Vanya’s eyes glanced quickly over to Allison, who nodded her head in encouragement. She then turned to look at you once more and gave a slight jerk of her head in affirmation. Despite what had happened between Vanya and Allison, you could see the trust between the sisters. You might have gotten the story of what happened three months prior, but obviously they had worked out some stuff. At least a little bit. “Yeah. Yeah, Five uhm, gave me the gist of it,” Vanya replied, her voice still quiet with an edge of hesitance.

“It really works,” Klaus stated, looking at you with a joyful look. “Not seeing Ben’s ugly mug for once…” he pressed his hands to his heart and contentedly sighed, “it was the biggest blessing one could have given me.” His serene mood quickly dissipated as he looked to an empty corner and bit out a tight, “zip it, ghoul boy.”

“I don’t know,” Vanya carried on, as Klaus and presumably Ben continued to have an argument in the back. “Our powers are different. I don’t know if I want to take the risk of using it again in case it doesn’t work.”

You sighed, and Allison brought her hand up to nervously to chew on a nail. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, you tried your best to settle the situation. Yeah, the money you would get for this would be nice, but you could tell this all went beyond that. It was important. You knew they wouldn’t have just let you into their inner circle if it wasn’t.

“I get it. What happened was awful, but you aren’t in that place anymore, right? Panic makes you do stupid shit. You aren’t you when you’re in such a crisis. That doesn’t mean you don’t take accountability for those actions, but the you sitting here isn’t actively trying to blow up the moon and cause the end of the world.” Peering over to Klaus, who stood grumpily off to the side, you asked, “it was the moon, right?”

His attention quickly fixed on you as he replied back, “oh yeah,” making a sudden explosion movement with his hands and horrible sound effects to go with it.

Allison’s blunt, “Klaus,” was enough to quickly shut him up.

“But I could panic again,” Vanya pleaded, her hazel eyes cutting in their pain. As stable and as comfortable as she appeared now, you could recognize that constant fear that must have lived in her. You knew too much about regret. You could see that in her eyes.

“And that’s where I come in. I can stop that. But we have to try first to see if it can work.” Reaching out a hesitant hand, you placed it on her knee still covered with the blanket and offered, “this power is inside you whether you like it or not. I don’t have perfect control over mine. I wish there were things I had done differently.” People you could have saved. People who you accidentally hurt. “You tried suppressing it, but that only made it explosive once it was actually let out. We can try to make it so you can live with it. Even if you don’t use it, at least you can control it.”

Vanya bit her lip and drooped her head, her hair falling in curtains around her face. You were curious about what her thoughts were. The furrow between her brows tensed and untensed in a way you knew her answer to the proposition was continually changing.

“Vanya, I’ve gone the self-destructive route to try and drown the voices out,” Klaus chirped up in the silence, his compassionate tone odd to your ears. From the corner, he strolled past you and rested a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “But I’ve never experienced quiet so fully until they put their field around me.” Soft eyes met yours as he added, “I never thought it was possible. It’s all I ever wanted.”

Holding his look for a moment, you weren’t quite sure what to say. You’d never really been… praised for your gift. Whenever you tried to use it to help someone else, you’d get called a freak or something worse. Any other time, it accidentally (well, purposefully sometimes) harmed someone. You could tell Klaus was sincere. Listening to the voices of the dead so much must be harrowing. You never really gave much thought about spirits and their presence, but for all you know, there could be multiple in the room with him at any moment. Always in pain. Always sharing that with him.

All you could manage to offer in response was a gentle smile before you tipped your head back to look at Vanya. “You don’t know me. I can’t ask you to trust me to do this. But why don’t you stay with me for a bit anyway? Klaus will be there, and you can come and go as you want, the others too. I’ll show you a couple of things I can do with the force field, and when you’re ready to test it out, we will. This is in your hands, Vanya. You’re in control.”

That’s all people like us could ever want. Control. Certainty—

Understanding.

“I already called sharing the bed with Trouble, just so you know,” Klaus said.

Although, it seemed your understanding clearly had its limits.

“If you did that, I would have to burn my bed so I didn’t get fleas. How about I get you a nice doggy bed instead?”

That got a grin out of Vanya, and when Allison added, “I think a flea repellent collar would be a wise investment as well,” her smile grew a little more comfortable.

“very funny, really, ” Klaus muttered.

“Okay. I’ll come with you,” Vanya finally conceded, reaching over to set her cup on the nightstand. “I’m— I don’t think I’m ready to try it out yet, but I guess if I do lose control again, having you there will be a good safety net?”

“We’ll all be your safety net this time.” Allison’s tone was earnest, remorse and care wrapped up on one. “I promise.” She sat on the bed and Vanya gently rested her head on her shoulder.

Whatever had gone on with this family, whatever tragedy had occurred in the past or with the current ordeal, seemed to be mending. You were kind of in awe staring at the scene. You had never known this kind of support since your father, and even then, you were so young that your memories of those feelings of comfort had faded. You lived alone. Didn’t really have any lasting friendships. You had the old couple across the hall who you played cards with at least once a week— though you were pretty sure they cheated every single time— but that wasn’t even close to what the Hargreeves had.

Family.

Standing back up, you heaved in a heavy breath. “I’ll leave you to pack,” you offered with your best shot at a cheery smile despite the sudden growing muck (jealousy, sadness, regret) festering through your veins. “Would you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Allison started to talk, offering you directions before Klaus interjected, “I’ll show you where it is.”

You were going to argue that you were perfectly capable of managing directions in the single apartment, but he placed his hand on your back and was quickly ushering you out of the door and down the rest of the hall.

“You really okay with doing this?” His questioned jarred you, eyes widening as you stepped away from his touch.

“Klaus, are you kidding?” You shot back, your exhaustion entrapping your exasperation in one low, breathy air. “I didn’t see you caring about that when I had originally said no multiple times.”

“You didn’t have that,” he stalled, struggling to come up with words as he haphazardly waved his hands in front of your face, “that look before. You looked sad when Vanya said she would come.”

Ah. You thought you’d shielded your face away from what you had felt. Strange that he would pick up on it. “It’s fine, Klaus. I want to help.”

Klaus didn’t look so sure, but he was also resigned enough to accept that answer. It was the truth anyway. It was a brief second of allowing yourself to feel bad. We all had those. A desire for something else someone has, for love, for care. But maybe this situation would help. Helping someone else, someone relatively similar to you, given the fucked up freak birth that messed up all their lives, would give you a sense of purpose.

“Can I ask you something, though?” You said, biting the inside of your cheek in a sort of nervous gesture.

“Yeah, sure,” Klaus prompted, curiosity lowing his eyebrows as he slightly tilted his head.

“Did you mean what you said in there? Did my blocking your power really help you that much?” You just needed to know. He looked so earnest, almost… desperate to experience it again. You felt seized by a sudden warmth. You just wanted to experience that again, whatever that was. To feel like you had done right.

“Trouble, you have no idea how much that helped. I meant what I said,” his tone turned almost affectionate, his eyes almost pleading with you to believe, “It really is all I ever wanted.”

And suddenly, the warmth that you hoped would have a growing familiarity in your body came back. However, there was something else there, nagging at the back of your consciousness, that you couldn’t quite grasp. It almost felt like concern or empathy, but there was something more. Despite Klaus’s kind words, there was an undercurrent of sadness to them. The man in front of you, who sometimes seemed so much younger and fragile than what he was, had been through hurt. You could recognize it. You had the moment you had met him and all the Hargreeves. But you were finally beginning to fully comprehend what his particular sadness was.

“It’s horrible to have been forced with a burden that could probably do so much good, but we just haven’t been able to see it.” You murmured, speaking your thoughts out loud without really meaning to. “All of you guys were forced to do good with your powers. Be the good guys, get the bad ones. That in itself was another burden just on top of it. You were kids. You never got to experience normal lives and have your powers adjusted to fit normalcy. I guess I’m lucky in that regard.”

You didn’t really know what you were saying. Just looking at Klaus’s face and the emotions you couldn’t read had you spewing words so freely that surely he must have thought you to be the erratic one now and not him.

“Sorry,” you laughed lightly, trying to break the tension. “I guess I’m just trying to say, if my power can do good by helping you guys out, then I’m happy. Whenever things get too noisy, just let me know and I’ll try and drown it out for you. Maybe just… living for a while, not stressing about your next plans, will help too.” You could try to provide some sort of normalcy in your shitty little apartment, with shitty cable, and an even shittier view.

“I’ll do that,” Klaus’s voice was so quiet you barely caught what he had said. “Thank you.”

Averting your gaze to the floor, you rubbed the tip of your nose with the back of your hand and stood in silence for a few moments.

“So uhm. Where’s that bathroom?”

“Oh, shit! Ah, yeah, just down the hall and to the right off the kitchen,” Klaus laughed, tension easing.

“What, not going to lead to it?” You teased.

“No, I think you can manage pretty well,” he smirked, before walking off into one of the adjacent rooms, probably to go pack.

What a shame. You’d probably have to burn all his clothes before they touched your carpets, now that you thought about it. You know, because of the fleas and all that.

[the-wlw-cafe]

Supercorptober - Day 5: Family

Read it on ao3 here!

CW: Implied alcohol abuse

Lena knew Jess was worried about her. Granted, she did little else, especially after the whole Eve situation that had Jess coming back from her deserved sabbatical without Lena even doing so much as lifting a finger. She still felt guilty about the palpable sense of relief that had accompanied signing Jess back into her old position – she’d desperately needed someone in her corner she knew she could trust. She would never have presumed to ask her for it, but still, Jess had come, just a little bit of comfort in a world that had spun on its axis so substantially Lena wasn’t sure she’d ever recover her balance. But Jess had come back, and she’d stayed.

And now, with the holidays fast approaching, her fretting over Lena had increased exponentially. For the impartial observer, the signs would be almost imperceptible, but after years of working together Lena was keyed in to all of Jess’ tells. Her worry was clear in the way she’d space out Lena’s meetings a little wider, affording her some breaks she definitely didn’t need, and subtly hinting that it was getting quite late whenever Lena tried to pull another all-nighter at the office. And Lena ought to be thankful, really, to have someone keep an eye on her since Kara and Alex were visiting their mother in Midvale. But the holidays were a difficult time for Lena, they had been back when Lillian would still try to coax her to come visit the LuthorCorp Holiday gala and Lex would write her a single card filled with as much backhanded compliments and disguised mockery as the limited space would allow, and they were even more so now when they’d…stopped. She hated it, and she hated the part of herself that, for whatever misguided reason, missed it. Truth be told, Lena was tense, a swirling vortex of negative emotions barely held down by a cocktail of whisky, antidepressants and ibuprofen. All of that didn’t excuse the way she snapped at Jess when she suggested that Lena take some time off for the holidays.

“What for, Jess, to spend some time with my family?” she’d hissed, an apology already on her tongue the second she realizes what she’d said. Jess however stood her ground, unperturbed.

“Yes, that actually was what I was thinking of.”

For a second, Lena was too stunned even to answer, before she managed to gather herself. “Miss Huang, you surely must be joking.” Her voice was low, carefully controlled.

Jess didn’t even flinch.

“I’m not talking about your blood relatives, Miss Luthor. Everyone can see that you’re basically a part of the Danvers clan already.”

Lena had already opened her mouth to refute whatever claim left her assistant’s mouth, but now found herself lost for words. She closed it again. Never once in her life had she found herself so utterly disarmed, because, as much as the ugly part of her, the one that spoke to her in the voices of Lillian and Lex, tried to convince her of the opposite the truth still remained: Jess was right.

