#FINALLY starting to heal; having all of that progress ripped away from him

[razberrypuck]

I think what's driving me insane about this specific arc for qcharlie is watching him slowly become more and more horrified at what's going on with the infection. he keeps brushing it off, and saying he's just going to let it run its course, and that if he has to change to be happy and to keep the people he loves safe, he'll be whatever he HAS to be.

but over the course of this stream, he's become increasingly aware and afraid of what's happening to him. his memory goes fuzzy when his body glitches out. he noticed the infection had spread even more, on his own, and quietly said "oh no." he spoke to maximus about the infection, and jumped from being relatively open about it to scrambling to change the subject when baghera asked what they were talking aboug. he started freaking out when all the glitching and the binary spread to the very land he lived on, and struggled to calm himself down.

and I think, after talking to maximus, he's realizing how much worse his infection is, even if maxo and etoiles have had theirs longer. I think, in the back of his mind, he KNOWS what's happening to him is codeflippa's fault, and that thought scares him more than the infection itself.

denial is something that charlie is very good at. but he's at the end of his rope. he has been for a long time. so I wonder how much more he can withstand before all of this just breaks him.

[coffee-in-rain]

Vulnerable Hannibal Fic Rec List

Updated 11/23/2024 with five new additions located at the bottom of the page! A few of these fics are mine, but the rest are some of my favorite fics I've ever read that feature vulnerable Hannibal in various seasons, AUs, and post-canon.

shrike (to your sharp and glorious thorn):

Will begins to notice a change in Hannibal's behavior post-fall, and that he's become something akin to a fretting housewife.

The Ache Against The Wind (Rewritten):

3x13 AU: Will travels into an alternate dimension after plunging into the Atlantic and is confronted with the unexpected aftermath following the removal of Hannibal's toilet in the BSHCI.

Pareidolia:

Six weeks post-fall, Hannibal suffers from a seizure during dinner.

Je Te Laisserai Des Mots:

Six months have passed since Will pulled them over the cliff. Even in light of their progressing relationship, much of Hannibal still remains a mystery to Will. For reasons unknown, he’s begun to pull away. (A sequel to Shrike--my housewife Hannibal fic!)

Between The Hour Of Reprieve:

At the cliff house, Hannibal receives a much-needed-hug.

A Cabin In The Woods by KoolJack1:

Hannibal is thirteen and runs away from the orphanage when he feels that a fate of the elements will be better than the fate of abuse. He finds a small cabin in the woods, thinking warmth will be all he finds. He also finds Will. But who changes who?

Recipricol Alchemy by Scifibabe:

In the silent echoes of his dreams, Will Graham treads a line blurred between control and chaos, each step drawing him inexorably towards claiming Hannibal as his own. It's a perilous dance on the edge of darkness, where the thrill of possession whispers of a transformation too profound to resist.

Hold Me, Don’t Let Me Go by sourweather:

It's a few months after the Fall when it finally hits him. Hannibal has barely been touched in 3 years. And Will won't let it go on for another moment.

Hosanna In The Highest by sainthannibal:

During the fall, Hannibal receives the brunt of the injuries, which leaves him unable to care for himself. Will discovers how much he enjoys taking care of him.

You Made Me Soup by itsybitsylemonsqueezy:

Hannibal comes down with pneumonia while incarcerated. Will decides to make him some soup. Absolutely no one thinks it's strange that Will comes to give his ex soup when he finds out he's sick. No one at all finds this suspicious. At. All.

The Boy Under The Monster’s Bed by Wr4tttttthh:

There were deep wounds that needed healing, new and old, physical and otherwise.

Delicate Ghost by hannigramcracker & TimmyJayBird:

She was different- not the ghost of his memories, but something about this bloodied child ripped right at Hannibal's chest, and left him drowning in a cold snow he thought he had left in his childhood, that he had locked away within his skull. Drowning, with only one hand to grasp at, one body to cling to. One man to work him through the trauma and remind him what life was.

You With Those Nails, Me With This Cross by TheBitterKitten:

Will goes too far.

The Distance Is Quite Simply Much Too Far For Me To Row by softhan:

Hannibal is having a rough time recovering from his injuries post-fall, and retreats into himself to avoid confrontation with Will while he's still weak and ill. Having to play happy husbands hardly helps.

Silk and Lace by jonnimir:

Bedelia leaves Hannibal and Will a gift at the house on the cliff.

Not So Fast by scifibabe:

Hannibal wakes from a heated dream with a need that can’t be ignored—and Will, half-asleep but all too eager, is more than happy to help. What begins as a midnight indulgence quickly spirals into an overwhelming game of push and pull, as Will���s relentless appetite pushes Hannibal to the edge and beyond. Kinktober Day 10: Overstimulation + Face-Sitting

Hush Now by scifibabe:

What starts as Will stitching up Hannibal's latest hunting injury turns into something else entirely when a teasing "let Daddy take care of you" slips out. It's meant to be a joke--until Hannibal's reaction tells a different story. One playful push leads to another, and soon enough, they're both realizing they might be into this a little more than they expected. Kinktober Day 19: Fisting.

I truly cannot recommend Hush Now enough! It'll live rent free in my mind and heart for the rest of my life ♡

The Antidote To Grief by incidentsofunkownorigins:

On Will's idea, they visit Mischa's grave. What Will had hoped to be a healing moment of closure breaks something in Hannibal and he is the only one who can put the pieces back together.

Pulse Point:

Post-Fall, an injured Hannibal awakes from an erotic dream, desperate and needy, aching for Will's touch.

Marveling at a Spoon by scifibabe:

After a gourmet dinner, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter decide to indulge in something a little more... pedestrian—a joint. As the smoke settles and their usual control begins to loosen, Hannibal finds himself experiencing a sensation he never expected: a heightened sensitivity that unravels him under Will’s teasing touch. What starts as a curious experiment in relaxation quickly turns into a surprising discovery, one that leaves even the meticulous Hannibal completely undone. Will is all too eager to take advantage of his newfound knowledge, and Hannibal, for once, is too overwhelmed to resist.

We Are Now Among The Ruins by ADeedWithoutAName:

Hannibal survived the fall, but not unchanged. He intends to give Will the only gift he now can, and Will intends to honor him in the only way that matters.

Something Sacred by scifibabe:

In the quiet aftermath of their survival, silence has taken hold. Hannibal hasn't spoken since the night they washed ashore, his voice swallowed by their shared trauma. Will, haunted by the absence of words and the weight of unspoken things, has learned to reach Hannibal through touch, through the quiet rituals of care. When the strain of Hannibal’s pain becomes too much to hide, Will draws a bath—an unspoken offer of comfort. But today is different. Today, beneath the surface of familiar rituals, something stirs. As the warmth of the water surrounds them, walls begin to crack, and a fragile trust, once guarded so fiercely, blooms into something more intimate and vulnerable than either of them anticipated. In the quiet steam of the bath, two men find solace in each other’s arms, where tenderness can no longer be ignored.

A Pinch Of Salt In The Wound:

Renderered mute and bedbound post-fall, Hannibal begins to spiral.

You Believe Me Like A God:

Hannibal becomes severely injured post-episode 3x13.

compimento by cervviidae:

Hannibal learns what it's like to be Will's husband.

Solace In Being Heard by air_of_the_Waterfall:

Hannibal is having terrible nightmares, and Will comes up with a rather unexpected method of helping him get a full night’s sleep.

Bright Burn by Shotgun_sinner:

Hannibal suffers life-threatening injuries post-fall. Will makes decisions to save Hannibal, while trying to recover the life with him that he's only just realized he wanted. How far will he go to keep what's his?

crave, then succumb:

Hannibal receives a second hug post-fall, while high as a kite on morphine, and ends up unraveling in Will's arms.

chimera of the chapel by bleakmidwinter:

When Will Graham wakes up from a coma three months after the fall, Jack reveals that Hannibal Lecter didn't survive. Outside the realm of Hannibal's influence, Will decides to discover the full truth behind the world's sudden and seeming falsehood. Everybody seems to hold their own opinion on Hannibal's fate, but Will knows better than anyone that trust and honesty are as elusive as death.

[captain-hawks]

Spicy sleepover round V let's goooo!!

Levi Ackerman and a (crowded / empty / very dark / secluded corner of a) bar 🍸

I love reading these spicy sleepovers, can't wait to read all of them!

precision

levi ackerman x f!reader

In which a dark, quiet corner of the bar and a glass of bourbon finally earns you Levi Ackerman's undivided attention.

wc: 1.8k

c: 18+ only, modern au, brat!reader, musician!levi, semi-public sexual activities, spit kink, alcohol, oral fixation, finger sucking, fingering

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND - PART V

It’s tangible—this steady, relentless itch of heat that blisters incessantly between yourself and the man sitting beside you in the booth, black strands of hair falling across his forehead as he runs a slender finger along the rim of his glass.

There’s a new tattoo nestled in the ditch of his elbow, the colors vibrant amongst the healed ink that crawls up and down the rest of his right arm. 

It’s distracting.

Like everything else about him. 

Levi Ackerman is difficult to parse out, an enigma that you’ve yet to untangle in the years since he joined your brother’s band. 

An enigma that you like to poke and prod and annoy, if only to push him—

“Does your tendency to be a brat coincide with certain business hours that I can aim to avoid?” he idly asks as you begin to drum your nails against his glass.

It’s dark and secluded in this back corner of the bar, though a bustling crowd still remains pooled around the stage. You’ve long-since lost sight of your brother, Furlan, and Isabel, who abandoned the two of you to watch the next band.

And now, it’s become a bit of a game at this point—seeing how many times you can draw out the disapproving click of Levi’s tongue against the back of his teeth in one night. 

(Part of you would even swear he enjoys it, this constant back and forth that sways from your possession to his.)

“You get the overtime special,” you smile sweetly. 

Levi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, the silver ring on his middle finger glinting ever so slightly in the dim light. And that’s when you spot it, the unassuming black hair tie you’d quickly dug out of your purse weeks ago when he needed a rubber band right before going on stage. Now, the thin, braided material is pressed snugly against his wrist, almost lost in the swirl of ink that trails atop his hand. 

You probably would have noticed it earlier during their set, if you weren’t so wholly distracted by the sight of him playing the guitar—the complete and utter unraveling of his reserved demeanor beneath the heat of the stage lights, sweat dripping down the side of his neck as his fingers swept across the fretboard, steely gray eyes alight with the same fervor that always leaves you breathless in the audience.

It’s things like this that make you want to keep pushing, despite his aloof ways.

“What’s wrong with your drink?” he asks, brows furrowed in annoyance as he watches you slowly drag his glass toward you by the thin cardboard coaster it’s sitting atop.

He jerks his chin at the half-full bottle of beer sitting beside your forearm, and you shrug, fingers wrapping around his cup as you bring it up toward your lips, the scent of bourbon crawling up your nostrils.

A hand wraps around your wrist, halting the cup’s progress mere centimeters from your mouth, and you meet Levi’s gaze as he flexes his fingers and raises an eyebrow.

“Would it kill you to say please?”

You lean forward, lips just barely brushing against the rip of the glass before he snatches it away fully, holding it out of your reach. He considers you for a moment, a look passing over his face as he seems to come to a decision. The next band starts to play, the room filling with sound as live music pours from the speakers, and he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Open your mouth.”

You shudder at the contact, blinking a few times in confusion as he leans back, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. When you don’t immediately respond, he mouths at you—

‘OPEN’

You’re not sure what you’re expecting when you let your lips fall open, eyes carefully tracking the way Levi takes a sip from the glass.

But he doesn’t swallow it.

Instead, he slides closer again, hovering over top of you this time as he presses his thumb to your bottom lip, fingertips skirting the curve of your jaw as he pushes your mouth open wider.

And then he spits the bourbon directly into your mouth.

The liquor burns as you swallow, finding good company amongst the blazing inferno currently unfurling in your gut at a pace so rapid, it leaves you dizzy in your seat.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, so quietly you’d barely hear it, if not for the brief dip in sound during a break between songs.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think this whole situation’s barely drawn a reaction out of him, even as he’s using his thumb to wipe away the trail of bourbon that spilled down the side of your chin.

But the thing is, you do know better. You can see it in the tick of his jaw, the subtle dilation of his pupils. His grip against the glass. 

The ever so slight tilt of his head as he assesses you.

And you know that if you played it off, Levi would drop this all like it never happened. He’d down the rest of the glass and slide out of the booth like he didn’t just spit his drink between your lips.

But the air that hangs between you is too thick with intent to not go stumbling directly into the heady fog of it.

“I’m still thirsty.”

Levi blinks once, the only indication that you’ve surprised him before he shrugs, taking another sip. Although this time, when he leans in, it’s the back of your head where his hand comes to rest before his lips press against yours.

It’s not quite a kiss as he uses his lips to ease your mouth open, letting the bourbon spill onto your tongue.

It’s not quite a kiss—the shape of his mouth on yours as you swallow another shot of liquor.

But then you swipe your tongue across the remaining hint of bourbon that lingers on his bottom lip—and Levi surges forward, kissing you hard. 

It’s precise, the way his mouth slots against yours, the pressure of his tongue, the caress of his fingertips along the side of your neck, the sharp bite of his teeth into the plush swell of your bottom lip. 

Levi kisses you like he knows how fucking dizzy with arousal you already are, like he’s well aware you’re on the verge of begging him to spit the rest of the bourbon in your mouth, too. Your left hand grasps the edge of the seat beneath you for purchase.

You have half a mind to crawl into his lap, if only to see if he’d deny you relief of the hot, aching tension simmering between your legs.

“We’re not doing that here,” he murmurs as he pulls back from the kiss slightly, not missing the way you clench your thighs together.

You expect him to leave it at that—you wouldn’t put anything past him, at this rate. But instead, he dips two fingers into the glass before bringing them up to your lips. Staring at him curiously, you open your mouth just enough for him to push them inside, bourbon trickling over your tongue.

The heat in your abdomen flares as you swipe your tongue along the digits, holding Levi’s gaze all the while. Saliva pools in your mouth, and you suck on his fingers with more fervor, your chest heaving with need as slick arousal begins to soak into your panties.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when Levi finally pulls his spit-soaked fingers out of your mouth, spreading them apart to show the messy strings of saliva stuck between them before placing them into his own mouth.

He takes the same hand and places it on your kneecap, his fingertips just barely touching your bare skin. And there’s a brief flicker of hesitancy in his eyes, an unspoken question in his expression.

Exhaling softly to release the pent up tension simmering inside of you, you offer him permission by way of the slow, deliberate spread of your thighs, your fingers toying with the hem of your skirt.

Levi leans in, nose brushing against yours as he carefully slides his hand up your skirt, and you fight to suppress the full-body shiver that nearly wracks through you in response. He kisses you again as he hooks a digit in your panties, tugging them aside to slide two fingers through your soaked folds.

You’re not sure if he means to groan as he feels how fucking wet you are, your panties now entirely soaked through with the sticky, gushing arousal that’s been steadily leaking out of your cunt. But you revel in the way the sound vibrates against your lips over the music, hips rocking into his touch as he kisses you harder and slips a finger into your needy hole.

“Levi,” you gasp into the kiss, bucking upward, your spine arching with pleasure as he drags the digit through the slick arousal coating your tight inner walls.

Between the dismal lighting in the back of the room and the way Levi’s body is mostly blocking you from view from anyone outside of the booth, not to mention the commotion of music on stage, it’s unlikely that anyone would be able to immediately clock the fact that you’re getting finger fucked by the lead guitarist of the previous band right here in your seat.

Your brother, Furlan, or Isabel could return at any goddamn moment.

But the risk has a fresh wave of arousal gushing from your cunt anyway, and you’re certain Levi feels how you clench down on the two digits now plunging in and out of you, because he chuckles in amusement as he rasps against your ear after you choke out an audible moan, “Are you trying to get caught?”

He doesn’t stop though, and your kisses turn into messy, labored pants as your orgasm grows nearer, the pleasure searing inside of you racing toward a white-hot edge. And then his thumb finds purchase on your throbbing, aching, clit, and your pussy spasms as you come hard on his fingers, your limbs trembling with the force of your climax.

Levi kisses you languidly through it, fingers massaging your soaked cunt until you’re gasping from the overstimulation. When he finally pulls away, he adjusts himself in his pants before downing the rest of the bourbon in one sip.

“You’re still a brat,” he mutters, leaning in to swipe at the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding out of the booth entirely, eyes fixed on the bar. When he turns back to look at you, there’s a challenge in his eyes as he asks, “How do you feel about rum?”

[midnightwriter21]

Open Wound ~ (Tanjiro x Reader Angst)

characters: fem!reader x tanjiro, tanjiro x kanao, zenitsu, shinobu (mentioned), aoi (mentioned)

warnings: angst, injury, unrequited love

AN: if u read this i'm gonna apologize in advance because this. is HEARTWRENCHING for me to read. and i'm the one that wrote it.

distant (part 2)

until now (part 3)

This is it.

The day that you are going to finally confess.

It all started with an open wound.

You have admired Tanjiro since the day you two met in the infirmary at the butterfly mansion. Both of you having just returned from missions, and sporting wounds severe enough to land an extended stay in your hospital beds. He insisted that Shinobu and Aoi tend to your injuries before they tended to his. From that day on, your relationship began and continued to progress. Creating a deep friendship first based off of swapping stories of past missions, your shared distaste for the taste and smell of the medication, and your rehabilitation training. Then, after being discharged from the infirmary, your wounds closed and healed, being sent on several missions together, meeting his strange friends, meeting his sister, and so on.

Somewhere along the way, the friendship you shared progressed into something more.

Friendly pats on the shoulder after a successful mission turned into launching yourself at him for a warm hug filled with relief.

Happy smiles and loud excited greetings turned into shy glances and a blushing face.

Wishing him good luck before he left for a mission turned into biting your nails and almost ripping your hair out because you're filled with worry.

The feelings you've developed for Tanjiro Kamado are so overwhelming that you might explode.

Which is why you are walking through the butterfly mansion in search of him. Coming across Zenitsu, you inquire about Tanjiro's whereabouts.

"He's in the garden right now but he's wit-"

You cut him off, "Thanks Zenitsu!"

And your feet are moving. When you get to the door leading to the garden, you stop. Nerves racking your very soul. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, before opening the door and stepping outside.

You see him.

You see him and you freeze. The blood in your body turns to ice. Your feet refuse to move. Your voice is stuck in your throat. You can't breathe, your lungs refuse to expand. You are suffocating.

Zenitsu bursts through the door behind you. The slam of the wood seemingly echoing throughout the yard.

"Y/N don't look!"

But it's seconds too late. The image is seared into your brain. You're sure that if you closed your eyes you'd still be able to see it.

Tanjiro and Kanao pull away from each other at the sound of Zenitsu's voice. Even from where you're standing, such a long distance away, you're able to notice the labored breathing and kiss swollen lips that they both sport.

When Tanjiro sees your frozen form, his eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to speak. To explain.

But before he gets the chance to utter even a syllable, you're gone. As you run from the scene, Zenitsu hears a sound not unlike the shatter of glass. And he can only assume that its your heart.

[throneofsapphics]

A rowaeling x reader where she's been mysteriously sick for months and is getting weaker and weaker and they can't spend much time with her because of their duties the one day she calls for them because she knows she's dying?! Like she dies in their arms?!🥺

Love your writing and sorry for any mistake English is not my first language🥰❤

no time left to waste

Rowaelin x Reader

Summary: you keep a deadly secret 

Warnings: angst, death 

A/N: thank you for the request! please don't apologize

They were busy, the Queen and King of Terrasen, for gods sake. You couldn’t bother them over a small stomach bug, something that would get better in time. The times you did get to see them, it wasn’t worth bothering them about - not when you have so little precious time together.

“What’s this?” Rowan asked, snatching a small empty bottle. Something you’d experimented with, some new herbs you found in the library that could’ve helped. 

“A return,” you gave him a small smile. You do run an apothecary. Not really a medical center, you weren’t a healer but you could make small potions and tonics for people. 

He sniffed it. “It’s different.” 

