#I just really wasn’t happy with the drawing and I’m still not ENTIRELY pleased with it

[yourlokalescholar]

Everything stays (but it still changes)

Chapter two

Ren is a strange man, to put it lightly.

After that first night, he’s been following Martyn around, which is normal enough: he’s been in groups before, so he understands the “strength in numbers” argument. The strange part is that he keeps wandering off then showing up again covered in blood, with a bag full of meat.

Now, in normal circumstances this might be concerning.

But to be fair, Ren was pretty up-front with his suspicious eating habits. Martyn doesn’t bring it up, but they both know there’s only one way to get red meat around the city these days.

It’s a few days after the night the two first met when they encounter one of the animals in question.

Martyn is sat on a low-hanging branch beside the river, trying to fish with little success, while Ren sits on the ground talking.

“I’m just saying dude, society’s pretty much gone by now; who says I can’t be the king?”

Martyn laughs. “I mean, I’m not gonna stop you. Still not calling you ‘your highness’, though.”

Ren starts to respond, then suddenly goes silent. Martyn glances down and sees him frozen with his head slightly raised, as if sniffing the air. Pulling his legs up, Martyn crouches defensively as he lays a hand on his hatchet.

He can’t immediately tell what Ren spotted, but after a second of tense silence he hears a twig snap. Then with no more warning, something grey darts out from a half-ruined building and barrels into Ren with a shriek.

The man lets out a shout that borders on a snarl as he goes flying backwards into the water. The creature stills, standing on the riverbank and panting heavily, giving Martyn a full view of its grotesque form.

It’s hunched over so far that its head almost touches the floor, bowed under the weight of antlers it wasn’t designed for. What’s left of its hands are planted on either side of its body, curled into fists held shut by a crust of keratin. Its body looks like someone tried to mold a human into the shape of a deer: bones stick out from places they shouldn’t be, a jumbled mess of useless parts; muscles writhe under its skin like maggots, and each of its vertebra sticks out white as pus. It screams again, and now Martyn recognises it as a sound of pain.

Not letting himself overthink any further, he leaps off the branch, hatchet held high. He lands on its back to the sound of cracking bones and snapping sinews, and it jolts as its elbows cave and its chest hits the floor. Martyn’s knees hit the concrete hard, causing him to drop his weapon with a cry. Panicking, he grabs the creature’s neck instead, wincing at the pitiful sound it makes as his fingers sink into the flesh.

The two wrestle for what must be seconds but feels like hours, until the creature throws itself into the air, knocking Martyn off its back. Just in time, he grabs the hatchet and spins to stab it into the thing’s shoulder, knocking it back just as it had been diving for his stomach. It wails but doesn’t falter when it leaps forward again, this time aiming for his neck, jagged teeth bared for Martyn’s viewing pleasure in its open maw.

Its face looks human, he realises. And it does. Its skin is the pale grey of a corpse, and stained with blood, and the nose is all but missing, but the eyes, and the fury in its expression… they’re painfully human.

And in that moment, he hesitates. If Ren wasn’t there, it would’ve killed him.

But he is, and it doesn’t.

Instead, the monster is knocked out of the air mid-tackle as Ren makes a sound that is definitely a snarl this time; if Martyn didn’t know any better, he’d think he was trying to take a bite out of its neck.

No matter how he does it, by the time Martyn has grabbed his hatchet and turned back to the fight, the monster is dead, and Ren is hunched over the body.

Panting, Martyn lets himself drop to the floor and rolls onto his back. He’s honestly embarrassed by how exhausted he is. Isn’t the apocalypse supposed to make you tougher?

“If you’re gonna eat that, could you at least cook it first?” He jokes, trying his best not to sound like he’s fighting for his life (he fails).

“I’m just catching my breath!” Ren splutters defensively. “I wouldn’t— okay, I might, but… uh, you okay my dude?”

Martyn holds out a thumbs-up, still breathing heavily, and manages to sit up. “Thank you for the assist, milord,” he says, turning to Ren and trying his best to bow while sat down.

Ren beams. “Yer welcome, laddie,” he says in possibly the worst Scottish accent Martyn has ever heard, surprising a laugh out of him.

Once his heart has mostly slowed down, Martyn clambers to his feet— or at least, he tries to. The moment he’s stood up, his vision swims, and he has to crouch down to stay standing. That is… not ideal.

“Okay, I’m not blind dude,” Ren says, sounding worried. When did he get that close? “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Martyn lets himself sink to the floor with a sigh. Ren’s hands hover by his shoulders, ready to catch him if he collapses. “When was the last time you ate?” He asks.

“I dunno, mum,” Martyn replies sarcastically. “Like, last night?” Just the thought of food makes his stomach grumble, which would be mortifying if Ren hadn’t just watched him collapse after very little physical exercise.

“Let me rephrase that,” Ren says, sitting beside him. “When was the last time you ate anything that wasn’t a sardine?”

Martyn scowls in lieu of an answer, telling Ren all he needs to know.

“Martyn, I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to force you into anything, but…” Ren begins, and Martyn already knows where he’s going. “You’ve got to eat something, man. They’re not people anymore.”

Martyn sighs. “I know, I know, but… I dunno. I can’t really explain it. It just feels so… gross. Wrong, I guess.” Ren looks like he’s about to protest, but Martyn cuts him off. “I know it’s stupid. Can’t afford to be emotional in the apocalypse, right? I… I can put my health first.”

Ren looks unsure, but nods. “Good. As long as it’s your decision.” He stands and holds a hand out to Martyn, who takes it tentatively.

He manages to stand up and walk with him into the relative shelter of the building to set up camp early, and if he has to lean on Ren’s side a bit, at least the man has the tact not to mention it.

***

Ren watches Martyn closely as he eats— which, okay, doesn’t sound great. But in his defence, he looked like he was gonna drop dead a few minutes ago.

Thankfully, once the food is cooked, Martyn has no trouble getting it down him. It’s honestly impressive how quickly he eats without fangs.

Martyn looks up to see Ren staring and raises an eyebrow. “You’ve still got blood on your face, y’know.”

Ren spits on his hand and rubs his cheek, then looks down to see his fingers covered in blood. He licks it off without thinking.

“And the other side,” Martyn adds, lip twitching. Ren rubs at his other cheek, and his hand comes away with even more blood. “And aaall over your chin.”

Sighing, Ren stands. “I’ll go wash off in the river.”

It’s getting dark outside, though it’s not sunset yet. Ren looks up to see storm clouds gathering overhead and grimaces. That’s not ideal.

He starts to wash his face in the river, catching his reflection right as he’s about to leave. Jesus, is that seriously what he looks like?! He’s in dire need of a deep clean.

He strips off his clothes and washes them as best as he can, getting most of the dirt and at least a little bit of the blood off. By the time he’s done washing himself, the water runs red. When’s the last time he had a bath? He can’t believe Martyn’s been putting up with him for so long: he must smell terrible. His hair is the worst part: it’s a full-on bird��s nest up there, and he doesn’t even have a hairbrush! Eventually he decides it’s good enough, and wrings out the water until it curls enough to hide his pointed ears. Pulling a face, he puts on his still-wet clothes, opting to leave the shirt open until he dries off.

Martyn raises his eyebrows as he reenters the building (he’s digging into his second steak, but Ren doesn’t comment). “Wow. You look almost presentable!”

Ren twirls to show off his comparatively clean appearance. “I’m glad you noticed!”

He grabs a moth-eaten pillow and lies back on it, hands behind his head. “You checked the other floor for valuables yet?”

Martyn shakes his head as he swallows the last of his food. “Explored this floor a bit, though. Not much left: I think this used to be the living room, and the one next door was the kitchen, but obviously all the furniture is covered in mould and tree roots now. I did however find-“ he pulls a handful of something out of his pocket and tosses them at Ren. “-hair bobbles! For the love of god, please use them.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?!” Ren protests, internally panicking. Wearing his hair down is a huge pain, of course, but it’s the only way he can think to hide his ears. And if Martyn sees his ears, he’ll know his secret. And if Martyn knows his secret—

“I mean it looks fine now, but if you keep it down while we’re going through the woods it’s gonna get all tangled again!” Martyn says, cutting off his thoughts. “Do you really want to keep dealing with that?”

Ren pouts. “I think it looks cool.” (That’s a lie; he likes it better in a plait. This is actually infuriating for him.)

Martyn rolls his eyes. “Can you at least clip it back? It keeps falling into your face.”

“Aww, can’t bear to miss the view?” Ren winks. Martyn tries to stay deadpan, but has to turn his head to hide a laugh. Ten points to Hufflepuff! “I’ll check upstairs to see if there are any hairclips. Just for you, sweetheart.” Ren ends the sentence with finger guns, prompting a full-on cackle from Martyn.

The first floor is also pretty empty, and unfortunately, the beds are unsalvageable. He does find two pillows, though, and the mould is mostly confined to one side. Most importantly, he finds a jar of hair clips by the bathroom sink! They look like they belonged to a young child, which is probably why no one else has scavenged them, but Ren’s not picky. He finds a red one with a little crown charm on it, which he thinks is perfect and makes sure it’s on full display when he puts it in his hair, holding the worst of it back from his face. He also finds a hairbrush, which he doesn’t bring with him due to his lack of a proper bag (he should probably find one soon, now that he’s staying in this form more), but he brushes his still-wet hair until he feels suitably human again.

As he turns to go back downstairs, a crack of thunder almost makes Ren jump out of his skin. It’s almost immediately followed by the sound of torrential rain pouring onto the roof, as suddenly as the flipping of a switch. Fantastic. The ceiling seems relatively solid, but these days, “relatively solid” just means “most of the holes are pretty small”.

He comes down the stairs and tosses a pillow at Martyn, who’s lying on the floor with his hands over his face. Headshot! Martyn sighs, but doesn’t move to push it away. “You doing alright, man?” Ren asks.

“I bloody hate the rain,” comes the muffled reply. Ren snorts.

“It’s not that bad,” he says, lying near him, beside the fire. “It gives us an excuse to stay inside a bit.”

Truthfully, he mostly waits out storms in his wolf form, which isn’t picky about the weather. He remembers, before all this, hating the rain, and the cold, and thunder. Pretty much just extreme weather in general. But he’s not completely human anymore! His wolf form is fine in storms, so it makes sense that his slightly wolfish human form would be at least a little bit better with storms than he had been!

He tugs at his still-damp shirt. It’s beginning to seem rather chilly in this decrepit house. He shifts closer to the fire and pokes it with a stick, wondering if he’ll need to chop off a tree root for extra fuel.

“I mean, I guess it’s fun for a bit,” Martyn sighs. “Unless it lasts more than… what, a week? Probably less now; I swear it keeps getting shorter.”

Ren frowns and turns his head to see Martyn sitting on the pillow, staring into the fire. “What?”

“Y’know, what with the… tree roots and all that.”

“I actually don’t know, my dude. I feel like you’re pulling my leg.”

Martyn squints at him, bewildered. “What, have you never tried to join a settlement?”

“No? Like I said, I’m a lone wolf.”

For whatever reason, Martyn doesn’t seem to believe that. “Dude, I’m a lone wolf, and even I’ve joined more than one settlement; you’ve been following me around like a lost puppy since you first met me in the woods the other day!”

Ren opens his mouth to protest, pauses, then snaps it shut, huffing. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t like feeling so transparent! It’s been, what, a week? No, less than that (it’s been a while since he tried to keep track of time— wolf-Ren isn’t great with numbers). Is he really that bad at lying?

Martyn grins at his reaction, then relents and explains. “I’ve been in two or three encampments since my home was destroyed. The first one I joined pretty much straight away— it used to be a high school, I think— and it lasted a bit over a month before the same thing that happened to everything else-“ He gestures to the roots sticking through the walls and floor. “-started happening to it. We tried to stop it, of course, but it’s like it just made nature angrier: I went to bed one night, while people were lopping off branches and tree roots and reinforcing the walls, and when I woke up there was a tree growing through the dorm. Everyone was gone by the end of that day. There… wasn’t much reason to stay, was there?” An expression crosses his face that Ren doesn’t have time to identify before it’s gone, and Martyn continues.

“The next settlement was a few weeks later, in an apartment building. I wasn’t there when it formed, so I don’t know how long it lasted exactly, but it was definitely shorter. Same thing happened, about a week after I joined. They were more prepared this time, since a few of us had come there from other settlements that had gone down, but it didn’t help. By the time I left… it wasn’t much of a settlement anymore, but they were still trying to make it work. They spent all day doing nothing but chop branches and mend buildings, and I just didn’t feel like it was worth the effort, so I just. Left.

“The last one I joined was more of an experiment than a settlement: word had gotten around by now about what happens to buildings that people try to settle down in, so they thought ‘oh, what if we start a society without buildings?’, and for some reason everyone including myself thought that was a good idea. Long story short: it didn’t work, so I left.

“I tried a few times after that to stick to one building, make a home for myself, on my own. Needless to say, it never lasted long. You can probably guess what happened.

“I’ve heard from down the grapevine that people have entirely given up on restoring society at this point, and every time someone tries it falls apart faster. I think the last one I heard about lasted around a week.”

There’s silence in the room then, as Ren takes in everything he said. The sound of rain and the steady drip of water from various leaks is all that can be heard. Then Martyn slaps his thighs suddenly, startling the brunet out of his thoughts. “Right! That was depressing! I’m going to bed.”

Ren wants to stop him, to say something reassuring, but he can’t find the words. His skills that he’d been so proud of before the world ended have withered away more than he’d thought.

“Goodnight,” is all he says as Martyn pulls out his blanket, reminding Ren how extremely cold it is. He scoots closer to the fire.

Martyn lies down with his back to Ren, leaving him alone with the rain and thunder and howling wind. He tries to pull his shirt tighter around himself, though it’s not dry yet and doesn’t help much.

He’d never heard anything about people forming settlements since society collapsed. Honestly the thought never occurred to him. How did the thought never occur to him?

He knows how. It’s the same reason no one told him about the settlements.

It’s not that he’s never in human form! It’s just… these days, when people are few and far between, and the only thing he can eat makes him nauseous if he thinks about it too hard, it’s easier to be a dumb animal. Wolf-Ren doesn’t miss being around people, or feel guilty about doing what he has to to survive. He’s still aware of his emotions in that form, but it’s like they’re dulled: all that matters to the wolf is survival, and if it doesn’t help him survive, it doesn’t matter. And maybe he’s been abusing that a little bit these past few months. When’s the last time he talked to a human, before Martyn? The days blend together when he’s a wolf.

Is being human even worth it?

This isn’t the first time he’s had this argument with himself, but it’s different now. Now he’s got something to lose. If he stays with Martyn, he risks being found out, and… not dying, no. Martyn wouldn’t kill him. But being abandoned might hurt more. He can’t stand the thought of Martyn being afraid of him.

But what about the other option? What if he left right now, before he got too attached? Turned into a wolf and never turned back? Well, he probably couldn’t stay a wolf forever, but he means it in the metaphorical sense. What if he abandoned humanity forever? Surviving would be a lot easier, but…

“Hey, Ren?” Martyn’s voice is drowsy.

Ren jolts. He looks over to see Martyn awake and on his side, facing him. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think I thanked you properly, for saving my life earlier. Thank you. Seriously.”

Ren doesn’t know how to answer that. “I- it’s nothing. Don’t mention it.”

There’s a pause before Martyn replies. When he does, it’s barely above a whisper. “I’m glad you’re here. Travelling with me, I mean. It was… quieter. Before you came.”

…but he wouldn’t have Martyn, he finishes.

Maybe that’s reason enough to stay.

[green-typewriterz]

Are You looking?

Art Donaldson x fem!reader

Ask: none

summary: the reader isn’t watching, and Art needs her to look. He needs to be near

Warnings: 2000s outfits, language, cringe if your easily embarrassed, kinda toxic but it’s challengers what do you expect

Words: 2066

Art was sitting on the side of the court, hands fiddling with the strings of his racket. He had been trying to get this same drill right for the past twenty minutes and had yet to succeed. You stared at him, smiling to yourself at how red his face got when he was annoyed. “I’m never gonna get this right.” He said, almost to himself.

You nodded and he looked over, irritated as you spoke, “maybe.” He stood, gripping his racket tight in his hand and went to walk away. “Go on.” You continued, “do what you think you want to.” Your voice was calm, face still and mocking. He stopped in place, still not facing you.

”Do you always treat people like this?” He asked, turning to face you now. You shrugged, not really offering a proper reply. Your eyes flitted toward the court then back to him. He sighed and moved toward the centre of the court, running the movement again.

The movements were much more fluid this time, the racket swishing easily and quickly through the air, but he wasn’t concentrating. Every so often, his gaze would flicker to you, he wanted to know that you were watching. You leaned back in your chair, a habit you picked up when watching Art play and stared upward, no longer focusing on his practice - something you knew he’d notice.

His movements faltered as he saw you look away, nearly stumbling over his feet. He groaned in annoyance and shook out his arms, going to try again, though he was more so trying to get your attention than get the drill right “Again.” You spoke, voice tired, you looked back at him for a moment, but only up until he started the drill.

He tripped up again, eyes drawing away from the footwork he was meant to be practising. Art’s focus is entirely on you, grip on his racket tightening. It was misstep after misstep at this point, something you had grown tired of. “Ok stop. You’re done.” He stops, sighing tiredly and turning to face you. How could you even know he had messed up, you weren’t even watching.