The first time she’d ever felt that way was a good year ago, and it came as a surprise so shocking and abrupt it felt like she’d missed a step when walking down the stairs, and it went something like this:

Lena found herself chanting “please don’t pick up, please don’t pick up” under her breath. She’d lie about this detail if anyone would later ask her about it, since she’d never been one to avoid conflict; a necessary trait in her line of work. And yet, she couldn’t help but silently hope against hope that Kara, who usually picked up the phone in a matter of seconds when she was calling, presumably dropping anything and everything she was currently doing (and sprinting to the phone, considering how out of breath she sometimes sounded) just to answer her on time, would make an exception to this rule just this once.

She really didn’t want to disappoint her by cancelling on game night.

She couldn’t bear to make her sad.

And she really, really wasn’t in the right headspace to get into the why.

“You’re speaking with Kara Danvers, hi!”

God, there she went again, answering her mobile phone with both her first and last name like the dork she was and now she had to sit down due to a bout of dizziness that was definitely not caused by the amounts of whiskey she'd consumed beforehand.

"Hey, Kara."

Her voice sounded hoarse from crying. The anniversary of the Luthor’s taking her in had always been rough on her, and yet she’d never come unravelled like this. It was as if the sudden and unplanned arrival of Kara Danvers in her life had wrenched something free inside of her, some blockade she’d built when she was young, and now she couldn’t help but cry over things she’d long since ought to move past. Then again, she also never entertained childish crushes like this. It seemed as if Kara Danvers had been engineered for the sole purpose of throwing Lena off her game.

“Lena! I was just talking to Alex about ordering from that new Ethiopian place you recommended for game night! What’s the point in having a cultured friend if I don’t get to show off their amazing palate, am I right?”

“Yes, Kara, about that”, Lena interjected before her friend could get herself too amped up. Before she could do something immensely stupid, such as let Kara talk her into coming to game night anyway, dragging everyone down with her and ruining everything.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can make it to game night after all. Busy life of a CEO and all that.”

Funny, how lies that used to pass her lips effortlessly now felt like they were suffocating her, leaving behind a foul taste in her mouth. It’s because you are an awful friend. It’s because Kara deserves better.

“Oh.”

The disappointment in Kara’s voice was palpable, and Lena hated herself for being the cause.

“But there’ll be a bunch of other game nights, and I’m sure the others appreciate the chance when the Danvers-Luthor dream team can no longer dominate them!”

Lena let out a choked sound, a pathetic excuse for a laugh.

“Lena, are you okay? Because it sounds like you’re crying – are you crying? Did something happen?”

Lena dug her nails into her forearm, leaving angry red crescent shapes in the flesh. Selfish, so selfish, making Kara worry on a day that was supposed to be reserved for her friends.

“Don’t worry about me”, she said, not being able to bear the enormous lie that would be an I’m fine. “It’s just…”, she floundered, trying to find a way to put her feelings into words that wouldn’t make them seem as laughable as they were to Kara.

“It’s stupid”, she sighed, but Kara intercepted before she had even reached the end of her sigh.

“It’s not! If it makes you upset, it’s never stupid. Your feelings are valid, Lena.”

“But it all happened decades ago! I should be over it by now!”

“Oh, Lena…”

She used that tone. Lena hated that tone. She hated that Kara always used just before pointing out that something about Lena’s upbringing, or something about the strategies she’d developed to cope, was inherently wrong. It was so much easier to pretend like it was justified, that some inherent quality she had or lacked had was the root cause of all she experienced. But there went Kara, taking a sledgehammer to all the things she’d considered immutable truth before. There went Kara, telling her that what they did wasn’t fair and what happened to you was not your fault and there are things whiskey and tiny boxes can’t fix.

It was painful, it made her feel wretched, and she couldn’t take it, not today.

“I told you not to worry about me, I’ll be fine tomorrow”, she insisted.

“But I do worry about you”, Kara replied, “constantly. Because you’re my best friend, and I love you, and when I told you I’d always protect you I meant it. So please answer me honestly, and don’t listen to the voice in your head that tells you you’re selfish, cause it’s a liar: Do you need me to come over?”

Kara hadn’t even finished her sentence and Lena was already crying. She was a pathetic, slobbering mess, not worthy of the Luthor name, but she hoped desperately that somehow, she could be worthy of Kara. (It was clear as day she wasn’t.)

She tried to do the selfless thing, tried to tell Kara to just enjoy the evening with her loved ones, and that they could schedule dinner the next day if she really insisted. But Kara, beautiful, stubborn Kara, was having none of it.

“Lena, I won’t just abandon you when you’re obviously not in a good place. You’re family! And family means nobody gets left behind.”

“You’re a plagiarist, we watched Lilo and Stitch just two weeks ago”, Lena chuckled wetly.

“Don’t distract from the question!”

“I…”, she gathered her courage. She needed this, she needed Kara. “Can you come over?”, she asked, her voice the smallest it had ever been.

“Of course”, Kara said, her voice warm as the sun.

And Lena still cried, so much, but it was okay, because she got to cry in Kara’s arms and listen to Kara tell her that it’s okay to cry, that she wasn’t pathetic, that she’d feel better after a good long sob session, and maybe, just maybe, Lena was inclined to believe her.

Realizing that Alex saw her as family too was more of a gradual process, like leaning back in your chair too far and only realizing your mistake after it’s far too late.

They hadn’t started out on the best of terms. Alex had never be openly hostile to her face, which wasn’t something she could easily say about many people in her life. Still, the distrust with which she’d viewed Lena had been palpable, so much so that Kara saw it necessary to take her aside and told her in no uncertain terms that she had to respect the choice in friends she made. It was the first time anyone had ever defended Lena so ardently, and as much as she wished she could have seen it as the moment of vindication she deserved, in the moment she had overhead their fight Lena had just felt so guilty for driving a wedge between the two sisters she’d had to call her driver to take her home immediately.

Kara, bless her, had apologised profusely on behalf of her sister the next day no matter how much Lena tried to convince her that it was no big deal, really, Kara didn’t have to.

Because here was the truth: Lena understood. Truly, she did. If she had a sister, she wouldn’t have wanted her to keep pace with the likes of herself as well. But she was selfish, utterly selfish, and she didn’t have the power of will to protect Kara from herself.

Of course, now she knew this had been a rather reductive and self-centred view of the world. Because Kara was Supergirl, had always been Supergirl, and wasn’t some shrinking violet to be protected.

And the fallout had been grim. Weeks of silence punctuated by shouting matches with her former best friend, and it was so, so painful because she’d still loved her so, so much.

And after the dust had settled, even after Kara had forgiven her, she certainly hadn’t expected Alex to forgive her as well. The agent was fiercely protective of her little sister after all, and was known to carry grudges.

She’d been prepared for many things when she showed up at game night for the first time after everything had happened, she’d expected Alex to throw her out, yell at her to leave and never talk to her sister again, or just up and go herself. What she didn’t expect was Alex fixing her with a long look, before putting a hand on her shoulder with the words “It’s good to have you back. Kara was so busy being mopey we didn’t win a single game while you were gone.”

At that moment, Kara’s joyous call of her name rang through the air, and she looked so excited just because Lena had decided to join them again, both Lena and Alex couldn’t help but smile. They both loved Kara, and Kara loved both of them, and maybe they’d become something like accomplices.

Then, Alex had invited her to National City pride with her since Kara was making an appearance as Supergirl and seeing her arrive with the both of them would have been to conspicuous, and Lena had wondered if maybe she’d misjudged. Maybe they’d somehow, miraculously become friends.

And now, well, now she’d been dating Kara for two heavenly weeks and she was still working up the courage to tell Alex – liquid courage, as it were, because she was already on the second whiskey on rocks in the bar they’d chosen as their venue for breaking the news to Alex. They were both comfortable here, more comfortable than was healthy, probably, and if it went pear shaped she was already in the right place to drown her sorrows. Kara had left for a moment to say hello to a patron she recognized, a former employee at CatCo back when Cat Grant had still been around, and the cruel fates aligned that Alex chose that exact second to slide onto the barstool next to her.

“Hi, little Luthor”, she said, while motioning the to the barkeeper for her drink.

“Hey Alex. Kara literally just went to meet an old colleague-”

“Yeah, I saw her.”

Lena downed her glass in order to fill the awkward silence that arose, a mistake she bitterly regretted as the next words out of Alex’ mouth were: “So you and Kara, huh?”. She sputtered so hard some of the whiskey came up through her nose, the burning sensation forcing tears to her eyes.

“How did you know?” she coughed.

Alex gave her a somewhat pained smile. “Found your panties in the crease of her couch – satin, looked more expensive than anything she could afford – so I kind of put two and two together.”

Lena could feel the blood rush to her cheeks and prayed that Alex couldn’t see it as she kept her eyes to the floor, as if it might take pity and swallow her up if she just stared hard enough.

“I am so, so sorry that you had to find out this way”, Lena began, but Alex just waved her off.

“Eh, it could have been worse. I’m just glad I didn’t walk in on you.”

Lena kept her mouth shut, preferring not to let Alex know about how close she’d come that one time during a risqué tryst in the DEO.

“So I suppose this is the part where you give me the shovel talk? Tell me that you’ll have me executed for treason if I ever hurt her?” she asked.

Alex regarded her with an unreadable look as she finished her drink in one swig, grimaced, and shook her head.

“No. I don’t think I need to. Just – ugh, I’m bad at this. Listen, I know the concept is antiquated and means nothing, but you make Kara very happy – like, accidentally-starting-to-float-while-telling-me-about-your-first-kiss happy – and for what it’s worth, you have my blessing.”

Lena didn’t tell her that she disagreed, it meant everything, but she held her tongue for now as it was too early to start crying. It definitely would happen over the course of the night, she’d always been a weepy drunk, but there was no need to purposefully induce a sobbing breakdown.

“Lena! Lena, I forgot! It’s karaoke night!” Kara’s voice pierced the constant hum of chatter and ambient music.

“Oh no, I don’t dance”, Lena immediately objected. But, embarrassingly, Alex had slid off her barstool and taken her into a headlock before she could even begin to put up a fight.

“Yes you do”, she grinned, looking entirely too happy with herself. “You’re one of us now, and karaoke night is a mandatory experience for every Danvers.”

Lena didn’t even protest too much as she was dragged away, and she definitely had to apologize personally to Celine Dione after the way she bastardised My Heart Will Go On, cry-singing and occasionally hiccuping.

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up”, Lena muttered into her phone. It was a long shot, With Kara probably already being surrounded by family in Midvale, eating the contents of Eliza’s pantry in one day. She’d almost resigned herself to failure when she heard Kara’s voice from the other end of the line, and it still made her heart skip a beat like the first time Kara had called her baby.

“You’re speaking with Kara Danvers, hi!”

“Never change, darling.”

“Lena, hi! It’s so good to hear your voice, baby, I know you’re busy but I miss you so much!”

Lena could hear her girlfriend pout.

“Actually, Kara...I was wondering if I might join you over the holidays – not right now, of course! I’m sure you’ve already made plans, and you deserve some time with your family alone, but maybe we could -”

“Lena, oh Rao, hang on a second, I’m putting you on speaker”, Kara gushed, sounding uncontainably excited about something.

“Alex – hey Alex!”, Kara shouted, and Lena had to hold the phone a good 10 inches away from her ear.

“Whoops, sorry baby. Alex, guess who it is!”

“Lena? You’re kidding me, right, you have to be!”, Alex replied, and the remark stung a bit. Confusion swirled in Lena’s head and her anxiety climbed higher.

“You betcha! I hope you have eight dollars to pay Eliza because I forgot my wallet at home!”

“You bet on me?” Lena asked, unsure whether she wanted to know the answer.