“Trying something new,” you hedged.

“Is that safe?” Aelin asked from your couch. 

You let out a low laugh, “I’ve been consulting healers over it.” You’d been referencing healing texts so far, but not the healers themselves. It was close enough to the truth they didn’t pick up on your lie. Your answer satisfied them and Rowan placed the bottle back down, tugging you over to sit next to Aelin instead. You fought your exhale of relief. 

-

It was getting worse, even you could tell. The few friends you had did too - but you played it off as a small bug and settled on visiting them less. The further you pulled away … if anything happened, that would hurt them less, you tried to reason to yourself. After a few months, you finally visited a healer, a close friend of yours - swearing them to secrecy. Several times a week, she would drop by to check on you - Ella insisted she come visit you instead. 

“It’s nothing contagious,” she’d said - to your relief. “We’ll keep monitoring your progress.” Grief shone in her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell anyone?” 

“I’m sure.” Your voice was more confident than you felt. Her mouth curved into a frown, and you grasped her hand - realizing how pale your skin had grown. “Please,” you didn’t need to explain what. 

“Not without your permission.” 

-

All of your strength was saved for their visits, putting on the best front you could. 

“You’ve been busy,” Rowan remarked - a line of vials on your sink. You cursed yourself, you meant to clean or hide those earlier. 

“Winter sickness is hitting early.” 

August, normally it wouldn’t pick up until late September. He didn’t question it. You almost wished he would. 

After they left, it settled into you that you likely wouldn’t see another solstice. Wouldn’t make it to your twenty second birthday. Tears streamed down your face and you debated calling them. Two weeks, they’d said - it would be another two weeks before you could see them again. So much could happen in that time. But, you’d dug your own hole and maybe ripping it off like a bandage would be better. 

Ella came by the next day. “If,” you swallowed - fighting the tightness in your throat. “When,” her face fell. She knew the truth as much as you did. “It happens, tell them it was sudden. Please.” 

“I can’t lie to them,” she whispered. It’s the truth - they’d pick out the lie no matter what. 

You reached for a paper, and started writing. Tears still on your face, you sealed it. Ella took it wordlessly.

-

Aelin, just finishing a meeting - received an urgent summons. She rolled her eyes. Everyone seemed to be urgent today - everyone wanted a piece of them. The last week and a half had been grueling, and she and Rowan were looking forward to seeing you. She regretted not being able to visit more, but they did come by as much as they could justify without neglecting their duties. 

A month or so ago, she’d brought up you moving in with them - but you’d denied her offer, explaining you needed your space for your business. Maybe she could ask again. 

Rowan spoke quietly to the messenger. A slight panic, only one she would recognize, showed in his eyes as he turned to her. Y/n, her healer friend sent a message - she’s severely ill. 

Aelin snatched the paper. Severely had been underlined - three times. The hell with the rest of the day, you had never called on them before. She’d leave Aedion to make an excuse for their absence. 

-

You’d finally given the go ahead to Ella, and she rushed to find a messenger - a strongly worded letter in hand. She was panicking, regret rushing through her mind. Why had she let out convince her to keep it a secret? You’d been friends for longer than she could remember - childhood friends. Now, you were on the brink of death and there wasn’t a damned thing you could do about it. Torre healers would be too late - but she’d trained there, and knew there wasn’t anything else to be done. Still, she’d combed every text she could get her hands on over the last few months, consulted with all sorts of healers and nothing. 

She held the door open and the Queen and King rushed her, her knees trembling slightly. The Queen rushed right to you, a faint smile on your lips as you laid out on the couch. She watched as she fell to her knees before you, hands gripping the sides of your face in panic. 

“What happened?” The King asked her, and she told him everything - handing the letter over. He tossed it on the table, not reading it yet, and she slipped out to give you some space, and get herself out of the direct line of fire. 

-

Rowan relayed what happened to her, not daring to speak any of it aloud. Days at the most, the healer had said. How had he not noticed? All of the experiments going on, how you grew weaker. You looked so small, so much tinier than he could remember. Your face had lost some color, eyes more hollow. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“I … you had too much going on.” She said, teeth digging into her bottom lip. He couldn’t find the words to reply. 

Aelin started rushing out words, about bringing different healers over - places they could take you, but you held up a hand. 

“We’ve tried everything.” Everything - over several months. Gods, it hurts. That you thought they would think their work and duties were more important than you. More important than  spending time with you, being there for you through this. He should’ve known. 

Aelin tried to argue with you, but he laid a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you.” He said - and relief flooded through you in a massive wave. Aelin glared at him, but he fixed her with a look; if we only have days, don’t waste them fighting. Aelin’s eyes widened. She was still upset - angry, might be for a while. Gods know he was, but he’d be angry later. Not now, that’s not the memories he wants you to have of them. 

-

“I’m not immortal,” you said - and they both stiffened, “it would’ve happened eventually.”

Aelin only picked you up - wrapping one arm under your knees, the other around your back, and carried you off to your bed. 

They spent all the hours left tucked into bed with you, holding you close - tears falling from all of you. 

You knew exactly when it was happening, and the shuddering breaths tipped them off. 

“No no no no,” Aelin chanted, running a hand over your head, “not yet, please” 

Rowan was a silent and steady presence. 

“It’s time,” you managed to croak out. 

“I love you.” Aelin had never said the words before. Rowan repeated it. So did you. 

It was a prayer and chant on the Queen’s lips, a deathbed declaration - leaving any regrets behind. Rowan ran gentle fingers through your head, Aelin brushed her hands over your cheeks. 

You let your eyes close as you drifted off, a smile on your lips and your last words - three you’d wanted to say for years. Better late than never.

-

Two months later, Rowan and Aelin managed to open your letter. Rowan took extra care, cutting the seal as delicately as he could. He didn't want to damage it, to risk destroying anything of this last ... gift, you'd left behind for them.

I’m sorry. I insisted to keep it a secret.

I know you’re angry and hurt. 

If I didn’t get to say it, I love you with everything in me. 

The text grew shaky at the end - like writing this was difficult enough. She did, her handwriting and her scent lingered. He brought it to his face, breathing in you. Aelin laid her head on his shoulder.

[allthesmutl0vers]

Managing Mischief: Weasley Twins x F! Reader (Part Five)

TW: Mentions of ED, lots of fluff 💖Use of Y/N (I know, I know. I'm trying to break the habit)

Paring: Fred Weasley x F!Reader x George Weasley

Requests Open 🫡

Chapter Five

Y/n

The next couple of days seemed to fly by. I got letters from my dad updating me on his and my mom’s progress, probably to keep me from visiting out of worry. My mom isn’t awake yet, but the healers are giving her everything they can to heal her. Everyone has been keeping me busy. Yesterday, we all had a family lake day. We spent all day swimming, which is great for all of the calories I’ve had to consume to keep people from finding out about my eating disorder, but I think Fred and George have started to catch on, even though they haven’t said anything. 

But today, I’m excited because I finally get to see my Mum and Dad. I practically leap out of bed, getting dressed in a pair of ripped skinny jeans and a cropped band t-shirt. I jump on Ginny’s bed, waking up her and Hermione. 

“What the bloody Hell, y/n?!” Ginny groans and smashes her face into the pillow. Hermione rolls her eyes and dozes back off, so I fall on top of them, giving them both a start. 

“Merlin’s beard!” Hermione shrieks as she sits up, making me laugh. 

“Oh, fuck off, y/n,” Ginny groans tiredly as she hits me with a pillow. “What’s up your ass so early?”

I laugh and toss Ginny’s pillow aside. “Today is the day I get to visit my Mum and Dad, Ginny!” I say excitedly. But this time, instead of rolling over to fall back asleep, they jump up excitedly, too. 

“Merlin! Is that today?!” Ginny asks excitedly as she jumps out of bed, knocking me back and making me laugh. 

“Oo! That means tomorrow we go back to school!” Hermione shrieks and claps excitedly. 

I laugh and roll my eyes. “Only you would be excited to go back to school, Hermione.” We talk excitedly and laugh as they get dressed and put on their shoes. 

Ginny’s door swings open, revealing a very tired-looking Ron and Harry in the doorway. “Oi, what’s with all of the damn ruckus?” Ron says, annoyed. 

“Yeah, seriously, guys, it's seven in the morning,” Harry adds with an eye roll. 

Hermione giggles and kisses Ron on the cheek, which seems to perk him up a bit. “Today is the day that y/n can see her parents,” she explains. 

“Yeah, so we’re excited. You guys should be, too,” Ginny says, kissing Harry and crossing her arms. 

“Blimey, sorry mate, I forgot,” Ron says, rubbing his eyes. 

“Shit, well, we’re happy for you, y/n,” Harry says as they both come into the room and give me a big hug. 

I laugh and hug them back. “It’s alright. I suppose I can forgive two of my best mates,” I laugh. 

“Hope nobody is trying to steal our girl,” Fred jokes from the doorway with George as Harry and Ron pull away and roll their eyes. 

“Yeah, hug your own girlfriends, you numpties,” George adds with a smirk. 

“Down, boys,” I tease them with a smile, which they return with a wink as they step into Ginny’s room. 

Hermione laughs and leans back on Ron’s chest. “We’re all just excited because y/n gets to see her parents today,” she explains. 

I run up and jump into Fred’s arms, and he catches me with his hands under my thighs as my arms drape around his neck. I give him a deep kiss, making him hum into my lips. “Well, good morning to you too, little one,” he says softly. 

George clears his throat and smirks at me when I look at him. “Forget me already, did you?” He teases. I giggle as Fred places me back on my feet and George swoops me into my arms bridal style and kisses me deeply. “Mm, that’s more like it,” he says against my lips with a soft chuckle. 

“Okay, okay! Don’t shag in my room, please!” Ginny groans, making me and the twins chuckle. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, little sister,” Fred remarks as George places me back down on my feet between him and Fred, and they each wrap an arm around my waist.  

“Yeah, no need for a room with one bed when ours has two,” George says with a wink. I gasp and slap them both on the arm, feeling myself start to blush. 

“Ugh, too much information,” Ron groans. 

“Oh my God,” Harry laughs, wrapping an arm around Ginny’s shoulders as she and Hermione try not to laugh. 

We all walk downstairs together, laughing and talking about nothing in particular, excited to see my Mum and Dad. They’ve never really talked to my Mum or Dad, really only in passing at a birthday party or when we’re getting on the train for school. They’ve always been so busy with patients at the hospital by our house. My parents are world renowned doctors, my Mum in Cardio, and my Dad in Oncology. 

“Morning, everyone,” Molly greets us with a smile as we all pile around the table. 

“Good morning,” we all respond as we fill our coffee mugs. 

The door opens, and Arthur comes in with a smile. “Good morning!” He says cheerfully as he kisses Molly, sets down his briefcase, and takes a seat. We all tell him good morning as he pours his cup of coffee and turns to me as Molly begins to put food on the table. “Well, everyone seems to be wide awake,” he chuckles. “Are you excited to see your parents today, y/n?” 

I nod and smile. “So excited. I feel like it’s been forever.”

“No kidding. Woke up the whole house with their giggling this morning, these three,” Harry jokes, pointing to me, Ginny, and Hermione. 

“Yeah, and I was having a really good dream, too,” Ron says, nudging Hermione and making her blush. 

“Well, she has every right to be excited,” Molly smiles as she sits down next to Arthur. “Now, dig in. We’re heading out shortly after breakfast.” 

Everyone starts making their plates and I’m biting my lip, silently counting all of the calories and trying to find a way to at the least amount. George leans in close to my ear, talking so only he and Fred can hear. “Eat something, love.”

I shake my head and smile. “I’m alright, I’m not hungry,” I lie, but my stomach, being the traitorous bitch she is, betray me and growls. 

“Seems like you are, darling. Just eat a little something,” Fred says on my other side. They’ve made little comments, nothing mean, that I should eat a little more or offer me an extra sweet from their stash. I know they’re catching on, but I’m scared to get ‘better’ and gain all of the weight back. 

George places a hand lovingly on the small of my back. “Just try a little, baby. How about a few pieces of fruit and some eggs?” He offers. His gesture is sweet, and he’s not trying to shove it down my throat, so I agree with a simple nod. “That’s our girl,” he smiles and places a few strawberries and some scrambled eggs on a plate for me. 

I take a breath and take a bite out of a strawberry, and Ron starts to speak to me. “Oi, y/n, how come you don’t eat much?” He asks. It’s an innocent question, but it still makes me tense up. 

“I’m just nervous to see my parents, is all,” I answer him. I hate lying, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. 

“Yeah, but you’ve hardly eaten the entire time you’ve been here,” he continues. “Sometimes, you don’t eat meals at all,” I clench my jaw. Merlin, shut UP, Ron. Hermione elbows him, but he doesn’t get the hint. “Oi, I’m just curious. You’re not, like, starving yourself, are you?” 

My legs start to shake with nerves under the table as I scramble for an answer. Fred and George each place a hand lovingly on my knees. “Shut it down, mate,” George warns him.

“Yeah, leave her be. She’s had a rough go at it lately. And frankly, it’s none of your damn business,” Fred snaps. 

“That’s enough, Ronald,” Molly scolds him. “Despite the foul language, Fred is right. What a woman eats is none of your concern.”

Harry nudges Ron’s side. “Yeah, mate. It’s not like you’re one to talk about eating habits,” Harry jokes, trying to diffuse the tension. Ron just rolls his eyes and digs into his massive plate. I wish I could eat without concern like that. 

I eat the berries and eggs on my plate as everyone talks about different things around the table, nobody paying me any mind. I set down my fork at the table and sigh softly. “Good job, love,” Fred praises me with a smile and a kiss on my cheek. I smile softly, trying to ignore the guilt I’m feeling as I wrap my arms around my stomach. 

George kisses the top of my head. “Very well done, indeed, darling,” George praises me next. 

“Thank you, guys. It means a lot,” I say sincerely. 

“Anytime,” they say in sync.

*****

St. Mungo’s is so different from any hospital I’ve ever been to. The biggest difference is that it doesn’t have that weird hospital smell. Instead, it smells like flowers and brewing herbs. No doubt from the potion makers they have on site. Molly and Arthur go to the front desk to get directions, and we all stand back together. I tried to convince everyone that they didn’t all have to come, but being the friends they are, they insisted. 

“Nervous, baby?” George asks with a hand around my waist as I stand between him and Fred. I nod slightly, and he and Fred move to stand in front of me. 

“Don’t be nervous, little one,” Fred says softly, using the nickname I love so much with a smile as he tips my chin up to look at them. “Your Dad said in his last letter that everything is going good. There’s no reason to worry.” 

“All that’s left is for your Mum to wake up, and I’m sure she will any day now,” George adds, kissing the tip of my nose. 

I smile softly and chuckle. “Hopefully, she doesn’t have a heart attack when she finds out I’m with the two of you,” I joke with a smile, feeling a little better. They always know just how to make me feel better, even when I don’t want to. 

The three of us chuckle as they pull me into their chests, hugging me and smooshing me between them, but I don’t mind. It’s my safe space. When Molly and Arthur come back, they tell us that my parents are on the next floor, on ‘Creature Induced Injuries.’ Makes sense, given that I don’t think of the man who almost killed my parents as anything else but a monster. 

We climb the stairs together, and when we get to my parent's room, Molly stops and turns to me. “Now, you go in first, dearie. And if you two are up for visitors, the rest of us can come in and join you. But no rush,” she smiles. 

 I nod and smile as I let go of Fred and Georges’ hands. “We’ll be right out here, darling,” George says with a smile. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Fred adds with a smile as well. 

I open the door and see my dad seated by my mom’s bedside. He looks completely healed, no bruises, not even a scratch on him. I smile as I walk up to him. “Hi, Daddy,” I greet him, wanting to run into his arms. 

My dad smiles and looks up. “Hey there, honeybee. Come on in,” he waves me over and stands. “No need to worry. Your old man is all healed up.”

I run into his arms and hug him tightly as he lifts me and sets me back down on my feet. “How’s Mum?” I ask him. “Any news?” 

Dad strokes my head and smiles sadly. “They don’t know why she hasn’t woken up yet. The brain bleed is healed. But the doctors here tell me all we’re waiting on is for her to wake up on her own. You know your mother can’t be rushed,” he jokes light-heartedly. 

I nod and lean over my Mum, hugging her as she lies unconscious. “But she will wake up, right?” I ask. 

Dad smiles and nods. “Yes, honeybee. It’s just a waiting game on when.”

I look through the window at Fred and George peaking through the window like puppies waiting to be let inside. I giggle softly, and my dad notices and shakes his head with a laugh. “I suppose we should let them in, huh?” He jokes. 

I shrug and smile. “Probably, everyone was just as excited as I am to come today,” my dad smiles and waves for them to come in at Molly as she peaks through the window, too. 

Everyone piles into the room, and Arthur greets my dad. “Phil! It’s so nice to see you up and walking, mate. How do you feel?” He asks as he shakes my dad's hand. 

My dad smiles and shes his hand. “Like a brand new engine. Thank you, Arthur, for having us moved.”

Arthur swats his hand and laughs. “As I said, anything for family, Phil.” 

The twins and our friends move to stand by me as Molly hugs my dad. “So glad to see you’re feeling better. How is Sheila?” 

My dad smiles and hugs her back. “All better, thanks to you guys,” my dad says, and Molly and Arthur beam. “Just waiting for her to wake up. But you know to never rush a woman,” my dad jokes to Arthur, who laughs heartily. 

“Good man,” Arthur and Molly laugh and begin to talk with my dad amongst themselves. 

Fred and George move to my sides, careful to keep their hands to themselves in front of my father. My friends move closer to me, too, congratulating me on my Dad’s recovery. And after a few minutes, my Dad walks over to us with Molly and Arthur behind him. “Hello, boys,” he greets Fred and George. “Thank you both so much for taking care of my little honeybee,” he smiles. 

“Our pleasure, sir,” George says, shaking his hand. 

“Absolutely, sir,” Fred says with a smile, shaking his hand next. 

My dad laughs and waves his hand. “Please, boys, call me Phil,” he says before looking at my friends. “Thank you all for looking out for her. She is very lucky to have friends like all of you,” he beams. They all respond with a smile and some variation of ‘no problem.’ His eyes land on Hermione and Harry, and he speaks to them. “Forgive an old man,” he chuckles. “But remind me of your names again?” He asks kindly. 

Hermione steps up first and smiles, shaking his hand. “Granger, sir. Hermione Granger.” 

My dad smiles and nods. “That’s right, I remember. All the same, it is a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. And please, call me Phil,” he smiles and turns to Harry, reaching out his hand. 

“I’m Harry, Harry Potter,” Harry introduces himself and shakes my dad’s hand. 

“Of course, it’s nice to see you again, Harry,” my dad says kindly. I don’t miss the wave of relief that washes over Harry that my dad isn’t drooling over meeting ‘the boy who lived,’ my dad knows the story, but he also knows how much Harry hates people bringing it up. “Ron, Ginny, nice to see you two again.”

“Good to see you too, Phil,” Ron smiles. 

“Nice to see you back with the land of the living,” Ginny jokes, making my dad and everyone else laugh. 

“Good to be back,” my dad responds and turns to all of us but looks at me. “So, I have some exciting news!” He says cheerfully. “The doctors here have agreed to let me stay here with your Mum until she wakes up. Since muggles can’t enter without a wand,” my dad chuckles. “But they are allowing me to leave tomorrow, and Arthur offered to get me to the platform to see you off on the train and come back afterward.” 

“Really?!” I ask excitedly and hug him tight. “That’s amazing, Dad!” 

“Yes, it’s very kind of him, indeed. Your mother would have my neck if I didn’t get a picture of you and your friends by the train for that scrapbook of hers,” my dad chuckles. 

I release my dad and hug Arthur next. “Thank you so much, Arthur.”

He hugs me back and pulls back. “Of course, y/n. But it was really Molly’s idea,” he chuckles with a smile. 

I smile and Hug Molly next. “Thank you,” I say in her neck.