Without another word, you stood and walked away, leaving Art standing irritated in the middle of the court. He didn’t stay still long however and, after a moment of watching after you, followed. He stayed behind slightly, eye’s following your every move. You leaned against your car, pushing your hair away from your face gently.

”I can feel you lurking.” You said, continuing the same calm tone. It was almost eerie. His eyes were drinking you in, lingering on how your hip rested against the car, how the light created shimmers on your skin.

Art walked over, stopping just in front of you. “You heard me?” He asked, face lifting into a small smirk. He leaned on the car beside you, thinking about how it would feel to be near you. You got closer to him, eyes lingering on his lips for a moment.

”I’m not deaf.” You inched closer again, almost touching. His breath was hot against your face. “You don’t like control do you?” You asked, tone snake-like. You were winding your way around him, hands inches away.

Art stared into your eyes, trying his hardest not to fall into you. “I’m fine with control. I just prefer…others to be in it.” He said, so softly it could’ve been a whisper. You nodded, as if processing something important and leaned forward, lips centimetres from his neck.

With a spare hand you grabbed his waist, pulling him into you. “Happy?” You whispered. He nodded, eyes closed. But before he could get what he wanted, you pulled away again.

His eyes opened, confusion littering his gaze. He almost looked like a lost puppy. “Patience.” It was one word, but it sent a shiver through him. He didn’t have time for patience.

Art sighed, voice filled with yearning as he replied with a quiet, “please.” You smiled, moving further away now and opening your car door.

He was stuck in place, not knowing how to react and instead simply stared at you. You turned on the ignition, muttering another, “Patience.” You didn’t wait for his reply.

——

You played your matches with fury, screaming at your opponent far too often - something that had become a trademark of yours (which you had surprisingly never been written up for). Art watched the match, or rather watched you under the pretence of watching the match. He watched how you got close to your opponent, whispering something that made her face pale. Art found himself growing jealous, the way your figure moved was almost intoxicating. 

The weather beat down as you continued to play, skin shining in the endless heat. The match reached half-time and you sighed in annoyance, walking over to the side of the court and arguing with your coach. Art tried to catch your eye from his place in the stands but you didn’t take any notice, instead turning to your water bottle and pouring it over your face. The water fell over your features in almost slow motion to Art, the droplets clinging to your skin and sticking your white tennis shirt to your body.

You met his eyes, anger and annoyance evident in your gaze and turned away, heading toward the centre of the court again. You wanted to get this match done. Each shot seemed to grow with intensity and, while fatigue picked at your opponent, the longer the match went on, the better you played - maybe it was the adrenaline.

The match was called and cheers erupted from the sidelines when you won, a proud smile on your face as you walked over to take the trophy. Now seemingly the face of niceties, you shook your opponent's hand, wishing her luck on her next games and walked off the court, heading back toward your dorm to get changed and celebrate. Art’s brows furrowed as he followed after you.

He caught up, seemingly trailing like some sort of lost puppy. “Where are we going?” He asked, voice lilting with confusion. You stopped, turning to meet his eyes as you ran your hand through your hair.

“I’m home, then to a bar. You can do whatever you want, Art.” You replied calmly, crossing your arms as he stared back in some sort of pleading. He seemed downtrodden, eyes dropping to the floor for a moment until he walked closer, seemingly begging.

His voice was quiet as he spoke, “You’re not staying for my match?” He wanted you to see him play, to potentially see him win. There was something about you that made Art crave your attention - he needed to know you saw him.

There was silence, nothing but the hum of a crowd and the hot sun. Then, “I’ll see you after.” Art had been given the chance to reply, but he didn’t take it and so another silence cut through the conversation in an isolating way. He watched you walk off, uncaring and victorious.

—

The bar was thick with noise, bodies pressed against another moving to harsh music and air damp with the smell of cheap alcohol - it was a preferred place of the Stanford students. You sat at the bar, head leaning on your palm as you spoke idly with the bartender. You had switched out your tennis clothes for a darker ensemble, specifically a shining leather skirt with a white tank top and the most aggressive stilettos you could find. God bless 2000s fashion.

Art had walked in a few moments ago, spotting you almost instantly in the crowd of people. As he passed by endless bodies to get to you hands reached out in congratulation - he had won his match. He sat beside you, knowing he’d have to be the one to start the conversation. “I won my match.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I heard.” That was it, that was all you said…though it seemed to mean something to Art - a message you had gotten across. You had been talking about him and, by the drink that was just placed in front of him, you had been waiting for him too. “You weren't…distracted?” you asked now, a small smirk building on your face, twisting your glittering lips.

Art seemed confused, then he thought back to your practice sessions, you hadn’t been watching when he needed you to and you weren’t there when he wanted you to be. “It did weigh on my mind, your absence. Though clearly I didn’t let it get to me.” (this was a lie).

A smile graced your features and you leaned forward, “I’m touched you were thinking of me.” it was a whisper, a soft breath that smelled like passion fruit cocktails. His eyes fluttered - very much involuntarily - and he smiled back, his hand gliding over the rim of his cocktail glass.

He felt almost confident now, his smile matching yours in something that could only be described as want. You couldn’t ignore the prettiness of the image, how his blonde hair fell in small curls, the amber part of his eye that drew you to his gaze, the amused look that graced his blushed lips. Maybe it was why you made the decision when you did.

You stood, walking away with a sure smile on your face. Art stood, suddenly much less confident (though still smiling) and you spun on your heel, eyes meeting him instantly. “Come on.” That seemed to be all it took and he followed you, eventually speeding up to walk by your side as you walked back to your dorm room.

It was odd how quiet the night seemed in comparison to the bar. Usually there were immature college students everywhere, getting drunk under trees or thinking they were football stars when they were just drunk (something neither of you were).

The quiet continued into the dorm block, the whole campus seemed to be in the bar, celebrating your wins. The air was still humid from the summer sun and as soon as you reached your room, the windows were swung wide, allowing any residual noise from the bar to seep through into your bedroom.

This was how the two of you sat, quiet and listening. If there was any conversation, it wasn’t meaningful enough to be particular to the moment - or to be memorable. Art had turned to face you, his hands gently resting on the duvet in front of him like he was leaning forward to breathe you in.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question was posed softly, simply. You smiled - he had been waiting. Art had been waiting since the moment he had first seen you on the court, though he’d admit that he had been waiting a bit more impatiently after he felt your soft hands on his waist those few days ago. Your response was almost painful to him, a word he never wanted to hear:

“Wait.”

You stood and left the room, though you didn’t do much. Instead, you stared into the mirror, brushing your hair away from your face and thinking about what he had said. It wasn’t something you’d say no to, not in any world, but you found that the longer you made a person wait, the better it would be.

When you walked back into the room his eyes were wrought with impatience, hands begging for you. You sat back down again as if you had never left and smiled as he looked through his eyelashes at you. You placed a gentle hand on his cheek and he leaned forward, almost pleading with you. You answered his question softly, placing a deep kiss to his lips. He was almost feverish in his response, hands wrapping themselves into the beach of your hair as he pushed into you, deepening the kiss as much as he could.

You smiled against his lips, hands moving from his face to his waist as you pulled him tighter against you. It seemed as though neither of you needed to breathe as his body wrapped itself around yours and he found himself sighing when the two of you lay down, finally pulling away as you wrapped your arms around him. You lay there, him in your embrace and smiled as he kissed your forearm. You were what he wanted (the same could be said for you).

[cultofdixon]

Little one had other plans

Rick Grimes • She/Her Pronouns • Timing is never perfect when it comes to babies coming into the world. Rick just wished the group wasn’t…homeless when his baby decided to make an entrance • ANGST/SFW • TW: Pregnancy & Birth / Anxiety / Unbearable pain

A/N: Really bare with me and TWD timeline

Requested by: Anon

“Rick?” Her voice brought the retired sheriff out of his slumber as he carefully sits up from their shared bed.

“Yes darling?” Rick smiles moving aside for Y/N to sit with him as she instantly locked their arms bringing her head to rest on his shoulder. “Are you feeling alright? Missed yea this morning”

“Uhm. I know we just…hitched and we didn’t talk about certain things especially given it’s the apocalypse and Lori but…”

“Y/N. Please just say it”

“I’m pregnant”

Rick’s silence only brewed the fear and anxiety within Y/N as she was about to pull away when he shifted so that he could pull her entire person into his embrace.

“Are you upset?” Y/N frowns holding onto her husband as he started to rub soothing circles on her back feeling her relax. “Rick—-“

“We’re just…so in love with each other that we couldn’t contain it all.” Rick whispers feeling her tighten around him as he did the same. “So we made another person out of that love” he held her as she sobbed in his embrace.

“We’re happy about this?”

“More than happy darling. We’re safe here. I can’t wait for this chapter with you” Rick smiles bringing his lips to her temple keeping her close as the two wouldn’t separate for a while longer.

~

But the luxury of the prison never lasted…

When Rick reunited with Daryl on the road, after dealing with the claimers…the archer brought it up. Brought up the thought that Y/N could be dead and being met with Rick’s silence was his answer meaning he didn’t want to even think about it.

“We’ll find’em.” Daryl states watching Rick turn to him slowly with a low expression before looking away. “She’s a fighter. May be the size of a planet currently but you know she ain’t leavin’ this earth without fighting to get back to you”

“Did yea just call my wife a planet?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Just shut up and let’s follow the train tracks once Michonne and Carl got some rest”

We will find them

And they do. Thankfully not in the mess of Terminus and Rick was extra thankful after hearing a few things about the cannibals that quickly met their end in the chapel later on.

The Grimes boys will forever be thankful to Tyreese with saving Judith and for both him and Carol finding Y/N moments after the two had found each other. Rick handed his daughter to his son quickly but gentle for Carl to get a good hold of her before he ran over to his partner bringing her in his embrace.

“Thank god you’re alive” Y/N sobbed out as she held onto Rick the best she could given the space they didn’t have. Rick pulled away from the embrace to kiss her firmly on the lips before bringing his gaze to her belly and placing his hands on it. “That’s also a bonus…”

“What? The baby kicking?” Rick asks while his gaze still focused on her bump.

“Yeah…Baby hasn’t kicked since the prison fell. Guess it missed its daddy” She breathed out a laugh listening to his follow in suit. He pressed his forehead against hers still staying in this moment as no one dared to interrupt.

The cannibals

The hospital

Beth…

Tyreese…

So many things could’ve been avoided and now the remaining group found themselves struggling with the fact that this could be the end if they don’t find anything. By anything the essentials for survival. Daryl did his best to hunt what he could find but nothing was turning up. The creek within the forest didn’t carry enough water like they hoped when they first planned to check. But Rosita boiled what they could draw up and insisted it be given to Y/N which the peanut gallery didn’t protest.

“Rick we need to prepare for the worse cause scenario” Carol pulled him aside as the group continued its tiresome walk to nowhere.

“What do you mean?”

“She could go into labor. She is that pregnant where it could just happen without any of us prepared. We need to at least somewhat be”

“Or what?”

Carol didn’t say another word and only gave her friend a stressful look littered with fear of losing Y/N to this pregnancy like they did with Lori’s. They wouldn’t know what to do if Y/N needed a c-section or if she lost a lot of blood. Anything could happen and it didn’t take words for Rick to know he could lose the love of his life.

________

Y/N laid tiredly on the makeshift bed in their shared cell as she hasn’t been able to keep anything down for a few weeks. Typical morning sickness but Hershel had his worry about dehydration, not like Carl hasn’t been hovering making sure his stepmom had water. Rick asked him to keep an eye on her and his baby sister when he tended the garden but he didn’t need to be asked to do such. The two grew close when Lori passed and if she would do anything for Carl, he’d do anything for her.

“If your dad is making you hover. You don’t have to” Y/N said almost exhausted as she sat up in the bed when Carl was once peaking from the curtain now fully entering the cell with another canteen.

“Dad didn’t tell me anything. I’m allowed to check on you if I want to”

“I should be checking on you. You don’t have to worry about me” She states patting the empty space beside her while moving the blankets to cover her legs. “I’m okay”

“I know…b-but I want to…I don’t want to miss anything”

Y/N gave him a confused look gently making Carl look at her as he tried to cover his face with his hat. But then Y/N took his hat off lifting his chin to find his tears.

“Carl…love, what’s wrong?”

“I-I…” Carl choked up a bit feeling Y/N carefully wipe away his tears whenever they spilled from his waterline. “I don’t want to lose you too. I didn’t see…a-anything before and I just—-“

“Carl. We couldn’t have predicted what happened to your mom to have happen and I’m always so deeply sorry you lost her.” Y/N gently held his face feeling him ease into her touch letting her wipe away his tears. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but I will promise you. I’m going to be okay”

“But you can’t…you can’t promise something like that”

“I’m going to anyway. I’m going to take good care of myself and this baby, knowing damn well my boys are going to help me. I’m not going anywhere love…I’m going to be okay”

________

Something didn’t feel right.

Y/N had tried not to think much of the growing pain in her stomach as she thought it was the lack of food in her system or the mild dehydration she was reaching.

Then when the mysterious water appeared and the debate of drinking such was washed away in the little sense of the rain pouring down on them. Her distressed expression matched those who’ve lost since the fall of the prison hence no one second guessed the feelings. Until Carl took note of it.

“Are you okay?”

“Just a little uncomfortable. Keep her covered or she’ll get a cold” Y/N fixed the coat she was once wearing to cover Judith better as Carl took his hat off to cover her head.

“Are you really sure that’s all mo—-Y/N?”

“Yes, I’m—-“ She stopped herself reaching for Rick grabbing his bicep harshly to indicate how much pain she was in as he quickly addressed the matter bringing her close. “R-Rick I think. I think the baby is coming”

“Well that couldn’t have been poorly timed” Eugene commented only for Abraham to smack him upside the head. “You have any better idea where the pregnant woman should have her baby? In the middle of the road with the rain pouring down on us and unable to see the walkers when nightfall approaches”

“Someone shut his mouth” Rick snapped watching Glenn push Eugene out of the Grimes’ line of sight as Abraham and Rosita blocked his view.

“Nah we got somewhere. Saw a barn on my way back to y’all after searching for water” Daryl states before leading the way as Rick didn’t hesitate to pick up his partner bridal style following the archer along with the others following shortly behind.

Once they got in the barn, everything had to happen again. Going in all different directions. Maggie and Carol took care of getting Y/N situated, prepared while Carl took care of watching Judith while the others swarmed respectfully on the other side of the half wall to give Y/N some privacy while she stripped from the waist down.

“Tell me how you’re feeling. Especially if there’s major changes” Carol stated watching Y/N nod trying to take deep breaths feeling Rick gently brush the hair out of the way of her face watching her look at him through anxious tears.

“Your baby will come perfect okay, okay? Nothing wrong will happen” Maggie’s choice of words confused those who weren’t there when they lost Lori, and especially how they lost her. No one questioned. All the focus was making sure that baby comes out okay while protecting everybody.

It felt like a cue. When the walkers came a banging on the barn doors resulting in almost every muscle they’ve got keeping them closed, Y/N was already in the motions of pushing this baby out only for a smooth sailing to reach a jammed complication.

“H-Hurts. Hurts so much!” Y/N shouted as the growling tuned it out except for Maggie and Carol’s ears as they both were checking what is happening. The baby’s shoulder is stuck and in a perfect world they’d have the tools or the operating room to go to that nuclear option of a c-section. Something they didn’t want to do.

“Y/N you have to stop pushing”

“O-O…I…” Y/N sobbed listening to Carol’s words as she gripped onto the blanket she laid on not finding the words to ask for her husband but the anxiety growing in the situation made Maggie shout.

“Rick we need yea!” That caused a few head turns as the pounding shifted the weaker few against the door.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Rick instantly asks, taking Y/N’s hand into his feeling the bone crushing grip she was producing as he kept his ground a straight face for her.

“Baby is stuck”

“I have a plan but if it doesn’t go well, we could lose them both” Maggie frowns, remembering an old conversation back from the prison with her father about breached babies and if it ever happened to her then one would have to reach into her while another pushed down on her belly to help the baby progress.

“Take me through it. We’ve got this” Carol states turning to Y/N and her worried expression. “Scream. Scream it out. Everybody’s got our back and you will make it. You both will make it”

The growling grew louder along with the blood curdling screaming as Michonne brought Carl into her arms covering his ears while the two kept their ground against the door. He sobbed listening to his mom’s screaming and those from the beginning of the prison sanctuary were all feeling the old anxiety bubble up inside them.

But once it settled…the growling faded and the anxiety dissipated…the screaming stopped…

Rick pressed his lips to Y/N’s feeling the tears roll off his cheeks as he pulls away to look at their baby boy laying on her chest calming instantly to the soft touch his mother brought with the finger grazes.

“He’s perfect…”

“You did it, darling” Rick exhales a chuckle, kissing her forehead and bringing her close keeping his coat to cover their baby keeping him comfortable in her arms.

“We’re okay” Y/N felt the tears pour as she laughs the anxiety out bringing her gaze to her son when he brought himself to look at his brother. “We are okay, like I promised”

Carl felt the tears return in his eyes as Y/N tiredly reaches to wipe away his tears. Rick smiles at the gentle act admiring his little family as he made this declaration a long time ago…

But he’ll never let anything happen to his family.

[personne-reblogs]

AUTISTIC SWEEP

The shouts of the crowd are fading into white noise. 