“Yeah, we did – it’s nothing bad, I promise. Eliza was just so sure you’d come, she made you a sweater and everything, and I told that the holidays are a difficult time for you and you usually prefer to spend them alone, but she was so sure you’d come, and I – well, I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Mom is going to be so smug”, Alex groaned from somewhere farther away.

Lena’s chest seemed to fill with something warm and lighter than air at the thought of her attendance at the holidays was something to hope for.

“She made me a sweater?” Lena asked, not in the least bit surprised at how choked up she’d become, and too happy to care.

“You betcha! It’s really ugly, you’re going to love it.”

As she put the photo of Kara and her, both clad in the most garish sweaters known to mankind, Lena laughing with abandon because she thought Kara’d gone in for a cheek kiss in the photo, but instead had blown a wet raspberry on her skin, up on the Midvale mantelpiece she mused that being welcomed into the Danvers family by Eliza felt much like returning to a home she’d never known existed.

[thepatricktreestump]

Anyone Else: MCU imagine

Tony Stark (dad) x Reader (daughter) x Peter Parker (love interest)

A/N: after seeing endgame i needed some serious fluff to recover and upon after reading pretty much every single reader!daughter x dad!tony imagine on the internet, i just had to write my own. i know it’s not usually the sort of thing i post on here, but i hope you enjoy it all the same!

trigger warnings: mentions of abuse

               “I don’t know if you think this is some sort of cruel joke or something, but it’s not funny,” you scowl at the lady behind the desk. “I’ve been fucked around with for my entire life and I’m sick and tired of it. Just tell me who it is.”

               “I’m telling the truth,” the woman tries to remain calm, but is clearly annoyed, turning her computer around to face you as proof. “He’s your birth father and next in line for custody of you if anything should happen, which quite frankly, things have been happening for quite some time now.”

               “No shit,” you stare at her with cold eyes, unamused. “But really? Him? I would take literally anyone else.” You pause when you come face to face with the computer screen though, his profile pulled up and surprisingly, your full name underneath the section for children. “So what?” You snort despite your curiosity. “Is he just going to store me up on a floor of his penthouse, hand me a million dollars, then have me on his way?”

               “Don’t talk about him like that,” the woman warns. “He’s your new father now so you’re going to have to show him a little bit of respect. And me too if you wouldn’t mind so much.”

               Ever since you could remember, you lived with your mother and your stepfather. Your mother was constantly sick and your stepfather was constantly drunk, both of them using you and abusing you on a constant. It wasn’t until the neighbors called the cops that things started changing, and CPS took you out from your home. Since you were still a minor, despite it only being by a couple of years, you had to be put into the custody of a living relative, or in this case, your birth father, whom you had never really seen or heard of until now. Your mother always told you he had simply knocked her up and left, and your stepfather had tried to convince you he was irrelevant as ever. You never even so much as caught a name until now. And lo and behold, it was none other than Tony fucking Stark. Everyone knew who he was, he was practically Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and Elon Musk combined. And now, staring back at you from the computer screen, he was supposedly your long lost father. You felt both nervous and sick.

               When the taxi cab lets you out at the front entrance of the Stark Industries building, you freeze. You would have thought you’d meet him through a town council meeting or some sort of crazy restaurant run in, but never this. It was possible you’d ever be related to him, right? You glance down at your shoes, thinking he’s probably where you got your dark hair from, then chew on your lower lip, sighing. There was no escaping this. It had to come someday.

               “Excited to meet your father?” a blonde lady grins at you and you want to punch her in the face. You’re exhausted, stressed, and annoyed, not one bit excited to see her or your rich bitch of a dad.

               “I guess,” you reply flatly, suitcase in hand as you follow her to the elevator.

               “He was very surprised when your case worker reached out,” she admits. “He had forgotten all about you!” She lets out an annoying little laugh and you grumbled to yourself, yeah, of course he did.

               He had forgotten about you when your mother was dying on the living room sofa. He had forgotten about you when your stepfather had hurt you night after night again. He had forgotten about you when you felt all alone, scared, terrified, and afraid to so much as go home from school every day. She didn’t need to remind you that he had forgotten all about you. You knew quite well. Too well for your liking.

               “Well here’s your stop!” she tilts her head to the side, gesturing towards the door. “Be sure to introduce yourself and be friendly! Good luck!”

               “Mhmm,” you grunt and watch as she struts away, clipboard in hand, then reattach your gaze to the door. Wonder what he’ll be like. If he’s anything like the television interviews and newspaper articles. You knock on the door and wait. And wait. And wait. You grumble to yourself and knock on the door again. Figures. You’re about to knock once more when the door opens and you’re standing face to face with him, a bit shocked to say the least.

               “The fuck do you want with all the goddamn knocking, Jesus I thought you were going to- OH oh my god, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t know-” he stares at you, blinking, facial expression between shocked and confused. “I thought you were coming tomorrow I didn’t-”

               “You’re fine,” you actually laugh, and you can’t even begin to remember the last time you’ve done that. This wasn’t what you were expecting at all. To have him caught off guard, now that was the greatest type of advantage. “Uh, I’m y/n, actually. Your daughter, I guess?”

               “Tony, Tony Stark,” he clears his throat and shakes your hand, still frazzled. “Uh, you probably already know that. Everyone knows that. Not to brag or anything but I-”

               “I know who you are,” you narrow your eyes to avoid him going on some long spiel about all of his greatest accomplishments and achievements. “You don’t need to explain.”

               “Ah,” he nods. “That’s good, sure you do. Of course you do.”

               “So…?” you stare at him, still standing in the doorway with your suitcase in hand. “Going to invite me in or?”

               “Oh yeah, yeah, sorry bout that,” he clears his throat awkwardly and invites you to sit down on one of the leather sofas across from his desk. “I was just working on some papers and uh-” he scratches the back of his head, looking around, obviously unsure of what to do in the situation.

               “Why’d you leave my mom?” you stare at him, refusing to sit down, arms crossed, loaded question shot from the barrel of your lips.

               “Excuse me?” he stares at you, dumbfounded.

               “Why did you leave my mom, you asshole?” you spell it out nice and neat for him, defining your stance with feet planted in the ground and arms locked in place. “Why’d you do it?”

               He stands there mouth agape, trying to form words with his lips, still shocked at your confidence and brash behavior. “How the hell did you think that was an appropriate question to ask?” he finally counters, taken aback by your rudeness. “I just met you, we’ve barely even said hello. Did your mother ever teach you manners?”

               “I don’t know, maybe that was your job,” you replied. “Answer the question.”

               “If you think you’re going to prance in here and act like you’re some resolute, vengeful, insolent little bitch desperate for answers you can leave,” he glares. “I don’t need another problem to take care of.”

               “Wow, so I guess it’s just a father type of thing, huh?” you chuckle bitterly to yourself. “Calling your daughter a bitch and a problem.”

               “Hey,” his voice falters, his expression softens, and he stretches out a hand apprehensively. You shake your head, reaching down to grab your suitcase. “I didn’t mean it like that I’m sorry-”

               “I guess I’ll just go down the route of foster care since you’re such a prick,” you mutter, turning towards the door, but you feel his hand on your shoulder and you stop.

               “Hey,” he says it more sternly this time, tightening his grip. You turn around and brush his hand off of your shoulder, glaring at him, but he remains apologetic. “Look kid, I didn’t mean it like that, really. I’m sorry, I just, I don’t know what to do to be honest. I’ve never been in a situation like this.”

               “Neither have I,” you admit, turning a bit soft. “I guess I should apologize too.”

He stares at you, silence filling the space before he does, spontaneously wrapping his arms around you awkwardly, but with good intentions nonetheless. You’re not quite sure how to feel, but when he pulls back, he looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry, okay? For everything. For not being there enough. But I’m here now. And I know that doesn’t make up for even half of what you’ve been through, but I hope it at least means something.”

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Uh, I’ll take off work and get you settled in for the day,” he offers. “Just give me a second.”

He gives a soft smile and then turns away to make a quick call and you aren’t really sure what to think. Nobody had hugged you since, since forever really. It was different. It was nice. Deep down inside you hoped he really did care. You needed someone like that in your life, a father figure, any parental figure really, to trust and count on and be cared for by. You didn’t want to admit it, but you did. You were just a kid, lost and scared and full of hate for the world. You wished it would give back some love for once. You needed it.

“Here,” he reaches out a hand to take your suitcase for you. “We’re a couple floors up.”

It was foolish of you to be surprised. He was Tony fucking Stark, billionaire, with anything he could ever possibly want at his fingertips. However, everything still amazed you. The up to date technology, the fancy furnishings, the workers bustling about, and the wide variety of foods to choose from just to name a few.

“Thanks,” you tell him in between bites of a cheeseburger. You were both sitting at the bar counter and having dinner after he gave you a tour of the building and gotten you all settled in. “I know I don’t act like it, but it means a lot. Really.”

“Of course, kiddo,” he replies, wiping away some grease on his mouth with a napkin. There’s a pause and he clears his throat before bringing up the topic. “Uh, I should probably answer your question by the way.”

“Hmm?” you look at him, confused.

“Why I left your mother,” he clarifies, a bit uncomfortable. “Look, I was young. And foolish. And scared. I was so fucking scared.” He puts down the rest of his cheeseburger and sighs. “I shouldn’t have. It’s one of the biggest regrets of my life. And I didn’t know what happened to her, or you, and I’m sorry. Okay?”

“Look at you now,” you reassure, sighing. “You’ve got a big business and a busy job, you never would have had time to be a dad anyways.”

“I would have tried,” he insists. “Better than your dad ever did or will.”

“He’s not my dad,” you shake your head. “Don’t call him my dad, he’s not my dad.” You quiet and then turn towards him. “You are.”

“Yeah…” his voice trails off. “I guess I am.”

“I’m calling you Tony though,” you say rather harshly. “So if you think I’m going to call you my dad you can take that idea and shove it up your ass.”

“Alright,” he scoffs, offended. “Fine by me, Sassypants. Didn’t know you made the rules around here.”

“Sorry I just-” you go to apologize and he just waves a hand to dismiss you.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he reassures. “It takes time. Uh, I think it’d be weird anyways. Tony is fine.”

“Thanks,” you take the last bite of your cheeseburger and crumple up the wrapper. He glances at the clock and furrows his brow.

“Hey kid, you ought to go to bed,” he says.

“It’s not even-” you start to protest but he continues talking.

“It’s getting late. I’ll see you in the morning,” he picks up his remaining cheeseburger and leaves before you can even say another word.

The bedroom he’s given you is more than you could have ever asked for or simply even imagined. There’s an entire wall made of glass that leads out to a balcony. The bed is four times as large as your old one was. There’s a flat screen television, several sofas, an entire wardrobe full of clothes, and a smartphone and laptop that sits atop a coffee table with a note that says for you. Everything’s so great, it almost feels like a dream. You don’t feel tired, but when you your head on your pillow, your eyes close and they stay closed. You’re asleep before you even know it.

“You’re going to therapy,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when you see him the next morning, and you want to so badly tell him that no, no the fuck you’re not.

“Why?” it’s more of a complaint than an actual question, but Tony puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes.

“Because of what you’ve been through,” he insists. “I think it would be good for you.”

“I’m fine,” you argue but he shakes his head.

“I already have someone coming after breakfast. It’s only an hour session, I think you’ll survive,” he persists. “End of discussion.”

“I don’t eat breakfast,” you retort.

“Now you do,” he shrugs. “Take care of yourself, y/n. It’s worth it. And you deserve it.”

It’s bullshit is what you think, but he’s gone before you can even argue with him. Sure you’ve had plenty of childhood trauma and dark moments, but you didn’t want to talk about it. Especially to a complete stranger who was stuck up and too prestigious for anyone to even begin to relate to. You’d go to therapy over your dead body.