Molly pats my back and pulls back with a smile. “Of course, dearie. We were going to tell you at breakfast, but I thought it best to come from your Dad. I’ll escort you all through the floo network, and we’ll meet them there.”

We all talk for a few hours, and Fred and George tell him all about quidditch and invite him to one of the games since Harry, Ron, and Ginny play on the team, too. My dad tells them he’d love to come and watch and hopes that it falls on ‘parent’s day,’ his favorite day of the year, Mum’s too. They love walking around the castle, and especially the feast. After lunch, it’s time to head back to the burrow and pack for the train tomorrow. We say our goodbyes before we head out. 

*****

It’s mayhem at the burrow as everyone is packing their trunks and bags. Me, Harry, and Hermione had already packed before we came, so instead, we helped everyone else until Molly calls us down for dinner.

We take our seats at the table, and Molly puts a pot of beef stew, rolls, and rhubarb and pumpkin pies down in the center of the table. Her send-off feast every year. Everyone digs in, and I allow myself a roll and two smaller scoops of stew. Ron looks at me like he wants to say something, but when Fred and George stare at him, he seems to think better of it. 

About halfway through dinner, an owl lands on the kitchen windowsill, and I recognize it as Bucky, Blaise’s owl with a letter in his beak. I stand up and take the letter from him, giving him a few owl treats before he flies off again. 

“Who’s it from, dear?” Molly asks as I sit back down between Fred and George. 

“Blaise,” I answer and open the letter, reading it aloud. 

“Dear, y/n,

I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I got ahold of Draco, and he said he sent you a letter. Did you receive it?  He explained to me what he wrote, and I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. Believe me, I reamed him for it. You deserve better than a letter.

I can’t believe that he and Pansy would betray you like that. He told me nothing happened between them, but… Pansy confided in me, and she told me that they had slept together just before school ended last year. I know that it’s an awful thing to hear, but I couldn’t keep it from you. Believe me, I’m very angry with both of them. Nobody deserves that, especially one of my best mates. 

However, Draco and Pansy have been my friends since the day we were born, and our families are closely knit. And as pissed at them as I may be, I can’t cut them off completely. They’re Slytherins, my family. I’m sure you can understand, given your close friendship with the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and everyone else in your house. 

I understand If you can’t, or don’t want, to be friends with me anymore, given what happened. But I do hope that one day, we can all put this behind us and be friends again. I’ll give you some space to think about it, and you can come to me when you’re ready. 

Draco asked about you in his last letter to me. I know he feels awful about hurting you, and he doesn’t expect a reply, but he do wishes you’d write. I told him that I hadn’t talked to you yet and that if he wanted to hear from you, he should reach out himself, but it was probably best not to. 

Also, I meant to ask you at the party, but I forgot. This is awkward, but is there something going on with you, Fred, and George? I know you guys are best friends, but I saw you guys sitting and talking against the tree, and you looked…closer than normal. I won’t pry or judge you if there is. But I just think that it is unfair to be so angry with Draco and Pansy for fooling around behind your back if you’re doing it behind his, too. Just something to think about.

Again, I hope one day we can put all of this behind us. I hope you’re doing okay, and give my regards to everyone. See you around the halls, maybe. 

Sincerely,

Blaise Zambini”

“What a snake,” Fred says, shaking his head after a few moments. 

“How can he accuse you of going behind Malfoy’s back, then turn around and defend him for the same thing?” George asks angrily. 

“He did say he was pissed,” Hermione says softly. 

“More like he said a load of crap,” Ginny says, shaking her head. “Forget them, y/n.”

“If he loves them so much, he should just leave, too. Let the snakes live together,” Harry adds.

“Such a load of crap. That’s that ‘pure-blood’ family bullshit,” Ron rolls his eyes. “Pathetic.” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Arthur says firmly, without raising his voice. 

Molly looks over at me, noticing I haven’t spoken yet. “Y/n, dearie, are you alright?” She asks calmly. 

I look down at the letter in my hands and sigh. “I had a feeling that something might have happened. But reading it…” I shake my head. “How could you do that to someone you claimed to love?” I ask without looking up as my stomach winds itself in knots.

Molly sighs. “Honey, people don’t do that to those they love. I know it’s hard to hear, but it just goes to show who he is.” 

I stand up from the table. “Excuse me, please. I need a minute.” 

“Y/n,” Fred and George reach for me and say my name at the same time as I walk to the back door. 

“Leave her be. You heard her. She needs a minute,” Arthur tells them as I step outside and close the door behind me. 

I sit on the steps of the porch, not knowing exactly how to feel. We’re already broken up, but I’ve never been cheated on before. Draco was my first boyfriend. Even though I started dating him in order to get over Fred and George, I truly cared deeply for him. I loved him, and I thought he loved me, even after I got his letter. But I guess the joke is on me. 

I sit on the porch for a long time, watching the sunset. I think of every time that they were alone together, wondering if there were more times that even Blaise didn’t know about. More than either of them were willing to admit. The back door creaks open, and Fred and George sit down next to me. George hands me a cup of tea, and Fred drapes a throw blanket over my shoulders. Neither of them speaks. They just sit with me until I’m ready to talk. 

 “I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t just end it before they slept together,” I say softly, looking out at the sunset. 

I feel them both let out a heavy sigh. “He probably didn’t know how to say it to your face like a real man would. Except the difference is that a real man would never cheat in the first place,” Fred answers me softly. 

“Instead, he hid. He pushed you away, probably hoping you would end things first so he could feel guilt-free,” George adds. 

I let a couple of tears fall from my eyes, which are quickly wiped away by their sleeves. “I’m sorry that I’m crying. I don’t have feelings for him anymore. I just feel so betrayed.” 

“Shh,” Fred shushes me soothingly as they lay their heads on my shoulders. “We know, love. Just know that neither of us will ever hurt you like that, or ever.” 

“Don’t apologize for crying, darling. You’re hurt, it’s understandable. What that git did is unforgivable. And I agree with Fred. We will never do that to you,” George says, kissing the side of my head softly. 

I nod, thanking Merlin for sending me these two, who always know just what to say and who I know I can trust inexplicably. “I know you guys wouldn’t. I trust you two with my life and my heart,” I sigh. “But I don’t think I’m ready to talk to Blaise yet. I know it’s not his fault, but I just need a break from all Slytherins.”

“Of course, darling. We understand,” George says softly. 

“Would you like us to write him for you? Let him know you’re not ready yet?” Fred offers. 

I nod and look up at him. “If it’s not too much to ask, yeah. That would help a lot.”

They move to squat in front of me, taking my hands in theirs. “Nothing you could ask would ever be too much. Do you understand me?” George says. 

“There is nothing on this Earth that we wouldn’t do for you, little one,” Fred says, kissing the back of my hand as George wipes away the last of my tears, and I nod. 

“Use your words, baby,” George instructs me. 

I take a deep, shuddering breath and look at them both. “I understand, thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you guys.” 

They smile and stand up, pulling me with them and hugging me between them, my safe space. “Always,” George says softly, kissing the top of my head. 

“We don’t know what we did to deserve you either, little one. But whatever it was, we’re thankful for it every day,” Fred says, tipping my head up to look at them, and they each kiss me softly on my lips. 

We walk back inside, and everyone has already gone to bed except for Molly and Arthur, who are sitting in the living room when we walk in. Molly stands up and walks over to me, giving me a big hug. “Feeling better, dear?” She asks softly. 

I nod as she pulls back and smiles. “Loads, these two always know how to make me feel better.” 

“Yeah, they may be trouble makers but they always know how to make someone smile,” Arthur jokes as he hugs me too. 

“Hey, we’re good for other stuff, too,” Fred says defensively. 

“Yes, yes, we know,” Molly chuckles. “Now, off to bed, you three. We have to be up early in the morning to meet Phil.” 

“We just have a quick letter to write, and then we’re going to bed,” George tells her. 

Molly points a finger at both of them. “Well, make it quick. I don’t want to have to drag you two out of bed. I’ll set the ghoul on you instead.” 

We say goodnight and the twins walk me upstairs to Ginny’s room like they do every night. “Goodnight, little one,” Fred says, pulling me to his chest and kissing me. “Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight, Freddie. You too,” I say against his lips before George steals me away and hugs me tightly. 

“Goodnight, baby. Sweet dreams,” he tells me after he kisses me. 

“Good night, Georgie. Sweet dreams,” I say softly as I pull back and watch them walk up the stairs to their room before I walk into Ginny’s, where she and Hermione are, apparently still awake. 

“You good?” Ginny asks as I close the door. 

I nod and smile at her. “All better now.” 

“Oo, I bet you are,” Hermione giggles with a wink. 

I roll my eyes and sit on Ginny’s bed. “Not like that, ‘Mione.” 

“Have you guys… you know… yet?” Hermione asks with a smirk. 

Ginny scoffs and hits her with a pillow. “Ew, I don’t want to know.” 

I shake my head. “No, not yet.”

“Have you had sex before?” Ginny asks curiously. 

I nod. “Yeah. With one person who shall never be named again.”

“Let’s call him ‘he who shall not be named,’” Hermione suggests with a giggle. 

Ginny’s face twists with disgust. “Ugh, no. That name reminds me of that dark wizard our parents fought.”

I giggle and think for a moment. “How about ‘shitty dick’?” I suggest with a smirk. 

Hermione and Ginny gasp. “No. Fucking. Way,” Hermione giggles. 

I nod and smirk. “No wonder he’s such a dick. He doesn’t know how to use his!” Ginny laughs, and we all laugh loudly with her. 

We’re laughing so hard we don’t hear footsteps coming up the stairs until Molly barges in. “Girls! Bed, Now! Whatever is so funny, I’m sure, can wait until morning. I don’t want you three up all hours of the night.” We all apologize and Molly shakes her head before closing the door again, and we all look at each other and snicker quietly, deciding to all sleep in Ginny’s bed tonight.

Part Six

[skele-bunny]

Now that was a good hecking read, poor phantom is not having a good time at all. I do wonder what the other would do after the whole ordeal specifically seeing his progress was undone by a lot after that bastard showed up 🤔

You're becoming my favorite yfxcutgfi

CW Heavy for past abuse and sa, light fear wetting, eating disorders

Honestly? It's miserable. When Phantom first arrived, he was scared constantly, you couldn't talk to them without the little thing getting terrified. I mean, 10 years in a cycle of abuse and assault, only being around your master and his expectations and demands. Now around multiple new people, not a clue what to do.

His eating disorder is back full blast, Cumulus back to "giving permission" so they can eat again. It's never a lot, nibbling on what he can get his hands on before hiding again. Swiss slipping his favorite chocolate bar under the bed where Phantom hides now... It's never touched, but his little fangs marks in the wrapper shows how much they want it.

Any time he hears a loud noise he just freezes, his own claws digging into his shirt, trying not to cry. If it's voices? Once again they'll freeze, and their pants getting darker as he simply can't control himself.

When he first got owned by Albus, his body reacted by losing control to try and detour the touch from his lower half, but it never really worked. Then it developed to showing weakness and submission when Albus would start yelling. Of course, that habit was beaten out.

The pack knows very well not to shout around Phantom when he's like this, but the TV, other Ghouls passing, all they can do is calmly reassure their bat and try to direct them to the bathroom.

The pack has to be even MORE careful when this happens, slowly undressing Phantom and minding where they touch. Usually, they'll just help him stand under the shower head, but on bad days lacking any care at all, they have to get a rag on him. His eyes are so dull, yet he opens his legs for them without question. The first time it happened was again, when Phantom became Topside.

Swiss was showing him how to shower since he didn't know how, and when he went down to clean between his legs -- Phantom grabbed his horns to keep him down. Swiss didn't know his backstory at the time, thinking it's an advance but thank fuck he looked up to see Phantom's absolutely terrified, glossy eyed face. Swiss slowly pulling him off his horns and just showing his palms.

"I won't touch you..."

Tommy is MISERABLE. Back in a never ending loop of trauma responses. There's little intervals where he'll "come back", smiling and hugging his mates - even laughing. Then he'll click right back off, quiet, eyeing them like a scared dog. The packs distress gets miscommunicated in his head, which will make him bend over a surface near them, moving their tail to present himself. In his mind, they're upset at him (which is very much not the case), so they need to make his mate feel better. Right? ...Right?

The pack is so fucking devastated... It's not Phantom's fault, never in a million years will it EVER be Phantom's fault. They're just so angry, so upset, name every negative emotion there is. They love Phantom, their baby bat was finally coming around and showing his own, genuine personality only for it to be ripped away again.

Swiss and Dew honestly take it the worst. They were the closest to Phantom, main parts in his healing journey. It crushes them to know Phantom is back at square one and scared of them again.

Dew venting himself in anger, he's broken more strings and picks than the entire time he's been topside touring. Sometimes he'll sneak into Phantom's room while he's asleep, lost in his own paranoia to make sure he's still breathing... He's still safe. Guarding him and leaving before he wakes up at the last minute. He's losing sleep, but Dew doesn't care. He'd give his life for any of his mates, Phantom is no different. As the pack leader, Phantom is more terrified of him-he's a presence of dominance and control. It scares him, so Dew backs away unless he's trying to calm Phantom down.

He's freaking out, nothing is calming their panic attack before his sharp voice breaks through; "Phantom- breathe!" And he does. "look at me... You're okay, void. I promise."

It upsets Dew he has to use his "leader voice" but it genuinely is the only thing to get phantom back to reality

Swiss is wallowing in depression. He misses his baby bat. Misses hearing their little trill when he walks into a room. Phantom can't handle touch anymore, and Swiss can only image when he can hold his bat again, petting them to sleep, feeling his wings flutter when they're brushed against by his hand.

He's constantly leaving Phantom's favorite things around his room and the den. Chocolate bars, little bat stickers, Halloween decor, anything to make him happy ;;;

They'll do anything and everything to get their baby back. They're gonna fight for him. It'll take time, but Phantom will eventually feel safe again

[legendl0re]

A Court of Peace and Ire: Chapter 4: Repaying A Debt

Rhysand visits Tamlin, demanding answers and hurling threats about his son, and the fateful clash of two High Lords finally unfolds.

Notes:

Rhys vs. Tam fight scene as well as arguments to bring forward the crux of Tamsand’s relationship. Lots of angst but I swear the healing is coming xD

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Slight Gore, Fight Scenes, Emotional Angst, References to SA, Ideation of one’s death, Acceptance of death

WARNING: The fight isn’t as bombastic as it may be in canon for two reasons imo:

1) Tamlin has not been using his powers so they are much less refined than if he was using them every day.

2) Rhysand lost a great deal of his own power when he died.

That and also I didn’t want Prythian to be destroyed by their fight, which according to SJM, would be the case.

——

Tamlin felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his temple as his magic swept glass off the floor, carefully shaping it back to a flat plane and nestling tight into the window frame. This morning, he awoke with the gift of the slightest motivation—a desire to fix some pieces of the manor to make it less broken, less dangerous.

Stepping on splinters and broken glass was nothing for a High Lord—one of his many small enduring punishments—but for a child through?

Tamlin shook his head, trying not to think about it. Replacing his wards was the first thing he had done; a starting measure in case that boy ever attempted to winnow back in again. But if that blonde’s snatching of Feyre was any indication, it probably was for naught.

He had little practice with abjuring magic, since he could always just be present to protect those he wished to defend, before he became High Lord.

“A warrior has little use for wards,” his father always said. “Why bother wasting energy with needless shields rather than saving it for the fight to come? If any are so brazen to approach Spring with killing intent, our power shall sharpen to claws to rip them apart, and nothing else.”

His father was a fool, a bloodthirsty fool whose shortsightedness left Tamlin with nothing, save the burden of a responsibility he had never wanted nor trained for.

As he released the arcane hold a breath shot away from him; he really had been out of practice with his powers, surprised to still be able to perform something as involved as reforging glass from hundreds of shards.

Like any weak muscle, he would have to work at it, but he took a moment to admire what he had done, how the window looked pristine as if it had never been shattered to pieces by one of his episodes.

Even though the rage felt like a distant memory, he knew in truth. It was lingering, slithering within his bones and lying in wait. Isolating himself was the only way to protect everyone from its lashing out, from the moments his anger took the reins and tore into the world with his magic.

It had gotten so much worse since his time Under the Mountain, every day a struggle to keep that gaping pit inside him from stretching farther and farther, threatening to consume him along with everything else it could get its hands on.

All because of her.

That hateful, murderous, predatory woman whose malice scarred Prythian even years after he had torn her to pieces…

Torn himself to pieces.

Tamlin shook his head; no sense in dwelling on broken bonds. Wood splinters groaned as his magic pieced them back together, gathering to reform one of the many structural pillars that struggled to bear the manor’s weight.

The High Lord then took a rest, sitting at the top of the steps by the double doors that led to the courtyard. It may have just been the foyer and the entryway, but the progress he had made fixing everything let the weight in his chest lighten just a little. A lone bookshelf, two love seats, and solid, uncracked floorboards were the few, minute details that he had gotten too, but tomorrow he would tackle the stairs and the frayed, broken banisters that flanked them.

Maybe he’d get far enough to see his own bedroom again—perhaps even sleep in it.

Tamlin rolled his sleeves down, thinking about the conversation he had with Feyre’s sister at the border, how much less vicious and vengeful she was compared to the past.

Having eavesdropped a bit on the discussion before making himself known, it seemed the Night Court was keen to keep favor with Eris in preparation for his eventual ascension as High Lord; the eldest Archeron serving as the lure.

Given she had cut the King of Hybern’s head off, she didn’t seem the type to seduce or cajole for the sake of anybody except herself. Yet now she was mated to Rhys’ war general while also serving as a carrot on a stick for Lucien’s disdainful brother?

What was going on there? No mated fae would ever even consider sharing their mate with anyone, even playfully. Eris had already suffered the wrath of one of the Night Court’s Illyrian brutes; why tempt the other one?

Tamlin stood up and shrugged off his pondering. The Night Court was beyond welcome to any inconvenience, and frankly, he had better things to do than waste any further thought on it.

If only the feeling were mutual.

The windows shuddered, then splintered apart, the fresh pane once again scattered on the floor as shadows burst through and coalesced into a familiar, dreadful shape. Tamlin however, gave no notice to the darkness, just staring blankly at the shards at his feet, and the reflection of his eyes within them.

He had long been past sitting in the anger that Rhysand’s presence evoked, instead opting for the small, comforting mantra that allowed him to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

You did the right thing. You bought him back, and he will never forget it.

“Talk. Now.” Huh. Not even a hello or feigned attempt at cordiality; straight to the venom.

“I just fixed these windows.” Tamlin replied, still not meeting Rhysand’s eyes.

“I don’t give a damn about your windows.” The High Lord’s shadow coiled over, but even as his lethal cerulean gaze took over Tamlin’s in the broken glass below, the lord of Spring didn’t turn up. “Why was my son here?”

“I’d say “perhaps you should ask him,” Tamlin muttered, finally meeting the stare, “But he doesn’t seem to be at the talking stage yet. Perhaps you should keep better track of your things.” Rhys’ hand knotted around Tamlin’s collar, jerking him to a stand.

“That’s. My son.” Every word was laced with a promise of death, Rhys’ mouth twitching as he bared his teeth. “If you ever-“

“If I ever what, Rhys?” Tamlin barked back, swiping away Rhys’ grip. “I seem to recall only one of us has a history of mutilating children. So you can keep all of your paternal bloodlust and save it for the Illyrians.” Rhys looked confused at that. “Oh, you intend to spare Nyx the wonderful experience of breaking atop the mountain?”

Tamlin felt a single hint of regret as Rhys’ pupils cut down to slits.

“He won’t know that life.” He hissed coldly.

“That your decision, or the High Lady’s?” They were mere inches from one another now, Rhys’ shadows nearly thundering while Tamlin felt the claws stir within his hands. “You have a lot of nerve coming here and badgering me about visits I don’t even want, especially considering how many times I keep catching your oaf-general and his mate.” Rhys laughed, the sound brimming with disdain.

“Finally found a bit of nerve, Tamlin? You never had the gall to insult my brother to my face before.” Tamlin huffed a soft breath, eyes rolling.