The curtains are closing. 

The lights are dimming. 

The air still feels filled with static, though. 

This is a fight Donatello had known he couldn’t win, logically. The competition had been all fun and games, but this challenger was another story. No amount of support or hype could make up for such a gap; the bone deep certainty didn’t leave room for hard feelings. 

Struggling to catch his breath, battle shell against the wall, Donatello looks up from where he’s been getting some rest - not passed out rest, mind you. More like a beauty nap.

He lets out a genuine chuckle. 

Shigeo Kageyama is simply standing there, as he has been for most of the fight. 

“Sweet Marie Curie,” he puffs, keeping his voice level. The roar of the crowd hasn’t entirely died down, but he knows he is heard. “You don’t even have a scratch.”

The one they call Mob is giving him a stare. He still seems a little out of it. 

“You fought well,” he states calmly, and Donnie giggles. 

“Oh, please. I’ve been losing tournaments at home for as long as I can remember. You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”

At that, Mob flashes a grin. “I’m not sorry,” he says bluntly, coming over in lazy steps. “But it hasn’t been easy, either.”

He sits down, legs stretched out in front of him, and Donnie can now see that his breathing is a little heavy. He feels himself get cocky. 

“Well, I wasn’t about to just let you win. If I had to go down, might as well give ‘em a show, right?”

Mob sends him a sideway glance. “You really are all about dramatics.”

“What can I say?” Donnie sighs theatrically, proving his point. “This whole competition is about being swag. I could hardly disappoint.” 

“I don’t think you could," his opponent utters. “You’re very expressive.”

Donnie raises a perfectly drawn eyebrow. This is something he hasn’t often been told. He looks over to Mob, and the tension in the boy’s shoulders makes him hum in thought. 

“I don’t know who’s next, but you are going to crush them,” he provides. When Mob gives him a nonplussed glance, he goes on. “And even if you don’t, it’s still the last one. How good does that sound?”

“... it has been getting a bit much, to be honest.”

“Yeah, this is wild,” Donnie agrees. “Anyway, what are you gonna do with your trophy once you get it?”

Mob’s smile is a little shy, but he seems happy with the distraction. “I don’t know, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten one. What would you do?”

“Well, you see, there was this one time I won the Lair Games…”

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

In the next room, a very proud sensei and three worried brothers are getting impatient. 

The student and the sibling don’t seem to care at the moment. 

The crowd is gone. 

The curtains are closed. 

The lights are off. 

For now, making small talk with a former rival is just enough.

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

EDIT: there is now a sequel!

YOOO IT'S BEEN SUCH A WILD RIDE

Disclaimer: I have never read/watched mp100 and I deeply apologize for making him probably very ooc. Just wanted to celebrate this beast of a match in my own way, which is wishing I could draw and deciding to heave words on a doc instead lol

CONGRATS ON MOB!! The final match between mp100 and undertale is gonna be soooo funny but I think Mob's gonna win this thing like it's nothing tbh (he has my vote at least)

@autismswagsummit thank you for reblogging all that Donnie propaganda, I genuinely think he never would've made it this far without the signal boost!

All my thanks to the Rise fandom for these past few days! You guys have made such powerful content and there's been so much hype I'm shocked. SHOCKED I TELL YOU

[bellarkeselection]

okay jaime request 🫶 so jaime just lost his hand and he worries that the fem!reader (jaime's wife maybe? 👀) will be disgusted by that but she actually showers him in love and affection as she's happy that he came back to her? like a lot of kisses and cuddling and fluff

i'm so in love like look at him?! he's precious <33

Slight mature content in this one 18+ 😏 I honestly really enjoyed writing this one more than I have any other request for Jaime so thank you for sending this in

You're Still a Golden Knight to Me

Staring out the windows of Casterly Rock with my arms wrapped tightly around my waist out of nervousness. I hated the feeling and time of waiting for Jaime to return home from the battle between the Lannister’s and my family the Stark’s. Jaime and I were married a few months ago before the king officially rode North to ask my father to be hand of the king. We were wed in Kings Landing by King Robert himself before he died. And somehow in those short few months we became so close it felt like we had been married for as long as my sister Catelyn and Ned had been. "Oh gods please let him come home already I cannot endure anymore time terrified he might be dead." I mumbled to myself out into the quiet sea fresh air in the room until the chamber door made a noise causing me to jump slightly.

Stumbling around the bed as quiet yet quickly as possible I reached down by as much as my growing belly would allow me to so that I could grab the sword my father gave me out from underneath my bed. Ever since Jaime left I had basically been sleeping with the weapon at my bedside even though I had a whole castle army to defend me in the walls of Casterly Rock. Moving towards the door I raised the sword over my shoulder with both hands clutching the handle of the sword seeing the chamber door creak opened very slowly. "Show yourself you twat. I'm ready and armed!" I raised my voice outward holding back tears knowing it was better to show no fear.

Yet my entire conscious state was completely rattled when I heard someone call my name that was impossible for me to not recognize in a heartbeat. "Y/n...Y/n....Jaime...please don't....it's me...it's Jaime."

"J...Jaime. Is it...is it really you?" I croaked through heavy tears struggling to keep my grip on the blade handle on the off chance it wasn't and the gods were just playing tricks on my mind. Yet sure enough the door creaked open all the way revealing a sight that nearly broke me in two and shattered my heart.

My gaze focused on his figure when he slowly stepped out of the darkness of the door and into the light being provided by burning candles. He didn’t meet my gaze while I scanned over my husband’s face. His blonde hair was covered in mud and his clothes were torn and stained too. Yet that wasn’t what nearly broke me it was the fact that his right hand was covered in some bandages but it was really just a stump of where the hand used to be. “Don’t look at me, Y/n. You should go back North.”

“I’m not going back North you idiot. Do you honestly think I would leave you while you look like this. When I have been terrified that you might not come back and now you have…come on let’s get you cleaned and changed.” Moving towards him I sniffed through tears before I turned and rummaged around in one of the crates drawing out one of his tunics and trousers.

Slowly and gently as possible I helped Jaime inside the wash room knowing that none of the servants would be up in the middle of the night so I left it to me alone to take care of my husband. Running my hands down his tunic shirt I tugged on it hearing him wince since some of it was sticking to him. Untying the strings of his trousers they fell to the floor. “You don’t have to help me I….I can’t get this cleaned on my own.” He attempted to remain the confident man I knew but he dropped his right stump hand showing me that he couldn’t.

He managed to get into the water on his own giving me the time to untie the laces on the back of my golden dress letting the fabric pool to the floor without a care. Kicking it away I put Jaime’s new clothes beside mine since I had started to wear his tunics when I went to bed. “I’m your wife, Jaime. I know you don’t want help but please let me help you now.” I mumbled quietly seeing his stump hand was still wrapped up like a rag. He didn't respond so I slowly moved the material from his arm sitting it on the side seeing that it had healed a little bit when I ran my fingers over it.

“I’m not who I used to be without my hand…I was that hand. What am I supposed to do now, Y/n?” He shutters, staring at me as I attempted to retie a cleaner cloth on his stump. “If I pass out pull me out. I don’t want to be the first Lannister to die in a bathtub.”

Lifting my gaze up from me working on his injured hand where I placed my hands on his bare chest he winced when I started running some water over the wounds on his chest. “Jaime, I know you’re avoiding ye conversation but who did this. Did my brother Robb take your hand?”

“He kept me prisoner in his camp but it wasn’t him. It was this man named Locke..who hates high born. He took it to show me I was as safe as I thought I was. And now because of him I’m not the man I was. You’ll probably leave me in the morning because of this disgusting thing.” He glared down at the stump of his right hand while I moved my fingers through his hair getting the dirt out of it where it returns to its almost normal golden lion color.

Resting my hands on his shoulders I pressed my forehead making him finally look me in the eye. His green eyes were filled with tears and I could hear the shakiness in his breath. “Jaime, don’t put those thoughts in your head. I am not going anywhere. I would never leave you ever. Because I love you…and the little one will too.” Placing his left hand on my stomach I sucked in a breath hoping he would pick it up on what I was saying.

“You’re pregnant…when did you know?” He knitted his brows together questioning me and for the first time since we had reunited I saw a tiny genuine smile on his face.

Leaning forward I kissed him on his forehead brushing away some of the fallen strands of wet blonde hair that had fallen in from of his eyes. He closed his eyes briefly when I spoke and moved his head to lay against my bare front running one hand through his hair making it a slight mess. “According to the Maester I should be about three months along. I started having morning sickness the morning after you left to go fight the war with my twin brother.”

“Do you think I’ll be a good father and husband without my sword fighting hand. I want to be the man you deserve..considering we were arranged to and all. At times I didn’t the wound be anything like your mother and father.” Jaime lifted his head up slightly where I held his face in my hands seeing slight fear and concern in his eyes that he wasn’t worthy of me now.

Without saying another word I gently crashed my lips down onto his tilting his head up slightly when I climbed up into his lap. He pressed his bare back against the tub wall wrapping his arms around my waist tugging my flesh against his own. “Jaime Lannister, you are the best husband I could ask for. I didn’t fall for you because of how good you were with a sword or how attractive you are, although you are still as handsome as the night of our wedding. But you are still that golden knight to me. I love you.”

“When I was sitting in that shit cell for months I would drift off to sleep and think of you. Think of us laying in bed together after we made love. Or when you insisted I teach you how to swing a sword. You’re smiling face…your witty remarks…your smell and when you touch me…everything about you.” He buried his face into the crook of my neck placing kisses there until he found a certain spot hearing me moan and throw my head back giving him more access.

Moving my hands to his shoulder blades I gripped them in my finger nails craving for his touch and everything in between. “Jaime I…I need you. I have been miserable for months.” I whined into his ear feeling him shift so he could start to make love to me.

“I won’t deny you, my wolf wife. But not in here. Cause once I get you in our bed we won’t be leaving for awhile.” He responds in a raspy voice shifting his green eyes onto mine intensely where I could feel his desire for me. We quickly stumbled out of the bath and into our chamber forgetting about the fresh clothes we had too focused on our need to be in the others arms.

Climbing onto the bed throwing my hair around I smiled up at him when he crawled over me crashing his lips onto mine hungrily while he put our bodies together. Gripping his golden locks in between my fingers I felt my heart beating against my chest with him moving against me like this again after so long. “Jaime….I love you.” I croaked out when he broke the kiss with his hair falling in front of his eyes and his gaze dropped to the stump once more.

“Hey, eyes on me.” Raising one of my hands I grabbed his chin forcing him to look me in the eye. Leaning upward I pressed soft kisses against his mouth moving my other hand through his hair. “You still mean everything to me. All that I care about is that you are here with me and that you’re safe.”

The eldest Lannister lion pressed his forehead against mine before he began moving our bodies against each other very slowly again as if he was afraid I might disappear from him any moment. “I just don’t want to be less of a man to you. You are my sweet wolf wife…and I’ll do my best to be a good father to our little lion or lioness.”

“I know you will, Jaime. You will always be the same man I fell in love with from this day until the end of our days.” I whispered my next words into his ear since he had his head laying on my chest. My fingers were gripping his back while I struggle to not let the entire castle know what we were doing in the middle of the night. “I am yours and you are mine.”

The bed was moving against our actions where he kept hitting the specific spot that we both moaned afterwards to. He broke the kiss where I held his face in my hands tracing his cheek with him thrusting into me slowly. “Y/n, I love you so much!” He moaned when I pulled his head downward burying my face in his neck nuzzling my nose and kissing into his skin.

Finally we both reach our high and Jaime collapsed onto his back on his side of the bed smiling longingly at me. I was laying on my back still trying to catch my breath while my hair was a tousled mess but I never dropped the huge grin on my face. “You were right about it being so much better after the first time…or it could also be the fact that I missed you like hell. Please don’t ever leave me again Jaime.” Rolling over onto my side I placed one hand on his the stump of his right hand giving him a small tearful smile.

“I don’t intend of going anywhere, little wolf. You and this baby are my home from now on.” Jaime scooted closer to me where I shifted so that his body was laying on top of mine. Running my fingers through his golden hair I planted some kisses onto his head and bare shoulder that I could reach feeling all the nervous weight fade away.

He wrapped his arms around my waist hugging me tightly against his strong form nuzzling his nose against my stomach listening for a heartbeat and he smiled when he felt something kick against his head. “I guess our little lion enjoys their daddy being home too.” I chuckled feeling the vibrating against my belly making me smile.

“If we spend our nights like this again we might end with as many children as you’re family has. If you’re up for it someday Y/n Lannister.” Jaime raises his head slightly with that cheeky smirk on his face showing me he was getting back to being his old self. He kisses my belly then he deeply kisses me on the lips laying his head back down on my stomach trying to get some much needed sleep.

Resting my head back against the pillows I intertwined one of my hands with Jaime’s left closing my eyes after watching him fall peacefully asleep on top of me. “I will never say no to you my golden lion.” I mumbled before I shut my eyes finally getting a restful night of sleep being able to hold him in my arms.

Tag list - @makeshift-prime @rosie-posie08 @lover-of-books-and-tea

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[pandorascripts]

I Bet You Think About Me

pairing: wednesday x reader

cw: angst, cheating, tyler galpin.

note: you should know that I made morticia and gomez the mean rich type of people to fit this.

summary: catering your ex-girlfriend’s wedding was certainly not what you wanted to do, but it proves to be fruitful as you get to say goodbye— and taunt her.

song: I Bet You Think About Me (feat. Chris Stapleton) (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift ;).

proof read like once. I’m finding a lot of mistakes because I’m tired LMAO.

SEND IN REQUESTS BASED ON TS SONGS!

:—-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:—- —-:

It had been exactly three months since Wednesday had called off your relationship. She claimed you were too childish and that you were just too different from her— that you couldn’t fit into her world. Looking back on it now you can only laugh, the true reason why Wednesday broke up with you was because she was too scared of the consequences.

Despite what she claims and what others believe, Wednesday does care about what her family thinks. And her family, the richest and most powerful people in all of New York, had high expectations in who she would date. They certainly didn’t think (or even know) that Wednesday wanted to date someone below her status, below her age for that mater. Nine years wasn’t too bad, but her parents wanted Wednesday to be nine years younger than her rich, male lover. Unfortunately you didn’t fit any boxes where it mattered. 

But as you’re catering her wedding, watching Wednesday dance with her new husband, you really can’t help but chuckle. Wednesday’s been staring at you for the entire event, and you know damn well she’s been thinking about you. You see it in the way she eyes your work attire, — a tight, clad semi-formal suit— and in the way she frowns the moment her husband draws her attention away from you. It’s obvious. 

Buts it’s only until the service is almost over that she approaches you. 

“Hi.”

You look down to the glasses you’d been cleaning previously, trying to help out your friend with his own job. “Mrs. Galpin, is it?”

Wednesday scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “Yeah, it is now.”

You nod, wiping a white cloth against the crystal glass of the cup. It’s almost as thick as the tension between you two. 

“Look, I want to tell you that I’ve moved on, and that I think it’s really immature of you to show up here.”

Your eyes widen drastically as you stare at Wednesday and her audacity. Grabbing her by the wrist, you drag her into the nearest storage closet so you can scream at her. She doesn’t stop you because she wont dare to make a scene with her filthy-rich family here. Her wrist in your hand brings up dead memories, memories long buried under sadness and anger. 

When the door clicks shut, you finally turn around to yell at her. “I’m doing my job, Wednesday. I didn’t have a choice because unlike you I can’t just wait until my trust fund opens. As you’ve made very, very, very, clear, I don’t have one!”

Wednesday rolls her eyes, her fingers adjusting the hem of her dress. “Just don’t cause anything. You and I both know that you were always dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m dramatic? You got engaged a week after we broke up to please your parents.”

“We were never going to work out! I like him! It wasn’t for my parents.”

“I don’t have to be one of your many shrinks to know you’ll never be happy with him. In fact,” you step closer to Wednesday, rage clouding the thoughts telling you to leave it be, “I bet you think about me.

“You’re out here marrying rich, handsome guys and trying to chase a status your parents want you to have, but I bet you’ve never felt so locked up in your life.”

Wednesday shudders, her cold gaze darting around your face.

“Why’s that?” she asks, still trying to act like she’s in power.

“Because you never felt more free than when you were with me.”

Wednesday gulps, her head whipping to the storage closet as she tries to not look at you. She fails, and proves your point beautifully. You shake your head, disbelief and disappointment the only thing you feel.

“Goodbye, Wednesday. Enjoy the wedding and let me do my job peacefully.”

Your hand retreats from the wall behind her, when they got there you can’t remember, and you turn around. Wednesdays hands reach out to grab your face before you have enough time to register what’s happening. 

Her lips are still just as soft as they were that night she left you. Her kisses are still sweet and passionate, always expressing what she can’t say through words. You sigh, forgetting about the wedding, about her parents, and about her husband waiting for another dance just beyond that door. 

It doesn’t take long until your fingers thread themselves in her dress and then you remember all of those things and more. You remember why she dumped you— why you have to let her go. You pull away harshly, taking a few quick steps back and sprint out the door. Wednesday doesn’t bother chasing after you. 

You run to your friend James, alerting him of your well-earned break that you decide to take. He nods, waving you off as you dart out of the venue. The early spring snow sets against the slush and you sigh. The cold grounds you, remembering the night three months prior. 