Apparently Tony knew this too, because he had hired someone to escort you all the way to breakfast and then therapy, which was absolutely ridiculous. He was babying you, and it annoyed the hell out of you. You didn’t know what had gotten into him. He was so chill the other day, and now he was being a total helicopter parent. It frustrated you to the point of insanity. You kind of hated him for it.

“We’re going to start with talking about your parents,” the therapist gives a friendly smile, but you want to punch him in the face. You’ve realized it’s become a habit lately, wanting to punch a person in the face, especially to all of the fake, plastic, cheesy people Tony’s put in charge to babysit you. Ever since the overeager blonde who had led you in to meet him.

“No, we’re not,” you tell him. “You’re going to go home, and I’m going to walk out that door, and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“O-okay?” the therapist looks at you strangely as you get up off the couch and leave. “Wait! Wait, miss! Miss!” But you’re already out the door. Fuck that shit.

There’s an entire building to explore, and a giant day ahead of you. You can’t wait. Although you were slightly concerned that Tony might see you sneaking around on some floors through security cams or a body guard might come snatch you and drag you away back to therapy, you still wanted to take the risk. You raced down halls, clicked on random buttons and touchscreens, and wandered throughout rooms. Sure, you collected some strange stares from others and you had a couple close calls with people asking for your identification, but other than that, you were free.

“What’s down there?” you point towards the steel doors that clearly read no entrance allowed, coupled with extreme security measures, padlocks, and several guards.

“Classified,” a guard responds gruffly and you eye him.

“Who’s allowed in?” you wonder.

“Mr. Stark,” he answers. “That’s it.”

“What about the daughter of Mr. Stark?” you put on a pretty smile and the guard sighs.

“He doesn’t have a daughter,” he rejects. “Nice try.”

“Uh huh…” you draw out your words. You don’t know why but you really want to find out what’s in there, what he could possibly be hiding, what’s so important that he’d need five guards to protect one door. “Is it some secret project? Is he building a time machine or a clone or something?”

“It’s classified,” he repeats flatly. “Now get lost before I have you escorted out.”

“Pretty sure I’m allowed to be in there,” you muse. “I mean, you clearly don’t believe me, but he is. My father that is. Tony Stark. I’m sure he would be pretty pissed to see his workers denying access to his own daughter now, wouldn’t he?”

“He has no familial relations with anyone within this building,” the guard explains. “Now this is your last warning. Leave. While I still have a little bit of patience left in me.”

“Fine,” you put up your arms in defeat. “I see how it is.”

You began to walk away, trying to think up a plan around it. That’s when you saw your opportunity. If you could get the guards to open up the door, then distract them enough to leave, then you’d have a one way ticket to waltz right in. It was crucial that your plan would be foolproof, otherwise you’d probably only find yourself in more trouble. You sat at one of the benches at the end of the hallway, eyeing the door every now and again to try and form a plan. That’s when the most peculiar thing had happened.

A boy about your age in a hoodie and ripped jeans clutched his bookbag straps with both hands, wavy hair and brown eyes, a bit anxious and jittery it seemed like, nodding at you as he passed. He walked right up to the door, reaching down in his pocket for an ID, and upon presenting it, the guards swung open the entrance and he walked right in. Your jaw practically dropped. He just walked right in there, like it was nothing, a piece of cake. You had no idea how he did it, much less after the guard had convinced you Mr. Stark was the only one allowed in. Something was going on and you knew it. You were determined to find out who that boy was and talk to him.

Unable to contain your frustration, you walk up to the guard at the door, hands on your hips. “Who was that?” you pout. “How come he gets to go in?”

“He’s an intern,” he simply replies. “Stark Internship.”

“Looks a little young to be an intern,” you argue.

“You look a little young to have so much confidence,” the guard counters. “Now get lost before you get into some real trouble.”

“Fine,” you mutter, walking away and retreating to your bench. There was only one option left, and that was to wait. So you waited and waited and waited, hours it seemed like, until the boy emerged once again, except different.

His sweatshirt was held in his arms, his bookbag slouched on his back, hair messy, tired eyes, and sweat coated his forehead. It looked like he had just gotten finished with a workout or something. It was quite attractive, really. You almost forgot why you had waited for him to get out. “Hey!” you jumped up when he walked past and he flinched, startled. “Oh god, didn’t mean to scare you there, haha. I’m y/n. You?”

“Uh…” he falters, confused. “Y/n?”

“Yeah, y/n,” you nod. “And you are?”

“Peter,” he offers a hand to shake, still hesitant. “Peter Parker.”

“Never seen you around here,” you hum and he nods.

“Yeah, I could say the same about you,” he gives a soft laugh. “What are you doing here?”

“Internship,” you lie and he blinks, suddenly interested.

“The S-Stark Internship?” he tilts his head to the side, confused.

“Yeah, just started a couple days ago actually,” you continue to fib, the look of confusion on his face growing even stronger.

“Oh,” he stares at you. “Um, funny I haven’t met you yet then. We’re usually all together…”

“I haven’t gotten my verification yet, uh, I lost it,” you add onto your nonsense of a story, hoping to fool him. “I was hoping maybe you could help let me in.”

“I don’t know,” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really think we’re doing the same kind of internship.”

“Why? What’s yours like?” you question and he freezes.

“Mine?” he chokes. “Well um, like uh… robots?” He seems as unsure of his answer as you are.

“Robots,” you repeat.

“Yeah, yeah, like uh, artificial intelligence type stuff, real top secret, yeah,” he begins to ramble and you look at him strangely as he continues to fabricate an obvious lie. “You know that Siri type stuff and the Alexa, like the stuff that talks back, well Mr. Stark thought that we could build a Baymax type thing-”

“You’re not studying robots,” you say flatly. “Give it up, Parker.”

“Okay, yeah you’re right. I can’t tell you, I’m sorry,” he sighs. “Look, I’d love to, really, I would, but my um, my contract doesn’t allow it.”

“Alright,” you frown. “Whatever, it’s cool.”

“I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” he insists. “I’d love to tell you, really, I just-”

“No, no,” you tease. “I get it, I’m not special enough to know. It’s alright. Guess he just likes you better than me.”

“It’s not like that at all!” Peter cries and you have to keep yourself from chuckling. “I’m sure Mr. Stark respects all his interns the same, it’s just uh, I have a different sort of case you know.”

“I assume you’ll be back here around the same time tomorrow?” you inquire and the boy nods his head in approval. “I’ll be here, too. Talk to you then.”

“O-okay,” he replies, watching as you get up off the bench and walk away.

“See ya, Peter,” you salute goodbye.

“N-nice to meet you, y/n!” he stutters, standing there and blubbering like an idiot. He was such a nerd, and a klutz, and a horrible liar, but he was kind of cute you had to admit.

You’re taking the elevator up to your room and as soon as you walk in, you regret it. Tony’s sitting on the couch, waiting for you, arms crossed, disappointed look on his face. You groan, about to turn around and walk out, but he scolds you. “Hey,” he raises his voice. “Come here.”

“What?” you ask, annoyed, walking towards him.

“I pay a couple hundred for a therapy session and you just blow him off? Really?” he inquires and you stifle a laugh. “What? You think it’s funny?”

“Blow him off,” you smirk and he hardens his gaze.

“You know what? I’m sick of your sarcasm and sass and-” he has to stop, catching himself. “Alright, yeah, okay- it was kind of funny, I fucked up, but you know what I meant!” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just trying to help you, okay?”

“I don’t need therapy,” you state flatly. “I already told you, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine,” he shakes his head. “Look, y/n…” He presses his lips together thoughtfully. “Sit down. Come on. Let’s talk.”

“Not really like I have a choice,” you mutter, reluctantly taking a seat on the sofa across from him.

“I went to court today for custody against your parents,” he explains in a low tone. “I read your case file. I know what happened.”

“So?” you stare at him and he seems pissed.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he insists. “I think it would be good for you to address some things to try and heal.”

“I don’t want to,” you argue. “I don’t need to.”

“You were abused, y/n,” he says and you look away, ashamed. Embarrassed. Scared. You didn’t like to talk about these sorts of things. “A lot happened in that house.”

“I know,” you whisper, looking down at your shoes. “I’m aware.”

“I’m just worried about you,” he confesses. “I want to do anything I can to help. I’m not uh, I’m not really good at the emotions and the feelings, but I’m trying. Alright? I know this can’t possibly be easy for you, but that doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I’m scared,” you admit, and his eyes soften. “I’m afraid, alright? I’ve never had anyone give me an ounce of love, much less all of this.”

“I just want you to be okay,” Tony gently puts hand on your knee. “I care about you, y/n.”

“Thanks,” you give a half hearted smile.

“Now come on,” he stands up, extending a hand. “I think it’s about time I show you the game room.”

“The what room?” you wonder.

“Oh kid,” he laughs. “You are not even close to prepared for this.”

Your jaw drops at the sight when you walk through the double doors. He’s such an ass to leave this out from the tour, but you don’t complain, because the surprise is so worth it. There’s giant pinball machines, ski ball, arcade games, a virtual reality arena, movie screens, and neon lights everywhere. “I’ll kick your ass at pool,” you challenge and he grins.

“It’s on, loser,” he accepts.

Tony shows no mercy whatsoever. The game’s over before you even know it, and you’re kind of pissed, but at the same time, grateful. He wasn’t taking it easy on you at all. You beg for another round. And another, and another. Every single time he kicks your ass, but you don’t mind one bit. It’s kind of amusing to lose to him. You can’t remember the last time you ever played a game with anyone, much less your parents. He was actually kind of fun.

“Hey,” you bring it up as you clumsily knock the cue ball off the table, groaning. “Why’d you get all psycho on me this morning?”

“Hmm?” he wonders, flawlessly sinking two stripes into a corner pocket once you’ve fetched the ball and handed it to him.

“The escort to breakfast and then the therapist and showing up in my room,” you explain. “You were so chill yesterday.”

“I didn’t know about your case yesterday,” he shrugs. “Now I do.”

“What?” you snort. “So now my sob story made you all teary eyed and heartbroken so you’ve got to suffocate me in bubble wrap before I so much as take a step outside the house?”

“Hey,” he snaps. “It’s cause I care.”

“Too much,” you roll your eyes but he tosses his cue to the floor suddenly, startling you.

“Well everyone else didn’t care enough!” he argues, angry. “They hurt you, y/n! They hurt you because I wasn’t there to protect you! Because I didn’t care enough to stick around! To check up on you! To make sure you’re okay!”

“Tony-” you reach out a hand, scared, but he shakes his head.

“I only found you once it was too late,” he insists. “And even then, it wasn’t even me. It was through the agency. Goddammit…” He looks up at you with tired eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I care so goddamn much. But it’s only cause nobody else fucking does.”

He storms out of the room and you stand there, trying to process it all. You’ve never had anyone ever feel this way about you before. Not friends, not relatives, and certainly not your dad. It was overwhelming, yet refreshing. But it definitely took some time to get used to.

The next day you waited around anxiously at the bench for that kid to come along. It was gnawing at your brain all day wondering what he was doing there, why he was so young, and why the hell he was allowed to go to the one place you couldn’t. A part of you was too afraid to ask Tony about it, mostly because you knew if you kept persisting, he would guess something was up. Sure enough, around the same time, Peter came along, waving at you as he approached.

“Y/n, right?” he gave a warm smile.

“Yup, that’s me,” you nod. “So…”

“I’ve got to go to my internship,” he reminds, pointing at the door. “But uh, if you want to talk later, I’m free. Still don’t really know what you want to do with me though.” He gives a forced laugh.

“It’s all good,” you insist, but then suddenly, as he begins to walk away, you grab him by the bookbag.

“Woah!” he stumbles back and you steady him, apologizing.