“No nerve, Rhys. Just a lack of interest in whatever you have to say, and an ever-growing wish for you to leave me the hell alone.” Tamlin pushed past Rhys, unsure of where he was even going. He just had to get away from him, had to remove himself from the stirring in his chest, the rushing in his head. The High Lord of the Night Court was furious; utterly thirsting for a fight and willing to say anything, touch any nerve he could to get it.

“My son comes here by accident, and suddenly you’re tidying this place up.” Rhys’ hands found their way into his pockets. “Peculiar, isn’t it?”

Tamlin paused. Shit.

“I told him to never come here again. So if I see, if I hear that he is here a second time, I will hold you personally responsible.” Tamlin’s hand gripped the edge of the doorway, wood whining as his nails latched into it.

Enough, goddamnit. Enough!

“Sure.” The High Lord of Spring crooned, head coiling back like a serpent. If Rhys’ words had so much venom, it was only fair that Tamlin shared some of his own. “I’ll be sure to ward up my mansion so the next time he winnows here, he bounces right off and finds himself outside with the naga. I’m sure he’ll be a nice snack.”

Rhys took a step, the shadows of the room drawing back to gather deep within him.

Preparations for the inevitable.

Tamlin turned to face him in full, complete acceptance of what was to come filling his heart.

Ever since the day Rhys and his father cursed him to rule this Court, he knew things between them would only end one way.

“Your son ever comes here again, do well to remember that I’m the only thing standing between him and oblivion, so perhaps you should be thanking me for sending him home, fed and warm.” Rhys continued laughing, as if ignoring every single word Tamlin had said.

“You know. I never did repay you for your words at the High Lord’s meeting. About Feyre.” Regret would have given the high fae a slight chill, had fury not boiled it all away.

“No. You didn’t. And I haven’t repaid you for letting your father open my mother’s throat, or Feyre for setting my court aflame. There’s many things that haven't been repaid, so be mindful of the debts you owe.”

Tamlin didn't’ realize what he had said until it left his lips, and Rhys’ smile vanished entirely.

“What did you just say?” He whispered, a wrathful shudder as he inclined his head.

Tamlin felt a flicker of worry, an urge to scramble back and try and balm the words over with something, anything…

But there was nothing. There was no want for peace, no wish for change, no reason to continue and suffer this abuse in the name of hoping things could go back to the way they were.

This was it. The end. One of them would live, and one of them would die.

“It means,” He growled, teeth elongating to punctuate his words. “Be mindful. Of the debts. You owe.”

Rhys pointed a finger, a blast of misting power ripping through the air between them, but just as Tamlin had burned through Amarantha’s magic when he slew her, his energy flooded over Rhys’ and crushed it to nothingness.

He tore forward, hands turning clawed as they pounded into the floor for a leap, before bludgeoning Rhysand through the double doors into the courtyard outside. The half-Illyrian’s hands clamped down on Tamlin’s growing jaws, warring to keep his teeth from tearing his head from his neck.

Tamlin continued to shift in his grasp, golden fur and horns bursting forth before he planted his legs, and swung the ruler of the Night Court through a stone fountain.

Rhys tumbled up to a stand, wind shooting into Tamlin’s face as his wings burst out in full splendor, drinking in all the color of spring around him.

“I should have tore you open the second you put your hands on her.” Rhys threatened, violet globes of energy bloomed in his hands. Tamlin smirked as well as he could in his beast form, cobblestones cracking as he stepped toward his great tormentor.

“And I should not have wasted my power bringing you back. But come on, Rhysie. Let’s see who handles it better. You? Or me?” The vines and greenery around Rhysand begin to coil like snakes, enlivened by Tamlin’s power and wrath. “I'm sure Amarantha will be glad to have you warm her bed again in Hel.”

Rhys howled, taking to the air as his hands shot forward, energy exploding against Tamlin’s body in violet flame. Circling around the courtyard, his power burned the remaining flowers in the garden to blackened ash, Tamlin using stone rails and the manor’s remaining pillars as cover against the magic. Catching a fallen column in his jaw, he hurled it at Rhys, sending the High Lord crashing through the roof into the house’s second level.

“You pushed me to this!” Tamlin hollered, the tree shaking from the volume. “I never wanted to be High Lord, and you fucking forced it on me!” The manor’s wing erupted, spears of raw magic shooting from Rhys’ eyes at eating up all the stone and wood in its way. Black mist boiled from the half-Illyrian’s mouth as he screamed, like the shadowy breath of a dragon.

Tamlin scuttled through into the opposite wing, narrowly evading the power that threatened to disintegrate to shreds of flesh and bone. The light then vanished, replaced with a swiftly rippling darkness that surrounded him at all sides. Every angle was completely black, Tamlin knocking into furniture and feeling glass and splinters puncture his hands.

A fist crushed into the side of his skull, then came a kick to the ribs hastened by the flap of wings. Tamlin swung his claws out blindly, only to be rewarded with an open palm to the throat that nearly knocked him unconscious.

As his throat pulsed in pain, he drew back his rage and opened his ears, listening to the quietest step, the subtlest beat of wings, anything to tell him where Rhys was going to strike next.

Tamlin heard the glass shriek to his left, and thrashed his horns just in time to catch Rhys lunging towards him. To block being skewered by antlers, Rhys gave up the concentration of his spell, and so the darkness fled and revealed the manor once more. The High Lords struggled, Rhys’ hands bleeding as he pushed to keep Tamlin from goring him with horns.

Once again, their gazes clashed together like swords, utter hatred compelling one another to rip, to fight, to tear and scream and forget any possible semblance of good the other may have once had. Neither of them realized that tears had begun falling from their eyes, a quiet, repressed mourning that neither would ever acknowledge.

Rhys drew himself down to get the leverage he needed, lifting Tamlin up before crashing his knee into the Spring court ruler’s lower jaw. Tamlin felt his teeth loosen, and the High Lord of Night drew all of his power into his fist before plunging it into the beast’s flank, sending him careening across the hall and down the stairs.

Agony tore through the high fae, lumbering to a stand as he struggled to breathe, the left side of his torso flaring with blood.

“You pushed me to this.” Rhysand said, the half-Illyrian’s voice infesting Tamlin’s mind. “When you laid my family out for your father on a silver platter. When you decided to fuck my mate.”

“She wasn’t your mate at the time.” Tamlin growled, and suddenly his bones, his muscles, his entire body, began to betray him. Rhys’ talons had plunged into his mind, knowing that no matter the volume of magic he levied at the High Lord of Spring, a physical fight would be an uphill battle.

“I could snap your brain in half and trap you in the form forever. Maybe I’ll put a collar on you and take you back home, make you a pet for Feyre.” Tamlin, despite the agony coursing through his brain, grinned.

“It…won’t change…a thing.” Tamlin felt Rhys swoop down from out of sight, and his thumbs pressed into his forehead with the full force of his Daemati powers piercing into him. He wailed and roared for his power—his court—to save him, and the brambles that had roped around his home leapt to his rescue.

Before he could shatter his mind, Rhys was torn away; latched to the floor by roots and thorns as Tamlin was forced back into his fae form. But with a swipe of his wings, the High Lord of Night slashed through the vines and turned them to rotted dust for good measure, before slamming upward to get him back to his feet.

Tamlin coughed and tried to wade through the pain in his head, until Rhys gripped him by the neck with one hand, before plunging the other right into the wound at his side. His ribs being pulled centimeter by centimeter, Tamlin strained to remain still, right where Rhys wanted him.

“Guess I wield it better.” Rhys muttered, the whites of his eyes now entirely drowned in black as he embodied his full power. Both his hands and mental talons had clenched in a vice around Tamlin, like a hawk with a struggling rabbit.

“Does it feel good?” Tamlin managed to get out, blood dripping down his chin.

No. Tamlin heard? Or, felt? Rhys hasn’t said anything, his teeth clenched so tight they threatened to break, but that “no” was in his voice, as were the thousands of other thoughts worming their way into the High Lord of Spring’s head.

In his rage, in his need to lock Tamlin’s mind down, Rhys had left his own mind wide open. Images and feelings were pouring a deluge, a psychic rapid of anger, fear, and self-hatred that had been all locked up inside.

He saw Rhys and Feyre form a new bargain; one of unity in death and foolhardy desperation.

He saw Feyre’s sister kneeling before her pale, pregnant body, wielding primordial power to change fate itself.

And he saw the darkness Rhys had been lost in upon giving his life to seal the Cauldron, and the small kernels of Prythian’s High Lords to guide him back.

Tamlin’s eyes widened, and he let every muscle loosen in a final surrender.

Rhys was broken, harried, lost between the mask he wore and the truth that lay in his heart. It was the same sort of suffering Feyre had gone through, the one he had been blind to while trying to make everything perfect and meaningful for them.

But whereas Feyre could fight, could push and claw herself back from that abyss, Rhys it had seemed, could not.

“I hate you.” The High Lord of Night said, his hateful voice tinged with sorrow.

“I wish I could hate you.” The High Lord of Spring replied, shimmering eyes meeting those of the soon-to-be ender of his life.

It was true—even when he served Amarantha, even when he slew his family and cursed him with rulership, even when he stole his one possible chance of happiness away—Tamlin never hated Rhys.

That made what he was about to say all the more worse.

“You can’t live with it.” Rhys paused at Tamlin’s words, his fingers having already grown to talons primed to cut his throat. “If it wasn’t for me bringing her here, you never would have met Feyre, and if it wasn’t for me convincing the High Lords, she would still be dead.” The high fae swallowed, throat raw as if he had swallowed glass. “If it wasn’t for me giving you that last light, you would be gone too.“

Tamlin remembered clear as day why he did it; because someone needed to live. Someone needed a happy ending after everything that Hybern had done.

Everything that he had done.

“Your love, your life, and your son, are all because of me. And you…can’t…live with it." Rhys let his claw dig into the side of Tamlin’s neck, his eyes wide like a mad man.

“You think you convinced the High Lords to bring Feyre back? When Amarantha died, when the curse was broken, we all got our powers back, Tamlin. You think I didn’t peer into their minds and make them give it up, make them bring her back?” Tamlin winced, teeth stained red from the blood in his throat.

“Of course.” He lilted. “They wouldn't have done it because they owed her everything, because she freed them from fifty years of torment. Why should Feyre have earned anything on her own merit, when you and the Night Court can just take the credit for every good thing that happens in Prythian?” Tamlin sniffled, eyes stinging at the mention of her name so many times. It had taken its toll.

“I loved her, more than you ever will, and more than you ever could. So do it. Just do it. I’m tired of being alone.”

Rhysand’s trembling hand rose up high, the sun gleaming against his claws, and Tamlin closed his eyes as his chin lifted to expose his neck.

Finally.

“Rhys!” The two High Lords heard, the faint rumbling of a winnow right before it. Both of them turned, and found Feyre standing in the middle of the room.

Nyx was seated in her arms, eyes wide with fear at what was unfolding before them. One look at his son’s face sent Rhys up to his feet, releasing Tamlin from the grasp of both mind and body.

“What’re you doing here?” The High Lord of Night asked, Feyre stepping back as he approached. Catching his reflection in one of the broken windows, he saw the black-sclera of his eyes, the wounds and welts that had patterned across his face and his body, and the blood that coated his hands, hair, and face.

He looked like a monster.

“Feyre, I…” Nyx hid his face away, and Feyre’s brow furrowed in a cold, solemn rage.

“Rhys. Go home. Please.” Rhys faltered for a moment, but then slowly rose ram-rod straight.

“I’m not leaving you here with him.” Not after what he had done. Tamlin would have laughed if he wasn’t in the worst pain imaginable.

“Yes you are.” Feyre retorted, nostril flaring as she took a step toward the ruler of the Spring Court. Rhys reached for her but she wheeled back on him, and Tamlin weakly watched as a bout unfolded with their minds. Yet the entire time, he noticed that Nyx had turned up slightly to face him, a small tear running down his round cheek.

Eventually Rhysand relented, sighing in defeat as the space behind him peeled in a winnow. “Please have Mor look at you.” Feyre urged, Rhys not even nodding before he left.

And there they were, just how it started.

Feyre and Tamlin, alone in his manor.

At least that's what she had thought, until she learned of the glamour and how her sneaking about made her look like a fool in front of his court.

Tamlin sat up as best he could, eyes chained to the floor as if he just couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I told him not to do this.” She started, voice cold and distant as if to hide her initial horror, her concern for him. The High Lord said nothing, his chest undulating with a mixture of fear, distress, and resentment. Why couldn’t she have just remained as hateful as he thought she was, and sat back while her High Lord peeled him apart, finally freeing him of this torment?

“It’s fine.” He said, clutching his side and grunting as the pain surged. Feyre knelt down, trying to meet Tamlin’s eyes, but he shied away.

So she opted for a different approach, nestling Nyx closer to her as her son turned to face the Lord in full. “Nyx wanted to come back. I…supposed it would have been a good excuse to talk.”

“About?” Tamlin hissed, retreating further into himself.

Feyre ran through the list. Beron? Koschei? The changes in Prythian? Lucien and Elain’s situation? There were plenty of subjects, but Tamlin hadn’t been around for any of the now seasonal High Lord Meetings to be informed of them. But she kept silent, waiting until the silence between them grew unbearable for the High Lord.

“I think your mate had the same idea,” He murmured, “To talk…”

Feyre walked over and placed Nyx on one of the few undamaged chairs. “Stay here.” She ordered, earning a nod from him. Turning back, she approached Tamlin again, but he shuffled away from her touch.

“Get away from me.” She pursed her lips in a stern look, the pointed stare of a new mother.

“I’d rather we speak without you having a gaping wound in your side.”

“I’d rather we didn’t speak at all.”

“Glad to see your stubbornness hasn’t changed.” She offered her hand again, the blooming light of the Court of Dawn’s healing magic resting within it. A shock of agony in his left side made Tamlin relent, taking his former lover’s hand and letting the energy course through him.

Best case scenario, it was a trick and he would die anyway.

“Rhys told me you were living peacefully.” She said, a half-truth. Rhys never talked with her about his visits with Tamlin, and after what she had just saw, she could see why. Perhaps she just hoped that he was doing fine without ever having to hear about it.

“I didn’t realize how I lived my life was any of your business anymore.” Tamlin replied, wincing as Feyre willed the flesh, muscle, and bone to knit itself back together.

“From a personal standpoint, it isn’t. But you’re a High Lord, and I’m a High Lady. We can’t divorce ourselves from each other entirely, much as we wish.” Feyre felt the weight of that truth, forever unable to unlatch herself from those first memories no matter what she did.

Tamlin suppressed a small smirk. We. As if any of this breaking had been mutual. At least she was taking her new role seriously.

“There was a lot going on, which was why I was keen to let Rhys handle everything.”

“I noticed.” He replied, both their gazes moving over the fidgeting Nyx. The stuffed night beast was still in his hands, the boy making growling noises as he let the beast rove over the hills of the oversized couch. “Congratulations…I guess.”

Tamlin’s words threw a wall of cold bitterness between them, and Feyre pulled her hand away as the last of the wound was repaired.

It confounded her a bit, how Tamlin could not want to tear Nyx apart or hold him over Rhys and her as some sort of hostage, some sort of last vengeance against them. But it seemed the conversation she had with Nesta held true; Tamlin had bought Nyx back safe and sound.

“If you want us to leave, we’ll leave. But I’d rather we actually talk.” Feyre stood and took a seat by Nyx, before picking him up and placing him on her lap. “And Rhys won’t be coming back here anymore.”

Tamlin chuffed, sitting up fully. “Never knew him to take being told what to do lightly.” Feyre remained stoic, unshakable in her resolve. She had long since passed the feeling that she could just leave things as they were, ignoring Tamlin and being unable to face the harshness of the things they had done to each other.

That wasn’t a good example for a mother to be, nor was it for a High Lady, a role she had finally begun to sink her teeth into.

“I have an unfair advantage.” Feyre smirked for a moment, but then realized just how much every sentence spilt more salt into the old wounds they had with one another. Every word, every attempt at light heartedness, was soured by all that had happened between them, all still raw and unresolved, left to dry and rot like a festering wound.

“Regardless,” she continued, “He can take it how he likes.”

Tamlin finally let his eyes rise, catching the visage of Feyre seated with her young son at her lap. “Is that not what you wanted?” He asked. Admittedly, it was a low blow to tug on Feyre’s vengeful streak, but it was the truth.

“I never wanted him to hurt you.” She answered, a slight pain in her voice even as Nyx reached up to her and spoke in incomprehensible babbles.

It should have burned Tamlin—the sight of her with her son—should have awakened in a torrent that brought down the last of the manor upon them both.

But it didn’t. He just kept focus on the boy starting to teeth on his little night beast, and his mother watching him dutifully. She practically paid Tamlin no mind beyond the initial concern, having grown strong enough with her own right that she had nothing to worry about.

Tamlin felt as if a small part of him would have been proud, but he sighed, careful not to aggravate his bruises as he stood up.

“Has he eaten?”

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios Adventures

Weeks had passed since Adam had last seen his boyfriend or visited the room where they'd been separated. So many times, Adam had walked down the hallway, intent on revisiting the room, only to chicken out at the last second. It was still too fresh to confront. No matter how much Adam wanted to be okay with what had happened, his brain just refused to move on.

But today was the day. Adam was going to go touch the crystal that he'd been working on when the incident happened. He wouldn't try to activate it or anything complex. Just touching it would be enough. Touching it would make the memories in his head go away permanently. It had to.

"Okay. You can do this. It's just a rock. It's just a room. Nothing bad will happen. Nothing bad will happen."

Adam took a hesitant step, but faltered. Entering the room would make it all real. It would mean that his life had changed, that Theo had been ripped away from him, that all the warnings adults had been throwing at him were real and could happen at any time. He could die at any time.

The doctors had told him repeatedly that he was lucky to be alive. Most people in his situation did die. The survival rate for what he'd been through was incredibly low. He was likely only alive because as Remy liked to point out, Theo had desperately tried to protect him from the demonic magic tearing through him. Adam never thought he'd hear his sister defend Theo and advocate for them to stay together. What she had seen that day must have been powerfully seared into her mind for her to be so adamant that Theo had done whatever he could to save him.

Adam wished that he could remember Theo helping him or anything else that might help him move on, but he couldn't recall much. Just the blinding pain and the feel of wings pass over his skin as he burned from the inside out.

Adam dropped to his knees, too overcome with fear to carry out his mission. He couldn't do it. It was too soon and he was too weak and the fear was too strong. What would happen now that Theo was gone? Could the crystal still be attuned to the nearly lethal energy it had absorbed weeks prior? What if he was injured again now that Theo wasn't around to help?

"Adam? Honey, are you alright? Have the headaches come back?"

Ewan Maricourt rushed to his son's side, only to be waved away by the teen. Truthfully, he'd been watching Adam from afar, waiting to see if his son was ready to confront what had happened. Seeing Adam try to enter the room had filled his father with hope that Adam was starting to heal emotionally from the accident. This set back didn't mean anything; the fact that Adam was willing to try was good enough for Ewan.

Adam sobbed, finally allowing his father to approach him. His pride didn't matter now that his brain was rebelling against doing the one thing Adam wanted it to. Who cared if anyone saw him crying with his dad? He couldn't even enter a stupid room.

"It's okay, you're safe," Ewan promised, pulling his son as close to him as he could. "You're doing so well and I couldn't be prouder of you. Things will change in time. You've got to give yourself both time and space to process your feelings. No one heals after just a couple of weeks. It takes time."

"Do...do you think I made a mistake dating Theo?" Adam asked, sobbing into his father's shirt. "I love him Dad, but-but"

"But you ignored the guidance of your elders," Ewan finished. "Us parents tell you things that you may not like, but they're usually from a place of experience. You'll understand it one day when you have children of your own. Do I like watching you disregard my advice and getting hurt in the process? Of course not, but I was once your age and I know, at least a little bit, how it feels to have young love. I'm not thrilled to hear how far your physical relationship with Theo has progressed or that you disregarded all warnings about blood magic and sex, but I understand. Your sister likes to tease me about my apparent inability to settle down with someone, but I was young once. I had boyfriends and girlfriends and one night stands. I dated people I thought I'd marry someday and lost them all. If you love this boy and you're meant to be together, then it will work out. I promised Evren that I would completely wipe this incident from my mind if Theo came back to us in control of himself and I intend to keep that promise. Granted, you won't be sharing a bedroom again in the future, but I will try my hardest to give Theo a second chance."