You shift on Wednesdays lap, laying your head on her shoulder. She’s reading in peace, a book her friend recommended, you recall. Her friend had claimed it had changed his view on life, and had told Wednesday it would do wonders for her. She was only reading it to poke fun at it. 

The movie in the background was long forgotten by you, your eyes instead lining her jawline and the soft curve of her nose. 

“Wednesday.”

“Yes?” she asks, flipping the page over. She doesn’t look at you, or even stop reading her book. 

You’ve been noticing this for the past two weeks now, her attention has been dwindling. Wednesday’s become more stressed and angry. Fights have been more frequent, at least two every other day. It’s always over minuscule stuff too, like how you dress, where you work, how Wednesday doesn’t like the way you hold your fork, or the way you laugh like a kid. You told her maybe it’s because you are one. After all, you’re twenty two and she’s thirty-one. Wednesday ignored you for hours that day. 

“Will you put the book down?”

“Why?” Again, no eye contact. 

“Because I want to have a real conversation.”

“We are.”

You scoff, swinging your feet off of her thighs and stand up, the book getting knocked to the floor. You don’t apologize despite her shouts, instead you grab your keys and shrug on your coat. 

“Where are you going?” she demands, hands trying to grab the keys out of your pocket. 

You swat her away and tie your shoelaces. “For a walk.”

“The hell you are! It’s eleven at night and December, it’s too late and too cold.”

You ignore her again, swinging the door open and skipping outside. Wednesday doesn’t follow you, but you don’t need to look back to know that. The door slamming tells you enough. 

That night when you got home, a clear head and a fresh apology with you, Wednesday called you childish. She told you that dating you was a mistake, that meeting you was one. And then her bag of belongings— you remember frowning over the fact that she only had an unpacked bag of stuff— was thrown into her corvette. 

It didn’t matter how much you clung to her, begging that she didn’t do this, she shrugged you off and left without so much as a glance back.

When your five minute break was over, you walked back into the wedding and continued working. Wednesday wasn’t anywhere to be seen for the rest of the night.

Maybe it wasn’t the goodbye you wanted, but it sure was a loud one. All you can hope is that Wednesday is tormented by what you once had, because at least you can certainly bet she thinks about you. 

[angelswing236]

"You were the first."

Fictober 24 challenge

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Fanfiction

‘Happy anniversary, darling,’ Robert whispered, wrapping his arm around Cora’s waist, the blankets a warm cocoon around them.

‘Happy anniversary,’ she murmured before he kissed her, long and soft.

‘Thirty-four years. Can you believe it? And never a moment’s doubt,’ he said tenderly as her hand came to rest on his chest.

Cora gave a small laugh. ‘That’s not entirely true, is it?’

‘Well, I… I…’ Robert stuttered, thrown that she’d brought up the rocky start of their marriage on their anniversary.

‘You didn’t want to marry me. Your father made you.’

‘And I thank God for that every day,’ Robert said, fervently.

‘You do now, but you didn’t then.’

‘I just… I didn’t know you very well then. That’s all that was.’

‘That and Lady Anne Portland.’

Robert blanched at the mention of his former lover.

Cora gazed at him, mildly amused by the panicked look on his face. ‘Did you think I didn’t know about you and her?’

‘I… I’ve, er, never really thought about it.’

‘I did know. And I tortured myself with it.’

‘Darling, you’ve never said that before,’ Robert said, upset that his youthful dalliance might have caused his beloved wife distress.

‘She was so sophisticated and beautiful. All those blond curls, green eyes and English manners. I worried I was too ordinary for you, too American, too unworldly. You were so captivated by her.’

Robert looked away, reluctant to admit the truth.

Cora curled a finger under his chin, tipping his face towards her. ‘You don’t have to deny it to save my feelings. I know you were, but it was a long time ago. It’s just that sometimes I wish I had been the first for you, too.’

‘You were the first,’ he said, cupping her face.

‘No, I wasn’t. You weren't the virgin I was when we came to our marriage bed.’

‘No, I wasn’t,’ he acknowledged. ‘I’d lain with several women, but you were the first woman I fell in love with. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘You don’t have to lie to me, Robert.’

‘I’m not lying. My first was the courtesan my father paid for when I was at university. As memorable as it was, it was a business transaction and had nothing to do with love. The second was a fleeting encounter with my cousin’s cousin at the end of a very drunken night at a ball. Again, not love.’

‘But then there was Lady Anne.’

‘And I admit at the time I thought I was in love with her, but I know now that I wasn’t. Not even close. I also know I was not the only one she was sharing her favours with.’

‘I was so afraid that you were going to keep her as your mistress when we married,’ Cora confessed, remembering the feelings that tormented her daily. ‘I loved you so much, I could hardly bear the thought of it.’

‘Oh, my darling,’ Robert murmured, kissing her brow. ‘I am so sorry to have made you feel like that.’

‘As I said, it was a long time ago now.’

‘I never slept with Anne again once we were engaged. Never,’ he said, anxious to slay any sleeping dragons. ‘I would not have done that to you.’

Cora smiled, pleased to know that even after her long years of security as Lady Grantham.

‘You were my first and only love,’ Robert whispered. ‘You still are.’

 ‘And you are mine.’

‘Then let’s celebrate our love,’ he said, drawing her close.

Cora smiled and kissed him, ready to forget the past.

[deanwinchesterswitch]

Tell Me You Believe Me

Summary: The path through proves to be more tangled in assumptions and righteous pride than either imagined. Neither wants to walk away, but belief has been challenged, and trust weakened by rumors. One wrong turn, one misplaced comment, and they will never find their way back home… back to each other.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst; Some fluff; Language; Mentions of sex work(nothing graphic); Canon divergence; Descriptions of high emotional distress; Possible triggers

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Word Count: 4,667

Author’s Note: This part also took a little inspiration from the song Redemption by The Strange Familiar.

Part Three

A stab of terror pierces her heart, and a wave of bile churns in her gut. “Dean, wait…,” she screams, but no sound passes her lips, “please don’t walk out on me again,” strangled by the clutch of emotion. She stumbles, blindly reaching for him, tears streaking down her face. Entire body trembling, she grasps the back of the couch, nerve endings raw and alight, flesh beaded with sweat.

He makes it to the end of the porch before his knees finally give, and he has to lean against the pillar to stay upright. “Fuck!” he shouts into the darkness, but the word barely comes out in a whisper, chest tight with fear. This can’t be the way their story ends.

His throat convulses in an attempt to keep the acridness from his stomach from rising any further. Sharp short breaths, lungs aching, feeling brittle with the effort. Hot tears evaporate in the cold wind, skin itching beneath the crusty trail left behind. Unable to will his body to stop shaking, a shrill buzz in his ears greying out all thought. 

Flesh splitting with the force of the first punch to the cabin’s wall, he rears back and strikes again… and again, lungs raggedly swelling as he’s finally able to draw in deep angry breaths. With one final blow, he steps back. Fingers flexing against the pain, he flicks his hand to dispel some of the blood before wiping his knuckles against a jean-clad thigh. 

She’s right. He did this. He tore their lives apart, and evidently, for no good reason. The ever-present danger of supernatural beings still seeking her out, and he’d left her without backup. The life she’s currently living, while seemingly luxurious, is almost as dangerous. 

Fuck. FUCK!

Scrubbing his uninjured hand down his face, he filters through their conversation, trying to unscramble his thoughts and calm himself.

‘I didn’t want to leave.’ ‘I certainly wasn’t happier without you.’ ‘I’m not doing what you think I am.’ 

If she’s not doing that, then what the hell is she doing? 

All he wanted was a chance to talk. See if she was doing okay. Yet, he managed to screw that up too, but then he’s not surprised. Eventually, he taints everything good that enters his orbit. “Son of a BITCH!” This time, the punch is to the air, head thrown back, teeth grinding as he scowls at the starry sky. “Just once… one good thing. Is it really too much to have?” Of course, he doesn’t expect a response. There never is. 

With the next hit, he leaves his fist pressed against the rough facade, the cool wood helping to soothe the throbbing ache of his battered hand. Hanging his head, he wrestles with the instinct to shove all the emotions back down and squirrel them away in their designated compartments. He needs to feel them, let the happiness and joy she shared with him rise to the surface, and dilute the misery and rage.

They were happy. As happy as they could be with the brutalities that plagued their lives. Eyes closed, he inhales sharply through his nose, fighting his insecurities with thoughts of better times. Time spent at the lake, conversations about their life once they got out, the scrunch of her brow as she worked on a piece, her smile, the way she snuggled into him, ear pressed over his heart as she fell asleep. Those are the things he should be fighting for.

Lost in the desolate silence, the image of the enraged and devastated woman that he walked out on, again, skewers his vision. In the space of a heartbeat, his chest tightens then swells. She said she loves him, present tense. Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for him yet. “That’s it.” Leaning into the pain, he pushes off the wall. “I’m not walking away this time.”

He knows he has a lot to atone for. Even though it goes against everything he believes about relationships and the hunting life and that all that has happened supports his reasoning, he still wants a second chance. A chance at redemption—if she allows him to have it.

Even if she doesn’t, they have to push through and find a resolution. Maybe even absolution. He won’t let her continue to be weighed down by the carnage he created. With a heavy sigh, he turns to face the door and takes the first step toward what will either be his eternal damnation or blessed salvation.

A deck of cards tossed into a hurricane. Emotions carried on the wind, drowned in the waves only to be lifted from the depths to be flung and shredded, scattered in the wake of devastation. There’s no sorting or shuffling them into a neat stack—no winning hand. Instead of calmly dealing with the situation and finding a way to forgiveness, she threw everything at him like a game of 52-card pick-up. Anger had never served her well before, and it may just be her end this time if she can’t get it back under control.

He finds her bent over, hands clutching the back of the couch, toes of her boots tear-stained. He didn’t think there was anything left of his heart to break, but then a low continuous whine reaches his ears, and her name is agonizingly wrenched from his chest.

She takes a stumbling step, “D- Dean?”

The visible trembling of her body crushes the last of his uncertainty, and he rushes forward. “I’m here.” Reaching for her, he deplores, “I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m not walking away this time.” 

The punch to his chest is a jolt, “You kic- kicked me out of our home.” the slap to his cheek stings. He doesn’t move to stop her, taking every blow she lands just like he told himself he would when he returned to the bunker all those months ago, hoping to find her still there. When she angrily cries, “Called me a liability,” raw emotion threatens to choke him.  

Snatching her hands as she shoves him, he holds them against his chest and laments, “I didn’t mean anything I said that night. Not a goddamn word.”

A hitch of breath, body wedging closer, fingers twisting, pulling the fabric of his shirt taut across his shoulders, then the almost inaudible “I did” slices through him like a Hellhound’s claws.

“Son of a b-“ Body shaking with a new surge of emotion, tears precariously clinging to his lashes spill over to drip down his face. Holding her, the phantom ache in his arms dissipates, and the persistent tension in his chest eases. 

She sucks in a ragged breath, hands pushing at him, and he loosens his hold. The sadness in her eyes is painful, disconcerting, almost unbearable. “W- why’d you come back?”

Moving to brush the tears from her cheek, she flinches away, eyes narrowing. Before he can answer, she grabs his hand with a shake of her head.

“You’re bleeding.”

Fucking idiot. Why does he do this to himself?

“It’s nothing.” He doesn’t care about the painful swelling. He just wants to fix them. He’ll fix his hand later. But his dismissal is ignored.

“Let’s get this taken care of.” She pulls him along behind her as she heads to the bathroom, frustrated that he chose violence to himself to deal with the situation, but a sense of delight blooms with the thought that this is a wound she can fix. Stitching his tattered flesh will be easy as pie compared to mending the fragmented pieces of their relationship. Removing the first aid kit and a bottle of rubbing alcohol from beneath the sink, she orders, “Sit on the toilet, hand over the sink.”

Dean flips the toilet lid down before doing as instructed. A deep breath seemingly calms her, but her first touch is almost timid, and he wonders what’s going through her head. The last couple of hours has been an overload of emotions for both of them. He’d bet Baby that she’s upset with him about the state of his hand and how it got that way. Still, the warmth of her skin pressed against his softens the edges of residual anxiety, kindling the possibility that they can get back on track with a calmer discussion—that they’ll figure it out… together.

The strong, steady pulse beneath her fingertips would typically have a soothing effect on her but only serves to remind her of better days—days that seem like a lifetime ago. A life that he impulsively tossed aside. A life they foolishly let wither away amidst guilt and uncertainty. This can’t be how it all ends. 

No. Together they can figure this out. There’s a chance to salvage their relationship. Until she screwed it up, they were talking, peeling back the layers of regret and despair that dulled the brightness of their devotion.

The love is still there, expressed in the recounting of a memory, comfort taken in a hug, small gestures of kindness, a familiar smile. Even if it’s dimmed, currently buried in the rubble of today’s destruction, it’s there. Reminders of the happiness they should be fighting for, and they were happy, even amidst the horror of what being hunters entails. Maybe they can be again… once they find that sliver of light to guide their way. 

First, a little triage is in order.

“You decided to pick a fight with a log.” She’s all too familiar with his coping mechanisms. There are reasons he likes the punchy part of hunting. The shrug and tilt of his head confirm her statement. “You know they call it hardwood for a reason.” Glaring at him, “Don’t,” to immediately forestall the joke hovering behind the cheeky grin and wiggle of eyebrows.

“What?”  

Clicking her tongue at his not-so-innocent smile, she returns her attention to his hand. Not sure whether to laugh at the endearing man and how well she knows him or to cry over how much she’s missed his playful banter. “So predictable,” she mutters, shaking her head.  

“Predictably adorable?” he teases, the beginning of a chuckle quickly turning to a shocked grunt as she roughly tugs his hand beneath the stream of water. Remembering how gentle and careful she used to be when tending to his wounds, he studies her, debating whether her roughness is due to remaining anger or apprehension of not having done this in a while. At least he’s assuming it’s been a while since she’s had to attend to any type of flesh wound for someone. 

Despite the surge of optimism only moments ago, the dregs of the bitter, emotional cocktail she’s been served today muddle in her thoughts, and she’s a little harsher with her ministrations to his injury. Prodding at the open wounds, a sharp huff of breath wafts through the ends of her hair. Jaw clenching, his pulse spikes under her touch as she bends his wrist and vigorously wiggles each of his fingers.

“Nothing appears broken. You’re going to need some stitches, though. Grab me one of the cloths over there, please.” She points to the rack of towels across from him. As he reaches for a hand towel, she pours a stream of alcohol over the torn flesh. 

“HEY!” Her grip on his wrist tightens when he tries to jerk it away. “A warning would have been nice,” he scowls.

“Would it have made it hurt any less?” Biting back the unexpected satisfaction of causing him pain, she tucks her chin and focuses on gently patting the area dry, wondering if the pain of a shattered heart hurts any less when you see the blow coming.

He could swear there was a little upturn of her lips, like she was taking pleasure in hurting him. She had always apologized for the slightest sting, wincing emphatically with each jolt of pain, but that was before. 

The heat he radiates feels like it’s branding her skin. With the wounds cleaned and disinfected, she unceremoniously drops his hand. Sorting through the kit, she finds the suture needle and thread. “Been a while since I’ve done this,” she absently muses while threading the needle.

“You were always the best out of the three of us. I trust ya.” The needle is jabbed into his flesh, and he grunts, “Fuck.”

“Stop being such a baby.” The little jolt of pleasure at his discomfort makes her wonder if she had too good of an example to follow in regard to suppressing her emotions, and they are now finding another conduit of expression.

This time he knows he’s not imagining the slight curl of her lips. With steady hands, she makes quick work of the tiny stitches, which further implies that she’s intentionally trying to induce pain and not nervous about the task. The needle harshly pierces his skin again, and he clamps his mouth shut on any comments.

After trimming the last suture, she begins to deftly wrap his hand. “Been practicing?” he asks curiously. She’d always struggled to get the bandages tight enough to stay in place with hand wounds.

“One of my clients was a boxer. I asked him to show me how he taped his hands.” Remaining focused on her task, she can only imagine the look on his face but is confident of his thoughts. He gives a noncommittal grunt, and she needlessly yanks the gauze tighter before forcefully taping the end in place.

“Never took you for a sadist,” he states. He knows it’s an exaggeration but protectively cradles his injured hand against his chest nonetheless.

“No, just a whore.” 

OH! There it is. 

The enraged accusation permeates the air of the tiny space they’re sharing, making it difficult to breathe. Decidedly, she’s not quite ready to let that go.  Tossing the remainder of the gauze roll and tape back into the kit, she flees the room.

Cursing under his breath, he scrambles to follow, “Y/N-” catching up with her in the living room.

Rounding on him, tears once again threatening to break free, she cries,  “Do you truly believe-”

He quickly cuts her off. “Just tell me what you are doing.”

“Art,” she yells, “you jackass!” and huffs through a momentary hesitation. Indignation at his assumption still resonating, but the long-held desire to share her good fortune with him has the words spilling from her in a rush. 

“I had some mixed media pieces in a boutique. Cooper bought one for his wife. She loved it so much that they contacted me through the owner and commissioned me to paint a mural in their nursery. When they found out I was living out of a motel, they offered to let me move into their home while I was working on the piece. They had a party one night and showed some of their guests.”

Her voice is shaky but harsh, features running the gamut of outrage, sadness, and relieved happiness—another gut punch at how clueless he’d been to the consequences of his actions. 