“Sorry, sorry, look I’ve just-” you try to catch your breath. “I really need to find out what’s behind those two doors. I can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something back there.”

“Well he wouldn’t keep it so secret if he wasn’t,” Peter reminds and you roll your eyes. He’s about as much as a smartass as you are.

“Look, I just want to know, alright?” you beg. “I don’t know why, but I really do. It’s like something’s calling me.”

“Uh huh,” he looks at you weirdly. “Look, you’re really cute and extremely determined, but I can’t tell you what’s back there. I promised Mr. Stark I wouldn’t tell anyone, okay?”

You stare at him, blinking.

“What?” he asks.

“You think I’m cute,” you blush and he looks away, embarrassed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses. “Good luck with your little mission there, y/n.” He begins to walk away again, but then stops, turning around. “Um…”

“Yeah?” you raise an eyebrow, smiling.

“If you uh, I don’t know, maybe want to hang out later? I wouldn’t mind at all, I mean, I’ve got time, and I-” he starts rambling again and you just laugh, shaking your head.

“Sure, Peter,” you smile back. “I’d love to hang out. See you after work.”

“Y-yeah,” he grins, stuttering. “O-okay, see you then.” He races off, and you laugh to yourself, thinking he’s awful cute. However, your question still wasn’t answered. What the hell was behind that door?

Before you knew it, you were eating churros with Peter in the game room, facing him off at a couple rounds of Mario Kart. “You so suck at this game,” you tease playfully as you sped past him into first place.

“Whatever!” he whines. “It’s only cause you keep throwing shells at me.”

“Aha!” you race to the finish line, ending the round, beating him by only a couple points.

“No fair,” he groans, reaching for his churro and sighing.

“Hey,” you nudge him softly. “We should play a game for something.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Like…” you pause, trying to think of something. “Let’s play a game of pool. If I win, then you have to show me what’s behind those two doors. If you win, um…”

“If I win then you get to be my girlfriend?” he quips and you stare at him, rolling your eyes.

“Sure, I’ll be your girlfriend,” you agree. “But only if you win!”

“Alright, how hard can pool be?” he shrugs, taking a bite of his churro, but frowns as he approaches the billiard table. “Aw shit, yeah. Pool is kind of hard.”

“I suck at it,” you reassure. “Don’t sweat it.”

“You’re the one who chose it, you can’t possibly be bad,” he argues.

“Bad enough to lose to Mr. Stark several times in a row,” you insist, and he stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Y-you played pool with him?” he wonders, amazed. “He’s never played pool with me!”

“We have a weird relationship,” you quickly tell him, forgetting that you were putting up a front as an intern as well. It would be weird to tell him you were Tony’s daughter, especially if you ended up losing this bet. You had to win. The cure to your curiosity depended on it.

“Now come on. Let’s play,” Peter smiles, releasing the balls from the wooden triangle formation at the center of the table. “I’ve got a girl to win over.”

“Uh huh,” you roll your eyes, chuckling. “Good luck with that.”

The tension in the room grows stronger with each click of a ball against the cue, solids and stripes soaring across the table clumsily, seldom ever sinking into a pocket. This was going to be a long game. Simply put, both of you sucked ass at pool. At least it would be a fair game. No matter how hard you tried to concentrate and angle each hit, you just couldn’t seem to master it. And for Peter, well, he was just as disoriented and confused about the game as you were.

“Oh no,” Peter’s eyes widened at the realization. “You’ve only got two left.”

“Aha!” you grin as you count the number of stripes left on the table. “Have fun trying to catch up!”

As your ego grew, somehow so did you skill, and you sunk the last two stripes into the pockets, squealing with joy. “Shit,” Peter’s face fell and you grin, making him bury his face in his hands.

“Take me to the hidden lair,” you muse and he looks devastated.

“No, no, no, no I was supposed to win,” he shakes his head, then looks up at you, horrified. “Oh god, I was supposed to win, oh no.”

“We had a deal, Parker,” you hum happily. “Better keep to your end of it.”

“Oh no,” he just keeps repeating it over and over again, running his hand through his hair, looking absolutely ruined.

“Come on,” you put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes up, looking at you, anxious. “It can’t possibly be that bad.”

“Look, I could get in such big trouble for this,” he hisses. “Like, I could get fired. Or killed.”

“Killed?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “Uh huh, I’m sure he’d just chop your head off.” You sober up, narrowing your eyes. “Look, you’ll be just fine. I’m sure he won’t even notice.”

“Okay,” Peter mutters. “But if I get in trouble for this, I am so ratting you out.”

“Be my guest,” you bluff, although you feel queasy inside.

Both of you lay low and play a couple games of ping pong until your nerves cool down and its late in the afternoon. According to Peter, there’s less security after business hours when the building is closed to the public, so that’s the best time to do it. Plus, you couldn’t argue with him, seeing as you genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. He was quirky, nerdy, a bit flirty, adorable, and clever. He was hella nervous and apologetic though, which while at first was annoying, proved to be quite cute. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a teeny tiny crush on him.

“Come on!” he whispers, beckoning you towards the door. “Look!”

To your surprise, there aren’t any guards around at all. None of them, really. You rush alongside him down the hallway, to the doors where he swipes his card, places his fingerprint on a screen, and types in a password before gaining access. You find yourself right at his heels, amazed by it all, but eager to know the truth all the same. There’s several doors, and surprisingly no security guards at all of them, just the same round of check up on identity, which Peter seems to have down pat. When the double doors swing open into a large room full of screens, technology, and statues, you gasp. It’s amazing.

“So uh,” Peter scratches the back of his head and laughs nervously. “What do you think?”

“Oh my god,” you come to the realization when you focus in on the statues, which you realize aren’t statues, but suits. “Please don’t tell me he’s some big superhero fan boy or something.”

There’s dozens of them, Ironman suits, lining the walls. It makes you chuckle. There’s the classic and then upgraded ones, ones with special add ons and colors, plenty of variety among them. You’ve seen him on the nightly news and in magazines and posters in classrooms and your old friends’ bedrooms. Ironman. Your mother hated superheroes and told you to stay away from them, mostly because they were too politically invested. A part of you told yourself that they were silly, dressing up in costumes and fighting crimes the government was too incapable of handling, only to disappear and never be seen again. But deep down inside, they had always kind of interested you.

“Uh… that’s not really it,” Peter murmurs, still scared to tell you the truth.

“Then what’s with all the memorabilia?” you gesture around the room, confused. “He looks like Ironman’s biggest fanboy.”

“It’s not memorabilia, it’s real,” he explains. “These suits are real. All of it.”

“So that,” you point to the giant Avengers symbol on the wall. “That’s supposed to convince me that all the Avengers meet up at Stark Industries? What? Is this a paid sponsorship kind of ordeal or something?”

“Y/n,” Peter warns. “I don’t think you get the idea.”

“Clearly I don’t,” you fold your arms over your chest. “So spill.”

“I’m Spiderman, alright?” he blurts out, and you burst out laughing.

“Wow,” you say sarcastically. “I am so amused. Really? You think I’m going to buy that bullshit?”

“I am!” he cries and you just laugh harder.

“You? Spiderman?” you look him up and down and stifle a chuckle. “Right, right.”

“Hey,” he toughens his gaze. “You know what? Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“Uh huh,” you sigh as he walks away. “Okay, whatever.”

It seems like as soon as he’s turned the corner there’s someone who jumps out, except in one of those colorful spandex suits, and- “Sorry!” his voice yelps as you come tumbling down to the floor, hit by a spiderweb.

“What the fuck!” you exclaim, hitting the ground in an instant, a sticky thread tying your stomach down to the floor. You look up, watching what looks to be Spiderman swing from the ceiling tiles back and forth, spewing webs from his fingertips and bouncing around, before landing at your feet, helping you up, letting you untangle yourself from the mess.

“Didn’t want to hurt you, but you didn’t believe me,” he shrugs, unzipping the mask and letting his face be revealed.

“Peter?” you eyes widen. “But- b-but Spiderman was just-”

“I am Spiderman,” he narrows his eyes. “See?” He raises the mask, sighing. “You didn’t believe me so I had to show you.”

“What the hell,” you mutter, thinking you must be hallucinating, watching as he swings up and off of a ceiling tile once again, making a circle around the room before landing at your feet perfectly, giving a soft breathy laugh of exhaustion and happiness.

“Told you so,” he grins.

“You’re Spiderman,” you state strangely. “Then what’s with the Ironman shit?”

“Mr. Stark isn’t always Mr. Stark,” Peter gives a knowing look. He gestures towards the array of suits and your heart almost stops. You’ve connected the dots.

“Holy shit,” you breathe. “He’s Ironman?”

“Yeah,” a voice startles both of you from behind and you jump, turning around, and utter dread paralyzing your very being. “I’m Ironman, and both of you are in huge fucking trouble.”

“M-Mr. Stark, nice to see you this evening,” Peter tries to put on an apologetic smile but Tony’s eyes show no sympathy.

“What the hell, kid?” he shouts. “You think this is some sort of game? That you can show your powers off to your friends? Reveal my identity? Huh?” He turns towards you and he just about loses his shit. “And y/n? Seriously? What the hell?”

“You were the one keeping secrets,” you argue and he gives you a death glare.

“Oh? So it’s my fault?” he looks pissed as hell. “I cannot believe the two of you.” He suddenly stares at Peter, disgusted. “And you. What are you doing hanging around my daughter?”

“Your daughter?” Peter raises an eyebrow and you shrink.

“Yeah, y/n’s my daughter,” he says firmly. “I bet she conveniently left that out for you.”

“I-I I had no idea sir,” Peter stutters and he rolls his eyes, frustrated and exhausted.

“Look, both of you need to remember some manners and some rules,” he sighs. “Y/n, no wandering. Mr. Parker, no talking to my daughter.”

“Mr. Stark!” he whines but Tony shushes him simply with a hand.

“I can’t trust you around her, you’ve already gotten her into too much trouble,” he snaps but Peter looks devastated.

“I promise I’ll be on my best behavior,” he insists.

“Yeah Tony, it was my fault anyways, really, I’m the one who pressured him into showing me,” you agree but he shakes his head.

“I don’t like the looks of you two together,” he points a finger at both of you. “Too much, uh…” He tries to think of a word but just shakes his head again, sighing. “Too much, okay? You’ll send me straight to cardiac arrest.” He clicks his tongue, groaning in frustration. “You know I have anxiety issues. Damn it.”

“Tony,” you begin but he hardens his gaze.

“You go to sleep. Now,” he demands. “And hey, Pete? You’re going to have a little word with me, alright? Not another word from either of you.”

“Yes sir,” he swallows down his anxiety.

“Sorry,” you mouth to him, slowly exiting the room, dreading whatever he’s going to say to you later.

Once you return to your room, you face plant yourself into the pile of pillows and flop onto the blankets, disappointed in yourself. Of course Tony would’ve found out! He had cameras crawling all over the place, and he probably knew you would sneak in, and that’s why he rescinded all the security guards. Much less, he had the audacity to act like you and Peter weren’t allowed to be friends simply because you were his daughter. It made you sick. You made your first friend in forever, potential boyfriend, and he had screwed that up for you too. When there was a knock on the door, you didn’t even bother lifting your head. There was another knock, and you groaned aloud.

“Hey, I know you’re in there,” he calls out and you groan again, much more audible this time. “Alright I’m coming in, kiddo.”

The door swings open and you lift your head groggily, but only because you have to. “You don’t even have to yell at me, I’ve already learned my lesson,” you sigh. “Save your words, I now know better than to-”

“Shut it,” Tony interrupts, unamused. “Let’s talk.”

“Fine,” you surrender, sitting up, facing him.

“You know now,” he states softly, a bit of worry lingering within his eyes. “You’re right. You know. Far too much. And that puts you in danger.”