Adam's tears were slowing and Ewan slowly steered his son away from the crystal room.

"Of course, you don't have to keep dating him if you can't move past this. I support whatever decision you make. Take your time and rest, Adam. No one expects you to sort through all of this in an afternoon. Why don't you go to your room and take the afternoon off from class? You look tired."

Resting in the room he'd once shared with Theo seemed impossible. Theo's stuff was still there, as if he could come back at any minute. Evren had refused to pick up any of Theo's belongings despite Abe and Roman's wish to have them close to them while he was gone. Evren knew that the second Theo's things vanished, Edana would try to interfere and make it harder for Theo to return. Leaving his things in the room was a statement, one that declared that Theo would not be erased from the school. Theo was coming back to be reunited with his possessions, whether Edana liked it or not.

It was hard for Adam to concentrate in their shared room. Half of him wanted nothing more than for Theo to walk through that door right then, while the other half was afraid. The dull ache in his chest that had started the day Theo left was strongest in this room, surrounded by memories. It hurt to breathe with that ache weighing down his chest.

Adam closed his eyes, only to be startled when he opened them. Impossibly, another rip exposing the Void had opened, flashing maliciously in front of him.

"This isn't real. This isn't happening," Adam chanted to himself. "It's just a hallucination. If it was real, you could feel it. It's not real. It's not real."

Hallucinations were an unfortunate side effect of some of the medicinal potions he'd been prescribed to help him heal. It was yet another reason that Adam kept himself away from other people outside of class. There was always a chance that a hallucination could pop up at any time, exposing just how broken Adam had become.

"Hey, Adam. I've missed you."

To Adam's horror, an image of Theo appeared before him. Not Theo, but the Theo he last remembered seeing. A monster with golden eyes that were as piercing as they were haunting.

"No. No, you're not real. You're not Theo. Leave me alone."

The illusion shimmered slightly before it dissolved into a thousand pieces that disintegrated before Adam's eyes.

He may have been injured, but Adam still had his instincts. He knew how Theo felt in his arms, and no illusion could ever match that. The hallucinations were getting less frequent now that he had reduced the amount of potions he had to take. They weren't as strong as they had been when he'd first woken up after the incident. In those early days, Adam couldn't distinguish his mother from a nurse in the hospital and would frequently be found talking to someone only he could see. Edana had been livid at this and was sure to mention her feelings at every opportunity to staff. Remy told her twin that it was only through some smooth talking on their father's part that Edana had been allowed to stay.

Several people had asked about his connection to Theo, and Adam had lied to every one of them. It wasn't any of their business, even if they were treating him for a Theo related problem. If he closed his eyes and looked deep within himself, he could feel the familiar, but weak warmth of Theo's presence out there somewhere. It was too weak to glean anything about how Theo felt or where he was, but feeling the real Theo was helpful for identifying the hallucinations.

Eventually though, Theo would come back, and Adam needed to know how he felt about that before Theo walked in the front door.

Adam sighed heavily and climbed into his bed, trying to ignore the world around him. That was a problem for the future. For now, Adam was going to try to sleep, hoping that when he woke up, he'd be a step closer to figuring out what he was going to do about his boyfriend.

[theartofruling]

Beau had been awaiting a to go plate from her ex’s function as her daughter had promised to bring it by. There wasn’t a chance Beau would step foot into the function of her own accord. Not when she had been given the firm signal of staying away from Kaan. Their break up hadn’t been her decision but she understood. Their futures didn’t align and for a while, she couldn’t see herself married or having any more children. Beau had been stupid to think even friendship was possible. The more she tried the more evident it was that she would have to completely learn to live without Kaan. After they slept together after running into him at her brothel, it was evident there was nothing between them. Or rather he wanted there to be nothing but space. 

She gave him that. She gave him space and she learned to live again without him being the first person she called when she needed help, or when she had exciting news. She learned to mend her heart and live in the moment. Beau learned how to enjoy life and cope with heartbreak once again. Her heart was resilient, she’d give it that. But she had suffered her last devastating heartbreak this lifetime. Self care became her focus. In many forms, some her daughter didn’t approve of. 

Beau heaved a sigh, she had drunk more wine than intended, a bit tipsy since she never got her food. She would make something quick, then get to her alone time and her bubble bath. Just as she stood to make something, a knock sounded on the door. She knew it wasn’t Zinnia because she had a key. It wasn’t Torben because he was busy tonight. Kat also had a key, and so did Markus. Her brows furrowed before she answered. Beau bit the inside of her cheek as the ache in her heart started up. Her brow rose when a curse slipped from him and an admission to missing her. 

Her chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. After essentially cutting him out of her heart and out of her system he stood on her doorstep. Beau kept her mouth shut for fear of all her progress falling by the wayside. Her eyes followed his movements, taking the plate from his hold. “Thank you. She said it was on the way but I didn’t believe her. Shouldn’t you still be celebrating? It was a night in your honor and you’re…here.” She nodded at his question. “Yes. I figured it was sent in error or everyone was invited. In which case, I knew I wasn’t wanted there.” 

The ache felt as though it spread from her heart throughout her whole chest, festering and throbbing the longer she was in his presence. She hadn’t cried over him in months. And here he was ripping open healing wounds. “Why? You’ve made it clear several times you don’t want me around. Why would I go?” She stepped back silently inviting him in. “I worked so hard to learn how to live without you. To move on from that part of my life. I finally got the hint. Loud and clear. To leave you alone. And when I do, you’re here. I don’t know what else to do here, Kaan, I really don’t.” She put her plate on the kitchen counter in favor of pouring herself another glass of wine. “What have I done this time? Because I thought I was doing what you wanted.”

Kaan + Beau @theartofruling

Location: Beau's home in Southland (or whatever she lives on this day)

-🔥 Flashback 🔥-

Kaan exited the portal station closest to a home in Southland he'd once considered one of his own. Even as a witch, he understood the draw that the faerie realm had on others. Especially those that connected intimately with nature. However, it wasn't the realm that drew Kaan in the realm. Nor in the familiar neighborhood that seemed to blur past him as he made his way to the one place that with a sober mind, he fought stubbornly to resist. Except Kaan wasn't sober.

The evening had been joyous. A literal celebration of his newly bestowed responsibilities and the acceptance of those within his duchy as tonight, Kaan had been the official bestowing, a coronation of sorts, to being a Duke. It was night one and after saying goodbye to his departing loved ones and guests, Kaan's hands found themselves with a bagged plate of a familiar set of favorite foods and his feet made for the nearest portal station. Until, he remembered with his new title came a private, entrance connected to his own duchy to said station. Zinnia's final words rang in Kaan's ear as she prepared her mother's plate that he usurped from her and offered to bring Beau instead. He'd drank quite a bit by then. Kaan indulged in a few more before leaving.

The guardian witch's coordination and enough wits still remained as he reached Beau's door. After closing his eyes and taking a deep inhale along with a silent plea to the ancestors for guidance, he knocked on the door. Moments later, after he'd opened them, there was Beau. While he not drunk, Kaan's buzz helped to drop his guard. More than. "Fuck." He exhaled, brown eyes taking in the sight of her and he met Beau's gaze. The quiet, constant ache he grew to ignore when it came to her flared, viciously, in his chest. "Fuck, if I don't miss you." The confession left his mouth of its own accord and strength. He wiped at his face and the tips of his fingers mussed the front of his hair and blood flushed his his skin before he continued. "I'm sorry." Kaan held up the bag in wordless offering. "Minnoş," His nickname for Zinnia. "She told me she was bringing you this. I offered instead." He held it out towards Beau. "I-" The words caught in Kaan's throat before he cleared it and nervously powered on. "I sent you an invitation for tonight. Did you get it?" He paused, scanning across Beau's face.

"All the faces I saw. Everybody who came. And I just kept looking for you." Kaan thought, unaware that he'd actually uttered those words. "All I wanted was you. And I'm so fucking tired of acting like I don't." The sound of his own voice ringing in his ears, and not in his mind, made him realize she'd heard him. Kaan's eyes widened. "...Fuck."

[lollytea]

Okay I wanna write down a few thoughts on that part of the climax in Thanks to Them that has garnered some mixed opinions. Specifically Hunter’s possession and the subsequent death of Flapjack. 

I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m defending this scene, as people are perfectly within their rights to be uncomfortable with it and criticize everything from its execution to its inclusion at all. Whether this whole thing was objectively a terrible writing decision for Hunter’s character, his arc, and the overall message it sends is....a discussion starter to say the least. Rather, what I wanna do is maybe try and dissect the reasons why these scenes might exist in the first place. From a writing perspective. 

I’ve been thinking about it a lot, trying to figure out just what angle the crew was going for and I think I might have some vague idea. And I’ll admit, I think there’s something poignant in here somewhere. Maybe they fumbled the bag a bit and didn’t consider just how troubling some of these implications could be. Writing gets clunky sometimes. But that’s up to every individual viewer to draw their own conclusions. But personally, I don’t believe that these scenes were intended to be gratuitous. I don’t believe that they were added solely because the crew are sadists who enjoy wringing Hunter dry like an angsty dish cloth. As flawed as they may be, I think I can understand why they were written. Possibly. 

So, I’m gonna try to give an objective look at the themes, storytelling and symbolism at play here and how all of that relates to Hunter’s overall character and the big climax of his story.

We’ll start with the very understandable hurt viewers felt when Hunter’s road to recovery was abruptly relapsed by Belos. The thing many people are vocalizing their feelings about is how the episode made sure to demonstrate just how happy Hunter was. That’s what devastated them the most. Hunter was in the process of healing, which hits close to home for many, making what Belos did to him all the more disturbing on a personal level. 

However, every single one of us knew that Belos was alive before we watched the episode. Hunter did not. Hunter believed that Belos was dead and this was the only reason that he felt safe enough to make such progress in his recovery. So now matter what way you twist it, we all knew Hunter was set up to relapse the moment he realized Belos was in the Human Realm. 

So what was the point of showing this sixteen year old abuse victim experiencing safety, warmth, happiness, confidence and self exploration just to cruelly rip it all away from him? 

Put simply, to establish just how much Hunter now has to live for. Just how much Hunter has to fight for. His motivations for living and for fighting are sprinkled all throughout the episode. This boy has such a hopeful future laid out before him and he knows it. So when he finally gets his moment to tell Belos exactly what he wants for himself, you understand exactly where this passion and determination is coming from. It means something. 

And then there’s the possession itself, which everything comes down to. We saw the leaks, we hated them, some of us talked ourselves into believing they were fake but we all kinda knew deep down. It was a very fun very terrible week. ANYWAY. 

I think that Hunter’s arc would have felt incomplete if he didn’t get a final confrontation with Belos. That’s the popular opinion. However, many are also in the opinion that Hunter getting possessed was very unnecessary and violating and it should not have been done in the first place. And I’m not gonna argue with this view. It’s legit. But again, here’s what I believe the crew might have been going for with this.

The possession of Hunter’s body is a symbolic manifestation of everything Belos has always represented in his life. It’s a final culmination of all sixteen years under that man’s thumb and all the damage he’s done to Hunter’s body and psyche. 

Ever since Separate Tides, Hunter has been Belos’ puppet. And honestly, though the specifics of the arrangement have shifted, this was still the case throughout Thanks To Them. Between Separate Tides and Hollow Mind, it’s pretty simple. Perfectly obedient Golden Guard who does everything his uncle tells him to do, without much say in the trajectory of his own life. 

However, after Hollow Mind, Hunter was no longer that. But that didn’t mean the puppetry stopped entirely. He was a nervous wreck for the rest of the season. The mention of the Emperor’s name paralyzed him with fear. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t done directly. Belos still had an alarming amount of control over Hunter. 

So long as he was alive, Hunter knew he wasn’t safe. And once Hunter starts to realize that he’s still out there, it becomes obvious that he will never fully recover until he’s certain Belos is dead. 

Everything about the possession is an encapsulation of what Belos’ years of abuse and manipulation have been like to Hunter. How powerless he’s always felt. But this time, it isn’t done through words or threats of violence. It’s worse than that. It’s physically invasive. It’s desecration. It’s having his very self taken away from him and nothing is more sacred than a person’s autonomy. The weight of what’s happening to him is palpable. 

This is the worst thing Belos has ever done to him. 

But what does Hunter, the boy who spent his entire life petrified of this man, do about it? 

He finds it in himself to rebel against it.

Because, though Belos’ abuse and the negative effects of his upbringing have always been such a crucial aspect of Hunter’s sense of personhood, it’s not all that defines him. 

A long time ago Hunter was given orders from the Emperor to slay a selkidomus. Instead he passed the job off to somebody else because he didn’t want to do it. 

Hunter self-sabotaged his own mission and allowed Luz to escape with the palismen he was ordered to recover. 

Hunter studied wild magic against his uncle’s wishes. 

Hunter went to Eclipse Lake even when he was told not to. 

Hunter had a secret palismen named Flapjack. 

Hunter assigned himself to the Hexside mission without getting Belos’ approval. 

Hunter owned a secret scroll. 

Hunter refused to roll over and die in the mindscape even when Belos decided that he was no longer useful. 

Hunter has a rebellious heart. Had one from the very beginning. He was definitely in denial about it back then (Happily declaring just how much he loves “Authority! And rules!”) but it was there, clear as day.

But this is the moment where Hunter embraces that rebellious heart. And in doing so, he finds the willpower to regain control of his body. To Hunter, this moment is a reflection of everything he’s always wanted to do. To break free of Belos’ power. To speak his mind. To choose his own future. To choose himself. 

And all that genuine joy we saw him experiencing earlier in the episode is what strengthens his resolve to grit out his final words to Belos.

Hunter releases years of pent up frustration that he was too brainwashed to ever let himself think about. 

Hunter openly expresses desire after desire, fully aware that every single one of them will boil Belos’ blood. 

Hunter outrights demands that he be allowed happiness. 

He’s proving, not only to Belos, but to himself that you can hurt him, you can scare him, you can manipulate him, you can even possess him, but you will never own him. Nobody will ever own him. 

So, yes, absolutely. There are valid criticisms to be had of the concept of Hunter being possessed. And it’s likely the writers didn’t really think a lot of the ramifications through. 

But I believe the idea it’s trying to portray was how the intensity of that moment and how violating it was to Hunter further emphasized just how powerful Hunter’s final act of defiance was. It wasn’t just one last fight between the two of them, it was a visceral way of having Hunter confront everything Belos has ever put him through, allow his resentment to bubble over and finally understand that he has the right to reject who he was “supposed” to be, whether Belos likes it or not. 

One thing that came from the possession scene that I believe is genuinely a good and healthy thing is that Hunter’s perspective of Belos has changed for the better.

This was the worst thing Belos could have possibly done to him. And Hunter did not only survive it but he was capable of resisting it. Something he’s never been able to do before. He has officially endured the worst Belos can inflict on him. So, with that in mind, Hunter has no reason left to be afraid of this man anymore. With this, all remaining control Belos had over him has been shattered. 

I have to acknowledge that, though this experience was truly godawful, it did provide Hunter with the closure he needed. It was necessary to how he proceeds forward. With all that fear out of the picture, Hunter’s current feelings towards Belos consist of righteous fury and contempt. Which is cathartic to say the least, as Hunter’s hate can finally be directed at the person who hurt him, rather than himself. In the case of a victim struggling with their trauma, allowing themselves to be angry at their abuser can be a very therapeutic thing. 

This is huge for Hunter. While many have expressed the opinion that the after effects of this moment will be detrimental to Hunter’s overall arc, I honestly think it’s a massive step in the journey to recovery. It’s not the nice peaceful part he experienced while in Camila’s house but not everything about an abuse victim’s healing process is pleasant. Sometimes it’s ugly. But progress is progress. 

And then there’s the matter of Flapjack’s sacrifice which is a doozy of a subject. 

Anyone who follows me is aware that I was very vocal in my belief that Flapjack would survive, because surely they wouldn’t take something so precious to Hunter away from him. Surely. 

(Well I’m Stan and I was wrong, I’m singing the Stan Wrong Song, okay fuck you.)

But once that episode was over and the credits were rolling, I started to think about Flapjack as far back as his introduction in Hunting Palismen. And honestly, I feel like his death was planned from the start. The kind of friend who comes into your life, changes you for the better before inevitably having to say goodbye. But even if it’s temporary, that doesn’t make their presence in your life any less impactful. 

While Flapjack had plenty of personality, he wasn’t so much a character with his own arc, as he was a tool in progressing Hunter’s. His role in the story was to guide a lost and lonely boy into the light and show him that he’s worthy of being loved. 

And with Flapjack’s influence, Hunter let himself meet people who don’t make him feel worthless. He has never felt more loved in his life. 

Flapjack officially imprinted on Hunter when the boy expressed a longing to figure out his own future. Flapjack decided that he would try to lead him in the right direction. 

And in his final moments, Flapjack watched the boy he had been guiding adamantly proclaim everything he wanted his future to be. It was safe to assume he had figured it out. 

Flapjack’s existence in Hunter’s life also represents the link to Caleb along with Hunter’s complicated “relationship” with this ghost of a man that he’ll never know. Caleb is not Hunter and Hunter will never be Caleb. However, they’ll always be connected by the strings of terrible, terrible destiny that Belos tied together. And though Hunter didn’t know it, Caleb lingered in his life in the form of the bird he left behind.

And in all that time where Hunter figuring out his own identity, Caleb’s bird was helping him along. It was when Hunter was finally certain exactly who he was (Not a witch hunting accomplice of Belos) that Caleb’s bird was ready to move on.

With all these ends tied up, Hunter did not need Flapjack anymore. 

But Flapjack still had one more job left to do. And that was to make sure Hunter got to stay with the people who loved him and Hunter got his chance to experience the future he had decided for himself. Figuring it out is useless if it’s all a hopeless fantasy. Flapjack wanted it to be a reality. 

It must have been a relief to the little bird’s heart that his witch had grown so much and he could leave knowing Hunter would be okay without him.

(There’s also the interpretation that Flapjack is an analogy for a service animal/disability aid. But that line about learning to carve could not set it up the future any clearer. Hunter will not be without a palisman forever.

Obviously, it might take him some time before he’s ready to begin again. But he will make a new palismen. As a boy who’s spent his entire arc learning how to let new loved ones into his life, it would make absolutely no sense whatsoever if he didn’t.)

Anyway, my biggest fear when I saw the leaks which showed Flapjack sacrificing himself for Hunter’s sake, was how much something like that could completely destroy all of Hunter’s healing progress. Because why wouldn’t it? He not only lost his best friend but Flapjack died to keep him alive. How could he possibly live with himself after something like that? 

I think this is one of the main talking points over why people are upset about Flapjack’s death. How it’s going to effect Hunter. I’ve seen the belief that this devastating loss was detrimental to his recovery journey and it’s rendered all of the lighthearted scenes of enthusiasm and confidence from earlier in the special obsolete. But I honestly feel like it’s the exact opposite. 

Hunter’s reaction to Flapjack’s death was different than I imagined it would be. And not in an objectively bad way. It’s quite telling of how far he’s come. Compare it to Hollow Mind where Hunter also experiences a traumatic loss which results in him having a complete meltdown. He cries, he hyperventilates, he runs blindly into the woods. It was borderline apocalyptic. And it’s completely understandable. At this point in life, Hunter lost what he believed to be his entire world. 

After Flapjack’s sacrifice, the first thing Hunter did when he regained consciousness was smile, softly greet his remaining loved ones and ask if they were alright. It’s revealed seconds later that he already knew Flapjack was gone. But he still had it in him to smile. Because even in the devastating aftermath of losing the creature who changed his life and introduced him to real happiness, he’s relieved to know his friends and family are safe. He knows he’s not alone. 