“Afterward, I received several more commissions. The other things were just perks—meeting with the clients, assessing the locations for quotes, and networking at events. Cooper and Natalie are a lovely, generous couple. They were only trying to help me.”

I. Am An. Asshole

He silently chastises himself, dropping his head in shame. Of course, she is using her artistic talent to make money. Hadn’t he told her earlier that he thought she could do that? Pride surges forward, and for a brief moment, he’s genuinely happy—she has the life he always wanted for her—but the delight is quickly replaced by heartache. She has the life he always wanted for her—money, a place to call home, the cabin is hers, new friends that seemingly care about her, and she’s doing something she loves—why would she ever want to return to the horrors and hopelessness of hunting? Why would she want to come back to him? Swallowing heavily around the lump forming in his throat, he focuses back on her.

“I thought you knew.” Dean shakes his head, and her eyes widen with shock. “You didn’t know, but you assumed that I… that…” throwing her hands in the air, she hisses, “fuck you!” Spinning away, she stomps toward the table, snatching up the bottle of whiskey and taking a healthy swig. Surprised the bottle doesn’t shatter when she slams it back on the table, she swipes the back of her hand over her mouth, then angrily shouts, “Why would you think that? I couldn’t... I wouldn’t.” 

He lamely tries to defend his assumption. “You mentioned how good the pay was and then started talking about all that fancy shit.”

“So, what?” she chides, “You thought the only thing I could get paid well for was spreading my legs as a high-end hooker?”

“No.” Rubbing a hand down his face, he grunts, “Hey, you ran with it.” In an attempt at bravado, he squares his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why?” 

There’s no need to elaborate. She knows what he’s asking and shifts her stance.

“I don’t know.” It’s not a plausible answer. Shaking her head, she paces in front of him. “I waited for you. Waited hours for you to come back. Sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door, willing you to appear. When you didn’t…” 

Stopping to face him, she fists a hand, tapping, then rubbing it against her breastbone. “I- I think I resented what happened more than I realized or wanted to admit, and seeing you, talking to you… all the emotions started to break free.” She spreads her hands wide in front of her, trying to express the enormity of her feelings. “The exigency to make you feel the way I felt that night won out.” Eyes riddled with guilt beg him to understand. “I’m so sorry. I made the same promise to have your back, and I left you. I told you I loved you, and I left you to- to deal with it all on your own. I broke every promise I ever made to you.”

Eyes misting over, the pain threatens to consume her like holy oil fire, but right now, she needs him to understand that she is as culpable as him, if not more so, for creating the situation they are currently in. That despite the misery and hostility, she wants a chance at redemption.

“I- I thought that not arguing and leaving would make things easier for you, but deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. I struggled every day to come to terms with what I’d done. Yeah, I understood… you were scared. I know how that feels.” Shaking a finger at him, she humorlessly laughs. “Your unmitigated desire to constantly sacrifice yourself has made me one with that feeling.”

Pausing, she studies his features, gauges his body language, searches his eyes, and finding the vulnerability behind his defenses, drops her remaining armor. Every drop of sincerity in her soul breathed into the words, “I forgave you before you even stepped out of the room,” for him to hear. 

“When you didn’t call, I realized how badly I’d fucked up, and then I took too long to try and fix it because I didn’t know how. The guilt grew the longer I waited, and I convinced myself you would never want to see me again, that you were better off without me. I’ve blamed myself every day for leaving you to deal with… everything. I don’t expect your forgivene-” 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Gripping her hand in his, he presses it against the vein in his neck. Dean’s heart is pounding like a jackhammer, surprise registers in her expression at feeling the intensity of his pulse, and he hopes she hears the truth around the sorrow in his words. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I wanted all of that for you. I wanted you to be happy and safe.” 

He can’t help the slight snicker at the arch of her brow. “Yeah, okay, so maybe you weren’t safer, but I believed you would be. I wanted you to…” his voice wavers, and he squeezes her hand before continuing, “to have everything I could never give you.” Tucking his chin, he shifts her hand to kiss her knuckles and then lets it go, backing away. “I’m happy for you.” 

She doesn’t let him get far. Grasping the front of his shirt, she holds on, knowing her happiness, her life, hangs in the balance. Lips trembling, she sobs, “I know you probably won’t, but please believe me when I say you are all I’ve ever needed. Ever wanted. Nothing, none of it, matters without you. Every time something good happened to me, you were the first person I thought of telling. The only person I wanted to share it with.” 

Taking a step closer, she captures his gaze. If her eyes are indeed the windows to her soul, she wants to ensure he sees everything—the ache in her heart, the truth in her words, the smoldering ashes of her love waiting to be reignited by his spark. “You are the only one who can chase away the visions that haunt me, make me laugh when I think I never will again, make me feel seen. I’m not happy, Dean, not truly. So, I’m asking… No. I’m begging,” fingers fisting tighter into his shirt, she cups his cheek with her other hand, “please don’t leave me again.”

“Stop,” he croaks. Placing his hands over hers, he briefly closes his eyes, swallowing the fear. “Just… stop.” 

She tucks her chin and tries to slip from his grasp. Locking his arm around her, he crooks a finger beneath her chin, urging her to look at him. When their eyes finally meet, he shakes his head. “I’m the one that should be begging for forgiveness because what I did, what I assumed, is unforgivable.” Shushing her when she tries to speak, he maneuvers them closer to the chair and gently pushes her to sit. Brushing a finger over her cheek, he stares down at her, words trapped in his throat.

Warm fingers wrap around his, “Dean?” the concern etched on her face makes him realize that he’s been silent far too long. 

“I love you so much and am so sorry for hurting you. I was terrified of losing you to some horrible death. Hell, I still am.” Crouching in front of her, he steadies himself with his hands on her knees. Holding her gaze, he earnestly states, “I know that doesn’t excuse how I acted or what I said. You’re right. I kicked you out of your home. It was a shitty thing to do, and-”

“Yeah, it was. And so was my leaving. Dean-” Her hands cover his, trembling fingers squeezing around his palms.

Small. She sounds so small… and scared. Pain holds her smile captive, and sorrow shrouds the sparkle in her eyes. He cuts her off, cradling her face in his hands. “No. It’s my turn now.” Her laugh emerges as a sob, but she gives him a nod, and he thumbs over the apples of her cheeks. 

“When I came back, and you were gone, I was sucker punched with just how badly I’d fucked it all up. I panicked. It felt like I’d died… again. I should have called. I wanted to call. Hell, I wanted to hunt you down and beg for your forgiveness right then, but I convinced myself that what I wanted, what I felt, didn’t matter. That you probably hated me anyway, and as much as it hurt, it was for the best.” 

Dropping his hands to gently grasp hers, he brings them to his chest, “I am so sorry for all of it,” flattening them beneath his as he kneels between her legs. “And I am so damn proud of you. Of everything you’ve accomplished. I’ll get it if you don’t want to give it up. You shouldn’t. Fuck, I shouldn’t even be asking you to.” 

He tries to pull away, but her fingers curl into his t-shirt, body tense as she shakes her head. “Fine,” he mutters, her grip remaining firm as if she senses that he’s drawing strength from her, and a tear slips from the corner of his eye. 

“Not gonna lie, it- It’ll suck if you decide not to, but I will understand.” He’s unsure how much more he can get out before completely losing it, so he rushes through his next words. “I know these are just words, but you have to believe I will never stop trying to make it up to you. You’re the light that illuminates all the dark corners, my light at the end of the tunnel. Hope that there is something better for us out there. I don’t want to do this without you anymore. I’m sorry for everything. Can you forgive me enough to come back home?” 

There’s so much more he wants to say, probably should say, but he figures that he’s said the most important things and prays that it’s enough.

Y/N contemplates the man in front of her, blinking when the brimming tears held back by her lashes spill over to race down her cheeks. The watery distortion can’t hide the truth in his eyes, the sincerity in his tone. Brushing a thumb over his brow, she trails her fingers down his cheek, fingertips disrupting the trail of salty droplets. “I told you I forgave you before you even walked out the bedroom door. It’s not a lie. I didn’t say it to make you feel better.” Resting her palm against his neck, her thumb strokes along his jaw. “I think we each carry enough guilt in this to negate the other’s.” He leans into her touch, but his gaze never falters. 

She knows there’s much more to be said­, trust to be earned back, decisions to be made about their future, but there will be time for that later. 

“Dean, you are my home.” She anxiously tugs on his t-shirt, then surges forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and sobs into his neck. “I’m never leaving it again.”

Feeling like he’s standing on shifting sand, he clings to her, afraid the emotions will bury him alive. Needing her closer, he twists to sit on the floor, pulling her into his lap. He fights to find solid ground, a stepping stone on a path forward, searching for footing, falling into his safety net of humor. He kisses the top of her head, smiling through his tears, “So, does this mean it’s a rumor that you've moved on? That you no longer love me?”

“Yes!” She chokes out, laughing despite the ache in her chest. Sitting back, she frames his face in her hands. “Forget anything you’ve heard to that effect. I gave you my whole heart and never got it back. Not one tiny piece. It’s always been yours and always will be.” 

For the first time in almost a year, Dean breathes freely, heart beating unrestrained, chest no longer feeling like it’s being crushed under the weight of a golem. 

Smile relaxed, tongue wetting his lips, he leans in, but she pulls back, forcefully smacking his chest, and warns, “Don’t ever call me sweetheart like that again. If you do, I’ll give your cassettes a hunter’s funeral.”

Shock, then a nervous laugh, but he knows he’ll do anything to keep her from leaving again. “Deal,” he passionately agrees, sealing it with a kiss.

The mischievous glint in her eyes when she sits back piques his curiosity, and his smile grows as he lifts a brow in question.

“I feel like we should get Jody a fruit basket or something.”

His burst of laughter unleashes a fit of giggles from her, each releasing an inner sigh as tears of happiness now stain their cheeks. Rumors dispelled, defenses reduced to dust, hearts beating in sync once again, safe in the arms of the other.

Love Me Some Pie

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deans-baby-momma // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

[knowltonsrangers]

theoretically pt.6

TURN!Benjamin Tallmadge x F!reader

[ part one , part two , part three , part four , part five ]

Throughout the night, Ben remained still as a tomb in the desk chair, chin resting in his hand as he stares distractedly at the cot. Watching as you wrapped yourself up in the thin sheet to attempt to seek heat amongst the brimming snowstorm outside.

He couldn’t stop himself, the thoughts spinning around in his mind wouldn’t allow him sleep, lest not anytime soon. The feeling of guilt ate him away, the waking thought that the General had left this decision to him, such a heavy responsibility terrified him. While he was eager to please his superior, he wanted do right by you, for whatever the purpose may be.

And what that meant, he wasn’t entirely sure. Subconsciously, he knew he could never just toss you into town when it came time to move camp. With how confused you were, he couldn’t bear the thought of you wandering aimlessly in streets you didn’t call home.

Why were his thoughts so loud in his head? Typically, on nights like these, he’s happy to welcome the opportunity to sleep, blue eyes heavy with exhaustion. Tonight, it seemed he’s not going to get much rest, if any.

“Hm,”

He ponders aloud, shifting uncomfortably in the wooden furniture. Ben hated to make rash decisions, he relished in the safety of careful and calculated moves, and yet, here he didn’t have that luxury, to make one that would hold your fate in his hands.

Hastily, he turns back to his desk, beginning to draw up a proper course of action, something he can slip Caleb without having to exchange any verbal words amongst the camp.

He needed a second opinion on this, and it wasn’t going to come from you.

“I like yer pants, y/n. Where’d ya find ‘em?”

Somehow, you ended up a shivering mess in the middle of the woods, hands running along your upper arms to try and regain some warmth. Ben and the newly met Caleb had been chattering about what to do, and their conversation seemingly ended as the brunette turns to you.

“Oh? Um—“

You turn around to try and see where the logo was, forgetting yourself for the moment.

“They’re probably from Aerie—oh. You don’t know what that is. Right.”

Ben gives Caleb a look as if to say: ‘I told you so!’ And the shorter man replies with a face of dumbfounded curiosity.

“Don’t ya know what you have here, Ben?”

He exclaims excitedly, shuffling a step closer to you as your teeth begin to chatter.

“And what might that be?”

“If you say someone who can help you win the war, it’s a hard no.”

Caleb visibly deflates, spinning around to give you the saddest look you’ve ever seen on a man, his bottom lip actually jutting out slightly.

“Aw, why the hell not?”

“‘Cause I don’t know anything about the American Revolution. I know enough to skate by an Early American History class, but not enough tiny details.”

You shrug.

“And besides. Not really a good idea to mess with the black hole I probably fell out of.”

“Wassat?”

“Oh, forget it, will you? I asked you for help, not to turn this into some sort of solution to the war.”

Ben interjects, white snow beginning to scatter around the fallen leaves and dirt.

“Can I please get a jacket, I am going to freeze my butt off.”

Caleb chuckles, immediately shrugging off his outer leather coat before Ben can properly react. He tosses the material around your body, your shoulders basically melting at how warm the heavy black jacket felt.

“O-oh, I didn’t mean—“

“S’alright. Ye looked like a leaf.”

Smiling in thanks, you happily sink a little deeper into the article of clothing.

“That problem being solved, what am I to do when camp is set to move in a few days?”

Ben’s hands come to his hips, almost impatiently.

“Washington wishes for a solution by tonight. Think you can get out of here for the time being?”

Caleb bobs his head, mulling the question over before giving a hum of approval.

“Yeah, I think so. Where do ya have in mind?”

“Wait, I’m leaving?”

A slight ring of worry laces your words, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Just for now, y/n. I haven’t quite decided what I am to do with you, but I need the General to think you’ve left.”

“Why’s that?”

“If I keep you here any longer—“

“Yer going to raise some eyebrows, miss.”

Caleb finishes.

“Oh? In a good way or a bad way?”

Ben, unamused, becomes even more so as Caleb throws his head back in a belt of laughter.

“I like ‘er! I wouldn’t mind a bit takin’ you across the sound for the night.”

“I like you too,”

Offering Caleb a small smile, you then swallow thickly.

“I know I don’t have a say.”

You next turn to Ben, watching the way his eyes read you inquisitively.

“But I trust you. And if you trust Caleb, and think it’s best, then I have to trust your decision.”

“y/n.”

The blonde sighs, hands falling from his hips as he takes a hesitant step forward.

“I trust Caleb with my life. But please, don’t think I’m doing this because I want to. I’m doing it because I don’t have any other options.”

You sniffle, looking up at him from under thick lashes.

“Fresh outta those?”

It makes your heart leap for joy when he finally gets one of your jokes.

“Yes. So it would seem.”

Caleb looks between the two of you, smiling to nobody but himself as he begins to outline his plan.

“I’ll keep her safe, Benny,”

He needn’t to ask, but it reassured him nonetheless.

“I’ll likely see you tomorrow night then, y/n. Be well.”

It’s the bitter air that was full of hesitation and fear, but you decided it was best to make the move on your own volition.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,”

You joke breathlessly, a slight skip in your step as you walk over to the Major, just as he turned to leave.

“That’s hardly any advice, I—“

He’s stunned speechless as you wrangle him into the quickest side hug you’ve ever given, squeezing him tight before letting him go.

Ben, unfairly, never had any time to respond.

“Ahem. That’s not very good advice, y/n. I would never do anything you would do.”

With an amused smile twitching on his lips, he bids you and Caleb farewell before heading back through the woods, likely to the General.

“Ready to go, y/n?”

Caleb asks from beside you, a slight tremor in your voice as you watch the Major until he disappears behind some trees.

“Yeah. Ready.”

[ratremusagere]

Hey yall! This was a request over on AO3 (RatRemus - Sanders Sides Agere/Kid Fics) by Voidlunaluci :)

~Request~

Caregivers: Logan and Janus

Littles: remus and Virgil

Prompt: It's Halloweens and remus wannas goes to a horror maze whiles smalls but virgils scare so Janus and Logan work together to helps

Please and thankies!!

Papa: Logan

Dada: Janus

Remus: 6

Virgil: 3

Word Count: 1077

Virgil and Remus were supposed to be napping. Supposed. In actuality Remus was drawing out his big idea for a haunted maze that they, the two little and their caregivers, could go to. It wasn’t Remus’ fault that he was too excited to nap!

Virgil on the other hand was entirely too tired to deal with Remus keeping him up, he was just a little guy after all. However after Remus let out a happy squeal after finishing his project Virgil jumped and started crying, as the poor baby was easily startled.

Janus walked in and sighed at the sight in front of him before going to scoop up Virgil. He gently patted Virgil’s bottom “shhh it’s ok spiderling, no need to cry” he hummed softly and rocked the overgrown toddler. Logan then walked in too and saw Remus out of bed, coloring. Remus at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Remus, what did you do?” Logan said fondly, he didn’t have it in him to truly be angry at the kid. It wasn’t his fault he had an overactive imagination and had a hard time napping or staying quiet.

“Nothing papa!” Remus immediately lowered his voice at the pointed look Logan gave him “sorry papa but really, I was just drawin and came up with a really good idea for a haunted maze for us to go in and and I squealed cuz happy stim and then I woke up the baby. I’m sorry”

“Buddy, it’s ok thank you for the apology, how about we go in the living room and after dada finishes calming down your baby brother we look over your drawing together? Does that sound good?” Remus immediately jumped up, very excited by that prospect and ran to the living room. Logan chuckled fondly and walked after the hyperactive little.