“In danger of what?” you scowl. “You think the bad guys are going to come for me all of a sudden?”

“You know things you shouldn’t. About both me and your friend,” he continues. “I just want to make sure you’re safe, and in order to do that, you need to swear to me on your life that you won’t tell anyone.”

“My life’s not worth much,” you admit and he glares at you. “Alright, alright, I’ll cut the bullshit. I don’t even have anyone to tell anyways.”

“Promise me,” his gaze pierces you, intimidating and threatening all the same. “Promise me that you won’t tell a single soul.”

“Promise,” you repeat. “But hey, didn’t you take it a little harsh on Peter?”

“I told him what he needed to hear,” Tony simply replies. “Stay away from him and it’ll be one less problem to worry about.”

“I don’t know why you’re making him out to be such a horrible guy,” you whine. “He’s actually pretty nice.”

“I know that kid better than you do,” he narrows his eyes. “Trust me, he’s way too busy for a girlfriend. And if anything happens to him, you’d be devastated. It’s best he keeps his head on straight and does what he needs to get done around here. Last I checked, that’s not breaking into my facilities after hours and talking to my teenage daughter.”

“Ugh,” you groan. “Okay, fine. Whatever.”

“Also, you’re going to school tomorrow,” he says and you sit up even farther, eyes widening.

“Excuse me?” you stare at him, sick and shocked all at the same time.

“It’s government legislation, you’re going back to school,” he insists.

“I can’t go to school,” you argue. “I don’t want to.”

“Well you are,” he states. “And that’s that.”

“Why?” you persist and he grumbles.

“Because I said so! That’s why!” he throws his hands up in the air. “God, I already had one teenager to worry about and now I have two.” He mutters to himself and then sighs, cooling off. “Okay, look, I’m sorry. Maybe I am being a bit too harsh, but if there’s one thing I’m not changing my mind on, it’s you going to school. Alright?”

“Okay,” you murmur, defeated.

“I’ll think about you and Pete tomorrow,” he reassures. “For now, you need to get some sleep. Okay, y/n?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he gives a small smile. “Sorry I’m such a jackass all the time, just trying to look out for you.”

“I know,” you mouth. “Thank you.”

He nods and then turns on his heels to leave the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving you exhausted, tired, and scared. Extremely scared about tomorrow.

Walking down the hallways of lockers only reminded you of just how much you hated school. It was a miserable, terrible, horrible place full of people who sucked. Including you, actually. You were a lousy student with bad grades, you often got caught up into fights and the occasional drugs, and you didn’t care for any extracurricular activities. You slept through classes, avoided lunch, and skipped whenever you deemed fit. You wanted to try this time around though. For Tony. For how much he tried for you.

“Hey,” you felt someone bump your side and you were about to throw a punch when you faltered, realizing it was your friend.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry-” you begin apologize, but he laughs.

“It’s all good,” he reassures. “Sorry about yesterday.”

“Yeah, I got an earful too,” you roll your eyes. “Much less, it wasn’t your fault, you shouldn’t be apologizing.”

“I know but still,” he shrugs. “Anyways, heard you’re new around here.”

“Yup,” you sigh. “Everything kind of sucks.”

“That’s school for you,” he replies. “But hey, you should join some extracurriculars so we can hang out more. Like maybe Robotics Club or Science Olympiad or Debate Team-”

“God you’re such a nerd!” you chuckle. “You’re kidding right?”

“No,” he looks at you, frowning. “For real. It’s awesome.”

“Robotics Club,” you narrow your eyes. “Do I really look like the type to join Academic teams?”

“Sure,” he insists. “Why not?”

“Cause that’s for losers,” you put a big L on your forehead. “And I’m not a loser.”

“You’re the new kid,” he quips. “Sounds like a loser to me.”

“Hey!” you playfully jab him in the shoulder and his laughter dies down.

“I’m just saying, there’s a meeting at lunch in the Chemistry lab if you have nothing better to do,” he offers, checking his watch. “Catch you later! Wouldn’t want to be late to next period.”

“See ya, Parker,” you wave goodbye, thinking about it as you walked into your next class. Robotics Club? Really? Was that how you wanted to be known at your new school? You stared absent mindedly at the chalkboard, pondering the idea. What else did you have to lose? You promised yourself that you’d try, right?

Sure enough, at lunch you walked into the Chemistry labs with a red tray containing overcooked chicken tenders, a handful of ketchup packets, a chocolate milk cartoon, a cookie, and a couple carrot sticks with a cup of ranch. “I am soooo stealing that cookie,” Peter grins and you swat his hand away, sitting next to him.

“No the hell you aren’t,” you argue.

“Alright, alright,” he surrenders. “I should probably introduce you to my friends. This is Ned and MJ.”

“Oh, hey!” you give a wave and they stare at you up from their toolboxes and metal parts.

“Do you have a genuine interest in engineering or are you just here cause Peter’s hot?” Ned narrows his eyes and you scoff.

“What?” you stare at him.

“Girls only come into this room because they have to for class or cause Peter Parker’s in here,” MJ explains. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Guys too,” Ned quietly adds and MJ nods in agreement.

“Well I’m here cause he’s here but not cause he’s cute or anything like that,” you argue, catching Peter’s glance and you catch yourself. “N-not saying that he isn’t cute but like-”

“She’s one of them,” Ned sighs. “Yup.”

“No I’m not!” you insist. “I’m here cause Peter’s my friend.”

“Boyfriend,” MJ teases and you sigh.

“Nuh uh. Last I checked, he lost his end of the bet,” you remind and both of their ears perk up.

“Bet?” Ned inquires, dropping his screwdriver.

“Uh…” you suddenly remember what your side of the deal was and you freeze. You can’t possibly tell them the truth!

“She wanted to know about the thing,” Peter simply shrugs and they both go “Ahhh” before nodding and going back to their work.

“Wait. The thing?” you turn towards him. “They know?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s something obvious. “They’re my best friends, of course they know.”

“They know you’re Spiderman?” you hiss and all three of them whip their heads at you, wide eyed.

“Quiet!” they snap in warning, flitting eyes around the room at the others, thankful nobody else heard.

“Shit, sorry,” you put up your hands defensively. “Didn’t mean to say it aloud.”

“Better not,” MJ warns. “It’s top secret.”

“Alright, alright,” you continue to apologize. “Enough of that. Why don’t you show me how to help with that circuit board?”

“I’d love to,” Peter grins. “Come on, we still have a good twenty minutes left.”

When you get home from school, you go up to your room to find a gift basket, making you raise an eyebrow. It was filled with all sorts of snacks and an assortment of different goodies like makeup, stuffed animals, and even a couple gift cards. What was this for? You toss your bookbag to the floor and notice a little card with a crudely drawn smiley face on the front, and you open it up, smiling. “Hey y/n! Hope you had a great day at school, kiddo! Sorry I’m not there to say it myself, but I’m currently on a business trip. I’ll be back in a couple days. Feel free to hang out with Parker while I’m gone, sorry I was hard on you both.” Your eyes gravitate towards the bottom of the card, where you feel your eyes start to get teary. “Stay safe. I care about you, really. And as weird as this might sound, I love you. Okay? Stay out of too much trouble! Love, Dad.” You hold the card to your heart, and although it might seem cheesy, it really does mean a lot to you. Almost to the point of shedding a tear.

You’ve never had anyone care about you this much. Not MJ or Ned, not your new best friend Peter, and definitely not your dad. It meant the world. And now to think that you had friends, a potential boyfriend, and a caring father, it seemed as if everything was perfect. Although, you still had a lot to find out. The whole superhero identity thing, classes at school, what you’d do in Robotics Club without knowing a single thing about Robotics- although, you assumed, Tony could probably help you out, being goddamn Ironman and everything. You laughed a little to yourself, still staring at the card in your hands. Not knowing was okay sometimes. In fact, it only made you even more excited to the future to come. Cause you were happy and healthy and safe and you finally knew who your dad was for once in your life- and you couldn’t possibly ask for anything more, because you would have never asked for anyone else.

“I love you too, Dad,” you whispered, still smiling. “Love you, too.”

[shejustcalledmeafish]

Alright, so here is my short story/allegory featuring dragons. I don’t think there’s any major triggers, just a little bit of internalized and societal transphobia.  Let me know if there’s anything else and I’ll tag it for you

Arden’s family were typical dragons. One of their parents, Kayda, was an ice dragon and their other parent, Jiao-Long was a fire dragon. Arden’s older siblings were typical like their parents. Ryoko was an ice dragon like Kayda, and Ryoto was a fire dragon like Jiao-Long. But Arden wasn’t so typical. Arden was hatched breathing ice and looking like the typical ice dragon. But two days later, their scales darkened to red and Arden almost set fire to their bed. The doctors reassured Kayda and Jiao-Long that power fluctuations were common for hatchlings and that Arden would settle into their body before long. And Arden believed them. But years passed, and Arden did the opposite of settle. Every few days, Arden’s scales would lighten or darken to blue or red and they would breathe the matching element. Kayda and Jiao-Long refused to let them leave the house on fire days unless they painted their scales blue and pretended that nothing was wrong. Arden hated this and so desperately wished that they had been born normal. One day, Arden woke up with blue scales and stayed that way. Kayda and Jiao-Long were so proud of Arden and Ryoko was so glad to have another ice breathing sibling. Arden prayed that they had finally settled. After a week of only ice, Arden felt an itching under their talons and the urge to shoot fire coursing through their veins. But they pushed it down. They were normal. They were normal. They were normal. Arden, Ryoko, and Ryoto were in the plaza when it all fell apart. They had just visited their favorite cafe and were about to head home when a roar came from the fountain. A purple dragon was standing in the water, surrounded by ice guards. A guard stepped closer to the fountain and the purple dragon opened their jaw and shot a jet of water at them. Arden was shocked. A purple dragon who breathed water? It was impossible. There were only two scale colors and only two element powers. The purple dragon took advantage of the crowd’s clamor and took off into the air. They hooked a left and flew towards Klo Mountain. Ryoto made a noise in the back of their throat. “Good riddance. Those dragons know they’re not welcome here.” They snapped and Ryoko nodded their agreement. Arden was confused. “Those dragons?” They asked. Ryoto sighed. “Some dragons come out different. And not all of them can be fixed like you.” Ryoto explained. “Most are killed, but some escape. They hide out on Klo Mountain and as long as they stay there, we leave them alone.” Arden must have looked shocked because Ryoko nudged them. “Relax, Arden, they can’t hurt you,” Ryoko said, completely misreading Arden’s shock. “Let’s go home.” Arden shook their head. “I’ll meet you at home in a bit. I need to go get something.” Arden lied. “I’ll go with you,” Ryoto said, their red wings puffing up confidently. Arden shook their head. “No, you can head back with Ryoko. I’ll just be a minute.”  Arden lied again. The siblings said their farewells and Ryoko and Ryoto headed home. Arden walked only a few steps into the plaza before taking off. They had to find that purple dragon, they had to know why. Klo Mountain was far away, but before Arden had even flown a league, they spotted something purple moving in the forest beneath them. As far as they knew, there were no purple creatures living in the forest. It could only have been the strange purple dragon. Arden swooped down and landed on a tree branch a couple dozen feet above the ground. They looked around, scanning for any sign of the strange purple dragon. Suddenly, something slammed into them from behind. Arden was flung off of the branch, talons and wings flailing wildly. They hit the ground hard, flipping over just in time to see the purple dragon land on the same branch they had pushed Arden off of.

“Why are you following me?” They asked, their accent flat and foreign compared to the lilting tones of the townspeople.

“Because I think I’m like you,” Arden said quickly as if the words would burn if they didn’t spit them out. The purple dragon cocked their head and glided down to the forest floor.