Flapjack was deeply important to Hunter. It’s impossible to even articulate just how much he adored that little bird. When he lost his former life, Flapjack was all he had.

However, by this point, Hunter’s life is flourishing with hobbies and interests and ambitions and friends and family and love. Flapjack was no longer everything Hunter had. And being surrounded by so many people who cared about him in his moment of grief is a powerful thing. 

Hunter is quiet about Flapjack’s death. He’s weak, he’s exhausted, he’s utterly gutted. But there’s nothing that implies he blames himself. Judging by how he was aware of the sacrifice despite just waking up, I believe they did get one last goodbye via their mental link. 

And I think this is why Hunter seems so accepting of what had just happened. Whatever Flapjack said to him, he had successfully made Hunter understand that this was just how it had to be and that it was not his fault. And with all the love and optimism Flapjack has instilled in him since they met, Hunter decided that what he needs to do now is try and lead the most fulfilling life he possibly can. He has to. This life had been a gift from Flapjack after all.

But as mentioned way up above, Hunter can never have the life he wants until Belos is permanently out of the picture. I think this is where his new lease of life comes from in the final moments of the special. 

Hunter has changed significantly throughout this episode. While in his opening scene, he was completely clueless on how to comfort Luz properly because he equates the guilt she feels to his own and that link between their similar feelings sabotages any attempt at clarity on his part. His words of comfort were basically “If it helps, they’ll hate me more.” 

But before he steps through the portal, Hunter has a new perspective on the self-loathing that has been corrupting both himself and the girl he now calls family. It was never them. It was Belos. It was always Belos. Hunter is able to tell Luz that it was never her fault because he finally understands that it was never his fault. And he’s telling her all of this because she’s important to him and she always will be. 

Hunter still has Luz.

He then expresses his new motivation. To fight back. To regain control of his life. To get some justice for all the damage his abuser has done to him and so many others. To protect the world that he cares about. 

Hunter still has Willow and Gus and Amity. 

Hunter still has Camila and Vee. 

Losing Flapjack did not kill Hunter’s fire. It did not render all of his prior growth in the Human Realm null and void. Hunter has experienced a loss and his grief is palpable but he still has so much left.

In fact, I think if Hunter hadn’t had these experiences, hadn’t built these relationships, hadn’t realized just how much life has to offer to him, he wouldn’t be taking such a defiant stance. He wouldn’t be the first one to march into the portal, taking Flapjack home, determined to end Belos once and for all. And he’s standing on a strong foundation of mourning, experience, wisdom, love and support. 

I keep thinking about that very infamous line by Dana that was misinterpreted to Hell and back. 

“Dana doesn’t like happy endings.” 

That line never bothered me much, even when I didn’t know what the exact context actually was (Dana doesn’t like happily ever after.) Like, I watched the Owl House, I know the kind of stories Dana liked to tell. So, the way I always interpreted that opinion was the simple message that we can never have it all. 

Life is tumultuous. There are ups. There are downs. There are gains. There are losses. And I feel like that’s an accurate summary of Hunter’s development throughout the special. 

Hunter had been mistreated. He now has far more scars than he started out with. He lost Flapjack. These are all devastating blows to him physically and emotionally. 

But please, don’t allow the suffering Hunter went through distract from all of his positive growth in this episode. Hunter spent months making happy memories. He strengthened his bonds with his friends. He now has somebody who genuinely loves him that he can call family. He’s discovered all these brand new hobbies and interests. 

He likes who he is now.

That hasn’t changed. I promise you that it hasn’t changed. 

And most importantly of all, Hunter is no longer ruled by fear of the man who hurt him. He is no longer under Belos’ control. 

Hunter is grieving right now but he is not in ruins. 

This is not rock bottom for him. 

I feel that Hunter’s gains and losses were pretty evenly distributed throughout the episode. However, because of the attachment people have towards him, as a teenage abuse victim who’s steadily recovering, it’s easy to only see his losses. Because it hurts to see, it really does. 

But I promise you all of those happy Hunter memories meant something too. Those are what’s him pushing forward right now. 

Anyway, those are my two cents on that whole thing. Again, I don’t think these scenes are immune to criticism. However, I did want to take a moment to examine them a bit because I truly believe that there was a team of passionate writers attempting to create something profound with this.

I like to write myself and I understand that a lot of the time I miss the mark and don’t always execute the point I’m trying to make. So, at the very least, even if things aren’t handled perfectly, I’d like to try and dissect the message that they were attempting to send. 

It’s absolutely fine if you don’t agree with a word of this. I understand that these scenes have hurt quite a lot of people. But thank you for reading. I appreciate it. 💕

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Another Love

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!reader

Summary: You meet Wanda at a grief group, as she’s struggling to heal after Vision’s death. Will you help her heal? Will your friendship grow into something more?

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: grief

Theme: Angst, Fluff

A/N: I have been working on this one all day, and I think it’s alright! It’s my first oneshot on this account, so please go easy on me! I hope you enjoy!

(Shoutout to @theloveclub-18 for the idea! I super appreciate it!)

“Thank you all for being so open this evening. I hope to see you all next week. Let the healing continue.”

As various people mumbled back “let the healing continue,” Wanda fought the urge to roll her eyes.

It had been six months since Vision’s death, and four months since she had started attending a grief group recommended by Bucky. She had tried to insist to him that it was useless but he begged her to try it out. Now, here she was, four months later, still feeling as broken as she had the day she watched the love of her life be killed. Twice. One might ask why she continued to attend the sessions weekly when she felt she hadn’t made any progress. Why had she spent 16 of her Wednesday nights at a grief group when she felt it was pointless? The answer is simple: the food.

The session always had a table full of freshly baked goods from Sugar, Butter, Flour, a bakery just down the road from the community center holding the sessions. Every week, Wanda would sit through listening to people talk about their heartbreak, and, when pushed to confront her own trauma, reluctantly share just enough to satisfy the facilitator. And she did it all just to have a few moments of sheer joy, letting whatever delicious creation the bakery had provided that week wash over her taste buds and temporarily take her away from this cruel world that had ripped her love from her.

Wanda grabbed her purse and made a beeline for the table full of goodies. She had been running late today, so she didn’t get a chance to grab anything before the session, leaving her options limited. There was only one cookie left, but as she reached for it, her hand brushed against someone else’s, causing her to pull her hand back quickly.

“I’m sorry-”

“No it’s fine, I shouldn’t have-”

“Please it’s all yours-”

You cleared your throat and shot her a sheepish smile before extending your hand to her.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Wanda looks at your hand skeptically and you awkwardly retract it when you realize she won’t be shaking it.

“I’m Wanda,” she says hesitantly, her eyes flashing to the cookie, and then the exit.

You tried again. “So you like the cookies here too?”

She meets your Y/E/C eyes impatiently before sighing.

“Yeah, I’ll just grab one next week, though, I really gotta go,” she says, starting towards the exit.

You watch her leave, intrigued by the girl, before you snap back to reality.

*****************************************************************************************************

Wanda is almost to her car when she hears footsteps behind her and quickly turns around, her eyes glowing red.

You stare at her, wide-eyed, the remaining cookie in your hand.

“Shit, Wanda, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I just wanted to give you this.”

Wanda sighs, her eyes returning to their normal color. She pinches the bridge of her nose. Remorse fills her face. Her grief had caused her to be angrier than usual, leading to her powers flaring up accidentally. And now she had frightened this woman who was just trying to give her a damn cookie.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. Thank you for the cookie. I promise I’m not always scary I just, I-”

You stopped her. “Hey, it’s fine. If I heard someone running at me in a parking lot in the middle of the night, I would be on edge too. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. Plus, you’re...well...here,” you paused, gesturing to the community center the two of you had just come from, before continuing, “so I think it’s safe to assume you aren’t having the best time. I get it. If there’s any way I can help, please let me know.”

Wanda was at a loss for words. She had nearly struck you with her powers and here you were, looking at her with a gentle smile and no fear on your face whatsoever.

After a few minutes of silence, you awkwardly placed the napkin-wrapped cookie on the hood of her car, before stepping back and smiling at her yet again.

“I’ll see you next week, Wanda. Have a good night,” you say, waving at her before you walk out of the parking lot and down the block.

*****************************************************************************************************

Only, you didn’t see her in Group the following week.

After leaving the community center, you were about to head down the block when you noticed her car in the parking lot, with her in it. You gently approached her car, tapping on the window quietly in an attempt to not startle her.

She looked up at you with puffy, red-rimmed eyes, before rolling down her window.

“May I help you?”

Her tone was much harsher than she intended, and she winced at it, but you merely smiled at her, unaffected, before digging through your bag and pulling out a tupperware container of chocolate chip cookies.

“They had leftovers tonight, you want some?”

And you had shocked Wanda yet again.

“Sure.”

You reached forward to hand the cookies to her through the window when Wanda decided to take a leap of faith.

“You can come sit in here and share them with me, I wouldn’t mind some company,” She says quietly before adding, “I’ll warn you, though, I’m a bit of a trainwreck right now.”

You laughed softly before opening the door to the passenger side of her car and sliding in. You looked at her with soft eyes.

“Trainwrecks unite.”

*****************************************************************************************************

Wanda told you everything that night. She told you about Vision, about her love for him, and his for her. About how he was the first since her brother died to look at her like a person, and not a monster. She told you all about the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the desperate need for it to end.

And you listened. You watched her intently the whole time. You held her hand comfortingly as her body wracked with sobs. You were there. And that night, you didn’t know why, but you made a promise to always be there for the beautiful redhead with the lost hope.

That night was the first time since Vision’s death that Wanda slept soundly through the night. No nightmares. No suffering.

It had been three months since that night. Since then, it became a habit for the two of you to spend Wednesday nights following group sessions in her car, chatting about anything and everything. And Wanda had to admit, she was okay. For the first time since Vision’s death, she didn’t wish she could join him. She didn’t want to stay isolated in her room. She wanted to live. She wanted to show people the kindness you’d shown her. She woke every Wednesday with a smile, and you on her mind.

*****************************************************************************************************

This Wednesday, you appeared nervous as you got into the passenger side of Wanda’s car.

Wanda noticed this right off the bat.

“Y/N, are you okay?”

You start fidgeting with your fingers and look down at your lap as you respond. 

“Yeah, I just...I have to tell you something. Promise you won’t get mad.”

Wanda looks at you with a gentle smile.

“Y/N, you’re my best friend, I could never get mad at you. What is it?”

You took a deep breath and looked up at Wanda, before asking the question.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Wanda’s eyes widened and she froze.

You tried to dig yourself out of the hole.

“Nevermind, forget I said anything, I never should’ve-”

“No.” Wanda said quietly.

“What?”

“No. I can’t. God, I could never love you.”

You felt your heart shatter in your chest.

Wanda quickly realized the weight of her words, and tried to fix them, “Y/N, no, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I-”

“It’s fine, Wanda. I have to go.”

With that, you scrambled out of the car and walked out of the parking lot and down the block, with tears streaming down your face, and your heart broken.

*****************************************************************************************************

Wanda couldn’t believe she had said that. The truth is, she didn’t know if she had room in her heart for more than one love. She had loved Vision. He was everything to her. Could she also love you?

For the rest of the week, Wanda was beyond conflicted. She knew she had to apologize to you, but she didn’t want to do so until she had sorted out her own feelings. You deserved a solid answer.

It was Tuesday night. She would see you again tomorrow. And she still didn’t know. She tossed and turned that night for hours before she finally fell asleep, you and Vision occupying her mind, per usual.

She was in a field of flowers. It was beautiful. She thought about how she might like to show it to you. And then she heard someone. Someone she thought she would never hear from or see again.

“Wanda, darling.”

“Vision?” She spun around, and there he was, smiling at her.

“It’s okay, you know,” He said. Wanda was confused. He continued, “The feelings that you’re feeling. For her. It’s okay.”

She laughed, “You always did know me better than I knew myself.”

Vision smiled softly at her.

“Vision, I love you. I love you so much. I can’t let you go.”

“Wanda, no one is asking you to. You can move on without letting my memory slip away from you.”

Wanda nods softly, thinking intently about what he said.

“Tell me about her,” he encourages.

Wanda smiles.

“She’s so gentle. And so stubborn. I almost hurt her when we first met but she didn’t cower. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t look at me like a monster. She made me laugh for the first time since you...you know. She fidgets with her fingers when she’s nervous. She does this adorable head tilt when she’s listening intently. She’s patient. She’s kind. She’s...she’s everything,” Wanda realizes, awestruck.

Vision approaches her.

“You love her.”

She looks at him, concerned. “Is that okay?”

He merely smiles. “Darling, of course it’s okay. She sounds wonderful. You deserve her. You deserve love, even if it isn’t with me. You deserve happiness.”

Wanda grabs his hands. “Thank you, Vision. For your love. I think it will always be a part of me. But I’m ready to move on. I love her. I’m ready.”

Vision squeezes her hands gently. “That you are, Wanda. I’ll always love you. Now go. Go to her.”

*****************************************************************************************************

Wanda shot up, breathing deeply. This time, she only had one person on her mind: you. “I love her,” she whispers softly to herself. She smiles, but it quickly fades when she remembers the words she said to you last week. She had to make this right.

*****************************************************************************************************

She arrived at Group early, noticing with a frown that the snack table was empty. She knew she would need some baked goods to give her the courage to approach you, so she approached the facilitator, Mindy, and cleared her throat to get Mindy’s attention.

“Um, hello, ma’am, I was just wondering where the goodies are? They’re usually here by now,” she said.

Mindy smiled at the girl. “I’m sorry, dear, but there won’t be any baked goods today. Y/N called me earlier, and told me she wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“Y/N? What does she have to do with-” Wanda pauses. Holy shit. You were the owner of Sugar, Butter, Flour. You had been the one making the goodies that fueled her to keep attending the group. You had been the provider of her temporary escape from the world. You did that. It truly was always you. She had to find you.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mindy asked.

Wanda shook her head. “No, there’s something I need to do. Thank you for your help, ma’am.” And with that, she sprinted out the door, got into her car, and pulled out of the parking lot.

*****************************************************************************************************

Wanda didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she had to find you. And then it started raining. No, not just raining. Pouring. This made it incredibly hard for Wanda to see where she was going, but she was determined.

As she drove, she realized something. She had told you everything about herself. You had listened, asked questions. But she never once asked about you. Hell, she didn’t even know you baked for a living until 15 minutes ago. She didn’t even know why you attended the grief group.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize she had driven all the way to the park at the edge of town, until she saw you. You were sitting on a bench, in the pouring rain, sobbing and shaking. Her heart broke at the sight. She quietly got out of her car.

“Y/N?” She called your name softly, approaching you with caution.

Your head snapped up.

“Wanda?”

She smiled weakly at you, and suddenly your eyes filled with more tears as you began to shake again.

“I tried to go to Group and act like everything was normal, I really tried, Wanda, but I just couldn’t, I’m sorry, I’m so-”

Wanda rushed over to you, engulfing you in a hug, holding you tightly as you sobbed.

“It’s okay, malyshka, it’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. Breathe, sweet girl. I’m here. I’m right here, I promise.”

She continued to hold you and speak comforting words to you for what felt like hours, until your sobs eventually died down, and you pulled away, sniffling. You looked up at the sky as if just remembering it was pouring, before standing up from the bench.

“Sorry about that. We should probably go inside, it’s pouring, and I don’t want you to-”

“I love you,” Wanda blurted out, leaving you speechless. She stood up and took your hands, mentally breathing a sigh of relief when you don't pull away. “I’m in love with you. I’m so sorry for not admitting it to myself, or you, sooner. Me saying that I could never love you? That was the grief speaking. I shouldn’t have let it control me like that. And I’m done. I’m done letting it control me. The truth is, anyone would be lucky to love you. And I do. I love you. I love your smile, I love your kind heart. I love your baked treats, which, by the way, I just learned were yours about an hour ago,” She says, and you let out a wet laugh. “I shouldn’t have said those things,” She continued, “It was wrong. I’m in love with you. And I understand if you don’t want to give me a second chance, because-”

You cut her off by smashing your lips against hers, and without hesitation, she kissed back, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. The two of you only pulled away when you let out a violent shiver because of the rain. She looked at you concerned, but you merely laughed, pulling her in for another kiss.

*****************************************************************************************************

“Detka, I’m home!” Wanda called out, wondering where you were. Her questions were answered when a delicious smell hit her. She walked into the kitchen and smiled adoringly at you. You were moving around the kitchen, flour in your hair, and batter all over your clothes, completely in your own little world.

“Detka,” Wanda tries again, and you spin around, holding a spatula out in front of you as a form of defense.

“Shit, Wanda, sorry, you scared me!” You said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“My how the tables have turned,” she says teasingly, before removing the spatula from your hand and licking it.

“Wanda,” you pouted, “I was using that! Now I have to wash it!”

Wanda kissed the pout off of your face, before smiling at you triumphantly at doing so.

“Or, you could stop baking for the night and come cuddle with me and watch Bewitched,” she suggested, giving you those adorable puppy dog eyes.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You know I can’t resist that face. Okay. Give me 10 minutes to get showered and then I’ll join you on the couch.”

“I’ll be counting!” She called as you made your way to the bathroom.

It had been 5 years since that night in the rain, and as she sat down on the couch, gazing down at the wedding band that adorned her left hand, she still couldn’t believe how she had gotten so lucky to find another love. You were beautiful, kind, and patient, and she loved you with every ounce of her heart.

“What are you thinking about, pretty girl?” You asked with a smile, before settling down next to her on the couch and curling into her side.

“You. It’s always you,” she replied, kissing your temple.

You smile lovingly at her. “I love you, Wanda.”

“And I love you, beautiful girl.”

And as the two of you sat there, snuggled up, and watched Bewitched, both of you were so grateful that Wanda had made room for another love.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Merging multiple species into society

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

Across the landing field the ground crews were in frantic motion. Landing pads that had been used as temporary supply dumps were cleared, refugees and civilians were moved up for transport off world, and for the first time in seven months the Galaxian base commander braided his face tentacles.

From his office overlooking the entire compound, Commander Zavar kept watch of the progress from the corner of his eye while his main focus was on the mirror in front of him. Carefully observing his reflection he intertwined the several dozen chest length tentacles that grew just beneath his jaw into elegant patterns.

He hadn’t bothered to for the last few months as the braiding of tentacles was meant to show a sign of respect. A Galaxian with unbraided tentacles was essentially stating that whomever they spoke with they held them in low regard. Zavar hadn’t braided them for some time as he felt no need to show signs of respect to anyone under his command.

It had been months since the landing base was established with the intent to use it as a jumping off point in new offensives. When Zavar had been given command he felt that he would be helping bring an end to this bloody conflict by maintaining such a crucial facility. Yet just as the offensive was about to begin their enemies decided to launch a massive counter offensive on an entirely different continent. In short order the manpower which had been set aside for the Galaxian offensive was pulled away to mount a rapid defense and halt this no enemy offensive.  

One by one troop ships stopped coming to his base and requested materials became increasingly diverted to other theaters of the war until finally this once crucial launching point became nothing more than a gas station for passing supply ships.

He grimaced as he made a wrong twist while braiding remembering his degrading morale and the effect it had on those under him. The drive that had once fueled Zavar was sapped away by months of repetitive supply transfers and paperwork, and this soon turned to ever laxening of base discipline among the work crews. When Zavar’s second in command came to him with information that several of the crews had taken an abandoned storage building and had turned it into an entertainment club of sorts, all he did at the time was put on his military cap and take a walk over to it for a drink himself.

That had all changed last night when in the middle of darkness moon Zavar had received an offworld communication from central command. After weeks of careful negotiation the human government they had agreed to join the war effort on the Galaxian side. A substantial force of at least four of their divisions had already arrived in system and would be sending down a battalion of 500 soldiers to further secure and expand Zavar’s base.

Within moment of the calls end Zavar had ordered all of his crews to standby and began issuing orders with renewed fire. As Zavar finished braiding his tentacles and looked out across his base he saw all of the landing pads had been cleared, and with moments to spare.