Soon after, Janus followed suit, the now calmed Virgil in his arms. His eyes were still a bit teary but he was okay now. “So kid, what’s this I hear about your haunted maze?” Janus said, sitting next to Logan on the couch as Virgil crawled into Logan’s lap and Remus crawled into Janus’.

“Well dada! I’m so glad you asked! I drawed us all going to a haunted maze and it was so scary you pooped your pants! And papa got so scared he punched somebody! And me and baby vee completed the maze and and we won a prize! And there’s so many zombies and skeletons and guys with chainsaws trying to chop your heads off!” Remus seemed really proud of his idea but Virgil on the other hand started crying again.

Logan started rocking Virgil as Virgil whined “I…I don wan people cuts our heads off!!” He sobbed loudly. Remus whined as well “but it’s not real vee! It’s just pretend.” That seemed to help Virgil a little. “How about we make the maze a little less scary ree? Just so Virgil can enjoy it too? I promise as soon as you’re both big again we can go to a very scary one” Remus pouted at Logan’s words. “Fineeee but I better get to keep the severed fingies!” Remus giggled. Janus blinked and frowned “absolutely not ree, that’s not happening. I love you but we aren’t putting any real body parts in this maze. How about we make some severed finger cookies instead?” Janus quickly added the cookie part because he could tell Remus was going to throw a fit over his words.