“Really? In what way? Because you look like a typical ice dragon to me.” They said, wings flaring suspiciously. Arden scraped at the ground nervously. The fire under their scales was back and for the first time in a while, Arden didn’t try to push it down. They opened their mouth and the purple dragon jumped away. Instead of ice, fire roared from their mouth, burning the grass and scorching a giant black mark into the side of a tree.

“Woah.” The purple dragon said, looking at Arden. Arden lifted a foreleg and watched as the scales darkened to red. “You’re one of those væske ones. The ones who change day to day. Have you been holding back your fire side?” Arden nodded before coughing up a plume of smoke.

“For about a month. My parents were strict about maintaining the pretense that I was ice and only ice. I didn’t want to disappoint them.” Arden explained. The purple dragon’s eyes grew sad. They stepped forward and extended a talon.

“I’m Lilla.” They said, smiling slightly. “And I’m a water dragon. There’re lots of us back at Klo Mountain.” Arden took their talon gingerly. Lilla smiled brighter.

“Want to come with me? I’m sure the other væske would love to meet you.” Lilla said, dropping Arden’s talon. Arden nodded furiously.

“Yes, please,” Arden said. Lilla shook out their wings.

“Then follow me!” Lilla took off and Arden followed them, darting between trees, never flying above the canopy. They traveled the remaining leagues in relative silence although Arden is burning to ask Lilla questions about… everything.

As the sun was setting, they finally reached the base of Klo Mountain. It loomed over them like a claw cutting through a blood red sky. Lilla landed on a big rock and Arden landed on the rock next to them. Lilla glanced at Arden.

“The village is inside the mountain, but the entrance is well hidden. Don’t lose sight of me, or you’ll get lost.” Lilla warned. Arden nodded and they jumped off of the rocks. Lilla took the lead and they wound their way through tall grass and thorny thickets.

Another quarter of an hour passed before Lilla halted. Arden looked around at where they stopped, they didn’t see anything.

“Where’s the entrance?” Arden asked. Lilla grinned and walked forward. The cliff was covered with a thick layer of vegetation and Lilla brushed it to the side, revealing a rocky passage through it.

“Right here,” Lilla said. They gestured with their free claw. “Come on, these vines are heavy.” Arden darted through the gap and Lilla followed them. The vines swung back into place and they were cast into darkness.

Arden could see a faint light in the distance, a long way down a tunnel.

“Just follow the light, uh, I never got your name,” Lilla said, starting to walk. Arden followed after them.

“Arden. Arden Tsubasa.” They said, avoiding getting hit by Lilla’s tail. Lilla let out a short laugh.

“Sorry.” They apologized. “We don’t use surnames in Santuari. Most folk are immigrants who want to forget what they left behind and we’re a pretty small community, so we just have our scribes keep a record of who’s related to who.” Arden’s talons caught on a stray rock and they stumbled.

“How do you walk in here?” Arden complained.

“Once you’ve walked as much as I have, you can walk it in your sleep. Most folk are as used to it as I am.” Lilla explained. The light started to grow brighter. “We’re almost there, just another minute or so.” True to their word, the light widened into an opening.

The mountain was practically hollow, moonlight streaming in through an opening in the cavern roof. There were houses on the cliffs and a church steeple in the middle of town. There were dragons everywhere, dragons of every color, not just red and blue.

As Lilla led Arden through the center of the village, Arden couldn’t keep their eyes off of the other dragons. All of Arden’s life, there had been two kinds of dragons. Ice dragons mated with fire dragons and had normal dragonets. But here there was no normal.  A green dragon flew overhead, passing by a dragon with a red torso and blue wings. A pair of ice dragons watched Arden curiously, tails intertwined. Arden pointed them out to Lilla.

“Why are they acting like mates?” Arden asked a little too loudly. They felt multiple sets of eyes narrow in on them. One of the ice dragons huffed and the other one looked like they were about to cry. They took off and Lilla smacked Arden in the head.

“Because they are mates, idiot.” Lilla snapped. They made it out of the main square and started walking towards an imposing manor. “I forgot how backward your town is. You’re just lucky that Elex didn’t challenge you. They’re very defensive of Tendai.”

“So anyone here can be mates,” Arden said, trying to understand. Lilla nodded.

“Yep. Anyone is welcome in Santuari as long as they respect folk’s opinions. We vote on everything including our leader. I’m taking you to see them now.” Lilla explained. “Try not to act like an idiot in front of them.” Lilla pushed open the front door of the manor and they walked inside together.

There were three dragons in the main room. One was red, one was a light purple, and the largest of the three was black as night. Upon seeing Lilla, the red dragon strode over to meet them.

“Lilla. Is this a new lost one?” They asked, a chain hanging around their neck seeming to indicate rank, albeit a rank Arden didn’t understand. Lilla stood straight, obviously, the dragon was of a higher rank than them.

“Counsel Ezequiel. Yes, they followed me from the town. This is Arden, they’re a væske.” Ezequiel looked over Arden, their eyes haughty and suspicious.

“I assume Lilla has told you about Santuari and our rules.” Suddenly, Ezequiel grinned. “Welcome home, little lost one. Come and meet my mates.”  The others came to join them. While the purple dragon wore a chain similar to Ezequiel, the black dragon wore silver chains wrapped around their horns.

“Welcome to Santuari.” The black dragon greeted, their voice deep and ashy. “I am Gerent Kier and this is Counsel Tassa.”

“Gerent,” Arden said, scraping out a stiff little bow. This was the leader Lilla talked about. Kier laughed and Tassa joined in.

“Relax,” Tassa said. “Keir’s not that kind of gerent.” Arden looked at them, eyes worried. Keir sighed.

“Santuari is going to be good for you,” Keir said firmly. “We’re creating a better, more inclusive future here. And you will fit in perfectly.”

“Welcome to your new home, Arden,” Ezequiel said. Lilla wrapped a wing around Arden and Arden felt a sense of relief so strong it almost buckled their knees. Here, they can be a væske like Lilla said and nothing bad would happen to them. Arden’s scales melted back into ice and when the only thing that happened was a slight smile from Tassa, Arden knew they were home.

[starfaring-princelotor]

Second Touch

Summary: Prince Lotor’s touching goes a little too far for the Medic!Reader. 

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing.  ★

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four ___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One ___Part Two___Part Three ___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four

Prince Lotor found himself in a familiar situation a mere few days later, albeit a bit more…dangerous. Scratch that, MUCH more dangerous. Of course, he was still secluded in his cozy cell with his cozy food and his cozy stitches. Though, while he laid in relative comfort and skewed security, the Castle of Lions was, simply put, falling apart. In the literal sense. The ship was being attacked quite viciously and there was no news being passed to the only prisoner who was stuck in a soon-to-be death dungeon.

The Prince let out a gruff curse, his body flung up against the ceiling as the ship jerked once more when another attack pierced the hull. He had to get out if he wanted to live and learn all there was to know about the galaxies. He had to get out to, well, to explore that insistent tickling that urged him to pull your strings, to cater you to his wills and whims, to dissect you, all for the sake of discovery. When Prince Lotor was determined, he would go the distance to achieve goals. No prison would restrain him. Victory or death.

“-lura, Allura! Open cell 87A-3, Lotor’s-” a loud BANG resonated throughout the giant chamber, “Fuck! Allura, can you-God DAMMIT!”

The lights flickered off for a few seconds and Prince Lotor was met with pitch blackness. There wasn’t even a glow of energy in the room and, for a rare fleeting moment, Lotor was…hesitant. There was obviously a battle taking place outside and HE was stuck here, doing nothing. But his ears did not deceive him! He heard you and SAW you riding the lift down to his level before everything went dark. Though, as of now, you were…quiet. Did you die? Did you leave him to suffer his cruel fate?

“Lotor? Lotor, can you hear me?” you concerned voice echoed the hall.

A loud CRASH resonated again and the lights flicked on once more. The barrier caging him was still active, still trapping him, and he saw you just a few feet away hastily tapping keys on the holographic screen that denied him his freedom. The station blinked red and you slammed a closed fist upon it in frustration, cursing some expletives that he strangely found amusing. It wasn’t working, obviously, and Lotor can see your brows scrunch up in anger, as if you were running out of time.

Which, in this case, wasn’t completely wrong. You turned towards the barrier, running towards it, and began hastily inspecting it for SOME sort of weak point to jailbreak him out of there. Lotor was in there for a few days and he found nothing of use, though you were adamant about helping him. He never thought he would see the good doctor fret and worry like this for his safety. Given, he too was worried about his fate, but you…those eyes of yours, frantically flicking here and there, it reminded him of a ticking time bomb. If you didn’t figure something out soon, you would die, you would LOSE everything you worked so hard for.

“I am here, doctor,” he spoke in a wavering voice as the ship jerked once more, making him stumble to his feet, “Curses, what in the cosmos is going on out there?” “The ship, some space creatures, I don’t-” you tried to explain, but your words were too fast and he couldn’t hear you very clearly over the sirens blaring in warning, “They’re sapping the crystal, we’re running out of power and-”

The mechanism above Lotor’s cell exploded, dislodging an enormous component that began falling right over his prison. With no escape, no barrier dropping to grant him freedom he desperately needed in this situation, Lotor was left with his fate. The large chunk of metal smashed through his roof, successfully knocking it completely off the catwalk. You stared at him, horrified, fearful, scared, and his expression? It mirrored yours. He couldn’t die here, die by some slab of metal taking him out, before he got to experience the rest of his damned life.

Though, your eyes…you held a sense of immense sadness behind them. Guilt, he would even dare assume.

“Prince Lotor!” you screamed in urgency, watching as the prison cell fell lower and lower into the chasm.

The barrier was no longer active, now that it was completely disconnected from its power source, but it was a few seconds too late. Lotor was plummeting farther away your figure reaching out to him. That arm, open hand, calling him, demanding he come back. Demanding he TRY. And who was he to simply give up? That was not Prince Lotor. That was not the Galra way he was taught.

With the agility and strength he gained as an exiled Prince, Lotor quickly hopped up to his feet and rushed to the broken edge of his prison. There were more pieces of the ceiling falling down towards him and time was of the most critical essence. His mind and body went into overdrive, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he calculated the best possible route to take. He crouched and launched himself upwards, using the momentum to carry him from concrete chunk to chunk.

When the pieces dwindled down and his pathway was slowly running out, he used all his strength to propel himself as far as he could to you in one final leap. His claws reached out in the flickering light before it completely went dark. Lotor could hear his heart drop in his chest. His fingers grabbed nothing but air. Just like every aspect of his life, his goal slipped through his clutches, reminding him that fate was the one in charge here. Fate decided the outcome, no matter how much blood, sweat, and tears he worked into changing it.

“I got you!”

Your hand had managed to tightly grip around his armored wrist at the very last second. It was odd to think about, especially on the brink of death, but your voice in the endless darkness was like a starlight calling to him. A wish granted. The voice of the moon. Dear cosmos, he was grateful. And he would not take this act of grace without thanks. Still rushed with adrenaline, his other hand reached up and those claws of his latched onto your arm. He was secure, even though everything around the two of you was falling apart.

“Fuck! Lotor, you’re-ugh-you’re heavy!”

Now was not the time for this, but he couldn’t restrain himself from ordering you around, “Get me up at once and THEN we can begin insulting one another!”

You followed his order and hauled him up the platform with struggled grunts and pained whimpers. He crawled up and allowed himself a second to breathe, though the threat of danger was still hovering the ship. The room was dark and the only thing he could use as a point of reference was…your hand. Your warm, soft, smooth hand. Tethered together, you led him to the stairs, where a glow of red was illuminating the only exit available. Lotor ran with you, too eager to get as far away from this hellish prison as fast as he could, and he tightened his hold to remind himself that he was in your debt.