A loud rumbling could be heard and Zavar could feel the room slowly vibrating as he looked to the clouded skies.

Breaching through the murky grey clouds that had covered the sky for weeks Zavar saw a human landing craft. It was a bulky black mass of metal with a design reminiscent of an overweight bird Zavar thought as it slowly descended towards the base. He was slightly disappointed in the lacking design aesthetics of the human craft, but he had remembered that these transports were designed for carrying large amounts of troops to safe areas rather than enemy held landings. Zavar watched it for a few moments more before leaving his office and making for the landing pads.

It was a short ride from his office to landing pad three were Zavar met his second in command already waiting with a small detachment of honor guard. He exited the vehicle just as the landing craft set down sending gusts of wind out from the engines as they slowly died down.

As Zavar took his place at the head of the honor guard the loading door of the transport popped open with a loud thud and began to lower.

He had heard stories of humans before, how they were great warriors of the highest caliber, that their reflexes were heightened to such a level in the heat of battle they could see an enemy from miles away, that they could lose limbs and heal after a period of time only to forge new ones and return for more combat; truly these beings would bring a swift end to this war.

The ramp finally touched the surface of the landing pad and Zavar could finally see inside of the transport. What he saw rather surprised him however…..

At the top of the ramp stood several ranks of human soldiers dressed in combat gear, but at the head of them was a uniformed Kliptec; their serpent body draped across the decking of the craft.

Zavar cast a side long glance at his second who looked as dumb founded as Zavar was feeling before looking back at the Kliptec. Their upper body was humanoid in shape, yet they bore more hallmarks of a reptile. Scaled skin, slit like eyes, sharpened fingers, and in place of feet was a roughly six foot long tail.

As the Kliptec slithered down the ramp towards Zavar and the front ranks of humans followed Zavar was greeted by further confusion. Mixed in with the humans soldiers Zavar noted several other species not native to the human worlds.

A Draxic casually stomped forward with the ranks appearing to carry some form of heavy weapon casually over their shoulder, a Flinchestet with a communication device glided across the decking as if its limbs could not be bothered to touch the floor, a Valmorian with a red cross painted across their helmet stood alongside a Combra whose face had been ritually scared for the coming battles; but most surprising of all was the towering figure at the very back of the transport.

A hive warrior drone draped in the uniform of humanity. It held no weapon between its claws but Zavar was positive it would have no need of such a device to rip through the lot of them. Some of the honor guard made let out whimper of fear and one even went so far as to start to bring their weapon to bear.

With only a look Zavar’s second command was at the guard’s side and snatched the weapon from his hands in a single motion.

“Be. Calm.” Those two words were all he said to the guard before returning to his place next to Zavar, the weapon he had taken from the guard clutched at his side.

His men looked at their commander with silent awe as they saw Zavar look unphased at the sudden turn of events. Instead of humanity’s reinforcements they appeared to have been given a cavalcade of species that had once fought against humanity. In truth Zavar was deeply concerned about this development, but the one thing keeping him from panicking was his observations of the actual human soldiers present.

Their eyes lacked a sense of fear one would normally experience when coming upon something, or someone, so unnatural to themselves. They were alert and disciplined which was all that Zavar needed to know to reassure him that things were as they should be.

The Kliptec finally slithered in front of Zavar and gave a crisp salute which Zavar returned with a bow of comradery.

“Lt. Colonel Reginal Seth of the 17th Engineer battalion.” the Kliptec said.

“Base Commander Zavar Hatsval,” Zavar replied as he motion to his second, “and my second Xixvil Nog, of the Galaxian expeditionary force.”

“I must admit,” Zavar began as the column of forces began marching past the trio, “when I heard we were getting human reinforcements I was not expecting this.”

Reginal’s sighed and rolled his eyes as if he had heard that same statement a thousand times before.

“Our military allows anyone to enlist so long as they were born within our borders.” he stated as he turned to see his soldiers march by to the storage facilities. “It is an efficient system to use every natural resource available to your advantage, so why limit to a single species military?”

“We do not ask others to fight in our stead.” Xixvil spoke as he watched several humans walk by.

“And how has that turned out for you here?” Reginal said as his serpent mouth twisted to a half grin. “Because from where I am it looks like we’re here to fight in your stead.”

Xixvil’s mouth dropped open in shock before morphing into one of anger while Reginal continued smirking. Zavar thought he was about to see his second lash out when the hive drone he had seen before marched over to them.

It stood easily twice as high as a Galaxian and three times as high as the human soldiers around it. Its collection of eyes were constantly darting around randomly as if trying to observe everything at once while it hovered over the trio. It slowly opened its mouth to reveal rows of sharpened teeth as it surprised Zavar once again.  

“Dro…..go…..where?”

In all of his life in the Galaxian military he had never heard of a hive drone capable of speech. In the past the Galaxian’s had fought several wars with the Hive and at every encounter the drone warrior caste was found to be near mindless killing machines without a queen’s control. To hear one speak in a language he could understand, let alone in broken sentences was enough to end the careers of several Galaxian biologists.

“Report to Sgt Morris, Dro.” Reginal said as if the tower beast of flesh and chitin before him was just another average soldier.

The drone’s eyes stopped twitching for a moment as if concentrating before continuing “Morris…..yes…find…Morris….going….now…sir.” It tilted a blade like appendage which took a moment for Zavar to realize it was saluting Reginal which the Kliptec swiftly returned.

“Carry on Dro.”

With that the drone shambled off after the majority of humans who had left the landing zone leaving only a few behind to begin unloading the battalion’s equipment. Reginal turned to them and handed them a data pad. “Once our gear is unloaded we will begin expanding the landing fields by three additional pads. After that we’ll start reinforcing the outer perimeter walls and compound infrastructure.”

Zavar took the data pad and began going over the details while Xixvil continued to watch Dro walk away.

“I do not mean to be rude, but why did you call that drone “Dro”?” Xixvil asked once the drone was far enough away.

Reginal shrugged, an oddly human gesture for such an alien being, before answering “That’s his name; Dro Harris.”

“It was my understanding that hive drones lacked the capacity to develop individuality.” Xixvil continued as he watched the drone in the distance stop in front of a humanoid looking figure before following them into a storage bay.

“Normally they aren’t able to, but humans have this strange ability to impart personalities into beings should they stay around them long enough.”

Both Zavar and Xixvil looked at Reginal dumbfounded.

“Are you serious?” they asked, to which Reginal simply nodded.

“One of his parents fought in the human hive wars and took an egg back as a trophy. Turns out it hatched and they decided to raise him as their son.”

“I can’t imagine humans reacted well to a hive drone in their midst.”

To their surprised Reginal shook his head. “From what he’s told me he used to be a successful actor before he enlisted; he was popular in fast food commercials.”

“Now I know you are making things up.” Zavar cut in, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Humans do weird things like this all the time,” Reginal said, “they act distant at first but once they warm up to you the majority of them will welcome you with open arms and treat you like kin.”

He stretched out his arms so Zavar and Xixvil could get a good look at him.

“People assume humans are barbaric isolationist xenophiles, and while it is true there are some of them out there they do not make up the entirety of humanity.”

“There are humans that will sit down with complete strangers and within an hour be closer than brothers with them, humans that will drop everything to come help you even when there is no benefit to themselves, humans that will check up on you just to see if you are alright.”

“It’s weird but at times it’s almost as if humanity has been sick of just knowing only humans and will throw themselves at anything different just so they can experience something new, something exotic and exciting.”

Reginal looked at the two Galaxians as they took in what he had to say and shook his head. He gave a quick salute and then slithered after his men as the heavy equipment began rolling off the transport leaving the Galaxians in the dust.  

[bapydemonprincess]

Maybe, “sometimes we wear masks for so long, to hide what we truly feel, that those layers become an extra skin.” for Bardlau? 💛🖤

“Sometimes, we wear masks for so long, to hide what we truly feel, that those layers become extra skin,” The Chinese man was carefully telling the Yank, as the other man had clearly been going through a rough patch.

Once again not sleeping an ounce.

Once again not eating a crumb.

Once again avoiding everyone and keeping to himself, even through out the day though he’d still had to do daily tasks as a servant.

He was also currently puffing away frantically at a smoke, and clearly had been smoking a few more than he should in one sitting.

“It’s better this way..” Bard had gruffly responded, not even looking at the other man attempting to help him.

Just staring into space.

A lingering silence followed..

It was clear as the silence carried on with no follow up what-so-ever, Bardroy had meant that was that.

It was simply better that way.

The only alternative was non-negotiable.

....

Likely because before Bardroy had settled into choosing to mask these kinds of emotions, he’d gone through unexplainable agony.. anguish... sadness.

And he never ever wanted that again.

...

Slowly nodding finally, Lau reached over and patted the man’s tense and firm shoulder.

He wouldn’t argue. He wouldn’t try to barter.

He would never try to change or fix Bardroy.

He’d let him be however he wished to be.. for as long as he wanted.

.

.

.

This show of understanding was a powerful tool; a stepping stone.

That lead to progression- maybe not in Bardroy’s mental circumstance -but in the Chinese man and the Yank’s relationship to each other as a whole.

To a point where Lau was allowed to touch the taller, gruffer man more. To fully wrap him up in his lean arms. To pull him close.

There was no problem in Lau being much smaller than the other man, for despite a big difference in size, his body’s comforting contact was somehow.. perfect to Bard.

Good enough to cling too eventually, with big calloused but shaking hands.

 Tough enough to hold onto the bigger man, as if for Lau’s dear life, and for hours and hours... 

Until the sun came back.

And the birds started singing again.

This became a perfect hobby, a good change of pace.

An understanding agreement.

A new, unique layer to the mask the former American soldier wore.

.

.

.

But... Bardroy wasn’t the only one wearing a mask... He wasn’t the only one with “extra skin”...

.

.

An attack was made on Lau’s establishment.

A gang made up of wretched, angry, racist British men came trying to terrorize the Chinese district, thinking it would go down so perfectly.

Especially when they had bombs and the newest efficient firearms on the market.

They were still a small group, though, and mostly were taken out over the course of the attack.

There may not have been such rough customers like this in a long time, but Lau had always, always been prepared just in case.

With not only his employees, the lovely ladies of his den, who were all trained not only in serving but in fighting, but as well as of course the hired body guards too.

...

Except...

Ran Mao came back to him with a ... bullet lodged in her gut...

Proving that indeed the firearms were certainly becoming a bit of a problem now...

They were able to get the bullet out, thankfully, but.. 

Ran Mao had been wounded.

She had to rest. For the wound to heal and close. For her body to be able to move and function properly again not only from the damage but from the blood loss.

She certainly didn’t like the prospect.

But when she was finally too drained to put up a fight, and basically passed out from sheer exhaustion from fighting against it for so long..

Lau..

.

.

Sebastian shoved a letter into Bardroy’s hands one afternoon, looking mildly annoyed as if this letter was a segue into a big accident the American had caused unknowingly.

The American blinked, ripped open the envelope, and quickly looked it over.

Master Chef

 It is in your best interest not to meet with Lau until further notice. He is not seeing any client at this time. Not accepting guests or invites either. Please understand this is a personal issue. You will hear back at some point in the future. Thank you.

.

It was unsigned.

.

Bardroy looked up, and met the expected gaze of the butler.

Who only lifted one of those thin black eyebrows of his as if to say “Well? What are you going to do?”

.

Bardroy took out his lighter and set the paper on fire.

And as soon as it was ashes he went shooting off like a bullet, into action.

Not even bothering to change or go grab perhaps a horse to speed things up, he’d raced off, out into the forest surrounding the manor.

Clearly in a mindset to reach the Chinese man his own way.

.

.

Hours later Lau’s den was filled with shrieks of ladies and men alike, as someone came barreling through, like a human shaped battering ram, and not a single person could grab him.

“LAU, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YA! COME OUT, Y’DAFT FUCK, THINKIN’ YA CAN SEND A FUCKIN’ LETTER T’ME AN’ KEEP ME AWAY, WHO THE FUCK DO YOU-”

“Sir, in here!” One girl squeak out, smartly trying to help the American and recognizing who he was.

She frantically ushered him to a particular back room, which actually did not smell at all like the rest of the famed opium den..

There was still something unique in the air, a scent of some kind perfumey incense that burned in the corner.. somehow warding off anything else in this closed off room.

Oh, and there was also Ran Mao on a bed on the floor.

And Lau lying down on the floor against her.

Clinging to her.

.

Bardroy shifted in place, all anger and outrage vanishing like smoke suddenly.. Or like he’d just started awake from a black out, as he stared at the view in front of him.

“...Oi, Lau...” He uttered softly, confusion dripping from just those first two words, “I uh, I guess I... um..”

Lau suddenly turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the man he knew so well, suddenly in his private quarters.. 

Like a stranger.

Even if Bard could only see the one eye from that angle, staring at him and shimmering in the dim lighting, and not blinking or not half open or completely closed for once.. 

He had a feeling.. 

Lau was not welcoming him in.

“I.. know there was some kinda.. struggle, but.. That was.. a month ago, eh? Yeah.. Uh... I.. I guess Ran M-Mao must... must’ve taken a.. “

“One. Bullet.”

Bardroy soaked in those two words, coming from the other in a tone that.. He’d never heard from him.

Lau sounded.. almost.. Hysterical..

Like this one fact of “one bullet” had driven him a tiny bit.. over the edge.

“One. Bullet. Bardroy. One.. one bullet of one of those new fancy firearms.. was.. was all it took.. Was all that was needed to tear through the body of...”

His words broke up, specifically his English, and the rest was in Chinese that the yank certainly did not recognize, and even just the tone alone had Bardroy feeling..

A familiar urge to either flee or ..

He dropped to his knees before the curled up man facing away from him.

He reached out.

A hand came out and a sharp dagger was inches from Bard’s face.

Lau was sitting up now, body still half twisted away in the direction of the bed, but he hand one arm holding him up, as the other arm had not wasted any time in flinging around to dive for the other man’s approaching visage.

But.

Bard had grabbed that fast hand with both of his.

He stared at the blade inches from his eyes and nose.

And then at the man along the arm, the face of Lau with eyes both open, golden brown and shining with water.

Red tinged the white of the eyes.

Eyelids shadowed and ragged.

Lined clear as day on a forehead and cheeks.

Red starting to gradually creep into those high cheeks too.

“Lau...” Bardroy breathed, staring into those eyes. Concentrating on not only the hand in his clutches still (but now shaking violently), but the rest of the figure before him..

This... shadow of a figure.

“Again... it’s only been a month... She’ll be fine, Lau. She’ll survive.”

“BUT SHE WAS REDUCED TO THIS.. ONE BULLET AND.. AND NOW--”

“Lau... She’ll adapt. I don’ even know ‘er that good, but I can tell she will. She’ll be--”

“BUT I LET THIS HAPPEN TO HER, BARD--”

“LAU. YOU HAD NO CONTROL OVER WHAT THE FUCK COULDA HAPPENED TO--”

“I COULD HAVE KEPT HER FROM GOING OUT, I COULD HA--”

Ran Mao’s leg suddenly lifted from the blanket and rose up, only for her foot to come down and bonk her wailing older brother in the head.

“Shut up.” She uttered in a tone that implied she was still half asleep and her face was still half nestled in the pillow.

But she’d had enough of these two going on right next to her bed.

Bard let go of Lau’s hand and Lau promptly dropped the blade.

His other hand was on his face now, rubbing at his eyes.

Bardroy sighed as he watched the other man.. just watched this man he’d known for over a few years crumple right before him.

Even now when it was plain that Ran Mao was indeed fine, still recovering from her wound, but she would be just fine!

But Lau...

The fact remained in his mind.. 

That she had gotten shot.

And to him:

He’d let her get shot.

And now this was how he was dealing with it.

Bardroy.. looked in space as he recalled the past though...

How Lau would laugh off situations and catastrophes..

Or act like had had no clue what had happened.

Or at the last minute come through with a quick delivery of violence, unexpected and swift to attack.

But in this situation...

That.. mask of his.. it... hadn’t been able to stay up.

It hadn’t been able to withstand the reality of what had happened..

To the one human being Lau truly cared the most for.

He couldn’t laugh and act confused like he didn’t know what was going on.

He couldn’t fix it with killing anyone or destroying anything.

There was nothing he COULD do.

...

This was all to familiar to the other man.

The man that Lau himself had stated wore a “mask” that became layers of skin..

...

Bardroy once again reached out..

Gently he touched the man’s lurching shoulder, and waited for the man to look up again, as he’d still been covering his face as the minutes ticked by..

Bardroy in this moment tried to.. mirror a look he himself had been given.

A look of understanding.

A look of care.

A look that expressed that he would not try to change or fix Lau.

Whatever had made the man like this, in his past, Bard knew and expressed he had no right to try changing.

But Bard would be there for him.

Like Lau had been there for him.

A crack in their masks...

But they stayed together despite it.

[kitacco]

sunrise.

pairing: fem!reader, gojo satoru.

genre: angst with happy ending.

summary: time doesn’t always heal.

cw: mention of manipulation, violence.

wordcount: 4.1k.

! part two of clouds !

the sky is clear when you look up into the sky. even though the sun is not out, and instead, the sky is covered with grey clouds, you still like to believe it’s clear.

he made you believe that the first time you two met.

it wasn’t like you were escaping from reality, he simply thought if there was something you could change, then you should. you believed him, after so long.

how could you describe how he makes you feel? you had never felt it before. he felt like the orange sky adorned by the full sun, illuminating the grass and bringing warmth to the body despite the breeze. was that an exaggeration? probably, he didn’t think so, though. he made you believe you could rewrite reality with only your imagination.

meeting him was fate. he told you that, you thought it was sheer coincidence and two people on the right place. he was a little more romantic than you, though.

you had been to therapy for about two years.

things weren’t easy, and honestly, you wished you could forget about it.

your therapist assured you it wasn’t your fault - it took you a while to understand that.

you were aware that it wasn’t entirely your fault, what happened was a casualty, sadly, an experience you had to go through, but also a lesson you had the opportunity to learn from. it wasn’t easy, you understood that after a year of one session every month. you cried a lot, more than what you expected, and you felt responsible. because, if you hadn’t fallen for him, everything would’ve turned out well.

you were quick to learn that your emotions shouldn’t make you guilty, instead, who was to blame was him.

after a while, you finally accepted it.

gojo never contacted you after everything happened. you wanted to go on with your life like he most likely was, however, you were incapable of creating any type of relationship with people. what used to be a big group of friends became one, and what used to be exciting became scary. your friends, then, insisted you visited a therapist. you didn’t want to, at first. if anything, you wished you could simply erase the situation from your brain for the rest of your life, but how could you when subconsciously you failed to move on? your friend and her husband moved away, and so did you. she left the city while you moved to the other end of the city. not necessarily because you wished to avoid him; your therapist thought it was better to forge relationships from zero. 

another year passed, and he had completely vanished from your life. you hadn’t told your new roommate about it, but you knew your friend had before you moved in. you didn’t mind. you knew she was trying to protect you. but, it’s not like he’d ever come around again - that you believed so.

you didn’t exactly know how you met him. maybe it really was fate, like he said once. only eleven months after the incident, you were still incapable of communication. leaving your house was scary and worrisome for anything other than therapy, so you didn’t tend to visit places much often. during the time, you were still leaving at your old apartment. your friend insisting on you moving on had already convinced you of leaving the building, and that day you were finally taking the boxes out.

you met by the stairs. a box had fallen from your hands straight to his feet.

as much as you apologized, he only smiled, assuring you he was alright.

and that was it.

you met him again on your way to your therapist. it was all too similar, you thought to yourself. he happened to have a friend living in the same building as you (he was literally your next door neighbor), and you were starting to open up to people a little more. you knew his friend, as much as one knows a neighbor. the guy was nice and he always gave your roommate eyes - she genuinely didn’t mind him.

you told your therapist about it the other day. and the next day, the guy was knocking at your door.

you remembered how nice having company felt. your roommate worked all day, while you only stayed at home. unable to properly work just yet, you only worked in the mornings at a coffee shop. it was safe and easy for you most of the times, only having to wipe tables and greet costumers. you didn’t complain.

he told you he had just gone to see his friend and happened to be curious about you. his eyes were a little intense but there was something about the tone of his voice and shakiness of his smile that managed to make you feel at peace.

besides your roommate, he became someone you could trust.

things didn’t go as quickly as it would’ve normally. you had never invited him inside your house alone, but when your roommate was there, you would let him inside. he would always visit with sweets or a cup of coffee for you. 

it’s like everything repeated itself once again in some extent.

after hanging out with your roommate and him, his friend started tagging alone. the guy was sweet and funny, and in less than three weeks he managed to get your roommate to go on a date with you.

that was the first time the two of you spent alone.

you’d thought by that time you were over it. you were quick to understand there were some wounds that no matter how much you tried, would leave scars that still hurt.

but he didn’t mind waiting all the time in the world for you, and he let you know that.

looking back, you finally realized what real love truly was. he was what real love felt like.

small touches, assuring words, constant communication. silence wasn’t needed with him, and your eyes never spoke more than what words did.

you genuinely felt safe again.

gojo didn’t mean this to happen. after the yelling of your friend and the end of the friendship with his friend, gojo decided he was done with you forever.

so then, why was he involuntarily following you around the store?

he had no other intentions than to look at you for one last time. it had been a while, and he was genuinely curious about how you were doing. it was impossible to find anything about you, you had completely wiped yourself out from social media, and all your friends had blocked him too. that should’ve been enough for him to understand he wasn’t welcomed in your life anymore.

but then, why was he walking towards you? maybe for some closure, maybe to apologize, maybe only to say hi.

he couldn’t tell, but it was too late before he could make up his mind.

gojo tapped your shoulder quietly in the snacks aisle. he didn’t feel nervous, tense, or uneasy, almost as if the two of you were old friends that happened to meet again after so long, picking up the friendship where it had been left off. gojo was quick to realize that wasn’t the case, though.