Remus still pouted but nodded, he was hungry anyways. “Ok dada, after that can we go to the haunted maze? Pleaseeeee?” Janus nodded “sure honey, how about Vee, you, and I go do that while papa and Roman work on making this maze for us?” The boys seemed excited so that’s exactly what they did.

~~~~~

It was now a couple hours later, the boys wound up needing a bath and another nap after cookie making so it was closer to sunset. Remus was dressed in his zombie rat costume and Virgil was dressed in a cute spider onesie. He felt comfortable enough to walk as long as either his papa or dada held his hand so they were all walking together to the maze.

Remus had tried to run off three separate times so his caregivers forced him into a leash backpack. “Ok baby we are here do you want to be picked up?” Virgil shook his head no at Janus “m a big boy dada!!” Logan smiled at him and ruffled his hair.

Just then a zombie jumped out of the maze at them. It spooked Virgil a little so he clung to the side of his dada a little more but Remus seemed happy enough so they kept going. Virgil seemed to get braver as they kept going and Remus was excited by that, happy his baby brother wasn’t being a scaredy cat anymore.

Just as Remus turned around to look at his papa and dada another zombie jumped out at them. Virgil squealed and ran to his dada but was giggling, he thought it was funny. However Remus, not expecting it, jumped and started crying. He plopped down and was suddenly not the brave big 6 year old anymore but a frightened baby who needed his papa.

Logan was quick to scoop Remus up and hold him “oh baby doll it’s okay, shhhh it’s alright darling” he hummed a little lullaby to Remus. Remus’ crying also startled Virgil who began to tear up and reach for his (now) baby brother. “Dada he’s cwyin! Poor baby gotta help him!” Janus smiled fondly at Virgil “I know baby he’s just a little spooked. How about we head home and come back another day?” Virgil adamantly said no to that “ree ree was soooo excited!! We can’t leave without finishin da maze! And gettin da prize! For baby!!!”

The two caregivers looked suprised at that, thinking Virgil would want to leave but nodded anyways “okay spider we can finish the maze” Janus said following after the now determined young boy.

Remus let out soft coos and attempted to eat Logan’s tie whilst they walked. Logan, very fond of the baby in his arms, just let him do so. Once they found the end of the maze both boys let out happy squeals. Happily claiming their prizes (a squid themed paci and a stuffed spider) they headed home to be coddled and doted on by their caregivers.

[chaotic-evil-frog]

GOOD OMENS FANS WHO CAN DRAW COMICS AND STUFF! please I am begging anyone to draw a comic of archangel Azi forcing Crowley into an Angel.

Like Crowley would be very distraught and sad, he’d take a walk in the park and then stop at the ice cream man and order a vanilla flake, he’d begin to ask for a strawberry popsicle but then hesitate and just ask for the vanilla flake. Once he gets his ice cream he’d begin to leave but then he’d be kidnapped by angels (this is all very similar to s1 ep6)

Once he arrives in heaven he’d be like, “oh great another 3xecut1on, you really wana try this again?” He’d be surrounded by the other archangels but Azi would be mysteriously missing…? Then Crowley would struggle in the white rope chair.

“Oh not quite soo Crowley” Then moving past the archangels comes Aziraphale comes through and smiles down at Crowley.

“Angel? What are you doing? What is this?” He’d say in a rushed panic that wasn’t present before.

“Oh Crowley, wait an see…” he’d keep his kind smile however something dark and twisted lies beneath it, you’d compare it to a demon however it was far to *holy* for that.

“Aziraphale! What are you doing!” Crowley shouts but to no avail.

The Angel just hums some song Crowley couldn’t place.

“AZIRAPHALE!”

“Oh Crowley, *insert some poetic line about how much Aziraphale loves Crowley, and forgave him for leaving, like: ‘we’ve been together in every century, why brake that streak right before eternity’ or ‘I said I forgave you, but I will never forget about you’ or something way more poetic I can’t think off•

“Aziraphale, I DONT WANT THIS! I don’t want heaven!-“

“But you fell so long ago, you can’t remember how good heaven was!”

“ANGEL LISTEN TO ME!”

“Oh but I remember, I remember it all, I can still see your smile after creating that nebula…”

“What…?”

“Oh I can’t recall a time you were that happy, ever.”

“ Oh and I remember your tip about the suggestion box! Now that I’m in charge I can put up a suggestion box if you’d like!”

Crowley is in pure shock, it’s more of an open ended look where you can’t quite tell what he’s thinking.

“Oh and once you join us I’ll put you right back on star creation!”

Aziraphale looks all too pleased with himself,

“Please tell me you want this! Please tell me you’ll join me!” Aziraphale begs Crowley.

There’s a beat of silence before Crowley raises his head to face the angel.

“No,”

“What?”

“No, I’ll never join heaven again.”

“Bu-But Crowley! It’s me! I’m Heaven! This is all my plan!”

“You aren’t heaven, Angel, you’re just a pawn in some almighty’s ineffable plan”

“Well fine then, if you can’t see eye to eye with me then that’s that.”

Crowley sighs thinking this is over.

“Start the reinstatement.” Aziraphale says as he turns away from Crowley

“WHAT! Angel no. NO, AZIRAPHALE, STOP IT!”

He screams in anguish as his wings are forced out, only for them to start withering and decaying alongside his body, his skin seems to be flaking off, revealing something new underneath.

As the last feather falls off his raven wings he sighs. Believe in Thai to be over but he feels something, something beneath his skin. Then he shrieks as two stark white wings ripe out of his back and tear their way through his body.

He’s in such pain he hasn’t even noticed that his entire form has been remade. His skin now as smooth as a cherub, his once snakeish eyes now a kind doe brown, and his clothes, his stylish sleek black ensemble now traded out for a white ride, not even his snake skin boots remained.

The only thing remotely similar to his demonic self was his hair, still a firey red. He was freed from the chair, well not so much freed as the chair vanished beneath him.

He fell to the floor, flapping his sore new wings.

He looks as Aziraphale kneels down to her level, “ Ah, there we are angel!” Aziraphale muttered as he grabbed Crowley’s face in between his hands.

“Welcome back!” And with that Crowley was left alone on the floor heavens office, surrounded in blood. Such a nice way to get over a breakup

[fangirlwriting-stories]

They Say You Can't Fight Fate (I Say Fucking Watch Me)

Summary: Remus decided a long time ago that if he ever met his soulmate he'd fuck them up.  It's only fair to return the favor, after all of the bullshit they've put him through.

Well, in all fairness, that's more his parents fault.  But blaming them didn't get him out of this place either.

Author’s Note: You know what time it is, that's right it's time to explore what a fucking nightmare it would be to live in a society with actual soulmates!  Vis-a-vis some Remus and Roman angst this time!

Also just for the record, I haven't finished this one yet and I'm not entirely sure if I will, but I've decided I like what I've written enough to post anyway!  To be clear I am still planning on finishing it as of now, I've just stopped actively working on it and I decided I didn't want to wait and see if I finished it or not.  As of now there are six chapters, and I will post all of them if nothing else!  Check the tags on this one, there's some bad stuff in here.

...

The part Remus couldn’t ever get over is that when he was younger, he was fine.  Ask anyone, he was a happy kid.   He and Roman liked playing pretend, wrestling for fun, drawing or writing together, running around together in the rain and getting absolutely soaked.  Remus was bright eyed and optimistic and hopeful and ready for a happy future and a fulfilling life.

It was all absolutely the fucking soulmates fault.  Whoever they were, Remus was never going to forgive them.

“Please don’t jump.”  That had to be the first thing they said to him.  They couldn’t have said “Hey, why don’t we go get some ice cream instead of this?” or “Hey, can we talk for a bit first?”

Or maybe they were talking about skydiving!  Maybe Remus was going to develop a passion for skydiving and meet his soulmate, the scaredy-cat who’s having second thoughts right before they jump completely safely out of the plane!  That sounded right up his alley, didn’t it?  That sounded like him!

Or it had.  Up until his parents shoved him into this clinical emotionless condescending hellhole and turned Remus’ life into the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy.

Because the thing is, if you explain to someone over and over and over again that you’re fine, and you don’t feel like you have any mental issues, and they never believe you?  Well.  That can fuck with someone in the head a little bit.

Either way, it meant Remus had spent most of his life in this stupid fucking hospital, and he wasn’t going to get out for the foreseeable future.  Probably not ever, because no one ever believed him.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.  Roman believed him.  Roman had been there the first time they’d asked Remus if he thought about hurting himself, and Roman had given them a baffled look because Remus told him everything, obviously, and if Remus had been bothered by something he would have told him.

Roman had just a tad bit more luck than Remus in the soulmark department.  His wrist said “I love you, you know that?”

Meaning everyone thought he was going to have just the most peachy soulmate story ever.  Someone who was starry-eyed from the second they met him.  How could anyone with such a soulmark have any problems whatsoever?  Never mind Roman’s crippling insecurity and desperation for attention, which Remus had to do his best to help Roman with alone, because no one else was ever going to bother trying.

Instead, Roman was there as no one believed Remus when he explained that no, he really was fine, he was good, why was that so hard to believe?  Roman had backed up his story, seeming baffled that none of them understood that.

He’d protested alongside Remus when he started seeing therapists he didn’t need and Roman wanted, and eventually when Remus was sent away to a psych hospital that neither of them needed.  But the two of them backing each other up had apparently never been enough, and now Remus was here and got to see Roman once every two weeks as if that was enough to stop feeling bitter about Roman growing up without him.

His one consolation was that Roman hated it just as much as he did.  He’d never come with news that he’d made friends, even though he had to have.  He never told Remus that he’d gotten the lead role in a school play, even though his parents had told Remus earlier that visit.  He never told Remus that he’d gotten his drivers license, despite his parents raving about how proud they were.  Instead, they talked about creative projects they’d been working on together since the last time Roman was there, they watched TV shows on the phone Roman brought with him that Remus wasn’t allowed to have.  It was like Roman had decided that while he was there, his life consisted of Remus.

Remus adored him for it.  He could imagine just how quickly he’d come to hate Roman if he started telling Remus about the life he was living without him.  He wanted Roman to have one, obviously.  But he also didn’t want to hate him.  And he still wanted to be part of it.  So Roman found a way to, as best he could, say that Remus still was.

Remus just wished it could be enough.

But it wasn’t.

No amount of working on stories and paintings with Roman could change the fact that he was here every day, had no choice or chance to get out, and no one believed that he didn’t want to fucking kill himself.

Remus imagined that it was all of this put together that first made him start considering the idea.

Not seriously, not at first.  Just a little sarcastic laugh of a thought, “Why don’t you just prove ‘em all right then, if they’re going to think they are either way?”

Heh, yeah.

Hey… yeah.

What did he have to look forward to anyway, really?  It’s not like he was getting out of here at eighteen.  His parents still got to control that.  He wasn’t mentally well enough to make the decision.  Because he was never mentally goddamn well enough to make the fucking decision.  And he never would be, because no one would ever let him be.

And he wanted out of here.

The idea made more sense the more Remus thought about it, and there wasn’t much else to think about in here.  He was sure Roman picked up on something being wrong (or at least more wrong than usual), but he didn’t tell him.  He trusted Roman, but he also trusted that if he admitted to Roman what he was thinking, Roman would tell someone.  And then everyone would feel vindicated in shoving Remus in here.  And then Roman would start wondering if he was wrong to have Remus’ back.  And Remus could not lose him.

So he said nothing.  And Roman said nothing.  And Remus stumbled his way into a plan.

Visiting time was good.  Roman and him had worked out years ago that if Remus didn’t show up right away, he was sneaking some kind of contraband that would make his life a little more bearable, and Roman shouldn’t say anything.

So Remus, minutes before visiting started when the orderlies were getting everyone else ready, slipped into the stairwell.

There wasn’t exactly easy access to the roof for obvious reasons, but Remus knew how to break a window from the top floor.  And he was pretty sure it was just high enough to work.

So why couldn’t he force himself to throw the damn rock at the window?

He’d been staring at the window opposite the top of the stairs for at least fifteen minutes now, trying to figure out why he couldn’t throw the thing.  It’s not like he had all the time in the world.  And this was probably his only chance, because once someone found him here, he’d be watched much more closely.  So he really should throw the rock right about now.

Do it.  Throw it at the window.  Now.

…Except he didn’t want to die.  Even now, he didn’t want to die.  He’d never wanted to fucking die.

Remus set the rock gingerly on the window sill and buried his head in his hands.  Why couldn’t he just want to fucking die?  Wasn’t he now trying to do what everyone expected of him?  Wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing?

Footsteps on the stairs behind him.  Remus reached out and picked up the rock, looking numbly out the window instead of behind him at the person.

But then Roman’s voice said, “Remus,” gasping and panicked, so he set the rock back down on the windowsill.

Roman wrapped his arms around him from behind.  “You didn’t show up after ten minutes,” Roman murmured into his shoulder.  “What are you doing here?”  He asked it like he already suspected the answer.  Remus didn’t give him another one.

“Remus,” Roman said.  “Please—”

“Don’t,” Remus snapped.  “You dare.”

“I wasn’t,” Roman said, sounding almost surprised.  “I wouldn’t.  I was going to say ‘please come back with me.’”

Remus shook his head.  “No.”

“Remus—”

“No, Roman.  I’m done.”

“You can’t be,” Roman said.  “Remus, you can’t be done.”

“Why not?”

“Remus,” Roman said, sounding scared, desperate.  “Remus, please, I can’t lose you.”

“The hell are you talking about, you’ll be fine,” Remus snapped, gesturing down vaguely towards Roman’s wrist.

“No I won’t,” Roman said.  “Don’t tell me that, don’t tell me how I feel, I—” Remus tensed, and he stopped.

“I’m sorry,” Roman whispered.

“I can’t spend another day there while they try to find out what secret trauma I have hidden away as if it’s not them,” Remus spat.  “I can’t do it.”

Roman didn’t say anything, just squeezed Remus tightly.

“I can’t do it Roman,” Remus whispered.  “I don’t want to die, but I can’t live like this anymore.”

“So,” Roman said suddenly.  “So don’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s leave.  Let’s run.”

“What, you think it’ll be different somewhere else?”

“It will if you already have your soulmate.”

“I don’t,” Remus said.  “They’ll never let me meet them anyway, not while I’m here.”

“I’ll be your soulmate,” Roman said.  “I’ll do it for you.”

Remus gave him a look.  “You can’t just do that.”

Roman gave him a very firm look back, took his wrist gently in his hand, and said honestly, sincerely, and worriedly, “Please don’t jump.”

Remus looked at him for a very long time, but didn’t say anything.  Finally, Roman gently offered his own wrist out to Remus.

A million protests ran through Remus’ head.  Roman couldn’t give up his perfect soulmate story just for his stupid fucked up institutionalized brother.  Roman had a person out there waiting, someone who probably loved him romantically, instead of just the stupid platonic soulmate like Remus would be, that most people didn’t even want in the first place.  Roman couldn’t just run off with him, how would they live, neither of them had jobs.  Roman would be leaving friends and school and a potential future behind.  Remus couldn’t take any of that from him just because he was tired and miserable.

Roman nudged him gently with his wrist, cutting off all his protests.

Remus turned and met his eyes.  Roman was looking at him with nothing but love and determination.

Remus’ eyes well up with tears.  “I love you, you know that?” he whispered, completely genuinely.

Roman nodded and pulled Remus into his arms, and they both sat there for a while.  They’d have a million details to work out, but there was still another half hour left for visiting, and for right now Remus was going to sit here with his brother.

...

Chapter Two

[sammystuffies]

Positive honeycraft rant

If y’all haven’t heard of honeycraft, it’s a vanilla SMP I am in with 11 others, most are here on tumblr! And earlier this month we celebrated one YEAR of our little corner of the Minecraft community, and as a holiday gift to them I wanted to share my thanks to them!

Honorable mention:

@12u3ie who isn’t a part of the server but our honorary member! We love ya 12 /p

Members:

@stormjay0 is currently on hiatus but will not be spared by my appreciation. Her content is so enjoyable and very underrated, the two of us are the chaotic braincells of the server. In the best way of course!

@exnoh is pm the only boy on the server and we love ya for it buddy xD seriously though he does his best to make it to meetings like everyone else but it’s hilarious because he’s muted the entire time and doing his own thing. Also his sona is so fun to draw sometimes.

@mixinu and @mgeekingout are the equivalent of cookies and milk, in the chaotic good way. I honestly can’t tell you how much these two are made for each other it’s adorable, they are both extremely talented artists and it drives me insane /pos

@sweetest-honeybee our beloved admin! Despite having almost no prior experience in being the admin back in s1 you couldn’t tell! She’s honestly the best base buddy I’ve had so far and the story we are making together with our terrible skits is cringey yet kinda engaging lol! Also we enjoy just talking about mcyt in general 😌

@fluffy-papaya is our current admin for this season and they are doing a great job! If you love lore PLEASE go and look for their videos because they are so good. Me and fluffy are the two biggest pranksters on this server, and we tend to prank each other sometimes lol

@redwinterroses isn’t on often but she is NUTS! 2 Smps AND still going to school, working, AND writing?? She’s crazy XD in all seriousness though I can never get enough of hanging out with Red.

SCPOwo and Faren, owo doesn’t have a tumblr and idk about faren so woops, but anyways owo is our pun loving friend (me too) as well as our local eldritch horror, no lore or videos, Just here for fun like me! Faren is the chill person on the server and honestly I want to hang with them more often, we get along really well!

@lelilawesell is one of our two new members who joined in the beginning of s2 and in skizzlemans words “friendship Jedi master” immediately when I met them I knew she would be a great fit for this fun server and I wasn’t more right. Also has one of the best laughs imho.

And last but definitely not least we have pistachio/Tashi! Our other new member is writing some amazing lore as well and is a great builder! After bee introduced her to our little server it would only make sense to have her join as well, also we both are good at improv lore. :D

That’s about it! Of course there’s so much more I want to say about them because being on a server with these amazing people is a dream, and even if some of them aren’t on often it makes those small moments even better. I still can’t believe it’s already been a year on honeycraft and I’m excited to see what the future will bring 💙

Happy holidays everyone, hope things are going well :)

[daydreamerfox]

Hi! I have a few things I wanna say! It's all under the cut so it won't occupy too much space, also, please enjoy this cute fanart of Layla, my child who I relate to way more than I wish I did

Maybe you’ve noticed that I've been kinda quiet the past few weeks… or months… Well, there’s a reason for that. At first I wasn't motivated at all to keep working with art, I mean, let's be real here, it's not really the easiest thing to work with... and we all know that. That fact plus not having my own computer to work whenever I want can lead to a lot of frustration. Feeling like drawing, but not being able to because of many reasons outside of my control can make my motivation vanish really quickly. I’m sure a lot of you can vouch for me on that, artist or not.

The thing is: I have been trying to keep going besides that, because "it's just a phase, things will get better, I just need to push past it" to a point where it was just bad for me in general and completely unhealthy.

I was avoiding drawing as much as I could and, when I did draw, I wasn't as productive as I wanted to be, because I kept getting distracted with everything else, procrastinating it as much as I could without realizing it, which would just lead to more and more frustration with myself.

I felt like I was falling behind, I wasn’t being able to post as frequently as I wanted to, so I thought maybe finishing Illustrations quickly was the way to go, but that would lead to me wanting to draw whatever and even then not being happy with the results. When I was happy with it it just didn’t get the attention I was expecting it to get, which just made me frustrated again and made me try to push myself even more, even though I didn’t have the tools I needed to finish any art piece on the time I decided to do it or I’d just pull all nighters just to get something done.

Whenever I thought of strategies of how to fix my problem I just felt lost. I knew where I wanted to get, what I wanted for myself, but I didn’t know what I should do to get there, I couldn’t get to a conclusion about it no matter what I tried. It just felt like I was doing a lot of work, but with no direction and it just made me be stuck at the same place, which would just tire and stress me instead of giving me any gratification

It got to a point where I genuinely thought about giving up working with art for good. If it was so bad for me, why would I keep trying, right? Maybe I should just try to find something I could work with instead, something that wouldn’t stress me so much, but I have to admit that just thinking about that possibility made me so anxious! Imagine myself not creating something as a career, not working on getting my comic done, not making my ocs be known, not creating art for games, it all just filled me with anxiety.

I wasn’t sure what to do anymore. Continue working in the way I was working was just tiring me, stressing me and just being terrible for me in so many different ways, but at the same time I know I need to do it for my mental health. I need to vent out, I need to express myself and the easiest way for me is through my art!

All I could think of the entire time was that I wanted my mom to still be here and help me find out what I should do!

It was a terrible weekend where I was thinking about it nonstop and wondering what to do and what path I should take. I was trying to organize my bedroom to at least try to keep my head occupied with something else for a moment, and then I found an old notebook where my mom wrote something for me and along with many things she wrote:

“Never give up on your dreams. Know that sometimes they don’t come true in the time we want because there’s always the right time for it to happen”

It might not seem much for you but this sentense alone kind of made everything click for me. It was just the one thing I needed, the advice from my mother I was looking for.

I think it’s important to say that I didn’t feel better right away, but at least I knew I couldn’t give up like I was thinking about doing. When my friends asked me what would be my decision, I still wasn’t sure, but I knew I couldn’t and I wouldn’t give up, so I wanted to try at least one last time…

Honestly I wanted to start working on it right away but I caught a cold right after I had that decision. I guess that was something else I needed: Time for me to plan out what I would do, rest, allow my body and brain to breath for a moment and not feel bad about it, just respect myself and not worry about being late for something I wasn’t late for. I shouldn't strain my body and I'm trying to understand that still. It’s not easy.

While I didn’t feel well enough to work I took a few classes on how to do what I’m planning to work on and, while that didn’t answer all my questions, at least that helped me a lot on knowing what path I should take to get to my goal. I know it won’t be easy, I know it won’t be quick, but knowing what I need to do to get there is enough for me not to be as anxious about running in circles trying to get somewhere. Even if sometimes I still get scared thinking about that possibility.

Ever since then I’ve been trying to organize myself, I’m documenting it, making a few vlogs (It’s in portuguese, but I can subtitle it for the people who can’t speak portuguese, if you guys want it). I’m planning on talking about what’s working for me and what isn’t, what are my thoughts about this process and what I wanna keep doing or not. Maybe some of it might help someone who’s struggling like I was, and if it does, then I’ll already be happy.

Making videos like that is something new for me, so it might take a bit long for now, but I want to make something nice for everyone. I’ll also write down my thoughts about it, post it here and on my other social media (I’ll try to make something kinda regular, but I’m still thinking about how often I’ll do it.) I know not everyone enjoy watching videos and sometimes can focus better on reading things and either way that’s a way for myself to organize my thoughts. I’ll write it down anyway, the difference is that I’ll post it and hopefully help someone.

I might add a few WIPs here and there, but it’ll mostly be focused on my organization and my journey to become the artist I wanna be.

I’ve also found a notion template that is actually working for me and I’m able to organize all the posts for different platforms I was so desperately trying to make (it's easier to keep track of everything if they’re in just one plae and it’s easier to reschedule things if they’re digital)

It’ll be a long way, I know that, but I’m glad I haven’t given up yet and you guys are more than welcome to join me, if you want to! I'll love to share this with you and know what's working and what isn't working for you guys! We can always share tips and tricks with each other!

I hope to be able to show up here more often and that you guys can have fun and maybe feel motivated to follow your dreams or try to reach your goals too. Maybe I’m dreaming a bit too high, but I just need to be patient and keep working for it, trying to make things work and most importantly, not giving up!

On a higher note: my sister helped me fix a laptop so I can work on it most of the time and a friend of mine is helping me build an actually good computer for myself, though I don’t know how long the latter will take, it’s already good news… at least in my opinion.

Here's my youtube channel for those who want to check on the vlogs (though I'll still let you guys know when a new video's out)

And if you prefer any other social medias:

Insta: https://www.instagram.com/daydreamerfox.art/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/daydreamerfox Twitch: https://www.twitch.tv/daydreamer_fox

[lyranova]

Children of the Future: The World to Come

Chapter 8: A Surprise Christmas Gift

Hiya guys! I’m so sorry this chapter took me so long, I had a poll to decide what this chapter should be about and it ended in a tie so I ended up having to decide 😆! And I really struggle with writing birth and pregnancy chapters (they give me anxiety and I have a really hard time 😅) but I think this chapter came out very well and I’m super proud of it and myself 😁! I hope you all enjoy~!

Solara and Josele that are briefly mentioned belong to @/thoughtfullyrainynightmare and @/loosesodamarble

Taglist: @thoughtfullyrainynightmare @crazyclownthanos @acacia-may @loosesodamarble (if anyone else wants to be tagged please let me know!)

Word Count: 2,897

Warnings: Pregnancy, Labor

———

Neva winced slightly as she sat at her vanity, even though she was now Queen she still insisted on getting dressed and doing her hair and make-up herself, but in her current state that was…a little difficult to achieve.

Currently, the Queen of Spade was 9 months pregnant with the next heir to the royal throne.

She nearly laughed at the memory of everyone being so excited when she told them. She had invited everyone that was close to her and could clearly see the surprise and happiness on their faces as though it had happened yesterday. She recalled William and her friends Solara and Josele pulling her aside and telling her how happy and proud they were of her, and that if she ever needed anything to just send them a letter or use the communication device and they would gladly come to Spade to help her.

Neva also recalled how everyone in the castle treated her differently after her announcement. They treated her like she was some sort of priceless, fragile doll that could break at any moment. It annoyed her greatly that the people in the castle treated her that way, but luckily there were two people in the castle who treated her normally.