The Paladins and Princess were in worse for wear. As it turns out, all the power from the castle has been sapped from a swarm of Titan Anguisobers. Energy sucking space eels, in short. Floating in a dead vessel around an empty asteroid field was the least of the crew’s problems, however. Without healing pods to assist you in aiding the more sore wounds, the castle was stuck with primitive Earth medicine practice. Meaning you were now overloaded with work.

The hospital wing in the castle was completely destroyed as well. All medical supplies were gone or unsalvageable. Prince Lotor knew this would only slow down the recovery process. Hence, why all of the members of Voltron were currently gathered in the main command center, himself included. Now that things were more calmer, Lotor could take time to reflect on all the events that happened.

His stare was on your person, observing you once again, though this time without the restraints of his prison’s barrier.

Exhaustion was clear on your face, as well as all the other’s in the room. Allura was passed out, no doubt from having her life source directly connected to the energy crystal. What those eels took from the crystal, they took from her as well. Coran was tending to her, but otherwise, she had no injuries on the surface. The same could not be said for the Voltron Paladins, though. This was a battle lost. It showed on their defeated expressions.

“Shiro, I need a hand here,” you ordered, that bored tone no longer mixed in your words like before, “Put some pressure there-yes, just like that. Pidge will be fine, the bleeding has stopped.”

It was like watching a completely new you. There was no hostility, but Lotor supposed the urgency with everyone’s health pulled out the sense of professionalism to the surface. He could see you were more comfortable with them than you were with him. He took no offense to that. In fact, he would praise you for your caution, even if there was none hovering around you now. Shouldn’t there be? He could easily harm you if he so desired to do so. He could very well snap your neck before the Paladins had a chance to step in. Did you feel safe with the Paladins surrounding you?

Prince Lotor could touch you, but a quick glance down to your forearm told him that he already had in the worst way possible.

Four, no, five lacerations, all about two to three inches long, scarred down along the length of your arm. The wounds were still open, still sensitive, though the blood has long since been dried and wiped away. They didn’t need stitches, no, just bandages. However, with limited supplies going around, it was the good doctor’s ridiculous selflessness which left you being unattended to. Stupid, he thought. If you died, if you bled out, who would take care of the injured? This was why he was no medic at heart. Their morals were too closely tied to accursed emotions.

Prince Lotor was honorable, to an extent. He caused this injury, so he will heal it. Given, this wasn’t what he had in mind for his next test on exploring your odd habits. You were touching the Paladins just fine. Skin contact did not make you flinch away like before. For now, all he could rightly conclude was that you despised any contact from HIM. Solely him. So, why then, were you so willing to save him from falling in that pit? Did something change? What was added, or taken away, from his experiment?

The questions piled up and he could see his hypothesis crumble to pieces. Too many anomalies, not in a controlled environment, missing background information.

More data was needed, but seeing you wince in pain, Lotor realized that he needed a subject that was well and alive. He wasn’t done with you yet. Lifting himself off the wall he was leaning on, the Prince walked right up to you, disregarding Shiro’s warning stare. That stare which told him his defenses were active and the big guns will come out if he so much looked at you wrong. Those raised hackles was something Prince Lotor knew quite well.

“Did your stitches come undone?” you regarded him carefully when he stood in front of you, but not in the sense of wariness, more like concern for his well being.

Ever the caretaker, you were. Lotor waved his hand, arm showing that his stitches were still, in fact, set in place. If he was to say so, he was probably one of the few who came out unscathed from today’s attacks. A small glimmer of relief passed your eyes, relief of…not having to heal him and knowing he wasn’t injured. You knew that deep down, it could have been much, much worse.

“Doctor, your arm,” he nodded towards your injury, decidedly leaving out that his claws cut into you because he was nervous at the time, “Would you allow me to aid you?”

Shiro narrowed his eyes at Lotor and he could very well feel the stare pierce his back. He paid no mind, seeing as he was the only one here who was in good health to lend a hand. They needed all the help they could get. You studied him, those calculating eyes boring into his stoic face. Lotor could hear it, hear you weigh the pros and cons of his question in that little head of yours. Oh, if only he could read your thoughts, he would poke and prod and dissect your brain for days. And days. And days. Until you lost your beautiful mind in his madness.

You lifted your arm to him slowly, still on the fence about offering yourself to his services, “Don’t-”

“Touch you. Yes, I will refrain from doing so, good doctor.”

He had already indulged himself once and now, you gave him your skin so willingly. Of course, this was for science. Heal you so you may heal others. All you did was give and give and he would gladly push that limit of yours. Prince Lotor picked up a spare roll of bandages once you gave him the nod of approval. Everyone else was on the road to recovery and there was just enough on the roll to cover your arm.

He got to work, slowly, carefully, and with the tenderness of a lover. This was so new to him, touching but not touching. Healing by the demands of the patient. Give control to get controlled in return. Perhaps it was the intimacy of flesh touching flesh which left you uncomfortable? That was one possibility he would have to explore by getting closer to you, both through the mind and body. Challenge accepted, challenge very well accepted.

It was the thrill of not getting what he wanted. Not yet, anyways. Prince Lotor found it fun, even though he knew he could, he WILL, get you in the end. Instant gratification does not happen in science. When he finished his job, following your demands of NO CONTACT ALLOWED, he was granted that first door to access your heart.

A flicker of trust behind your eyes.

And he was absolutely ready to devour you whole.

[flowerinthenet]

13 Things That Annoy Me At Hockey Games

I haven’t posted in a while. I started a new job and hockey season was A LOT, but I think during the off season I may need to revive this blog in order to fill my Hockey Cravings. I say offseason because The Dallas Stars done did me dirty again and are missing the playoffs. Obviously I will be supporting Vegas this year, but things won’t be the same without my Stars Boys. THEY’RE GOOD BOYS, BRENT.

Anyway, at the last Stars home game of the season I started crafting this list SO, without further ado, here is:

13 THINGS THAT ANNOY ME AT HOCKEY GAMES

1. People who wear the jerseys of teams that aren’t playing

Are you lost bud? It’s Senators vs Stars and here you are, bold as brass, wearing your goddamn P*trick K*ne jersey in THIS, MY ARENA. I’M SORRY YOUR TEAM IS BAD THIS YEAR – DON’T TAKE IT OUT ON MY SENSE OF ORDER. And NO just because Minnesota also wears green doesn’t mean you can escape my watchful eye. Minnesota is a SORE SUBJECT and in this house we respect The Dallas Stars.

2. People who look at you funny when you’re loud and into the game.

If you wanted a nice relaxing night out then you’ve come to the wrong sporting event my friend. I get that you have oodles of cash and season tickets are a status symbol for you, but I paid a lot of damn money (relative to my itty bitty salary) to be here and I’m gonna enjoy myself, dammit! I will yell in support of my boys. I will drink a beer or two. I will get tipsy and loudly complain about how our offense is being incorrectly utilized. If you try to complain about our goal tending I will argue with you. I am living my best life and your stinkeye will not deter me.

3. People who start goalie chants

I don’t care if we are playing the Blackhawks, goalie chants are a garbage way for garbage people to act. If you try to start one in my section I will chant over you before you can get a foothold. It’s just mean. Go buy an 8 dollar hot dog.

4. People who scream at the players

I’m all for loudly enjoying the game, but when you start to screech at the ice like a possessed grackle I have to draw the line. We’re in the nosebleeds. The boys can’t hear you and if they could I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate your nonsense.

5. People who manspread in tiny little seats

I get it. You’re tall and you have balls and these seats are made for children. But nobody’s balls are that big, buddy. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a larger lady myself and I manage to stay in my allotted space just fine. If you spread your legs into my bubble I will be spreading right back. Get ready for some uncomfortable Knee on Knee action until you get back the fuck into your seat space. Your knee should not be crossing the line the armrest makes into MY territory and you will learn this lesson, SO HELP ME GOD.

6. People who yell curse words or slurs

I understand if we have a beautiful chance to score, miss it, and a “FUCK” slips out a little louder than intended. And obviously if a ref makes a bullshit call, the appropriate response is “BULLLLLSHIIIIIIIT,” but when you’re purposefully screaming obscenities as loud as you can at the players, regardless of intention, we’re gonna have a problem. There are kids around and your ass is drunk and obnoxious. I’m sorry you don’t understand the game and you’re bored because you have the attention span of a hamster, but learn some etiquette. And if slurs are involved? Oh buddy. I’ve never been ejected from a game, but I’m willing to give it a shot if it gets you to shut your mouth. And I’m not just talking racial or queer slurs – if you use one of those, you’re as good as dead – I’m talking gender slurs too. If I have to hear some entitled white boy call a player a “bitch” or a “pussy” one more time I might just lose it. So be a decent human being, please.

7. People who wear jerseys as dresses

I know you’re sexy and you wanna show off your freshly waxed legs. I understand. But this is a WINTER sport. It’s COLD in here. And I know you’re cold too because you have 4% body fat and the seats in the boxes are leather. Just wear some leggings! You’re gonna be a lot happier! And you’ll still look hot, I promise. Tyler Seguin isn’t going to fuck you though, and for that I’m truly sorry.

8. People who wolf whistle the Ice Girls

Those girls are making minimum wage and spending half of every paycheck on their own cosmetics for games in order to wear bras on the ice and put up with every drunk, middle-aged piece of shit’s attempts at flirting. Just leave them alone. You’re not funny. I’m sorry your wife left you. Go home Dan.

9. People who yell at players and beg them for a puck at warm ups

I know Jamie Benn was GONNA give that puck to the five year old with a cute sign, but now that you screamed at him twelve times to give it to you, a 20 something asshole, he’s changed his mind! What’s this? He’s climbing over the glass to shake your hand? He’s giving you his jersey? AND HIS CAPTAINCY? My god, it’s a good thing you harassed him all warmups. What a day for you. I’m deaf in one ear because you wouldn’t shut the fuck up, but I guess that’s a sacrifice I’ll have to make.

10. People who try to get on the glass during warmups – even though there are no spots left

I got here at 6:00 PM, when the doors to the arena opened, so I could get a halfway decent spot on the glass for warmups. You don’t get to saunter in at 7:10PM for a 7:30PM game start and shove your way to the front. I’m sorry you weren’t prepared for this evening. It is not my fault and no you cannot squeeze in next to me there is NO ROOM for your TARDINESS. You take the hand that was dealt to you!

11. People who shout “SHOOT” or “SKATE” loud enough for the whole damn arena to hear.

The only time this was ever okay was when some guy in the terrace below us screamed “SKATE FASTER” with such relatable desperation that my friends and I could not stop laughing about it for the rest of the game. Unless you are that guy, doing us all a service as we suffer through this nightmare, please keep your Advanced Hockey Strategies to yourself. Yes I wish they would shoot too. Yes I know Hitch’s defense first approach has killed our offense everywhere but our first line. Yes I know you see a shooting lane from above that the players on the ice can’t see. I get it Scott. I understand. It’s okay. We’re all in this together. Now be quiet and suck back the soda in your 9 dollar commemorative plastic cup.

12. People who boo their own team

B I T C H. IF YOU CAME HERE TO BE A NEGATIVE FUCKING NANCY YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. These are my BOYS. Even when they hurt me like this they are my BOYS. BOO THE OTHER DAMN TEAM YOU MONSTERS.

13. People who leave the arena early when we’re losing.

We all have to work tomorrow, Susan. We’re all disappointed that it would take a miracle to win this game now. But if you THINK I’m gonna abandon my TEAM in their hour of need, you got another thing coming. I am here til the BITTER END. So GO. Beat the traffic – but I know where your true loyalties lie.