“gojo!” you exclaimed, jumping at his sight.

had he always been that tall?

“it’s been a while,” he chuckled, looking back at your cart full. “you got a lot there, huh? you live closeby?”

gojo didn’t waste any time, pressing a hand against your cart, trapping you.

“no,” you’re quick to answer.

one of gojo’s eyebrows raises, and you look around, hoping someone can notice your state. 

“oh, then you like this store? it has more things than the others around the city, i guess-”

“i’m sorry, gojo, i’m busy and need to finish this as fast as i can, but it was nice seeing you again!”

gojo’s gaze stays on your figure as you run off with your cart. he knows you’re lying, but which two was a lie? he didn’t know.

gojo should’ve taken the hint.

he walks out of the store, noticing the clouds turn darker than they were before. he’s deliberately waiting for you outside, hoping he can get you to talk a little more. was he curious about you? not really. was he wishing he could get you back?

perhaps.

you step out of the store with the cart full of bags, and gojo approaches you fastly, startling you once again.

“need a ride?”

“oh, no, thank you,” you decline, pulling the bags out of the cart.

“then let me help you to your car,” he proposes, reaching out for one of your bags.

“no!” you exclaim, grabbing them faster than he could. “i-it’s fine, there’s a station right there so it’s fine.”

“oh no, are you silly? so many bags on the train, you’re in a rush and it’ll more likely rain? c’mon, i’ll drive you home.”

you decline his offer again, your mind running wild. it’s not that you didn’t want to accept his generosity, but suddenly all the fears you once thought were buried floated to the surface again. suddenly it felt like all the progress you had made the past years was being ripped out of your consciousness. 

“please, gojo, trust me, it’s fine,” you insist, grabbing onto your bags and trying to walk away. you look around, hoping someone sees the two of you, hoping someone would stop him. but no one is around, and no one but you can stop this.

but when you see gojo again, you finally understand it was never your fault.

gojo manages to get through you, and now you’re seated by his side as he mindlessly drives through the city. you texted your boyfriend the moment you got inside his car, telling him you were coming to his place and asking him to wait for you a few streets away. he instantly called you, but too nervous, you declined the call. you didn’t want gojo to know any more about your personal life, nor know you had moved away. if anything, you wanted gojo to disappear.

but could you tell him that?

“feels like the old times,” gojo mutters over the music on the radio.

like the old times?

an inexplicable feeling rises up your chest, yet you stay silent, wishing the ride was over. gojo would occasionally eye you, and everything would feel too familiar. 

only that this time the tables had turned. because you realized you hated gojo’s guts, and he realized he loved you dearly. 

“we should, hang out, again,” he mutters.

“i don’t think i can,” you speak, this time, your voice doesn’t falter, and gojo turns to face you.

“you got a boyfriend?”

“no,” you retort. “i’m busy.”

“you’ve always been busy, can’t you make some time for me again?”

you don’t answer. you knew too well, that if you say a word, you’ll explode. and as capable you thought you were of getting back to him, you could also remember clearly everything gojo had done to you. you don’t think it was worth the risk, trying to speak your heart out with someone like gojo.

he would never understand; he never wanted to. and he didn’t deserve to either.

“it’s here,” you announce, and gojo stops abruptly.

he frowns once he sees the man approaching his car, and you’re quick to jump out, telling him the bags were in the back. gojo steps out of the car too.

“hey, nice to meet you,” he says, and your boyfriend looks at you. “you’re his friend?”

“she’s my girlfriend.”

your breath hitches and you’re quick to grab his hand, distracting him from gojo’s conversation.

your boyfriend wasn’t an impulsive guy. he’s thoughtful and caring, fast to understand any situation he’s in front of.

but gojo is the complete opposite, and by experience, you know no one can go against gojo, no matter how hard they try.

“oh, that’s nice,” gojo taps the top of his car as he watches the two of you grabbing the bags. “i can help you carry some bags upstairs, if needed so.”

“it’s fine, thank you,” your boyfriend responds for you.

your boyfriend grabs your hand along the bags and walks towards the building gojo knows too well.

for your surprise, gojo doesn’t insist, and when you look back, he’s already inside the car, watching the two of you enter the building.

after that incident, you once again were incapable of leaving your apartment. and you didn’t want your boyfriend to leave his either.

gojo surely had changed, you noticed that the day you two met again. he looked taller, stronger, and unnerving. even though the two of you had been friends for many years, gojo was still unpredictable. you learnt that the last years of friendship you two shared.

“can i help you’” your boyfriend speaks.

gojo is at the other side of the door, in what was once your building, and outside what was once your apartment.

he cocked his eyebrows, incapable of hiding the smile creeping up his face.

“oh, you live together? that’s sweet,” gojo comments.

your boyfriend doesn’t respond, closing the gap between his body and the door so gojo couldn’t see indie his house, “yeah, what you want?”

“well, my birthday is coming and i thought maybe the three of us could celebrate it together. i don’t know if she told you, but we’re really good friends.”

your boyfriend nods, of course you haven’t.

“i don’t think we can, the both of us work.”

“oh, yeah? well, she always manages to make time for me, maybe i could ask her personally since you’re acting quite weird,” gojo tries again, his hand pressing against the surface of the white door.

“no, i’ll ask her and we’ll let you know.”

“fine, i’ll wait for your answer by saturday, if not, maybe i’ll come back,” gojo mutters, smirking.

your boyfriend wasn’t an aggressive guy. but, hell, he wished he could punch his face so bad.

he didn’t tell you anything about gojo’s visit nor invitation. you were already having a pretty bad time, you didn’t need more pressure put on your shoulders.

he genuinely thought he’d made the best decision - yet, he couldn’t help feel intimidated by the figure he happened to constantly meet.

gojo always told him it was a coincidence. he didn’t believe him, and fast enough, he started to understand your emotions. there was something eerie about the guy.

in no time, gojo had managed to push him against a wall. your boyfriend noticed what gojo claimed was coincidence was, indeed, his following, and too scared of him finding out you, in fact, didn’t live with him, your boyfriend started lying to you, claiming he had too much work and that he couldn’t go visit you. you facetimed and called each other often, but sadly, you felt uneasy, and your boyfriend knew too.

but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you.

“so, you made up your mind?”

your boyfriend stands at the other side of the door, startled by the tall white haired man. he’s smiling, as always, feigning a kind gesture as if the two of them were friends. 

“sorry man,” your boyfriend speaks up. is his voice shaking? “we couldn’t get a break from work.”

“oh, that’s unfortunate,” gojo clears his throat, smiling again. “then maybe you guys can pick a day and we can meet then.”

your boyfriend observes him, eyes darker despite the blue orbits. his tapping his feet against the floor, unable to read gojo, and he, simply smiles. he knows he’s made your boyfriend nervous, and suddenly, he’s reminded of you.

no wonder you’d get with a guy like that.

gojo knew he couldn’t let you, though, you couldn’t stay with a guy like him.

how could he protect you if something ever happened to you? this guy was so easy to manipulate. it didn’t take more than a faint punch and the closing door for him to lose his composure in front of gojo. wasn’t your boyfriend supposed to be strong enough, like him perhaps? what was this guy gonna do if he were to be in front a situation like this again? he can’t seem to land a single hit on gojo, instead, receiving the other end. gojo expects him to put up a fight, maybe ask him to stop, but he doesn’t.

he wasn’t the man for you. gojo was, he just had to prove it to you.

snapping a picture, gojo sighed.

“guess i’ll have to show her what she’s missing, don’t you think?”

your boyfriend can’t stop him when he walks out of the door, and neither can he watch him, his vision too red, and the iron smell stir his insides.

gojo looks through the guy’s phone. who leaves their phone without a password? he was only proving gojo his unworthiness. this guy wasn’t made for you.

all he had to do now is let you know.

you hear knocking on your door. it’s late, your roommate is out with her boyfriend and your boyfriend didn’t tell you he was coming. still, hopefully, you walked to the door, expecting him to surprise you.

what did surprise you was gojo on the other side, with flowers on his hands.

“did i surprise you?”

it’s too fast, or maybe not, you don’t know. gojo casually enters your house, the place you had so long worked to keep safe. he leaves the flowers on the table, and approaches you, wrapping his arms around your figure.

you’re not shaking nor reacting, and gojo takes in your warmth.

oh, how much he missed you.

“i missed you so much,” he whispers in your ear. “did you miss me?”

you reach out for your phone on the back of your pants, carefully bringing it in front of you to quickly deal your boyfriend’s number.

a phone starts ringing, and it doesn’t take you long to recognize the ringtone.

“oh, someone’s calling,” gojo mentions, letting you go to check your boyfriend’s phone. it’s like he was expecting you to do so, answering the call like he hadn’t seen your caller id on the screen. “yes?”

“why do you have my boyfriend’s phone?”

“we happened to meet before i came here, nothing too serious, don’t worry,” gojo pats your head. “he was being an asshole, though, i guess i just had to prove him.”

you gasp when gojo brings up the phone to your face, “w-what did you do?”

“told you, i just wanted to make sure he was enough for you. he wasn’t, though, so i had to come let you know.”

only proves we’re made for each other, don’t you think?

you shake your hand, taking a step back.

“listen, listen gojo,” you start. your voice is firm and your trying to keep your cool too. gojo has many times proven what he’s capable of, and right now, you only wanted to at least postpone whatever he planned to do. “i think you should go home, it’s like, my roommates coming with her boyfriend, i don’t think it’s fine if they see you here.”

“you think? we can find out though.”

“no, i don’t think we should, so, let’s leave it here, we can meet tomorrow, okay? we can go have lunch together and catch up like old times.”

gojo laughs, shaking his head as he looks down to his hands.

“why are you treating me like i’m crazy?” he asks, and your breath hitches. you stop and watch his movements, suddenly the atmosphere turning colder. “because i’m in love with you?”

“i’m sorry, gojo—”

“is it wrong to be in love? are you really blaming me for my feelings?”

you can’t tell if he’s being honest or putting up an act. once again, he’s managed to get inside your head. you don’t have more options and your minds clouded, unable to find a proper solution to the situation, unable to end this.

“just give me one last chance, that’s all i ask from you.”

gojo knows you too well, too much for your own safety and sometimes for his own liking.

and so you find yourself sitting at a restaurant a few streets away from your apartment, waiting for gojo to arrive. you didn’t believe you’d made an irresponsible decision - in fact, this was the smartest way to handle the situation. your boyfriend pleaded you to not come. you could understand that, he’d finally met gojo and he’d sensed it; gojo was far stronger mentally and physically than you’d suspect. it was fine. you weren’t nervous or scared, no, because, if there was something your therapist had told you, was that, as long as you set your boundaries and knew your worth, you wouldn’t fall for his tactics anymore. you didn’t come here to make friends with him again or to assure him everything was okay, you were here to let him know it was over. plus, you had decided to give yourself a day to decide what exactly you were gonna tell him.

“didn’t expect you to come in so early,” he mutters, taking a seat in front of you. “you’re fifteen minutes—”

“let’s talk,” you interrupt.

gojo can sense it, you’ve changed. when he looks at you, he can tell you’re not that deer he’d used to hunt for.

he wants to tell you the truth - the one he’s made up in his head.

“i love you, i’m in love with you.”

it hasn’t been more than five minutes since he sat down. gojo notices the lack of reaction, the indifference in your face, and suddenly, he’s feeling nervous. he’s not good with words and you know that, yet you’re not reacting the way he’d pictured, imagined, last night. you’re not telling him you’re in love with him too and that you want to try again. you’re not smiling or reaching out to hold his hand on the table, or getting up to wrap your arms around his body. you stay in your place, with eyes boring into his, waiting for him to say something else.

but he’s got nothing else to say, “gojo, i don’t love you.”

gojo doesn’t like that, you can tell by the soft tapping of his shoes under the table. the restaurant is full and you know the last thing he wants to do is make a scene. because, if he were to do so, his true colors would show.

“how are you sure about that? is it because of your boyfriend?” gojo asks, leaning closer to you. “you know he’s not the one, you know he doesn’t make you feel the way i do.”

“gojo, everything is in the past,” you sigh, tilting your head, tired. “the both of us made bad decisions, played with each other, hurt each other, but that’s in the past and it should stay there.”

“no! i don’t want us to stay in the past, i need us right now,” gojo mutters, and if you didn’t know him well, you’d almost think he was pleading. “we’re meant to be.”

“we’re not!” you exclaim, now losing your patience. “we hurt each other, can’t you remember that? i let you play with me and manipulate me, and now that you’ve realized i did nothing but try to please you you’re suddenly feeling guilty! but things don’t work like that, gojo, mistakes like that can’t be embedded that easily. you have to take responsibility of your actions.”

“i never wanted to hurt you, i wanted you to be stronger—”

“and i am now, thanks to you,” you say. “thanks to what you did to me i’ve finally understand that i deserve better.”

“how do you know i can’t make it up to you?”

“because i won’t let you, because i’ve found somebody else that’ll make it up to me, and it’s not you.”

“one chance is all i’m asking—”

“you already had your one chance, and you wasted it.”

“then another one—”

you’re sure six months ago you’d fell for that. you’d wished to give gojo another chance. after all, no one was more special to you than he was. you could say, until this day, gojo was the most special person in your life. that didn’t mean you deserved to suffer to help him make it up to you. whatever he wanted wasn’t something healthy and neither of you deserved it. but it wasn’t your job to make gojo understand that, it wasn’t your responsibility to fix gojo.

gojo knew you had changed. he knew he didn’t have the right to come back in your life, nor were you supposed to help him embed things. still, he wished he could still have you by his side.

“it’s time to move on.”

because now, when he looks up at the sky early in the morning to watch the sunrise, he knows he wasn’t made to stay by your side.

[sajdd]

i will never understand people who try to seperate c!tommy and c!dream as if their stories and character progression arent interwoven with each other

their dynamic is so interesting and tragic... 

they used to genuinely be friends, brothers even. dream would antagonise tommy a lot, he would break his own rules and do things to get on tommy's nerves to play with him, but back then we all saw it as some light-hearted fun, its how tommy saw it too. he had fun in this little play-war they had going on

and then came wilbur. then came lmanberg. and suddenly he was spending more time around his actual brother. he was actually fighting against dream, it wasn't just play anymore. so then came the declaration of independence, and so came the declaration of war. the burned down house, the blown up land, the final control room, the duel, the trade.

but tommy didn't truly hate dream, not yet. but dream’s motives were so unclear, what was the truth? and what was a lie? switching sides so many times, trying to push away the blame from himself, wanting to support tommy in taking back l’manberg to helping wilbur blow up the whole place and teaming with schlatt. and so came the final battle of pogtopia and manberg, there were no winners that day but there was hope. they survived, and tommy would get his disks back from dream.

and then came exile. nothing would ever be the same for them. dream wanted tommy all to himself, and if that meant he had to cut off his contact with everyone else and quite literally beat it into his head that he is tommy's only friend? well.. some sacrifices have to be made. he'll come around eventually... and he did! but then dream pushed him too far and he ran away.

tommy was under technoblade's protection for a while, but dream couldnt afford to waste his favour on that. so he waited, and he planned. their alliance was short-lived anyway, as soon as tommy realised what he truly cared about it was over. naturally, he was going to side with the blood god himself. i mean, what better way to rub his victory into tommy’s face. his expression was priceless! this kid is just too much fun.

and he'll roam free for now, until their final battle. he'll get rid of that pest called tubbo and he can finally put tommy somewhere he cant escape from :) but then punz shows up and drags the rest of the server with him. betrayed. and tommy has the upper hand now- except. he has also secret card up his sleeve. the revive book. tommy wont get rid of him if he can potentially bring back his beloved brother. 

and while dream is stuck rotting in prison, tommy starts healing. he gets better. but.. its so weird without dream. so why not visit him! to rub his victory in his face and show how much better everything is without him. how much better he's doing. he's here to rub it in his face and not because he still feels so lonely and dream is his friend and please god why wont someone love me- and the hotel is going great, he's inviting people and healing and noone comes except for the people trying to kill him but he's still friends with tubbo even if they're drifting apart and he has ranboo and why am i being replaced what did i do wrong and he goes to visit dream for the final time, its really time to put an end to this.

and then there's explosions. muffled through the obsidian walls surrounded in lava. the inescapable, unbreakable, impenetrable prison is being blown up. and dream is laughing. and dream is not surprised. and tommy is stuck with dream, because sam wont let him out its protocol and he’s stuck with dream and itll be just like exile tommy.

but he manages to survive, he cant breathe and the walls are closing in and he just wishes someone would come save him at least this one time but nobody comes. and dream is talking of partnership and running away together but there is no "us", tommy's going to get out of here and dream will die sad and alone and i bet the revive book isnt even real- and then he's screaming for help but it comes too late. he's being ripped apart and all he knows is pain and void and oh god its wilbur again. he exists in this darkness for 2 months before getting dragged back to life by the devil himself.

and there will be no more normal ever again. even the slightest pain reminds him of dying and limbo and wilbur and we can be immortal together tommy! and oh my god he has to kill dream no one should have that much power and wilbur cant come back-

and of course wilbur comes back. because he fucked up. tommy fucked up and now sam is angry, and tubbo and ranboo are angry and ghostbur is dead and wilbur is back and dream is alive rotting in that prison and why cant i just have peace for one moment what did i do to deserve this

and then his brother proclaims dream a hero. and why would he say that he knows what he did to me why would he say that

and so dream waits for wilbur to come. he knows he'll visit, he's indebted to him, he will be SO grateful for bringing him back. and if he can control wilbur then he can control tommy. and they can be friends again.

and maybe its time tommy accepted he cant run away from dream. for as long as he’s alive they are destined to be together. after all, he is tommy's friend. the one constant throughout this whole story. they have too much fun together. he was the one person who was there when no one else was. and no matter how much he hates it, somewhere deep down he still cares about dream and it makes him feel sick. but once tommy has love for you in his heart he can never really let go of it, no matter how much you might hate him or hurt him, he will still love you, remembering the good times, the fun times. and that's all dream wants doesn't he? he just wants to have fun.

(sorry this was so long idk what came over me also my thought process in the tags)