Her mother-in-law Ciel, and her husband Yuno.

The two did act a little more cautious, especially in the beginning, but knew when and where to draw the line. Yuno toed that line many times, but always made sure to take a step back when Neva caught him or when he caught himself.

But during her entire pregnancy he was a really big help. When she was sick around him, no matter the time of day or night, he would always help hold her hair out of her face and would rub her back soothingly. When she was too tired to go to a meeting or to take care of her Paragons Yuno would take over so she could rest, and he even went as far as to surprise her with new clothes as she progressed in her pregnancy.

Neva laughed as she remembered how much she teased him about that, she knew his heart was in the right place by getting her more clothes that would fit more comfortably, but she could refrain from giving him a bit of a hard time over it.

But her most favorite thing that he did during the entire pregnancy? He started reading to her.

Of course Yuno would tell her that he wasn’t reading out loud for her, and that he was actually reading out loud to help their child’s development. But she knew better. After she offhandedly mentioned how much she loved hearing him read to her he began to do it more often and even began reading her favorite books.

Neva suddenly winced again as she felt that same pain in her back. Her doctor had told her that they were most likely something called “false labor pains” and that she would be experiencing them more as she progressed further and further along, it was her body's way of preparing itself is what the doctor said. The woman couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

If this was just the false pains, just how bad were the real ones?

She turned as she noticed a familiar face in the mirror smiling lovingly at her.

“ You look very beautiful Neva,” Yuno said softly as he leaned against the door frame and had his arms crossed, and she couldn’t help but smile and shake her head.

“ Even with the back of my dress open like this?” Neva asked curiously, she had tried to tie the back of her dress herself, but found it to be a little…difficult. Yuno chuckled.

“ Especially with the back open.” He joked which caused his wife to scoff and roll her eyes before she stood up.

“ You’re a terrible liar.” She muttered as she watched him walk up to her and tied up the back of her dress.

“ I know. Which is why I make a point to never lie.” He told her before placing a gentle kiss onto her shoulder, which made Neva smile softly.

“ You don’t have to go to the party, you know, you can just stay up here and rest.” He muttered as he wrapped his arms around her, his wife nodded before leaning back against his chest and placing her hand on top of his.

“ I know, and trust me I considered it, but this will probably be my last royal event before our child is born. And we have so many visitors from Clover, Heart, and Diamond here, so I owe it to everyone to at least make a short appearance at the Christmas Party.” Neva said and she felt Yuno sigh before he rested his head on her shoulder.

“ I understand, and I think Asta would be very disappointed if he didn’t get to see you at the party.” He muttered with a shake of his head. “ I swear I think he’s more excited about becoming an uncle than becoming a dad.” He added and Neva couldn’t help but chuckle.

Asta and his wife Noelle were also expecting a baby, although Noelle was only 2 months along as opposed to Neva’s nine months. But the two were able to chat and bond about their different, yet somewhat similar, experiences during their pregnancies. It was nice to have someone going through it at the same time as her, all of her other friends already had their children and provided her with great advice which she was now handing down to Noelle as well.

“ He’s excited about both, but what about you? Are you excited about being a father, and then an uncle in 8 months?” Neva asked softly as she turned to look at him, although she already knew the answer, she still wanted to hear him say it herself. And when she saw a soft smile appear on his face again she knew what he was going to say.

“ Of course I am. Although I am a little nervous about being a dad, I think the excitement outweighs it a bit.” Yuno admitted quietly which made Neva chuckle before placing a kiss onto the side of his head.

The two of them had already worked through their worries and doubts about being good parents long ago, so now they had more excitement in their hearts than nerves. But the nervousness still remained no matter how excited they were.

As Yuno removed his arms he grabbed his wife’s hand and the two walked out of the room. They walked down the hall a bit before Neva winced in pain again, this time it was a little sharper than the other two had been. Her husband noticed her wince and placed his hand on her back and began to rub it soothingly.

“ Are you okay? Do we need to go back?” He asked in concern as he looked at her face, she shook her head before inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly.

“ It’s alright, it’s just these stupid false labor pains. I’ve probably been standing too long.” Neva told him with a laugh, but Yuno didn’t look convinced. “ I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“ You’ll pop your head in for a few minutes and then go rest,” Yuno said in a serious and stern tone, as Neva opened her mouth to argue, she watched him cut her a look. “ That’s an order from the King.” He added, his wife made a tutting noise before rolling her eyes.

“ You’re so annoying.” She muttered but didn’t argue. Yuno kissed the top of her head and the two continued to walk down the hallway, and as much as Neva appreciated him trying to help ease her pain by rubbing the small of her back, it didn’t really do much to help. But it did give her some comfort.

But after being in the ballroom for a few minutes, the pain grew worse.

As Neva walked around and greeted their guests and friends in the ballroom with Yuno the pain in her back began to grow more and more intense and soon it migrated more to the front.

These were not the “false labor pains” that her doctor had told her about.

She gritted her teeth and attempted to smile warmly at everyone. She was used to wearing a ‘mask’ in front of people, but this time it was much harder to keep it in place. After the greeted a pair of nobles from Spade another contraction hit Neva hard and she gripped Yuno’s arm tightly and couldn’t help but double over in pain.

“ Seriously kid? You couldn’t have waited at least one more day before pulling this stunt?” Neva grumbled in her head, but just like all her friends had told her, babies came when they were ready to, regardless of if you are ready for them to.

“ Neva! Are you okay?” Yuno exclaimed in concern as he bent over and tried to look at his wife’s face. He watched her try to smile through the pain as she turned to look at him.

“ I’m…I’m fine…” She told him through gritted teeth, but Yuno and everyone else could see that she clearly wasn’t alright.

“ Ralph,” Yuno called his personal guard loudly, and he quickly rushed over. “ Go fetch the doctor quickly!” Ralph nodded before taking a few of his fellow Mage Defense members with him, Yuno looked back at his wife and saw her face turn a little paler and sweat begin to appear on her forehead.

“ Is everything alright?” Ciel asked as she walked over to them, behind her was Asta, Noelle, Mimosa, Klaus, and William, all with worry etched onto their faces.

“ She’s been complaining of her back hurting since this evening, and she thought it was just false labor pains, but it just keeps getting worse.” Yuno explained, Ciel smiled warmly and knelt down next to her son and daughter-in-law.

“ It’s not false labor pains,” She said matter of factly. “ Neva dear, I think you're in actual labor. But we’ll need the doctor to confirm it.” She added kindly as she watched their eyes widen before they looked from her to each other.

———

Yuno paced back and forth anxiously in front of the oak doors that led to the Queen’s quarters. After Neva had doubled over in the ballroom, Ciel had ordered Yuno to help guide her to the closest private room. The closest one happened to be the Queen’s quarters where Neva was ‘supposed’ to sleep after she and Yuno were married, but of course she abandoned that room after one night, stating that she didn’t like sleeping alone and so far away.

Yuno had stayed in the room and held Neva’s hand as they waited for the doctor and his staff to arrive, but as they rushed in the nurses and midwives had ordered him to leave. When he tried to argue, the women glared at him and told him they would forcibly remove him if he didn’t do as they asked, no matter that he was the king.

He stopped pacing as he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Asta standing there with a small smile on his face.

“ Yuno, she’s going to be okay. They both will be.” Asta tried to assure his friend.

“ Remind me to tell you that exact same thing when Noelle’s the one in labor.” Yuno snapped icily, which caused everyone to wince. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “ Sorry.”

“ It’s okay, I get it. Honestly I’d probably snap at me too.” Asta said with a nervous laugh and Yuno tried to smile apologetically.

Yuno looked at the clock on the wall, Neva had gone into that room around 9pm and now it was 15 minutes past midnight. After a couple of hours of waiting William had to take his leave, which everyone understood, being here like this probably brought back a lot of memories that he would rather forget.

Yuno looked at the oak door again as he swore he heard a noise on the other side. There were many times where he had to restrain himself from throwing the door open and barging into the room to be with his wife, but he always hesitated. He wanted to be there for her and support her, but at the same time was worried about being in the way or stressing her out more, on top of that he was worried that seeing her in pain would break him. One of the things in this world that tore him up and could easily break him was seeing Neva in pain.

Finally, he determinedly walked up to the door and went to open it. But before he could, it swung open from the other side and one of the nurses face appeared, although it was considerably pale and her eyes held fear in them, which made Yuno anxious and concerned.

“ Y-Your majesty…”

“ What is it? Did something happen to Neva? Or the baby?” He asked quickly and she shook her head.

“ No it’s not that, um, actually…”

“ What? Is it twins? Or triplets?!” Asta suddenly asked from behind Yuno, causing both the Nurse and his friend to look at him.

“ N-No it’s not that either,” the nurse turned back to Yuno. “ Actually, the Queen is um demanding that you be allowed in there, and she specifically said if we didn’t let you that um…she would permanently incase us in her diamond magic…” the nurse continued nervously, and Yuno looked above her to see one of the midwife's feet completely covered in Neva’s diamond magic.

Yuno nodded as he quickly swallowed the laughter that crept into his throat, he would have to tell his wife to apologize to them after everything was over. He followed the nurse into the room and closed the oak door behind him.

———

Later at 6:30am

After waiting hours and hours, everyone in the hallway suddenly heard a baby cry as loudly as it could, and a wave of relief washed over all of them at the delightful sound.

The doctor, nurses, and midwives walked out of the room a few minutes later. When asked whether it was a Crown Prince or Princess the doctor just smiled and said that the king would come out and tell them himself later, the doctor also instructed the people in the hall to get some rest and to let the new family of three have some time to themselves before they tried to go into the room.

They nodded understandingly and they all sat down on the floor or in chairs and closed their eyes to rest for a few hours.

Inside the Queen’s room the new family of three were sitting together comfortably. Yuno sat on the edge of the bed and Neva rested her upper body against him as she held their daughter comfortably in her arms.

“ She looks a lot like you.” Neva muttered quietly as she stared lovingly at the newborn, Yuno frowned and shook his head.

“ I don’t think so, I think she looks a lot like you actually.” He muttered as he moved a little closer to inspect their daughter's face.

She had round chubby cheeks, a complexion that was closer to Yuno’s, and her hair seemed to be dark like his, but her eyes, her eyes were the spitting image of Neva’s.

“ Have you decided on a name yet?” Yuno asked curiously as he reached out a finger to gently grab his daughter's tiny hand, Yuno smiled as she gripped it firmly.

“ Hm I was thinking maybe…Miku.” Neva said softly as she traced her daughter's chubby cheek with her finger gently, the baby smiled brightly and Yuno tilted his head.

“ Miku huh…” He muttered the name to himself over and over again before he nodded. “ I like it, it suits her.”

“ In Hino it means ‘wind’ and I figured since most of us have four letter names that Miku would be perfect.” Neva lightly joked before she gently passed Miku off to her father so he could hold her. Neva shifted slightly so she could rest her head on her husband's shoulder and still keep an eye on Miku.

“ I never realized that our family all had four letter names,” Yuno admitted with a chuckle. “ But now that you mention it, it’s true.” He added and when he looked down he noticed his wife had closed her eyes and had fallen asleep, he looked over at his daughter and realized she had fallen asleep as well.

Yuno shook his head and shifted Miku in his arms a bit so he could hold her as well as Neva in his arms. It was a struggle, but he was able to manage it. His smile went from happy to content as he looked at his girls, they had a very tiring day and deserved the rest.

He looked up as the clock in the room suddenly chimed to signal the time, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. It was 7:30 am but more importantly, it was Christmas. He couldn’t help but chuckle, Miku was what one considered a ‘Christmas baby’.

As Yuno stared down at his adorable daughter he couldn’t help but think that this was the best Christmas gift he had ever received.

———

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[rocksandrobots]

PotP Ch 49 - Therapy, Tempers, and Triangles: Part 3

"Mr. Quirinson.... a word, if you please."

Varian stalled when he heard Granville's voice behind him. She didn't sound happy.

He closed the door to his lab and turned to greet her. "Yes, Professor?"

She frowned and held up a piece of paper covered in his handwriting, a bunch of math equations, and various symbols.

"While I'm impressed by your knowledge of ancient typography from antiquity, you can't use alchemy symbols in place of real words."

Varian sighed and tilted his head towards the ceiling. Granville ignored this as she read the paper once more.

"You have cutesy Sun and Moon doodles in place of gold and silver.... and... what is this?"

She pointed to a drawing of a black pointy spike.

"It's.... um... a rock..." He admitted.

"And what do rocks have to do with a time machine?"

Varian bit his lip, unwilling to answer.

Now it was Granville's turn to sigh in exasperation.

"Varian this is not presentable work. I can't turn this into the editor at the American Scientific Magazine, nor can it even move on to being peer reviewed yet...."

She stopped suddenly as a thought crossed her mind.

"And wasn't young Mr. Hamada supposed to be helping you write this essay? Are you not claiming equal ownership of this project?"

Varian really didn't want to answer that question.

"Listen... Hiro can have all the credit. He can write the essay and take all the glory, b-but I just don't have time to fool with this."

"That is not an acceptable response Mr. Quirison."

Varian paused in his escape, but refused to turn around and face the dean.

She didn't give him a choice as she walked around to meet him.

"Do you really think I'm just going to let you give up after hitting a single speed bump?"

"I'm not giving up on the portal." He insisted. "Far from it. I need to focus on getting it to work how I need it to, and I can't keep getting distracted by essays and interviews."

"Distractions?" Granville raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you see this?"

She pointed back at the paper.

"Varian, this is your future we're talking about here. Do you have any idea what this can do for you, for your career, or for the entire scientific community?"

Varian didn't respond, still refusing to look at her.

"Varian this could win you a Nobel Prize! Do you understand what that means? That's one of the highest honors that can be bestowed upon a scientist for his work. It could lead to government grants, tenure at a university of your choice, maybe even a team to study under you and assist in future projects... You'll have the ability to continue your work and research without worry of losing funds and could revolutionize the entire field of physics. Why it's more than any scientist could ever hope for-"

"But not me. I don't want it."

Granville looked aghast, but Varian continued on before she could say anything more.

"Look, I'm sure everything you're talking about is really, really nice, but it's not what I'm here for. You said, if I attended SFIT that I would be granted the means to build a portal home. I didn't agree to any of ... of this."

He gestured towards the essay.

"I don't mean to disappoint you, but I just do not care about any prizes or tenures."

Granville straightened a little and her jaw tightened. Varian could tell she was about to launch into another lecture. He didn't let her.

"Get Hiro to do it. He can have all of those great things and you can still have a prize student show off, just like you want."

He pushed past her, ignoring her offended expression, and hurried down the hall before she could get another word in edgewise.

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

Having made his escape from Granville, Varian was almost home free. All he needed to do was make a quick stop at the chim-lab to 'borrow' a spectrograph, and then he would be on his way to meet with Salma again.

However, he slowed as he heard a familiar voice as he passed by the communal labs.

"Varian did that?" Wasabi asked aghast.

"Ummm... yeah." Came Tadashi's hesitant reply.

Varian couldn't help but peek inside, being very careful not to be seen.

Tadashi was showing everyone his now bandaged wrist as the rest of their friends looked on with concern.

"I don't think he meant to do it." Tadashi continued. "He just... doesn't know his own strength."

Varian only felt shame at that. It'd have been much easier to stay angry at Tadashi had the other teen placed all the blame on him, but he didn't and Varian was quickly running out of self-justifications.

"But still..." Wasabi shook his head disapprovingly.

"What were you fighting over?" Fred asked.

"I kinda of told him about the studies we did on the amber." He sheepishly admitted.

Gogo rolled her eyes and face palmed.

"Really, Tadashi? What made you think that was a good idea?"

"I knew we shouldn't have taken it." Honey Lemon pouted, and Varian was hit with the sinking realization that they were all involved in taking the amber.

"We need to know what it is?" Tadashi insisted.

"Why?" Wasabi asked.

"Varian claims that it's the key to opening the portal. What if he's right? What do we do then?"

"I think what Wasabi means is... why do we need to know what it's made of?" Fred offered. "It's magic. Same as everything else in his world. What really matters is how do we stop him from leaving without us?"

Tadashi hung his head and pouted.

"I guess..." He finally admitted. "B-but it wouldn't hurt to know, surely. If they are connected to these rocks, maybe the answer to stopping them lies with with it?"

"Since when are we trying to stop these rocks?" Gogo asked. "I thought we were just trying to keep Varian safe?"

"We are... but... maybe helping him requires stopping the thing that caused it to all go wrong in the first place? After all that's the whole reason why that Rapunzel woman came here to begin with."

"So you think, that if we solve the problem with the rocks and save their home, then... th-then they won't come after Varian anymore." Honey Lemon mused.

"Exactly."

"Sounds reasonable." Wasabi shrugged.

Varian's heart pounded in his ears. They hadn't a clue what they were getting into and he didn't know how to stop them.

"Yeah, it does... but Varian isn't reasonable."

Everyone turned to look to Hiro. He had quietly sat in the back up till now.

Those words stung, and Varian's breath hitched.

"I... I don't know if.... If there's any point in trying to stop him from leaving."

.....

Honey Lemon was the first to break the shocked silence. "Y-you can mean that."

"We can't just let our bestest bud go back there alone!" Fred challenged.

"Hiro..." Tadashi sighed. "I know that you're upset bu-"

"No 'buts' Tadashi. You can't keep making excuses for him. He wants to go, and every time we try to help, he just lashes out at us. And if he wants to be that way... then fine! Let him go! It's his choice."

Varian didn't want to hear the rest.

He ran down the hall; tears blinding his eyes.

He thought he heard someone yell for him, or maybe it was only wishful thinking.

It didn't matter. He just needed to get out of here and be with someone who understood.

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

Varian composed himself before making his way up to Salma's apartment.

So what if the guys were giving up trying to stop him? That was what he had wanted, wasn't it?

It'd be safer this way. He won't have to look out for them or risk them getting underfoot. They won't be in the path of the rocks or Frederic's wrath. And, most importantly, they would never need to know of his past.

Though, reason as he may, it still hurt.

He took one last shuddering breath before knocking on the door.

There was no answer.

He tried again.

And a third time.

Worried, he sent her a text, letting her know that he was there.

Finally, after about ten minutes he tried one last time.

"Salma? Are you there?..... It's me, Varian. Are you ready to go?"

he placed his ear to the door, listing for any response.

All he heard was a soft sobbing sound as if someone was crying.

He knocked louder.  

"Salma? Salma!? Are you alright?"

He tried to open the door in a panic. It was locked. He took to banging instead.

"Salma, are.. are you hurt?"

"Please... p-please go away." Came her muffled reply.

Those words were barely audible through the door, but they cut through Varian's heart like a knife.

He sunk to the floor, his legs suddenly no longer wanting to support himself.

"Salma p-please...." He whispered back. He tried to remain calm even as his last strand of hope began to slip through his fingers. "Please, tell me what's wrong.... Are... are you mad at me?"

He was only answered by more sobs.

Finally he got up and left without another word.

He made it all the way down the stairs and almost was to his car again when he stopped and gave a parting wistful glance back up at the window that led to Salma's apartment.

That's when he noticed the drain pipe.

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

Salma laid on the sofa crying.

She felt awful about telling Varian to leave, but she couldn't face him right now.

She couldn't face anyone.

She just wanted to disappear.

She desperately wished for the world to stop turning, just a moment, so that she didn't have to engage in it and acknowledge the terrible truth.

"Please Allah… please…. Don't let it be real." She whispered to herself over and over again.

That's when she heard a noise coming from her window.

She finally looked up, confused, as the noise became only louder.

It sounded like a person grunting from exertion.

Then a hand latched onto the window sill.

Salma gasped as a second hand joined the first; her tears momentarily forgotten in her shock.

Then Varian's head popped up into view.

"H-hi…uh, S-salma!" He grinned with effort as he struggled to maintain his hold on the window.

Salma screamed and Varian almost let go in surprise. That hadn't been the reaction he was expecting.

Upon seeing him almost fall, Salma gathered her wits and rushed to help pull him inside.

It took several heart racing minutes to get him to safety, and both parties had to pause a moment to breathe.

"Boy… th-that to a lot of work…" Varian wheezed, before flashing her a smile.

Said smile fell away quickly when he noticed Salma's furious expression.

"What the hell were you thinking!?"

Varian's eyes went wide at the uncharacteristic swear. He then stumbled backwards as she continued to berate him.

"We're fifteen stories up! How… How did you even manage to climb that!? Why did you climb that!? Of all the stupid, irresponsible, low-down things to do! I asked you to leave!"

"B-but Sal-"

"No buts! You expressly ignored my wishes, and almost got yourself killed! And for what!? Aagrah… why must you men always be so, s-so, sooooooohhh!"

She stomped her foot as her rant gave way to an unintelligible scream.

Varian was completely at a loss. He had never seen her this angry before. He stood there dumbly as she fumed, and then suddenly she looked back up, touched her hair, and gasped in horror as if she just realized something.

She ran to her bed over in the opposite corner of the studio apartment. She pulled a blanket off it and threw it around her, covering her head and wrapping her shoulders with it.

Varian was only even more confused by this action.

However he didn't wish to upset her any further, so he turned his back to her as she readjusted the makeshift head covering. His eyes glanced about the room as he did so.

This was his first time seeing the inside of the apartment. It was a small space. Larger than Wasabi's dorm but not as big as the loft apartment that Gogo and Honey Lemon shared.

It featured an open kitchen that took up one wall, a small round table with two chairs, a low to the ground sofa with a short bookcase next to it separated the living space from the sleeping area, and he figured the door behind him led to a bathroom.

"H-how did your f-finals go?" He casually asked, trying to change the subject.

"Fine." She gave a curt reply, still not looking at him while she composed herself.

"Th-hat's good. My Intro to Economics was a killer." He joked.

He walked over to the table, and casually glanced at what he thought were study materials laying across it. He quickly realized that they were not.

It was an assortment of letters, photographs, and documents. There was a medal of some kind lying on top of the notebook and other odds and ends we're strewn about; a watch, some dice, and another copy of Salma's religious text, only this one more worn and small enough to be carried inside a pocket.

Then there were the pictures, some of Salma and others of what Varian assumed were her family. One young man in particular kept repeating in all of them. He looked to be only a few years older than himself.

Varian took all of this in at a glance. He had a vague idea of who the young man in photos might be. Then his eyes settled on one particular wrinkled and creased letter. Unlike the rest of the papers, this one was in Russian.

"Moya Devochka…." He read out loud.

Salma stiffened.

Varian paused.

He didn't need to read any further. This was clearly a personal letter sent by one of her family members. Perhaps her grandfather. Yet… he knew whatever was in it was connected to the young man in the photographs, and was the source of Salma's misery.

"This is about your brother… right?" He said simply, as he pieced together the clues.

"Please go." Salma answered.

"I… I just want to help."

She finally turned to look at him; her face dripping with incredulity.

"How? How can you help? How do you even begin to call this help!?"

"It's not good to be alone Salma!"

She paused, as if she had never considered that idea.

"I know what it's like to lose a family member." Varian continued. "And… sure, I get it, you hate the world right now. You have right to, b-but just sitting here crying alone. Th-that won't make things better."

Salma pursed her lips, and Varian knew his words had not reached her.

"What does it matter?"

"What do you mean, what does it matter?"

Salma shook her head as more tears started to fall.

"N-nothing is going to make this better…" she sobbed. "So what does it matter what I do?"

"That's… that's not true..."

"You can't bring him back."

"That doesn't mean things won't get better."

She had no reply. Her voice caught in her throat and she heaved her shoulders as her body wracked with sobs.

Varian ran to her, to hold her, but she backed away from him and held up her hand to stop him from nearing.

"No." She managed to whisper.

"Wh-what… what do you need me to do then?"

"L-leave."

"I'm…. I'm afraid to leave you alone though."

She looked at him, confused.

"Y-you need to talk to someone; be with someone." Varian pressed. "You don't want to talk to me… fine. Then call Dr. Brown or your aunt. You have people that care about you still, and they're worried about you."

Salma seemed to reflect on this, as she cast her eyes downwards and fiddled with a blanket in her hands.

"He… he went missing… two months ago…" she finally answered. "The military gave up looking for him. I only got the letter today."

"I'm sorry."

He moved again to hug her, but once more she pulled away from him.

"I told you, now please go."

Varian was taken aback by the forcefulness of her voice. He thought her opening up meant that she was ready to reconcile and receive help, but that was now clearly not the case.

"B-but I care-"

"Go!"

She marched to the door and held it open for him.

He stood there stunned for a moment, but she remained resolute.

"O-okay…." Only to pause at the doorway before leaving. "Will you at least call your aunt though?"

She nodded.

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Th-then will you call me later?"

She shook her head firmly and Varian frowned.

She stood up straight, looked him firmly in the eyes, and said, "No."

"No, I will not be calling you. No, you may not call me. And no, I never ever want to see you again."

And with that she slammed the door in his face.

He stood there, his heart shattered on the floor, as he heard Salma begin sobbing again from the other side of the door.